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 V» THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 
 
 EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. 
 
 WITH A 
 
 PRELIMINARY VIEW OF THE FRENCH 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF '• WAVERLEY." &c. 
 
 — Bed non in Cssare tantum 
 
 Nomen erat, nee fama ducis ; ssd iicscia virtua 
 Stare loco : solusque pudor non vinccre bello ; 
 Acer et iudomitus : quo 3pe3 quorue ira vocasset 
 Ferre manum, et nunquani leiueraiido parcere ferro ; 
 Successus urgere suos ; iiistare favori 
 Numinis ; impellena quicquid sibi gumma petenti 
 Obstarel ; gaudensque viara fecisse ruina. 
 
 LuCANj Pkarsalia, Lib. 1. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 J. & B. WILLIAMS. 
 
 1834. 
 
 M 
 
 ^^S^ 
 
 >!.'
 
 ADVERTISEMEZTT. 
 
 Thb extent and purpose of this work, have, in the course of its 
 progress, gradually but essentially changed from what the author 
 originally proposed. It was at first intended merely as a brief 
 and popular abstract of the most wonderful man, and ihe most 
 extraordinary events of the last thirty years — in short, to emulate 
 the concise yet most interesting history of the great British Admi- 
 ral, by the Poet-Laureate of Britain. The author was partly in- 
 duced to undertake the task, by having formerly drawn up for a 
 periodical work, (The Edinhurgh Annual Register,) the history of 
 the two great campaigns of 1814 and 1815;* and throe volumes 
 was the compass assigned to the proposed work. An introductory 
 volume, giving a general account of the Rise and Progress of the 
 Revolution, was thought necessary •, and the single volume, on a 
 theme of such extent, soon swelled into two. 
 
 As the author composed under an anonymous title, he could 
 neither seek nor expect information from those who had been ac- 
 tively engaged in the changeful scenes which he was attempting to 
 record ; nor was lais object more ambitious than that of compress- 
 ing and arranging such information as the ordinary authorities 
 afforded. CircumstanOBs, however, unconnected with the under- 
 taking, induced him to lay aside an incognito, any further attempt 
 to preserve which must have been considered as affectation ; and 
 since his having done so, he has been favoured with access to 
 some valuable materials, most of which have now, for the first 
 time, seen the Ught. For these he refers to the Appendix, where 
 the reader will find several articles of novelty and interest. 
 Though not at liberty in every case to mention the quarter from 
 which his information has been derived, the author has been care- 
 ful to rely upon none which did not come from sufficient authoritv. 
 lie has neither grubbed for anecdotes in the hbels and private 
 scandal of the time, nor has he solicited information from individ- 
 uals who could not be impartial witnesses in the facts to which 
 
 * Several extracts from these Annals have been blended with the presenLaccount of 
 Uie same events.
 
 VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 they gave evidence. Yet the various pubhc documents and private 
 information which he has received, have materially enlarged his 
 stock of materials, and increased the whole work to more than 
 twice the size originally intended. 
 
 On the execution of his task, it becomes the author to be silent. 
 He is aware it must exhibit many faults ; but he claims credit for 
 having brought to the undertaking a mind disposed to do his sub- 
 ject as impartial justice as his judgment could supply. He will be 
 found no enemy to the person of Napoleon. The term of hostili- 
 ty is ended when the battle has been won, and the foe exists no 
 longer. His splendid personal qualities — his great military actions 
 and political services to France, will not, it is hoped, be found 
 lessened in the narrative. Unliappily, the author's task involved 
 a duty of another kind, the discharge of which is due to France, to 
 Britain, to Europe, and to the world. If the general system of 
 Napoleon has rested upon force or fraud, it is neither the great- 
 ness of his talents, nor the success of his undertakings, that ought 
 to stifle th3 voice or dazzle the ev^ '^^ hira -who axlventures to be 
 his historian. The reasons, however, are carefully summed up 
 where the author has presumed to express a favourable or unfa- 
 vourable opinion of the distinguished persou of whom these vol- 
 umes treat ; so that each reader may judge of their validity for 
 himself. 
 
 The name, by an original error of the press, which proceeded 
 too far before it was discovered, has been printed with a w, Buon- 
 aparte instead of Bonaparte. Both spellings Avere indifferently 
 adopted in the family ; but Napoleon always used the last, and had 
 an unquestioned right to choose the orthography which he pre- 
 ferred. 
 
 Edihburgb, Ith June, 1827.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME FXBST- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Review of the State of Europe after the Peace of Versailles. England— France- 
 Spain — Prussia. Imprudent Innovations of the Emperor Joseph. Disturbano- 
 es in his Dominions. Russia. France — Her ancient System of Monarchy — ^how 
 organized— Causes of its Decay— Decav of the Nobility as a body— The new No- 
 blee- The Country Nobles. The Nobles of the highest Order. The Church— 
 Tbe higher Orders of the Clergy— The lower Orde.^— The Commons— Their in- 
 crease in Power and Importance — Their Claims opposed to those of the Privileg- 
 ed Classes W 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 State of France continued. State of Public Opinion. Men of Letters encouraged 
 by the Great. Disadvantages attending this Patronage. Licentious tendency of 
 the French Literature — Their Irreligious and Infidel Opinions. Free Opinions on 
 Politics permitted to be expressed in an abstract and speculative, but not in a 
 practical Form — Disadvantages arising from the Suppression of Free Discussion. 
 Anglomania. Share of France in the American War. Disposition of the Troops 
 who returned from America ^ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Proximate Cause of the Revolution. Deranged State of the Finances. Reforms 
 in the Royal Household. System of Turgot andNecker — Necker's Exposition of 
 the State of the Public Rv,.«.-i.uc. -nie-r«-. a-o^wu. ».T,,K»r j;-pi-^«j Suooena- 
 ed by Calonne. General State of the Revenue. Assembly of the Notables. Ca- 
 lonne dismissed. Archbishop of Sens Administrator of the Finances. The King's 
 Contest with the Parliament — Bed of Justice — Resistance of the Parliament and 
 general Disorder in the Kingdom. Vacillating Policy of the Minister — Royal Sit- 
 ting — Scheme of forming a Cour Pleniere — It proves ineffectual. Archbishop of 
 Sens retires, and is succeeded by Necker — He resolves to convoke the States 
 General. Second Assembly of Notables previous to Convocation of the States. 
 Questions as to the Numbers of v.-hich the Tiers Etat should consist, and the Mode 
 in which the Estates should deliberate 37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Meeting of the States General. Predominant Influence of the Tiers Etat. — Prop- 
 erty not represented suiBciently in that Body — General Character of the Mem* 
 bers. Disposition of the Estate of the Nobles— And of the Clergy. Plan of form- 
 ing the Three Estates into Two Houses— Its .Advantages— It fails. The Clergy 
 unite with the Tiers Etat, which assumes the title of the National Assembly. They 
 assume the Task of Legislation, and declare all former Fiscal Regulations illegal. 
 They assert their Determination to continue their Sessions. Royal Sitting — Ter- 
 minates in the Triumph of the Assembly. Parties in that Body — Mounier. Con- 
 ttitutionalists — Republicans — Jacobins — Orleans 46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Plan of the Democrats to bring the King and Assembly to Paris. Banquet of tbe 
 Garde du Corps. Riot at Paris— A formidable Mob of Women assemble to march 
 to Versailles— The National Guard refuse to act against the Insurgents, and demand 
 also to be led to Versailles— The Female Mob arrive— Their behaviour to the As- 
 sembly— to the King— Alarming Disorders at Night— La f ayetle arrives with the 
 National Guard— Mob force the Palace— Murder the Body Guards— The Queen's 
 safety endangered— Fayette's arrival with his Force restores Order.— King and Roy- 
 al Family obliged to go to reside at Paris. Description of the Procession — This 
 Step agreeable to the Views of tbe Constitutionalists, and of the Republicans,and 
 of the Anarchists. Duke of Orleans sent to England 61 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 La Fayette resolves to enforce Order. A Baker is murdered by the Rabble — One 
 of his Murderers Executed. Decree imposing Martial Law in case of Insurrec- 
 tion. Democrats supported by the Audience in the Gallery of the Assembly. In- 
 troduction of the Doctrines of Equality — They are in their exaggerated Sense in- 
 consistent with Human Nature and the Progress of Society. The Assembly abol- 
 ish Titles of Nobility, Armorial Bearings, and Phrases of Courtesy — Reasoning on 
 these Innovations. "Disorder of Finance. Necker becomes unpopular. Seizure
 
 68 
 
 vl CONTENTS. 
 
 of Church-Lands. Issue of Assignats. Necker leaves France in unpopularity. 
 New Religious Institution. Oath imposed on the Clergy— Resisted by the great- 
 er part of the Order— Bad Effects of the Innovation. General View of the Opera- 
 tions of the Constituent Assembly. Enthusiasm of the People for their new Priv- 
 ileges. Limited Privileges of the Crown. King is obliged to dissemble— His 
 Negotiations with Mirabeau— With Bouille. Attack on the Palace of the King- 
 Prevented by Fayette. Royalists expelled from the Palace of the Tuillerics. 
 Escape of Louis. He is captured at Varennes— Brought back to Paris. Riot in 
 the Champ de Mars— Put down by Military Force. Louis accepts the Constitu- 
 tion 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Legislative Assembly— Its Composition. Constitutionalists— Girondists or Brissot- 
 ins-— Jacobins. Views and Sentiments of Foreign Nations — England — Views of the 
 Tories and Whigs — Anacharsis Klootz — Austria— Prussia— Russia— Sweden. Em- 
 igration of the French Princes and Clergy— Increasing Unpopularity of Louis from 
 this cause. Death of the Emperor Leopold and its Effects. France declaret 
 War. Views and Interests of the different Parties in France at this Period. De- 
 cree against Monsieur— Louis interposes his Veto. Decree against the Priests 
 who should refuse the Constitutional Oath- Louis again interposes his Veto — 
 Consequences of these Refusals. Fall of De Lessart. Ministers now chosen from 
 the Brissotins. AUJParties favourable to War 90 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Defeats of the French on the Frontier. Decay of the Party of Constitutionalists— 
 They form the Club of Feuillans, and are dispersed by the Jacobins forcibly. The 
 Ministry— Dumouriez— Versatility of his Character. Breach of Confidence betwixt 
 the King and his Ministers. Dissolution of the King's Constitutional Guard. Ex- 
 travagant measures of the Jacobins— Alarms of the Girondists. Departmental ar- 
 my proposed. King puts his Veto on the Decree, against Dumouriez's Represent- 
 ations. Decree asainst the Recusant Priests— King refusea ;t.. Letter of the 
 Miuisters to ine rflng — ne uismisseB noianu, t^iavicic, aiia bervan. JJumouriez, 
 Duranton, and Lacoste, appointed in their stead. King ratifies the Decree con- 
 cerning the Departmental Army. Dumouriez retorts against the late Ministers in 
 the Assembly— Resigns, and departs for the Frontiers. New Ministers named 
 from the Constitutionalists. Insurrection of the 20th of June. Armed Mob in- 
 trude into the Assembly— Thence into the Tuilleries. Assembly send a Deputa- 
 tion to the Palace— And the Mob disperse. La Fayette repairs to Pans— Remon- 
 strates in favour of the King— But is compelled to return to the Frontiers and 
 leave him to his fate. Marseillois appear in Paris. Duke of Brunswick's Mani- 
 festo. Its Operation against the King " 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Day of the 10th of August— Tocsin sounded eariy in the Morning. Swisi 
 Guards, and relics of the Royal Party, repair to the Tuilleries. Mandat assassinat- 
 ed. Dejection of Louis, and energy of the Queen. King's Ministers appear at 
 the Bar of the Assembly, stating the peril of the Royal Family, and requesting a 
 Deputation might be sent to the Palace. Assembly pass to the Order of the Day. 
 Louis and his Family repair to the Assembly. Conflict at the Tuilleries. Swiss 
 ordered to repair to the King's Person— and are many of them shot and dispersed 
 on their way to the Assembly. At the close of the Day almost all of them are 
 massacred. Royal Family spend the Night in the neighbounug Convent ot the 
 Feuillans 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 La Fayette compelled to Escape from France— Is made Prisoner by the Prussians, 
 with three Companions. Peflections. The Triumvirate, Danton, Robespierre, and 
 Marat. Revolutionary Tribunal appointed. Stupor of the Legislative Assembly. 
 Longwy, Stenay, and' Verdun, taken by the Prussians— Mob of Pans enraged. 
 Great Massacre of Prisoners in Paris, commencing on the 2d, and ending the 6th 
 September. Apathy of the Assembly during and after these Events— Review of 
 its Causes *"* 
 
 chapti:r XI. 
 
 Election of Representatives for the National Convention. Jacobins are very active. 
 Right hand Party— Left hand side— Neutral Members, 'i'ho Girondists are in 
 possession of the Ostensible Power— They denounce the Jacobin Chiefs, but in 
 an irregular and feeble manner. Marat, Robespierre, and Danton, supported by 
 the Community and Populace of Paris. France declared a Republic. Duke of 
 Brunswick's Campaign— Neglects the French Emigrants— Is tardy in his Opera- 
 tions—Occupies the poorest part of Cliampagne. His Army becomes Sickly. 
 Prospects of a Battle. Dumouriez's Army recruited with Carmagnoles. The 
 Duke resolves to Retreat— Thoughts on the consequences of that Measure.— The 
 
 101
 
 CONTENTS. Hi 
 
 Retreat disastrous. The Emigrants disbanded in a great measure. Reflections 
 
 on their Fate. The Prince of Condi's Army 11* 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Jacobins determine on the Execution of Louie. Progress and Reasons of the King's 
 Unpopularity. Girciidists taken by surprise, by a proposal for the Abolition of 
 Royalty made by the Jacobins. Proposal carried. Thoughts on the New .System 
 of Government— Compared with that of Uome. Greece, America, and other Repub- 
 lican States. Enthusiasm throughout France at the Change— Follies it gave birth to 
 
 And Crimes. Monuments of Art destroyed. Madame Roland interposes to saTc 
 
 the Life of the King. Barrere. Girondists move for a Departmental Legion— Carri- 
 ed— Revoked — and Girondists defeated. The Authority of the Community of 
 Paris paramount even over the Convention. Documents of the Iron-Chest. Par- 
 allel betwixt Charles I. and Louis XVI. Motion by Pethion, that the King should 
 oe tried before the Convention 118 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Indecision of the Girondists, and its effects. The Royal Family in the Temple— In- 
 sulted by the Agents of the Community, both within and without the Prison — 
 Their exemplary Patience. The King deprived of his Son's Society. Buzot's 
 Admission of the general dislike of France to a Republican Form of Government. 
 The King brouglit to Trial before the Convention— His first Examination— Carried 
 back to Prison amidst Insult and Abuse. Tumult in the Assembly. The King 
 deprived of Intercourse with his Family. Malesherbes appointed as Counsel to 
 defend the King — and De Seze. Louis again brought before the Convention — 
 Opening Speech of De Seze— King remanded to the Temple. Stormy Debate in 
 tho Convention. Eloquent Attack of Vergniaud on the Jacobins. Sentence of 
 Death pronounced against the King— General Sympathy for his Fate. Dumou- 
 riez arrives in Paris — Vainly tries to avert the King's Fate. Louis XVI. behead- 
 ed ON 21 ST January 1793 — Marie Antoinette on the 16th October thereafter 
 — The Princess Elizabeth in May 1794 — The Dauphin perishes by Cruelty, 
 June 8th 1795. The Princess Koyal Kxchangea tor La rayewe, i^iJi December 
 1795 131 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Dumonriez— His displeasure at the Treatment of the Flemish •Provinces by the Con- 
 vention — His Projects in consequence — Gains the ill-will of his Army — and is 
 forced to fly to the Austrian Camp — Lives many years in retreat, and finally dies 
 in England. Struggles betwixt the Girondists and Jacobins in the Convention. 
 Robespierre impeaches the Leaders of the Girondists — and is denounced by them. 
 Decree of Accusation past against Marat, who conceals himself. Commission of 
 Twelve appointed. Marat acquitted, and sent back to the Convention with a Civ- 
 ic Crown. Terror and Indecision of the Girondists. Jacobins prepare to attack 
 the Palais Royal, but are Repulsed— Repair to the Convention, who recall the 
 Commission of Twelve. Louvet and other Girondist Leaders fly from Paris. Con- 
 tention go forth in Procession to Expostulate with the People — Forced back to 
 their Hall, and compelled to decree the Accusation of Thirty of their Body. Gi- 
 rondists finally Ruined— and their Principal Leaders perish in Prison by the Guil- 
 lotine, and by Famine. Close of their History ''M 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Views of Parties in Britain relative to the Revolution. Affiliated Societies — Coun- 
 terpoised by Aristocratic Associations. Aristocratic Party eager for War with 
 France. The French proclaim the Navigation of the Scheldt. British Ambassa- 
 dor recalled from Paris, and French Envoy no longer accredited in London. 
 France declares war against England. British Army sent to Holland under the 
 Duke of York — State of the Army. View of the Military Positions of France — 
 in Flanders — on the Rhine — In Piedmont — Savoy— on the Pyrenees. State cf 
 the War in La Vendee — Description of the Country — Le Bocage — Le Louroux — 
 Close Union betwixt the Nobles and Peasantry — Both strongly attached to Royal- 
 ty, and abhorrent of the Revolution. The Priests. The Religion of the Vende- 
 a'ns outraged by the Convention. A general Insurrection takes place in 1793. 
 Military Organization and Habits of the Vendeans. Division in the British Cabi- 
 net on the Mode of Conducting the War. Pitt— Windham. Reasoning upon th« 
 Subject. Capitulation of Mentz enables 15,000 Veterans to act in La Vendee. 
 Vendeans defeated, and pass the Loire— They defeat, in their turn, the French 
 Troops at Laval — But are ultimately destroyed and dispersed. Unfortunate Ex- 
 pedition to Quiberon. La Charette defeated and executed, and the War of La 
 Vendee finally terminated. Return to the State of France in Spring 1793. Un- 
 •uccessful Resistance of Bourdeaux, Marseilles, and Lyons, to the Convention. 
 Siege of Lyons— Its surrender and dreadful Punishment. Siege of Toulon. 149 
 
 Vol. I. A 2
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ViewB of the British Cabinet regarding the French Revolution. Extraordinary Situ- 
 ation of France. Explanation of the Anomaly which it exhibited. System of 
 Terror. Committee of Public Safety — Of Public Security. David the Painter. 
 Law against suspected Persons. Revolutionary Tribunal. Effects of the Emigra- 
 tion of the Princes and Nobles. Causes of the Passiveness of the French Peo- 
 ple under the Tyranny of the Jacobins. Singular Address of the Committee of 
 Public Safety. General Reflections 164 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Marat, Danton, Robespierre. Marat poniarded — Danton and Robespierre become 
 Rivals. Commune of Paris — their gross Irreligion. Gobet. Goddess of Reason. 
 Marriage reduced to a Civil Contract. Views of Danton — and of Robespierre. 
 Principal Leaders of the Commune arrested — and Nineteen of them executed. 
 Danton arrested by the influence of Robespierre— and, along with Camillc Desmou- 
 lins, Westermann, and La Croix, taken before the Revolutionary Tribunal, con- 
 demned, and executed. Decree issued on the motion of Robespierre, acknowl- 
 edging a Supreme Being. Cecilie Regnaut. Gradual Change in the Public Mind. 
 Robespierre becomes unpopular — Makes every eflibrt to retrieve his power. 
 Stormy Debate in the Convention. Collot D' Herbois, Tallien, &c. expelled 
 from the Jacobin Club at the instigation of Robespierre. Robespierre denounced 
 ill the Convention on the 9th Thermidor {27th July,) and, after^furious struggles, 
 rrested, along with his brother, Couthon, and Saint Just. Henriot, Command- 
 .;U of the National Guard, arrested. Terrorisls take Refuge in the Hotel de 
 Ville — Attempt their own lives. Robespierre wounds himself — but lives, along 
 with most of the others, long enough to be carried to the Guillotine, and executed. 
 His character — Struggles that followed his Fate. Final Destruction of the Jaco- 
 binical Svstem — and return of Tranquillity. Singular colour given to Society in 
 Paris. Ball of the Victims 172 
 
 CHAPTER XVlIi. 
 
 Retrospective View of the External Piclations of France — Her great Military Suc- 
 cesses — Whence they arose. Effect of the Compulsory Levies. Military Genius 
 and Character of the French. French Generals. New Mode of Training the 
 Troops. Light Troops. Successive Attacks in Column. Attachment of the Sol- 
 diers to the Revolution. Also of the Generals. Carnot. Effect of the French 
 Principles preached to the Countries invaded by their Arras. Close of the Revo- 
 lution with the fall of Robespierre. Reflections upon what was to succeed. . . 190 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Corsica. Family of Buonaparte. Napoleon born 15th August 1769 — His earlyHabits 
 — Sent to the Royal Military School at Brienne — His great Progress in Mathemat- 
 ical Science— Deficiency in Classical Literature. Anecdotes of him while at School 
 — Removed to the General School of Paris. When seventeen Years Old, appoint- 
 ed 2d Lieutenant of Artillery — His early Politics — Promoted to a Captaincy. Pas- 
 cal Paoli. Napoleon sides with the French Government against Paoli — Along 
 with his Brother Lucien, he is banished from Corsica — Never revisits it — Always 
 unpopular there 196 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Siege ofToulon. Recapitulation. Buonaparte appointed Brigadier-General of Ar- 
 tillery, with the Command of the Artillery at Toulon — Finds every thing in disor- 
 der — His Plan for obtaining the Surrender of the Place — Adopted. Anecdotes 
 during the Siege. Allied Troops resolve to evacuate Toulon — Dreadful Particu- 
 lars of the Evacuation — England censured on this occasion. Lord Lynedoch. 
 Fame of Buonaparte increases, and he is appointed Chief of Battalion in the Army 
 of Italy — Joins Head-quarters at Nice. On the Fall of Robespierre, Buonaparte 
 superseded in command — Arrives in Paris in May 1793 to solicit employment — 
 He is unsuccessful. Talma. Retrospect of the Proceedings of the National As- 
 sembly. Difficulties in forming a new Constitution. Appointment of the Directory 
 — of the Two Councils of Elders and of Five Hundred. Nation at large, and Pa- 
 ris in particular, disgusted with their pretensions. Paris assembles in Sections. 
 General Danican appointed their Commander-in-Chief. Menou appointed by the 
 Directory to disarm the National Guards — but suspended for incapacity — Buona- 
 parte appointed in his room. The Day of the Sections. Conflict betwixt the Troops 
 of the Convention under Buonaparte, and those of the Sections of Paris under Dan- 
 ican. The latter defeated with much slaughter. Buonaparte appointed Second in 
 Command of the .^rmy of the Interior — then General in Chief— Marries Madame 
 Beauhamois — Her Character. Buonaparte immediately afterwards joins the Ar- 
 my of Italy 501
 
 CONTENTS. id 
 
 CHAPTER XXi. 
 
 Tlie Alps. Feelings and Views of Buonaparte on being appointed lo the Command 
 of the Army of Italy — General Account of his new Principles of Warfare — Moun- 
 tainous Countries peculiarly favourable to them. Retrospect of Military Proceed- 
 ings since October 1795. Hostility of the French Government to the Pope. Mas- 
 sacre of the French Envoy Basseville, at Rome. Austrian Army under Beaulieu. 
 Napoleon's Plan for entering Italy — Battle of Monte Notte, and Buonaparte's first 
 Victory — Again defeats the Austr'ians at Millesimo — and again under Colli — Takes 
 possession of Cherasco — King of Sardinia requests an Armistice, which leads to a 
 Peace concluded on very severe Terms. Close of the Piedmontese Campaign. 
 Napoleon's Character at this period 214 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 Further progress of the French Army under Buonaparte — He crosses the Po, at Pia- 
 cenia, on 7th May. Battle of Lodi takes place on the 10th, in which the French 
 are victorious. Remarks on Napoleon's Tactics in this celebrated Action. French 
 take possession of Cremona and Pizzighitone. Milan deserted by the Archduke 
 Ferdinand and his Ducliess. Buonaparte enters Milan on the 14th May — Gener- 
 al situation of the Italian States at this period. Napoleon inflicts fines upon the 
 neutral and unoffending States of Parma and Modena, and extorts the surrender 
 of some of their finest Pictures. Remarks upon this novel procedure. . . . 22.2 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Directory propose to divide the Army of Italy betwixt Buonaparte and Kellermann— 
 Buonaparte resigns, and the Directory give up the point. Insurrection against the 
 French at Pavia — crushed, and the Leaders shot — Also at the Imperial Fiefs and 
 . -. I.ugo, quelled and punished in the same way. Reflections. Austrians defeated at 
 -- Borghetto, and retreat behind the Adige. Buonaparte narrowly escapes being made 
 Prisoner at Valeggio. Mantua blockaded. Verona occupied by the French. — King 
 of Naples secedes from Austria. Armistice purchased by the Pope. The Neu- 
 trality of Tuscany violated, and Leghorn occupied by the French Troops. Views 
 of Buonaparte respecting the R^-vnlnti^nUingt of Itafy — Ho tamparizee. Conduct 
 of the Austrian Government at this Crisis. Beaulieu displaced, and succeeded by 
 Wurmser. Buonaparte sits down before Mantua " 2ol 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Campaign on the Rhine. General Plan. Wartensleben and the Archduke Charles 
 retire before Jourdan and Moreau. The Archduke forms a junction with War- 
 tensleben, and defeats Jourdan, who retires — Moreau, also, makes his celebrated 
 Retreat through the Black Forest. Buonaparte raises the Siege of Mantua, and 
 defeats the Austrians at Salo and Lonato. Misbehaviour of the French General, 
 Valette, at Cjistiglione. Lonato taken, with the French Artillery, on 3d Au- 
 gust. Retaken by Massena and Augereau. Singular escape of Buonaparte from 
 being captured at Lonato. Wurmser defeated between Lonato and Castiglione, 
 and retreats on Trent and Roveredo. Buonaparte resumes his position before 
 Mantua. Effects of the French Victories on the different Italian States. Inflexi- 
 bility of Austria. Wurmser recruited. Battle of Roveredo. French Victorious, 
 and Massena occupies Trent. Buonaparte defeats Wurmser at Primolano^and at 
 Bassano, 8th September. Wurmser flies to Vicenza. Battle of Areola. Vi^urra- 
 eer finally shut up within the walls of Mantua 23S 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Corsica re-united with France. Critical situation of Buonaparte in Italy at this pe- 
 riod. The Austrian General Alvinzi placed at the head oi a new Army. Various 
 Contests, attended with no decisive result. Want of concert among the Austrian 
 Generals. French Army begin to murmur. First Battle of Areola. Napoleon 
 in personal danger. No decisive result. Second Battle of Areola — The French 
 victorious. Fresh want of concert among the Austrian Generals. General Views 
 of Military and Political Affairs, after the conclusion of the fourth Italian Cam- 
 paign. Austria commences a fifth Campaign — but has not profited by experience. 
 Battle of Rivoli, and Victory of the French. Further successful at La Favorita. 
 French regain their ground in Italy. Surrender of Mantua. Instances of Napo- 
 leon's Generosity. . 24* 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Situation and Views of Buonaparte at this period of the Campaign. His politic Con- 
 duct towards the Italians — Popularity. Severe terms of Peace proposed to the 
 Pope — rejected. Napoleon differs from the Directory, and Negotiations are re- 
 newed — but again rejected. The Pope raises his army to 40,000 Men — Napoleon ' 
 invades the Papal Territories. The Papal Troops defeated near Imola — and at 
 Ancona — which is captured — Loretto taken. Clemency of Buonaparte to the 
 French recusant Clergy. Peace of Tolentino. Napoleon's Letter to the Pope. 
 S.in Marino. View ofthe situation of the different Italian States — Rome — ^Naple."! 
 — Tuscanv — Venice 2.55
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIT. 
 Archduke Charles — Compared with Napoleon — Fettered by the Aulic CounciL 
 Napoleon, by a stratagem, passes the Tagliamento, and compels the Aichduke to 
 retreat. Gradisca carried by storm. Chiusa-Veneta taken by Massena, with the 
 loss of 5000 Austrians, Baggage, Cannon, &c. The Sea-ports of Trieste and Fium« 
 occupied by the French. Venice breaks the Neutrality, and commences Hostili- 
 ties by a massocre of 100 Frenchmen at Verona. Terrified on learning that an 
 Armistice had taken place betwixt France and Austria — Circumstances which led to 
 this. The Archduke retreats by hasty marches on Vienna — His prospects of suc- 
 cess in defending it. The Government and People irresolute, and the Treaty of 
 Leoben signed — Venice now makes the most humiliating submissions. Napole- 
 on's Speech to the Venetian Envoys — He declares War against Venice, and evade* 
 obeying the orders of the Directory to spare it. The Great Council, on3l8t May, 
 concede everything to Buonaparte, and disperse in terror. Terms granted by the 
 French General t6S 
 
 CHAPTER XXVHI. *"' 
 Napoleon's amatory Correspondence with Josephine. His Court at Montebello. 
 Negotiations and Pleasure mingled there. Genoa. Revolutionary spirit of the 
 Genoese. They rise in insurrection, but are quelled by the Government, and the 
 French plundered and imprisoned. Buonaparte interferes, and appoints the out- 
 lines of a new Government. Sardinia. Naples. The Cispadane, Transpadane, 
 and Emilian Republics, united under the name of the Cisalpine Republic. The 
 Valteline. The Grisona. The Valteline united to Lombardy. Great improve- 
 ment of Italy, and the Italian Character from these changes. Difficulties in 
 the way of Pacification betwixt France and Austria. The directory and Napole- 
 on take different views. Treaty of Campo Formio. Buonaparte takes leave of ^^ 
 the Army of Italy, to act as French Plenipotentiary at Rastadt *72 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Retrospect. Tho i>irc<rtCTrj^ — th«ry bccTjiirc anpojjuiar. Cuuscs of their unpopulaH- 
 ty — Also at enmity among themselves. State of public feeling in France — In 
 point of numbers, favouraWe to the Bourbons; but the Army had monied Interest 
 arainstthem. Pichegru,head of the Royalists, appointed President of the Coun- 
 cil of Five Hundred. Barbe Marbois, another Royalist, President of the Council 
 of Ancients. Directory throw themselves upon the succour of Hoche and Buona- 
 parte. Buonaparte's personal Politics discussed. Pichegru's Correspondence 
 with the Bourbons — known to Buonaparte — He despatches Augereau to Paris. Di- 
 rectory arrest their principal Opponents in the Councils on the 18th Fructidor, 
 and banish them to Guiana. Narrow and impolitic Conduct of the Directory to 
 Buonaparte, f r'^iected Invasion of England 278 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 View of the respective Situations of Great Britain and France, at the Period of Napo- 
 leon's return from Italy. Negotiations at Lisle — Broken off, and Lord Malmesbury 
 ordered to quit the Republic. Army of England decreed, and Buonaparte named 
 to the Command — He takes up his Residence in Paris — Description of his person- 
 al Character and Manners. Madame de Stael. Public honours paid to Napoleon. 
 Project of Invasion terminated, and the real Views of the Directory discovered to be 
 the Expedition to Egypt. Armies of Italy and the Rhine, compared and contrast- 
 ed. Napoleon's Views and Notions in heading the Kgyptian Expedition — those of 
 the Directory regarding it — Its actual Impolicy. Curious Statement regarding Buo- 
 naparte, previous to his Departure, given by Miot. The Armament sails from Tou- 
 lon, on 10th May 1798. Napoleon occupies Malta, without resistance, on 10th 
 June— P'oceeds ou his course, and escaping the British Squadron, lands at Alex- 
 andria on the 29th. Description of the various Classes of Nations who inhabit 
 Egypt : — 1. The Fellahs and Bedouins — 2. The Cophts — 3. The Mamelukes. 
 Napoleon issues a Proclamation from Alexandria, against the Mamelukes — March- 
 es against them on the 5th July. Mameluke mode of fighting. Discontent and 
 disappointment of the French Troops and their Commanders — Arrive at Cairo. 
 Battle of the Pyramids on 11th of July, in which the Mamelukes were completely 
 defeated and dispersed. Cairo surrenders SM 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 French Naval .Squadron. Contlicting Statements of Buonaparte and Admiral Ga»- 
 theaume in regard to it. Battle of Aboukir on 15th August 1798. Number 
 and position of the Enemy, and of the English — Particulars of the Action. The 
 French Admiral, Brueyes, killed and his ship, L'Orient, blown up. The Victory 
 complete, two only of the French Fleet, and two Frigates, escaping on tho morn- 
 ing of the ICth. Effects of tliis disaster on the French Army. Means by which 
 Napoleon proposes to e8tal)li8h himself in Egypt. His Administration in many re- 
 spects useful and praiseworthy — in otliers, his Conduct impolitic and absurd. He 
 desires to be regarded an Envoy of the Deity, but without success. Hi« endear-
 
 90i 
 
 CONTENTS. li 
 
 ours equally unsuccessful to propitiate the Porte. The Fort of El Arish falls in- 
 to his hands. Massacre of Jaffa— Admitted by Buonaparte himself— His argumeiita 
 in its defence — Replies to them — General Conclusions. Plague breaks out in the 
 French Army. Napoleon's humanity and courage upon this occasion. Proceedi 
 against Acre to attack Djezzar Paclia. Sir Sidney Smith— His character — Cap- 
 tures a French Convoy, and throws himself into Acre. French arrive before Acre 
 on 17th March 1799, and effect a breach on the 28th, but are driven back. As- 
 saulted by an Army of Moslems of various Nations assembled without the 
 Walls of Acre, whom they defeat and disperse. Interesting particulars of the 
 Siege. Personal misunderstanding and hostility betwixt Napoleon and Sir Sidney 
 Smith— explained and accounted for. Buonaparte is finally compelled to raise the 
 Siege and retreat 49* 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 Discussion concerning the alleged poisoning of the Sick in the Hospitals at Jaffa. 
 Napoleon acquitted of the Charge. French Army re-enter Cairo on the 14th June. 
 Retrospect of what had taken place in Upper and Lower Egypt during his Absence. 
 Incursion of Murad Bey. 18,000 Turks occupy Aboukir— Attacked and defeated 
 by Buonaparte-^This victory terminates Napoleon's Career in Egypt. Views of 
 his Situation there after that Battle. Admiral Ganlheaurae receives Orders to make 
 ready for Sea— On the 23d August, Napoleon embarks for France, leaving Kleber 
 and Menou first and second in Command of the Army — Arrives in Ajaccio, in Cor- 
 sica, on the 30th September, and lands at Frejus, in France, on the 9th October. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 P^etrospect of Public Events since the departure of Napoleon for Egypt. Invasion 
 and conquest of Switzerland. Seizure of Turin. Expulsion of the Pope. The 
 Neapolitans declare War against France — are defeated — and the French enter Na- 
 ples. Disgraceful Avarice exhibited by the Directory — particularly in their Ne- 
 j;otiatioiis with the United States of America — Are unsuccessful, and their shame 
 
 made public. Rupsi.1 COmoe forward in tHrr ^cnor«i Ontxo© ^Hor StroBgth and Re- 
 
 Bources. Reverses of the French in Italy, and on the Rhine. Insurrections in Belgi- 
 um and Holland against the French. Anglo-Russian Expedition sent to Holland. 
 The Chouans again in the field. Great and universal Unpopularity of the Directo- 
 ry. State of Parties in France. Law of Hostages. Abbe Sieyes becomes one 
 li" the Directory — His Character and Genius. Description of the Constitution 
 proposed by iiim for the Year Three. Ducos, Gohier, and Moulins, also introduc- 
 ed into the Directory. Family of Napoleon strive to keep him in the Recollec- 
 tion of the People. Favourable Change in the French affairs. Holland evacuated 
 by the Anglo-Russian Army. Korsakow defeated by Massena — and Suwarrow re- 
 treats before Lecourbe 308 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 fcleneral rejoicing on the return of Buonaparte — He, meanwhile, secludes himself in 
 Retirement and Literature. Advances made Jo him on all sides. Napoleon coa- 
 lesces with the Abbe Sieyes. Revolution of the 18th Brumaire — Particulars of that 
 event. Clashing Views of the Councils of Ancients, and the Five Hundred. Bar- 
 ras and his Colleagues resign, leaving the whole Power in the hands of Napoleon. 
 Proceedings of the Councils on the 18th — and 19th. Sittings removed from Pa- 
 ris to St. Cloud — Buonaparte visits both on the latter Day. Violent Commotion 
 in the Council of Five Hundred — Napoleon received with great hostility, menac- 
 ed and assaulted, and finally extricated by his Grenadiers, breathless and exhaust- 
 ed. Lucien Buonaparte, the President, retires from the Hall with a similar Es- 
 cort — Declares the Council of Five Hundred dissolved — They are then dispersed 
 by Military Force. Various Rumours stated and discussed. Both Councils ad- 
 journ to the 19th February 1800, after appointing a Provisional Consular Govern- 
 ment, of Buonaparte, Sicyesi, and Ducos 3K 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 Effects of the Victory of the 18th and 19th Brumaire. Clemency of the New Con- 
 •ulatc. Beneficial change in the Finances. Law of Hostages repealed. Religious 
 liberty allowed. Improvements in the War Department. Submission of the Chou- 
 MiB, and Pacification of La Vendee. Ascendency of Napoleon in the Consulate. 
 Disappointment of the Abbe Sieyes. Committee formed to consider Sieyes' Plan 
 of a Constitution — Adopted in part — but rejected in essentials. A new one adopt- 
 ed, monarchical in every thing but form. Sieyes retires from public life on a pen- 
 sion. General view of the new Consular form of Government. Despotic Power of 
 »he Fii-st Consul. Reflections on Buonaparte's conduct upon this occasion. . . 3M 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 Proceedings of Buonaparte in order to consolidate his Power — His great success — 
 Causes that led to it. Cambaceres and Lebrun chosen Second and Third Con- 
 EuU. Talleyrand appointed .Minister for Foreign Affairs, and Fouche Minister of
 
 XM CONTENTS. 
 
 Police — Their Characters. Other Ministers nominated. Various Changes made, 
 in order to mark the Commencement of a new Era. Napoleon addresses a Letter 
 personally to the King of England — .Ans%vercd by I,ord Grenville. Negotiation 
 for Peace, that followed, speedily broken oft". Campaigns in Italy, and on the 
 Rhine — Successes of Moreau — Censured by Napoleon for Over-caution. The 
 Charge considered. The Chief Consul resolves to bring back, in Person, Victory 
 to the French Standards in Italy — His Measures for that Purpose 330 
 
 CFI.\PTER XXXVII. 
 
 The Chief Consul leaves Paris on Gth May 1800 — Has an Interview with Necker at 
 Geneva on 8th — Arrives at Lausanne on the 13th — Various corps put in motion to 
 cross the Alps. Napoleon at the head of the Main Army, marches on tiio 15th — 
 and ascends Mont St. Bernard — Difficulties of the March surmounted. On the 
 16th, the Van-guard takos possession of Aosta. Fortress and Town of Bard threat- 
 en to baffle the whole Plan — The Town is captured — and Napoleon contrives to 
 Bend his Artillery through it, under the fire of the Fort, his Infantry and Cavalry 
 passing over the Albaredo. Lannes carries Ivrea. Recapitulation. Operations 
 of the Austrian General Melas — At the commencement of the Campaign Melas ad- 
 vances towards Genoa — Many Actions between him and Massena. In March, Lord 
 Keith blockades Genoa. Melas compelled to retreat from Genoa — Enters Nice — 
 Recalled from thence by the news of Napoleon's having crossed Mont St. Bernard — 
 Genoa Surrenders — Buonaparte enters Milan— Battle of Montebello, and Victory 
 of the French — The Chief Consul is joined by Dessaix on the 11th June. Great 
 Battle of Marengo on the 14th, and complete Victory of the French — Death of 
 Dessaix — Capitulation on the 15th, by which Genoa, &c., are yielded to the French. 
 Napoleon returns to Paris on the 2d July, and is received with all the acclamations 
 due to a great Conquerer 336 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Napoleon offers, and the Austrian Envoy accepts, a new Treaty — The Emperor refus- 
 es it, unless Eloglaad is included. JMcgotiations then attempted with England 
 — They fail, and Austria is encouraged to a renewal of the War. Reasoning on 
 the Policy of this Conclusion. An Armistice of forty-five Days is followed by 
 the resumption of Hostilities. Battle of Hohenlinden gained by Moreau on the 
 3d December 1800. Other Battles take place; by which the .\ustrian Affairs are 
 made desperate, and they agree to a separate Peace. An .\rmistice takes place, 
 which is followed by the Treaty of Luneville. Convention between France and 
 the United States. Explanatory Recapitulation. The Queen of Naples repairs 
 to Petersburgh to intercede with the Emperor Paul — His capricious Character ; 
 originally a. violent Anti-Gallican, he grows cold and hostile to the Austrians, and 
 attached to the Fame and Character of the Chief Consul — Receives the Queen of 
 Naples with cordiality, and applies in her behalf to Buonaparte — His Envoy re- 
 ceived at Paris with the utmost distinction, and the Royal Family of Naples saved 
 for the present, though on severe Conditions. The Neapolitan General compel- 
 led to evacuate the Roman Territories. Rome restored to the Authority of the 
 Pope. Napoleon demands of the King of Spain to declare War against Portugal. 
 Olivenza and Almeida taken. Buonaparte's conduct towards the Peninsular Pow- 
 ers overbearing and peremptory. The British alone active in opposing the French. 
 Malta, after a Blockade of two Years, obliged to submit to the English. . . . 315 
 
 CH.\PTER XXXIX. 
 Internal Government of France. General attachment to the Chief Consul, though 
 the two Factions of Republicans and Royalists are hostile to him. Plot of the 
 former to remove him by Assassination — Defeated. Vain hopes of the Royalists, 
 that Napoleon would be the instrument of restoring the Bourbons — .\pplications 
 to him for thateffect disappointed — Royalists methodize the Plot of the Infernal 
 Machine — Description of it — It fails. Suspicion first falls on the Republicans, and 
 a decree of transportation is passed against a great number of their Ciiiefs — but 
 13 not carried into execution. The actual Conspirators tried and executed. Use 
 made by Buonaparte of the Conspiracy to consolidate Despotism. Various Meas- 
 uros devised for that purpose. System of the Police. Fouchc — His Skill, Influ- 
 ence, and Power. Napoleon becomes jealous of him, and organizes measures of 
 precaution against him. Apprehension entertained by the Chief Consul of the ef- 
 fects of Literature, and his efforts against it. Persecution of Madame de Stael. 
 The Concordat — Various Views taken of that Measure. Plan for a general System 
 of Jurisprudence. Amnesty granted to the Emigrants. Plans of Public Educa- 
 tion. Other Plans of Improvement. Hopes of a General Peace 381 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 Return to the external Relations of France. Hor universal Ascendency. Napole- 
 on's advances to the Emperor Paul. Plan of destroying the British Power in In- 
 dia. Right of Search at Sea. Death of Paul. Its effects on Buonaparte. Affairs 
 of Egypt. Assassination of Kleiier. Mcnou appointed to succeed him. Britieb
 
 CONTENTS. xiu 
 
 Army lands in Egypt. Battle and Victory of Alexandria. Death of Sir Ralph Ab- 
 ercromby. General Hutchinson succeeds him. The French General Belliard 
 capitulates — as does Menou. War in Egypt brought to a victorious Conclusion. 360 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Preparations made for the Invasion of Britain. Nelson put in command of the Sea. 
 Attack of the Boulogne Flotilla. Pitt leaves the Ministry — succeeded by Mr. Ad- 
 dington. Negotiations for peace. Just punishment of England, in regard to the 
 conquered Settlements of the Enemy. Forced to restore them all, save Ceylon 
 and Trinidad. Malta is placed under the guarantee of a Neutral Power. Prelim- 
 inaries of Peace signed. Joy of the English Populace, and doubts of the better 
 classes. Treaty of Amiens signed. The ambitious projects of Napoleon, never- 
 theless, proceed without interruption. Extension of his power in Italy. He is 
 appointed Consul for life, with the power of naming his Successor 368 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 Different Views entertained by the English Ministers and the Chief Consul of the ef- 
 fects of the Treaty of Amiens. Napoleon, misled by the Shouts of a London Mob, 
 misunderstands the feelings of the People of Great Britain. His continued en- 
 croachments on the Independence of Europe — His Conduct to Switzerland — Inter- 
 feres in their Politics, and sets himself up, uninvited, as Mediator in their Con- 
 cerns — His extraordinary Manifesto addressed to them. Ney enters Switzerland 
 at the head of 40,000 Men. The patriot. Reding, disbands his Forces, and is im- 
 prisoned Switzerland is compelled to furnish France with a Subsidiary Army of 
 16,000 Troops. The Chief Consul adopts the title of Grand Mediator of the Hel- 
 vetic Republic 367 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 Increasing jealousies betwixt France and England — Additional Encroachments and 
 Offences on the part of the former. Singular Instructions given by the First Con- 
 sul to his Commercia! Agents in British Ports. Orders issued by the English Min- 
 isters for the Expulsion of all Persons nctin— nndor them. Violence o£ the PresS 
 
 on both sides of the Channel. Peltier's celebrated Royalist Publication, L'Ambi- 
 gu. Buonaparte answers through the Moniteur, Monsieur Otto's Note of Remon- 
 strance — Lord Hawkesbury's Reply. Peltier tried for a Libel againist the First 
 Consul — found Guilty — but not brought up for Sentence. Napoleon's continued 
 Displeasure. Angry discussions respecting the Treaty of Amiens — Malta. Offen- 
 sive report of General .Sebastiani — Resolution of the British Government in con- 
 sequence. Conferences betwixt Buonaparte and Lord Whitworth. The King 
 sends a Message to Parliament, demanding additional aid. Buonaparte quarrels 
 with Lord Whitworth at a Levee — Particulars. Resentment of England upon this 
 occasion. Farther discussions concerning Malta. Reasons why Buonaparte 
 might desire to break off Negotiations. Britain declares war against France on 
 18th May 1803 371 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 Retrospect. St. Domingo. The Negroes, victorious over the Whites and Mulat- 
 toes, split into parties under different Chiefs — Toussaint L'Ouverture the most 
 distinguished of these. His Plans for the amelioration of his Subjects. Appoints, 
 in imitation of France, a Consular Government. France sends an Expedition 
 against St. Domingo, under General Leclerc, in December 1801, which is suc- 
 cessful, and Toussaint submits. After a brief interval he is sent to France, where 
 he dies under the hardships of confinement. The French visited by Yellow Fe- 
 ver, are assaulted by the Negroes, and War is carried on of new with dreadful fury. 
 Leclerc is cut off by the distemper, and is succeeded by Rochambeau. The French 
 finally obliged to capitulate to an English Squadron, on 1st December 1803. 
 Buonaparte's scheme to consolidate his power at home. The Consular Guard 
 augmented to GOOO men — Description of it. Legion of Honour — Account of it. 
 Opposition formed, on the principle of the English one, against the Consular Gov- 
 ernment. They oppose the establishment of the Legion of Honour, which, howev- 
 er, is carried. Application to the Count de Provence (Louis XVIII.) to resign 
 the Crown— Rejected 378 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Mutual Feelings of Napoleon and the British Nation, on the Renewal of the War. 
 First Hostile Measures on both sides. England lays an Embargo on French Ves- 
 sels in her ports — Napoleon retaliates by detaining British Subjects in France. 
 Effects of this unprecedented Measure. Hanover and other places occupied by 
 the French. Scheme of Invasion renewed. Nature and extent of Napoleon's 
 Preparations. Defensive Measures of England. Reflections 389 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 Disaffection begins to arise against Napoleon among the Soldiery. Purpose of set- 
 ting upMoreau against him. Character of Moreau — Causes of his Estrangement
 
 xIt contents. 
 
 from Buonaparte. Piclicgru. The Duke D'Enghien. Georges Cadoudal, Piche- 
 gru, and other Royalists, landed in France. Desperate Enterprise of Georges — 
 Defeated. Arrest of Moreau — of Pichcgru — and Georges. Captain Wright. 
 Duke D'Enghien seized at Strashurgh— hurried to Paris — transferred to VincenncB 
 — Tried by a Military (commission — Condemned — and Executed. Universal 
 Horror of France and F.urope. Buonaparte's Vindication of his Conduct — His 
 Defence considered. Piclie^ru found Dead in his Prison — Attempt to explain his 
 Death by charging him witli Suicide. Captain Wright found with his Throat cut. 
 A similar attempt made. Georges and other Conspirators Tried — Condemned — 
 and Executed. Royalists silenced. Moreau sent into Exile 3{)8 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. 
 General indignation of Europe in consequence of the Murder of the Duke D'En- 
 
 §hien. Russia complains to Talleyrand of the violation of Baden ; and, along with 
 weden, remonstrates in a Note, laid before the German Diet — but without effect. 
 Charges brouglit by Buonaparte against Mr. Drake, and Mr. Spencer Smith — who 
 are accordingly dismissed from the Courts of Stutgard and Munich. Seizure — im- 
 prisonment — and dismissal — of Sir George Rumbold, the British Envoy at Lower 
 Saxony. Treachery attempted against Lord Elgin, by the Agents of Buonaparte — 
 Details — Defeated by the exemplary Prudence of that Nobleman. These Charges 
 brought before the House of Commons, and peremptorily denied by the Chancel- 
 lor of the Exchequer 397 
 
 CHAPTER XLVni. 
 Napoleon meditates a change of title from Chief Consul to Emperor. A Motion to 
 this purpose brought forward in the Tribunate — Opposed by Carnot — Adopted by th« 
 Tribunate and Senate. Outline of the New System — Coldly received by the Peo- 
 ple. Napoleon visits Boulogne, Aix-la-Chapelle, and the Frontiers of Germany, 
 where he is received with respect. The Coronation. Pius VIL is summoned 
 from Rome to perform the Ceremony at Paris. Details. Reflections. Changes 
 that took place in Italy. Napoleon appointed Sovereign of Italy, and Crowned 
 at Milan. Genoa annesed to France 400 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 Napoleon addresses a Second Letter to the King of England personally — ^The folly 
 and inconvenience of this Innovation discussed — Answered by the British Secre- 
 tary of State to Talleyrand. Alliance formed betwixt Russia and England. Prus- 
 sia keeps aloof, and the Emperor Alexander visits Berlin. Austria prepares for 
 War, and marches an Army into Bavaria — Her impolicy in prematurely commenc- 
 ing Hostilities, and in her Conduct to Bavaria. Unsoldierlike Conduct of the 
 Austrian General, Mack. Buonaparte is joined by the Electors of Bavaria and 
 Wirtemburg. and the Duke of Baden. Skilful Manoeuvres of the French Gener- 
 als, and successive losses of the Auslrians. Napoleon violates the Neutrality of 
 Prussia, by marching through Anspach and Bareuth. Further Losses of the Aus- 
 trian Leaders, and consequent Disunion among them. Mack is cooped up in Ulm. 
 Issues a formidable Declaration on the 16th October — and surrenders on the fol- 
 lowing day. Fatal Results of this Man's Poltroonery, want of Skill, and probable 
 Treachery " 407 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Position of the French Armies. Napoleon advances towards Vienna. The Emperor 
 Francis leaves his Capital. French enter Vienna on the 13th November. Review 
 of the French Successes in Italy and the Tyrol. Schemes of Napoleon to force 
 on a general Battle — He succeeds. Battle of Austerlitz is fought on the 2d De- 
 cember, and the combined Austro-Russian Armies completely defeated. Inter- 
 view betwixt the Emperor of Austria and Napoleon. The Emperor .Alexander re- 
 treats towards Russia. Treaty of Presburgh signed on the 2tith December— Its 
 Conditions. Fate of the King of Sweden — and of the Two Sicilies 413 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 Relative situations of France and England. Hostilities commenced with Spain, by 
 the Stoppage, by Commodore Moore, of four Spanish Galleons, when three of 
 their Escort were taken, and one blew up. Napoleon's Plan of Invasion states 
 and discussed. John Clerk of Eldin's great system of Breaking the Line, explain- 
 ed — Whether it could have been advantageously used by France ? The French 
 .\dmiral, Villeneuve, forms a junction with the Spanish Fleet under Gravina — At- 
 tacked and defeated by Sir Robert Calder, with the loss of two Ships of the I^ine. 
 Nelson appointed to the Command in the Mediterranean. DvTTr.E of Trafak- 
 €AR fought on the 21st October 180G. Particulars of the Force on each Side, 
 and details of the B.ittle. Death of iVelsoti. Behaviour of Napoleon on learning 
 the Intelligence of this .Signal Defeat. Villeneuve commits Suicide. Address of 
 Buonaparte to the Legislative Body. Statement of Monsieur de Champagny on 
 ♦lie Internal Improvements of Franco. Elevation of Napoleon's Brothers, Louis
 
 1- ' 
 
 CONTENTS. XT 
 
 and Joseph, to the Thrones of Holland and Naples. Principality of Lucca con- 
 ferred on Eliza, the eldest Sister of Buonaparte, and that of Guaatalla on Pauline, 
 the youngest. Other alliances made by his Family. Reflections. Napoleon ap- 
 points a new Hereditary Nobility. The Policy of this Measure considered. Con- 
 yerts from the old Noblesse anxiously sought for and liberally rewarded. Confed- 
 eration of the Rhine established, and Napoleon appointed Protector. The Em- 
 peror Francis lays aside the Imperial Crown of Germany, retaining only the Title 
 of Emperor of Austria. Vacillating and Impolitic Conduct of Prussia 480 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 Death of Pitt — He is succeeded by Fos as Prime Minister. Circumstances which 
 led to Negotiation with France. The Earl of Lauderdale is sent to Paris as the 
 British Negotiator. Negotiation is broken off in consequence of the Refusal of 
 England to cede Sicily to France, and Lord Lauderdale leaves Paris. Reasonings 
 on the stability of Peace, had Peace been obtained. Prussia — her Temporizing 
 Policy — She takes alarm — An attempt made by her to form a Confederacy in op- 
 position to that of the Rhine, is defeated by the Machinations of Napoleon. 
 Strong and general disposition of the Prussians to War. Legal Murder of Palm, 
 a bookseller, by authority of Buonaparte, aggravates this feeling. The Emperor 
 Alexander again visits Berlin. Prussia begins to arm in August 1806, and after 
 some Negotiation, takes the Figld in October, under the Duke of Brunswick. Im- 
 policy of the Plans of the Campaign. Details. Action fought, and lost by the 
 Prussians, at Saalfeld — Followed by the decisive Defeat of Auerstadt, or Jena, on 
 the 13lh October. Particulars of the Battle. Duke of Brunswick mortally 
 wounded. Consequences of this total Defeat. All the strong places in Prussia 
 given up without resistance. Buonaparte takes possession of Berlin on the 25th. 
 Explanation of the different Situations of Austria and Prussia after their several 
 Defeats. Reflections on the Fall of Prussia *31 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 Ungenerous conduct of Buonaparte to the Duke of Brunswick. The approach of 
 the French Troops to BruuswicK compels the dying Prince to cause himself to be 
 carried to Altona, where he expires. Oath of Revenge taken by his Son. At 
 Potsdam and Berlin, the proceedings of Napoleon are equally cruel and vindictive 
 — His Clemency towards the Prince of Hatzfeld — His Treatment of the Lesser 
 Powers. Jerome Buonaparte. Seizure of Hamburg. Celebrated Beilin Decrees 
 against British Commerce — Reasoning as to their justice — Napoleon rejects all 
 application from the continontal commercial towns to relax or repeal them. Com- 
 merce, nevertheless, flourishes in spite of them. Second anticipation called for 
 of the Conscription for 1807. The King of Prussia applies for an Armistice, 
 which is clogged with such harsh terms that he refuses them 443 
 
 " CHAPTER LIV. 
 Retrospect of the Partition of PoFand. Napoleon receives addresses from Poland, 
 which he evades — He advances into Poland, Bennigsen retreating before him. 
 Character of the Russian Soldiery. The Cossacks. Engagement at Pultusk, on 
 26th November, terminating to the disadvantage of the French. Bennigsen con- 
 tinues his retreat. The French go into winter quarters. Bennigsen appointed 
 Commander-in-chief in the place of Kaminskoy, who shows symptoms of insanity 
 — He resumes offensive operations. Battle of Eylau, fought on 8th February 1807. 
 Claimed as a victory by both parties. The loss on both sides amounts to 60,000 
 men killed, the greater part Frenchmen. Bennigsen retreats upon Konigsberg. 
 Napoleon oflers favourable terms for an Armistice to the King of Prussia, who 
 refuses to treat, save for a general Peace. Napoleon falls back to the line of the 
 Vistula. Dantzic is besieged, and surrenders. Russian army is poorly recruited 
 — the French powerfully. Actions during the Summer. Battle of Heilsberg, and 
 retreat of the Russians. Battle of Friedland on 13th June, and defeat of the Rus- 
 sians, after a hard-fought day. An Armistice takes place on the 23d 448 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 British Expedition to Calabria, under Sir John Stuart. Character of the People. 
 Opposed by General Regnier. Battle of Maida, 6th July 1806. Defeat of the 
 French. Calabria evacuated by the British. Erroneous Commercial Views, and 
 Military Plans, of the British Ministry. Unsuccessful Attack on Buenos Ayrea. 
 General Whitelocke — is cashiered. Expedition against Turkey, and its Depend- 
 encies. Admiral Duckworth's Squadron sent against Constantinople. Passes and 
 repasses the Dardanelles, without accomplishing anything. Expedition against 
 Alexandria. It is occupied by General Eraser. Rosetta attacked. British Troopi 
 defeated — and withdrawn from Egypt, September 1807. Curacoa and Cape of 
 Good Hope taken by England. Assumption of more energetic Measures on the 
 part of the British Government. Expedition against Copenhagen — its Causes and 
 Objects — its Citadel, Forts, and Fleet, surrendered to the British. Eflects of thii
 
 t*i CONTENTS. 
 
 Proceeding upon France — and Russia. Coalition of France, Russia, Austria, aad 
 Prussia, against British Commerce 45S 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 View of the Internal Government of Napoleon at the period'of the Peace of Ulsit. 
 The Tribunate abolished Council of State. Prefectures — Their nature and ob- 
 jects described. The Code Napoleon — Its Provisions — Its Merits and Defects — 
 Comparison betwixt that Code and the Jurisprudence of England. Laudable efibrta 
 of Napoleon to carry it into effect 468 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 System of Education introduced into France by Napoleon. National University — 
 its nature and objects. Lyceums. Proposed Establishment at Meudon. . . . 48S 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 Military Details. Plan of the Conscription — Its Nature-~and Effects — Enforced 
 with unsparing rigour. Its influence upon the general Character of the French 
 Soldiery. New mode of conducting Hostilities introduced by the Revolution. 
 Constitution of the French Armies. Forced Marches. La Maraude — Its Nature 
 —and Effects — on the Enemy's Country, and on the French Soldieis themselves. 
 Policy of Napoleon, in his personal conduct to his Officers and Soldiers. Altered 
 Character of the French Soldiery during, and after, the Revolution— Explained. . 486 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 Effects of the Peace of Tilsit. Napoleon's views of a State of Peace— Contrasted 
 with those of England. The Continental System— Its Nature — and Effects. 
 Berlin and Milan Decrees. British Orders in Council. Spain — Retrospect of the 
 Relations of that Country with France since the Revolution. Godoy — His influ 
 ence — Character — and Political Views. Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, applies 
 to Napoleon for aid. Affairs of Portugal. Treaty of Fontainbleau. Departure 
 of tlie Prince Regeut for Brazil. Entrance of Junot into Lisbon — His unbounded 
 Rapacity. Disturbances at Rladrid. Ferdinana dotcttcd in a Plot against his 
 Father, and imprisoned. King Charles applies to Napoleon. Wily Policy of 
 Buonaparte — Orders the French Army to enter Spain 489
 
 LIFE 
 
 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 VIEW OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Review of the State of Europe after the Peace of Versailles. — England— France — 
 Spain— Prussia. — Imprudent Innovations of the Emperor Joseph. — Disturbances i» 
 hii domi7iions. — liussia. — France — Her ancient ^^ystem of Monarchy — how organiz- 
 ed— Causes of its decay — Decay of the A'obility as a body— The neio Nobles — The 
 Country Nobles— The Nobles of the highest Order.— The Church— The higher Or- 
 ders of the Clergy— The lower Orders— The Commons — Their increase in Power 
 and Importance — Their Claims opposed to those of the Privileged Classes. 
 
 When we look back on past events, how- 
 ever important, it is difficult to recall the 
 precise sensations with which we viewed 
 them in their progroBo, and lo recollect the 
 fears, hopes, doubts, and difficulties, for 
 which Time and the course of Fortune 
 have formed a termination, so different 
 probably from that which we had antici- 
 pated. When the rush of the inundation 
 was before our eyes, and in our ears, we 
 were scarce able to remember the state of 
 things before its rage commenced, and 
 when, subsequently, the deluge has sub- 
 sided within the natural limits of the stream, 
 it is still more difficult to recollect with 
 
 Erecision the terrors it inspired when at its 
 eight. That which is present possesses 
 euch power over our senses and our imag- 
 ination, that it requires no common effort 
 to recall those sensations which expired 
 with preceding events. Yet, to do this is 
 the peculiar province of history, which 
 will be written and read in vain, unl&ss it 
 can connect with its details an accurate 
 idea of the impression which these produc- 
 ed on men's minds while they were yet in 
 their transit. It is with this view that we 
 attempt to resume the history of France 
 and of Europe, at the conclusion of the 
 American war, a period now only remem- 
 bered by the more advanced part of the 
 present generation. 
 
 The peace concluded at Versailles in 
 1783, was reasonably supposed to augur a 
 long repose to Europe. The high and em- 
 ulous tone assumed in former times by the 
 rival nations, had been lowered paid tamed 
 by recent circumstances. England, under 
 the guidance of a weak, at least a most un- 
 lucky administration, had purchased peace 
 at the expense of her North American Em- 
 
 Eire, and the resignation of supremacy over 
 er colonies ; a loss great in itself, but ex- 
 aggerated in the eyes of the nation, by the 
 tending asunder of the tiea of common de- 
 
 scent, and exclusive commercial intei- 
 course, and by a sense of the wars waged, 
 .and expenses encountered for the protec- 
 tion and advancement of the fair empire 
 which England found herself obliged to 
 surrender. The lustre of the British anna, 
 so brilliant at the Peace of Fontainbleau, 
 had been tarnished, if not extinguished. 
 In spite of tlie gallant defence of Gibraltar, 
 the general result of the war on land had 
 been unfavourable to her military reputa- 
 tion J and notwithstanding the opportune 
 and splendid victories of Rodney, the 
 coasts of Britain had been insulted, and 
 her fleets compelled to retire into port, 
 while those of her combined enemies rode 
 masters of the Channel. The spirit of the 
 country also had been lowered, by the un- 
 equal contest which had been sustained, 
 and by the sense that her naval superiority 
 was an object of invidious hatred to united 
 Europe. This had been lately tnade mani- 
 fest, by the armed alliance of the northern 
 nations, which, though termed a neutrality, 
 was, in fact, a league made to abate the 
 pretensions of England to maritime supre- 
 macy. There are to be added, to these 
 disheartening and depressing circumstan- 
 ces, the decay of commerce during the 
 long course of hostilities, with the want of 
 credit and depression of the price of land, 
 which are the usual consequences of a 
 transition from war to peace, ere capital 
 hm regained its natural channel. All these 
 things being ^considered, it appeared the 
 manifest interest of England to husband 
 her exhausted resources, and recruit her 
 diminished wealth, by cultivating peace 
 and tranquillity for a long course of time. 
 William Pitt, never more distinguished 
 than in his financial operations, was engag- 
 ed in new-modelling the revenue of the 
 country, and adding to the return of the 
 taxes, while he diminished their pressure. 
 It could scarcely be supposed that any ob
 
 20 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 {Chap. L 
 
 ject of national ambition would have been 
 permitted to disturb him in a task so neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Neither had France, the natural rival of 
 England, come off from the contest in such 
 circumstances of triumph and advantage, 
 BS were likely to encourage her to a spee- 
 dy renewal of the struggle. It is true, she 
 had seen and contributed to the humil- 
 iation of her ancient enemy, but she had 
 paid dearly for the gratification of her re- 
 venge, as nations and individuals are wont 
 to do. Her finances, tampered with by suc- 
 cessive sets of ministers, who looked no 
 farther than to temporary expedients for 
 carrying on the necessary expenses of gov- 
 ernment, now presented an alarming pros- 
 pect ; and it seemed as if the wildest and 
 most enterprising ministers would hardly 
 have dared, in their most sanguine mo- 
 ments, to have recommended either war 
 itself, or any measures of which war might 
 be the consequence. 
 
 Spain was in a like state of exhaustion. 
 She had been hurried into the alliance 
 against England, partly by the consequen- 
 ces of the family alliance betwixt her Bour- 
 bons and those of France, but still more by 
 the eager and engrossing desire to possess 
 herself once more of Gibraltar. The Cas- 
 tilian pride, long galled by beholding this 
 important fortress m the hands of heretrcs 
 and foreigners, highly applauded the war, 
 which gave a chance of its recovery, and 
 seconded, with all the power of the king- 
 dom, the gigantic efforts made for that pur- 
 pose. All these immense preparations, 
 with the most formidable means of attack 
 ever used on such an occasion, had totally 
 failed, and the kingdom of Spain remained 
 at once stunned and mortified by the fail- 
 are, and broken down by the expenses of 
 so huge an undertaking. An attack upon 
 Algiers, in 1784-5, tended to exhaust the 
 remains of her military ardour. Spain, 
 therefore, relapsed, into inactivity and re- 
 pose, dispirited by the miscarriage of her 
 favourite scheme, and possessing neither 
 the means nor the audacity necessary to 
 meditate its speedy renewal. 
 
 ?ft-.ither were the sovereigns of the late 
 belligerent powers of tliat ambitious and 
 active character which was likely to drag 
 the kingdoms which they swayed into the 
 renewal of hostilities. The classic eye of 
 the historian Gibbon saw Arcadius and 
 Honorius, the weakest and most indolent 
 of the Roman Emperors, slumbering upon 
 the thrones of the House of Bourbon ; and 
 the just and loyal character of George HI. 
 precluded any effort on liis p.ort to under- 
 mine the peace which he signed unwilling- 
 ly, or to attempt the resumption of those 
 rights which he had formerly, though reluc- 
 tantly, surrendered. His expression to the 
 ambassador of the United States, was a trait 
 of character never to be omitted or forgot- 
 ten ; — " I have boen the last man in my do- 
 minions to accede to this peace, which sep- 
 arates America from my kingdoms — I will 
 be the first man, now it is made, to resist 
 any attempt to infringe it." 
 
 The acute historian whom v.e have .il- 
 
 ready quoted seems to have apprehended, 
 in the character and ambition of the north- 
 em potentates, those causes of disturbance 
 which were not to be found in the western 
 part of the European Republic. But Cadi- 
 arine, the Semiramis of the north, had her 
 views of extensive dominion chiefly turned 
 towards her eastern and southern frontier, 
 and the finances of her immense, but com- 
 paratively poor and unpeopled empire, were 
 burthened with the expenses of a luxurious 
 court, requiring at once to be gratified with 
 the splendour of Asia, and the refinements 
 of Europe. The strength of her empire 
 also, though immense, was unwieldy, and 
 the empire had not been uniformly fortunate 
 in its wars with the more prompt, though 
 less numerous armies of the King of Prus- 
 sia, her neighbour. Thus Russia, no leas 
 than other powers in Europe, seemed more 
 desirous of reposing her gigantic strength, 
 than of adventuring upon new and hazardous 
 conquests. Even her viewe upon Turkey, 
 which circumstances seemed to render 
 more flattering than ever, she was content- 
 ed to resign, in 1784, when only half ac- 
 complished; a pledge, not only that her 
 thoughts were sincerely bent upon peace, 
 but that she felt the necessity of resisting 
 even the most tempting opi^ortunities for 
 resuming the course of victory which she 
 had, foul j'canj before, pursued so success- 
 
 fully. 
 
 Frederick of Prussia himself, who had 
 been so long, by dint of genius and talent, 
 the animating soul of the political intrigues 
 in Europe, had run too many risks, in the 
 course of his adventurous and eventful 
 reign, to be desirous of encountering new 
 hazards in the extremity of life. His em- 
 pire, extended as it was, from the shores of 
 the Baltic to the frontiers of Holland, con- 
 sisted of various detached portions, which 
 it required the aid of lime to consolidate 
 into a single kingdom. And, accustomed 
 to study the signs of the times, it could not 
 have escaped Frederick, that sentiments 
 and feelings were afloat, connected with, 
 and fostered by, the spirit of unlimited in- 
 vestigation, which- he himself had termed 
 philosophy, such as might soon call upon 
 the sovereigns to arm in a common cause, 
 and ought to prevent them, in the mean- 
 while, from wasting their strength in mutu- 
 al struggles, and giving advantage to a 
 common enemy. 
 
 If such anticipations occupied and agi- 
 tated the last years of Frederick's life, they 
 had not the same effect upon the Emperor 
 Joseph II. who, without the same clear- 
 eyed precision of judgment, endeavoured 
 to tread in the steps of the King of Prussia, 
 as a reformer, and as a conqueror. It would 
 be unjust to deny to this prince the praise 
 of considerable talents, and inclination to 
 employ them for the good of the country 
 which he ruled. But it frequently happens, 
 that the talents, and even the virtues or 
 sovereigns, exercised without respect to 
 time and circumstances, become the mis- 
 fortune of their government. It is particu- 
 larly the lot of princes, endowed with such 
 personal advantages, to be confident in
 
 Chap. /.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 21 
 
 their own abilities, and, unless educated in 
 the severe school of adversity, to prefer 
 favourites, who assent to, and repeat their 
 opinions, to independent counsellors, whose 
 experience might correct their own hasty 
 conclusions. And thus, although the per- 
 sonal merits of Joseph IL were in every 
 respect acknowledged, his talents in a great 
 measure recognized, and his patriotic in- 
 tentions scarcely disputable, it fell to his 
 lot, during the period we treat of, to excite 
 more apprehension and discontent among 
 his subjects, than had he been a prince 
 content to rule by a minister, and wear out 
 an indolent life in the forms and pleasures 
 of a court. Accordingly, the emperor, in 
 many of his schemes of reform, too hastily 
 adopted, or at least too incautiously and 
 peremptorily executed, had the misfortune 
 to introduce fearful commotions among the 
 people, whose situation he meant to ameli- 
 orate, while in his external relations he 
 rendered Austria the quarter from which a 
 breach of European peace was most to be 
 apprehended. It seemed, indeed, as if the 
 Emperor had contrived to reconcile his 
 philosophical professions with the exercise 
 of the most selfish policy towards the Unit- 
 ed Provinces, both in opening the Scheldt, 
 and in dismantling the barrier towns, which 
 had been placed in the«r hands as a defence 
 against the power of France. By the first or 
 these measures the Emperor gained nothing 
 but the paltry sum of money for which he 
 sold his pretensions, and the shame of hav- 
 ing shown himself ungrateful for the impor- 
 tant services which the United Provinces 
 had rendered to his ancestors. But the 
 dismantling of the Dutch barrier was subse- 
 quently attended by circumstances alike 
 calamitous to Austria, and to the whole 
 continent of Europe. 
 
 In another respect, the reforms carried 
 through by Joseph II. tended to prepare the 
 public mind for future innovations made 
 with a ruder hand, and upon a much larger 
 «cale. The suppression of the religious 
 orders, and the appropriation of their reve- 
 nues to the general purposes of govern- 
 ment, had in it something to flatter the 
 feelings of those of the reformed religion ; 
 but, in a moral point of view, the seizing 
 upon the property of any private individu- 
 «J, or public body, is an invasion of the 
 most sacred principles of public justice, 
 and such spoliation cannot be vindicated 
 by urgent circumstances of state necessity, 
 or any plausible pretext of state-advantage 
 whatsoever, since no necessity can vindi- 
 cate what is in itself unjust, and no public 
 ttdvantaige can compensate a breach of 
 public faith. Joseph was also the first 
 Catholic sovereign who broke through the 
 «olcmn degree of reverence attached by 
 that religion to the person of the Sovereign 
 Pontiff. The Pope's fruitless and humili- 
 ating visit to Vienna furnished the shadow 
 of a precedent for the conduct of Napoleon 
 to Pius VII. 
 
 -Another and yet less justifiable cause of 
 Innovation, placed in peril, and left in doubt 
 •nd discontent some of the fairest provinc- 
 es of the Austrian dominions, and those 
 
 which the wisest of their princes had gor» 
 erned with peculiar tenderness and moder- 
 ation. The Austrian Netherlands had been 
 in a literal sense dismantled and left open 
 to the first invader, by the demolition of 
 the barrier fortresses ; and it seems to have 
 been the systematic purpose of the Empe- 
 ror to eradicate and destroy that love and 
 regard for their prince and his government, 
 which in time of need proves the most ef- 
 fectual moral substitute for moats and ram- 
 parts. The history of the house of Burgun-i 
 dy bore witness on every page to the love 
 of the Flemings for liberty, and the jealousy 
 with which they have from the earliest age"« 
 watched the privileges they had obtain- 
 ed from their princes. Yet in that coun- 
 try, and amongst those people, Joseph car- 
 ried on his measures of innovation with a 
 hand so unsparing, as if he meant to bring 
 the question of liberty or arbitrary power 
 to a very brief and military decision be- 
 twixt him and his subjects. 
 
 His alterations were not in Flanders, aa 
 elsewhere, confined to the ecclesiastical 
 state alone, although such innovations were 
 peculiarly offensive to a people rigidly 
 Catholic, but were extended through the 
 most important parts of the civil govern- 
 ment. Changes in the courts of justice 
 were threatened — the Great Seal, which 
 
 ha<l hithorio r<>m.iin«>d vfith the Chancellor 
 
 of the States, was transferred to the Impe- 
 rial Minister — a Council of State, compos- 
 ed of Commissioners nominated by the 
 Emperor, was appointed to discharge the 
 duties hitherto intrusted to the Standing 
 Committee of the States of Brabant — their 
 Universities were altered and new-model- 
 led — and their magistrates subjected to ar- 
 bitrary arrests and sent to Vienna, instead 
 of being tried in their own country and by 
 their own laws. The Flemish people be- 
 held these innovations with the sentiments 
 natural to freemen, and not a little stimu- 
 lated certainly by the scenes which had 
 lately passed in North America, where, un- 
 der circumstances of far less provocation, a 
 large empire had emancipated itself from 
 the mother country. The states remon- 
 strated loudly, and refused subuiission to 
 the decrees which encroached on their con- 
 stitutional liberties, and at length arrayed a 
 military force in support of their patriotic 
 opposition. 
 
 Joseph, who at the same time he thug 
 wantonly provoked the States and people of 
 Flanders, had been seduced by Russia to 
 join her ambitious plan upon Turkey, bent 
 apparently before the storm he had excited, 
 and for a time yielded to accommodation 
 with his subjects of Flanders, renounced 
 the most obnoxious of his new measures, 
 and confirmed the privileges of the nation 
 at what was called the Joyous Entry. But 
 this spirit of conciliation was only assumed 
 for the purpose of deception ; for so soon 
 as he had assembled in Flanders what waa 
 deemed a sufficient armed force to sustain 
 his despotic purposes, the Emperor threw 
 off" the mask, and, by the most violent acts 
 of military force, endeavoured to overthrow 
 the constitution he had agreed to observe,
 
 22 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. I. 
 
 and to enforce the arbitrary measures which 
 he had pretended td abandon. For a brief 
 period of two years, Flanders remained in 
 a state of suppressed, but deeply-founded 
 and wide extended discontent, watching 
 for a moment favourable to freedom and to 
 vengeance. It proved an ample store-house 
 of combustibles, prompt to catch fire as the 
 flame now arising in France began to ex- 
 pand itself 5 nor can it be doubted, that the 
 condition of the Flemish provinces, wheth- 
 er considered in a military or in a political 
 light, was one of the principal causes of the 
 •ubsequent success of the French republi- 
 can arms. Joseph himself, broken-hearted 
 and dispirited, died in the very beginning 
 of the troubles he had wantonly provoked. 
 Desirous of fame as a legislator and a war- 
 rior, and certainly born with talents to ac- 
 quire It, he left his arms dishonoured by the 
 •uccesses of the despised Turks, and his 
 fair dominions of the Netherlands and of 
 Hungary upon the very eve of insurrection. 
 A lampoon, writton upon the Hospital for 
 lunatics at Vienna, might be said to be no 
 unjust epitaph for a monarch, once so hope- 
 ful and so beloved — Josephus ubique Sectin- 
 dus — hie Primus. 
 
 These Flemish disturbances might be re- 
 garded as symptoms of tho new opinions 
 which were tacitly gaining ground in Eu- 
 rope, and which precedfdtne grand explo- 
 sion, as slight shocks of an earthquake usu- 
 ally announce the approach of its general 
 con\Tilsion. The like may be said of the 
 short lived Dutch Revolution of 1787, in 
 which the ancient faction of Louvestein, 
 under the encouragement of France, for a 
 lime completely triumphed over that of the 
 Stadliolder, deposed him from his hereditary 
 command of Captain-General of the Army 
 of the States, and reduced, or endeavoured 
 to reduce, the Confederation of the United 
 States to a pure democracy. This was al- 
 io a strong sign of the times ; for although 
 totally opposite to the inclination of the 
 majority of the States-General, of the eques- 
 trian body, of the landed proprietors, nay, of 
 the very populace, most of whom were from 
 habit and principle attached to the House of 
 Orange, the burghers of the large towns 
 drove on the work of revolution with such 
 warmth of zeal and promptitude of action, 
 aa showed a great part of the middling class- 
 es to be deeply tinctured with the desire of 
 gaining further liberty, and a larger share 
 in the legislation and administration of the 
 country, than pertained to them under the 
 old oligarchical constitution. 
 
 The revolutionary government in the 
 Dutch provinces, did not, however, conduct 
 their affairs with prudence. Without wait- 
 ing to organize their own force, or weaken 
 that of the enemy — without obtaining the 
 necessary countenance and protection of 
 France, or co-operating with the malcon- 
 tents in the Austrian Netherlands, they 
 ffa.ve, by arresting the Princess of Orange 
 (sister of the King of Prussia), an opportu- 
 nity of foreign interference, of which that 
 prince failed not to avail himself. His ar- 
 mies poured into the Netherlands, com- 
 manded by the Duke of Brunswick, and 
 
 with little difficulty possessed themselvea 
 of Utrecht, Amsterdam, and the other cit- 
 ies which constituted the strength of the 
 Louvestein or republican faction. The 
 King then replaced the House of Or- 
 ange in all its power, privileges, and func- 
 tions. The conduct of the Dutch republi- 
 cans during their brief hour of authority had 
 been neither so moderate nor so popular aa 
 to make their sudden and almost unresist- 
 ing fall a matter of general regret. On the 
 contrary, it was considered as a probable 
 pledge of the continuance of peace in Eu- 
 rope, especially as France, busied with her 
 own affairs, declined interference in those 
 of the United States. 
 
 The intrigues of Russia had, in accomplish- 
 ment of the ambitious schemes of Catharine, 
 lighted up war with Sweden, as well as 
 with Turkey ;- but in both cases hostilities 
 were commenced upon the old plan of fight* 
 ing one or two battles, and wresting a for- 
 tress or a province from a neighbouring state; 
 and it seems likely, that the intervention 
 of Frapi.e and England, equally interested 
 in prp>>erving the balance of power, might 
 have ended these troubles, but for the prog- 
 ress of that great and hitherto unheard-of 
 course of events, which prepared, carried 
 on, and matured, the French Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 II io noocooary, Far the cxecution of our 
 plan, that we should review this period of 
 history, the most important, perhaps, during 
 its currency, and in its consequences, whicE 
 the annals of mankind afford ; and although 
 the very title is sufficient to awaken in 
 most bosoms either horror or admiration, 
 yet neither insensible of the blessings or 
 national liberty, nor of those which flow 
 from the protection of just laws, and a nio^ 
 erate but firm executive government, ■»« 
 may perhaps be enabled to trace its events 
 with the candour of one, who, looking back 
 on past scenes, feels divested of the keen 
 and angry spirit with which, in common 
 with his contemporaries, he may have judg- 
 ed them while they were yet in progress. 
 
 We have shortly reviewed the state of 
 Europe in general, which we have seen to 
 be either pacific, or disturbed by troubles 
 of no long duration ; but it was in France 
 that a thousand circumstances, some aris- 
 ing out of the general history of the world, 
 some peculiar to that country herself, min- 
 gled like the ingredients of the witches' 
 cauldron, to produce in succession many 
 a formidable but passing apparition, until 
 concluded by the stern Vision of absolute 
 and military power, as those in the drama 
 are introduced by tliat of the Armed Head 
 
 The first and most effective cause of the 
 Revolution, was the change which had tak- 
 en place in the feelings of the French to- 
 wards their government, and the monarch 
 who was at its head. Thq.devoted loj'alty 
 of the people to their king had oeen for 
 several ages the most marked characteristic 
 of the nation ; it was their honour in their 
 own eyes, and matter of contempt and ridi 
 cule in those of the English, because it 
 seemed in its excess to swallow up all ideaa 
 of patriotism. That very exceBs of loyalty,
 
 Chap. /.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 23 
 
 however, wns founded not on a servile, but 
 on a generous principle. France is ambi- 
 tious, fond of mflitary glory, and willingly 
 identifies herself with the fame acquired by 
 her soldiers. Do^vn to the reign of Louis 
 XV., the French monarch was, in the eyes 
 of his subjects, a general, and the whole 
 
 Seople an army. An army must be un- 
 er severe discipline, and a general must 
 possess absolute power ; but the soldier 
 feels no degradation from the restraint 
 which is necessary to his profession, and 
 without which he cannot be led to conquest. 
 Every true Frenchman, therefore, sub- 
 mitted, without scruple, to that abridge- 
 ment of personal liberty which appeared 
 necessary to render the monarch great, and 
 France victorious. The king, according 
 to this system, was regarded less as an in- 
 dividual than as the representative of the 
 concentrated honour of the kingdom ; and 
 in this sentiment, however extravagant and 
 Quixotic, there mingled much that was gen- 
 erous, patriotic, and disinterested. The 
 same feeling was awakened after all the 
 changes of the Revolution, by the wonder- 
 fiil successes of the individual of whom the 
 future volumes are to treat, and who trans- 
 ferred in many instances to his own person, 
 by deeds almost exceeding credibility, the 
 species of devoted attachment with which 
 France formerly regarrfpH tho .innient line 
 of her kings. 
 
 Thenobility shared with the king in the 
 advantages which this predilection spread 
 around him. If the monarch was regarded 
 as the chief ornament of the community, 
 they were the minor gems by whose lustre 
 that of the crown was relieved or adorned. 
 If he was the*supreme general of the state, 
 they were the officers attached to his person, 
 ■and necessary to the execution of his com- 
 mands, each in his degree bound to advance 
 the honour and glory of the common country. 
 When such sentiments were at their height, 
 there could be no murmuring against the 
 peculiar privileges of the nobility, any more 
 than against the almost absolute authority 
 of tho monarch. Each had that rank in 
 the state which was regarded as their birth- 
 right, and for one of the lower orders to re- 
 pine that he enjoyed not the immunities pe- 
 culiar to the noblesse, would have been as 
 unavailing, and as foolish, as to lament that 
 he wag not born to an independent estate. 
 Thus, the Frenchman, contented, though 
 with an illusion, laughed, danced, and in- 
 dulged all the gaiety of his national char- 
 acter, in circumstances under which his in- 
 sular neighbours would have thought the 
 slightest token of patience dishonourable 
 and degrading. The distress or privation 
 which the French plebeian suffered in his 
 own person, was made up to him in imagin- 
 ation by his interest in the national glory. 
 
 Was a citizen of Paris postponed in rank 
 to the lowest military officer, he consoled 
 himself by reading the victories of the 
 French arms in the Gazette ; and was he 
 nnduly and unequally taxed to support the 
 expense of the crown, still the public 
 feasts which were given, and the palaces 
 which were built, were to him a source of 
 
 compensation. He looked on at the Carou 
 
 sel,he admired the splendour of Versailles, 
 and enjoyed a reflected sliare of their 
 splendour, in recollecting that they display- 
 ed the magnificence of his country. This 
 state of things, however illusory, seemed, 
 while the illusion lasted, to realize the wish 
 of those legislators, who have endeavoured 
 to form a general fund of national happiness, 
 from which each individual is to draw his 
 personal share of enjoyment. If the mon- 
 arch enjoyed the display of his own grace 
 and agility, while he hunted, or rode at 
 the ring, the spectators had their share of 
 pleasure in witnessing it : if Louis had the 
 satisfaction of beholding the splendid piles 
 of Versailles and the Louvre arise at his 
 command, the subject admired them when 
 raised, and his real portion of pleasure was 
 not, perhaps, inferior to that of the founder. 
 The people were like men inconveniently 
 placed in a crowded theatre, who think 
 but little of the personal inconveniences 
 they arc subjected to by the lieat and pres- 
 sure, w}!ile their mind is engrossed by the 
 splendours of the representation. In short, 
 not only the political opinions of French- 
 men, but their actual feelings, were, in the 
 earlier days of the eighteenth century, ex- 
 pressed in the motto which they chose for 
 their national palace. — " Earth hath no Na- 
 tion like the Fxench — no Nation a city like 
 Paris, or a King like Louis." 
 
 The French enjoyed this assumed supe- 
 riority with the less chance of being unde- 
 ceived, that they listened not to any voice 
 from other lands, which pointed out the 
 deficiencies in the frame of government 
 under which they lived, or which hinted the 
 superior privileges enjoyed by the subjects 
 of a more free state. The intense love of our 
 own country, and admiration of its consti- 
 tution, is usually accompanied with a con- 
 tempt or dislike of foreign states, and their 
 modes of government. The French, in the 
 reign of Louis XIV., enamoured of their 
 own institutions, regarded those of other 
 nations as unworthy of their consideration; 
 and if they paused for a moment to gaze on 
 the complicated constitution of their great 
 rival, it was soon dismissed as a subject to- 
 tally unintelligible, with some expression 
 of pity, perhaps, for the poor sovereign who 
 had the ill luck to preside over a govern- 
 ment embarrassed by so many restraints 
 and limitations.* Yet, into whatever polit- 
 ical errors the French people were le(f by 
 the excess of their loyaity, it would be unjust 
 to brand them as a natio'i of a mean and slav- 
 ish spirit. Servitude infers dishonour, and 
 dishonour to a Frenchman is the last of evils. 
 Burke more justly regarded them as a peo- 
 ple misled to their disadvantage, by high 
 and romantic ideas of honour and fidelity, 
 and who, actuated by a principle of public 
 spirit in their submission to tlieir monarchy 
 worshipped in his person tlie fortune of 
 France, their common country. 
 
 During the reign of Louis XIV., every 
 
 * The old French proverb bore, 
 
 Le roi d'Angleterre 
 Est le roi d'Enfer.
 
 «4 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChap. I. 
 
 thing tended to support the sentimant wliich 
 connected the national honour with the 
 wara and undertakings of the king. His 
 •uccess, in the earlier years of his reign, 
 waa splendid, and he might be regarded for 
 many years, as the Dictator of Europe. 
 During this period, the universal opinion 
 of his talents, together with his successes 
 abroad, and his magnificence at home, fos- 
 tered the idea that the Grand Monaique 
 was in himself the tutelar deity, and only 
 representative of the great nation whose 
 powers he wielded. Sorrow and desolation 
 came on his latter years ; but be it said to 
 honour of the French people, that the devot- 
 ed allegiance they had paid to Louis in pros- 
 perity, was not withdrawn when fortune 
 •ecmed to have turned her back upon her 
 original favourite. France poured her youtli 
 forth as readily, if not so gaily, to repair the 
 defeats of her monarch's old age, as she had 
 previously yielded them to secure and ex- 
 tend the victories of his early reign. Lou- 
 is had perfectly succeeded in establishing 
 the crown as the sole pivot upon which pub- 
 lic affairs turned, and in attaching to his 
 person, as the representative of France, all 
 the importance which in other countries is 
 given to the great body of the nation. 
 
 Nor had the spirit of the French mon- 
 arcUy, in surrounding itself with all the 
 
 dignity of al)60lUt« power, failed to-occTirc 
 
 the support of those auxiliaries which have 
 the most extended influence upon the pub- 
 lic mind, by engaging at once religion and 
 iiterature in defence of its authority. The 
 (Jallican Church, more dependent upon 
 the monarch, and less so upon the Pope, 
 tlian is usual in Catholic countries, gave to 
 the power of the crown all the mysterious 
 and supernatural terrors annexed to an ori- 
 ;fin in divine right, and directed against 
 those who encroached on the limits of the 
 royal prerogative, or even ventured to scru- 
 tinise too minutely the foundation of its 
 authority, the penalties annexed to a breach 
 (d the divine law. Louis XIV. repaid this 
 important service by a constant, and even 
 tcnipulous attention to observances pre- 
 ecribed by the church, which strengthened, 
 in the eyes of the public, the alliance so 
 •trictly formed betwixt the altar and the 
 throne. Those who look to the private 
 morals of the monarch may indeed form 
 some doubt of the sincerity of his religious 
 professions, considering how little they in- 
 niienced his practice ; and yet when we 
 reflect upon the frequent inconsistencies 
 of mankind in tliis particular, we may hes- 
 itate to charge with hypocrisy a conduct, 
 which was dictated perhaps as much by 
 ;onBcience as by political convenience. 
 Even judging more severely, it must be 
 •llowed that hypocrisy, though so dif- 
 erent from religion, indicates its exist- 
 ence, as smoke points out that of pure fire. 
 Hypocrisy cannot exist unless religion be 
 •d a certain extent held in esteem, because 
 no one would be at the trouble to assume a 
 mask which was not respectable, and so 
 hi compliance with the external forms of 
 religion is a tribute paid to the doctrines 
 which it teaches. The hypocrite assumes 
 
 a virtue if he %as it not, and the example 
 of his conduct may be salutary to others, 
 though his pretensions to piety are wick- 
 edness to Him, who trieth the heart and 
 reins. 
 
 On the other hand, the Academy fbrmed 
 by the wily Richelieu served to unite th« 
 literature of France into one focus, undei 
 the immediate patronage of the crown, to 
 whose bounty its professors were taught to 
 look even for the very meains of subsistence. 
 The greater nobles caught this ardour of pat- 
 ronage from the sovereign, and as the latter 
 pensioned and supported the principal liter- 
 ary characters of his reign, the former grant- 
 ed shelter and support to others of the sams 
 rank, who were lodged at their hotels, fed 
 at their tables, and were admitted to their 
 society upon terms somewhat less de- 
 grading than those which were granted to 
 artists and musicians, and who gave to th« 
 Great, knowledge or amusement in ex- 
 change for the hospitality they received. 
 Men in a situation so subordinate, could 
 only at first accommodate their composi- 
 tions to the taste and interest of their pro- 
 tectors. They heightened by adulation and 
 flattery the claims of the king and the no- 
 bles upon the community ; and the nation, 
 indHferent at that time to all literaturs 
 which was not of native growth, felt their 
 respect for their own government enhanced 
 and extended by the works of those men of 
 genius who flourished under its protection. 
 Such was the system of French monarchy, 
 and such it remained, in outward show at 
 least, until the Peace of Fontainbleau. But 
 its foundation had been gradually under- 
 mined ; public opinion had undergone a 
 silent but almost a total change, and it 
 might be compared to some ancient tower 
 swayed from its base by the lapse of time, 
 and waiting the first blast of a hurricane, or 
 shock of an earthquake, to be prostrated in 
 Uie dust. How the lapse of half a century, 
 or little more, could have produced a 
 change so total, must next be considered ; 
 and this can only be done by viewing sepa- 
 rately the various changes which the lapse 
 of years had produce i o;i the various or- 
 ders of the State. 
 
 First, then, it is to be observed, that in 
 these latter times the wasting eftects of 
 luxury and vanity had totally ruined a great 
 part of the French nobility, a word which, in 
 respect to that country, comprehended what 
 is called in Britain the nobility and gen- 
 try, or natural aristocracy of the kingdam. 
 This body, during the reign of Louis XIV., 
 though far even then from supporting the 
 part which tlieir fathers had acted in histo- 
 ry, yet existed, as it were, through their re- 
 membrances, and disguised their depend- 
 ence upon the throne by the outward sho\» • 
 of fortune, as well as by the consequence 
 attached to liereditary right. They were 
 one step nearer the days, not then totally 
 forgotten, when the nobles of France, witn 
 their retainers, actually for ned the army 
 of the kingdom ; and they still presented, 
 to the imagination at least, the descendants 
 of a body of chivalrous heroes, ready to 
 tread in the path of their ancestors, should
 
 Chap. J] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 25 
 
 the times ever render necessary the calling 
 forth the Ban, or Arriere-Ban — the feudal 
 array of the Gallic chivalry. But this de- 
 lusion had passed away j the defence of 
 states was intrusted in France, as in other 
 countries, to the exertions of a standing ar- 
 my ; and in the latter part of the eighteenth 
 century, the nobles of France presented a 
 melancholy contrast to their predecessors. 
 The number of the order was of itself 
 sufficient to diminish its consequence. It 
 had been imprudently increased by new 
 creations. There were in the kingdom 
 about eightj' thousand families enjoying the 
 privileges of nobility ; and the order was 
 divided into different classes, which looked 
 on each other with mutual jealousy and 
 contempt. 
 
 The nrst general distinction was betwixt 
 the Ancient and Modem, or new noblesse. 
 The former were nobles of old creation, 
 whose ancestors had obtained their rank 
 from real or supposed services rendered to 
 the nation in her councils or her battles. 
 The new nobles had found an easier ac- 
 cess to the same elevation, by the purchase 
 of territories, or of offices, or of letters of 
 nobility, any of which easy modes invested 
 the owners with titles and rank, often held 
 by men whose wealth had been accumulat- 
 ed in mean and sordid occupations, or by 
 farmers-general, and, financiers whom the 
 people considered as acquiring their for- 
 tunes at the expense of the state. These 
 numerous additions to the privileged body 
 of nobles accorded ill with its original com- 
 position, and introduced schism and disun- 
 ion into the body itself. The descendants 
 of the ancient chivalry of France looked 
 with scorn and contempt upon the new 
 men, who, rising perhaps from the very lees 
 of the people, claimed from superior wealth 
 a share in the privileges of the aristocracy. 
 Again, secondly, there was amongst the 
 ancient nobles themselves, but too ample 
 room for division between the upper and 
 wealthier class of nobility, who had fortunes 
 adequate to maintain their rtink, and the 
 much more numerous body, whose poverty 
 rendered them pensioners upon the state 
 for the means of supporting their dignity. 
 Of about one thousandhouses,of which the 
 ancient noblesse is computed to have con- 
 sisted, there were not above two or three 
 hundred families who had retained the 
 means of maintaining their rank without 
 the assistance of the crown. Their claims 
 to monopolize commissions in the army, 
 and situations in the government, together 
 with their exemption from taxes, were their 
 ■ole resources ; resources burthensome to 
 the state, and odious to the people, with- 
 out being in the same degree beneficial to 
 those who enjoyed them. Even in milita- 
 ry service, which was considered as their 
 birthright, the nobility of the second class 
 were seldom permitted to rise above a cer- 
 tain limited rank. Long service might ex- 
 alt one of them to the grade of lieutenant- 
 colonel, or the government of some small 
 town, but all the better rewards of a life 
 spent in the army were reserved for nobles 
 wthe highest order. It followed aa a matter 
 Vofc. L B 
 
 of course, that amidst so many of this priv.- 
 ileged body who languished in poverty, anoi 
 could not rise from it by the ordinary paths' 
 of industry, some must have had recourse to 
 loose and dishonourable practices ; and that 
 gambling-houses and places of debauchery 
 should have been frequented and patronized 
 by individuals, whose ancient descent, ti- 
 tles, and emblems of nobility, did not save 
 them from the suspicion of very dishonoura- 
 ble conduct, the disgrace of which affected 
 the character of the whole body. 
 
 There must be noticed a third classifica- 
 tion of the order,into the Haute Noblesse, or 
 men of the highest rank, most of whom spent 
 their lives at court, and in discharge ot the 
 great offices of the crown and state, and the 
 Noblesse Campagnarde, who continued to 
 reside upon their patrimonial estates in the 
 provinces. 
 
 The noblesse of the latter class had fal- 
 len gradually into a state of general con- 
 tempt, which was deeply to be regretted. 
 They were ridiculed and scorned by the 
 courtiers, who despised the rusticity of 
 their manners, and by the nobles of new. 
 creation, who, conscious of their ov. 
 wealth, conten.ned the poverty of those an- 
 cient but decayed families. The ''bold 
 peasant" himself is not more a kingdom's 
 pride than is the plain country gentleman, 
 who, living on his own means, and amongst 
 his own people, becomes the natural pro- 
 tector and referee of the farmer and the 
 peasant, and in case of need, either the 
 firmest asserter of their rights and his own 
 against the aggressions of the crown, or the 
 independent and undaunted defender of the 
 cro-wn's rights, against the innovations of 
 political fanaticism. In La Vendue alone 
 the nobles had united their interest anci 
 their fortune with those of the peasants who 
 cultivated their estates, and there alone 
 were they found in their proper and honoura- 
 ble character of proprietors residing- on their 
 own dominions, and discharging the duties 
 which are inalienably attached to the own- 
 er of landed property. And — mark-worthy 
 circumstance ! — in La Vendue alone wajj 
 any stand made in behalf of the ancient pro- 
 prietors, constitution, or religion of France ; 
 for there alone the nobles and the cultiva- 
 tors of the soil held towards each other their 
 natural and proper relations of patron and 
 client, faithful dependents, and gene'ous 
 and affectionate superior's. In the other 
 provinces of France, the nobility, speakicg 
 generally, possessed neither power nor in- 
 fluence among the peasantry, while the pop- 
 ulation around them was guided and iiiflu 
 enced by men belonging to the church, to 
 the law, or to business ; classes which were 
 in general bett^JUducated, better informe4. 
 and possessed ofmbre tal'^nt and knowle^je 
 of the world, than the poor Noblesse 
 Campagnarde, who seemed as much IpnLk- 
 ed, caged, and imprisoned within the re- 
 straints of their rank, as if they bad been 
 shut up within the dungeons of tke'.r ruiu- 
 ous chateaux ; and who had only th^. titles 
 and dusty parchments to oppose to tke real 
 superiority of wealth and infortimti<»n so 
 generally to be found in the dass wiucit
 
 26 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. I. 
 
 they affected to despise. Hence, Sdgur 
 describes the country gentlemen of his 
 Tounger days as punctilious, ignorant, and 
 <luarA;lsome, shunned by the better inform- 
 ed of the middle classes, idle and dissipat- 
 ed, and wasting their leisure hours in cof- 
 fee-houses, theatres, and billiard-rooms. 
 
 The more wealthy families, and the high 
 noblesse, as they were called, saw this de- 
 gradation of the inferior part of their order 
 without pity, or rather with pleasure. 
 These last had risen as much above their 
 natural duties, as the rural nobility had sunk 
 beneath them. They had too well followed 
 the course which Richelieu had contrived 
 to recommend to their fathers, and instead 
 of acting as the natural chiefs and leaders of 
 the nobility and gentry of the provinces, 
 they were continually engaged in intriguing 
 for charges round the king's person, for 
 posts in the administration, for additional 
 titles and decorations— for all and every 
 thing which could make the successful 
 courtier, and distinguish him from the inde- 
 pendent noble. Their education and habits 
 also were totally unfavourable to grave or 
 serious thought and exertion. If the trum- 
 pet had sounded, it would have found a 
 ready echo in their bosoms ; but light liter- 
 ature at best, and much more frequently 
 silly and frivolous amusements, a constant 
 pursuit of pleasure, and a perpetual succes- 
 sion of intrigues, either of love or petty 
 politics, made their character, in time of 
 peace, approach in insignificance to that of 
 the women of the court, whom it was the 
 business of their lives to captivate and 
 amuse.* There were noble exceptions, but 
 in general the order, in evejy thing but 
 military courage, had assumed a trivial and 
 effeminate character, from which patriotic 
 Bacrifices, or masculine wisdom, were 
 scarcely to be expected. 
 
 While the first nobles of FraD<'e were 
 engaged in these frivolous pursuits, their 
 procureurs, bailiffs, stewards, intendants, or 
 by whatsoever name their agents and man- 
 agers were designated, enjoyed the real 
 influence which their constituents rejected 
 as beneath them, rose into a degree of au- 
 thority and credit, which eclipsed recollec- 
 tion of the distant and regardless proprietor, 
 and formed a rank in the state not very dif- 
 ferent from that of the middle-men in Ire- 
 land. These agents were necessarily of 
 plebeian birth, and their profession required 
 that they should be familiar with the de- 
 tails of public business, which they admin- 
 istered in the name of their seigneurs. 
 Many of this condition gained power and 
 wealth in the course of the Revolution, 
 thus succeeding, like an able ani intelli- 
 gent vizier, to the power which >vas forfeit- 
 •vd by the idle ana voluptuous sultan. Of 
 the hi^ noblesse it might with truth be 
 
 * See, for a curious picture of the life of 
 the French nobles of fifty years since, the 
 first volume cf Madam Genlis' Memoirs. 
 Had there been any more solid pursuits in 
 flocicty than the gay trifles she so pleasant- 
 ly describes, they could not have escaped 
 ■o intelligeut an observer. 
 
 said, that they still formed the grace of the 
 court of France, though they had ceased to 
 be its defence. They were accomplished, 
 brave, full of honour,"and in many instancei 
 endowed with talent. But the communi- 
 cation was broken oft' betwixt them and the 
 subordinate orders, over wliom, in just de- 
 gree, they ought to have possessed a natu- 
 ral influence. The chain of gradual and 
 insensible connexion was rusted by time, 
 in almost all its dependencies; forcibly 
 distorted, and contemptuously wrenched 
 assunder, in many. The noble had neg- 
 lected and flung from him the most pre- 
 cious jewel in his coronet— the love and 
 respect of the country-gentleman, the far- 
 mer, and the peasant, an advantage so nat- 
 ural to his condition in a well -constituted 
 society, and founded upon principles so 
 estimable, that he who contemns or des- 
 troys it, is guilty of little less than high 
 treason, both to his own rank, and to the 
 community in general. Such a change, 
 however, had taken place in France, so 
 that the noblesse might be compared to a 
 court-sword, the hilt carved, ornamentecL 
 and gilded, such as might grace a day of 
 parade, but the blade gone, or composed 
 of the most worthless materials. 
 
 It only remains to be mentioned, thai: 
 there subsisted, besides all the distinction* 
 we have noticed, an essential difference in 
 political opinions among the noblesse them- 
 selves, considered as a body. There were 
 many of the order, who, looking to the es- 
 igencies of the kingdom, were patriotically 
 disposed to sacrifice their own exclusive 
 privileges, in order to afford a chance of its 
 regeneration. These of course were dispos- 
 ed to favour an alteration or reform in the 
 original constitution of France ; but besides 
 these enlightened individuals, the nobility 
 had the misfortune to include many disap- 
 pointed and desperate men, ungratified by 
 any of the advantages which their rank 
 made them capable cf receiving, and whoso 
 advantages of birth and education only ren- 
 dered them more deeply dangerous, or 
 more daringly profligate. A plebeian, dis- 
 honoured by his vices, or depressed by the 
 poverty which is their consequence, sinks 
 easily into the insignificance from which 
 wealth or character alone raised him; but 
 the noble often retains the means, as well 
 as the desire to avenge himself on society, 
 for an expulsion which he feels not the 
 less because he is conscious of deserving 
 it. Such were the debauched Roman 
 youth, among whom were found Catiline, 
 and associates equal in talents and in de- 
 pravity to their leader; and such was the 
 celebrated Mirabeau, wlio, almost expelled 
 from his own class, as an irreclaimable 
 profligate, entered the arena of the Revolu- 
 tion as a first-rate reformer, and a popular 
 advocate of the lower orders. 
 
 The state of the Church, that second 
 pillar of the throne, was scarce more solid 
 than that of the Nobility. Generally speak- 
 ing, it might be said, that, for a long time. 
 the higher orders of the clergy had ceased 
 to take a vital concern in their professiot, 
 or to exercise its functions in a mannei
 
 Chap. I.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 27 
 
 which interested the reelings^nd affections 
 of men. 
 
 The Catholic Church had grown old, and 
 unfortunately did not possess the means of 
 renovating her doctrines, or improving her 
 constitution, so as to keep pace with the 
 enlargement of the human understanding. 
 The lofty claims to infallibility which she 
 had set up and maintained during the Mid- 
 dle Ages, claims which she could neither 
 renounce nor modify, now threatened in 
 more enlightened times, like battlements 
 too heavy for the foundation, to be the 
 means of ruining the edifice they were de- 
 signed to defend. Vestigia nulla retror- 
 tum, continued to be the motto of the 
 Church of Rome. She could explain noth- 
 ing, soften nothing, renounce nothing, con- 
 •istently with her assertion of impeccabili- 
 ty. The whole trash which had been ac- 
 cumulated for ages of darkness and igno- 
 rance, whether consisting of cittravagant 
 pretensions, incredible assertions, absurd 
 doctrines which confounded the under- 
 standing, or puerile ceremonies which re- 
 volted the taste, were alike incapable of 
 being explained away or abandoned. It 
 would certainly have been (humanly speak- 
 ing) advantageous, alike for the Church of 
 Rome, and for Christianity in general, that 
 the former had possessed the means of re- 
 linquishing her extravagant claims, modify- 
 ing her more obnoxious doctrines, and re- 
 trenching her superstitious ceremonial, as 
 increasing knowledge showed the injustice 
 of the one, and the absurdity of the other. 
 But this power she dared not assume; and 
 hence, perhaps, the great schism which di- 
 vides the Christian world, which might 
 otherwise never have existed, or at least 
 not in its present extended and embittered 
 •tate But, in all events, the Church of 
 Rome, retaining the spiritual empire over 
 BO large and fair a portion of the Christian 
 world, would not have been reduced to the 
 alternative of either defending propositions, 
 which, in the eyes of all enlightened men, 
 are altogether untenable, or of beholding 
 the most essential and vital doctrines of 
 Christianity confounded with them, and 
 the whole system exposed to the scorn of 
 the infidel. The more enlightened and 
 fietter informed part of the French nation 
 had fallen very generally into the latter ex- 
 treme. 
 
 Infidelity, in attacking the absurd claims 
 and extravagant doctrines of the Church of 
 Rome, had artfully availed herself of those 
 abuses, as if they had been really a part of 
 Che Christian religion ; and they whose 
 credulity could not digest the grossest arti- 
 cles of the papist creed, thought themselves 
 entitled to conclude, in general, against 
 religion itself, from the abuses engrafted 
 upon it by ignorance and priestcraft. The 
 same circumstances which favoured the as- 
 sault, tended to weaken the defence. Em- 
 barrassed by the necessity of defending the 
 mass of human inventions with which their 
 Church had obscured and deformed Chris- 
 tianity, tne Catholic clergy were not the 
 best .advocates even in the best of causes ; 
 and though there .were many briUiaot ex- 
 
 ceptions, yet it must be owned that a great 
 part of the higher orders of the priesthood 
 gave themselves little trouble about main- 
 taining the doctrines, or extending the in- 
 fluence of the Church, considering it only 
 in the light of an asylum, where, under 
 the condition of certain renunciations, they 
 enjoyed, in indolent tranquillity, a stale of 
 ease and luxury. Those who thought on 
 the subject more deeply, were contented 
 quietly to repose the safety of the Church 
 upon the restrictions on the press, which 
 prevented the possibility of free discussion. 
 The usual effect followed; and many who, 
 if manly and open debate upon theological 
 subjects had been allowed, would doubtless 
 have been enabled to winnow the wheat 
 from the chaff, were, in the state of dark- 
 ness to which they were reduced, led to 
 reject Christianity itself, along with the 
 corruptions of the Romish Church, and to 
 become absolute infidels instead of reform- 
 ed Christians. 
 
 The long and violent dispute also betwixt 
 the Jesuits and the Jansenists, had for many 
 years tended to lessen the general consid- 
 eration for the Church at large, and espe- 
 cially for the higher orders of the clergy. 
 In that quarrel, much had taken place that 
 was disgraceful. The mask of religion has 
 been often used to cover more savage and 
 extensive persecutions^ but at no time did 
 the spirit of intrigue, of personal malice 
 of slander and circumvention, appear more 
 disgustingly from under the sacred disguise 
 and in the eyes of the thoughtless and the 
 vulgar, the general cause of religion suffer 
 ed in proportion. 
 
 The number of the clergy, who were 
 thus indifferent to doctrine or duty, was 
 greatly increased, since the promotion to 
 the great benefices had ceased to be dis- 
 tributed with regard to the morals, piety, 
 talents, and erudition of the candidates, 
 but was bestowed among the younger 
 branches of the noblesse, apon men who 
 were at little pains to reconcile the loose- 
 ness of their former habits arid opinions 
 with the sanctity of their new profession, 
 and who, embracing the Church solely as a 
 means of maintenance, were little calcu- 
 lated by their lives or learning to extend 
 its consideration. Among other vile inno- 
 vations of the celebrated regent Duke of 
 Orleans, he set the most barefaced example 
 of such dishonourable preferment, and had 
 increased in proportion the contempt od- 
 tertained for the hierarchy, even in its 
 highest dignities, since how was it possible 
 to respect the purple itself, after it had 
 covered the shoulaeia of the infamous 
 Dubois 1 
 
 It might have been expected, and it was 
 doubtless in a great measure the case, that 
 the respect paid to the characters and efB- 
 cient utility of the curates, upon whom, 
 generally speaking, the charge of souls 
 actually devolved, might have made up for 
 the want of consideration withhoM from the 
 higher orders of the Church. Tkere can 
 be no doubt that this respectable botly of 
 churchmen possessed great and deserved 
 iniluonce over their parif^hi^oers ; but thea
 
 28 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap L 
 
 tliey weie themselves languishing under 
 poverty :ind neglect, and, as human beings, 
 cannot be supposed to have viewed v/ith 
 indifrersnce their superiors enjoying wealth 
 and ease, while in some cases they dishon- 
 oured the robe they wore, and in others 
 disowned the doctrines they were appoint- 
 ed to teach. Alive to feelings so natural, 
 and mingling with the middling classes, of" 
 which they formed a most respectable por- 
 tion, they must necessarily have become 
 imbued with their principles and opinions, 
 and a very obvious train of reasoning would 
 extend the consequences to their own con- 
 dition. If the state was encumbered rather 
 than benefited by the privileges of the 
 higher order, was not the Church in the 
 same condition ? And if secular rank was 
 to be thrown open as a general object of 
 ambition to the able and the worthy, ought 
 not the dignities of the Church to be ren- 
 dered more accessible to those, who, in 
 humility and truth, discharged the toilsome 
 duties of its inferior offices, and who might 
 therefore claim, in due degree of succes- 
 sion, to attain higher preferment ? There 
 can be no injustice in ascribing to this 
 body sentiments, which might have been 
 no less just regarding the Church than ad- 
 vantageous to themselves ; and, accord- 
 ingly, it was not long before this body of 
 churchmen showed distinctly, that their po- 
 litical views were the same with those of 
 the Third Estate, to which they solemnly 
 united themselves, strengthening thereby 
 greatly the first revolutionary movements. 
 But their conduct, when they beheld the 
 whole system of their religion aimed at, 
 should acquit the French clerg}', of the 
 charge of self-interest, since no body, con- 
 sidered as such, ever showed itself more 
 willing to encofUnter persecution, and sub- 
 mit to privation, for conscience' sake. 
 While the Noblesse and the Church, 
 - considered as branches of the state, were 
 thus divided amongst themselves, and fal- 
 len into discredit with the nation at large ; 
 while they were envied for their ancient 
 immunities, without being any longer fear- 
 ed for their ppwer ; while they were ridi- 
 culed at once and hated for the assumption 
 of a superiority which their personal quali- 
 ties did not always vindicate, the lowest 
 ■• order, the Commons, or, as they were at 
 } that time termed, the Third Estate, had 
 ! gradually acquired an extent and impor- 
 , tance unknovvn to the feudal ages, in which 
 originated the ancient division of the es- 
 tates of the kingdom. The Third Estate 
 no longer, as in the days of Henery IV. , 
 consisted merely of the burghers and petty 
 vaders in the small towns of a feudal king- 
 dom, bred up almost as the vassals of the 
 nobles and clergy, by whose expenditure 
 they acquired their living. Commerce and 
 colonies had introduced wealth, from 
 sources to which the nobles and the church- 
 men had no access. Not only a very great 
 proportion of the disposable capital was in 
 the hands of the Third Estate, who thus 
 formed the bulk of the moneyed interest of 
 France, but a large share of the landed 
 proper^ was also in their possession. 
 
 There was, moreover, the influenea 
 which many plebeians possessed, as credit- 
 ors, over those needy nobles whom they 
 had supplied with money, while another 
 portion of the same class rose into wealth 
 and consideration, at the expense of the 
 more opulent patricians who were ruining 
 themselves, Paris had increased to a tre- 
 mendous extent, and her citizens had risen 
 to a corresponding degree of consideration: 
 and while they profited by the luxury and 
 dissipation, both of the court and courtiers, 
 had become rich in proportion as the gov- 
 ernment and privileged classes grew poor. 
 Those citizens who were thus enriched, 
 endeavoured, by bestowing on their fami- 
 lies all the advantages of good education, 
 to counterbalance their inferiority of birth, 
 and to qualify their children to support 
 their part in the scenes, to which their al- 
 tered fortunes, and the prospects of the 
 country, appeared to call tliem. In short, 
 it is not too much to say, that the middling 
 classes acquired the advantages of wealth, 
 consequence, and effective power, in a pro- 
 portion more than equal to that in which 
 the nobility had lost these attributes- 
 Thus, the Third Estate seemed to increase 
 in extent, number, and strength, like a 
 waxing inundation, threatening with every 
 increasing wave to overwhelm the ancient 
 and decayed barriers of exclusions and im- 
 munities, behind which the privileged ranks 
 still fortified themselves. 
 
 It was not in the nature of man, that the 
 bold, the talented, the ambitious, of a rank 
 which felt its own power and consequence, 
 should be long contented to remain acqui- 
 escent in political regulations, which do- 
 pressed them in the state of society be- 
 neath men to whom they felt themselves 
 equal in all respects, excepting the facti- 
 tious circumstances of birth, or of church 
 orders. It was no less impossible that they 
 should long continue satisfied with the feu- 
 dal dogma, which exempted the noblesse 
 from taxes, because they served the nation 
 with their sword, and the clergy, because 
 they propitiated Heaven in its favour with 
 their prayers. The maxirn, however true 
 in the feudal ages when it originated, had 
 become sai extravagant legal fiction in the 
 eighteenth century, when all the world 
 knew that both the noble soldier and the 
 priest were paid for the services they no 
 longer rendered to the state, while the ro- 
 turier had both valour and learning to fight 
 his own battles and perform his own devo- 
 tions j and when, in fact, it was their arrna 
 which combated, and their learning which 
 enlightened the state, rather than those of 
 the privileged orders. 
 
 Thus, a body, opulent and important, and 
 carrying along with their claims the sym- 
 pathy of the whole people, were arranged 
 in formidable array against the privilegei 
 of the nobles and clergy, and bound to fur- 
 ther the approaching changes by the strong 
 est of human ties, emulation and self- 
 interest. 
 
 The point was stated with unusual frank- 
 ness by Emery, a distinguished member 
 of the National Assembly,, and a man of
 
 Ckap.n.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 29 
 
 nonour and talent. In the course of a con- 
 fidential communication with the celebrat- 
 ed Marquis de Bouille, the latter had avow- 
 ed his principles of royalty, and his detest- 
 ation of the new constitution, to which he 
 said he only rendered obedience, because 
 the King had sworn to maintain it. " You 
 are right, being yourself a nobleman." re- 
 
 flied Emery with equal candour ; '• and had 
 been born noble, such would have been 
 my principles; but I, a plebeian Avocat, 
 will adhere to that constitution which has 
 called me, and those of my rank, out of the 
 state of incapacity and degradation in which 
 the Revolution found us." 
 
 Considering the situation, therefore, of 
 the three separate bodies, which, before the 
 revolutionary impulse commenced, were 
 the constituent parts of the kingdom of 
 
 Frauice, it was evident, that in case of » 
 collision, the Nobles and Clergy might es- 
 teem themselves fortunate, if, divided as 
 they were among themselves, they could 
 maintain an effectual defence of the whole, 
 or a portion of their privileges, while the 
 Third Estate, confident in their numbers 
 and in their unanimity, were ready to as- 
 sail and carry by storm the whole system, 
 over the least breach which might be ef- 
 fected in the ancient constitution. Lally 
 Tolendal gave a comprehensive view of 
 the state of parties in these words : — " The 
 Commons desired to conquer the Nobles to 
 preserve what they already possessed. The 
 Clergy stood inactive, resolved to join the 
 victorious party. If there was a man in 
 France who wished for concoru and peace, 
 it was the King. 
 
 CEAF. II. 
 
 State of France continued. — State of Public Opinion. — Men of Letters encouraged by 
 the Great. — Disadvantages attending this Patronage. — Licentious tendency of th* 
 French Literature — Their Irreligious and Infidel Opinions. — Free Opinions on Poli- 
 tics permitted to be expressed in an abstract and speculative but not in a practical 
 Form. — Disadvantages arising from the suppression of Free Discussion. — Angloma- 
 nia — Share of France in the American War. — Disposition of the Troops icho r»- 
 tumed from America. 
 
 We have viewed France as it stood in its 
 grand political divisions previous to the 
 Revolution, and we have seen that there 
 existed strong motives for change, and that a 
 great force was prepared to level institutions 
 which were crumbling to pieces of them- 
 selves. It is now necessary to review the 
 state of the popular mind, and consider up- 
 on what principles, and to what extent the 
 approaching changes were likely to ope- 
 rate, and at what point they might be ex- 
 pected to stop. Here, as with respect to 
 the ranKs of society, a tacit but almost to- 
 tal change had been operated in the feel- 
 ings and sentiments of the public, princi- 
 pally occaisioned, doubtless, by the great 
 ascendency acquired by literature — that 
 tree of knowledge of good and evil, which, 
 amidst the richest and most wholesome 
 fruits, bears others, fair in show, and sweet 
 to the taste, but having the properties of 
 the most deadly poison. 
 
 The French, tne most ingenious people 
 in Europe, and the most susceptible of 
 those pleasures which arise from conversa- 
 tion and literary discussion, had early call- 
 ed in the assistance of men of genius to 
 enhance their relish for society. The no- 
 bles, without renouncing their aristocratic 
 superiority, — which, on the contrary, was 
 rendered more striking by the contrast, — 
 
 Cermitted literary talents to be a passport 
 ito their saloons. The wealthy financier, 
 and opulent merchant, emulated the nobil- 
 ity in this as in other articles of taste and 
 splendour ; and their coteries, as well as 
 those of the aristocracy, were open to men 
 of letters, who were in many cases content- 
 ed to enjoy luxury at the expense of inde- 
 pendence. Assuredly this species of pa- 
 tronage, while it often flowed from the van- 
 
 ity or egotism of the patrons, was not much 
 calculated to enhance the character of those 
 who were protected. Professors of litera- 
 ture, thus mingling in the society of the 
 noble and the wealthy upon suflFerance, held 
 a rank scarce more high than that of musi- 
 cians or actors, from amongst whom indi- 
 viduals have often, by their talents ano 
 character, become members of the best so- 
 ciety, while the castes to which such indi- 
 viduals belong, remain in general exposed 
 to the most humiliating contempt. The 
 lady of quality, who smiled on the man of 
 letters, and the man of rank who admitted 
 him to his intimacy, still retained the 
 consciousness that he was not like them- 
 selves, formed out of the " porcelain ciay of 
 the earth," and even while receiving their 
 bounties, or participating in their pleasures, 
 the favourite savant must often have been 
 disturbed by the reflection, that he was on- 
 ly considered as a creature of sufierance, 
 whom the caprice of fashion, or a sudden 
 reaction of the ancient etiquette, might fling 
 out of the society where he was at present 
 tolerated. Under this disheartening, and 
 even degrading inferiority, the man of letters 
 might be tempted invidiously to compare 
 the luxurious style of living at which he 
 sat a permitted guest, with his own paltry 
 hired apartment, and scanty and uncertain 
 chance of support. And even those of a 
 nobler mood, when they had conceded to 
 their benefactors all the gratitude they cou'd 
 justly demand, must sometimes have regret- 
 ted their own situation. 
 
 '•' Condemn'd as needy supplicants to wait. 
 While ladies interpose and slaves debate ' 
 
 It followed, that many of the men of le^
 
 30 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IL 
 
 ters thus protected, became enemies of the 
 {)er8ons as well as the rank of their patrons ; 
 as for example, no one in the course of the 
 Pievolution expressed greater, hatred to the 
 nobility than Champfort, the favourite and 
 favoured secretary of the Prince of Cond^. 
 Occasions, too, must frequently have occur- 
 red, in which the protected person was al- 
 most inevitably forced upon comparing his 
 own natural and acquired talents with those 
 of his aristocratic patron, and the result 
 could not be other than a dislike of the in- 
 stitutions which placed him so far behind 
 persons whom, but for those prescribed 
 limits, he must have passed in the career of 
 honour and distinction. 
 
 Hence arose that frequent and close in- 
 quiry into the origin of ranks, that general 
 system of impugning the existing regula- 
 tions, and appealing to the original states 
 of society in vindication of the original 
 equality of mankmd — hence those ingen- 
 ous arguments, and eloquent tirades in fa- 
 vour of primitive and even savage independ- 
 ence, which the patricians of the day read 
 and applauded with such a smile of mixed 
 applause and pity, as they would have given 
 to the reveries of a crazed poet, while the 
 inferior ranks, participating the feelings un- 
 der which they were written, caught the 
 ardour of the eloquent authors, and rose 
 from the perusal with minds prepared to act, 
 whenever action should be necessary to 
 realize a vision so flattering. 
 
 It might have been expected that those 
 belonging to the privileged classes at least, 
 would have caught the alarm, from hearing 
 doctrines so fatal to their own interests 
 avowed so boldly, and maintained with so 
 much talent. It might have been thought 
 that they would have started when Raynal 
 proclaimed to the nations of the earth that 
 they could only be free and happy when 
 they had overthrown every throne and eve- 
 ry altar ; but no such alarm was taken. Men 
 of rank considered liberal principles as the 
 fashion of the day, and embraced them as 
 the readiest mode of showing that they 
 were above vulgar prejudices. In short, 
 they adopted political opinions as they put 
 on round hats and jockey-coats, merely be- 
 cause they were current in good society. 
 They assumed the tone of philosophers as 
 they would have done that of Arcadian 
 shepherds at a masquerade, but without any 
 more thoughts of sacrificing their own rank 
 and immunities in the one case, than of 
 actually driving their flocks a-field in the 
 other. Count S6gur gives a most interest- 
 ing account of the opinions of the young 
 French nobles, in which he himself partook 
 at this eventful period. 
 
 " Impeded in this light career by the 
 antiquated pride of the old court, the irk- 
 some etiquette of the old order of things, 
 the severity of the old clergy, the aversion 
 of our parents to our new fashions and our 
 costumes, which were favourable to the 
 principles of equality, we felt disposed to 
 adopt with enthusiasm the philosophical 
 doctrines professed by literary men, re- 
 markable for their boldness and their wit. 
 Voitaira seduced our imaginatiou ; Rous- 
 
 seau touched our hearts ; we felt a Fecrel 
 pleasure in seeing that their attacks were 
 directed against an old fabric, which pre* 
 sented to us a Gothic and ridiculous appear 
 ance. 
 
 " We were thus pleased at this petty 
 war, although it was undermining our own 
 ranks and privileges, and the remains of 
 our ancient power ; but we felt not these 
 attacks personally ; we merely witnessed 
 them. It was as yet but a war of word* 
 and paper, which did not appear to us to 
 threaten the superiority of existence we 
 enjoyed, consolidated as we thought it, by 
 a possession of many centuries. 
 
 * if # * • 
 
 " We were pleased with the courage of 
 liberty, whatever language it assumed, and 
 with the convenience of equality. There 
 is a satisfaction in descending from a high 
 rank, as long as the resumption of it is 
 thought to be free and unobstructed ; and 
 regardless, therefore, of consequences, we 
 enjoyed our patrician advantages, together 
 with the sweets of a plebeian philosophy." 
 
 We anxiously desire not to be mistaken. It 
 is not the purport of these remarks to blame 
 the French aristocracy for extending their 
 patronage to learning and to genius. The 
 purpose was honourable to themselves, and 
 fraught with high advantages to the progress 
 of society. The favour of the Great sup- 
 plied the want of public encouragement, 
 and fostered talent which otherwise might 
 never have produced its important and in- 
 appreciable fruits. But it had been better 
 for France, her nobility, and her literature^ 
 had the patronage been extended in some 
 maaner which did not intimately associate 
 the two clasoes of men. The want of inde- 
 pendence of circumstances is a severe if 
 not an absolute check to independence of 
 spirit ; and thus it oflen happened, that, to 
 gratify the passions of their protectors, or 
 to advance their interest, the men of letters. 
 were involved in the worst and most scan- 
 dalous labyrinths o(traeaa$erie, slander, and' 
 malignity ; that they were divided into des- 
 perate factions against each other, and re- 
 duced to practice all those arts of dissimu- 
 lation, flattery, and intrigue, which are the 
 greatest shame of the literary profession. 
 
 As the eighteenth century advanced, th© 
 men of literature rose in importance, and 
 aware of their own increasing power in s 
 society which was dependent on them for in- 
 tellectual gratification, they supported each. 
 other in their claims to what began to be 
 considered the dignity of a man of letters. 
 This was soon carried into extremes, and 
 assumed, even in the halls of their protect- 
 ors, a fanatical violence of opinion, and a 
 dogmatical mode of expression, which made 
 the veteran Fontenelle declare himself ter- 
 rified for the frightful degree of certainty 
 that folks met with every where in society. 
 The truth is, that men of letters, being usu 
 ally men of mere theory, have no opportu- 
 nity of measuring the opinions which they 
 have adopted upon hypothetical reasoning, 
 by the standard of practical experiment. 
 They feel their mental superiority to those 
 whom they live with and become habitual
 
 Chap, n.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 31 
 
 belieyers in, and asserters of, their own in- 
 fallibility. If moderation, command of pas- 
 sions and of temper, be part of philosophy, 
 we seldom find less philosophy actually dis- 
 played, than by a philosopher in defence of 
 a. favourite theory. Nor have we found 
 that churchmen are so desirous of forming 
 proselytes, or soldiers of extending con- 
 quests, as philosophers in making converts 
 to their own opinions. 
 
 In France they had discovered the com- 
 mand which they had acquired over the pub- 
 I lie mind, and united as they were, (and more 
 ' especially, the Encyclopedists ) they aug- 
 mented and secured that impression, by 
 never permitting the doctrines which they 
 wished to propagate to die away upon the 
 public ear. For this purpose, they took 
 care their doctrines should be echoed, like 
 - thunder amongst hills, from a hundred dif- 
 ferent points, presented in a hundred new 
 lights, illustrated by a hundred various 
 methods, until the public could no lunger 
 help receiving that as undeniable which 
 they heard from so many different quarters. 
 They could also direct every weapon of 
 satirical hostility against those who ventur- 
 ed to combat their doctrines, and as their 
 wrath was neither easily endured nor paci- 
 fied, they drove from the field most of those 
 authors, who, in opposition to their opin- 
 ions, might have exerted themselves as 
 champions of the church and monarchy. 
 
 We have already hinted at the disadvan- 
 tages under which literature labours, when 
 it is under the protection of private individ- 
 uals of opulence, rather than of the public. 
 But in yet another important respect, the 
 air of salons, mell'es, and boudoirs, is fatal, 
 in many cases, to the masculine spirit of 
 philosophical self-denial which gives digni- 
 ty to literary society. They who make 
 part of the gay society of a corrupted me- 
 tropolis, must lend their countenance to 
 follies and vices, if they do not themselves 
 practise them ; hence, perhaps, French lit- 
 erature, more than any other in Europe, 
 has been liable to the reproach of lending 
 its powerful arm to undermine whatever 
 was serious in morals, or hitherto consider- 
 ed as fixed in principle. Some of their 
 greatest authors, even Montesquieu him- 
 self, have varied their deep reasonings on 
 the origin of government, and the most 
 profound problems of philosophy, with li- 
 centious tales tending to inflame the pas- 
 eions. Hence, partaking of the licence of 
 its professors, the degraded literature of 
 mo(^m times called in to its alliance that 
 immorality, which not only Christian, but 
 even heathen philosophy had considered as 
 the greatest obstacle to a pure, wise, and 
 happy state of existence. The licentious- 
 ness which walked abroad in such disgust- 
 ing and undisguised nakedness, was a part 
 of the unhappy bequest left by the Regent 
 Duke of Orleans to the country which he 
 iovemed. The decorum of the court dur- 
 ing the times of Louis XIV. had prevented 
 stich excesses ; if there was enough of vice, 
 it was at least decently veiled. But the 
 conduct of Orleans and his minions was 
 ■larked with open infamy, deep enough to 
 
 have called down, in the age of miraclea, 
 an immediate judgment from Heaven ; and 
 crimes which the worst of Roman empe- 
 rors would have at least hidden in nis 
 solitary Isle of Caprea, were acted as pul>- 
 licly as if men had had no eyes, or God no 
 thunderbolts. 
 
 From thi« filthy Cocytus flowed those 
 streams of impurity which disgraced France 
 during the reign of Louis XV., and which, 
 notwithstanding the example of a prince who 
 was himself a model of domestic virtue, 
 continued in that of Louis XVI. to infect 
 society, morals, and, above all, literature. 
 We do not here allude merely to those 
 lighter pieces of indecency in which hu- 
 mour and fancy outrun the bounds of deli- 
 cacy. These are to be found in the litera- 
 ture of most nations, and are generally in 
 the hands of mere libertines and men of 
 pleasure, so well acquainted with the prac- 
 tice of vice, that the theory cannot make 
 them worse than they are. But there was 
 a strain of voluptuous and seducing immor- 
 ality which pervaded not only the lighter 
 and gayer compositions of the French, but 
 tinged the writings of those who called the 
 world to admire them as poets of the high- 
 est mood, or to listen as to philosophers of 
 the most lofty pretensions. Voltaire, Rous- 
 seau, Diderot, Montesquieu, — names which 
 France must always esteem her highest 
 honour, — were so guilty in this particular, 
 that the young and virtuous must either al- 
 together abstain from works the which arc 
 everywhere the topic of ordinary discussion 
 and admiration, or must peruse much that 
 is hurtful to delicacy and dangerous to mor- 
 als, in the formation of their future charac- 
 ter. The latter alternative was universally 
 adopted ; for the curious will read as th« 
 thirsty will drink, though the cup and page 
 be polluted. 
 
 So far had an indiflference to delicacy in- 
 fluenced the society of France, and so 
 widely spread was this habitual impurity of 
 language and ideas, especially among those 
 who pretended to philosophy, that Madame 
 Roland, a woman admirable for courage and 
 talents, and not, so far as appears, vicious in 
 her private morals, not only mentions the 
 profligate novels of Louvet as replete with 
 the graces of imagination, the salt of criti- 
 cism, and the tone of philosophy, but af- 
 fords the public, in her own person, details 
 with which a courtezan of the higher claas 
 should be unwilling to season her private 
 conversation.* 
 
 This licence, with the corruption of mor- 
 als, of which it is both the sign and the 
 cause, leads directly to feelings the most 
 inconsistent with manly and virtuous patri- 
 otism. Voluptuousness, and its consequen- 
 ces, render the libertine incapable of relish 
 
 * The particulars we allude to, thong'i 
 suppressed in the second edition of Mad- 
 ame Roland's Memoires, are restored in 
 the collection of Memoires respecting the 
 Revolution, now publishing at Paris. Thia 
 is fair play ; for if the details be disgusting, 
 the light which they cast upon the charac- 
 ter of the author is too valuable to be loeU
 
 32 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.n. 
 
 for what is simply and abstractedly beauti- 
 ful or sublime, whether in literature or in 
 the arts, and destroy the taste, -while they 
 decade and blunt tlie understanding. But, 
 above all, such libertinism leads to the ex- 
 clusive pursuit of selfish gratification, for 
 egotism is its foundation and its essence. 
 Egotism is necessarily the very reverse of 
 patriotism, since the one principle is found- 
 ed exclusively upon the individual's pursuit 
 of his own peculiar objects of pleasure or 
 advantage, while the other demands a sac- 
 rifice, not only of these individual pursuits, 
 but of fortune and life itself, to the cause 
 of the public weal. Patriotism has ac- 
 cordingly, always been found to flourish in 
 that state of society which is most favour- 
 able to the stern and manly virtues of self- 
 denial, temperance, chastity, contempt of 
 luxury, patient exertion, and elevated con- 
 templation ; and the public spirit of a na- 
 tion has invariably borne a just proportion 
 to its private morals. 
 
 Religion cannot exist where immorality 
 generally prevails, any more than a light 
 can burn where the air is corrupted ; and 
 
 kind, which were eternally on their lip«, 
 they would have formed the true estimate 
 of the spirit of Christianity, not from the 
 use which had been made of the mere name 
 by ambitious priests or enthusiastic fools, 
 but by its vital effects upon mankind at 
 large. They would have seen, that under 
 its influence a thousand brutal and sanguin- 
 ary superstitions had died away ; that polyg- 
 amy had been abolished, and with polyga- 
 my all the obstacles which it offers to do- 
 mestic happiness, as well as to the due ed- 
 ucation of youth, and the natural and grad- 
 ual civilization of society. They must then 
 have owned, that slavery, which they re- 
 garded or aflected to regard with such hor- 
 ror, had first been gradually ameliorated, 
 aqd finally abolished by the influence of 
 the Christian doctrines — that there was no 
 one virtue teaching to elevate laankind or 
 benefit society, which was not enjoined by 
 the precepts they endeavoured to misrepre- 
 sent and weaken — no one vice by which 
 humanity is degraded and society endanger- 
 ed, upon which Christianity hath not im- 
 posed a solemn anathema. They might 
 
 accordingly, infidelity was so general in ■ also, in their capacity of philosophers, have 
 France, as to predominate in almost every i considered the peculiar aptitude of the 
 
 rank of society. The errors of the Church 
 of Rome, as we have already noticed, con- 
 nected as they are with her ambitious at- 
 tempts towards dominion over men, in 
 their temporal as well as spiritual capac- 
 ity, had long become the argument of the 
 philosopher, and the jest of the satirist ; 
 but in exploding these pretensions, and 
 holding them up to ridicule, the philoso- 
 phers of the age involved with them the 
 general doctrines of Christianity itself ; 
 nay, some went so far as not only to deny 
 inspiration, but to extinguish, by their soph- 
 istry, the lights of natural religion, implant- 
 ed in our bosoms as a part of our birthright. 
 Like the disorderly rabble at the time of 
 the Reformation, (but with infinitely deep- 
 er guilt,) they not only pulled down the 
 Bymbols of idolatry, which ignorance or 
 priestcraft had introduced into the Chris- 
 tian Church, but sacrilegiously defaced and 
 desecrated the altar itself. This work the 
 philosophers, as they termed themselves, 
 carried on with such an unlimited and ea- 
 ger zeal, as plainly to show that infidelity, 
 33 well as divinity, hath its fanaticism. An 
 envenomed fury against religion and all its 
 doctrines ; a promptitude to avail them- 
 selves of every circumstance by which 
 Christianity could be misrepresented ; an 
 ingenuity in mixing up their opinions in 
 works, whirh seemed the least fitting to 
 involve such discussions ; above all, a per- 
 tinacity in slandering, ridiculing, and vili- 
 fying all who ventured to oppose their 
 principles, distinguished the correspond- 
 ents in this celebrated conspiracy against a 
 religion, which, however it may be defaced 
 by .mman inventions, breathes only that 
 peace on earth, and good will to the chil- 
 dren of men, which was proclaimed by 
 Heaven at its divine origin. 
 
 If these prejudiced and envenomed op- 
 ponents had possessed half the desire of 
 truth or half the benevolence towuds man- 
 
 Christian religion, not only to all ranks and 
 conditions of mankind, but to all climatea 
 and to all stages of society. Nor ought it 
 to have escaped them, that the system con- 
 tains within itself a key to those difficul- 
 ties, doubts, and mysteries, by which the 
 human mind is agitated, so soon as it is 
 raised beyond the mere objects which in- 
 terest the senses. Milton has made the 
 maze of metaphysics, and the bewildering 
 state of mind which they engender, a part 
 of the employment, and perhaps of the pun- 
 ishment, of the lower regions. Christiaai ■ 
 ty alone offers a clew to this labjrrinth, a 
 solution to these melancholy and discour- 
 aging doubts ; and however its doctrines 
 may be hard to unaided flesh and blood, yet 
 explaining as they do the system of the 
 universe, which without them is so incom- 
 prehensible, and through their practical in- 
 fluence rendering men in all ages more 
 worthy to act their part in the general plan, 
 it seems wonderful how those, whose pro- 
 fessed pursuit was wisdom, should have 
 looked on religion not alone with that in- 
 difference, which was the only feeling 
 evinced by the heathen philosophers to- 
 wards the gross mythology of their time, 
 but with hatred, malice, and all uncharita- 
 bleness. One would rather have expected, 
 that after such a review, men professing the 
 real spirit which searches after truth and 
 wisdom, if unhappily they were still unable 
 to persuade themselves that a religion so 
 worthy of the Deity (if such an expression 
 may be used) had emanated directly from 
 revelation, might have had the modesty to 
 lay their finger on their lip and distmst 
 their own judgment, instead of disturbing 
 the faith of others ; or, if confirmed in their 
 incredulity, might have taken the leisure 
 to compute at least what was to be gained 
 by rooting up a tree which bore such good- 
 ly fruits, without having the means of re- 
 placing it by aught which could prodvce
 
 Chap, a.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 38 
 
 the tame advantage to the commonwealth. 
 
 Unhappily blinded by self-conceit, heat- 
 ed with the ardour of controversy, gratify- 
 ing their literary pride by becoming mem- 
 bers of a league, in which kings and princes 
 were included, and procuring followers by 
 flattering the vanity of some, and stimulat- 
 ing the cupidity of others, the men of the 
 most distinguished parts in France became 
 allied in a sort of anti-crusade against 
 Christianity, and indeed against religious 
 principles of every kind. How they suc- 
 ceeded is too univprsaliy known ; and when 
 it is considered that these men of letters, 
 who ended by degrading the morals, and 
 destroying the religion of so many of the 
 citizens of France, had been first called in- 
 to public estimation by the patronage of the 
 higher orders, it is impossible not to think 
 of the Israelitish champion, who, brought 
 into the house of Dagon to make sport for 
 the festive assembly, ended by pulling it 
 down upon the heads of the guests — and 
 upon his own. 
 
 We do not tax the whole nation of France 
 with being infirm in religious faith, and re- 
 laxed in morals ; still less do we aver that 
 the Revolution, which broke forth in that 
 <n)untry, owed its rise exclusively to the 
 licence and infidelity, which were but too 
 current there. The necessity of a great 
 change in the principles of the ancient 
 French monarchy, had its source in the 
 nsurpations of preceding kings over the lib- 
 erties of the subject, and the opportunity 
 for effecting this change was afforded by the 
 weakness and pecuniary distresses of tlie 
 present government. These would have 
 existed had the P'rench court, and her high- 
 er orders, retained the simple and virtuous 
 manners of Sparta, united with the strong 
 and pure faith of primitive Christians. The 
 difference lay in this, that a simple, virtu- 
 ous, and religious people would have rested 
 content with such changes and alterations 
 in the constitution of their government, as 
 might remove the evils of which they had 
 just and pressing reason to complain. They 
 would have endeavoured to redress obvious 
 and practical errors in the body politic. 
 *rithout being led into extremes either by 
 the love of realizing visionary theories, the 
 vanity of enforcing their own particular 
 ■philosophical or political doctrines, or the 
 selfish arguments of demagogues, who, in 
 the prospect of bettering their own situa- 
 tion by wealth, or obtaining scope for their 
 ambition, aspired, in the words of the dra- 
 matic poet, to throw the elements of socie- 
 ty into confusion, and thus 
 
 " ■■disturb the peace of all the world, 
 
 To rule it when 'twas wildest." 
 
 It was to such men as these la»t that 
 Heaven, in punishment of the sins of 
 Prance and of Europe, and perhaps to teach 
 mankind a dreadful lesson, abandoned the 
 management of the French Revolution, the 
 original movements of which, so far as 
 they went to secure to the people the res- 
 toration of their natural liberty, and the ab- 
 •Ution of the usurpations of the crown, had 
 Vol. I. B.% 
 
 become not only desirable through the 
 change of times, and by the influence of 
 public opinion, but peremptorily necessary 
 and inevitable. 
 
 The feudal system of France, like that 
 of the rest of Europe, had, in its original 
 composition, all the germs of national free- 
 dom. The great peers, in whose hands the 
 common defence was reposed, acknowledg- 
 ed the king's power as suzerain, obeyed hie 
 commands as their military leader, and at- 
 tended /lis courts as their supreme judge ; 
 but recognised no despotic authority in the 
 crown, and were prompt to defend the 
 slightest encroachment upon their own 
 rights. If they themselves were not equ.al- 
 ly tender of the rights and liberties of their 
 own vassals, their acts of encroachment 
 flowed not from the feudal system, but from 
 its imperfections. The tendency and spirit 
 of these singular institutions, were to pre- 
 serve to eaciK individual his just and natur- 
 al rights ; but a system, almost purely mili- 
 tary, was liable to be frequontly abused by 
 the most formidable soldier, and was, be- 
 sides, otherwise ill fitted to preserve rights 
 which were purely civil. It is not necessa 
 ry to trace the progress from the days of 
 Louis XIII. downwards, by which ambitious 
 monarchs, seconded by able and subtle 
 ministers, contrived to emancipate them- 
 selves from the restraints of their powerful 
 vassals, or by which the descendants of 
 these high feudatories, who had been the 
 controllers of the prince so soon as he out- 
 stepped the bounds of legitimate authority, 
 were now ranked around the throne in the 
 capacity of mere courtiers or satellites, 
 who derived their lustre solely from the fa- 
 vour of royalty. Tliis unhappy and short- 
 sighted policy had, however, accomplished 
 its end, and the Crown had concentred 
 within its prerogative almost the entire lib- 
 erties of the French nation ; and now, like 
 an overgorged animal of prey, had reasoa- 
 to repent its fatal voracity, while it lay al 
 most helpless, exposed to the assaults c^ 
 those whom it had despoiled. 
 
 We have already observed, that for a con- 
 siderable time the Frenchman's love of his 
 country had been transferred to the crown j 
 that his national delight in martial glory fix- 
 ed his attachment upon the monarch as the 
 leader of his armies ; and that this feelinp 
 had supported the devotion of the nation to 
 Louis XIV^, not only during his victories, 
 but even amid his reverses. But the suc- 
 ceeding reign had less to impose on the im- 
 agination. The erection of a palace ob- 
 tains for the nation ths praise of magnifi- 
 cence, and the celebration of public and 
 splendid festivals gives the people at least 
 the pleasure of a holiday ; the pensioning 
 artists and men of letters, again, is honour- 
 able to the country which fosters the arts ; 
 but the court of Louis XV., undiminished 
 in expense, was also selfish in its expendi- 
 ture. The enriching of needy favourites, 
 their relations, and their parasites, had none 
 of the dazzling munificence of the Grand 
 Monarque ; and while the taxes becaoM 
 daily more oppressive on the subjects, tlM 
 mode in which the revenue was employed
 
 S4 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChap.n. 
 
 not onlj became lesi honourable to the 
 court, and less creditable to the country, 
 but lost the dazzle and show which gives 
 the lower orders pleasure as the beholders 
 of a pageant. 
 
 The consolation which the imagination 
 of the French had found in the military hon- 
 our of their nation, seemed also about to 
 fail them. The bravery of the troops re- 
 mained the same, but the genius of the 
 commanders, and the fortune of the mon- 
 arch under whose auspices they fought, had 
 in a great measure abandoned tnem, and the 
 destiny of France seemed to be on the 
 wane. The victory of Fontenoy was all 
 that was to be placed in opposition to the 
 numerous disasters of the Seven Years' 
 War, in which France was almost every- 
 where else defeated ; and it was little won- 
 der, that in a reign attended with so many 
 subjects of mortification, the enthusiastic 
 devotion of the people to the sovereign 
 should begin to give way. The King had 
 engrossed so much power in his own per- 
 son, that he had become as it were person- 
 ally responsible for every miscarriage and 
 defeat which the country underwent. Such 
 ia the risk incurred by absolute monarchs, 
 who are exposed to all the popular obloquy 
 for mal-administration, from which, in lim- 
 ited governments, kings are in a great meas- 
 ure screened by the intervention of the 
 other powers of the constitution, or by the 
 responsibility of ministers for the measures 
 which they advise ; while he that has as- 
 cended to the actual peak and extreme 
 summit of power, has no barrier left to se- 
 cure him from the tempest. 
 
 Another and most powerful cause fanned 
 the rising discontent, with which the French 
 of the eighteenth century began to regard 
 the government under which they lived. 
 Like men awakened from a flattering dream, 
 they compared their own condition with 
 that of the subjects .of free states, and per- 
 ceived that they had either never enjoyed, 
 or had been gradually robbed of, the chief 
 part of the most valuable privileges and im- 
 munities to which man may claim a natural 
 right. They had no national representation 
 of any kind, and but for the slender barrier 
 offered by the courts of justice, or parlia- 
 ments, as they were called, were subject 
 to unlimited exactions on the sole author- 
 ity of the sovereign. The property of the 
 nation was therefore at the disposal of the 
 crown, which might increase txxes to any 
 amount, and cause them to be levied by 
 force, if force was necessary. The person- 
 al freedom of the citizen wa.s equally ex- 
 posed to aggressions by lettrei dt cachet. 
 The French people, in sLort, had neither 
 in the strict sense liberty nor property, and 
 if they did not suffer all the inconveniences 
 in practice which so evil a government an- 
 nounces, it was because public opinion, the 
 softened temper of the age, and the jrood 
 disposition of the kings themselves, did not 
 permit the scenes of cruelty and despotism 
 to be revivednin the eighteenth century, 
 which Louis XL had practised tlirce ages 
 before. 
 
 Theoe abtuM, and otb«re ariiing; OMt of 
 
 the disproportioned privileges of the no- 
 blesse and the clergy, who were exempted 
 from contributing to the necessities of the 
 state ; the unequal mode of levying the 
 taxes, and other great errors of the consti- 
 tution ; above all, the total absorption of 
 every right and authority in the person of 
 the sovereign, — these were too gross in 
 their nature, and too destructive in their 
 consequences, to have escaped deep thought 
 on the part of reflecting persons, and hatred 
 and dislike from those who suffered mors 
 or less under the practical evils. 
 
 They had not, in particular, eluded tbm 
 observation and censure of the acute re»- 
 soners and deep thinkers, who had already 
 become the guiding spirits of the age ; but 
 the despotism under which they lived pre- 
 vented those speculations from assuming a 
 practical and useful character. In a fre« 
 country, the wise and the learned are not 
 only permitted, but invited, to examine the 
 institutions under which they live, to de- 
 fend them against the suggestions of rash 
 innovators, or to propose such alterations 
 as the lapse of time and change of manners 
 may render necessary. Their disquisitions 
 are, therefore, usefully and beneficially di- 
 rected to the repair of the existing govern- 
 ment, not to its demolition, and if they 
 propose alteration in parts, it is only for 
 the purpose of securing the rest of the fab- 
 ric. But in France, no opportunity was 
 permitted of free discussion on politics, any 
 more than on matters of religion. 
 
 An essay upon the French monarchy, 
 showing by what means the existing insti- 
 tutions might have been brought more into 
 union with the wishes and wants of the 
 people, must have procured for its author a 
 place in the Bastille ; and yet subsequent 
 events have shown, that a system, which 
 might have introduced prudently and grad- 
 ually into the decayed frame ot the French 
 government the spirit of liberty, which was 
 originally inherent in every feudal mon- 
 archy, would have been the most valuable 
 present which political wisdom could have 
 rendered to the country. The bonds which 
 pressed so heavily on the subject might 
 thus have been gradually slackened, and at 
 length totally removed, without the peril-- 
 ous expedient of casting them all loose ah 
 once. But the ihilosophers, who had cer- 
 tainly talents Bv'""ient for the purpose, 
 were not permitted v^ apply to the state of 
 French government the original principles, 
 on which it was founded, or to trace tho' 
 manner in which usurpations and abuses had 
 taken place, and propose a mode by which, 
 without varying its form, those encroach- 
 ments might be restrained, and those abuses 
 corrected. An author wa.s indeed at liber^ 
 to speculate at any length upon genenJ 
 doctrines of government ; he might imag- 
 ine to himself an Utopia or Atalantrs, and 
 argue upon abstract ideas of the rights in 
 which government originates ; but on no 
 account was he permitted to render any of 
 his lucubrations practically useful, by adapt- 
 ing them to the municipal regulations of 
 France. The political sage was p>laced 
 with regaled to his country, uv the eo(i^itii%
 
 Chap. II.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 
 
 36 
 
 «f a physician prescribing for the favourite 
 Sultana of some jealous despot, whom he 
 ia required to cure without seeing his pa- 
 tient, and without obtaining any accurate 
 knowledge of her malady, its symptoms, 
 and ita progress. In this manner the theo- 
 ry of goTernment was kept studiously sep- 
 arated from the practice. The political 
 philosopher might, if he pleased, speculate 
 upon the former, but he was prohibited, 
 under severe personal penalties, to illus- 
 trate the subject by any allusion to the lat- 
 ter. Thus, the eloquent and profound work 
 of Montesquieu professed, indeed, to ex- 
 plain the general rights of the people, and 
 the principles upon which government it- 
 self rested, but his pages show no mode by 
 ■which these could be resorted to for the 
 reformation of the constitution of his coun- 
 try. He laid before the patient a medical 
 treatise on disease in general, instead of a 
 special prescription, applying to his pecul- 
 iar habits and distemper. 
 
 In consequence of these unhappy re- 
 ttrictions upon open and manly political 
 discussion, the French government, in its 
 actual state, was never represented as ca- 
 pable of either improvement or regenera- 
 tion ; and while general and abstract doc- 
 trines of original freedom where every- 
 where the subject of eulogy, it was never 
 considered for a moment in what manner 
 these new and more liberal principles could 
 be applied to the improvement of the es- 
 iating system. The natural conclusion 
 must have been, that the monarchical gov- 
 ernment in France was either perfection in 
 itself, and consequently stood in need of no 
 reformation, or that it was so utterly incon- 
 sistent with the liberties of the people as 
 to be susceptible of none. No one was 
 hardy enough to claim for it the former 
 character, and, least of all, those who pre- 
 sided in its councils, and seemed to ac- 
 knowledge the imperfection of the system, 
 by prohibiting all discussion on the subject. 
 It seemed, therefore, to follow, as n^unfair 
 inference, that to obtain the advantages 
 which the new elementary doctrines held 
 fbrth, and which were so desirable and so 
 much desired, a total abolition of the ex- 
 isting government to its very foundation, 
 was an indispensable preliminary ; and 
 there is little doubt that this opinion pre- 
 Tailed so generally at the time of the Rev- 
 olutiiiu, aS ..o prevent any firm or resolute 
 stand oeing made in defence even of such 
 of the actual institutions of France, as might 
 have been amalgamated with the proposed 
 reform. 
 
 While all practical discussion of the 
 constitution oi France, as a subject either 
 above or beneath philosophical inquiry, was 
 tfcus cautiously omitted in those works 
 which pretended to treat of civil rights, 
 that of England, with its counterpoises and 
 checks, its liberal principle of equality of 
 rights, the security which it affords for per- 
 sonal liberty and individual property, and 
 the free opportunities of discussion upon 
 •Tery subject, became naturally the subject 
 <>f eulogy amongst those who were awaken- 
 log their countrymen to a sense of ths ben- 
 
 efits of national freedom. The time wu 
 past, when, as in the days of Louis XIV., 
 the French regarded the institutions of th» 
 English with contempt, as fit only for mcE- 
 chants and shopkeepers, but unworthy of 
 a nation of warriors, whose pride was in 
 their subordination to their nobles, as that 
 of the nobles consisted in obedience to 
 their king. That prejudice had long pass- 
 ed away, and Frenchmen now admired, not 
 without envy, the noble system of mascu- 
 line freedom which had beea consolidated 
 by the successive efforts of so many patri- 
 ots in so many ages. A sudden revulsion 
 seemed to take place in their general feel- 
 ings towards their neighbours, and France, 
 who had so long dictated to all Europe in 
 matters of fashion, seemed now herself 
 disposed to borrow the more simple forms 
 and fashions of her ancient rival. The 
 spirit of imitating the English, was carried 
 even to the veige of absurdity. Not only 
 did Frenchmen of quality adopt the round 
 hat and frock coat, which set etiquette at 
 defiance — not only had they English car- 
 riages, dogs, and horses, but even English 
 butlers were hired, that the wine, which 
 was the growth of France, might be placed 
 on the table with the grace peculiar to 
 England. These were, indeed, the mere 
 ebullitions of fashion carried to excess, but 
 like the foam on the crest of the billow, 
 they argued the depth and strength of tb« 
 wave beneath, and, insignificant in them- 
 selves, were formidable as evincing the 
 contempt with which the French now re- 
 garded all those forms and usages, wmcb. 
 had hitherto been thought peculiar to their 
 own country. This principle of imitation 
 rose to such extravagance, that it was hap- 
 pily termed the Anglomania.* 
 
 While the young French gallants wer« 
 emulously employed in this mimicry of the 
 English fashions, relinquishing the external 
 signs of rank which always produce some 
 effect on the vulgar, men of thought and 
 reflection were engaged in analysing those 
 principles of the British government, on. 
 which the national character has been 
 formed, and which have afforded her the 
 means of rising from so many reverses, and 
 maintaining a sway among the kingdoms 
 
 * An instance is given, ludicrous in itself, 
 but almost prophetic, when connected with 
 subsequent events. A courtier, deeply in- 
 fected with the fashion of the time, was 
 riding beside the king's carriage at a full 
 trot, without observing that his horse's 
 heels threw the mud into the royal vehicle. 
 " Vous me crottez. Monsieur," said tb« 
 King. The horseman, considering the words 
 were " Vous trottez," and that the prince 
 complimented his equestrian performance, 
 answered, " Oui, Sire, a I'Angloise.'' Th» 
 good-Jiumoured monarch drew up the glass, 
 and only said to the gentleman in the cat- 
 riage, '' Voild une Anglomanie bien forte F" 
 Alas ! the unhappy prince lived to see the 
 example of England, in her most disnui, 
 period, foUotKed to a oiucb more ferrai4^ 
 ble extend.
 
 36 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chqf.ML 
 
 of Europe, so disproportioned to her popu- 
 lation and extent. 
 
 To complete the conquest of English 
 opinions, even in France herself, over Aose 
 of French origin, came the consequences 
 of the American War. Those true French- 
 men who disdained to borrow the senti- 
 ments of political freedom from England, 
 might now derive them from a country with 
 whom France could have no rivalry, but in 
 whom, on the contrary, she recognized the 
 enemy of the island, in policy or prejudice 
 termed her own natural foe. The deep 
 sympathy manifested by the French in the 
 success of the American insurgents, though 
 diametrically opposite to the interests of 
 their government, or perhaps of the nation 
 at large, was compounded of too many in- 
 gredients influencing all ranks, to be over- 
 come or silenced by cold considerations of 
 political prudence. The nobility, always 
 eager of martial distinction, were in gen- 
 eral desirous of war, and most of them, the 
 pupils of the celebrated Encyclopedie, 
 were doubly delighted to lend their swords 
 to the cause of freedom. The statesmen 
 imagined that they saw, in the success of 
 the American insurgents, the total downfall 
 of the English empire, or at least a far de- 
 scent from that pinnacle of dignity which 
 she had attained at the Peace of 1763, and 
 they eagerly urged Louis XVL to profit by 
 the opportunity, hitherto sought in vain, of 
 humbling a rival so formidable. In the 
 courtly circles, and particularly in that 
 which surrounded Marie Antoinette, the 
 American deputation had the address or 
 good fortune to become oonular, by min- 
 gling in them with manners and sentiments 
 entirely opposite to those of courts and 
 courtiers, and exhibiting, amid the extrem- 
 ity of refinement, in dress, speech, and 
 manners, a republican simplicity, rendered 
 interesting both by the contrast, and by the 
 talents which Benjamin Franklin and Silas 
 Deane evinced, xiot only in the business of 
 diplomacy, but in the intercourse of soci- 
 ety. Impelled by these and other combin- 
 ing causes, a despotic government, whose 
 subjects were already thoroughly imbued 
 with opinions hostile to its constitution in 
 church and state, with a discontented peo- 
 ple, and a revenue well nigh bankrupt, was 
 thrust, as if by fatality, into a contest con- 
 ducted upon principles most adverse to its 
 own existence. 
 
 The King, almost alone, whether dread- 
 ing the expense of a ruinous war, whether 
 alarmed already at the progress of demo- 
 cratic principles, or whether desirous of 
 observing good faith with England, consid- 
 ered that there ought to be a stronger mo- 
 tive for war, than barely the opportunity of 
 waging it with success ; the King, there- 
 fore, almost alone, opposed this great po- 
 litical error. It was not the only occasion 
 in which, wise- than his counsellors, he 
 Bevertheless yielded up to their urgency 
 opinions fouii'iod in unbiassed morality, and 
 unpretending common sense. A good judg- 
 ment, »nd a sound inoral sense, were the 
 principal attributes of this excellent prince, 
 and happy it would have been had they 
 
 been mingled with more confidence in him- 
 self, and a deeper distrust of others. 
 
 Other counsels prevailed over the private 
 opinion of Louis — the war was commenc- 
 ed — successfully carried on, and yicton 
 ously concluded. We have seen that the 
 French auxiliaries brought with them to 
 America minds apt to receive, if not al- 
 ready* imbued with, those principles of 
 freedom for which the colonies had taken 
 up arms against the mother country, and it 
 is not. to be wondered if they returned to 
 France strongly prepossessed in favour of 
 a cause, for which they had encountered 
 danger, and in which they had reaped hon- 
 our. 
 
 The inferior officers of the French aux- 
 iliary army, chiefly men of birth, agreeably 
 to the existing rules of the French service, 
 belonged, most of them, to the class of 
 country nobles, who, from causes already 
 noticed, were far from being satisfied with 
 the system which rendered their rise diffi- 
 cult, in the only profession which their 
 prejudices, and those of France permitted 
 them to assume. The proportion of ple- 
 beians who had intruded themselves, b_T 
 connivance and indirect means, into the 
 military ranks, looked with eagerness to 
 some change whicli should give a free and 
 open career to their courage and their am- 
 bition, and were proportionally discontent- 
 ed with regulations which were recently 
 adopted, calculated to render their rise in 
 the army more diflicult than before.t In 
 these sentiments were united the whole of 
 the non-commissioned officers, and tlw 
 ranks of the common soldiery, all of whom, 
 confiding in their own courage and fortune, 
 now became indignant at those barriers 
 which closed against them the road to mil- 
 itary advancement, and to superior com- 
 mand. The officers of superior rank, who 
 derived their descent from the high no- 
 blesse, were chiefly young men of ambi- 
 tious enterprize and warm imaginations, 
 whom not only a love of honour, but an 
 entlmsiastic feeling of devotion to the new 
 philosophy, and the political principles 
 which it inculcated, had called to arms. 
 Amongst these were Rochambeau, LaFay- 
 
 * By some young enthusiasts, the as- 
 sumption of republican habits was carried 
 to all the heights of revolutionary aflect&- 
 tion and extravagance. Segur mentions a 
 young coxcomb named Mauduit, who al- 
 ready distinguished himself by renouncing 
 the ordinary courtesies of life, and insisting 
 on beinpf called by his Christian and sur- 
 name, without the usual addition of Mon- 
 sieur. 
 
 t Plebeians formerly got into the army 
 by obtaining the subscription of four men 
 of noble birth, actesting their patrician de 
 scent ; and such certificates, however false 
 could always be obtained for a small sum 
 But by a regulation of the Count Segur, 
 after the American war, candidates for the 
 military profession were oblig'^d to produce 
 a certificate of noble birth from the king's 
 genealogist, in addition to the attestattoo^ 
 which were fctmerly held suificient.
 
 Chap. IZl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 37 
 
 etle, the Lameths, Chastellux, Sfegur, and 
 others of exalted rank, but of no less exalt- 
 ed feelings for the popular cause. They 
 readily forgot, in the full current of their 
 enthusiasm, that their own rank in society 
 was endangered by the progress of popular 
 opinions, or if they at all remembered that 
 their intei et was thus implicated, it was 
 with the generous disinterestedness of 
 youth, prompt to sacrifice to the public ad- 
 vantage whatever of selfish immunities was 
 attached to their own condition. 
 
 The return of the French army from 
 America, thus brought a strong body of aux- 
 iliaries to the popular and now prevalent 
 3 unions •, and the French love of military 
 ory, which had so long been the safeguard 
 of the throne, beczjne now intimately iden- 
 tified with that distinguished portion of the 
 army which had been so lately and so suc- 
 cessfully engaged in defending the claims 
 of the people against the rights of an es- 
 tablished government. Their laurels were 
 green and newly gathered, while those 
 which had been obtained in the cause of 
 monarchy were of an ancient date, and tar- 
 nished by the reverses of the Seven Years' 
 
 War. The reception of the returned sol- 
 diery and their leaders was proportionally 
 enthusiastic ; and it became soon evident^ 
 that when the eventful strug;gle betwixt the 
 existing monarchy and its adversaries should 
 commence, the latter were to have th» 
 support in sentiment, and probably in ac- 
 tion, of that distinguished part of the ar- 
 my, which had of late maintained and re- 
 covered the military character of France. 
 It was, accordingly, from its ranks that the 
 Revolution derived many of its most formi- 
 dable champions, and it was their example 
 which detached a great proportion of the 
 French soldiers from their natural allegi- 
 ance to the sovereign, which had been lor 
 so many ages expressed in their war-cry of 
 " Vive le Roi," and which was revived, 
 though with an altered object, in that of 
 " Vive I' Empereur." 
 
 There remains but to notice the other 
 proximate cause of the Revolution, but 
 which is so intimately connected with its 
 rise and progress, that we cannot disjoin it 
 from our brief review of the revolutionary 
 movements to which it gave the first dew- 
 sive impulse. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Proximate Cavse of the Revolution. — Deranged State of the Finances. — Reforms in 
 the Royal Household. — System of Turcot and Necker — Necker's Exposition of tht 
 State of the Public Revenue. — The Red-book. — Necker displaced — Succeeded by 
 Calonne. — General State of the Revenue. — Asse7nbly of the Notables. — Calonne dis- 
 missed. — Archbishop of Sens Administrator of the Finances. — The King's ConteU 
 with the Parliament — Bed of Justice — Resistance of the Parliament and general Dis- 
 order in the Kingdom. — Vacillating Policy of the Minister — Royal Sitting — Schem* 
 of forming a Cour Pleniere — It proves ineffectual. — Archbishop of Sens retires, and 
 is succeeded by Necker — He resolves to convoke the States General. — Second Assem- 
 bly of Notables previous to Convocation of the States. — Questions as to the Number* 
 of which the Tiers Etat should consist, and the Mode in which the Estates shotdd dt' 
 liberate. 
 
 We have already compared the monarchy 
 of France to an ancient building, which, 
 however decayed by the wasting injuries of 
 time, may long remain standing, from the 
 mere adhesion of its patrts, unless it is as- 
 sailed by some sudden and unexpected 
 shock, the immediate violence of which 
 completes the ruin which the lapse of ages 
 had only prepared. Or if its materials have 
 become dry and combustible, still they may 
 long wait for the spark which is to awake a 
 general conflagration. Thus, the monarch- 
 ical government of France, notwithstand- 
 mg the unsoundness of all its parts, might 
 have for some time continued standing and 
 nnconsumed, nay, with timely and judicious 
 repairs, might have been entire at this mo- 
 ment, had the state of the finances of the 
 kingdom permitted the monarch to tempo- 
 rize with the existing discontents and the 
 progress of new opinions, without increas- 
 ing tha taxes of a people already greatly 
 overburthened, and now become fully sen- 
 sible that these burthens were unequally 
 imposed, and sometimes prodigally dis- 
 pensed. 
 
 A government, like an individual, maybe 
 guilty of many acts, both of injustice and 
 
 folly, with some chance of impunity, pro- 
 vided it possesses wealth enough to com- 
 mand partizans and to silence opposition j 
 and history shows us, that as, on the one 
 hand, wealthy and money-saving monarcha 
 have usually been able to render them- 
 selves most independent of their subjects, 
 so, on the other, it is from needy princes, 
 and when exchequers are empty, that the 
 people have obtained grants favourable to 
 freedom in exchange for their supplies. 
 The period of pecuniary distress in a gov- 
 ernment, if it be that when the subjects are 
 most exposed to oppression, is also the cri- 
 sis in which they have the best chance ot 
 recovering their political rights. 
 
 It is vain that the constitution of a. des- 
 potic government endeavours, in its forms, 
 to guard against the dangers of such con- 
 junctures, by vesting in the sovereign the 
 most complete and unbounded right to tke 
 property of his subjects. This doctrine, 
 however ample in theory, cannot in prac- 
 tice be carried beyond certain bounds, with- 
 out producing either privy conspiracy or 
 open insurrection, being the violent symp- 
 toms of the outraged feelings and exhaust- 
 ed patience of the subject, which in abiw- 
 
 ^
 
 «8 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. jn. 
 
 lute monarchies supply the want of all reg- 
 ular political checks upon the power of the 
 crown. Whenever the point of human suf- 
 ferance is exceeded, the despot must propi- 
 tiate the wrath of an insurgent people with 
 the head of his minister, or he may tremble 
 for his own.* 
 
 In constitutions of a less determined des- 
 potical character, there almost always aris- 
 es some power of check or control, how- 
 ever anomalous, which balances or coun- 
 teracts the arbitrary exactions of the sove- 
 reign, instead of the actual resistance of 
 Uie subjects, as at Fez or Constantinople. 
 This was the case in France. 
 
 No constitution could have been more 
 absolute in theory than that of France, for 
 two hundred years past, in the matter of 
 finance ; but yet in practice there exisited 
 a power of control in the Parliaments, and 
 particularly in that of Paris. These courts, 
 though strictly speaking they were consti- 
 tuted only for the administration of justice, 
 had forced themselves, or been forced by 
 circumstances, into a certain degree of po- 
 litical power, which they exercised in con- 
 trol of the crown, in the imposition of new 
 taxes. It was agreed on all hands, that the 
 royal edicts, enforcing such new imposi- 
 tions, must be registered by the Parlia- 
 ments ; but while the ministers held the 
 act of registering such edicts to be a deed 
 purely ministerial, and the discharge of a 
 function imposed by their official duty, the 
 magistrates insisted, on the other hand, that 
 they possessed the power of deliberating 
 and remonstrating, nay, of refusing to regis- 
 ter the royal edicts, and that unless so reg- 
 istered these warrants had no force or ef- 
 fect. The Parliaments exercised this pow- 
 er of control on various occasions ; and as 
 their interference was always on behalf of 
 the subject, the practice, however anoma- 
 lous, waa sanctioned by public opinion ; 
 and, in the absence of all other representa- 
 tives of the people, France naturally look- 
 ed up to the magistrates as the protectors 
 of her rights, and as the only power which 
 could offer even the semblance of resist- 
 (Uice to the arbitrary increase of the bur- 
 thens of the state. These functionaries 
 cannot be charged with carelessness or 
 cowardice in the discharge of their duty ; 
 ajid as taxes increased and became at the 
 oame time less productive, the opposition 
 of the Parliaments became more iormida- 
 ble. Louis XV. endeavoured to break their 
 spirit by euppression of their court, and 
 banishment of i^^s members from Paris ; but 
 notwithstanding this temporary victory, he 
 is said to have predicted that his successor 
 might not come off from the renewed con- 
 test so successfully. 
 
 Louis XVI.. with the plain well-meaning 
 honesty whicn marked his character, re- 
 
 • When Buonaparte expressed much re- 
 gret and anxiety on account of the ass.-vs6in- 
 ation of the Emperor P.iul, he was com- 
 forted by Fouch(5 with words to the follow- 
 ing effect:—" Que voulez vous ealin ? C'est 
 «ne mode de destitution propre a, ce pais- 
 
 stored the Parliaments to their constitntioa* 
 al powers immediately on his Accession to 
 the throne, having the generosity to regard 
 their resistance to his grandfather as a mer- 
 it rather than an offence. In the meanwhile, 
 the revenue of the kingdom liad fallen into 
 a most disastrous condition. The coutimi- 
 ed and renewed expense of unsucceBsTul 
 wars, the supplying the demands of a Inxu- 
 rious court, the gratifying hungry courtiera, 
 and enriching needy favourites, bad occa- 
 sioned large deficits upon the public in- 
 come of each successive year. The minis- 
 ters, meanwhile, anxious to provide for the 
 passing moment of their own axlministration, 
 were satisfied to put off the evil day by 
 borrowing money at he-avy interest, and 
 leasing out, in security of these loans, th* 
 various sources of revenue to the farmers- 
 general. On their pa/t, these financiers us- 
 ed the governme;nt as bankrupt prodigal* 
 are treated by usurious money-brokera, 
 who, feeding thevr extraragance with th* 
 one hand, wi*,h »,he other wring out of theit 
 ruined fortunes the most unreasonable re- 
 compence for their advances. By a long 
 succession of these ruinous loans, and tha 
 various ri-jhts granted to guarantee them, 
 the wliol.e finances of France appear to 
 h^ive fall.eu into total confusion, and present- 
 ed au iriextricable chaos to those who en- 
 deavo'ared to bring them into order. Tbm 
 farro.ers-general, therefore, however ob- 
 nor.ious to the people, who considered with 
 justice that their overgrown fortunes wer* 
 f.ourished by the life-blood of the com- 
 munity, continued to be essentially neces- 
 sary to the state, the expenses of which 
 they alone could find means of defraying ;— 
 thus supporting the government, although 
 Mirabeau said with truth, it was only in wm 
 sense which a rope supports a hanged man. 
 Louis XVI., fully sensible of the disas- 
 trous state of the public revenue, did all b« 
 could \.Q contrive a remedy. He limited 
 his personal expenses, and those of hia 
 household, with a rigour which approached 
 to parsimony, and dimmed the necessary 
 splendour of the throne. He abolished ma»- 
 ny pensions, and by doing so not only dis- 
 obliged those who were deprived of the in- 
 stant enjoyment of those gratuities, but losi 
 the attachment of the much more numer- 
 ous class of expectants, who served th» 
 court in the hope of obtaining similar grat- 
 ifications in their turn.* Lastly, he dismisa- 
 
 *■ Louis XV. had the arts if not the Tir^ 
 tues of a monarch. He asked one of his 
 ministers what he supposed might be th* 
 price of the carriage in which they wer» 
 sitting. The minister, making a greatallow- 
 ance for the monarch's paying en prince, 
 yet guessed within two thirds less than th» 
 real sum. When the king named the actu- 
 al price, the statesman exclaimed, but tha 
 monarch cut him short, "Do not attempt,* 
 he said, " to reform the expenses of my 
 household. There are too many, and to* 
 great men, who have their share in that ex- 
 tortion, and to make a reformation would 
 give too much discontent. No minister 
 can attempt i: vnitii success or with aafaty."
 
 Chap- in.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 39 
 
 •d arery large proportion of his household I principal source of popular discontent, had 
 
 troops and body-guaids, affording another 
 Bubject of discontent to the nobles, out of 
 whose families these corps were recruited, 
 and destroying with his own hand a force 
 devotedly attached to the royal person, and 
 which, in the hour of popular fury, would 
 have been a barrier of inappreciable value. 
 Thus, it was the misfortune of this well- 
 meaning prince, only to weaken his own 
 cause and endanger his safety, by those 
 sacrifices, intended to relieve the burthens 
 of the people and supply the wants of the 
 «tate. 
 
 The King adopted a broader and more 
 affectuaJ course of reform, by using the ad- 
 ▼ice of upright and skilful ministers, to in- 
 troduce, as far as possible, some degree of 
 order into the French finances. Turgot. 
 Malesherbes, and Necker, were persons of 
 anquestionable skill, of sound views, and 
 undisputed integrity ; and although the last- 
 named minister finally sunk in public es- 
 teem, it was only because circumstances 
 had excited such an extravagant opinion of 
 his powers, aa could not have been met and 
 realized by those of the first financier who 
 ever lived. These virtuous and patriotic 
 statesmen did all in their power to keep 
 afloat the vessel of the state, and to prevent 
 at least the increase of the deficit, which 
 now arose yearly on the public accounts. 
 They, and Necker in particular, introduced 
 economy and retrenchment into all depart- 
 ments of the revenue, restored the public 
 credit without increasing the national bur- 
 thens, and, by obtaining loans on reasonable 
 terms, were fortunate enough to find funds 
 for the immediate support of the American 
 war, expensive as it was, without pressing 
 on the patience of the people by new im- 
 positions. Could this state of matters have 
 been supported for some years, opportuni- 
 ties might in that time have occurred for 
 adapting the French mode of government 
 to the new lights which the age afforded 
 Public opinion, joined to the beneficence of 
 the sovereign, had already ^vTought several 
 important and desirable changes. Many ob- 
 noxious and oppressive laws had been ex- 
 pressly abrogated, or tacitly suffered to be- 
 come obsolete, and there never sate a king 
 wpon the French or any other throne, more 
 willing than Louis XVI. to sacrifice his 
 own personal interest and prerogative to 
 whatever seemed to be the benefit of the 
 state. Even at the very commencement 
 of his reign, and when obeying only the 
 dictates of his own beneficence, he reform- 
 ed the penal code of France, which then 
 savoured of the barbarous times in v/hich it 
 had originated — he abolished the use of 
 torture — he restored to freedom those pris- 
 oners of state, the mournful inhabitants of 
 thp Bastille, and other fortresses, who had 
 been the victims of his grandfather's jeal- 
 ousy — the compulsory labour called the 
 aorvet, levied from the peasantry, and one 
 
 This is the picture of the waste attending 
 a despotic government — the cup which is 
 filled to the very brim cannot be liAed to 
 (ha Upa without wftsting the contents. 
 
 been abolished in some provinces and mod- 
 ified in others — and while the police was 
 under the regulation of the sage and virti> 
 ous Malesherbes, its arbitrary powers had 
 been seldom so exercised as to become \hm 
 subject of complaint. In short, the mon- 
 arch partook the influence of public opinion 
 along with his subjects, and there seemed 
 just reason to hope, that, had times remain- 
 ed moderate, the monarchy of France might 
 have been reformed instead of being de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 Unhappily, convulsions of the state b^ 
 came from day to day more violent, and 
 Louis XVI., who possessed the benevo- 
 lence and good intentions of his ancestor. 
 Henry IV., wanted his military talents ana 
 his political firmness. In consequence of 
 this deficiency, the King suffered himself 
 to be distracted by a variety of counsels ; and 
 vacillating, as all must who act more from 
 a general desire to do that which is right, 
 than upon any determined and well-consid- 
 ered system, he placed his power and his 
 character at the mercy of the changeful 
 course of events, which firmness might have 
 at least combated, if it could not control. 
 But it is remarkable that Louis resembled 
 Charles I. of England more than any of his- 
 own ancestors, in a want of self-confidence, 
 which led to frequent alterations of mind 
 and changes of measures, aa well as in a 
 tendency to uxoriousness, which enabled 
 both HenriettaMaria, andMarie Antoinette, 
 to use a fatal influence upon their counsels. 
 Both sovereigns fell under the same sus- 
 picion of being deceitful and insincere, 
 when perhaps both, but certainly Louis, 
 only changed his course of conduct from 
 a change of his own opinion, or from suffer- 
 ing himself to be over-persuaded, and de- 
 ferrmg to the sentiments of others. 
 
 Few monarchs of any country, certainly, 
 have chans:ed their ministry, and with their 
 ministry their councils and measures, so 
 often as Louis XVI. ; and with this un- 
 happy consequence, that he neither perse- 
 vered in a firm and severe course of gov>- 
 emment long enough to inspire respect, nor 
 in a conciliatory and yieldmg policy for a 
 sufficient time to propitiate regard and in- 
 spire confidence. It is with regret we no» 
 tice this imperfection in a character other- 
 wise so excellent ; but it was one of the 
 leading causes of the Revolution, that » 
 prince, possessed of power too great to b« 
 either kept or resigned with safety, hesitat- 
 ed between the natural resolution to defend 
 his hereditary prerogative, and the sense of 
 justice which induced him to restore such 
 part of it as had been usurped from the peo- 
 ple by his ancestors. By adhering to tb« 
 one course, he might have been the con- 
 queror of the Revolution ; by adopting tb« 
 other, he had a chance to be its guide and 
 governor ; by hesitating between them, bo 
 became its victim. 
 
 It was in consequence of this vacillatios 
 of purpose that Louis, in 1781, sacrificed 
 Turgot and Necker to the intrigues of th« 
 court. These statesmen had formed & 
 plan for new-modf lling the fioaocUd pait
 
 40 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. Ul 
 
 of the French monarchy, which, while it 
 ■hould gratify the people by admitting rep- 
 resentatives on their part to some influence 
 in the imposition of new taxes, might have 
 released the King from the interference of 
 the Parliaments, (whose office of remon- 
 strance, although valuable as a shelter from 
 despotism, was often arbitrarily, and even 
 factiously exercised,) and have transferred 
 to the direct representatives of the people 
 that superintendence, wliich ought never 
 to have been in other hands. 
 
 For this purpose the ministers proposed 
 to institute, in the several provinces of 
 France, convocations of a representative 
 nature, one half of whom was to be chosen 
 from the Commons, or Third Estate, and 
 the other named by the Nobles and Clergy 
 in equal proportions, and which assemblies, 
 without having the right of rejecting the 
 edicts imptosing new taxes, were to appor- 
 tion them amongst the subjects of their sev- 
 eral provinces. This system contained in 
 it much that was excellent, and might have 
 opened the road for further improvements 
 on the constitution ; while, at the same 
 time, it would probably, so early as 1781, 
 have been received as a boon, by which the 
 subjects were called to participate in the 
 royal councils, rather than as a concession 
 extracted from the wealcness of the sove- 
 reign, or from his despair of his own resour- 
 ces. It afforded also, an opportunity pe- 
 culiarly desirable in France, of forming 
 the minds of the people to the discharge 
 of public duty. The British nation owe 
 much of the practical benefits of their 
 constitution to the habits with which al- 
 most all men are trained to exercise some 
 public right in head-courts, vestries, and 
 other deliberative bodies, where their minds 
 are habituated to the course of business, 
 and accustomed to the manner in which it 
 can be most regularly despatched. This 
 advantage would have been supplied to the 
 French by Necker's scheme. 
 
 Bat with all the advantages which it pro- 
 mised, this plan of provincial assemblies 
 miscarried, owing to the emulous opposi- 
 tion of the Parliament of Paris, who did 
 not choose that any other body than their 
 own, should be considered as the guardi- 
 ans of what remained in France of popular 
 rights. 
 
 Another measure of Necker was of more 
 dubieus policy. This was the printing and 
 publishing of his Report to the Sovereign 
 of the state of the revenues of France. The 
 mini-'ster prohal^ly thought this display of 
 caodour, wi;icii, however proper in itself, 
 wjB hitlierto unknown in the French ad- 
 ministration, mi^^ht be useful to the King, 
 whom it re])rcsented as acquiescing in pub- 
 lic opinion, and appearing not only ready, 
 but solicitous, to collect the sentiments of 
 hia subjects on the business of the state. 
 Necker might also deem the Compte Ren- 
 dt: a prudent measure on his own account, 
 to secure the popular favour, and maintain 
 himself by tiic nublic esteem against the in- 
 fluence of court intrigue. Or lastly, both 
 these motives miilit be mingled with the 
 •alural Tanity of showing Uie world that 
 
 France enjoyed, in the person of Necker, a 
 minister bold enough to penetrate into the 
 labyrinth of confusion and obscurity which 
 had been thought inextricable by all hia 
 predecessors, and was at length enabled to 
 render to Ihc sovereign and the people of 
 France a detailed and balaitced account of 
 the state of their finances. 
 
 Neither did the result of the national 
 balance-sheet appear so astounding as to 
 require its being concealed as a state mys- 
 tery. The deficit, or the balance, by which 
 the expenses of government exceeded the 
 revenue of the country, by no means indi- 
 cated a desperate state of finance, or one 
 which must either demand immense sac- 
 rifices, or otherwise lead to national bank- 
 ruptcy. It did not greatly exceed the an- 
 nual defidcation of two millions, a sum 
 which, to a country so fertile as France, 
 might even be termed trifling. At the same 
 time, Necker brought forward a variety of 
 reductions and economical arrangements, 
 by which he proposed to provide for this 
 deficiency, without either incurring debt or 
 burthening the subject with additional 
 taxes. 
 
 But although this general exposure of the 
 expenses of the state, this appeal from the 
 government tothe j>eople, had the air of a 
 frank and. generous proceeding, and was in 
 fact.a step to the great constitutional point of 
 establishing in the nation and its representa- 
 tives the sole power of granting supplies, 
 there may be doubt whetlier it was not rather 
 too hastily resorted to. Those from whose 
 eyes the cataract has been removed, are for 
 sometime deprived of light, and, in the end, 
 it is supplied to them by limited degrees, but 
 that glare which was at once poured on the 
 nation of France, served to dazzle as many 
 as it illuminated. The Compte RendwwsM 
 the general subject of conversation, not on- 
 ly in coffee-houses and public promenades^ 
 but in saloons and ladies' boudoirs, and 
 amongst society better qualified to discuss 
 the merits of the last comedy, or any other 
 frivolity of the day. The very array of fig- 
 ures had something ominous auid terrible in 
 it, and the word deficit was used, like the 
 name of Marlborough of old, to frightea 
 children with. 
 
 To most it intimated the total bankrupt- 
 cy of the nation, and prepared many to act 
 with the selfish and short-sighted licence 
 of sailors, who plunder the cargo of their 
 own vessel in the act of ship^vreck. 
 
 Others saw, in the account of expense* 
 attached to the person and dignity of the 
 prince, a wasteful expenditure, which in 
 that hour of avowed necessity a nation 
 might well dispense with. Men began to 
 number the guards and household pomp of 
 the sovereign and his court, as the daugh- 
 ters of Lear did the train of their father. 
 The reduction already commenced might 
 be carried, thought these provident persons, 
 yet farther :— 
 
 " What needs he five-and-twenty, ten, or 
 five?" 
 
 And no doubt some, even at this early peri* 
 od; arrived at the ultimate coaclusion.
 
 Chap. Iff.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 41 
 
 " What needs one ?" 
 
 Besides the domestic and household ex- 
 penses of the sovereign, which, so far as 
 personal, were on the most moderate scale, 
 the public mind was much more justly re- 
 ■volted at the large sum yearly squandered 
 among needy courtiers and their depend- 
 ants, or even less justifiably lavished upon 
 those whose rank and fortune ought to have 
 placed them far above adding to the bur- 
 thens of the subjects. The'King had endeav- 
 oured to abridge this list of gratuities and 
 pensions, but the system of corruption 
 which had prevailed for two centuries, was 
 not to be abolished in an instant; the 
 throne, already tottering, could not imme- 
 diately be deprived of the band of stipendi- 
 ary grandees whom it had so long maintain- 
 ed, and who afforded it their countenance 
 in return, and it was perhaps impolitic to 
 fix the attention of the public on a disclos- 
 ure BO p?culii.rly invidious, until the oppor- 
 tunity of correcting it should arrive :— it 
 was like the disclosure of a wasting sore, 
 useless and disgusting unless when shown 
 to a surgeon, and for the purpose of cure. 
 Yet, though the account rendered by the 
 minister of the finances, while it passed 
 from the hand of one idler to another, and 
 occupied on sofas and toilettes the place of 
 the latest novel, did doubtless engage gid- 
 dy heads in vain and dangerous speculation, 
 something was to be risked in order to pave 
 the way of regaining for the French sub- 
 jects the right most essential to freemen, 
 that of granting or refusing their own sup- 
 plies. The publicity of the distressed state 
 of the finances', induced a general convic- 
 tion that the oppressive system of taxation, 
 and that of approaching bankruptcy, which 
 was a still greater evil, could only be re- 
 moved or avoided by resorting to the nation 
 itself, convoked in their ancient form of 
 representation, which was called the States- 
 General. 
 
 It was true that, through length of time, 
 the nature and powers of this body were for- 
 gotten, if indeed they had ever been very 
 thoroughly fixed ; and it was also true that 
 the constitution of the States-General of 
 1614, which was the last date of their being 
 assembled, was not likely to suit a period 
 when the country was so much changed, 
 both in character and circumstances. The 
 doubts concerning the composition of the 
 medicine, and its probable effects, seldom 
 abate the patient's confidence. .\11 joined 
 in desiring the convocation of this repre- 
 eentative body, and all expected that such 
 an aasembly would be able to find some 
 satisfactory remedy for the pressing evils 
 of the state. The cry was general, and, as 
 usual in such cases, few who joined in it 
 knew exactly what it was they wanted. 
 
 Looking back on the period of 1780, with 
 the advantage of our own experience, it is 
 possible to see a chance, though perhaps a 
 doubtful one, of avoiding the universal 
 shipwreck which was fated to ensue. If 
 the royal go^•ernment, determining to grat- 
 ify the general wish, had taken the initiat- 
 ive in conc2ding the great national meas- 
 
 I ure as a boon flowing from the princes pure 
 ! good-will and love of his subjects, and if 
 measures had been taken rapidly and deG.- 
 sively to secure seats in these bodies, but 
 particularly i:i the Tiers Etat, to men knovm 
 for ineir moderation and adherence to the 
 monarchy, it seems probable that the Crown 
 might have secured such an interest in-* 
 body of its own creation, as would have si- 
 lenced tlie attempts of any heated spirits to 
 hurry the kingdom into absolute revolutioa. 
 The reverence paid to the throne for bo 
 many centuries, had yet all the influence 
 of unassailed sanctity ; the King was still 
 the master of an army, commanded under 
 him by his nobles, and as yet animated by 
 the spirit of loyalty, which is the natural 
 attribute of the military profession ; the 
 minds of men were not warmed at oncc^ 
 and wearied, by a fruitless and chicaning 
 delay, which only showed the extreme in» 
 disposition of the court to grant what they 
 had no means of ultimately refusing ; nor 
 had public opinion yet been agitated by the 
 bold discussions of a thousand pamphlet- 
 eers, who, under pretence of enlightening 
 the people, prepossessed their minds with 
 the most extreme ideas of the populaw char- 
 acter of the representation of the Tiera 
 Etat, and its superiority over every other 
 power of the state. Ambitious and unscru- 
 pulous men would then hardly have had the 
 ' time or boldness to form those audacious 
 pretensions which their ancestors dreamed 
 not of, and which the course of six or seven 
 years of protracted expectation, and suc- 
 cessive renewals of hope, succeeded by 
 disappointment, enabled them to mature. 
 
 Such a fatal interval, however, was suf- 
 fered to intervene, between the first idea 
 of convoking the States-General, and the 
 period when thit measure became inevita- 
 ble. Without this delay, the King, invest- 
 ed with all his royal prerogatives, and at 
 the head of the military force, might have 
 surrendered with a good grace such parta 
 of his power as were inconsistent with the 
 liberal opinions of the time, and such sur- 
 render must have been received as a grace, 
 since it could not have been exacted as & 
 sacrifice. The conduct of the government, 
 in the interim, towards the nation whose 
 representatives it was shortly to meet, re- 
 sembled that of an insane person, who 
 should by a hundred teazing and vexatious 
 insults irritate into frenzy the lion, whose 
 cage he was about to open, and to whose 
 fury he must necessarily be exposed. 
 
 Necker, whose undoubted honesty, as 
 well as his republican candour, had render- 
 ed him highly popular, had, under the in- 
 fluence of the old intriguer Maurepas, been 
 dismissed from his ofiice as Minister of Fi- 
 nance, in 1781. The witty, versatile, self- 
 ish, and cunning Maurepas had the art to 
 hold his power till the last moment of his 
 long life, and died at the moment when the 
 knell of death was a summons to call him 
 from impending ruin. He made, according 
 to an expressive northern proverb, the ■' day 
 and way alike long ;" and died just about 
 the period wlion the system of evasion and 
 palliation, of usurious loans and lavish
 
 42 
 
 LIFE OF JJAPOLEOI^ BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChap. UL 
 
 bounties, could scarce have servea longer 
 V> save him from disgrace. Ver^ennes, 
 who succeeded him, was, like himself, a 
 courtier rather than a statesman ; more stu- 
 dious to preserve his own power, by con- 
 tinuing the same system of partial expedi- 
 ents and temporary shifts, tnan willing to 
 hazard the King's favour, or the popularity 
 of his administration, by attempting any 
 ■cheme of permanent utility or general re- 
 formation. Calonne, the Minister of Fi- 
 nance, who had succeeded to that office 
 after the brief administrations of Fleury and 
 d'Ormesson, called on by his duty to the 
 Doost difficult and embarrassing branch of 
 government, was possessed of a more com- 
 prehensive genius, and more determined 
 courage, than his principal Vergennes. So 
 early as the year 1784, the deficiency be- 
 twixt the receipts of the whole revenues of 
 the state, and the expenditure, extended to 
 •is hundred and eighty-four millions of li- 
 tres, in British money about equal to twen- 
 ty-eight millions four hundred thousand 
 pounds sterling ; but then a certain large 
 portion of this debt consisted in annuities 
 granted by government, which were annu- 
 ally in the train of being extinguished by 
 the death of the holders ; and there was 
 ample reom for saving, in the mode of col- 
 lectiag the various tases. So that large as 
 the sum of deficit appeared, it could not 
 have been very formidable, considering the 
 resources of so rich a country ; but it was 
 necessary, that the pressure of new burdens, 
 to be imposed at this exigence, should be 
 equally divided amongst the orders of the 
 state. The Third Est»te, or Commons, 
 had been exhausted under the weight of 
 taxes, which fell upon them alone, and Ca- 
 lonne formed the bold and laudable design 
 of compelling the Clergy and Nobles, hith- 
 «rto exempted from taxation, to contribute 
 their share to the revenues of the state. 
 
 This, however, was, in the present state 
 of the public, too bold a scheme to be car- 
 ried into execution without the support of 
 •omething resembling a popular represent- 
 ation. At this crisis, again might Louis 
 have summoned the States-general, with 
 •ome chance of uniting their suffrages with 
 the wishes of the Crown. The King would 
 have found himself in a natural alliance 
 with the Commons, in a plan to abridge 
 those immunities, which the Clergy and 
 Nobles possessed, to the prejudice of the 
 Third Estate. He would thus, in the out- 
 ■et at least, have united the influence and 
 interests of the Crown with those of the 
 popular party, and established something 
 like a balance in the representative body, 
 in which the throne must have had consid- 
 «rable weight. 
 
 Apparently, Calonne and his principal 
 Vergennes were afraid to take this manly 
 ■nd direct course, as indeed the ministers 
 of an arbitrary monarch can rarely be sup- 
 posed willing to call in the aid of a boay 
 of popular representatives. The ministers 
 endeavoured, therefore, to supply the want 
 of a body like the States-general, by sum- 
 moning together an assembly of what was 
 tanaed the Notables, or principle persons 
 
 in the kingdom. This was in every senss 
 an unadvised measure.* With somethin* 
 resembling the form of a great national 
 council, the Notables had no right to rep- 
 resent the nation, neither did it come with- 
 in their province to pass any resolutioa 
 whatever. Their post was merely that of 
 an extraordinary body of counsellors, who 
 deliberated on any subject which the Kins 
 might submit to their consideration, ana 
 were to express their opinion in answer to 
 the sovereign's interrogatories; but an e»- 
 sembly, which could only start opinions 
 and debate upon them, without coming to 
 any effective or potential decision, was a 
 fatal resource at a crisis when decision wa« 
 peremptorily necessary, and when all vagus 
 and irrelevant discussion was, at a moment 
 of national fermentation, to be cautiously 
 avoided. Above all, there was this great 
 error in having recourse to the Assembly 
 of the Notables, that, consisting entirely 
 of the privileged orders, the council was 
 composed of the individuals most inimical 
 to the equality of taxes, and most tenacious 
 of those very immunities which were 
 struck at by the scheme of the Minister of 
 Finance. 
 
 Calonne found himself opposed at every 
 point, and received from the Notables re- 
 monstrances instead of support and counte- 
 nance. That Assembly censuring all his 
 plans, and rejecting his proposals, he was 
 in their presence like a rash necromancer, 
 who has been indeed able to raise a demon, 
 but is unequal to the task of guiding him 
 when evoked. He was further weakened 
 by the death of Vergennes, and finally 
 obliged to resign his place and his country, 
 a sacrifice at once to court intrigue ana 
 popular odium. Had this able but rash 
 minister convoked the States-general in- 
 stead of the Notables, he would have been 
 at least sure of the support of the Third 
 Estate, or Commons ; and, allied with them, 
 might have carried through so popular a 
 scheme, as that which went to establish 
 taxation upon a just and equal principle, 
 affecting the rich as well as the poor, the 
 proud prelate and wealthy noble, as well aa 
 the industrious cultivator of the soil. 
 
 Calonne having retired to England from 
 popular hatred, his perilous office devolved 
 upon the Archbishop of Sens, aflenvards 
 the Cardinal de Lomenle, who was raised 
 to the painful pre-eminencef by the intei^ 
 est of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, 
 whose excellent qualities were connected 
 with a spirit of state-intrigue proper to the 
 sex in'such elevated situations, which bat 
 too frequently thwarted or bore down the 
 more candid intentions of her husband, and 
 tended, though on her part unwittingly, to 
 give his public measures, sometimes adopW 
 ed on his own principles, and sometimes 
 influenced by her intrigues and solicita- 
 tions, an appearance of vacillation, and 
 even of duplicity, which greatly injured 
 
 * They were summoned on 29th Decem- 
 ber, 1786, and met on 22d February of th« 
 subsequent year. 
 
 tMay, 1787.
 
 dtap. in.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 43 
 
 them both in the public opinion. The new 
 minister finding it as difficult to deal with 
 the Assembly of Notables as his predeces- 
 •or, the King finally dissolved that body, 
 "without having received from them either 
 the countenance or good counsel which 
 had been expected, thus realizing the opin- 
 ion expressed by Voltaire concerning such 
 convocations : 
 
 " De tous ccs Etats I'efiet le plus commun, 
 Eatde voir tousnos maux, sans en soulager 
 
 After dismission of the Notables, the 
 minister adopted or recommended a line of 
 conduct so fluctuating and indecisive, so 
 violent at one time in support of the royal 
 prerogative, and so pusillanimous when he 
 encountered resistance from the newly- 
 awakened spirit of liberty, that had he been 
 bribed to render the Crown at once odious 
 and contemptible, or to engage his master 
 in a line of conduct which should irritate 
 the courageous, and encourage the timid, 
 among his dissatisfied subjects, the Arch- 
 bishop of Sens could hardly, after the deep- 
 est thought, have adopted measures better 
 adapted fcr such a purpose. As if deter- 
 mined to bring matters to an issue betwixt 
 the King and the Parliament of Paris, he 
 laid before the latter two new edicts for 
 taxes, similar in most respects to those 
 which had been recommended by his pred- 
 ecessor Calonne to the Notables. The 
 Parliament refused to register these edicts, 
 being the course which the minister ought 
 to have expected. He then resolved upon 
 a display of the royal prerogative in its 
 most arbitrary and obnoxious form. A Bed 
 of Justice, as it was termed, was held,* 
 where the King, presiding in person over 
 the Court of Parliament, commanded the 
 edicts imposing certain new taxes to be 
 registered in his own presence ; thus, by 
 an act of authority emanating directly from 
 the sovereign, beating down the only spe- 
 cies of opposition which the subjects, 
 through any organ whatsoever, could otfer 
 to the increase of taxation. 
 
 The Parliament yielded the semblance 
 of a momentary obedience, but protested 
 solemnly, that the edict having been regis- 
 tered solely by the royal command, and 
 against their unanimous opinion, should 
 not have the force of a law. They remon- 
 strated also to the throne in terms of great 
 freedom and energy, distinctly intimating, 
 that they could not and would not be the 
 passive instruments, through the medium 
 of whom the public was to be loaded with 
 new impositions ; and they expressed, for 
 the first time, in direct terms, the proposi- 
 tion, fraught with the fate of France, that 
 neither the edicts of the King, nor the reg- 
 istration of those edicts by the Parliament, 
 Were sufficient to impose p-^rmanent bur- 
 thens on the people ; but tKat such taxa- 
 tion was competent to the States-general 
 only. 
 
 In punishment of their undaunted defence 
 
 ' 6th .August, 1787. 
 
 of the popular cause, the Parliament ynm 
 banished to Troyes ; the government thua 
 increasing the national discontent by the 
 removal of the principal court of the king- 
 dom, and by all the evils incident to a d&- 
 lay of public justice. The Provincial Par- 
 liaments supported the principles adopted 
 by their brethren of Paris. The Chamber 
 of Accounts, and the Court of Aids, the ju- 
 dicial establishments next in rank to that 
 of the Parliament, also remonstrated against 
 the taxes, and refused to enforce tbenw 
 They were not enforced accordingly ; and 
 thus, for the first time, during two centuhea 
 at least, the royal authority of France be- 
 ing brought into direct colLsion with pat^ 
 lie opinion and resistance, was, by the en- 
 ergy of the subject, compelled to retro- 
 grade and yield ground. This was the first 
 direct and immediate movement of that 
 mighty Revolution, which afterwards rush- 
 ed to its crisis like a rock rolling down ■ 
 mountain. This was the first torch which 
 was actually applied to the various com- 
 bustibles which lay scattered through 
 France, and which we have endeavoured to 
 analyze. The flame soon spread into ths 
 provinces. The nobles of Brittany broka 
 out into a kind of insurrection ; the Parlia 
 ment of Grenoble impugned by a solemn 
 decree the legality of lettres de cachet 
 Strange and alairming fears, — wild and 
 boundless hopes, — inconsistent rumours,—t 
 a vague expectation of impending events^ 
 all contributed to agitate the public mind. 
 The quick and mercurial tempers whick 
 chiefly distinguish the nation, were half 
 maddened with suspense, while even tha 
 dull nature of the lowest and most degrad- 
 ed of the community felt the coming ii»- 
 pulse of extraordinary changes, as cattle 
 are observed to be disturbed before an ap- 
 proaching thunder-storm. 
 
 The minister could not sustain his cour- 
 age in such a menacing conjuncture, yet un- 
 happily attempted a show of resistance, in- 
 stead of leaving the King to the influenc* 
 of his own sound sense and excellent dis- 
 position, which always induced him to 
 choose the means of conciliation. Them 
 was indeed but one choice, and it lay be- 
 twixt civil war or concession. A despot 
 would have adopted the former course, and, 
 withdrawing from Paris, would have gath- 
 ered around him the army still his own. A 
 patriotic monarch (and such was Louis 
 XV'L when exercising his own judgment) 
 would have chosen the road of concession j 
 yet his steps, even in retreating, woula 
 have been so firm, asdhis attitude so man- 
 ly, that the people would not have ventur- 
 ed to ascribe to fear whait flowed solely 
 from a spirit of conciliation. But the con- 
 duct of the minister, or of those who direct- 
 ed his motions, was an alternation of irrW 
 tating opposition to the public voice, and 
 of ill-timed concession to its demands, 
 which implied an understanding impairea 
 by the perils of the conjuncture, and une- 
 qual alike to the task of avoiding them by 
 concession, or resisting them with couragCL 
 The King, indeed, recalled the Parlia- 
 ment of Paris from their exile, coming, at
 
 44 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. UL 
 
 tne same time, under an express engage- 
 ment to convoke the States-general, and 
 leading the subjects, of course, to suppose 
 that the new imposts were to be left to 
 their consideration. But, as if to irritate 
 men's minds, by showing a desire to elude 
 the execution of what had been promised, 
 the minister ventured, in an evil hour, to 
 hazard another experiment upon the firm- 
 ness of their nerves, and again to commit 
 the dignity of the sovereign by bringing 
 him personally to issue a command, which 
 experience bad shown the Parliament were 
 previously resolved to disobey. By this 
 new proceeding, the King was induced to 
 'ihold what was called a Royal Sitting of the 
 iJParliament, which resembled in all its 
 ■forms a Bed of Justice, except that it 
 aeems as if the commands of the monarch 
 were esteemed less authoritative when so 
 issued, than when they were, as on the for- 
 mer occasion, deliberated in this last ob- 
 noxious assembly. 
 
 ' Thus, at less advantage than before, and, 
 at all events, after the total failure of a 
 ibnner experiment, the King, arrayed in all 
 the forms of his royalty, once more, and for 
 the last time, convoked his Parliament in 
 person 5 and again with his own voice com- 
 manded the court to register a royal edict 
 for a loan of four hundred and twenty mil- 
 lions of francs, to be raised in the course 
 of five years. This demand gave occasion 
 to a debate which lasted nine hours, and 
 ■was only closed by the King rising up, and 
 issuing at length his positive and impera- 
 tive orders that the loan should be register- 
 ^. To the astonishment of the meeting, 
 "the first prince of the blood, the Duke of 
 Orleans, arose, as if in reply, and demanded 
 to know if they were assembled in a Bed 
 ■of Justice or a Royal Sitting; and receiv- 
 ing for answer that the latter was the 
 quality of the meeting, he entered a solemn 
 protest against the proceedings.* Thus 
 ■was the authority of the King once more 
 brought in direct opposition to the assertors 
 ■of the rights of the people, as if on pur- 
 pose to show, in the face of the whole na- 
 tion, that its terrors were only those of a 
 phantom, whose shadowy bulk might over- 
 awe the timid, but could offer no real cause 
 of fear when courageously opposed. 
 
 The minister did not, however, give way 
 without such an ineffectual struggle, as at 
 once showed the weakness of the royal au- 
 thority, and the willingness to wield it with 
 the despotic sway of former times. Two 
 members of the Parliament of Paris were 
 imprisoned in remote fortressess, and the 
 . Duke of Orleans was sent in exile to his 
 QBtat^. 
 
 A long and animated exchange of remon- 
 strances followed betwixt the King and the 
 Parliament, in which the former acknow- 
 ledged his weakness, even by entering into 
 the discussion of his prerogative, as well as 
 by the concessions he found himself oblig- 
 ed to tender. Meantime, the Archbishop 
 of Sens nourished the romantic idea of get- 
 
 • These memorable events took place on 
 19th November, 1787. 
 
 ting rid of these refrac ory courts entirely, 
 and at the same time to evade the convoO' 
 tion of the States-general, substituting ia 
 their place the erection of a Cour-pleniere, 
 or ancient I'eudal Court, composed of prin- 
 ces, peers, marshals of France, deputies 
 from the provinces, and other distinguished 
 persons, who should in future exercise all 
 the higher and nobler duties of the Parlia- 
 ments, thus reduced to their original and 
 proper duties as courts of justice. But s 
 court, or council of the ancient feudal 
 times, with so slight an infusion of popular 
 representation, could in no shape have ac- 
 corded with the ideas which now generally 
 prevailed ; and so much was this felt to be 
 the case, that many of the peers, and other 
 persons nominated members of the Cour- 
 plenikre, declined the seats proposed to 
 them, and the whole plan fell to the 
 ground. 
 
 Meantime, violence succeeded to vio- 
 lence, and remonstrance to remonstrance. 
 The Parliament of Paris, and all the pro- 
 vincial bodies of the same description, be- 
 ing suspended from their functions, and 
 the course of regular justice of course in- 
 terrupted, the spirit of revolt became gen- 
 eral through the realm, and broke out in 
 riots and insurrections of a formidable de- 
 scription ; while at the same time, the in- 
 habitants of the capital were observed to 
 become dreadfully agitated. 
 
 There wanted not writers to fan the ris- 
 ing discontent ; and what seems more sin- 
 gular, they were permitted to do so without 
 interruption, notwithstanding the deepened 
 jealousy with which free discussion waa 
 now regarded in France. Libels and satires 
 of every description were publicly circu- 
 lated, without an attempt on the part of the 
 government to suppress the publications, or 
 to punish their authors, although the most 
 scandalous attacks on the royal family, and 
 on the queen in particular, were dispersed 
 along with these political effusions. It 
 seemed as if the arm of power was para- 
 lyzed, and the bonds of authority which 
 had so long fettered the French people 
 were falling asunder of themselves ; for 
 the liberty of the press, so long unknown, 
 was now openly assumed and exercised, 
 without the government daring to interfere. 
 To conclude the picture, as if God and 
 man had alike determined the fall of this 
 ancient monarchy, a hurricane of most por- 
 tentous and unusual character burst on the 
 kingdom, and laying waste the promised 
 harvest far and wide, showed to the terrified 
 inhabitants the prospect at once of poverty 
 and famine, added to those of national 
 bankruptcy and a distracted government. 
 
 The latter evils seemed fast advancing ; 
 for the state of the finances became so ut- 
 terly desperate, that Louis was under the 
 necessity of stopping a large proportion of 
 the treasury payments, and issuing bills for 
 the deficiency. At this awful crisis, fear- 
 ing for the King, and more for himself, the 
 Archbishop of Sens retired from adminis- 
 tration,* and left the monarch, while bank- 
 
 25th August, 1788. The Archbishop
 
 Chap. IIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 45 
 
 niptcy and famine threatened the kingdom, ] 
 to manage as he might, amid the storms 
 which the measures of the minister himself 
 had provoked to the uttermost. 
 
 A new premier, and a total alteration of 
 measures, were to be restored to, while 
 Necker, the popular favourite, called to the 
 helm of the state, regretted, with bitter an- 
 ticipation of misfortune, the time which 
 had been worse than wasted under the rule 
 of the Archbishop, who had employed it in 
 augmenting the enemies and diminishing 
 the resources of the crown, and forcing the 
 King on such measures as caused the royal 
 authority to be .generally regarded as the 
 common enemy of all ranks of the king- 
 dom. To redeem the royal pledge by con- 
 voking the States-general, seemed to Neck- 
 er the most fair as well as most politic pro- 
 ceeding ; and indeed this afforded the only 
 chance of once more reconciling the prince 
 with the people, though it was now yielding 
 hat to a demand, which two years before 
 would have been received as a boon. 
 
 We have already observed that the con- 
 stitution of this Assembly of National Rep- 
 resentatives was little understood, though 
 the phrase was in the mouth of every one. 
 It was to be the panacea to the disorders 
 of the nation, yet men knew imperfectly 
 tlic mode of composing tliis universal med- 
 icine, or the manner of its operation. Or 
 rither, the people of France invoked the 
 a-ssistance of this national council, as they 
 would have done that of a tutelary angel, 
 with full confidence in his power and be- 
 nevolence, though they neither knew the 
 form in which he might appear, nor the na- 
 ture of the miracles which he was to per- 
 form in their behalf. It has been strongly 
 objected to Necker, that he neglected, on 
 the part of the crown, to take the initia- 
 tive line of conduct on this importa»t occa- 
 sion, and it has been urged that it was the 
 minister's duty, without making any ques- 
 tion, or permitting any doubt, to assume 
 that mode of convening the States, and 
 regulating them when assembled, which 
 should best tend to secure the tottering in- 
 fluence of his master. But Necker proba- 
 bly thought the time was past in which this 
 power might have been assumed by the 
 crown without esciting jealousy or opposi- 
 tion. The royal authority, he might recol- 
 lect, had been of late yctirs repeatedly 
 strained, until it had repeatedly given way, 
 and the issue, first of the Bed of Justice, 
 and then of the Royal Sitting, was sufficient 
 to show that words of authority would be 
 wasted in vain upon disobedient ears, and 
 might only excice a resistance which would 
 prove its own lack of power. It was, there- 
 fore, advisable not to trust to tlie unaided 
 exercise of prerogative, but to strengthen 
 instead the regulations which miglit be 
 adopted for the constitution of the States- 
 eeneral, by the approbation of some public 
 Body independent of the King and hie min- 
 isters. And With this purpose, Neclier 
 
 fled to Italy with great expedition after he 
 bad given in his resignation to his unfortu- 
 nate soTereign. , 
 
 convened a second meeting of the Nota 
 bles,* and laid before them, for their con- 
 sideration, his plan for the constitution of 
 the States-general. 
 
 There were two great points submitted 
 to this body, concerning the constitution of 
 the States-general. I. In what proportion 
 the deputies of the Three Estates should be 
 represented ? II. Whether, when assem- 
 bled, the Nobles, Clergy, and Third Estate, 
 or Commons, should act separately as dis- 
 tinct chambers, or sit and vote as one unit- 
 ed body ? 
 
 Necker, a minister of an honest and can- 
 did disposition, a republican also, and there- 
 fore on principle a respecter of public opin- 
 ion, unhappily did not recollect, that to be 
 well-formed and accurate, public opinion 
 should be founded on the authority of men 
 of talents and integrity ; and that the popu- 
 lar mind must be pre-occupied by argument* 
 of a sound and virtuous tendency, else the 
 enemy will sow tares, and the public will re- 
 ceive it in the absence of more wholesome 
 grain. Perhaps, also, this minister found 
 himself less in his element when treating 
 of state affairs, than while acting in hia 
 proper capacity as a financier. However 
 that may be, Necker's conduct resembled 
 that of an unresolved general, who directs 
 his movements by the report of a council of 
 war. He did not sufficiently perceive the 
 necessity that the measures to be taken 
 should originate with himself rather than 
 arise from the suggestion of others, and did 
 not, therefore, avail himself of his situation 
 and high popularity, to recommend BiiQh 
 general preliminary arrangements as might 
 preserve the influence of the crown in the 
 States-general, without encroaching on the 
 rights of the subject. The silence of Neck- 
 er leaving all in doubt, and open to di8CU»- 
 sion, those arguments had most weight with 
 the public which ascribed most importance 
 to the Third Estate. The talents of the 
 Nobles and Clergy might be considered as 
 having been already in vain appealed to in 
 the two sessions of the Notables, an assem- 
 bly composed chiefly out of the privileged 
 classes, and whose advice and opinion had 
 been given without producing any corres- 
 ponding good effect. The Parliament had 
 declared themselves incompetent to the 
 measures necessary for the exigencies ot 
 the kingdom. The course adopted by the 
 King indicated doubt and uncertainty, if 
 not incapacity. The Tiers Etat, therefore, 
 was the body of counsellors to whom the 
 nation looked at this critical juncture. 
 
 " What is the Tiers Etat '!" formed the 
 title of a pamphlet by the Abbe Sieyes ; and 
 the answer returned by the author was such 
 as augmented all the magnificent ideas al- 
 ready floating in men's minds concerning 
 the importance of this order. " The Tiers 
 Etat," said he, " comprehends the whole 
 nation of France, excepting only the Nobles 
 and Clergy."' This view of the matter was 
 so far successful, that the Notables recom- 
 meudea tliat the Commons, or Third Estate, 
 should have a body of representatives equal 
 
 » November, 1788.
 
 46 
 
 UFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Ckap. IV. 
 
 to those of the Nobles and the Clergy unit- 
 ed, and should thus form in point of relative 
 numbers the moiety of the whole delegates. 
 
 This, however, would have been com- 
 paratively of small importance, had it been 
 determined that the Three Estates were to 
 •it, deliberate, and vote, not as an united 
 boor, but in three several chambers. 
 
 Necker conceded to the Tiers Etat the 
 right of double representations, but seemed 
 prepared to maintain the ancient order of 
 debating and voting by separate chambers. 
 The crown had been already worsted by 
 the rising spirit of the country in every at- 
 tempt which it had made to stand through 
 ita own unassisted strength ; and torn as 
 the bodies of the clerpry and nobles were by 
 internal dissensions, and weakened by the 
 degree of popular odium with which they 
 were loaded, it would liave required an art- 
 ful consolidation of their force, and an in- 
 timate union betwixt them and the crown, 
 to maintain a balance against the popular 
 alaims of the Commons, likely to be at 
 once so boldly urged by themselves, and so 
 farourably viewed by the nation. All this 
 was, however, left, in a great measure, to 
 accident, while every chance was against 
 its being arranged in the way most advan- 
 tageous to the monarchy. 
 
 The minister ought in policy to have 
 paved the way, for securing a party in the 
 Third Estate itself, whicii should bear some 
 character of royaliam. This might doubt- 
 less have been done by the usual ministe- 
 rial arts of influencing elections, or gaining 
 over to the crown-interests some of the ma- 
 ny men of talents, who, determined to raise 
 themselves in this new world, had not yet 
 ■ettled to which side they were to give their 
 ■upport. But Necker, less acquainted with 
 men than with mathematics, imagined that 
 every member had intelligence enough to 
 •ee "the measures best calculated for the 
 public good, and virtue enougli to follow 
 them faithfully and exclusively. It was in 
 Tain that the Marquis de Bouille pointed 
 eut the dangers arising from the constitu- 
 tion assigned to the States-general, and in- 
 sisted that the minister was arming the pop- 
 
 ular part of the nation against the two prirl. 
 leged orders, and that the latter would soon 
 experience the effects of their hatred, ani- 
 mated by self-interest and vanity, the most 
 active passions of mankind. Necker calm- 
 ly replied, that there was a necessary reli- 
 ance to be placed on the virtues of the ho- 
 man heart ; — the ma.tim of a worthy man, 
 but not of an enlightened statesman,* who 
 has but too much reason to know how often 
 both the virtues and the prudence of hu- 
 man nature are surmounted by its prejudi- 
 ces and passions. 
 
 It was in this state of doubt and total 
 want of preparation, that the king was to 
 meet the representatives of the people, 
 whose elections had been trusted entirely 
 to chance, without even an attempt to in- 
 fluence them in favour of the most eligible 
 persons. Yet surely the Crown, hitherto 
 almost the sole acknowledged autliority in 
 France, should have been provided with 
 supporters in the new authority which waa 
 to be assembled. At least the minister 
 might have been prepared with some sys- 
 tem or plan of proceeding, upon wliich this 
 most important convention was to conduct 
 its deliberations ; but there was not even 
 an attempt to take up the reins which 
 were floating on the necks of those who 
 were for the first time harnessed to the char- 
 iot of the State. All was expectation, mero 
 vague and unauthorized hope, that in thi» 
 multitude of counsellors there would bo 
 found safety.! 
 
 Hitherto we have described the silent 
 and smooth, but swift and powerful stream 
 of innovation, as it rolled on to the edge of 
 the sheer precipice. We are now to view 
 the precipitate tumult and terrors of the 
 cataract. 
 
 * See Memoires de Bouilli. Madame de Stael 
 herself admits this deficiency in tlie character of 
 a father, of whom she was justly proud. — " S» 
 fiaiit trop, ilfautl'avouer, i I'empire de l:i raison." 
 — CoriJiiderations siir la Revolution, vol. I. p. 17]. 
 
 t A calembourg of the period presaged a differ- 
 ent result. — " So numerous a concourse of Btat»- 
 pliysicians assembled to consult for the weal of 
 the nation, argued," it was saidj " the immirMiit 
 danger and approaching death ol the patient." 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 JUeehne; of the States-General. Predominant Influence of the Tiers Etat — Property 
 twt represented svffi,cienlly in that Body — General Character of the Members. — Dii- 
 position of the Estate of the Nobles — And of the Clerj^y. — Plan of forming the Three 
 Estates into Two Houses — Its Advantages — Jt fails. — The Clergy unite with the 
 TSers Etat, which assumes the Title of the National As-fembiy. — They a.'isume the 
 Task of Legislation, and declare all former Fiscal Regnlalions illegal. — They assert 
 their Determination to continue their Sessioni. — Royal Sitting — Terminates in ttu 
 Trivmph of the Assembly. — Parties in that Body — Mounicr — Constitutionalists — R*- 
 puldicans — Jacobins — Orleans. 
 
 Thk Estates-ireneral of France met at Ver- | about to become presently ?— Something."' 
 •ailles on the 6th May, 17S9, and that wfs I Had the last answer been Everything, it 
 
 indisnutably the first day of the Revoluti 
 The Abb(^ Sieves, in a pamphlet which we 
 fcave mentioned, had already asked. " What 
 wa." the Third Estate ?— It was the whole 
 nation. What had it been liitherto in a 
 political light? — Nothing. What was it 
 
 wr)uld have hern nearer the truth, for it 
 soon appeared that this Third Estate, which 
 in t!)e year \G\i-, the Nobles had refused to 
 acknowledge even as a younger brother* 
 
 * The Baron de SenDeci.wheo the £t.
 
 Chap. IV.\ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 47 
 
 of their order, was now, like the rod of the 
 prophet, to swallow up all those who affect- 
 ed to share its power. Even amid the pa- 
 geantry with which the ceremonial of the 
 first sitting abounded, it was clearly visible 
 that the wishes, hopes, and interest of the 
 public, were exclusively fixed upon the rep- 
 resentatives of the Commons. The rich 
 garments and floating plumes of the nobil- 
 ity, and the reverend robes of the clergy, 
 had nothing to fix the public eye ; their 
 Bounding and emphatic titles had nothing to 
 win the ear ; the recollection of the high 
 feats of the one, and long sanctified charac- 
 ters of the other order, had nothing to in- 
 fluence the mind of the spectators. All 
 eyes were turned on the members of the 
 Third Estate, in a plebeian and humble cos- 
 tume, corresponding to their lowly birth 
 and occupation, as the only portion of the 
 assembly from whom they looked for the 
 lights and the counsels which the time de- 
 manded. 
 
 It would be absurd to assert, that the bo- 
 dy which thus engrossed the national atten- 
 tion was devoid of talents to deserve it. 
 On the contrary, the Tiers Etat contained a 
 lau-ge proportion of the learning, the intelli- 
 gence, and the eloquence of the kingdom ; 
 but unhappily it was composed of men of 
 theory rather than of practice, men more 
 prepared to change than to preserve or re- 
 
 riair ; and, above all, of men, who, general- 
 j speaking, were not directly concerned in 
 the preservation of peace and order, by pos- 
 •essing a larger property in the country. 
 
 The due proportion in which talents and 
 property are represented in the British 
 House of Commons, is perhaps the best as- 
 •urance forthe stability of the constitution. 
 Men of talents, bold, onterprizing, eager for 
 distinction, and ambitious of power, sulFer 
 no opportunity to escape of recommending 
 «uch measures as may improve the general 
 •ystem, and raise to distinction those by 
 whom they are proposed ; while men of 
 substance, desirous of preserving the prop- 
 erty which they possess, are scrupulous in 
 ■crutinizing every new measure, and stead v 
 in rejecting such as are not accompanied 
 with the most certain prospect of advantage 
 to the state. Talent, eager and active, de- 
 sires the means of employment ; Property, 
 cautious, doubtful, jealous of innovation. 
 acts as a regulator rather than an impulse 
 on the machine, by preventing its moving 
 either too rapidly, or changing too sudden- 
 ly. The over-caution of those by whom 
 property is represented, miy sometimes, 
 indeed, delay aprojectr-d improvement, but 
 much more frequently impedes a rash an ! 
 hazardous experiment. Looking back on 
 the parliamentary history of two centuries, 
 it is easy to see how much practical wis- 
 dom has been derived from the influence 
 
 tates of the Kingdom were compared to 
 three brethien of which the Tiers Etat wxs 
 youngest, declared that the Commons of 
 France had no title to arrogate such a rela- 
 tionship with the Nobles, to whom they 
 were so far inferior in blood, and in estima- 
 tion. 
 
 exercised by those members called Coun- 
 try Gentlemen, who, unambitious of distin- 
 guishing themselves by their eloquence, 
 and undesirous of mingling in the ordinary 
 debates of the house, make their sound and 
 unsophisticated good sense heard and un- 
 derstood upon every crisis of importance, 
 in a manner alike respected by the minis- 
 try and the opposition of the day,— by th« 
 professed statesmen of the house, whose 
 daily business is legislation, and whose 
 thoughts, in some instances, are devoted to 
 public affairs, because they have none of 
 their own much worth looking after. In 
 this great and most important characterifr. 
 tic of representation, the Tiers Etat of 
 Erance was necessarily deficient ; in fact, 
 the part of the French constitution, which, 
 without exactly corresponding to the cour- 
 try gentlemen of England, most nearly re- 
 sembled them, was a proportion of the Ru- 
 ral Noblesse of France, who were repre- 
 sented amongst the Estate of the Nobility. 
 .\n edict, detaching these rural proprietors, 
 and perhaps the inferior clerg}', from their 
 proper orders, and including their represen- 
 tatives in that of the Tiers Etat, would have 
 infused into the latter assembly a propor- 
 tional regard for the rights of landholders, 
 whether lay or clerical ; and as they must 
 have had a voice in those anatomical exper- 
 iments, of which their property was about 
 to become the subject, it may be supposed 
 they would have resisted the application of 
 the scalpel, excepting when it was unavoid- 
 ably necessary. Instead of which, both the 
 noblns and clergy came soon to be placed 
 on the anatomical table at the mercy of 
 each state-quack, who, having no interest 
 in their sufferings, thought them excellent 
 subjects on which to exemplify some fa- 
 vourite hypothesis. 
 
 While owners of extensive landed prop- 
 erty were in a great measure excluded from 
 the representation of the Third Estate, its 
 ranks were filled from those classes whick 
 seek novelties in theory, and which are in 
 the habit of profiting by them in practice. 
 There were professed men of letters called 
 thither, as they hoped and expected, to re- 
 alize thooric", for the greater part incon- 
 sistent with the present state of things, in 
 which, to use one of their own choicest 
 common-places, — " Mind had not yet ac- 
 quired its due rank." There were many 
 of the inferior ranks of the law ; for, un- 
 happily, in this profession also the graver 
 and more enlightened members were call- 
 ed by their rank to the Estate of the No- 
 blesse. To these were united churchmen 
 without livings, and physicians without pa- 
 tients ; men. whose education generally 
 makes them important in the humble soci- 
 ety in which they move, and who are pro- 
 portionally presumptuous and conceited of 
 their own powers, when advanced into that 
 which is supnrior to their usual walk. 
 There were many bankers alsO speculator* 
 in politics, as in their natural employment 
 of stock-jobbing ; and there wore intermin- 
 gled with the classes w:> have noticed some 
 individual nobles, expelled from their own 
 ranks for want of character, who, like tba
 
 48 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IV. 
 
 dissolute Mirabeau, a moral monster for 
 talents and want of principle, menaced, 
 (rom the station which they had assumed, 
 the rights of the class from which they had 
 been expelled, and, like deserters of every 
 kind, were willing to guide the foes to 
 whom they hadfied, into the intrenchments 
 of the friends whom they had forsaken, or 
 bj whom they had been exiled. There 
 were also mixed with these perilous ele- 
 ments many individuals, not only endowed 
 with talents and integrity, but possessing a 
 respectable proportion of sound sense and 
 judgment ; but who unfortunately aided 
 less to counteract the revolutionary tend- 
 ency, than to justify it by argument or dig- 
 nify it by example. From the very begin- 
 ning, the Tiers Etat evinced a determined 
 purpose to annihilate in consequence, if 
 not in rank, the other two orders of the 
 state, and to engross the whole power into 
 their own hands. 
 
 It must be allowed to the Commons, that 
 the Noblesse had possessed themselves of 
 a paramount superiority over the middle 
 class, totally inconsistent with the just de- 
 gree of consideration due to their fellow- 
 subjects, and irreconcilable with the spirit 
 of enlightened times. They enjoyed many 
 privileges which were humiliating to the 
 rest of the nation, and others that were 
 grossly unjust, amont; which must be 
 reckoned their immunities from taxation. 
 Assembled as an Estate of the Kingdom, 
 they felt the eaprit-de-corps, and, attached 
 to the privileges of their order, showed lit- 
 tle readiness to make the sacrifices which 
 tlie times demanded, thougli at the risk of 
 having what they refused to grant, forcibly 
 wrested from them. They were publicly 
 and imprudently tenacious, wiien, both on 
 principle and in policy, they should have 
 been compliant and accommodating — for 
 tlieir own sake, as well as that of the sove- 
 reign. Yet let us be just to that gallant 
 aiid unfortunate body of men. They pos- 
 •essed the courage, if not the skill or 
 ■trength of their ancestors, and while we 
 blame the violence with which they clung 
 to useless and antiquated privileges, let 
 Bit remember that these were a part of 
 tiieir inheritance, which no man renounc- 
 oo willingly, and no man of spirit yields up 
 to threats. If they erred in not adopting 
 from the beginning a spirit of conciliation 
 and concession, no body of men ever suf- 
 fered so cruelly for hesitating to obey a 
 •u.'nnions, which called them to acts of 
 •uch unusual self-denial. 
 
 The Clergy were no less tenacious of the 
 privileges of the church, tlian the Noblesse 
 of their peculiar feudal immunities. It had 
 been already plainly intimated, that the 
 property of the clerical orders ought to be 
 •ubject, as well a.s all other species of 
 property, to the exigencies of the state ; 
 and the philosophical opinions which had 
 impugned their principles of faith, and rcn- 
 d<yed their persons ridiculous instead of 
 reverend, would, it was to lie feared, induce 
 those by whom they were entertained, to 
 •xtead their views to a general seizure of 
 
 the whole, instead of a part, of the church's 
 wealth. 
 
 Both the first and second Estates, there- 
 fore, kept aloof, moved by the manner in 
 which the private interests of each stood 
 committed, and both endeavoured to avert 
 the coming storm, by retarding the deliber- 
 ations of the States-general, They were 
 particularly desirous to secure their indi- 
 vidual importance as distinct orders, and 
 appealed to ancient practice and the usage 
 of the year 1G14, by which the three sev- 
 eral Estates sat and voted in three several 
 bodies. But the Tiers Etat, who, from the 
 beginning, felt their own strength, were de- 
 termined to choose that mode of procedure 
 by which their force should be augmented 
 and consolidated. The double representa- 
 tion had rendered them equal in numbeia 
 to both the other bodies, and as they were 
 sure of some interest among the inferior 
 Noblesse, and a very considerable party 
 amongst the lower Clergy, the assistance 
 of these two minorities, added to their own 
 numbers, must necessarily give them the 
 superiority in every vote, providing the 
 three chambers could be united into one. 
 
 On the other hand, the Clergy and No- 
 bles saw that an union of this nature would 
 place all their privileges and property at 
 the mercy of the Commons, whom the 
 union of the chambers in one assembly 
 would invest with an overwhelming major- 
 ity in that convocation. They had no rea- 
 son to expect that this power, if once ac- 
 quired, would be used with moderation, for 
 not only had their actually obnoxious priv- 
 ileges been assailed by every battery of 
 reason and of ridicule, but the records of 
 former ages had been ransacked for ridicn- 
 lous absurdities and detestable cruelties of 
 the possessors of feudsJ power, all which 
 were imputed to the present privileged 
 classes, and mingled with njany fictions of 
 unutterable horror, devised on purpose to 
 give a yet darker colouring to the system 
 which it was their object to destroy,* Ev- 
 ery motive, therefore, of self-interest and 
 self-preservation, induced the two first 
 chambers, aware of the possession which 
 the third had obtained over the public 
 mind, to maintain, if possible, the specific 
 individuality of their separate classes, and 
 'vee the right hitherto supposed to be vest- 
 ed in theni, of protecting their own inter- 
 ests by their own separate votes, as distinct 
 bodies. 
 
 Others, with a deeper view, and on lesa 
 selfish reasoning, saw much hazard in amal- 
 gamating the whole force of the state, sav- 
 .ng that which remained in the Crown, in- 
 to one powerful body, subject to all the 
 hasty impulses to which popular assemblies 
 lie crposcd, as Lakes to the wind, and in 
 placing the person and authority of the 
 king in solitary and diametrical opposition 
 
 * It wa'!, for example, gravely slated, that a 
 s.'-i'jneur of a certain province possessed a feudal 
 right to put two of h'n vassals to death upon his 
 return from hunting, and lo rip their belliea open, 
 and plunge hu feet into their «atratls to warm 
 them t
 
 Chap. IV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 49 
 
 to what must necessarily, in moments of 
 enthusiasm, appear to be the will of the 
 whole people. Such statesmen would have 
 preferred retaining an intermediate check 
 upon the popular counsels of the Tiers 
 Etat by the other two chambers, which 
 might, as in England, have been united in- 
 to one, and would have presented an im- 
 posing front, both in point of wealth and 
 property, and through the respect which, 
 excepting under the influence of popular 
 emotion, the people, in spite of themselves, 
 cannot help entertaining for birth and rank. 
 Such a body, providing the stormy temper 
 of the times had admitted of its foundations 
 being laid sufficiently strong, would have 
 eerved as a break-water betwixt the throne 
 and the stream-tide of popular opinion ; 
 and the monarch would have been spared 
 the painful and perilous task of opposing 
 himself personally, directly, and without 
 screen or protection of any kind, to the 
 democratical part of the constitution. 
 Above all, by means of such an Upper 
 House, time would have been obtained for 
 reviewing more coolly those measures, 
 w'hich might have passed hastily through 
 the assembly of Popular Representatives. 
 It is observed in the history of innovation, 
 that the indirect and unforeseen conse- 
 quences of every great change of an esiat- 
 ing system, arc more numerous and exten- 
 sive than those which had been foreseen 
 and calculated upon, whether by those who 
 advocated, or those who opposed the alter- 
 ation. The advantages of a constitution, 
 in which each measure of legislation must 
 necessarily be twice deliberately argued by 
 separate senates, acting under diflerent im- 
 pressions, and interposing, at the same 
 time, a salutary delay, during which heats 
 may subside, and erroneous views be cor- 
 rected, requires no farther illustration. 
 
 It must be owned, nevertheless, that 
 there existed the greatest difficulty in any 
 attempt which might have been made, to 
 give weight to the Nobles as a separate 
 chamber. The community at large looked 
 to reforms deeply affecting the immunities 
 ^ the privileged classes, as the mo^t obvi- 
 ■as means for the regeneration of the king- 
 dom at large, and must have seen with 
 jealousy an institution like an Upper House, 
 which placed the parties who were princi- 
 pally to suffer these changes in a condition 
 to impede, or altogether prevent them. It 
 was naturally to be expected, that the Cler- 
 gy and Nobles, united in an Upper House, 
 must have become somewhat partial judges 
 In the question of retrenching and limiting 
 their own exclusive privileges ; and, be- 
 sides the ill-will which the Commons bore 
 them as the possessors and assertors of 
 rights infringing on the liberties of the peo- 
 ple, it might be justly apprehended that, if 
 the scourge destined for them were placed 
 in their own hand, they might use it with 
 the chary moderation of the squire in the 
 romance of Cervantes. There would also 
 have been reason t j doubt that, when the 
 nation was so much divided by factions, 
 two Houses, so ditferent in character and 
 composition, could hardly have been 
 Vol. I C 
 
 brought to act with firmness and liberality 
 towards each other — that the one would 
 have bee i ever scheming for the recovery 
 of their full privileges, supposing they had 
 been obliged to surrender a part of them, 
 while the other would still look forward to 
 the accomplishment of an entirely demo- 
 cratical revolution. In this way, the checks 
 which ought to have acted merely to re- 
 strain the violence of either party, might 
 operate as the means of oversetting the 
 constitution which they were intended to 
 preserve. 
 
 Still, it must be observed, that while the 
 King retained any portion of authority, he 
 might, v.-ith the countenance of the suppos- 
 ed Upper Chamber, or Senate, have balanc- 
 ed the progress of democracy. Difficult as 
 the task might be, an attempt towards it 
 ought to have been made. But, unhappily, 
 the King's ear was successively occupied 
 by two sets of advisers, one of whom coun- 
 selled him to surrender every thing to the 
 humour of the reformers of the state, while 
 the other urged him to resist their most 
 reasonable wishes ; — without considering 
 that he had to deal with those, who had tiie 
 power to take by force what was refused to 
 petition. Mounier and Malouet advocated 
 the establishment of two chambers in the 
 Tiers Etat, and Necker was certainly fa- 
 vourable to some plan of the kind; but the 
 Noblesse thought it called apon them for 
 too great a sacrifice of their privilegeB, 
 though it promised to ensiue what remain- 
 ed, while the democratifed part of the 
 Tiers Etat opposed it obstinately ,^ as tend-- 
 ing to arrest the march of the revolirtioo- 
 ary impulse. 
 
 Five or six weeks elapsed in useless de- 
 bates concerning the form in which the Es- 
 tates should vote ; during which period the 
 Tiers Etat showed, by their boldness and 
 decision, that they knew the advantage 
 which they held, and were sensible that the 
 other bodies, if they meant to retain th« 
 influence of their situation in any shape, 
 must unite with them, on the principle ac- 
 cording to which smaller drops of water are 
 attracted by the larger. This cam'j to pa'?3 
 accordingly. The Tiers Etat were joined 
 by the whole body of inferior clergy, and 
 by some of the nobles, and on 17th Jane. 
 1789, proceeded to constitute thetaselves a 
 legislative body, exclusively competent is 
 itself to the entire province of let:islation j. 
 and, renouncing the name of the Third Ra- 
 tate, which reminded men thov v.ere only 
 one out of three bodies, they adopted that 
 of the National .Assembly, and avowed 
 themselves, not merely the third bfanch of 
 the representative body, but the solo repre- 
 sentatives of the people of France, nav 
 the people themselves, wielding in person 
 the whole gigantic powers of the rea'uD. 
 They now claimed the character of a coa- 
 stituect body, no longer limited to the task 
 of merely requiring a redress cf grievan- 
 ces, for v/hich they had been or: finally ap- 
 pointed, but warranted to destroy aad re- 
 build whatever they thought proper la th« 
 constitution of the stale. It is not easy, on 
 anj ordioary priaci^e, to see bow aTepr*-
 
 50 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IV. 
 
 sentation, convoked for a certain purpose, 
 and with certain limited powers, should 
 thus essentially alter their own character, 
 and set themselves in such a different rela- 
 tion to the crown and the nation, from that 
 to which their commissions restricted 
 them ; but the JXational Assembly were well 
 aware, that, in extending their powers far 
 beyond the terms of these commissions, 
 they only fulfilled the wishes of their con- 
 stituents, and that, in assuming to them- 
 selves so ample an authority, they would 
 be supported by the whole nation, except- 
 ing the privileged orders. 
 
 The National Assembly proceeded to ex- 
 ercise their power with the same audacity 
 which they had shown in assuming it. 
 They passed a sweeping decree, by which 
 they, declared all the existing taxes to be 
 illegal impositions, the collection of which 
 they sanctioned only for the present, and 
 as an interim arrangement, until they should 
 have time to establish the financial regula- 
 tions of the state upon an equal and perma- 
 nent footing. 
 
 The King, acting under the advice of 
 Necker, and fulfilling the promise made on 
 his part by the Archbishop of Sens, his 
 former minister, had, as v/e have seen, as- 
 sembled the Stales-general ; but he was not 
 prepared for the change of the Third Es- 
 tate into the National Assembly, and for the 
 pretensions which it asserted in the latter 
 character. Terrified, and it was little won- 
 der, at the sudden rise of this gigantic and 
 all-overshadowing fabric, Louis became in- 
 clined to listen to those who counselled 
 him to combat this new and formidable au- 
 thority, by opposing to it the weight of roy- 
 al power ; to be exercised, however, with 
 such attention to the newly-asserted popu- 
 lar opinions, and with such ample surrender 
 of the obnoxious part of the royal preroga- 
 tive, as might gratify the rising spirit of 
 freedom. For this purpose a Royal Sitting 
 was appointed, at which the King in person 
 was to meet the Three Estates of his king- 
 donj, and propose a scheme which, it was 
 hoped, might unite all parties, and tranquil- 
 lize all minds. The name and form of this 
 Seance Royale was perhaps not well chos- 
 en, as being too nearly allied to those of a 
 Bed of Justice, in which the King was ac- 
 customed to exercise imperative authority 
 over the Parliament ; and the proceeding 
 was calculated to awaken recollection of the 
 highly unpopular Royal Sitting on the 19th 
 November, 1787, the displacing of Necker, 
 and the banishinent of the Duke of Orleans. 
 
 But, as if this had not been suflicient. an 
 unhappy accident, which almost resembled 
 a fatality, deranged this project, destroyed 
 all the grace which might, on the King's 
 part, have attended the measure, and in 
 place of it, threw the odium upon the court 
 of having indirectly attempted the forcible 
 dissolution of the Assembly, while it in- 
 vested the members of that body with the 
 )K>pular character of steady patriots, whose 
 «flion, courage, and presence of mind, had 
 roiled the stroke of authority, which had 
 toeen aimed at their existence. 
 
 fbe Hall of the Commoim was fixed up- 
 
 on for the purposes of the Royal Sitting, aa 
 the largest of the three which were occu- 
 pied by the Three Estates, and workmen 
 were employed in making the necessarr 
 arrangements and alterations. These alter- 
 ations were imprudently commenced* be- 
 fore holding any communication on the 
 subject with the National Assembly ; and it 
 was simply notified to their president, Bail- 
 li, by the master of the royal ceremonies, 
 that the King had suspended the meeting 
 of the Assembly until the Royal Sitting 
 should have taken place. Bailli, the presi- 
 dent, well known afterwards by his tragical 
 fate, refused to attend to an order so inti- 
 mated, and the members of Assembly, up- 
 on resorting to their ordinary place of meet- 
 ing, found it full of workmen, and guarded 
 by soldiers. This led to one of the most 
 extraordinary scenes of the Revolution. 
 
 The representatives of the nation, thus 
 expelled by armed guards from their prop- 
 er place of assemblage, found refuge in a 
 common Tennis-court, while a thunder- 
 storm, emblem of the moral tempest which 
 raged on the earth, poured down its terrors 
 from the heavens. It was thus that, expos- 
 ed to the inclemency of the weather, and 
 with the wretched accommodations which 
 such a place afforded, the members of As- 
 sembly took, and attested by their respec- 
 tive signatures, a solemn oath, to continue 
 their sittings until the constitution of the 
 country should be fixed on a solid basis. 
 The scene was of a kind to make the deep- 
 est impression both on the actors and the 
 spectators ; although, looking back at the 
 distance of so many years, we are tempted 
 to ask at what period the National Assem- 
 bly would have been dissolved, had they 
 adhered literally to their celebrated oath ? 
 But the conduct of the government was in 
 every respect worthy of censure. The 
 probability of this extraordinary occurrence 
 might easily have been foreseen. If mere 
 want of consideration gave rise to it, the 
 king's ministers were most culpably care- 
 less ; if the closing of the hall, and sus- 
 pending of the sittings of the Assembly, 
 was intended by way of experiment upon it« 
 temper and patience, it was an act of mad- 
 ness, equal to that of irritating an already 
 exasperated lion. Be this, however, as it 
 may, the conduct of the court had the 
 worst possible effect on the public mind, 
 and prepared them to view with dislike and 
 suspicion all propositions emanating from 
 the throne ; while the magnanimous firm- 
 ness and unanimity of the Assembly seem- 
 ed that of men determined to undergo mar- 
 tyrdom, ratluT than desert the assertion of 
 tlicir own rights, and those of the people. 
 
 At the Roy;il Sitting, which took place 
 three days after the vow of the Tennis- 
 court, a plan was proposed by the King, of- 
 fering such security for the liberty of th» 
 subject, as would a vear before have been 
 received with grateful rapture ; but it was 
 tlie unhappy fate of Louis XVI. neither to 
 recede nor advance at the fortunate ir'' 
 ment. Happy would it have been for Lim, 
 
 »2(Hh June, 1788.
 
 Chap IV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 51 
 
 for France, and for Europe, if the science 
 of Astrology, once so much respected, had 
 in reality afforded the means of selecting 
 lucky davs. tew of his were marked with 
 a white stone. 
 
 By the scheme which he proposed, the 
 King renounced the power of taxation, and 
 the right of borrowing money, except to a 
 trifling extent, without assent of the States- 
 general ; he invited the assembly to form a 
 plan for regulating lettres de cachet, and ac- 
 knowledged the personal freedom of the sub- 
 ject j he provided for the liberty of the press, 
 out not without a recommendation that some 
 check should be placed upon its licence ; 
 and he remitted to the States, as the proper 
 authority, the abolition of the gabelle, and 
 other unequal or oppressive taxes. 
 
 But all these boons availed nothing, and 
 seemed to the people and their representa- 
 tives, but a tardy and ungracious mode of 
 , resigning rights which the crown haa long 
 usurped, and only now restored when they 
 were on the point of being wrested from 
 its gripe. In addition to this, offence was 
 taken at the tone and terms adopted in the 
 royal address. The members of the Assem- 
 bly conceived that the expression of the 
 royal will was brought forward in too imper- 
 ative a form. They were offended that 
 the King should have recommended the 
 exclusion of spectators from the sittings of 
 the .\8sembly ; and much displeasure was 
 occasioned by his declaring, thus late, their 
 deliberations and decrees on the subject of 
 taxes illegal. But the discontent was sum- 
 med up and raised to the height by the con- 
 cluding article of the royal address, in which, 
 notwithstanding their late declarations, and 
 oath not to break up their sittings until 
 they had completed a constitution for 
 France, the King presumed, by his own sole 
 authority, to dissolve the Estates. To con- 
 clude, Necker, upon whom alone among 
 the ministers the popular party reposed 
 confidence, had absented himself firom the 
 Royal Sitting, and thereby intimated his 
 discontent with the scheme proposed. 
 
 This plan of a constitutional reformation 
 was received with great applause by the 
 Clergy and the Nobles, v.hile the Third Es- 
 tate listened in sullen silence. They knew 
 little of the human mind, who supposed that 
 ihe display of prerogative which had been 
 •o often successfully resisted, could influ- 
 ence such a body, or induce them to de- 
 scend from the station of power which they 
 had gained, and to render themselves ridic- 
 ulous by rescinding the tow which they had 
 80 lately taken. 
 
 The King having, by his own proper au- 
 thority, dissolved the Assembly, left the 
 ball, followed by the Nobles and part of the 
 Clergy; but the remaining members, who 
 had remained silent and sullen, immediate- 
 ly resumed their sitting. The King, sup- 
 posing him resolute to assert the preroga- 
 tive which his own voice had but just 
 claimed, had no alternative but that of ex- 
 pelling them by force, and thus supporting 
 his order for dissolution of the Assembly ; 
 but, alT'tys halting between two opinions, 
 Louis ei-iployed no rougher means of re- 
 
 moving them than a gentle summon* to dis- 
 perse, intimated by the royal master of cer- 
 emonies. To this otficer, not certainly the 
 most formidable satellite of arbitrary pow- 
 er, Mirabeau replied with energetic deter- 
 mination, — " Slave ! return to thy master, 
 and tell him, that his bayonets alone can 
 drive from their post the representatives 
 of the people." 
 
 The assembly then proceeded to pass a 
 decree, that they adhered to their oath tak- 
 en in the Tennis-court, while by another 
 they declared that their own persons were 
 inviolable ; and that whosoever should at- 
 tempt to execute any restraint or violence 
 upon a representative of the people, should 
 be thereby guilty of the crime of high 
 treason against the nation. 
 
 Their firmness, joined to the inviolabili- 
 ty with which they had invested themselves, 
 and the commotions which had broken out 
 at Paris, compelled the King to give way, 
 and renounce his purpose of dissolving the 
 States, which continued their sittings under 
 their new title of the National .\ssembly , 
 while at different intervals, and by differ- 
 ent manoeuvres, the Chambers of the Clergy 
 and Nobles united with them, or, more 
 properly, were merged and absorbed in one 
 general body. Had that Assembly been 
 universally as pure in its intentions as we 
 verily believe to have been the case with 
 many or most of its members, the French 
 government, now lying dead at their feet, 
 might, like the clay of Prometheus, have 
 received new animation from their hand. 
 
 But the National Assembly, though al- 
 most unanimous in resisting the authority of 
 the crown, and in opposing the claims of the 
 privileged classes, was much divided re- 
 specting ulterior views, and carried in its bo- 
 som the seeds of internal dissension, and the 
 jarring elements of at least four parties, 
 which had afterwards their successive en- 
 trance and exit on the revolutionary stage ; 
 ) or rather one followed the other like suc- 
 cessive billows, each obliterating and de- 
 stroying the marks its predecessor had left 
 on the beach. 
 
 The First and most practical division 
 of these legislators, was the class headed 
 by Mounier, one of the wisest, as well as 
 one of the best and worthiest men in France, 
 by Malouet and others. They were patrons 
 of a scheme at which we have already hint- 
 ed, and thought France ought to look for 
 some of the institutions favourable to free- 
 dom, to England, whose freedom had flour- 
 ished so long. To transplant the British 
 oak, with all its contorted branches and ex- 
 tended Tftots, would have beeti a fruitless 
 attempt, but the infant tree of liberty might 
 have been taught to grow alter the same fash- 
 ion. Modern France, like England of old, 
 might have retainedsuchof iM^f own ancient 
 laws, forms, or regulations,- as still were re- 
 garded by the nation with any portion of 
 respect, intermingling them with s'ich ad- 
 ditions and alterations as were required by 
 the liberal spirit of modern times, and the 
 whole might have been formed on th--t prin- 
 ciples of British freedom. The natioa 
 might thus, if buiVlin^ its own kulwarka.
 
 52 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap IV. 
 
 have profited by the plan of those which 
 had so long resisted the tempest. It is 
 true, the I'rench legislature could not have 
 promised themselves, by the adoption of 
 this course, to form at once a perfect and 
 entire system ; but they might have secur- 
 ed the personal freedom of the subject, the 
 trial by jury, tlie liberty of the press, and 
 the right of granting or withholding the 
 supplies necessary for conducting the state, 
 —of itself the strongest of all guarantees 
 for national freedom, and that of which, 
 when once vested in their own representa- 
 tives, the people will never permit them to 
 be depri"ed. They might have adopted also 
 other checks^ balances, and controls, es- 
 sential to the permanence of a free coun- 
 try ; and having laid so strong a foundation, 
 there would have been time to e.xperience 
 their use as well as their stability, and to 
 introduce gradually sucli further improve- 
 ments, additions, or alterations, as the state 
 of France should appear to require, after 
 experience of those which they had adopted. 
 But besides that the national spirit might 
 be revolted, (not unnaturally, however un- 
 wisely,) at borrowing the essential pecul- 
 iarities of their new constitution from a 
 country which they were accustomed to 
 consider as the natural rival of their own, 
 there existed among the French a jealousy 
 of the crown, and especially of the privi- 
 leged classes, with whom they had been so 
 lately engaged in political hostility, which 
 disinclined the greater part of the Assembly 
 to trust the King with much authority, or 
 the Nobles with that influence which any 
 imitation of the English constitution must 
 have assigned to them. A fear prevailed, 
 that whatever privileges should be left to 
 the King or Nobles, would be so many 
 means of attack furnished to them against 
 the new system. Joined to this was the 
 ambition of creating at once, and by their 
 own united wisdom, a constitution as per- 
 fect as the armed personification of Wis- 
 dom in the heathen mythology. England 
 kad worked her way, from practical refor- 
 mation of abuses, into the adoption of gen- 
 eral maxims of government. It was re- 
 served, thought most of the National As- 
 sembly, for France, to adopt a nobler and 
 more intellectual course, and, by laying 
 down abstract doctrines of public right, to 
 deduce from these their rules of practical 
 legislation ; — just as it is said, that in the 
 French naval-yards their vessels are con- 
 structed upon the principles of abstract 
 mathematics, while those in England are, 
 or were, cheifiy built upon the more tech- 
 nical and mechanical rules. But it seems 
 on this and other occasiona to have escap- 
 ed these acute reasoner?. that beams and 
 planks are subject to certain unalterable 
 natural laws, while man is, by the various 
 passions acting in his nature, in contradic- 
 tion often to the suggestions of his under- 
 standing, as well as by the various modifi- 
 cations of society, liable to a thousand 
 Tariations, aW of which call ^■)r limitations 
 ajid exceptions qualifying whatever general 
 msxims may be adopted coacerning bis du- 
 tiM aad his rights. 
 
 All such considerations were spurned by 
 the numerous body of the new French le- 
 gislature, who resolved, in imitation of Me- 
 dea, to fling into their renovating kettle 
 every existing joint and member of their 
 old constitution, in order to its perfect and 
 entire renovation. I'his mode of proceed- 
 ing was liable to three great objections. 
 First, that the practical inferences deduc- 
 ed from the abstract principle were always 
 liable to challenge by those, who, in logical 
 language, denied the minor of the proposi- 
 tion, or asserted that the conclusion was ir- 
 regularly deduced from the premises. Sec- 
 ondly, that the legislators, thus grounding 
 the whole basis of their intended constitu- 
 tion upon speculative political opinions, 
 strongly resembled the tailors of Laputa. 
 who, without condescending to take meas- 
 ure of their customers, like brethren of the 
 trade elsewhere, toqk the girth and altitude 
 of the person by mathematical calculation, 
 and if the clothes did not fit, as was almost 
 always the case, thought it ample consola- 
 tion for tiie party concerned to be assured, 
 that, as they worked from infallible rules 
 of art, the error could only be occasioned 
 by his own faulty and irregular conforma- 
 tion of figure. Thirdly, A legislature 
 which contents itself with such a constitu- 
 tion as is adapted to the existing state of 
 things, may liope to attain their end, and 
 in presenting it to the people may be enti- 
 tled to say, that, although the plan is not 
 perfect, it partakes in that but of the na- 
 ture of all earthly institutions, while it 
 comprehends the elements of as much 
 good as the actual state of society permits j 
 but from the law-makers, who begin by de- 
 stroying all existing enactments, and assume 
 it as their duty entirely to renovate the 
 constitution of a country, nothing short of 
 absolute perfection can be accepted. They 
 can shelter themselves under no respect to 
 ancient prejudices which they have contra 
 dieted, or to circumstances of society which 
 they have thrown out of consideration. 
 They must follow up to the uttermost the 
 principle they have adopted, and their in- 
 stitutions can never be fixed or secure from 
 the encroachments of succeeding innova- 
 tors.while they retain any taint of that falli- 
 bility to which all human inventions are 
 necessarily subject. 
 
 The majority of the French .\ssembly en- 
 tertained, nevertheless, the ambitious vievr 
 of making a constitution, corresponding in 
 every respect to those propositions they 
 had laid down as embracing the rights of 
 man, which, if it should not happen to suit 
 the condition of their country, would nev- 
 ertheless be such as ought to have suited 
 it, but for the irregular p'.ay of human pas- 
 sions, and the artificial habits acquired in 
 an artificial state of society. But this ma- 
 jority differed among themselves in this es- 
 sential particular, that the skcond division 
 of the legislature, holding that of Mounier 
 for the first, was disposed to place at the 
 head of their newly-manufactured govern- 
 ment the reigning King, Louis XVI. This 
 resolution in his favour mi^ht be partly out 
 of regard to the long partiality of the natioa
 
 Chap. IV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 53 
 
 to the House of Bourbon, partly out of re- 
 spect for the philanthropical and accomodat- 
 ing character of Louis. We may conceive 
 also, that La Fayette, bred a soldier, and 
 Bailli, educated a magistrate, liad still, not- 
 withstanding their political creed, a natural, 
 though unphilosophical partiality to their 
 well-meaning and ill-fated sovereign, and 
 a conscientious desire to relax, so far as 
 his particular interest was concerned, their 
 general rule of reversing all that had previ- 
 ously had a political existence in France. 
 
 A THIRD faction, entertaining the same 
 articles of political creed with La Fayette, 
 Bailli, and others, carried them much far- 
 ther, and set at defiance the scruples which 
 limited the iwo first parties in their career of 
 reformation. These last ay:reed with La Fay- 
 ette on the necessity of reconstructing the 
 whole government upon a new basis, without 
 which entire innovation, they further agreed 
 with him, that it must have been perpetu- 
 ally liable to the chance of a counter-revo- 
 lution. But carrying their arguments fiir- 
 ther than the Constitutional party, as the 
 followers of Fayette, these bolder theorists 
 pleaded the inconsistency and danger of 
 placing at the head oV their new system of 
 reformed and regenerated government, a 
 prince accustomed to consider himself, as 
 by inheritance, the legitimate possessor of 
 absolute power. They urged that, like tlie 
 snake and peasant in the fable, it was 
 impossible th.it the monarch and Iiis demo- 
 cratical counsellors could forget, the one 
 the loss of his power, the other the constant 
 temptation which must beset the King to 
 attempt its recovery. With more consis- 
 tency, therefore, than the Constitutional- 
 ists, this third party of politicians became 
 decided Republicans, determined upon ob- 
 literating from the new constitution every 
 name and vestige of monarchy. 
 
 The men of letters in the Assembly were, 
 many of them, attached to this faction. 
 They had originally been kept in the back- 
 ground by the lawyers and mercantile part 
 of the Assembly. Many of them possessed 
 great talents, and were by nature men of 
 honour and of virtue. But in great revolu- 
 tions, it is impossible to resist the dizzying 
 effect of enthusiastic feeling and excited 
 passion. In the violence of their zeal for 
 the liberty of France, they too frequently 
 adopted the maxim, that so glorious an ob- 
 ject sanctioned almost any means which 
 could be used to attain it. Under the ex- 
 aggerated influence of a mistaken patriot- 
 ism, they were too apt to forget that a crime 
 remains the same in character even when 
 perpetrated in a public cause.* 
 
 * A singular instance of this overstrained and 
 dangerous enthusiasm is given by Madame Roland. 
 It being the purpose to rouse the fears and spirit 
 of the people, and direct their animosity against 
 the court party, Grangcneuve agreed that he him- 
 aelf should be murdered, by persons chosen for the 
 purpose, in such a manner that the suspicion of 
 the crime should attp'ih itself to the aristocrats. 
 He went to the place appointed, but Chabot, who 
 was to have shared his fate, neither appeared liim- 
 «elf, nor had made the nocessary preparations for 
 the assassination ofhis friend, for which Madame 
 Eoland, that high-spirited republican, dilates up- 
 
 It was among these ardent men that first 
 arose the idea of forming a club, or society, 
 to serve as a point of union for those who 
 entertained the same political sentiments. 
 Once united, they rendered their sittings 
 public, combined them with affiliated socie- 
 ties in all parts of France, and could thus, 
 as from one common centre, agitate the 
 most remote frontiers with the passionate 
 feelings which electrilied the metropolis. 
 Tliis formidable weapon was, in process of 
 time, wrested out of the hands of the Fed- 
 eralists, as the original republicans were 
 invidiously called, by the faction who were 
 generally termed Jacobins, from their iuflu- 
 euce in that society, and whose exixlence 
 and peculiarities as a party, we have now 
 to notice. 
 
 As yet this fourth, and, as it afterwards 
 proved, most formidable party, lurked in se- 
 cret among the republicans of a higher o»- 
 der and purer sentiments, as they, on their 
 part, had not yet raised the mask, or ven- 
 tured to declare openly against the plan of 
 a constitutional monarchy. The Jacobins 
 were termed, in ridicule, Les Enragis, by 
 the Republicans, who, seeing in them only 
 men of a fiery disposition, and ^iolence of 
 deportment and declamation, vainly thought 
 they could halloo them on, and call them 
 off, at their pleasure. They were yet to 
 learn, that when force is solemnly appeal- 
 ed to, the strongest and most ferocious, as 
 they must be foremost in the battle, will 
 not lose their share of the spoil, and are 
 more likely to make the lion's partition. 
 These Jacobins affected to carry the ideas 
 of liberty and equality to the most extrava- 
 gant lengths, and were laughed at and ridi- 
 culed in the Assembly as a sort of fanatics, 
 too absurd to be dreaded. Their character, 
 indeed, was too exaggerated, their habits 
 too openly profligate, their manners too 
 abominably coarse, their schemes too ex- 
 travagantly violent, to be produced to open 
 day, while yet the decent forms of society 
 were observed. But they were not the less 
 successful in gaining the lower classes, 
 whose cause they pretended peculiarly tn 
 espouse, whose passions they inflamed by 
 an eloquence suited to such hearers, and 
 whose tastes they flattered by affectation of 
 brutal manners and vulgar dress. They 
 soon, by these arts, attached to themselves 
 a large body of followers, violently inflam- 
 ed with the prejudices which had been in- 
 fused into their minds, and too boldly des- 
 perate to hesitate at any measures which 
 should be recommended by their dema- 
 gogues. What might be the ultimate ob- 
 ject of these men cannot !be known. We 
 can hardly give any of them credit for be- 
 on his poltroonery. Yet, what was this patriotie 
 devotion, save a plan to support a false accusation 
 against the innocent, by an act of murder and suv- 
 cide, which, if the scheme succeeded, was to lead 
 to massacre and proscription .' The same false, ex- 
 aggerated, and distorted views, of the public good 
 centring, as it seemed to them, in the establishment 
 of a pure republic, led Barnave and others to pal- 
 liate the mass,acres of September. Most of them 
 might have said of the Liberty Avhich they had 
 worshipped, that at their death they found it MB 
 empty name.
 
 54 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IV, 
 
 ing mad enough to have any real patriotic 
 feeling, however extravagantly distorted. 
 Most probably, each had formed some 
 vagup prospect of terminating the affair to 
 his jwn advantage } but in the meantime, 
 all agreed in the necessity of sustaining the 
 revolutionary impulse, of deferring the re- 
 turn of order and quiet, and of resisting and 
 deranging any description of orderly and 
 peaceful government. They were sensible 
 that the return of law, under any establish- 
 ed and regular form whatsoever, must ren- 
 ( der them as contemptible as odious, and 
 ' were determined to avail themselves of the 
 disorder while it lasted, and to snatch at and 
 enjoy such portions of the national wreck 
 as the tempest might throw within their in- 
 dividual reach. 
 
 This foul and desperate faction could not, 
 by all the activity it used, have attained the 
 sway wliich it exerted amongst the lees of 
 the people, without possessing and exercis- 
 ing extensively the power of suborning in- 
 ferior leaders among the populace. It has 
 bpon generally asserted, that means for at- 
 tiiining this important object were supplied 
 by the immense wealth of the nearest 
 icince of the blood royal, that Duke of 
 Orleans, whose name is so unhappily mixed 
 with the history of this period. By his 
 largesses, according to the general report 
 of historians, a number of the most violent 
 writers of pamphlets and newspapers were 
 pensioned, who deluged the public with 
 false news and violent abuse. This prince, 
 it is said, recompensed those popular and 
 ferocious orators, who nightly harangued 
 the people in the Psdais Royale, and open- 
 ly stimulated them to the most violent ag- 
 gressions upon the persons and property of 
 obnoxious individuals. From the same un- 
 happy man's coffers were paid numbers of 
 tliose who resrularly attended on the debates 
 of the Assembly, crowded the galleries to 
 the exclusion of the public at large, ap- 
 plauded, hissed, exercised an almost domi- 
 neering influence in the national councils, 
 and were sometimes addressed by the rep- 
 resentatives of the people, as if they had 
 themselves been the people of whom they 
 were the scum and the refuse. 
 
 Fouler accusations even than these char- 
 ges were brought forward. Bands of stran- 
 gers, men of wild, haggard, and ferocious 
 appearance, whose persons the still watch- 
 ful police of Paris were unacquainted with, 
 began to be seen in the metropolis, like 
 those obscene and ill-omened birds which 
 ' are seldom visible except before a storm. 
 All these were understood to be suborned 
 by the Duke of Orleans and his agents, to 
 unite with the ignorant, violent, corrupted 
 populace of the great metropolis of France, 
 for the purpose of urging and guiding them 
 to actions of terror and cruelty. The ulti- 
 mate object of these manceuvres is suppos- 
 ed to have been a change of dynasty, which 
 should gratify the Duke of Orleans' revenge 
 by the deposition of his cousin, and his am- 
 bition by enthroning himself in his stead, 
 or at least by nnminating him Lieutenant 
 of France, with all the royal powers. The 
 most daring and unscrupulous amongst the 
 
 Jacobins are said originally to have belong- 
 ed to the faction of Orleans; but as he 
 manifested a want of decision, and did not 
 avail himself of opportunities of pushing 
 his fortune, they abandoned their leader, 
 (whom they continued, however, to flatter 
 and deceive,) and, at the head of the parti- 
 zans collected for his service, and paid 
 from his finances, they pursued the patn of 
 their individual fortunes. 
 
 Besides the various parties which we 
 have detailed, and which gradually devel- 
 oped their discordant sentiments as the 
 Revolution proceeded, the Assembly con- 
 tained the usual proportion cf that pru- 
 dent class of politicians who are guided by 
 events, and who, in the days of Cromwell, 
 called themselves '•' Waiters upon Provi- 
 d-ence ;" — merfwho might boast, with the 
 miller in the tale, tiiat though they could 
 not direct the course of the wind, tliey 
 could adjust their sails so as to profit by it, 
 blow from what quarter it would. 
 
 All the various parties in the Assembly, 
 by whose division the King might, by tem- 
 porizing measures, have surely profited, 
 were united in a determined course of hos- 
 tility to the crown and its pretensions, by 
 the course which Louis XVI. was unfortu- 
 nately advised to pursue. It had been re- 
 solved to assume a menacing attitude, and 
 to place the King at the head of a strong 
 force. Orders were given accordingly. 
 
 Necker, though approving of many parts 
 of the proposal made to the Assembly at the 
 royal sitting, had strongly dissented from 
 others, and had opposed the measure of 
 marching troops towards Versailles and 
 Paris to overawe the capital, and, if neces- 
 sary, the National Assembly. Necker re- 
 ceived his dismission, and thus a second 
 time the King and the people seemed to be 
 prepared for open war. The force at first 
 glance seemed entirely on the royal side. 
 Thirty regiments were drawn around Paris 
 and Versailles, commanded by Marshal 
 Broglio, an officer of eminence, and believ- 
 ed to be a zealous anti-revolutionist, and a 
 large camp formed under the walls of the 
 metropolis. The town was open on all 
 sides, and the only persons by whom de-^ 
 fence could be offered were an unarmed 
 mob ; but this superiority existed only in 
 appearance. The French guards had al- 
 ready united themselves, or, as the phrase 
 then went, fraternized with the people, 
 yielding to the various modes employed to 
 dispose them to the popular cause ; and, 
 little attached to their officers, most of 
 whom only saw their companies upon the 
 days of parade or duty, an apparent acci- 
 dent, which probably had its origin in an 
 experiment upon the feelings of these re- 
 giments, brought the matter to a crisis. 
 "The soldiers had been supplied secretly 
 with means of unusual dissipation, and con- 
 sequently a laxity of discipline was daily 
 gaining ground among them. To correct 
 this licence, eleven of the guards had been 
 committed to prison for military offences ; 
 the Parisian mob delivered them by vio- 
 lence, and took them under the protection 
 of the inhabitants, a conduct which made
 
 Chap, /v.] 
 
 LIFE OF N\POLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 55 
 
 the natural impression on their comrades. 
 Their numbers were three thousand six 
 hundred of the best soldiers in France, ac- 
 customed to military discipline, occupy- 
 ing every strong point in the city, and sup- 
 ported by its immense though disorderly 
 populace. 
 
 The gaining these regiments gave the 
 Revol'ationists the command of Paris, from 
 which the army assembled under Broglio 
 might have found it hard to dislodge them ; 
 but these last were more willing to aid 
 than to quell any insurrection which might 
 take place. The modes of seduction which 
 had succeeded with the French guards 
 were sedulously addressed to other coqjs. 
 The regiments which lay nearest to Paris 
 were not forgotten. They were plied with 
 those temptations which are most powerful 
 with soldiers — wine, women, and money, 
 were supplied in abundance — and it was 
 amidst debauchery and undiscipline that 
 the French army renounced their loyalty, 
 which used to be even too much the god 
 of their idolatry, and which weis now de- 
 stroyed like the temple of Persepolis, 
 amidst the vapours of wine, and at the in- 
 stigation of courtezans. There remained 
 the foreign troops, of which there were 
 several regiments, but their disposition was 
 doubtful ; and to use them against the citi- 
 zens of Paris, might have been to confirm 
 the soldiers of the soil in their indispo- 
 sition to the royal cause, supported as it 
 must then have been by foreigners exclu- 
 eively. 
 
 Meanwhile, the dark intrigues which had 
 been long formed for accomplishing a gen- 
 eral insurrection in Paris, were now ready 
 to be brought into action. The populace 
 had been encouraged by success in one or 
 two skirmishes with the gens-d'armes and 
 foreign soldiery. They had stood a skir- 
 mish with a regiment of German horse, and 
 had been successful. The number of des- 
 perate characters who were to lead the van 
 va. these violences, was now greatly increas- 
 ed. Deep had called to deep, and the rev- 
 olutionar}' clubs of Paris had summoned 
 their confederates from among the most 
 fiery and forward of every province. Be- 
 sides troops of galley-slaves and deserters, 
 vagabonds of every order flocked to Paris, 
 like ravens to the spoil. To these were 
 joined the lowest inhabitants of a populous 
 city, always ready for riot and rapine ; and 
 they were led on and encouraged by men 
 who were in many instances sincere en- 
 thusiasts in the cause of liberty, and thought 
 it could only be victorious by the destruc- 
 tion of the present government. The Re- 
 publican and. Jacobin party were open in 
 sentiment and in action, encouraging the 
 insurrection by every means in their pow- 
 er. The Constitutionalists, more passive, 
 were still rejoiced to see the storm arise, 
 conceiving such a crisis was necessary to 
 compel the King to place the helm of the 
 state in their hands. It might have been 
 expected, that the assembled force of the 
 crown would be employed to preserve the 
 peace at least, and prevent the general sys- 
 tem of robbery and plunder which seemed 
 
 about to ensue. They appeared not, and 
 the citizens themselves took arms by thou- 
 sands, and tens of thousands, forming the 
 burgher militia, which was afterwards call- 
 ed the National Guard. The royal arsenals 
 were plundered to obtain arms, and La 
 Fayette was adopted the commander-in- 
 chief of this new army, a sufficient sign 
 that they were to embrace what was called 
 the Constitutional party. Another large 
 proportion of the population was hastily 
 armed with pikes, a weapon which waa 
 thence termed Revolutionary. The Baron 
 de Besenval, at the head of the Swiss 
 guards, two foreign regiments, and eight 
 hundred horse, after an idle demonstration 
 which only served to encourage the insur- 
 gents, retired from Paris without firing a 
 shot, having, he says in his Memoirs, no 
 orders how to act, and being desirous to 
 avoid precipitating a civil war. His re- 
 treat was the signal for a general insurrec- 
 tion, in which the French Guard, the Na- 
 tional Guard, and the armed mob of Paris, 
 took the BastiUe, and massacred a part of 
 the garrison. 
 
 We are not tracing minutely the events 
 of the Revolut.on, but only attempting to 
 describe their spirit and tendency ; and we 
 may here notice two changes, which for 
 the first time were observed to have taken 
 place in the character of the Parisian pop- 
 ulace. 
 
 The Badauds de Paris, as they were call- 
 ed in derision, had been hitherto viewed as 
 a light, laughing, thoughtless race, passion- 
 ately fond of news, though not very acutely 
 distinguishing betwixt truth and falsehood, 
 quick in adopting impressions, but incapa- 
 ble of forming firm and concerted resolu- 
 tions, still more incapable of executing 
 them, and so easily overawed by an armed 
 force, that about twelve hundred police- 
 soldiers had been hitherto sufficient to keep 
 all Paris in subjection. But in the attack 
 of the Bastille, they showed themselves 
 daring, resolute, and unyielding, as well as 
 prompt and headlong. These new quali- 
 ties were in some degree owing to the 
 support which they received from the 
 French Guards ; bift are still more to be 
 attributed to the loftier and more decided 
 character belonging to the revolutionary 
 spirit, and the mixture of men of the better 
 classes, and of the high tone which belongs 
 to them, among the mere rabble of the ci^. 
 The garrison of this too-famous castle was 
 indeed very weak, but its deep moats, and 
 insurmountable bulwarks, presented the 
 most imposing show of resistance ; and the 
 triumph which the popular cause obtained 
 in an exploit seemingly so desperate, infus- 
 ed a general consternation into the King 
 and the royalists. 
 
 The second remarkable particular was, 
 that from being one of the most light-heart- 
 ed and kind -tempered of nations , the French 
 seemed upon the Revolution to have been 
 animated not merely with the courage, but 
 with the rabid fury, of unchained wild 
 beasts. Foulon and Berthier, two individ 
 uals whom they considered as enemies of 
 the people, were put to death, with circum-
 
 56 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IV. 
 
 stances of cruelty and insult fitting only at 
 the death-stiLke of a Cherokee encamp- 
 ment j and, in emulation of literal cannibals, 
 there were men, or rather monsters, found, 
 not only to tear asunder the limba of their 
 victims, but to eat their hearts, and drink 
 their blood. The intensity of the new 
 doctrines of freedom, the animosity occa- 
 sioned by civil commotion, cannot account 
 for these atrocities, even in the lowest and 
 most ignorant of the populace. Those who 
 led the way in such unheard-of enormities, 
 must have been practised murderers and 
 assassins, mi.xed with the insurgents, like 
 old hounds in a young pack, to lead them 
 on, flesh them with slaughter, and teach an 
 example of cruelty too easily learned, but 
 hard to be ever forgotten. The metropolis 
 was entirely in the hands of the insurgents, 
 and civil war or submission was the only 
 resource left to the sovereign. For the 
 former course sufficient reasons might be 
 urged. The whole proceedings in ths me- 
 tropolis had been entirely insurrectionary, 
 without the least pretence of authority from 
 the National Assembly, which continued 
 sitting at Versailles, discussing the order 
 of the day, while the citizens of Paris were 
 storming castles, and tearing to pieces their 
 prisoners, without authority from the na- 
 tional representatives, and even without 
 the consent of their own civic rulers. The 
 provost of the merchants was assassinated 
 at the commencement of the disturbance, 
 and a terrified committee of electors were 
 the only persons who preserved the least 
 semblance of authority, which they were 
 obliged to exercise under the control and 
 at the pleasure of the infuriated multitude . 
 A large proportion of the citizens, though 
 assoming arms for the protection of them- 
 selves and their families, had no desire of 
 employing them against the royal authority ; 
 a much larger only united themselves with 
 the insurgents, because, in a moment of 
 universal af'tation, they were the active 
 and predominant party. Of these the for- 
 mer desired peace and protection ; the lat- 
 ter, from habit and shame, must have soon 
 deserted the side which was ostensibly 
 conducted by ruffians and common stabbers, 
 and drawn themselves to that which pro- 
 tected peace and good order. We have 
 too good an opinion of a people so en- 
 lightened as those of France, too good an 
 opinion of human nature in any country, to 
 believe that men will persist in evil, if de- 
 fended in their honest and legal rights. 
 
 What, in this case, was the duty of Louis 
 XVI. ? We answer %vithout hesitation, that 
 which George III. of Britain proposed to 
 himself, when, in the name of the Protest- 
 ant Religion, a violent and disorderly mob 
 opened prisons, destroyed property, burned 
 houses, and committed, though with far 
 fewer symptoms of atrocity, the same 
 course of disorder which now laid waste 
 Paris. It is known that when his ministers 
 hesitated to give an opinion in point of law 
 concerning the employment of military 
 force for projection of life and property 
 r.gainst a disorderly banditti, the King, as 
 thief maigistrate, declared his own purpose 
 
 to march into the blazing city at the head 
 of his guards, and with the strong hand of 
 war to subdue the insurgents, and restore 
 peace to the affrighted capital. The same 
 call now sounded loudly in the ear of Lou- 
 is. He was still the chief magistrate of 
 the people, whose duty it was to protect 
 their lives and property — still commander 
 of that army levied and paid for protectiaff 
 the law of the country, and the lives ana 
 property of the subject. The King ought 
 to have proceeded to the Nationid Assem- 
 bly without an instant's delay, cleared him- 
 self before that body of the suspicions with 
 which calumny had loaded him, and re- 
 quired and commanded the assistance of 
 the representatives of the people to quell 
 the frightful excesses of murder and rapino 
 which dishonoured the capital. It is al- 
 most certain that the whole moderate party, 
 as they were called, would have united 
 with the nobles and the clergy. The throne 
 was not yet empty, nor the sword unsway- 
 ed. Louis had surrendered much, and 
 might, in the course of the change impend- 
 ing, have been obliged to surrender more : 
 but he was still King of France, still bound 
 by his coronation oath to prevent murder 
 and put down insurrection. He could not 
 be considered as crushing the cause of free- 
 dom, in answering a call to discharge his 
 kingly duty; for what had the cause of re- 
 formation, proceeding as it was by the 
 peaceful discussion of an unarmed conven- 
 tion, to do with the open war waged by the 
 insurptents of Paris upon the King's troops, 
 or with the gratuitous murders and atroci- 
 ties with which the capital had been pollut- 
 ed ? With such members as shame and fear 
 might have brought over from the opposite 
 side, the King, exerting himself as a prince, 
 would have formed a majority strong enough 
 to show the union which subsisted betwixt 
 the Crown and the Assembly, when the 
 protection of the laws was the point in 
 question. With such a support — or with- 
 out it — for it is the duty of the prince, in a 
 crisis of such emergency, to serve the peo- 
 ple, and save the country, by the exercise 
 of his royal prerogative, whether with or 
 without the concurrence of the other 
 branches of the legislature, — the King, at 
 the head of his Gardes du Corps, of the 
 regiments which might have been found 
 faithful, of the nobles and gentry, whose 
 principles of chivalry devoted them to the 
 sevice of their sovereign, ought to have 
 marched into Paris, and put down the in- 
 surrection by the armed hand of authority, 
 or fallen in the attempt, like the representa- 
 tive of Henry IV. His duty called upon 
 him, and the authority with which he was 
 invested enabled him, to act this part; 
 which, in all probability, would have dis- 
 mayed the factious, encouraged the timid, 
 decided the wavering, and, by obtaining a 
 conquest over lawless and brute violence, 
 would have paved the way for a moderate 
 and secure reformation in the state. 
 
 But, having obtained this victory, in the 
 name of the Law of the realm, the Kins 
 could only be vindicated in having resorted 
 to arms, by using his conquest with such
 
 Chap. IV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 57 
 
 moderation, as to show that he threw his 
 ■word into the one scale, solely in order to 
 balance the clubs and poniards of pojjul^r 
 insurrection, with which the other was 
 loaded. He must then have evinced that 
 he did not mean to obstruct the quiet 
 course of moderation and constitutional re- 
 form, in stemming that of headlong and vi- 
 olent innovation. Many disputes would 
 have remained to be settled between liim 
 and his subjects ; but tlie proce?s of im- 
 proving the constitution, though less rapid, 
 would have been more safe and certain, 
 and the kingdom of France might have at- 
 tained a degree of freedom equal to that 
 which she now possesses, without passing 
 through a brief but dreadful anarchy to long 
 years of military despotism, without the 
 loss of mines of treasure, and without the 
 expenditure of oceans of blood. To tliose 
 who object the peril of this course, and the 
 risk to tlie person of the sovereign from the 
 fury of the insurgents, we can only answer, 
 in the words of the elder Horatius, Qm' il 
 moxirdt. Prince or peasant have alike liv- 
 ed long enough, when the clioice comes to 
 be betwixt loss of life and an important du- 
 ty undischarged. Deatli, at the head of 
 his troops, would have saved Louis more 
 ci-uel humiliation, his subjects a deeper 
 crime. 
 
 We do not .affect to deny, that in tliis 
 course there was considerable risk of an- 
 other kind, and that it is very possible that 
 the King, susceptible as he was to the in- 
 fluence of those around him, might have 
 lain under strong temptation to have resum- 
 ed the despotic authority, of which he had 
 in a great measure divested himself, and 
 have thus abused a victory gained over in- 
 surrection into a weapon of tyranny. But 
 the spirit of liberty was so string in France, 
 the principles of leniency and moderation 
 80 natural to the Kinir, his own late hazards 
 so great, and the future, considering the 
 general disposition of liis subjects, so 
 doubtful, that we are inclined to think a 
 victory by the sovereign at that moment 
 would have been followed by temperate 
 measures. How the people used tlieirs is 
 but too well known. At any rate, we have 
 strongly stated our (.pinion, that Louis 
 would at this crisis have been justified in 
 employing force to compel order, but that 
 the crime would have been deep and inex- 
 piable had he abused a victory to rcsto.'c 
 despotism. 
 
 It may be said, indeed, that the preceding 
 statement takes too much for granted, an.l 
 that the violence employed on the I4tli July 
 was probably or'y an anticipation of the 
 forcible measures which might have been 
 expected from the King against the Assem- 
 bly. The answer to this is, that the suc- 
 cessful party may always cast on the loser 
 the blan.e of coramrncing the brawl, as the 
 wolf punisJied the lamb for troublinsx the I 
 course of the water, thounrh he drank low- | 
 est down the stream. But wheji we find 
 one party completely prepared and rea;ly 
 for action, formins plans boldly, and exe- 
 cuting them skilfully, and observe the other 
 macertain and unprovided, betraving all the 
 Yot, L " Q-i 
 
 imbecility of surprise and indecision, we 
 must necessarily believe the attack was 
 premeditated on the one side, and unexpect- 
 ed on the other. 
 
 The abandonment of thirty thousand 
 stand of arms at the Hotel des Invalides, 
 which were surrendered without the slight- 
 est resistance, though three .Swiss regiments 
 lay encamped in the Champs Elys^es ; the 
 totally unprovided state of the Bastille, gar- 
 risoned by about one hundred Swiss and In- 
 valids, and without provisions even for that 
 small number ; the absolute inaction of the 
 Baron de Bezenval, who, — without entan- 
 gling his troops in tlie narrow streets, which 
 was pleaded as his excuse, — niight, by 
 marching along the Boulevards, a passage 
 so well calculated for the manoeuvres of 
 regular troops, have relieved the siege of 
 that fortress f and, finally, that General's 
 bloodless retreat from Paris, — show that the 
 King had, under all these circumstances, 
 not only adopted no measures of a hostile 
 character, but must, on the contrary, have 
 issued such orders as prevented his officers 
 from repelling force by force. 
 
 We are led, therefore, to believe, that 
 the scheme of assembling the troops round" 
 Paris was one of those half measures, to 
 which, with great political weakness, Louis 
 resorted more than once — an attempt to in- 
 timidate by the demonstration of force, 
 which he was previously resolved not to 
 use. Had his purposes of aggression been 
 serious, five thousand troops of loyal prin- 
 ciples — and such might surely have been 
 selected — would, acting suddenly and ener- 
 getically, have better assured him of the 
 city of Palis, than six times that number 
 brought to waste themselves in debauch 
 around its walls, and to be withdrawn with- 
 out the discharge of a musket. Indeed, 
 the courage of Louis was of a passive, not 
 an active nature, conspicuous in enduring 
 adversity, but not of that energetic and de- 
 cisive character which turns dubious affairs 
 into prosperity, and achieves by its own ex- 
 ertions the success which Fortune denies. 
 
 The insurrection of Paris being acquies- 
 ced in by the sovereign, was recognized by 
 tlie nation as a legitimate conquest, instead 
 of a state crime ; and the tameness of the 
 King in enduring its violence, was assumed 
 as a proof that the citizens had but antici- 
 pated his intended forcible measures against 
 the Assembly, and prevented the military 
 occupation of the city. In the debates of 
 the Assembly itself, the insurrection wa» 
 
 * We Iiave lieaid from a spectator who coul<] be 
 trusted, that, during the course of the attack on 
 thy Bastille, a cry arose among tlie crowd that the 
 rosiment of Royales .A.Ilemandes were coining upon 
 thei;i. There was at that moment such a disposi- 
 tion to fly, as plainly showed what would have 
 been the effect had a body of troops appeared ia 
 reality. The Baron de Bezenval had commanded 
 a body oi the guards, when, some weeks prcvious- 
 Iv, they subiiued an insurrection in the Fauxboiiry 
 St. Antoine. On that occasion many of the rnob 
 weie killed ; and he observes in his Memoirs, that, 
 while the cili/.'is of Paris termed him their pre- 
 serve;-, he was very coldly recc: .1 at court. Me 
 might be, therefore, unwilling to commit hinsel^ 
 t^' acting decidedly on the 12th July
 
 58 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CA<g>. IV. 
 
 Tindicated ; the fears and suspicions alleg- 
 ed as its motives were justified as well- 
 founded ; the passions of the citizens were 
 sympathized with, and their worst excesses 
 palliated and excused. When the horrors 
 accompanying the murder of Berthier and 
 Foulon were dilated upon by Lally Tolen- 
 dahl in the Assembly, he was heard and an- 
 swered as if he had made mountains of 
 mole-hills. Mirabeau said, that " it was a 
 time to think, and not to feel." Barnave 
 asked, with a sneer, " If the blood which 
 had been shed was so pure V Robespierre, 
 rising into animation witli acts of cruelty 
 fitted to call forth the interest of such a 
 mind, observed, that " the people, oppress- 
 ed for ages, had a right to the revenge of a 
 day." 
 
 But how long did that day last, or what 
 was the fate of those who justified its enor- 
 mities ? From that hour the mob of Paris, 
 or rather the suborned agitators by whom 
 the actions of that blind multitude were 
 dictated, became masters of the destiny of 
 France. An insurrection was organized 
 whenever there was any purpose to be car- 
 ried, and the Assembly might be said to 
 work under the impulse of the popular cur- 
 rent, as mechanically as the wheel of a 
 water engine is driven by the cascade. 
 
 The victory of the Bastille was extended 
 in its consequences to the cabinet and to 
 the legislative body. In the former, those 
 ministers who had counselled the King to 
 stand on the defensive against the Assem- 
 bly, or rather to assume a threatening atti- 
 tude, suddenly lost courage when they heard 
 the fate of Foulon and Berthier. The Bar- 
 on de Breteueil, the unpopular successor of 
 Necker, was deprived of his office, and driv- 
 en into exile ; and to complete the triumph 
 of the people, Necker himself was recalled 
 by their unaniirous voice. 
 
 The King cume, or was conducted to, 
 the Hotel de Ville of Paris, in what com- 
 pared to the triumph of the minister, was a 
 sort of ovation, in which he appeared rath- 
 er as a captive than otlierwise. He enter- 
 ed into the edifice under a vault of steel, 
 formed by the crossed sabres and pikes of 
 those who had been lately ensmcred in com- 
 bating his soldiers, and murdering his sub- 
 jects. He adopted the cockade of the in- 
 surrection ; and in doing so, ratified and 
 approved of the acts done expressly acjaiiist 
 his command, acquiesced in the victory ob- 
 tained over his own authority, and co;n- 
 pleted that conquest by laying down hij 
 arms. 
 
 The conquest of the Bastille was the 
 first, almost the only appeal to arms during 
 the earlier part of tlie Revolution ; and the 
 popular success, afterwards sanctioned bv 
 the monarch, showed that nothing remain- 
 ed save the n-''me of the ancient government. 
 The King's younger brother, the (,'omte 
 d'Artois, now reigning King of France, had 
 been distinguished as tiie leader and rally- 
 ing point of the rovalists. He left the king- 
 dom with his children, and took refuge in 
 Turin. Other dislinguislied princes, and 
 many of the inferior nobility, adopted the 
 same course, and their departure seem- 
 
 ed to announce to the public that the royal 
 cause was indeed desperate, since it waa 
 deserted by those most interested in its de- 
 fence. This was the first act of general 
 emigration, and although in the circumstan- 
 ces it may be excused, yet it must still be 
 termed a great political error. For though, 
 on the one hand, it is to be considered, that 
 these princes and their followers had been 
 educated in the belief tliat the government 
 of France rested in the King's person, and 
 was identified with him ; and that when 
 the King was displaced from his permanent 
 situation of power, the whole social system 
 of France was totally ruined, -and nothing 
 remained which could legally govern or be 
 governed ; yet, on the other hand, it must 
 be remembered that the instant the emi- 
 grants crossed the frontier, they at once 
 lost all the natural advantages of birth and 
 education, and separated themselves from 
 the country which it was their duty to de- 
 fend. 
 
 To draw to a head, and raise an insurrec- 
 tion for the purpose of achieving a counter 
 revolution, would have been the ready and 
 naturzd resource. But the influence of the 
 privileged classes was so totally destroyed, 
 that the scheme seemed to have been con- 
 sidered as hopeless, even if the King's con- 
 sent could have been obtained. To remain 
 in France, whether in Paris or the depart- 
 ments, must have exposed them, in their 
 avowed character of aristocrats, to abso- 
 lute assassination. It has been therefore 
 urged, that emigration was their only re- 
 source. 
 
 But there remained for these princes; 
 nobles, and cavaliers, a more noble task, 
 could they but have united themselves cor- 
 dially to that portion of the Assembly, ori- 
 ginally a strong one, which professed, with- 
 out destroyir^ the existing state of mon- 
 archy in France, to wish to infuse into it 
 the spirit of rational liberty, and to place 
 Louis in such a situation as should have 
 insured him the safe and honourable station 
 of a limited monarch, though it deprived 
 him of the powers of a despot. It is in 
 politics, however, as in religion — the slight- 
 er in itself the difference betwen two par- 
 ties, the more tejiacious is each of the 
 propositions in which they disagree. The 
 pure Royalists were so far from being dis- 
 posed to coalesce with those who had blend- 
 ed an attachment to monarchy with a love of 
 liberty, that they scarce accounted them fit 
 to share the dangers and distresses to which 
 all were alike reduced. 
 
 This first emigration proceeded not a lit- 
 tle perhaps on the feeling of self-conse- 
 quence among those by wiiom it was adopt- 
 ed. The high-born nobles of which it wa« 
 chiefly composed, had been long th« 
 WORLD, as it is termed, to Paris and to 
 each other, and it was a natural conclusion, 
 that their withdrawing themselves from 
 the sphere which they adorned, n^ust 
 have been felt as an irremediable depriva- 
 tion. They were not aware liow easily, in 
 the ho'ir of need, perfumed hunps are, to 
 all purposes of utility, replaced by ordina- 
 ry candles, and that, carrying away wit^
 
 Chap. IV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 59 
 
 them much of dignity, gallantry, and grace, 
 they left behind an ample stock of wisdom 
 and valour, and all the other essential qual- 
 ities by which nations are governed and de- 
 fended. 
 
 The situation and negotiations of the em- 
 igrants in the courts to which they fled, 
 were also prejudicial to their own reputa- 
 tion, and consequently to the royal cause, 
 to which they had sacrificed their country. 
 Reduced " to show their misery in foreign 
 lands," they were naturally desirous of ob- 
 taining foreign aid to return to their own, 
 and laid themselves under a very heavy ac- 
 cusation of instigating a civil war, while 
 Louis was yet the resigned, if not tlie con- 
 tented, sovereign of the newly modified 
 empire. To this subject we must after- 
 wards return. 
 
 The conviction that the ancient monarchy 
 of France had fallen forever, gave cncour- 
 etgement to the numerous parties which 
 united in desiring a new constitution, al- 
 though they differed on the principles on 
 which it was to be founded. But all agreed 
 that it was necessary, in the first place, to 
 clear away the remains of the ancient state 
 of things. They resolved upon the aboli- 
 tion of all feudal rights, and managed the 
 matter with so much address that it was 
 made to appear on the part of those who 
 held them a voluntary surrender. The de- 
 bate in the National .\ssembly* was turned 
 by the popular leaders upon the odious 
 character of the feudal rights and privileg- 
 es, as being the chief cause of the general 
 depressiou and discontent in which tlie 
 kingdom was involved. The Nobles un- 
 derstood the hint which was thus given 
 them, and answered it with the ready cour- 
 age and generosity which has been at all 
 times the attribute of their order, though 
 sometimes these noble qualities have been 
 indiscreetly exercised. " Is it from us per- 
 sonally that the nation expects sacrifices ?"■ 
 said the Marquis de Foucaull ; '' be assur- 
 ed that you shall not appeal in vain to our 
 generosity. We are desirous to defend to 
 the last the rights of the monarchy, but we 
 can be lavish of our peculiar and personal 
 interests." 
 
 The same general sentiment pervaded at 
 once the Clergy and Nobles, who, suffi- 
 ciently sensible that what they resigned 
 could not operate essentially to the quiet 
 of the state, were yet too proud to have 
 even the appearance of placing their own 
 selfish interests in competition with the 
 public welfare. The whole privileged 
 classes seemed at once seized with a spirit 
 of the most lavish generosity, and hastened 
 to despoil themselves of all their peculiar 
 immunities and feudal rights. Clergy and 
 laymen vied with each other in the nature 
 and extent of their sacrifices. Privi!r';lfis, 
 ■whether prejudicial or harmless, ratioail or 
 ridiculous, were renounced in the mass. 
 A sort of delirium pervaded t)ie .Vsseinbly ; 
 e»ch member strove to distinguish the sac- 
 rifice of his personal claims by something 
 Store remarkable than had yet attended any 
 
 * 4th August, 1789. 
 
 of the previous renunciations. They who 
 had no rights of their own to resign, had 
 the easier and more pleasant task of sur- 
 rendering those of their constituents : the 
 privileges of corporations, the monopolies 
 of crafts, the rights of cities, were heaped 
 on the national altar : and the members of 
 the National Assembly seemed to look 
 about in ecstacy, to consider o£ what else 
 they could despoil themselves and others^ 
 as if, like the silly old earl in the civil dis- 
 sensions of England, there had been an ac- 
 tual pleasure in the act of renouncing.* 
 The feudal rights were in many instances 
 odious, in others oppressive, and in others 
 ridiculous ; but it was ominous to see the 
 institutions of ages overthrown at random, 
 by a set of men talking and raving all at 
 once, so as to verify the observation of the 
 Englishman, Williams, one of their own 
 members, •' The fools I they would be 
 thought to deliberate, when they cannot 
 even listen." The singular occasion on 
 which enthusiasm, false shame, and mutual 
 emulation, thus ieduced the Nobles and 
 Clergy to despoil themselves of all their 
 seigniorial rights, was called by some the 
 day of the sacrifices, by others, more truly, 
 the day of the dupes 
 
 During the currency of this legislative 
 frenzy, as it might be termed, the popular 
 party, with countenances affecting humil- 
 ity and shame at having nothing them- 
 selves to surrender, sat praising each new 
 sacrifice, as the wily companions of a 
 thoughtless and generous young man ap- 
 plaud the lavish expense by which thev 
 themselves profit, while their seeming ad- 
 miration is an incentive to new acts of ex- 
 travajance. 
 
 At length, when the sacrifice seemed com- 
 plete, they began to pause and look around 
 them. h>ome one thought of the separate 
 distinctions of the provinces of France, as 
 Normandy, Languedoc, and so forth. Most 
 of these provinces possessed rights and 
 privileges acquired by victory or treaty, 
 which even Richelieu had not dared to vi^ 
 olate. As soon as mentioned, they were at 
 once thrown into the revolutionary smelt- 
 ing-pot, to be re-modelled after the univer- 
 sal equality which was the fashion of th''^ 
 d,iy. It was not urged, and would not have 
 been listened to, that these rights had been 
 bought with blood, and sanctioned by pub- 
 lic faith ; ihat the legislature, though it had 
 a right to extend them to others, could not 
 I t-.ike them from the possessors without com- 
 pensation ; and it escaped the .\ssembly no 
 less, how many honest and generous senti-- 
 
 j * " Is there nothing else we can renounce .'" said 
 the olii Earl of Pemliroke and Montgomery, in tlie 
 time of the Commonwealth, after he had joined in 
 renouncing Church and King, Crown and Law 
 " Cat) no one think of any thing else ? I love re- 
 :founci}fa." The hasty renunciations of tho 
 French cohles and churchmen were brought abjin 
 in the manner practised of yore in convivial par- 
 liex, when he who gave a toast burned his »i;j, 
 had a loose tooth drawn, or rriade some other ?ac^ 
 ritice, wliich, according to the laws of compota- 
 tion, was an example necessary to be imitated by 
 all the rest of the company, with whatever prejw 
 dice to their wardrobe or their persoiu.
 
 60 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. IV. 
 
 menta are connected with eudh provincial 
 distinctions, which form, as it were, a sec- 
 ond and inner fence around the love of a 
 common country ; or how much harmless 
 enjoyment the poor man derives from the 
 consciousness that he shares the privileges 
 of some peculiar district. Such considera- 
 tions might have induced the legislature 
 to pause at least, after they had removed 
 such marks of distinction as tended to en- 
 gender jealousy betwixt inhabitants of the 
 same kingdom. Bnt the revolutiouary lev- 
 el was to be passed over all that tended to 
 distinguish one district, or one individual, 
 from another. 
 
 There was one order in the kingdom 
 which, although it had joined largely and 
 readily in the sacrifices of ihe day of dupes, 
 was still considered as indebted to the 
 state, and was doomed to undergo an act of 
 total spoliation. The Clergy had agreed, 
 and the Assembly .had decreed, on 4th Au- 
 gust, that the tithes should be declared re- 
 deemable, at a moderate price, by the pro- 
 prietors subject to payjthem. This regula- 
 tion ratified, at least, the legality of the 
 Clergy's title.* Nevertheless, in violation 
 of the public faith thus pledged, the Assem- 
 bly, three days afterwards, pretended that 
 the surrender of tithes had been absolute, 
 and that, in lieu of that supposed revenue, 
 the nation was only bound to provide de- 
 cently for the administration of divine wor- 
 ship. Even the Abb6 Sieyes on this occa- 
 sion deserted the revolutionary party, and 
 made an admirable speech against this ini- 
 quitous measure. " You would be free," 
 he exclaimed, with vehemence, '' and you 
 know not how to be ju&t !" A curate in the 
 Assembly, recalling to mind the solemn in- 
 vocation by which the Tiers Etat had call- 
 ed upon the clergy to unite with tliem, ask- 
 ed, with similar energy, " Was it to rob us, 
 that you invited us to join with you in the 
 name of the God of Peace?" JViirabcau, 
 on the other hand, forgot the vehemence 
 with v/hich he had pleaded the right of 
 property inherent in religious bodies, and 
 lent his sophistry to defend •.vbat his own 
 reasoning had proved in a similar case to 
 be indefensible. The complaint.'; of the 
 Clergy were listened to /in contemptuous 
 silence, or replied to v.ith bitter irony, by 
 those who were conscious hov little sym- 
 pathy that body were likely to meet from 
 the nation in general, asd who therefore 
 spoke " as having power to do wrong." 
 
 We must now revert to the condition of 
 the kingdom of France at large, while her 
 ancient institutions were crumbling to pie- 
 * ces of themselves, or were forcibly pullod 
 down by state innovators. That .'ine coiin- 
 try was ravaged by a oivil war of aggravat- 
 ed horrors, waged betwixt the rich and 
 poor, and piaiked by every species of bru- 
 tal violence. The peii^ants, thei:f minds 
 filled with ar tnousasid wild suppos't'ons, 
 and incensed by the general scarcity of pro- 
 visions, were everywhere in arms, and ev- 
 erywhere attacked the chateaux of their 
 Seigntun, whom they v/ere incited to look 
 npon as enemies of the Revolution, and 
 particularly of the commons. In most in- 
 
 stances they were successful, and burnt th4 
 dwellings of the nobility, practising all the 
 circumstances of rage and cruelty to which 
 the minds of barbarians are influenced. 
 Men were murdered in presence of their 
 wives} wives and daughters violated before 
 the eyes of their husbands and parents ; 
 some were put to death by lingering tor- 
 tures; others by sudden and general mas- 
 sacre. Against some of these unhappy gen- 
 tlemen, doubtless, the peasants might haver 
 wrongs to remember and to avenge ; many 
 of them, however, had borne their faculties 
 so meekly that they did not even suspect 
 the ill intentions of these peasants, until 
 their castles and country-seats kindled 
 with the general conflagration, and made 
 part of the devouring element which raged 
 through the whole kingdom. 
 
 What were the National Assembly doing 
 at this dreadful crisis .' They were discuss- 
 ing the abstract doctrines of the rights of 
 man, instead of exacting from the subject 
 the respect due to his social duties. 
 
 Yet a large party in the Convention, and 
 who had hitherto led the way in the paths 
 of the Revolution, now conceived that the 
 goal was attained, and that it was time to 
 use the curb and forbear the spur. Such 
 was tne opinion of La Fayette and his fol- 
 lowers, who considered the victory over 
 the Royalists as complete, and were desir- 
 ous to declare the Revolution ended, and 
 erect a substantial form of government on 
 the ruins of monarchy, which lay prostrate 
 at their feet. 
 
 They had influence enough in the As- 
 sembly to procure a set of resolutions, de- 
 claring the monarchy hereditary in the per- 
 son of the King and present family, on 
 which basis they proceeded to erect what 
 might bp termed a Royal Democracy, or, in 
 plainer terms, a Republic, governed, in 
 truth, by a popular assembly, but encum- 
 bered with tlic expense of a king, to whom 
 they desired to leave no real power, or free 
 will to exercise it, although his name was 
 to remain in the front of edicts, and al- 
 tiiough he was still to be considered enti- 
 tled to command their armies, as the execu- 
 tive authority of the state. 
 
 A struggle was made to extend the royal 
 authority to an absolute negative upon the 
 decrees of the representative body; and 
 though it was limited by the jealousy of 
 the popular party to a suspensive veto only, 
 yet even this degree of iniluence was sup- 
 posed too dangerous in the hands of a moH- 
 arcli who had but lately been absolute. 
 There is ii.deed an eviiient dilemma in the 
 formation of a democracy, with a king for 
 its ostensible head. Either the monarch 
 will remain contented with his daily pa- 
 rade and daily food, anil tlius play the part 
 of a mere pageant, in which case he is a 
 burthensome expense to the state, which a 
 popular government, in prudent economy, 
 as well as from the severity of principle 
 assumed by republicans, are particularly 
 bound to avoid ; or olae he will naturally 
 endeavour to improve the tli.uiow and out- 
 j ward form of power into something like 
 I sinew and substance, and Uie democracy
 
 Chap, v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOiS BUONAPARTE. 
 
 61 
 
 will be unexpectedly assailed with the 
 gpear which they desired should be used 
 only as their standard pole. 
 
 To these reasonings many of the Depu- 
 ties would perhaps have answered, had they 
 spoken their real sentiments, that it was yet 
 too early to propose to the French a pure 
 republic, and that it was necessary to ren- 
 der the power of the King insignilicant, be- 
 fore abolishing a title to which the public 
 ear had been so long accustomed. In the 
 iseantimc they took care to divest the 
 monarch of whatever protection lie miglit 
 have received from an intermediate senate, 
 or chamber, placed betwixt the King and 
 the National Assembly. " One God," ex- 
 claimed Rabaut St. Etienne, " one Nation, 
 one King, and one Chamber." This advo- 
 cate for unity at once and uniformity, 
 would scarce have been listened to if he 
 had added, " one nose, one tongue, one 
 
 arm, and one eye ;" but his first concate- 
 nation of unities formed a phrase ; and aa 
 imposing phrase, which sounds well, and 
 can easily be repeated, has immense force 
 in a revolution. The proposal for a Sec- 
 ond or Upper Chamber, whether heredita- 
 ry like that of England, or conservative 
 like that of America, was rejected as aris- 
 tocratical. Thus the King of France waa 
 placed in respect to the populace, as Ca- 
 nute of old to the advancing tide — he was 
 eutitled to sit on his throne and command 
 the waves to respect him, and take the 
 chance of their obeying his commands, or 
 of being overwhelmed by them. If he was 
 designed to be an integral part of the con- 
 stitution, this should not have been — if he 
 was considered as something that was more 
 seemly to abandon to his fate than to de- 
 stroy by violence, the plan was not ill cod- 
 certed. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Plan of the Democrats to bring the King and Assembly to Paris. — Banquet of the 
 Gardes du Corps. — Riot at Paris — A formidable Mob of Women assemble to march to 
 Versailles — The National Guard refuse to act against the Insurgents, and demand 
 also to be led to Versailles — The Female Mob arrive — Their behaviour to the Assem- 
 bly — to the King — Alarming Disorders at Nigid — La Fayette arrives with the Na- 
 tional Gfxcard — Mob force the Palace — Murder the Body Guards — The Queen's safety 
 endangered — Fayette's arrival with his Force restores Order— King and Royal Fam- 
 ily obliged to go to reside at Paris. — Description of the Procession — This Step 
 agreeable to the Views of the Constitutionalists , and of the Republicans, and of the 
 Anarchists. — Duke of Orleans sent to England. 
 
 We have mentioned the various restric- 
 tions upon the royal authority, which had 
 been successively sanctioned by the Na- 
 tional Assembly. But the various factions, 
 all of which tended to democracy, were 
 determined upon manoeuvres for abating 
 the royal authority, more actively powerful 
 than those which the Assembly dared yet 
 to venture upon. For this purpose, all 
 those who desired to carry the Revolution 
 to extremity, became desirous to bring the 
 sittings of the National Assembly and the 
 residence of the King within the precincts 
 of Paris, and to place them under the influ- 
 ence of that popular frenzy which they had 
 80 many ways of exciting, and which might 
 exercise the authority of terror over the 
 body of representatives, fill their galleries 
 with a wild and tumultuous band of parti- 
 sans, surround their gates with an infuriat- 
 ed populace, and thus dictate the issue of 
 each deliberation. What fate was ret:erved 
 for the King, after incidents will sutficient- 
 ly show. To effect an object so important, 
 the republican party strained every effort, 
 and succeeded in raising the popular fer- 
 ment to the highest pitch. 
 
 Their first efforts were unsuccessful. A 
 deputation, formidable from their numbers 
 and clamorous violence, was about to sally 
 from Paris to petition, as they called it, for 
 the removal of the royal family and Na- 
 tional .\ssembly to Paris, but was dispersed 
 by the address of La Fayette and Baiili. 
 Nevertheless it seemed decreed that the 
 republicans should carry their favourite 
 
 measures, less through their own proper 
 strength, great as that was, than by the ad- 
 vantage aflforded by the blunders of tlie 
 royalists. An imprudence — it seems to de- 
 serve no harsher name — which occurred 
 within the precincts of the royal palace at 
 Versailles, gave the demagogues an oppor- 
 tunity, sooner probably than they expected, 
 of carrying their point by a repetition of 
 the violences which had already occurred. 
 
 The town of Versailles owed its splen- 
 dour and wealth entirely to its being the 
 royal residence, yet abounded with a pop- 
 ulation singularly ill disposed towards the 
 King and royal family. The National 
 Guard of the place, amounting to some 
 thousands, were animated by the same 
 feelings. There were only about four hun- 
 dred Gardes du Corps, or Life-guards, up- 
 on whom reliance could be placed for the 
 defence of the royal family, in case of any 
 popular (umult either in Versailles itself, 
 or directed thither from Paris. These 
 troops consisted of gentlemen of trust and 
 confidence, but their numbers were fe\r 
 in proportion to the extent of the palace, 
 and their very quality rendered them ob- 
 noxious to the people as armed aristocrats. 
 
 About two-thirds of their number, to 
 avoid suspicion and gain confidence, had 
 been removed to Rambouillets. In thes 
 circumstances, the grenadiers of the French 
 Guards, so lately in arms against the royai 
 authority, witJi an inconsistency not unnat- 
 ural to men of their profession, took it into 
 their heads to become zealous for recovery
 
 63 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. V. 
 
 of the posts which they had formerly occu- 
 pied around the King's person, and threat- 
 ened openly to march to Versailles to take 
 possession of the routine of duty at the pal- 
 ace, a privilege which they considered as 
 their due, notwithstanding tha< they had 
 deserted their posts against the King's com- 
 mand, and were now about to resume them 
 contrary to his consent. The regiment of 
 Flanders was brought up to Versailles, to 
 prevent a movement fraught with so much 
 danger to the royal family. The presence 
 of this corps had been required by the mu- 
 nicipality, and the measure had been ac- 
 quiesced in by the Assembly, though not 
 ■without some expressive indications of 
 suspicion. 
 
 The regiment of Flanders arrived accor- 
 dingly, and the Gardes du Corps, according 
 to a custom universal in the French garri- 
 sons, invited the officers to an entertain- 
 ment, at which the officers of tiie Swiss 
 guards, and those of the National Guards 
 of Versailles, were also guests. This ill- 
 omened feast was given in the Opera Hall 
 of the palace, almost within hearing of the 
 sovereigns 5 the healths of the royal family 
 were drank with the enthusiasm naturally 
 inspired by the situation. The King and 
 Queen imprudently agreed to visit the 
 scene of festivity, carrying with them the 
 Dauphin. Their presence raised the spirits 
 of the company, alreadv e.xcited by wine 
 and music, to the highest pitch ; royalist 
 tunes were played, the white cockade, dis- 
 tributed by the ladies who attended the 
 Queen, was mounted with enthusiasm, and 
 it is said that of the nation was trodden 
 under foot. 
 
 If we consider the cause of this wild 
 scene, it seems natural enough that the 
 Queen, timid as a woman, anxious as a wife 
 and a mother, might, in order to propitiate 
 the favour of men who were summoned ex- 
 pressly to be the guard of the royal family, 
 incautiously have recourse to imitate, in a 
 slight degree, and towards one regiment, 
 the arts of conciliation, which in a much 
 grosser shape had been used by the popular 
 party to shake the fidelity of the whole ar- 
 my. But it is impossible to conceive that 
 the King, or ministers, could have hoped, 
 by the transitory and drunken flash of en- 
 thusiasm elicited from a few hundred men 
 during a carousal, to commence the coun- 
 ter-revolution, which they dared not at- 
 tempt when they had at their command 
 thirty thousand troops, under an experienc- 
 ed general. 
 
 But as no false step among the royalists 
 remained unimproved by their adversaries, 
 tlie military feast of \'ersailles was present- 
 ed to the people of Paris under a light very 
 different from that in which it must be 
 Tiewed by posterity. The Jacobins were 
 the first to sound the alarm through all 
 their clubs and societies, and the hundreds 
 of hundreds of popular orators whom tlicv 
 had at their command, excited the citizens 
 by descriptions of ihe m 1st dreadful pints, 
 fraught with massacres and proscriptions. 
 Every effort had already been used to heat 
 the popular mind againsi the King and 
 
 Queen, whom, in allusion to the obnoxious 
 power granted to them by the law, they 
 had of late learned to curse and insult, un- 
 der the names of Monsieur and Madame 
 Veto. The King had recently delayed 
 yielding his sanction to the declarations of 
 the Rights of Man. until the Constitution 
 was complete. This had been severely 
 censured by the Assembly, who spoke of 
 sending a deputation to extort his consent 
 to these declarations, before presenting 
 him with the practical results which they 
 intended to bottom on them. A dreadful 
 scarcity, amounting nearly to a famine, ren- 
 dered the populace even more accessible 
 than usual to desperate counsels. The 
 feasts, amid which the aristocrats were 
 .epresentcd as devising their plots, seemed 
 an insult on the public misery. When the 
 minds of the lower orders were thus pre- 
 judiced, it was no difficult matter to produce 
 an insurreclion. 
 
 That of the 5th October. 1789, was of a 
 singular description, tlie insurgents being 
 chielly of the female sex. The market- 
 women. Dames aux Holies, as they are 
 called, half unsexed by the masculine na- 
 ture of their employments, and entirely so 
 by the ferocity of their manners, had figur- 
 ed early in the Revolution. With these 
 were allied and associated most of the 
 worthless and liarbarous of their own sex, 
 such disgraceful specimens of humanity as 
 serve but to show in what a degr^-Jed state 
 it may be found to exist. Females of this 
 description began to assemble early in the 
 morning, in larije groups, with the cries for 
 "bread,"' which so easily rouse a starving 
 metropolis. There were obserVk,J amongst 
 them many men disguised as Women, and 
 tliey compelled all the females tkey met to 
 go along with them. They marched to the 
 Hotel de Ville. broke boldly though sever- 
 al squadrons of the National Guard, who 
 were drawn up in front of that building for 
 its defence, and were with difficulty dis- 
 suaded from burning the records it con- 
 tained. They next seized a magazine of 
 arms, with three or four pieces of cannon, 
 and were joined by a miscellaneous rabble, 
 armed with pikes, scythes, and similar in- 
 struments, who called themselves the con- 
 querors of the Bastille. The still increas- 
 ing multitude re-echoed the cry of '' Bread, 
 bread I — to Versailles ! to Versailles I" 
 
 The National CJuard were now called 
 out in force, but speedily showed their of- 
 ficers that they too were infected with the 
 humour of the times, and as much indispos- 
 ed to subordination as. the mob, to disperse 
 which they were summoned. La Fayette 
 put himself at their iiead, not to give his 
 own, but to receive their orders. They re- 
 fused to act against women, who, they said,, 
 were starving, and in their turn demanded 
 to he led to Versailles, to dethrone, — such 
 was their language, — " the King, who was a 
 driveller, and place the crown on the head 
 of his son." La Fayette hesitated, implor- 
 ed, explained ; but he had as yet to learn 
 th.e situation of a revolutionary general. 
 '' Is-it notslransie," said one of his soldiers, 
 who seemed quite to understand the milita-
 
 Chap, v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 63 
 
 ry relation of officer and private on such 
 an occasion, " is it not strange thai La Fay- 
 ette pretends to command the people, when 
 it is his part to receive orders from them V 
 
 Soon afterwards an order arrived from 
 the Assembly of the Commune of Paris, 
 enjoining the commandant's march, upon 
 his own report that it was impossible to 
 withstand the will of the people. He 
 marched accordingly in good order, and at 
 the head of a large force of the National 
 Guard, about four or five hours after the de- 
 parture of the mob, who, while he w-aited 
 lu a state of indecision, were already far 
 on their way to Versailles. 
 
 It does not appear that the King, or his 
 ministers, had any information of these 
 hostile movements. Assuredly, there could 
 not have been a royalist in Paris willing to 
 hazaird a horse or a groom to carry such in- 
 telligence where the knowledge of it must 
 have been so important. The leading mem- 
 bers of the Assembly, assembled at Ver- 
 sailles, were better informed. "These 
 gentlemen,'' said Barbantanne, looking at 
 the part o£ the hall where the nobles and 
 clergy usually sat, '• wish more light — they 
 shall have lanterns,* they may rely upon 
 it." Mirabeau went behind the chair of 
 Mounier, the president. •• Paris is march- 
 ing upon us,'' he said. — ■' I know not what 
 you mean," said Mounier. — '• Believe me 
 or not, ail Paris is marching upon us — dis- 
 solve the sitting " — " I never hurry the de- 
 liberations," said Mounier. — '• Then feign 
 illness," said Mirabeau, — " go to the pal- 
 ace, tell them what I sa\', and give me for 
 authority. But there is not a minute to 
 lose — Paris marches upon us." — ■' So much 
 the better," answered Mounier ; " we will 
 iie a republic the sooner. "t 
 
 Shortly after this singular dialogue, oc- 
 casioned probably by a sudden movement, 
 in which Mirabeau showed the aristocratic 
 feelings from which he never could shake 
 himself free, the female battalion, together 
 with their masculine allies, continued their 
 march uninterruptedly, and entered Ver- 
 sailles in the al'ternoon, singing patriotic 
 airs, intermingled with blasphemous ob- 
 scenities, and the most furious threats 
 against the Queen. Their first visit was to 
 the National Assembly,where the beating of 
 drums, shouts, shrieks, and a hundred con- 
 fused sounds, interrupted the deliberations. 
 A man called Mailliard, brandishing a 
 sword in his hand, and supported by a wo- 
 man holding a long pole, to which was at- 
 
 * In the beginning of the Revolution, when the 
 mob executed their pleasure on the individuab 
 againiit whom their saspiciooa were directed, the 
 lamp-irons served for gibbets, and the hnes by 
 which the lamps or lanterns were disposed across 
 •he street, were ready halters Hence the cry of 
 '* Lis Aristocratcs h la lanterne." The answer 
 of the .\b!)e Maury is well known. *' Eh ! wes 
 amis, et quand roiis in'aurez niU a la lanterne, 
 eat ce que couk verrez plus clair 1" 
 
 I Mounier must be supposed to speak ironically, 
 and in allasisn, not to his own opinions, but to 
 Mirabeau's revolutionary tenets. Another ac- 
 count of this singular conversation 3tatea his an- 
 •wer to have been, "All the better. If the mob 
 kill all of us — remark, I say all of us, it will be 
 ttio batlM fur the country. 
 
 tached a tambour de basque, commenced a, 
 harangue in the name of the sovereign 
 people. He announced that they wanted 
 bread ; that they were convinced the min- 
 isters were traitors ; that the arm of the 
 people was uplifted, and about to strike ; — 
 with much to the same purpose, in the ex- 
 aggerated eloquence of the period. The 
 same sentiments were echoed by his fol- 
 lowers, mingled with the bitterest threats, 
 against the Queen in particular, that fury 
 could contrive, expressed in language of 
 the most energetic brutality. 
 
 The Amazons then crowded into the As- 
 sembly, mixed themselves with the mem- 
 bers, occupied the seat of the president, of 
 the secretaries, produced or procured 
 victuals and wine, drank, sung, swore, 
 scolded, screamed, — abused some of the 
 members, and loaded others with their 
 loathsome caresses. 
 
 A deputation of these madwomen was at 
 length sent to St. Priest, the minister, a 
 determined royalist, who received them 
 sternly, and replied to their demand of 
 bread, •• When you had but one king, you 
 never wanted bread — you have now twelve 
 hundred — go ask it of them." They were 
 introduced to the King, however, and were 
 so much struck with the kind interest 
 which he took in the state of Pairis, that 
 their hearts relented in his favour, and the 
 deputies returned to their constituents, 
 shouting Vive le Roi ! 
 
 Had the tfempest depended on the mere 
 popular breeze, it might now have been lull- 
 ed to sleep ; but there was a secret ground- 
 swell, a heaving upwards of the bottom of 
 the abyss, which could not be conjured 
 down by the awakened feelings or convinc- 
 ed understandings of the deputation. A 
 cry was raised that the duputies had been 
 bribed to represent the King favourably ; 
 and, in this humour of suspicion, the army 
 of Amazons stripped their garters, for the 
 purpose of strangling their own delegates. 
 They had by this time ascertained, that 
 neither the National Guard of Versailles, 
 nor the regiment of Flanders, whose transi- 
 tory loyalty had passed away with the fumes 
 of the wine of the banquet, would oppose 
 them by force, and that they had only to 
 deal with the Gardes du Corps, who dared 
 not to act with vigour, lest they should pro- 
 voke a general attack on the palace, while 
 the most complete distraction and indecis- 
 ion reigned within its precincts. Bold in 
 consequence, the female mob seized on the 
 exterior avenues of the palace, and threat- 
 ened destruction to all within. 
 
 The attendants of the King saw it ne- 
 cessary to take measures for the safety of 
 his person, but they were marked by inde- 
 cision and confusion. A force was hastily 
 gathered of two or three hundred gentle- 
 men, who, it was proposed, should mount 
 the horses of the royal stud, and escort the 
 King to Rambouillet, out of this scene of 
 confusion.* The Gardes du Corps, with 
 
 * This was proposed by that Marquis de Favras, 
 whose death upon the gallows for a royalist plot, 
 gave afterwards such exquisite delight to the citi- 
 zens of Paxid. Being the first aoao of quality
 
 64 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Ch<9. V. 
 
 Buch assistance, might certainly have forced 
 their way through a mob of the tumultuary 
 description which surrounded themj and 
 tlie escape of the King from Versailles, 
 under circumstances so critical, might have 
 had a great efl'ect in changing the current 
 of popular feeling. But those opinions 
 prevailed, which recommended that he 
 should abide the arrival of La Fayette with 
 the civic force of Paris. 
 
 It was now night, and the armed rabble 
 of both sexes showed no intention of de- 
 parting or breaking up. Oa the contrary, 
 they bivouacked after tlieir ovra manner 
 npon the parade, where the soldiers usually 
 mustered. There they kindled large iires, 
 ate, drank, sang, caroused, and occasionally 
 discharged their fire-arms. Scuffles arose 
 from time to time, and one or two of the 
 Gardes du Cot-ps had been killed and 
 wounded in the quarrel, which the rioters 
 had endeavoured to fasten on them ; besides 
 which, this devoted corps had sustained a 
 volley from their late guests, the National 
 Guard of Versailles. The horse of a Garde 
 du Corps, which fell into the hands of these 
 female demons, was killed, torn in pieces, 
 and eaten half raw and half roasted. Eve- 
 ry thing seemed tending to a general en- 
 gagement, when late at night the drums an- 
 nounced the approach of La Fayette at the 
 head of his civic army, which moved slow- 
 ly but in good order. 
 
 The presence of this great force seemed 
 to restore a portion of tranquillity, though 
 no one seemed to know with certainty how 
 it was likely to act. La Fayette had an au- 
 dience of the King, explained the means he 
 had adopted for the security of the palace, 
 recommended to the inhabitants to go to 
 rest, and unhappily set the example by re- 
 tiring himself. Before doing so, however, 
 he also visited the Assembly, pledged him- 
 self for the safety of the royal family and 
 the tranquillity of the night, and, with 
 some difficulty, prevailed on the President 
 Mounier to adjourn the sitting, which had 
 been voted permanent. He thus took upon 
 himselfthe responsibility for the quiet of the 
 night. We are loath to bring into question 
 the worth, honour, and fidelity of La Fay- 
 ette ; and we can therefore only lament, 
 that weariness should have so far overcome 
 him at zn important crisis, and that he 
 should ha'fe trusted to others the execution 
 of those precautions, which were most 
 grossly neglected. 
 
 A band of the rioters found means to pen- 
 etrate into the palace about three in the 
 morning, thrc;j_rh a gate which was left un- 
 locked ;md unguarded. They rushed to 
 the Queeu"? apartment, and bore down the 
 few Gardes du Corps wlio hastened to her 
 
 whom lliey liad seen han?'!(l, (that puiu.shment 
 liiiving been hitherto rosurvoil for plebei^in?,) they 
 encorn I tho perfurmance, and wouhl fuin have 
 hung him up a secnul time. The same untbrtu- 
 nate gentleman had previou.-sly proposed to suture 
 tlie bridge at S»>vres with a. hoily of cavalry, which 
 would have previiiuii il.e women from advancing 
 to Versailles. Tlie CVneen signed an order for the 
 fcorses with this remarkable clause, — " 'I'o be usted 
 it the King's safety i^; endangered, but in no dan- 
 {«r which affects mo uuly." 
 
 defence. The sentinel knocked at the 
 door of her bed-chamber, called to her to 
 escape, and then gallantly exposed himself 
 to the fury of the murderers. His single 
 opposition was almost instantly overcome, 
 and he himself left for dead. Over hie 
 bleeding body they forced their way into 
 the Queen's apartment; but their victim, 
 reserved for farther and worse woes, had 
 escaped by a secret passage into the cham- 
 ber of the King, while the assassins, burst- 
 ing in, stabbed the bed she had just left with 
 pikes and swords.* 
 
 The Gardes du Corp* assembled in what 
 was called the Oeil de Bccuf, and endeav- 
 oured there to defend themselves ; but 
 several, unable to gain this place of refuge, 
 were dragged down into the court-yard, 
 where a wretch, distinguished by a long 
 beard, a broad bloody axe, and a species of 
 armour wliich he wore on his person, had 
 taken on himself, by taste and choice, the 
 office of executioner. The strangeness of 
 the villain's costume, the sanguinary relish 
 witli which he discharged his office, and 
 the hoarse roar with which from time to 
 time he demanded new victims, made him 
 resemble some demon whom hell had vom- 
 ited forth, to augment the wickedness aiKt 
 horror of the scene. t 
 
 Two of the Gardes du Corps were al- 
 ready beheaded, and the Man with the 
 Beard was clamorous to do his office upon 
 the others who had been taken, when La 
 Fayette, roused from his repose, arrived at 
 the head of a body of grenadiers of the old 
 French guards, who had been lately incor- 
 porated witli the civic guard, and were pro- 
 bably the most efficient part of his force. 
 He did not think of avenging the unfortu- 
 nate genthjmen, who lay murdered befoie 
 his eyes for the discharge of their military 
 duty, but ho entreated his soldiers to save 
 him the di^^lionour of breaking his word, 
 wliich he had pledged to the King, that he 
 would protect the Gardes du Corps. It is 
 probable he attempted no more than was in 
 
 * One of the most accredited calumnies againrt 
 tlie uiiibrtunate Marie Antoinette pretends, that 
 she was on this occasion surprised in the arms of a 
 paramour. Buonaparte is said to have mentioned 
 this as a fact, upon the authority of Madame 
 Canipan. VVc have now Madame Campan's own 
 account, dcsiribing tlie conduct of the (iucen on 
 this dreadful occasion as that of a heroine, and 
 totally excluding the possibility of the pretended 
 anecdote. 15ut let it he farther considered, under 
 what circumstances the Queen was placed — at two 
 in the morning, retired to a privacy liable to be in- 
 terrupted (as it was) not only by the irruption of 
 the furious banditti who surrounded the palace, 
 demanding her life, but by tlie entrance of tha 
 King, or of others, in whom circumstances might 
 have rendered the intrusion duty ; and l"t it then 
 be judged whelher tlie dangers of tho moment, and 
 the risk of discovery, would not have prevented 
 Messalina herself from choosing such a time for an 
 assignation. 
 
 t 'J'he mijicreant's real name was Jourdain, af- 
 terwards called Coupe-tite, distinguished in the 
 massacres of Avignon. He gained his bread by 
 sitting as an academy-model to painters, and for 
 that roasou cultivated his long beard. \n tho de- 
 positions before the ("hatelet, he is called L'hom- 
 mriilabarhr, — an e|>itliet which might distinguiah 
 the ogre or goblin of some ancient legend.
 
 Chap, v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 65 
 
 his power, and so far acted wisely, if not 
 generously. 
 
 To redeem Monsieur de la Fayette's 
 pledge, the grenadiers did, what they ought 
 to have done in the name of tiie King, the 
 law, the nation, and insulted humanity, — 
 they cleared, and with perfect ease, the 
 court of the palace from these bands of 
 murderous bacchantes, and their male as- 
 sociates. The instinct of ancient feelings 
 was in some degree awakened in the grena- 
 diers. They experienced a sudden sensa- 
 tion of compassion and kindness for the 
 Garde* du Corps, whose duty on the royal 
 person they had in former times shared. 
 There arose a cry among them, — " Let us 
 Bave the Gardes du Corps, who saved us at 
 Fontenoy." They took them under their 
 protection, exchanged their caps with thcni 
 in sign of friendsliip and fraternity, and a 
 tiimult, which had something of tlie char- 
 acter of joy, succeeded to that v.hich had 
 announced nothing but blood and death. 
 
 The outside of the palace was still be- 
 sieged by the infuriated mob, who demand- 
 ed, with hideous cries, and exclamations 
 the most barbarous and obscene, to see the 
 Austrian, as they called the Queen. The 
 unfortunate Princess appeared on the bal- 
 cony with one of her children in each hand. 
 \ voice from the crowd called out, " i\o 
 children!" as if on purpose to deprive the 
 mother of that appeal to humanity, which 
 might move the hardest heart. Marie An- 
 toinette, with 1 force of mind wortliy of 
 Maria Theresa, her mother, pushed her 
 children back into the room, and, turning 
 her face to the tumultuous multitude, which 
 tossed and roared beneath, brandishing 
 their pikes and guns with the wildest atti^ 
 tudes of rage, the reviled, persecuted, and 
 denounced Queen stood before them, her 
 arms folded on her bosom, with a noble 
 air of courageous resignation. The secret 
 reason of this summons — the real cause of 
 repelling the children — could only be to af- 
 ford a chance of some desperate hand among 
 the crowd executing the threats wliicli re- 
 sounded on all sides. Accordingly, a gun 
 was actually levelled, but one of the by- 
 standers struck it down ; for the passions 
 of the mob had taken an opposite turn, and, 
 astonished at JMa.ie Antoinette's noble pres- 
 ence, and graceful firmness of demeanour, 
 there arose, almost in spite of themselves, 
 a general shout of Vive la Reine .'* 
 
 But if the insurgents, or rather those who 
 prompted them, missed their first point, 
 they did not also lose their second. A cry 
 arose, " To Paris !" at first uttered by a soli- 
 tary voice, but gathering strength, until the 
 whole mr.ltitude shouted, " To Paris— To 
 Paris !"' The cry of these blood-thirsty bac- 
 chanals, such as they had that night shown 
 themselves, was, it seems, considered as the 
 voice of the people, and as such. La Fayette 
 neither remonstrated himself, nor permit- 
 ted the King to interpose a moment's delay 
 in yielding obedience to it; nor was any 
 measure taken to put some appearaiitt> ev- 
 en of decency on the journey, or to disguise 
 
 * Memoires de ^Ve!)er, vol. II. p. 457 
 
 its real character, of a triumphant proce»> 
 sion of the sovereign people, after a com* 
 plete victory over their no:ninal monarch- 
 
 The carriages of the royal family were 
 placed in tht middle of an immeasurable 
 column, consisting partly of La Fayette's 
 soldiers, partly of the revolutionary rabbla 
 whose march had preceded his, amounting 
 to several thousand men and women of 
 the lowest and most desperate description, 
 intermingling in groups amongst the bands 
 of French guards, and civic soldiers, v/hose 
 discipline could not enable them to preserve 
 even a semblance of order. Thus they rush- 
 ed along, howling their songs of triumph. 
 The harbingers of the march bore tha 
 two bloody heads of the murdered Gardet 
 du Corps paraded on pikes, at the head of 
 the column, as the emblems of their pro\w- 
 ess and success.* The rest of this body, 
 worn down by fatigue, most of them de- 
 spoiled of their arms, and many without 
 hats, anxious for the fate of the royal fami- 
 ly, and harassed with apprehensions for 
 themselves, were dragged like captives in 
 the midst of the mob, while the drunken fe- 
 males around them bore aloft in triumph 
 their arms, their belts, and th'=;ir hats. Thesa 
 wretches, stained with the blood in which 
 they had bathed themselves, were now sing^ 
 ing songs, of which the burthen bore, — 
 '■ \Ve bring you the baker, his wife, and the 
 little apprentice ;" as if the presence of the 
 unhappy royal family, with the little power 
 they now possessed, had been in itself a 
 charm against scarcity. Some of these 
 Amazons^ rode upon the cannon, which 
 made a lormidable part of the procession. 
 Many of them were mounted on the horses 
 of the Gardes du Corps, some in mascu- 
 line fashion, others en croupe. All the 
 muskets and pikes which attended this in>- 
 mense cavalcade, were garnished, as if in 
 triumph, with oak boughs, and the women 
 carried long poplar branches in their hands, 
 which gave the column, so grotesquely 
 composed in every respect, the appearance 
 of a moving grove. Scarce a circumstance 
 was omitted which could render this en- 
 trance into the capital more insulting to the 
 King's feelings — more degrading to the roy- 
 al dignity. 
 
 .\fter six hours of dishonour and agony, 
 the unfortunate I<ouis was brought to tha 
 Hotel de Ville, where Bailli, then mayor- 
 complimented him upon the " beau jour,'* 
 the •' splendid day," which restored the 
 monarch of France to his capital; assured 
 him that order, j>eace, and all the gentler 
 virtues, were about to revive in the coun- 
 try under his royal eye, and that the King 
 would henceforth become powerful through 
 the people, the people happy through the 
 King ; and " what was truest of all," that u 
 Henry IV. had entered Paris by means of 
 reconquering his people, Louis XVL had 
 done so, because his people had reconquer- 
 
 * It has been said they were l«)rne iLimcdiately 
 before the royal carriage ; but this is an exaggera- 
 tion where exaggeration is unnecessary. Thesa 
 bloody trophies preceded the royal Ihmily a greftl 
 way on the march to Paris.
 
 €6 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. V. 
 
 «d tlieir King.* His wounds salved with 
 this lip-comfort, the unhappy and degraded 
 Prince was at length permitted to retire to 
 the Palace of the Tuilleries, which, long un- 
 inhabited, and almost unfurnished, yawned 
 upon him like the tomb where alone he at 
 length found repose. 
 
 The events of the 14th July, 1789, when 
 the Bastille was taken, formed the first great 
 stride of the Revolution, actively consider- 
 ed. Tliose of the 5th and Gth of October, 
 in tlie same year, which we have detailed 
 I at length, as peculiarly characteristic of the 
 I features which it assumed, made the sec- 
 I ond grand phasis. The first had rendered 
 i the inhabitants of the metropolis altogeth- 
 er independent of their sovereign, and in- 
 deed of any government but that which 
 they chose to submit to ; the second de- 
 prived the King of that small appearance 
 of freedom which he had hitherto exercis- 
 ed, and fixed his dwelling in the midst of 
 his metropolis, independent and self-regu- 
 lated as we have described it. " It is won- 
 derful," said Louis, " that with such love 
 ■of liberty on all sides, J am the only person 
 that is deemed totally unworthy of enjoy- 
 ing it." Indeed, after the march from Ver- 
 eailles, the King could only be considered 
 as the signet of royal authority, used for at- 
 testing public acts at the pleasure of those 
 in whose custody he was detained, but 
 •without the exercise of any free-will on his 
 own part. 
 
 All the various parties found their ac- 
 count, less or more, in this state of the roy- 
 al person, excepting the pure royalists, 
 ■whose efTective power was little, and their 
 comparative numbers few. There remain- 
 ed, indeed, attached to the person and cause 
 of Louis, a party of those members, who, 
 being friends to freedom, were no less so to 
 regulated monarchy, and who desired to 
 fix the throne on a firm and determined ba- 
 sis. But their numbers were daily thinned, 
 and their spirits were broken. The ex- 
 cellent Mounier, and the eloquent Lally 
 Tolendahl, emigrated after the 9th October, 
 unable to endure the repetition of such 
 ecenes as were then exhibited. The indig- 
 nant adieus of the latter to the National 
 Assembly, were thus forcibly expressed : — 
 " It is impossible for me, even my physi- 
 cal strength alone considered, to discharge 
 my functions amid the scenes we have wit- 
 nessed. — Those heads borne in trophy ; 
 that Queen half assassinated ; that King drag- 
 • ged into Paris by troops of robbers and as- 
 1 flassins ; the ' splendid day' of Monsieur 
 ■•, Bailli ; the jests of Barnave, when blood 
 J -was floating around us ; Mounier escaping, 
 as if by miracle, from a thousand assassins ; 
 tJiese are the causes of my oath never to en- 
 
 * Memoires de Bailli. Clioix de ses Lettres et 
 Discours. The Mayor of Paris, although such 
 language must have sounded like the most bitter 
 irony, had no choice of words on the bth October, 
 1789. But if ho seriously termed that a glorious 
 day, what could Bailli complain of the studied in- 
 Bults and cruelties which he himself sustained, 
 "when, in October, 1792, the same banditti of Pa- 
 Tis, who forced the King from Versailles, dragged 
 himself to death, with every circumstance of retin- 
 «d cruelty and protracted insult ? 
 
 ter that den of cannibals. A man may en- 
 dure a single death ; he may brave it more 
 tlian once, when the loss of life can be use- 
 ful — but no power under Heaven shall in- 
 duce me to sutler a thousand tortures every 
 passing minute — while I am witnessing the 
 progress of cruelty — the triumph of guilt — 
 which I must witness without interrupting 
 it. They may proscribe my person — they 
 may confiscate my fortune — I will labour 
 the earth for my bread, and I will see them 
 no more." 
 
 The other parties into which the state 
 was divided, saw the events of the 5th 
 October with other feelings, and if ihey did 
 not forward, at least found their account in 
 them. 
 
 The Constitutional party, or those who 
 desired a democraticaJ government with a 
 King at its head, had reason to hope that 
 Louis, being in Paris, must remain at their 
 absolute disposal, separated from those who 
 might advise counter-revolutionary steps, 
 and guarded only by national troops, em- 
 bodied in the name, and through the pow- 
 ers, of the Revolution. Every day, indeed, 
 rendered Louis more dependent on La 
 Fayette and his friends, as the only force 
 which remained to preserve order ; for he 
 soon found it a necessary though a cruel 
 measure to disband his faithful Garde* du 
 Corps, and that perhaps as much with a 
 view to their safety as to his own. 
 
 The Constitutional party seemed strong 
 both in numbers and reputation. La Fay- 
 ette was commandant ot the National 
 Guards, and they looked up to him vrith 
 that homage and veneration with which 
 young troops, and especially of this de- 
 scription, regard a leader of experience and 
 bravery, who, in accepting the command, 
 seems to share his laurels with the citizen 
 soldier, who has won none of his own. Ba- 
 illi was Mayor of Paris, and, in the height 
 of a popularity not undeserved, was so well 
 established in the minds of the better claaa 
 of citizens, that, in any other times than 
 those in which he lived, he might safely 
 have despised the sufirages of the rabble, 
 always to be bought, either by largesses or 
 flattery. The ConstitutioiKilists had also a 
 strong majority in the Assembly, where the 
 Republicans dared not yet throw ofi" the 
 mask, and the Assembly, following the per- 
 son of ihe King, came also to establish its 
 sittings in their stronghold, the metropolis. 
 They seemed, therefore, to assume the as- 
 cendency in the first instance, after the 5th 
 and Gth of October, and to reap all the first 
 fruits of the victory then achieved, though 
 by their connivance rather than their active 
 co-operation. 
 
 It is wonderful, that, meaning still to as- 
 sign to the regal dignity a high constitu- 
 tional situation, La Fayette should not have 
 exerted himself to preserve its dignity un- 
 degraded, and to save the honour, as he 
 certainly saved the lives of the royal fam- 
 ily. Three reasons might prevent his doing 
 what, as a gentleman and a soldier, he must 
 otherwise at least have attempted. First, 
 although he boasted highly of his influence 
 with the National Guard of Paris, it may
 
 Chap. V:\ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 67 
 
 be doubted whether all his popularity 
 would have borne him through in any en- 
 deavour to deprive the good people of that 
 city of such a treat as the Joyous Entry of 
 the 6th of October, or whether the civic 
 power would, even for the immediate de- 
 fence of the King's person, have used ac- 
 tual force against the band of Amazons who 
 directed that memorable procession. Sec- 
 ondly, La Fayette might fear the revival 
 of tiie fallen colossus of despotism, more 
 than the rising spirit of anarchy, and thus 
 be induced to suppose that a conquest in 
 the King's cause over a popular insurrec- 
 tion, might be too active a cordial to tlie 
 drooping spirits of the Royalists. And, 
 lastly, the revolutionary general, as a poli- 
 tician, might not be unwilling that the 
 King and his consort should experience, in 
 their own persons, such a specimen of pop- 
 ular power, as might intimidate them from 
 further opposition to the popular will, and 
 incline Louis to assume unresistintrly liis 
 diminished rank in the new constitution. 
 
 The Republican party, with belter reason 
 than the Constitutionalists, e.^ulted in the 
 King's change of residence. It relieved 
 them as well as Fayette's party from all 
 apprehension of Louis raising his standard 
 in the provinces, and taking the field on liis 
 own account, like Charles of England in 
 similar circumstances. Then they already 
 foresaw, that whenever the Constitutional- 
 ists should identify themselves with the 
 Crown, whom all parties had hitherto la- 
 boured to represent as the common enemy, 
 they would become proportionally unpopu- 
 lar with the people at large, and lose pos- 
 session of the superior power as a necessa- 
 ry consequence. Aristocrats, the only 
 class which was sincerely united to the 
 Kings person, would, they might safely 
 predict, dread and distrust the Constitu- 
 tionalists, while with the democrats, so very 
 much the more numerous party, the King's 
 name, instead of a tower of strength, as the 
 poet has termed it, must be a stumbling- 
 olock and a rock of offence. They fore- 
 saw, finally, either that the King must re- 
 main the mere passive tool of the Consti- 
 tutionalists, acting unresistingly under their 
 order, — in which case the office would be 
 80on regarded as an i-^ie cir^d expensive 
 bauble, without any force or dignity of free- 
 will, and fit only to be flung aside as an un- 
 necessary incumbrance on the republican 
 forms, — or, in the event of the King at- 
 tempting, either by force or escape, to 
 throw off the yoke of tlie Constitutionalists, 
 he would equally furnish arms to the pure 
 democrats against his person and office, as 
 the source of danger to the popular cause. 
 Some of the republican chiefs had probably 
 expected a more sudden termination to the 
 reign of Louis from an insurrection so 
 threatening ; at least these leaders had been 
 the first to hail and to encourage the female 
 insurgents, on their arrival at Versailles.* 
 
 * Barnave, as well aa Mirabcau, the RepiiMican 
 as well as the Orleanist, was heard to excliiini, — 
 " Courage, brave Parisians — liberty for ever — 
 fear nothing — we are for you 1" — M-imoires de 
 Ferrieres, Livre 4me. 
 
 But though the issue of that msurrection 
 may have fallen short of their hopes, it 
 could not but be highly acceptable to them 
 so far as it went. 
 
 The party of Orleans had hitherto wrapt 
 in its dusky folds many of those names, 
 which were afterwards destined to hold 
 dreadful rank in the Revolutionary history. 
 The prince whose name they adopted is 
 supposed to have been animated partly by 
 a strong and embittered spirit of personal 
 Kdtred rgainst the Queen, and partly, as we 
 have already said, by an ambitious desire 
 to supplant his kinsman. He placed, ac- 
 cording to general report, his treasures, 
 and all which his credit could add to them, 
 at the disposal of men, abounding in those 
 energetic talents which carry their o^vner■ 
 forward in times of public confusion, but 
 devoid alike of fortune, character, and 
 principle ; who undertook to serve their 
 patron by enlisting in his cause the olv 
 scure aud subordinate agents, by whom 
 mobs were levied, and assassins subsidized- 
 It is said, that the days of the 5th and 6th 
 of October were organized by the secret 
 agents of Orleans, and for his advantage ; 
 that had the enterprise succeeded, the King 
 would have been deposed, and the Duke of 
 Orleans proclaimed Lieutenant-General of 
 the kingdom, while his revenge would 
 probably have been satiated with the 
 Queen's assassination. He is stated to have 
 skulked in disguise about the outskirts of 
 the scene when the tumult was at the high- 
 est, but never to have had courage to pre- 
 sent himself boldly to the people, either to 
 create a sensation by surprise, or to avail 
 himself of that which his satellites had al- 
 ready excited in his favour.* His resolu- 
 tion having thus failed him at the point 
 wliere it was most necessary, and the tu- 
 mult having ended without any thing taking 
 place in his favour, the Duke of Orleans 
 was made a scape-goat, and the only one, 
 to atone for the whole insurrection. Under 
 the title of an Embassy to F.ngland, he was 
 honourably exiled from his native country. 
 JNIirabeau spoke of him in terms of the ut- 
 most contumoly, as being base-minded as a 
 lackey, and totally unworthy the trouble 
 which had been taken on his account. His 
 other adherents gradually and successively 
 dropped away, in proportion as the wealth, 
 credit, and character of this besotted prince 
 rendered him incapable of maintaining his 
 gratuities ; and they sailed henceforth un- 
 der their own flag, in the storms he had 
 fitted them to navigate. These were men 
 wlio had resolved to use the revolutionary 
 axe for cutting oat their own private for- 
 tunes, and, little interesting themselves 
 about ^Jie political principles which divided 
 the other parties of the state, they kept firm 
 hold of all the subordinate machinery de- 
 spised by ^he others in the abstraction of 
 metaphysical speculation, but which gave 
 them the exclusive command of the phys- 
 ical force of the mob of Paris — Paris, the 
 metropolis of France, and the prison-house 
 of her monarch. 
 
 * See the proceedings before the Chatelet.
 
 68 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chi^. VL 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 La Fayette resolves to enforce Order. — A Baker is murdered by the Rabble — One of 
 hi* Murderers Executed. — Decree imposing Martial Law in case of Insurrection.— 
 Democrats supported by the Audience in the Gallery of the Assembly. — Introduction 
 of the Doctrines of Equality — They are in their exaggerated Sense inconsistent toith 
 Human Nattire and the Progress of Society. — The Assembly abolish Titles of Nobil- 
 ity, Armorial Bearings, and Phrases of Courtesy — Reasoning on these Innovationi, 
 — Disorder of Finance. — Necker becomes unpopular. — Seizure of Church-Lands. — 2»- 
 fue of Assignats. — Necker leaves France i7i unpopularity. — New Religioxis Institu- 
 tion. — Oath imposed on the Clergy — Resisted by the greater part of the Order — Bad 
 Effects of the Innovation — General View of the Operations of the Con-ttituent Asseit^ 
 bly. — Enthusiasm of the People for their new Privileges. — Limited Privileges of the 
 Croton. — King is obliged to dissemble — His Negotiations with Mirabeau — With 
 Bouille. — Attack on the Palace of the King — Pretented by Fayette. — Royalists eav 
 pelled from the Palace of the Tuilleries. — Escape of Louis. — He is captured at Va- 
 rennes — Brought back to Paris. — Riot in the Champ de Mars — Put down by Military 
 Force. — Louis accepts the Constitution. 
 
 La Fjtette followed up his victory over 
 the Duke of Orleans by some bold and suc- 
 cessful attacks upon the revolutionary right 
 of insurrection, through v/hich the people 
 of late had taken on themselves the office 
 of judges at once and executioners. This 
 had hitherto been thought one of the sacred 
 privileges of the Revolution ; but, deter- 
 mined to set bounds to its farther progress. 
 La Fayette resolved to restore the domin- 
 ion of the law over the will of the rabble. 
 
 A large mob, in virtue of the approbation, 
 the indulgence at least, with which similar 
 frolics had been hitherto treated, had seiz- 
 ed upon and hanged an unhappy baker, who 
 fell under their resentment as a public en- 
 emy, because he sold bread dear when he 
 could only purchase grain at an enormous 
 price. They varied the usual detail with 
 some additional circumstances, causing ma- 
 ny of his brethren in trade to silute the 
 bloody head, which they paraded according 
 to their wont ; and finally, by pressing the 
 dead lips to those of the widow, as she lay 
 fainting before them. This done, and in 
 vhe full confidence of impunity, they ap- 
 proached the hall of the Assembly, in order 
 to regale the representatives of the people 
 with the same edifying spectacle. 
 
 The baker being neither an aristocrat nor 
 nobleman, the authorities ventured upon 
 punishing the murder, without fearing the 
 charge of incivisme. La Fayette, at the 
 head of a detachment of the National Guards, 
 attacked and dispersed the assassins, and 
 the active citizen who carried the head was 
 tried, condemned, and hanged, just as if 
 there had been no revolution in the king- 
 dom. There was much surprise at this, as 
 there had been no such instance of severi- 
 ty since the day of the Bastille. This was 
 not all. 
 
 La Fayette, who may now be considered 
 aa at the head of affairs, had the influence 
 «nd address to gain from the As^mbly a de- 
 cree, empowering the magistracy, in case of 
 any rising, to declare martial law by display- 
 ing a red flag; after which signal, those who 
 refused to disperse should be dealt with as 
 open rebels. This edict, much to the pur- 
 pose of the British Riot Act, did not pass 
 without opposition, as it obviously tended 
 to give the bayonets of the National Guard 
 
 a decided ascendancy over the pikes and 
 clubs of the rabble of the suburbs. The 
 Jacobins, meaning the followers of Marat, 
 Robespierre, and Danton, and even the Re- 
 publicans, or Brissotines, had hitherto con- 
 sidered these occasional insurrections and 
 murders like affairs of posts in a campaign, 
 in which they themselves had enjoyed uni- 
 formly the advantage ; but while La Fay- 
 ette was followed and obeyed by the Na^ 
 tional Guard, men of substance, and inter- 
 ested in maintaining order, it was clear that 
 he had both power and will to stop in ftt- 
 ture these revolutionary excesses. 
 
 This important advantage in some de- 
 gree balanced the power which the repub- 
 lican and revolutionary party had acquired. 
 These predominated, as has been already 
 said, in the Club of Jacobins, in which they 
 reviewed the debates of the Assembly, de- 
 nouncing at their pleasure those who op- 
 posed them j but they had besides a decid- 
 ed majority among the daily attendants in 
 the tribunes, who, regularly paid and sup- 
 plied with food and liquors, filled the As- 
 sembly with their clamours of applause or 
 disapprobation, according to the rules they 
 had previously received. It is true, the 
 hired auditors gave their voices and applause 
 to those who paid them, but nevertheless 
 they had party feelings of their own, which 
 often dictated unbought suffrages, in favour 
 of those who used the most ex.iggerated 
 tone of revolutionary fury. They shouted 
 with sincere and voluntary zeal for such 
 men as Marat, Robespierre, and Danton, 
 who yelled out for the most bloody meas- 
 ures of terror and proscription, and pro- 
 claimed war against the nobles with the 
 same voice with wiiich they flattered the 
 lowest vices of the multitude. 
 
 By degrees the Revolution appeared to 
 have assumed a different object from that 
 for which it was commenced. France had 
 obtained liberty, the first, and certainly the 
 worthiest object which a nation can desire. 
 Each individual was declared as free as it 
 was possible for him to be, retaining the 
 least respect to the social compact. It is 
 true, the Frenchman was not practically 
 allowed the benefit of this freedom ; for 
 though the Rights of Man permitted the 
 citizen to go where he would, yet, in prac
 
 Chap. V7.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 tice, he was apt to find his way to the next 
 prison unless furnished with a municipal 
 passport, or to be murdered by the way, 
 if accused of aristocracy. In like manner, 
 his house was secure as a castle, his prop- 
 erty sacred as the ornaments of a temple ; 
 —excepting against the Committee of Re- 
 search, who might, by their arbitrary order, 
 break into the one and dilapidate the oth- 
 er at pleasure. Still, however, the general 
 principle of liberty was established in the 
 fullest metaphysical extent, and it remain- 
 ed to place on as broad a footing the sister 
 principle of Equality. 
 
 To this the attention of the assembly was 
 now chiefly directed. In the proper sense, 
 equality of rights and equality of laws, a 
 constitution which extends like protection 
 to the lowest and the highest, are essential to 
 the existence and to the enjoyment of free- 
 dom. But to erect a levelling system de- 
 signed to place the whole mass of the peo- 
 ple on the same footing as to habits, man- 
 ners, tastes, and sentiments, is a gross and 
 ridiculous contradiction of the necessary 
 progress of society. It is a fruitless attempt 
 to wage war with the laws of !Xature. She 
 has varied the face of the world with moun- 
 tain and valley, lake and torrent, forest and 
 champaign, and she has formed the hu- 
 man body in all the different shapes and 
 complexions we behold, with all the vari- 
 ous degrees of physical force and weak- 
 ness. She has avoided equalitv in all her 
 E reductions, as she was formerly said to 
 ave abhorred a vacuum ; even in those of 
 her works which present the greatest appa- 
 rent similarity, exact equality does not ex- 
 ist ; no one leaf of a tree is precisely sim- 
 ilar to another, and among the countless 
 host of stars, each differs from the other in 
 glory. But what are these physical varie- 
 ties to the endless change exhibited in the 
 human character, with all its various pas- 
 sions, powers, and prejudices, so artfully 
 compounded in different proportions, that 
 it is probable there has not existed, since 
 Adam's time to ours, an exact resemblance 
 between any two individuals ? .\s if this 
 were not enough, there come to aid the 
 diversity, the elfccts of climate, of govern- 
 ment, of education, and habits of life, all of 
 which lead to endless modifications of the 
 individual. The inequalities arising from 
 the natural differences of talent and dis- 
 position are multiplied beyond calculation, 
 aa society increases in civilization. 
 
 The savage may, indeed, boast a rude 
 species of equality in some patriarchal 
 tribes, but the wiliest and stronijest, the best 
 hunter, and the bravest warrior, soon lords 
 it over tlie rest, and becomes a king or a 
 chief. One portion of the nation, from hap- 
 py talents, or happy circumstances, rises to 
 the top, another sinks, like dress, to the 
 bottom; a third portion occupies a mid 
 place between thom. .\s society advance?, 
 the difference of ranks advances witii ii. 
 And can it be proposed seriously, that any 
 other equality, ihan tliat of rights, can ex- 
 ist betsveen those who think and those who 
 labour; those "whose talk is of bullocks,'" 
 and those wboEe time permits them to 
 
 study the paths of wisdom ? Happy, indeed, 
 is the country and constitution, where those 
 distinctions, which must necessarily exist 
 in every society, are not separated by in- 
 surmountable barriers, but where the most 
 distinguished rank is open to receive that 
 precious supply of wisdom and talent, 
 which so frequently elevates individuals 
 from the lowest to the highest classes j and 
 so far as general equality can be attained, 
 by each individual having a fair right to raise 
 himself to the situation which he is quali- 
 fied to occupy, by his talents, his merits, or 
 his wealth, the gates cannot be thrown open 
 too widely. But the attempt of the French 
 legislators was precisely the reverse, and 
 went to establish the proposed equality of 
 ranks, by depressing the upper classes into 
 the same order with those who occupy the 
 middle of society, while they essayed the 
 yet more absurd attempt, to crush down. 
 these last, by the weight of legislative au- 
 thority, into a level with the lowest orders, 
 — men whose education, if it has not cor- 
 rupted their hearts, must necessarily have 
 j blunted tl^eir feelings, and who, in a great 
 city like Paris, exchange the simplicity 
 which makes them respectable under more 
 favourable circumstances, for the habitual 
 indulgence of the coarsest and grossest 
 pleasures. Upon the whole, it must be ad- 
 mitted, that in every state far advanced in 
 the progress of civilization, the inequality 
 of ranks is a natural and necessary ai- 
 tribute. Philosophy may comfort those 
 who regret this necessity, by the assurance 
 that the portions of individual happiness 
 and misery are divided amongst high and 
 low with a very equal hand ; and religion 
 assures us that there is a future state, in 
 which, with amended natures and improv- 
 ed faculties, the vain distinctions of thi» 
 world will no longer subsist. But any 
 practical attempt to remedy the inequality 
 of rank in civilized society by forcible 
 measures, may indeed degrade the upper 
 classes, but cannot improve those beneath 
 them. Laws may deprive the gentleman 
 of his title, the man of education of hi« 
 books, or, to use the French illustration, 
 the muscadin of his clothes ; but this can- 
 not make the clown a man of breeding, or 
 give learning to ignorance, or decent attire 
 to the Sans Culottes. Much will be lost to 
 the grace, the information, and the decen- 
 cy of society in general, but nothing can 
 possibly be gained by sny individual. Nev- 
 ertheless, it was in this absolutely imprac- 
 ticable manner, that the exaggerated feel- 
 ings of the French legislators, at this period 
 of total change, undertook to equalize the 
 nation which they were regenerating. 
 
 With a view to this great experiment up- 
 on human society, the Assembly abolished 
 all titles of honour, all armorial bearings, 
 and even the insignificant titles of MoiV" 
 sieur and JNiadame ; which, meaning noth 
 'ngbut phrases of common courtesy, yet, 
 ■svith other expresaiuns of the same Jund, 
 serve to soften tlir; ordinary intercourse of 
 of human life, and preserve that gentleness 
 of manners which the French, by a happy 
 ncime, were won; to call La petit* moral0
 
 70 
 
 LIFE OJ NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VI 
 
 The first of these abrogations affected the 
 nobles in particular. In return for their lib- 
 eral and unlimited surrender of their es- 
 sential powers and privileges, they were 
 now despoiled of their distinction and rank 
 in society ; — as if those who had made 
 
 firisoner and plundered a cavalier, should, 
 ast of all, have snatched away in derision 
 the plume from his hat. The aristocracy 
 of France, so long distinguished as the 
 flower of European chivalry, were now, so 
 far as depended on the legislature, entirely 
 abolished. The voice of the nation had 
 pronounced against them a general sen- 
 tence of degradation, which, according to 
 the feelings of the order, could only be tlie 
 punishment of some foul and disgraceful 
 crime ; and the condition of the es-nobles 
 might justly have been described as Bo- 
 lingbroke paints his own, 
 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment, 
 While you have fed ujioii my seigniories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and iell'd my forest woods, 
 » From my own winduws torn my liousehold coat, 
 Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign. 
 Save men's opinions and my living blood, 
 To show the world I was a gentleman. 
 
 It was a fatal error, that, in search of 
 that equality which it is impossible to at- 
 tain, the .\ssembly sliould ha\'e torn down 
 the ancient institutions of chivalry. View- 
 ing them philosophically, they are indeed 
 of little value ; but where are the advan- 
 tages beyond the means, first, of mere sub- 
 sistence, secondly, of information, which 
 ought not to be inditferjnt to true philoso- 
 phers ? And yet, where exists the true phi- 
 losopher, who has been able effectually to 
 detach himself from the common mode of 
 thinking on such subjects ? The estimation 
 Bet upon birth or rank, supposing its foun- 
 dation illusory, has still the advantage of 
 counterbalancing that which is attracted by 
 wealth only ; the prejudice has something 
 generous and noble in it, is connected with 
 historical recollections and patriotic feel- 
 ings, and if it sometimes gives rise to extrav- 
 agances, they are such as society can re- 
 strain and punish by the mere etfectof rid- 
 icule. It is curious, even in the midst of 
 the Revolution, and amongst those who 
 were its greatest favourers, what difficul- 
 ties were found to emancipate themselves 
 from those ancient prejudices which affect- 
 ed the dilFerence of ranks.* 
 
 As for the proscription of the phraseology 
 of civilized society, it had an absurd appear- 
 ■nce of afi'ectation in the eyes of most peo- 
 ple of understanding •, but on some enthusi- 
 astic minds it produced a worse effect than 
 tlxit of mere disgust. Let a man place him- 
 »elf in the attitude of fear or of raj^e, and 
 ke will in some measure feel the passion 
 
 • The Comte de Mirabeau was furious at being 
 ■aJled Hiqactti Paine, and said, with great bitter- 
 nej)3, when his speeches were promulgated under 
 that name, " jjrec votrc Riq-uetti, cous avci drso- 
 riente I' Kurope pour troif juum." Mirabeau was 
 at heart an aristocrat. But what shall we say of 
 Citoyennc Rohind, who piques herself on tlio ple- 
 beian sound of her name, .^lanim Phdipon^ yet in- 
 einsequeiitis,l!y upbraids Citoyen Pache with his 
 fathers hav'ng been a porter ! 
 
 arise in his mind which corresponds with 
 the gesture he has assumed. In like man- 
 ner, those who affected the brutal manners, 
 coarse language, and slovenly dress of the 
 lower orders, familiarized their imagina- 
 tions with the violent and savage thoughts 
 and actions proper to the class whose cos- 
 tume they had thus adopted. Above all, 
 when this sacrifice was made to the very 
 taste and phraseology of that class, (the 
 last points in which one would think them 
 deserving of imitation.) it appeared to inti- 
 mate the progressive strength of the revo- 
 lutionary tide, which, sweeping before it all 
 distinctions, trivial as well as important, 
 seemed soon destined to overthrow the 
 throne, now isolated and well nigh unde- 
 fended. The next step was necessarily to 
 fix the executive government in the same 
 body which enjoyed the powers of legisla- 
 tion, — the surest of all roads to tyranny. 
 But although the doctrine of equality, thus 
 understood, is absurd in theory and impos- 
 sible in practice, yet it will always find 
 willing listeners when preached to the low- 
 er classes, whose practical view of it re- 
 sults into an agrarian law, or a general di- 
 vision of property. 
 
 There was one order yet remained, how- 
 ever, which was to 'be levelled, — the de- 
 struction of the Church was still to be ac- 
 complished ; and the Republican party pro- 
 ceeded in the work of demolition with in- 
 finite address, by including the great object 
 in a plan for restoring finance, and provid- 
 ing for the expenses of the state, without 
 imposing further burthens on the people. 
 
 It must be remembered, that the States- 
 general had been summoned to restore the 
 finances of the country. This was the 
 cause of their convocation. But although 
 they had exercised almost every species of 
 power — had thrown down and rebuilt every 
 conetituted authority in the kingdom, still 
 the finances were as much embarrassed as 
 ever, or much more so ; since most men in 
 France judged the privilege of refusing to 
 pay taxes, the most unequivocal, and not 
 the least pleasing part, of their newly-a»- 
 quired freedom. 
 
 Necker, so often received among the 
 populace as a saviour of the country, was 
 here totally at a loss. The whole relative 
 associations which bind men together in 
 the social contract, seemed to be rent 
 asunder ; and where public credit is de- 
 stroyed, a financier, however able, resem- 
 bles Prospero, after his wand is broken, 
 and his book sunk in the deep sea. Accor- 
 dinglv, TVecker in vain importuned the As- 
 sembly, by representing the pressure of tlw 
 finances. They became wearied with his 
 reninnstrauces. and received them with 
 manifest synip'.oms of coldness and disp©- 
 spect. What service, indeed, could tha 
 regulated advice, and deep-calculated and 
 combined scliemes of a financier, liave ren- 
 dered to nion. who had already their re- 
 sources in tlieir eye, and were determined 
 that no idle scruple should prevent their 
 pouncing upon them ? Nccker's expostu- 
 lations, addressed to their ears, were like 
 a lecture upon thrift and industry to Robia
 
 Chap. F/.j 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 71 
 
 Hood and hia merry-men, when they were 
 setting forth to rob the rich in the name of 
 the poor. 
 
 The Assembly had determined, that, all 
 prejudices apart, the property of the Church 
 should come under confiscation for the ben- 
 efit of the nation. It was in vain that the 
 clergy exclaimed against these acts of rap- 
 ine and extortion — in vain that they stated 
 themselves as an existing part of the nation, 
 and that as such they had coalesced with 
 the Assembly under the implied r.itification 
 of their own rights — in vain that they re- 
 sounded in the hall the declaration solemn- 
 ly adopted, that property was inviolable, 
 save upon full compensation. It was to as 
 little purpose that Mirabeau was reminded 
 of his language, addressed to the Emperor 
 Joseph upon a similar occasion.—" Despise 
 the; monks," he had said, " as much as you 
 will, but do not rob them. Robbery is 
 equally a crime, whether perpetrated on 
 the most profligate atheist, or the most 
 bigoted capuchin." The clergy were told 
 with insulting gravity, that the property be- 
 longing to a community was upon a differ- 
 ent footing from that belonging to individ- 
 uals, because the state might dissolve the 
 community or body-corporate, and resume 
 the property attached to it ; and, under this 
 sophism, they assumed tor tlie benefit of the 
 public the whole right of property belong- 
 ing to the Church of France. 
 
 As it was impossible to bring these im- 
 mense subjects at once to sale, flie Assem- 
 bly adopted a system of paper-money, call- 
 ed Assi^nats. which were secured or hy- 
 pothecated upon the church-lands. The 
 fluctuation of this paper, which was adopt- 
 ed against Necker's earnest cautions, cre- 
 ated a spirit of stock-jobbing and gambling, 
 nearly resembling that which distinguished 
 the famous scheme of the Mississippi. 
 Spelman would have argued, that the taint 
 of sacrilege attached to funds raised upon 
 the spoils of the church ; yet it must be 
 admitted that these supplies enabled the 
 National Assembly not only to avoid the 
 gulf of general bankruptcy, but to dispense 
 with many territorial exactions which press- 
 ed hard on the lower orders, and to give 
 relief and breath to that most useful portion 
 of the community. These desirable re- 
 sults, however, flowed from that divine ai- 
 chsmy which calls good out of evil, without 
 affording a justification to the perpetrators 
 of the latter. 
 
 Shortly after the adoption of this plan. 
 embraced against his opinion and his re- 
 monstrances, Necker saw h.s services were 
 no longer acceptable to the Assembly, and 
 that he could not be useful to the King. 
 He tendered his resignation, wliich was 
 received with cold indiffierence by the As- 
 sembly ; and even his safety was endanger- 
 ed on his return to his native country, by 
 the very people who had twice hailed him 
 as their deliverer. This accomplished 
 statesman discovered too late, that public 
 opinion requires to be guided and directed 
 towards the ends of public good, which it 
 will not reach by its own unassisted and 
 misdiiected efforts 3 and that hie own pop- 
 
 ularity had only been the stalking-horse, 
 through means of which, men less honest, 
 and more subtle than himself, had takea 
 aim at their own objects. 
 
 But the majority of the National Assem- 
 bly had yet another and even a more vio- 
 lent experiment to try upon the Gallicaa 
 Church establishment. It was one which, 
 touched the consciences of the French 
 clergy in the same degree as the former 
 affected their fortunes, and was so much 
 the less justifiable, that it is difficult to 
 suggest any motive except the sweeping 
 desire to introduce novelty in every de- 
 partment of the state, and to have a consti- 
 tutional clergy as they had a constitutional 
 King, which should have instigated them 
 to such a measure. 
 
 When the Assembly had decreed the 
 assumption of the church-lands, it remain- 
 ed to be settled on what foundation reli- 
 gion was to be placed within the kingdom. 
 A motion was made for decreeing, that the 
 Holy .\postolic religion was that of France, 
 and that its worship alone should be per- 
 mitted. A Carthusian monk, named Dora 
 Gerle, made this proposal, alarmed too late 
 lest the popular party, to which he had so 
 long adJiered, should now be about to in- 
 novate in the matters of the Church, as 
 they had already in those of the state. The 
 debate was conducted with decency for 
 one day, but on the second the hall of the 
 Assembly was surrounded by a large and 
 furious multitude, who insulted, beat, and 
 maltreated idi who were known to favour 
 the measure under consideration. It was 
 represented within the house, that the 
 passing the decree proposed would be the 
 signal for a religious war ; and Dom Gerle 
 withdrew his motion in terror and despair. 
 
 The success of this opposition showed, 
 that almost any experiment on the Church 
 might be tried with effect, since the reli- 
 gion which it taught seemed no longer to 
 interest the national legislators. A scheme 
 was brought forward, in which the public 
 worship, (culte publique.) as it was affect- 
 edly termed, witiiout any addition of rev- 
 erence, (as if to give it the air of a mere 
 code of formal enactments,) was provided 
 for on the narrowest and most economical 
 plan. But this was not all. A civil con- 
 stitution was by the same code framed for 
 the clergy, declaring them totally indepen- 
 dent of the See of Rome, and vesting th« 
 choice of bishops in the departmental au 
 thorities. To this constitution each priest 
 and prelate was required to adhere by a 
 solemn oath. A subsequent decree of the 
 Assembly declared forfeiture of his bene- 
 fice against whomsoever should hesitate ; 
 but the clergy of France sliowed in that 
 trying moment that they knew kew to 
 choose betwixt sinning against their con- 
 science, and suffering wrong at the hands 
 of man. Their dependence on the See of 
 Rome was a part of their creed, an article 
 of their faith, which they would not com- 
 promise. The noble attitude of firmness 
 and self-denial adopted by prelates and 
 richly-beneficed clerg)men, who had nitb- 
 erto iijen thought more governed by levi-
 
 T2 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VI. 
 
 ties of every kind than by regard to their 
 profession, commanded for a time the re- 
 Bpect of the Assembly, silenced the blas- 
 pnemies of the hired assistants in the tri- 
 ouaes, and gave many to fear that, in de- 
 priring the Church of its earthly power, 
 the Assembly might but give them means 
 to extend their spiritual dominion more 
 widely, and awake an interest in their fate 
 which slumbered during their prosperity. 
 " Beware what you do," said Montlosier. 
 " You may expel the bishop from his epis- 
 copal residence, but it will be only to open 
 to nim the cabins of the poor. If you take 
 from his hands the cross of gold, he will 
 display a cross of wood ; and it was by a 
 cross of wood that the world was saved." 
 
 Summoned one by one to take the oath, 
 or refuse it under the consequences men- 
 aced, the Assembly, fearful of the effect of 
 their firmness, would scarce hear these suf- 
 ferers speak a syllable, save Yes or No. 
 Their tumult on the occasion resembled 
 the beating of drums to drown the last 
 words of a martyr. Few indeed, were the 
 priests who accepted the Constitutional 
 oath. There were in the number only 
 three bishops. One had been a person of 
 note — it was that Archbishop of Sens — that 
 ▼ery Cardinal, whose mal-administration of 
 fifteen months had led to this mighty 
 change. Another of the three Constitu- 
 tional prelates was destined to be much 
 TOOre remarkable — it was the celebrated 
 Talleyrand, whose talents as a statesman 
 have been so distinguished. 
 
 The National Assembly failed totally in 
 their attempts to found a national Church. 
 The priests wlio took the oaths receiv- 
 ed neither reverence nor affection, and 
 wers only treated with decency by such as 
 •onsidered religion in the light of an useful 
 political institution. They were alike de- 
 spised by the sincere Catholic, and the de- 
 clared infidel. All of real religious feeling 
 or devotion that was left in France turned 
 towards their ancient pastors, and though 
 the impulse was not strong enough to coun- 
 teract the revolutionary movement, it serv- 
 ed on many occasions to retard and embar- 
 rass it. The experiment which had thus 
 •ignally miscarried, was indeed as impolitic 
 «s it was unnecessary. It can only be im- 
 puted, on the one hand, to the fanaticism 
 of the modern philosophers, who expected 
 by this indirect course to have degraded 
 the Christian religion ; and on the other, 
 to the preconcerted determination of the 
 Revolutionists, that no consideration should 
 interfere with the plan of new-modelling 
 the nation through all its institutions, as 
 well of church as of state. 
 
 Victorious at once over altar and throne, 
 mitre and coronet. King, Nobles, and Cler- 
 gy, the National Assembly seemed in fact 
 to possess, and to exert, tliat omnipotence, 
 which has been imputed to the British Par- 
 liament. Never had any legislature made 
 •tich extensive and sweeping changes, and 
 never were such changes so easily accom- 
 plished. The nation was altered in all its 
 relations ; its flag and its emblems were 
 •hanged — avcry thing of a public character 
 
 was destroyed and replaced, down to tho 
 very title of the sovereign, who, no longei 
 termed King of France and Navarre, was 
 now called King of the French. The 
 names and divisions of the provinces, which 
 had existed for many years, were at one*} 
 obliterated, and were supplied by a geo- 
 graphical partition of the territory into 
 eiglity-threc departments, subdivided into 
 six hundred districts, and these again por 
 tioned out into forty-eight thousand com 
 munities or municipalities. By thus re- 
 casting as it were the whole geographical 
 relations of tlie separate territories of which 
 France consisted, the Abbe Sieyes design- 
 ed to obliterate former recollections and 
 distinctions, and to bring every thing down 
 to the general level of liberty and equality. 
 But it had an efl'ect beyond what was pro- 
 posed. While the provinces existed they 
 had their separate capitals, their separata 
 privileges ; and tliose capitals, though in a 
 subordinate rank, being yet the seats of 
 provincial parliaments, had a separate con- 
 sequence, inferior to, but yet distinct from 
 that of Paris. But when France became 
 one single province, the importance of ita 
 sole capital, Paris, was increased to a most 
 formidable degree ; and during the whole 
 Revolution, and through all its changes, 
 whatever party held the metropolis was 
 sure speedily to acquire the supreme pow- 
 er through the whole department ; and woe 
 to those wlio made the fruitless attempt to 
 set the sense or feelings of the nation in 
 opposition to those of the capital ! Republi- 
 can or royalist was equally sure to perish 
 in the rash attempt. 
 
 Tlio Parliaments of France, long the 
 strong-holds of liberty, now perished unno- 
 ticed, as men pull down old houses to clear 
 the ground for modern edifices. The salo 
 of offices of justice was formally abolished; 
 the power of nominating the judges was 
 taken from the crown ; the trial by jury, 
 with inquests of accusation and conviction, 
 corresponding to the grand and petty juries 
 of England, were sanctioned and establish- 
 ed. In thus clearing the channels of pub- 
 lic justice, dreadfully clogged as they had 
 become during the decay of the monarchy, 
 the National Assembly rendered the great- 
 est possible services to F'rance, the good 
 effects of which will long be felt. Other 
 alterations were of a more doubtful charac- 
 ter. There might be immediate policy, but 
 there was certainly much harshness, in 
 wresting from the crown the power of 
 granting pardons. If this was for fear lest 
 grace should be extended to those con- 
 demned for the new crime of leze-nation, 
 or treason against the Constitution, the le- 
 gislators might have remembered liow sel- 
 dom the King dares to exercise this right 
 of mercy in favour of an unpopular crimi- 
 nal. It requires no small courage to com* 
 betwixt the dragon and his wrath, the peo- 
 ple and their victim. Charles I. daroc no* 
 save .Strafford. 
 
 The National Assembly also recognized 
 the freedom of the press ; and, in doing bo, 
 conferred on the nation a gift fraught with 
 much good and some evil, capable of stim-
 
 Chap, y/.] 
 
 LII-E OF NAPOLEON fiuONAPARTE. 
 
 73 
 
 ulating the worst passions, and circulating 
 the most atrocious calumnies, and occa- 
 sioning frequently the most enormous 
 deeds of cruelty and injustice ; but ever 
 bearing along with it the means of curing 
 the very evils caused by its abuses, and of 
 transmitting to futurity the sentiments of 
 the good and the wise, so invaluable when 
 the passions are silenced, and the calm 
 slow voice of reason and reflection comes 
 to obtain a hearing. The press stimulated 
 massacres and proscriptions during the 
 frightful period which we are approaching ; 
 ■ but the press has also held up to horror the 
 memory of the perpetrators, and exposed 
 the artifices by which the actors were in- 
 stigated. It is a rock on which a vessel 
 maybe, indeed, and is often wrecked 3 but 
 that same rock aliords the foundation of the 
 brightest and noblest beacon. 
 
 We might add to the weight of benefits 
 which France unquestionably owes to the 
 Constituent Assembly, that they restored 
 liberty of conscience by establishing uni- 
 versal toleration. But against this benefit 
 must be set the violent imposition of the 
 Constitutional oath upon the Catholic cler- 
 gy, which led afterwards to such horrible 
 massacres of innocent and reverend vic- 
 tims, murdered in defiance of those rules 
 of toleration, which, rather in scorn of re- 
 ligion of any kind than regard to men's con- 
 sciences, the Assembly had previously 
 adopted. 
 
 Faithful to their plan of forming not a 
 popular monarchy, but a species of royal re- 
 public, and stimulated by the real republi- 
 cans, whose party was daily gaining ground 
 among their ranks, as well as by the howls 
 and threats of those violent and outrageous 
 demagogues, who, from the seats they had 
 adopted in the Assembly were now known 
 by the name of the Mountain, the framers 
 of the Constitution had rendered it demo- 
 cratical in every point, and abridged the 
 royal authority, till its powers became so 
 dim and obscure as to merit Burke's happy 
 illustration, when he exclaimed, speaking 
 of the new-modelled French goVernment,-- 
 
 " What seem'd its head, 
 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had 011." 
 
 The Crown was deprived of all appoint- 
 ments to civil offices, which were filled 
 up by popular elections, the Constitution- 
 alists being in this respect faithful to 
 their own principles, which made the will 
 of the people the source of all power. Nev- 
 er was such an immense patronage vested 
 in the body of any nation at large . and the 
 arrangement was politic in the immediate 
 sense, as well as in conformity with the 
 principles of those who adopted it ; for it 
 attached to the new Constitution the mass 
 of the people, who felt themselves elevated 
 from villanage into the exercise of sove- 
 reign power. Each member of the elective 
 assembly of a municipality, through whose 
 collective votes bishops, administrators, 
 judges, and other official persons received 
 their appointments, felt for the moment the 
 importance which his privilege bestowed, 
 Vqi.. I, D 
 
 and recognized in his own person, with 
 corresponding self-complacency, a frac- 
 tion, however small, of the immense com- 
 munity, now governed by those whom they 
 themselves elected into office. The charm 
 of power is great at all times, but exqui- 
 site to intoxication to those to whom it is a 
 novelty. 
 
 Called to the execution of these high du- 
 ties, which hitherto they had never dream- 
 ed of, the people at large became enamour- 
 ed of their own privileges, carried them in- 
 to every department of society, and were 
 legislators and debaters in season and out 
 of season. The exercise even of the ex- 
 tensive privilege committed to them, seem- 
 ed too limited to these active citizens. 
 The Revolution appeared to have turned 
 the heads of the whole lower classes, and 
 those who had hitherto thought least of po- 
 litical rights, were now seized with the fury 
 of deliberating, debating, and legislating, in 
 all possible times and places. The sol- 
 diers on guard debated at the Oratoire — the 
 journeymen tailors held a popular assembly 
 at the Colonnade — the peruke-makers met 
 at the Champs-Elysees. In spite of the 
 opposition of the National Guard, three 
 thousand shoemakers deliberated on the 
 price of shoes in the Place Louis Quinze ; 
 every house of call was converted into the 
 canvassing hall of a political body ; and 
 France for a time presented the singular 
 picture of a country, where every one wa.s 
 so much involved in public business, thai 
 he had little leisure to attend to his own. 
 
 There was, besides, a general disposition 
 to assume and practise the military profes- 
 sion ; for the right of insurrection having 
 been declared sacred, each citizen was 
 to be prepared to discharge effectually so 
 holy a duty. The citizens procured mus- 
 kets to defend their property — the rabble 
 obtained pikes to invade that of others — the 
 people of every class everywhere possess- 
 ed themselves of arms, and the most peace- 
 ful burgesses were desirous of the honours 
 of the epaulette. The children, with mim- 
 icry proper to their age, formed battalions 
 on the streets, and the spirit in which they 
 were formed was intimated by the heads ol" 
 cats borne upon pikes in front of the juve- 
 nile revolutionists.* 
 
 In the departments, the fever of legisla- 
 tion was the same. Each district had its 
 f)ermanent committee, its committee ol" 
 police, its military corainittee, civil com- 
 mittee, and committee of subsistence. 
 Each committee had its president, its vice- 
 president, and its secretaries. Each dis- 
 trict was desirous of exercising legislative 
 authority, each committee of usurping the 
 executive power. t Amid the.se subordinate 
 conclaves, every themo of eulogy and en- 
 thusiasm referred to the revolution vliich 
 had made way for the power they enjoyed, 
 every subject of epidemic alarm to the 
 most distai't return towards the ancient sys- 
 tem which had left the people in insigniti- 
 cance. Rumour found a ready audience for 
 
 * Memoires du Marquis des FeTriows, Livre Ut 
 t Memoires de Bailli, 16 Aoat
 
 74 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VI. 
 
 ever- one of lier thousand tongues; Dis- 
 cord ;i prompt hand, in which she might 
 place each ot' her thousand 8nakes. 
 
 The alhliation, as it was called, or close 
 correspondence of the Jacobin Clubs in all 
 their rainilications, tended to inlhience this 
 political lever, and to direct its fury against 
 the last remains of royalty. Exaggerated 
 and unfounded reports of counter-revolu- 
 tionary plots and aristocratical conspiracies, 
 not a little increased by the rash conversa- 
 tion and impotent efforts of the nobility in 
 some districts, were circulated with the ut- 
 most care ; and the falsehood which had 
 been confuted at Paris, received new cur- 
 rency in the departments, as that which was 
 of departmental growth was again circulat- 
 ed with eagerness in the metropolis. Thus, 
 the minds of the people were perpetually 
 kept in a state of excitation, which is not 
 without its pleasures. They are of a nature 
 peculiarly incompatible with soundness in 
 judgment and moderation in action, but fa- 
 vourable in the same degree to audacity of 
 thought, and determination in execution. 
 
 The royal prerogative of the King, so 
 closely watched, was in appearance formi- 
 dable enough to be the object of jealousy 
 and suspicion, but in reality a mere pageant 
 which possessed no means either of attack 
 or resistance. The King was said to be 
 the organ of the executive power, yet he 
 had named but a small proportion of the 
 officers in the army and navy, and those 
 who received their appointments from a 
 source so obnoxious, possessed little cred- 
 it amongst those whom they commanded. 
 He was the nominal head of six ministers, 
 who were perpetually liable to be question- 
 ed by the Assembly, in which they might 
 be called to defend themselves as crimin- 
 als, but had no seat or vote to enable them 
 to mingle in its debates. This was, per- 
 haps, one of the greatest errors of the con- 
 stitution ; for the relation which the minis- 
 ters bore to the legislative body, was of 
 such a limited and dependent nature as ex- 
 cluded all ideas of confidence and cordiali- 
 ty. The King's person was said to be invi- 
 olable, but the frowning brows of a large 
 proportion of his subjects, their public ex- 
 clamations, and the pamphlets circulated 
 against him, intimated very different doc- 
 trine. He might .propose to the Assembly 
 the question of peace or war, but it re- 
 mained with them to decide upon it. Last- 
 ly, the King had the much-grudged privi- 
 lege of putting a veto on any decree of the 
 "legislative body, which was to have the ef- 
 fect of suspending the passing of the law 
 until the proposition had been renewed in 
 two successive Assemblies ; after which 
 the royal sanction was held as granted. 
 This mode of arresting the progress of any 
 favourite law was likely to be as dangerous 
 to the sovereign in its exercise, as the at- 
 tempt to stop a carriage by catching hold 
 of the wheel. In f^ct. whenever the King 
 attempted to use this sole relique of mon- 
 archical power, he risked his life, and it 
 was by doing so that he at length forfeited 
 it. Among these mutilated features of sove- 
 reignty, it is Bcarce worth while to mention, 
 
 that the King's effigy was ttill struck upon 
 the public coin, and his name prefixed to 
 public edicts. 
 
 Small as was the share of public power 
 which the new Constitution of France af- 
 forded to the Crown, Louis, in outward 
 semblance at least, appeared satisfied. He 
 made it a rule to adopt the advice of the 
 Assembly on all occasions, and to sanction 
 every decree which was presented to him. 
 He accepted even that whicli totally chan- 
 ged the constitution of the Gallican church. 
 He considered himself doubtless as under 
 forcible restraint, ever since he had been 
 dragged in triumph from Versailles to Pa- 
 ris, and therefore complied with what was 
 proposed to him, under the tacit protest 
 that his acquiescence was dictated by force 
 and fear. His palace was guarded by eight 
 hundred men, with two pieces of cannon ; 
 and although this display of force was 
 doubtless intended by La Fayette to assure 
 Louis's personal safety, yet it was no less 
 certain that it was designed also to pre- 
 vent his escape from the metropolis. The 
 King had, therefore, good cause to conceive 
 himself possessed of the melancholy privi- 
 lege of a prisoner, who cannot incur any 
 legal obligation by acts which do not flow 
 from free-will, and therefore finds a re- 
 source against oppression in the incapaci- 
 ties which attend it. It was, however, car- 
 rying this privilege to the verge of dissimu- 
 lation, nay, beyond it, when* the King 
 went, apparently freely and voluntarily, 
 down to the National Assembly, and, in a 
 dignified and touching speech, (could it 
 have been thought a sincere one,) accepted 
 the Constitution, made common cause with 
 the regenerated nation, and declared him- 
 self the head of the Revolution. Con- 
 strained as he was by circumstances, anx- 
 ious for his own safety, and that of his fam- 
 ily, the conduct of Louis must not be too 
 severely criticised, but this step was un- 
 kingly as well as impolitic ; and the unfor- 
 tunate monarch gained nothing by abasing 
 himself to the deceit which he practised 
 at the urgency of his ministers, excepting 
 the degradation attending a deception, by 
 which none are deceived. No one, when 
 the heat of the first enthusiasm was over, 
 gave the King credit for sincerity in his 
 acceptance of the Constitution ; the Roy- 
 alists were revolted, and the Revolutionists 
 could only regard the speech and accession 
 as the acts of royal hypocrisy. Louis was 
 openly spoken of as a prisoner; and the 
 public voice, in a thousand different forms, 
 announced that his life would be the pen- 
 alty of any attempt to his deliverance. 
 
 Meanwhile, the King endeavoured to 
 work out liis escape from Paris and the Rev 
 olution at once, by the means of two sepa 
 rate agents in whom alone he confided. 
 
 The first was no other than Mirabeau, that 
 very Mirabeau who had contributed so much 
 to the Revolution, but who, an aristocrat at 
 heart, and won over to the royal party by higli 
 promises of wealth and advancement, at 
 length laboured seriously to undo his own 
 
 * 4th February, 1790.
 
 Chap VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 work. His plan was, to use the .\ssembly it- 
 self, in which his talents, eloquence, and au- 
 dacity, gave him so much influence, as the 
 means of re-establishing the royal authority. 
 He proposed, as the final measure, that the 
 King should retire from Paris to Metz, 
 then under the government of the Marquis 
 de Bouille, and he conceived his own in- 
 fluence in the Assembly to be such, that he 
 could have drawn thither, upon some rea- 
 sonable terms of accommodation, a great 
 majority of the members. It is certain he 
 had the highest ascendancy which any indi- 
 vidual orator exercised over that body, and 
 was the only one who dared to retort threats 
 and defiance to the formidable Jacobins. 
 ■' I have resisted military and ministerial 
 despotism," said he, when opposing a pro- 
 posed law against the emigrants ; " can it 
 be supposed I will yield to that of a Club ?"' 
 — '• By what right," exclaimed Goupil, 
 " does Mirabeau act as a dictator in the 
 Assembly 7" — "Goupil," replied Mirabeau, 
 " is as much mistaken when he calls me 
 a dictator, as formerly when he termed me 
 a Catiline." — The indignant roar of the 
 Jacobins bellowing from their boasted 
 Mountain, in vain endeavoured to inter- 
 rupt him. — '■ Silence these thirty voices," 
 said Mirabeau, at the full pitch of his thun- 
 dering voice ; and the volcano was silent 
 at his bidding. Yet, possessed as he was 
 of this mighty power, Mirabeau did not, 
 perhaps, reflect how much less it would 
 have availed him on the royal side, than 
 when he sailed with all the wind and tide 
 which the spirit of a great and general rev- 
 olution could lend him. He was a man, 
 too, as remarkable for his profligacy as his 
 wonderful talents, and the chance which 
 the King must have risked in embarking 
 with him, was like that of the prince in the 
 tale, who escaped from a desert island by 
 embarking on board a skiff drifting among 
 dangerous eddies, and rowed by a figure 
 half human and half tiger.* The experiment 
 was prevented by the sudden and violent 
 illness and death of Mirabeau, who fell a 
 victim to his debaucheries. His death was 
 greatly lamented, though it is probable that, 
 had the Apostle of the Revolution lived 
 much longer, he would either have averted 
 its progress, or his dissevered limbs would 
 have ornamented the pikes of those multi- 
 tudes, who, as it was, followed him to the 
 grave with weapons trailed, and howling 
 and lamentation. "t 
 
 The King's other confidant was the Mar- 
 quis de Bouille, a person entirely different 
 from Mirabeau. He was a French soldier 
 of the old stamp, a royalist by birth and dis- 
 
 * Mirabeau bore much of his character imprint- 
 ed CD his person and features. He was short, 
 bull-necked, and very strongly made. A quantity 
 of thick, matted hair hung round features of a 
 coarse and exaggerated character, strongly scarred 
 and seamed. " Figure to your mind," he saiJ, de- 
 scribing his own countenance to a lady who knew 
 him not, " a tiger who has had the small pox." 
 When he talked of confronting his opponents in the 
 Assembly, his favourite phrase was, " 1 will show 
 them La Hure," that is, the boar's head, meaning 
 his own tusked and shaggy countenance. 
 
 t He died 28th, March 1791. 
 
 position ; had gained considerable fame 
 during the American war, and at the time 
 of the Revolution was governor of Metz 
 and Alsace. Bouille was endowed with a 
 rare force of character, and proved able, 
 without having recourse to disguise of any 
 kind, to keep the garrison of Metz in tol- 
 erable discipline during the general dis- 
 solution of the army. The state of milita- 
 ry insubordination was so great, that La 
 Fayette, and his party in the .\ssembly, not 
 only hesitated to dismiss a General who 
 v/as feared and obeyed by the regiments un- 
 der his command, but, royalist as he was, 
 they found themselves obliged to employ the 
 Marquis de Bouille and his troops in sub- 
 duing the formidable revolt of three regi- 
 ments quartered at Nancy, which he ac- 
 complished with complete success, and such 
 slaughter among the insurgents, as was 
 likely to recommend subordination in fu- 
 ture. The Republican party of course gave 
 this act of authority the name of a massa- 
 cre of the people, and even the Assem- 
 bly at large, though Bouille acted in eon- 
 sequence of their authority, saw with anx- 
 iety the increased importance of an avow- 
 ed Royalist. La Fayette, who was Bouille's 
 relation, spared no pains to gain him to 
 the Constitutional side, while Bouille avow- 
 ed publicly that he only retained his com- 
 mand in obedience to the King, and in the 
 hope of serving him. 
 
 With this general, who had as yet pre- 
 served an authority that was possessed by 
 no other Royalist in France, the King en- 
 tered into a close though secret corres- 
 pondence in Cjrpher, which turned chiefly 
 on the best mode of facilitating the escape 
 of the royal family from, Paris, where late 
 incidents had rendered his abode doubly 
 odious, and doubly dangerous. 
 
 La Fayette's strength consisted in his 
 popularity with the middle classes of the 
 Parisians, who, in the character of Nation- 
 al Guards, looked up to him as their com- 
 mandant, and in general obeyed his orders 
 in dispersing those tumultuous assemblies 
 of the lower orders, which threatened dan- 
 ger to persons and property. But La Fay- 
 ette, though fixed in his principle to pre 
 serve monarchy as a part of the constitu 
 tion, seems to have been always on cold and 
 distrustful terms with the monarch person- 
 ally. He was perpetually trying his own 
 feelings, and those whom he influenced, 
 by the thermometer, and became alarmed 
 if his own loyalty or theirs arose above the 
 most tepid degree. 
 
 Two marked incidents served to show 
 that the civic guard were even less warm 
 than their commandant in z^al for the roval 
 person. 
 
 The National Guard, headed by La Fav- 
 ette, together with the edict respecting 
 martial law, had, as %ve have observed, 
 greatly contributed to the restoration of 
 order in Paris, by checking and dispersing, 
 upon various occasions, those disorderly as- 
 semblies of rioters, whose violence and 
 cruelty had dishonoured the commence- 
 ment of the Revolution. But the spint 
 which raisea these commotions was uaabat-
 
 re 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VI. 
 
 ed, and was carefully nourished by the 
 Jacobins and all their subordinate agents, 
 whose popularity lay among the rabble, as 
 that of the Constitutionalists did with the 
 citizens.' Among the current falsehoods of 
 the diiy, arose a report that the old Castle 
 of Mncennes, situated about three miles 
 from Paris, was to be used as a state prison 
 in place of the Bastille. A large mob 
 marched from the suburb called Saint An- 
 toine, the residence of a great number of 
 labourers of the lowest order, already dis- 
 tinguished by its zeal for the revolutionary 
 doctrines.* They were about to commence 
 the destruction of the ancient castle, when 
 the vigilant commandant of Paris arrived 
 and dispersed them, not without bloodshed. 
 In the meantime, the few Royalists whom 
 Paris still contained, became alarmed lest 
 this tumult, though beginning in another 
 quarter, might be turned against the person 
 of the King. For his protection about three 
 hundred gentlemen repaired to the Tuille- 
 ries, armed with sword-canes, short swords, 
 pistols, and such other weapons as could be 
 best concealed about their persons, as they 
 went through the streets. Their services 
 and zeal were graciously acknowledged by 
 the unfortunate Louis, little accustomed of 
 late to such marks of devotion. But when 
 La Fayette returned to the palace, at the 
 head of his grenadiers of the National Guard, 
 he seems not to have been ill pleased that 
 the intrusion of these gentlemen gave him 
 an opportunity of showing, that if he had 
 dispersed the revolutionary mob of the 
 Fauxbourgs, it was without amy undue de- 
 gree of affection to the royal cause. He 
 felt, or affected extreme jealousy of the 
 armed aristocrats whom he found in the 
 Tuilleries, and treated them as men who 
 had indecently thrust themselves into the 
 palace, to usurp the duty of defending the 
 King's person, by law consigned to the Na- 
 tional Guard. To appease the jealousy of 
 the civic soldiers, the King issued his com- 
 mands upon the Royalists to lay down their 
 .inns. He was no sooner obeyed by those, 
 to whom alone out of so many millions he 
 could still issue his commands, than a most 
 scandalous scene ensued. The soldiers, fall- 
 ing upon the unfortunate gentlemen, ex- 
 pelled them from the palace with blows 
 and insult, applying to them the name of 
 Knights of the Poinard, afterwards often 
 repeated in revolutionary objurgation. The 
 vexation and sorrow of the captive prince 
 had a severe effect on his health, ajid was 
 followed by indisposition. 
 
 The second incident we have alluded to 
 intimated even more directly the personal 
 restraint in which he was now held. Early 
 in springt Louis had expressed his purpose 
 of going to Saint Cloud, under the pretext 
 of seeking a change of air, but in reality, it 
 may be supposed, for the purpose of ascer- 
 taining what degree of liberty he would be 
 permitted to exercise. The royal carriages 
 were drawn out, and the King and Queen 
 had already mounted theirs, when the cries 
 of the spectators, echoed by those of the 
 
 • February 28th, 1791, j 18th April, 1791. 
 
 National Guards who were upon duty, de. 
 clared tliat the King should not be permit- 
 ted to leave the Tuilleries. La Fayette 
 arrived — commanded, implored, threatened 
 the refractory guards, but was answered by 
 their unanimous refusal to obey his orders. 
 After the scene of tumult had lasted moru 
 than an hour, and it had been clearly prov- 
 ed that La Fayette's authority was unable 
 to accomplish his purpose, the royal per- 
 sons returned to the palace, now their ab- 
 solute and avowed prison. 
 
 La Fayette was so much moved by thia 
 affront, that he laid down his commission 
 as commandant of the National Guard, and 
 although he resumed it, upon the general 
 renionstr.ances and excuses of the corps, it 
 was not without severely reproaching them 
 for their want of discipline, and intimating 
 justly, that the respect they showed ought 
 to be for his rank and office, not for his 
 person. 
 
 Meantime, the naftiral inferences from 
 these cruel lessons, drove the King and 
 Queen nearly desperate. The events of 
 the 28th of February had shown that they 
 were not to be permitted to introduce their 
 friends or defenders within the fatal walls 
 which enclosed them ; those of the ISth 
 April proved, that they were not allowed 
 to leave their precincts. To fly from Paris, 
 to gather around him such faithful subjects 
 as might remain, seemed, though a despe- 
 rate resource, the only one which remain- 
 ed to the unhappy monarch, and the pre- 
 parations were already made for the fatal 
 experiment. 
 
 The Marquis de Bouille had, under va- 
 rious pretences, formed a camp at Mont- 
 medy, and had drawn thither some of the 
 troops he could best depend upon 5 but 
 such was the universad indisposition, both 
 of the soldiery and the people of every de- 
 scription, that the general seems to have 
 entertained almost no hope of any favoura- 
 ble result for the royal cause. The King's 
 life might have been saved by his escaping 
 into foreign parts, but there was hardly any 
 prospect of restoring the monarchy. 
 
 The history of the unhappy journey to 
 Varennes is well known. On the night be- 
 tween the 19th and 20th of August, Louis 
 and his Queen, with their two children, 
 attended by one lady, and escorted by three 
 gentlemen of the Gardei du Corps, set out 
 in disguise from Paris. The King left be- 
 hind him a long manifesto, inculpating the 
 Assembly for various political errors, and 
 solemnly protesting against the acts of 
 government to which he had been compel- 
 led, as he stated, to give his assent, during 
 what he termed his captivity, which he 
 seemed to have dated from his compulsory 
 residence in the Tuilleries. 
 
 The very first person whom the Queen 
 encountersKl in the streets was La Fayette 
 himself, as he crossed the Place du Carou- 
 sel. A hundred other dangers attended 
 the route of the unfortunate fugitives, and 
 the hair-breadth escapes by which they 
 profited, seemed to intimate the favour of 
 fortune, while they only proved her muta- 
 bility. An escort, placed for them at the
 
 Chap. V/.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 77 
 
 Pont de Sommeville, had been withdrawn, tionalists grieved that their constitution re- 
 
 after their remainiujf at that place for 
 time had excited popular suspicion. At 
 Saint Menehould they met a small detach- 
 ment of dragoons, stationed there by 
 Bouille' also for their escort. But while 
 they halted to change horses, the King, 
 whose features were remarkable, was re- 
 cognized by Drouet, a son of the postmas- 
 ter. The)oung man was a keen Revolu- 
 tionist, and resolving to prevent the escape 
 of the sovereign, he mounted a horse, and 
 pushed forwards to Varcnnes to prepare 
 
 quired a monarchical head ; the Republi- 
 cans rejoiced, for it had long been their ob- 
 ject to abolish the kingly office. Nor did 
 the anarchists of the Jacobin Club less ex- 
 ult ; for the events which had taken place, 
 and their probable consequences, were such 
 as to animate the revolutionary spirit, ex- 
 asperate the public mind, prevent the re- 
 turn of order, and stimulate the evil pas- 
 sions of lawless ambition, and love of blood 
 and rapine. 
 But La Fayette was determined not to 
 
 the municipality for the arrival of tlie relinquish the constitution he had formed, 
 
 King. 
 
 Two remarkable chances seemed to show 
 that the good angel of Louis still strove in 
 his favour. Drouet was pursued by a reso- 
 lute royalist, a quarter-master of dragoons, 
 who suspected his purpose, and followed 
 him with the design ot' preventing it at all 
 hazards. But Drouet, better acquainted 
 with the road, escaped a pursuit which 
 might have been fatal to him. The other 
 incident was, that Drouet for a time pursu- 
 ed the road to Verdun, instead of that to 
 Varennes, concluding the Ring had taken 
 the former direction, and was only unde- 
 ceived by an accident. 
 
 He reached Varennes, and found a ready 
 disposition to stop the flight of the unhappy 
 prince. The King was stopped a^ Varen- 
 nes and arrested; the National Guards were 
 called out — the dragoons refused to fight 
 in the King's defence — an escort of hus- 
 sars, who might have cut a passage, arrived 
 too late, acted with reluctance, and finally 
 deserted the town. Still there remained 
 one last throw for their freedom. If the time 
 could have been protracted but for an hour 
 and a half, Bouille would have been before 
 Varennes at the head of such a body of 
 faithful and disc'plined troops as might 
 easily have dispersed the national militia. 
 He had even opened a correspondence with 
 the royal prisoners through a faithful emis- 
 sary who ventured into Varennes, and ob- 
 tained speech of the King ; but could ob- 
 tain no answer more decided than that, be- 
 ing a prisoner, Louis declined giving any 
 orders. Finally, almost all the troops of | 
 the Marquis de Bouille declared against 
 
 and, in spite of the unpopularity of the 
 royal dignity, rendered more so by this 
 frustrated attenipt to escape, he was resolv- 
 ed to uphold it ; and was jomed in this pur- 
 pose by Barnave and others, who did not al- 
 ways share his sentiments, but who thought 
 it shame, apparently, to show to the world, 
 that a constitution, framed for immortality 
 upon the best political principles of the 
 m.ost accomplished statesmen in France, 
 was so slightly built, as to part and go 
 asunder at the first shock. The purpose of 
 the commandant of Paris, however, was 
 not to be accomplished without a victory 
 over the united strength of the Republican 
 and Jacobinical parties, who on their part 
 might be expected to put in motion on the 
 occasion their many-handed revolutionary 
 engine, an insurrection of the people. 
 
 Such was the state of political opinions, 
 when the unfortunate Louis was brought 
 back to Paris. He was, with his wife and 
 children, covered with dust, dejected with 
 sorrow, and exhausted with fatigue. The 
 faithful Gardes du Corps who had accom- 
 panied their flight, sate bound like felons 
 on the driving seat of the carriage. His 
 progress was at first silent and unhonoured. 
 The guard did not present arms — the peo- 
 ple remained covered — no man said God 
 bless him. At another part of the route, a 
 number of the rabble preci^iitated them- 
 
 putilic mind. A group in tlie Palais Royal were 
 discussing in great alarm the consequences of the 
 King's flight, when a man dressed in a thread-bar^; 
 great-coat leaped upon a chair and addressed 
 them thus : — " Citizens, listen to a tale, which 
 shall not be a long one. A certain well-meaning 
 the Kin" "and in favour of the nation, "tend- I -Neapolitan was once on a time startled in his eye- 
 ing to show the little chance which exist- "'"S «alk, by the a^itounding intelligence that the 
 _j„c /. ui • » .u f • . rope was i ead, Ue had not recovered his aston- 
 
 ed of a favourable issue to the Kins s at- i • -^ 
 
 tempt to create a royal force. The Marquis 
 himself made his escape with difiiculty into 
 the Austrian territories. 
 
 The Parisians in general, but especially 
 the Legislative Assembly, had been at first 
 astounded as if by an earthquake. The 
 King's escape seemed to menace his in- 
 stant return at the head of aristocratical 
 levies, supported by foreign troops. Re- 
 flection made most men see as a more 
 probable termination, that the dynasty of 
 the Bourbons could no longer hold the 
 crown ; and that the government, already 
 •0 democratical in principle, must become 
 a republic in all its forms.* The Constitu- 
 
 * The following anecdote will serve to show by 
 what means this conclusion was iasinaated into the 
 
 ishnient, when behold he is informed of a new dis- 
 I aster. — the King of Naples was also no more. 
 I ' Surely,' said the worthy Neapolitan, ' the sun 
 I must vanish from heaven at such a combination 
 of fatalities.' But they did not cease here. The 
 Archbishop of Palermo, he is intormed, has also 
 died suddenly. Overcome by this last shock, he 
 retired to lied, but not to sleep. In the morning, 
 he was disturbed in his melancholy reverie by a 
 rumbling noise, which he recognized at once to be 
 the motion of llie wooden instrument which makes 
 macaroni. ' Aha I' says the good man, starting 
 up, ' Can I trust my cars : — The Pope 13 dead — the 
 King of Naples is dead — the Bishop of Palermo is 
 dead — yet my neighbour the baker makes macaio- 
 ni I Come ! The lives of these great folks are 
 not then so indispensable to the world after all." 
 The man in the great-coat jumped down and dis- 
 appeared. " I have caught his meaning," said a 
 woman amongst the listeners. " He has told us a 
 tale, and it begins like all tales— TAere tcoi ohcb 
 a King and a Q.uecn."
 
 78 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Oiap. VI. 
 
 eelves on the carriage, and it was with the 
 utmost difficulty that the National Guards, 
 and some deputies, could assure it a safe 
 passage. Under such auspices were the 
 royal family committed once more to their 
 old prison of the Tuilleries. 
 
 Meantime the crisis of the King's fate 
 Beemed to be approaching. It was not long 
 ere the political parties had an opportunity 
 of trying their respective force. A meet- 
 ing was held upon the motion of the Re- 
 publican and Jacobinical leaders, in the 
 Champ de Mars,* to suscribe a petition for 
 the dethronement of the King, couched in 
 the boldest and broadest terms. There was 
 in this plain a wooden editice raised on 
 scaffolding, called the Altar of the Coun- 
 try, which had been erected for the cere- 
 mony of the Federation of 14th July, 1790, 
 when the assembled lepresentatives of the 
 various departments of France took their 
 oath to observe the constitution. On this 
 altar the petition was displayed for signa- 
 ture ; but each revolutionary act required a 
 preliminary libation ' of blood, and the vic- 
 tims on this occasion were two wretched 
 invalids, whom the rabble found at break- 
 fast under the scaffolding which supported 
 the revolutionary altar, and accused of a 
 design to blow up the patriots. To accuse 
 was to condemn. They were murdered 
 without mercy, and their heads, paraded on 
 pikes, became as usual the standards of the 
 insurgent citizens. The municipal officers 
 attempted to disperse the assemblage, but 
 to no purpose. Bailli, mayor of Paris, to- 
 gether with La Fayette, resolved to repel 
 force by force ; martial law was proclaim- 
 ed, and its signal, the red flag, was display- 
 ed from the Hotel de Ville. La Fayette, 
 with a body of grenadiers, arrived in the 
 Champ de Mars. He was received with 
 abuse, and execrations of "Down with La 
 Fayette ! Down with martial law !'" follow- 
 ed by a volley of stones. The command- 
 ant gave orders to fire, and was on this oc- 
 casion most promptly obeyed ; for the gren- 
 adiers pouring their shot directly into the 
 crowd, more than a huitdred men lay dead 
 at the first volley. The Champ de Mars 
 was empty in an instant, and the Constitut- 
 ed Authority, for the first time since the 
 Revolution commenced, remained master 
 of a contested field. La Fayette ought to 
 have followed up this triumph of the legal 
 force, by giving a triumph to the law itself, 
 in the trial and conviction of some of his 
 / prisoners, selecting particularly the agita- 
 ! tors employed by the Club of Jacobins ; 
 ! but he thought he had done enough in 
 frightening these harpies back to their dens. 
 Some of their leaders sought and found ref- 
 uge among the Republicans, which was not 
 in that hour of danger very willingly grant- 
 ed.! Marat and many others who had been 
 hitherto the undaunted and unwearied in- 
 Btigctorg of the rabble, were compelled to 
 ekulk in obscurity for some time after this 
 victory of the Champ de Mars, which the 
 Jacobins felt severely at the time, and for- 
 
 • July 17, 1791. 
 
 t Menioiresi de Madame Roland— article Robtrt. 
 
 got not afterwards to avenge most cruelly. 
 
 This victory led to the triumph of the 
 Constitutionalists in the Assembly. The 
 united exertions of those who argued 
 against the deposition of Louis, founding 
 their reasoning upon that constitutional law, 
 which declares the King inviolable in his 
 person, overpowered the party who loudly 
 called on the Assembly to proclaim his for- 
 feiture, or appoint his trial, 'liie Assem- 
 bly clogged, however, the future iiiviolabil- 
 ity of the King with new penaltie.--. If the 
 King, having accepted the constitution, 
 should retract, they decreed he should be 
 considered as abdicated. If he should or- 
 der his army, or any part of it, to act against 
 the nation, this should in like manner be 
 deemed an act of abdication ; and an abdi- 
 cated monarch, it was farther decreed, 
 should become an ordinary citizen, answer- 
 able to the la%vs for every act he had done 
 before or since the act of abdication. 
 
 The constitution, with the royal immu- 
 nity thus curtailed and maimed, was now 
 again presented to the King, who again ac- 
 cepted it purely and simply, in ternis which, 
 while they excited acclamation from the 
 Assembly, were but feebly echoed from the 
 gallery.* The legislators were glad to make 
 a virtue jf necessity, and complete their 
 constitutional code, though in a precarious 
 manner ; but the hearts of the people were 
 now decidedly alienated from the King, 
 and, by a strange concurrence of misfor- 
 tune, mixed with some errors, Louis, whose 
 genuine and disinterested good intentions 
 ought to have made him the darling of his 
 subjects, had now become the object of 
 their jealousy and detestation. 
 
 Upon reviewing the measures which had 
 been adopted on the King's return to Paris, 
 historians will probably be of opinion, that 
 it was impolitic in the Assembly to offer 
 the constitutional crown to Louis, and im- 
 prudent in that unhappy prince to accept it 
 under the conditions annexed. On the 
 former point it must be remembered, that 
 these innovators, who had changed every- 
 thing else in the state, could, upon princi- 
 ple, have had no hesitation to alter the per- 
 son or the dynasty of their sovereign. Ac- 
 cording to the sentiments which they had 
 avowed, the King, as well as the Nobles 
 and Clergy, was in their hands, as clay in 
 that of the potter, to be used or thrown 
 away at pleasure. The present King, in 
 the manifesto left behind him on his flight, 
 had protested to all Europe against the sys- 
 tem of which he was made the head, and it 
 was scarce possible that his sentiments 
 could be altered in its favour, by the cir- 
 cumstances attending his unwilling return 
 from Varennes. The Assembly, therefore, 
 acting upon their own principles, should 
 have at once proceeded on the idea that his 
 flight was a virtual abdication of the crown 
 — they should have made honourable provis- 
 ion for a prince placed in so uncommon a 
 situation, and suffered him to enjoy in Spain 
 or Italy an honourable independence, so 
 soon as the storm was ended, which threat- 
 
 • September 13, 1791.
 
 Chap. V/.l 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 79 
 
 ened them from abroad. In the meanwhile , 
 the person of the King would have been a 
 pled!ge in their hands, which might have 
 given them some advantage in treating with 
 the foreign princes of his family, and the 
 potentates of Europe in general. The 
 general policy of this appears so obvious, 
 that it was probably rather the difficulty of 
 arranging in what hands the executive au- 
 thority should be lodged, than any prefer- 
 ence of Louis XVI., which ind>^ced the 
 .'Vssembly again to deposit it in his hands, 
 shorn in a great measure even of tiie limit- 
 ed consequence and privileges constitution- 
 ally annexed to it. La Fayette and his par- 
 ty perhaps reckoned on the King's spirit 
 having given way, from observing how 
 unanimously the people of France were dis- 
 posed in favour of the new state of things, 
 and may have trusted to his accommodatmg 
 himself, therefore, without further resist- 
 ance, to act the part of the unsubstantial 
 Eageant which the constitution assigned 
 im. 
 
 If it was impolitic in the Constitutional- 
 ists to replace the crown upon the head of 
 Louis, it was certainly unworthy of that 
 monarch to accept it, unless invested with 
 such a degree of power as might give him 
 some actual weight and preponderance in 
 the system. Till his flight to Varennes, 
 the King's dislike to the constitution was a 
 secret in his own bosom, which might in- 
 deed be suspected from circumstances, but 
 which could not be proved; and which, 
 placed as he was, the King was entitled to 
 conceal, since his real sentiments could 
 not be avowed consistently with his per- 
 sonal safety. But now this veil was torn 
 aside, and he had told all Europe in a pub- 
 lic declaration, that he had been acting 
 under constraint since the time he was 
 brought in triumph from Versailles to Pa- 
 ris. It would certainly have been most dig- 
 nified in Louis to have stood or fallen in 
 conformity with tLlo declaration, made on 
 the only occasion which he had enjoyed 
 for such a length of time, of speaking his 
 own free sentiments. He should not, when 
 brought back to his prison, have resumed 
 the submission of a prisoner, or affected to 
 accept as a desirable boon, the restoration, 
 as it might be called, and that in a mutilat- 
 ed state, of a sovereignty, which he had 
 voluntarily abandoned at such extreme per- 
 sonal risk. His resolutions were too flex- 
 ible, and too much at the mercy of circum- 
 stances, to be royal or noble. Charles I., 
 even in the Isle of Wight, treated with his 
 subjects, as a prisoner indeed, but still as a 
 King, refusing to accede to such articles 
 as in his own mind he was determined not 
 to abide by. Louis, we conceive, should 
 hare returned the same answer to the As- 
 sembly which he did to the royalist officer 
 at Varennes, " that a prisoner could give 
 no orders, and make no concessions." He 
 should not, like a bird which had escaped 
 and been retaken, forget the notes which 
 he uttered when at freedom, and return to 
 his set and prescribed prison-song the in- 
 stant that the cage again inclosed him. No 
 man, above all no king, should place the 
 
 language of his feelings and sentiments so 
 much at the disposal of fortune. An ad- 
 herence to the sentiments expressed in his 
 voluntary declaration, might, it is possible, 
 have aflbrded him the means ot making 
 some more favourable composition ; where- 
 as the affectation of willing submission to 
 the same force which his own voice had 
 so lately proclaimed illegal, could but 
 make the unhappy King suspected of at- 
 tempting a deceit, by which no one could 
 be deceived. But the difficulties of his 
 situation were great, and Louis might well 
 remember the proverb, which places the 
 grave of deposed sovereigns close to their 
 prison-gates. He might be persuaded to 
 temporize with the party which still offer- 
 ed to preserve a show of royalty in the 
 constitution, until time or circumstances 
 permitted him to enlarge its basis. In the 
 meantime, if we can believe Bertrand de 
 Moleville, Louis avowed to him the deter- 
 mination to act under the constitution with 
 all sincerity and good faith ; but it must be 
 owned, that it would have required the vir- 
 tues of a saint to have enabled him to make 
 good this pledge, had the success of the 
 Austrians, or any strong counter-revolution- 
 ary movement, tempted him to renounce 
 it. At all events, the King was placed in 
 a doubtful and suspicious position towards 
 the people of France, who must necessari- 
 ly have viewed with additional jealousy 
 the head of a government, who, avowedly 
 discontented with the share of power allot- 
 ted to him, had nevertheless accepted it, — 
 like the impoverished gamester, who will 
 rather play for small stakes than be cut out 
 of the game. 
 
 The work of the Constitution being thus 
 accomplished, the National, or, as it is 
 usually called, the Constituent Assembly, 
 dissolved itself, agreeably to the vow they 
 had pronounced in the Tennis-court at 
 Versailles. The Constitution, that struc- 
 ture which they raised for immortality, soon 
 afterwards became ruinous ; but in few as- 
 semblies of statesmen have greater and 
 more varied talents been assembled. Their 
 debates were often fierce and stormy, their 
 mode of arguing wild and vehement, their 
 resolutions sudden and ill-conceived. These 
 were the faults partly of the French char- 
 acter, which is peculiarly open to sudden 
 impulses, partly, to the great changes per- 
 petually crowding upon them, and to the 
 exciting progress of a revolution which 
 hurried all men into extravagance. On the 
 other hand, they respected freedom of de- 
 bate ; and the proscription of members of 
 their body, for maintaining and declaring 
 their sentiments, in opposition to that of 
 the majority, is not to be found in their 
 records, though so fearfully frequent in 
 those of their successors. Their main and 
 master error was the attempt to do too 
 much, and to do it all at once. The parties 
 kept no terms with each other, would wait 
 for no conviction, and make no concession. 
 It was a war for life and death betwixt raen^ 
 who, had they seen more calmly for their 
 country and for themselves, would rather 
 have sacrificed some part of the theoretical
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. vn. 
 
 exactness of principle on which they in- 
 sisted, to the opportunity of averting prac- 
 tical evil, or attaining practical good. The 
 errors of the Assembly were accordingly 
 those of extremes. They had felt the 
 weight of the feudal chains, and they de- 
 stroyed the whole nobility. The monarch 
 had been too powerful for the liberties of 
 the subject — they now bound him as a 
 lilave at the feet of the legislative authori- 
 ty. Their arch of liberty gave way, be- 
 cause thoy hesitated to place upon it, in 
 the shape of an efficient executive govern- 
 ment, a weight sufficient to keep it steady. 
 Yet to these men France was indebted for 
 the first principles of civil liberty. They 
 kindled th'i flame, though they could not 
 regulate it ; and sach as now enjoy its tem- 
 perate warmth should have sympathy for 
 the errors of those to whom they owe a 
 
 boon 80 inestimable ; — nor should this sym- 
 pathy be the less, that so many perished in 
 the conflagration, which, at the commence- 
 ment, they had fanned too rasnly. They 
 did even more, for they endeavoured to 
 heal the wounds of the nation by passing 
 an act of general amnesty, which at once 
 placed in security the Jacobins of the 
 Champ de Mars, and the unfortunate com- 
 panions of the King's flight. This was one 
 of their last and wisest decrees, could they 
 have enforced its observance by their euc- 
 cessors. 
 
 The adieus which they took of power were 
 anything but prophetic. They pronounced 
 the Revolution ended, and tlie Constitution 
 completed— the one was but commencing, 
 and the other was baseless as a morning 
 dream. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Legislative Assembly — Its Composition. — Constitutionalists — Girondists or Brissotins — 
 Jacobins. — Views and Sentiments of Foreign Nations — England — Views of the To- 
 ries and ^Vhigs — Anacharsis Klootz — Austria — Prussia — Russia — Sweden. — Emi- 
 gration of the French Princes and Clergy — Increasing Unpopularity of Louis from 
 this cause. — Death of the Emperor Leopold, and its Effects. — France declares War. 
 — Vieius and Interests of the different Parties in France at this Period. — Decree 
 against Monsieur — Louis interposes his Veto. — Decree against the Priests who shauld 
 refuse the Constitutional Oath — Louis again interposes his Veto — Consequences of 
 these refusals. — Fall of De Lessart. — Ministers now chosen from the Brissotins. — All 
 Parties favourable to War. 
 
 The First, or Constituent Assembly, in de- 
 stroying almost all which existed as law in 
 France, when they were summoned togeth- 
 er as States-general, had preserved, at least 
 in form, the name and power of a monarch. 
 The Legislative Assembly, which succeed- 
 ed them, seemed preparing to destroy the 
 symbol of royalty which their predecessors 
 had left standing, though surrounded by re- 
 publican enactments. 
 
 The composition of this Second Body 
 of Representatives was much more unfa- 
 vourable to the lOyal cause than that of 
 those whom they succeeded. In a bad hour 
 for France and themselves, the Constituent 
 Assembly had adopted two regulations, 
 which had the same disabling effect on 
 their own political interest, as the celebrat- 
 ed self-denying ordinance in the Long Par- 
 liament had upon that of the Presbyterians. 
 Bv the first of these decrees, the members 
 of the Constituent Assembly were render- 
 ed incapable of being elected to that which 
 should succeed its dissolution. By the sec- 
 ond, they were declared ineligible to be 
 ministers of the crown, until two years had 
 elapsed after their sitting as legislators. 
 Those individuals who had already acquir- 
 ed some politiral knowledge and informa- 
 tion, were thus virtually excluded from the 
 counsels of the state, and pronounced inad- 
 missible into the service of the crown. 
 This exclusion was adopted upon the wild 
 principle of levelling, which was oive prime 
 moving spring of the Revolution, and 
 which affected to destroy even the natural 
 iristocracy of talents. " Who are the di$- 
 
 tinguished members whom the speaker 
 mentions ?" said a Jacobin orator, in the 
 true spirit of this imnginary equality ; — 
 " There are no members of the Assembly 
 more distinguished than others by talents or 
 skill, any more than by birth or rank — We 
 are all equal." Rare words indeed, and 
 flattering, doubtless, to many in tne Assem- 
 bly. Unhappily, no legislative decree can 
 give sense to folly, or experience to igno- 
 rance ; it could only prevent a certain por- 
 tion of wisdom and talent from being called 
 into the service of the couatr^-. Both 
 King and people were necessarily oWiged 
 to put their confidence in men of inexperi- 
 ence in business, liable to act with all the 
 rashness by which inexperience is general- 
 ly attended. As the Constituent Assembly 
 contained the first and readiest choice 
 among the men of ability whom France 
 had in her bosom, it followed that the sec- 
 ond Assembly could not be equal to the 
 first in abundance of talent ; but still the 
 Legislative Assembly held in its ranks ma- 
 ny men of no ordinary acquirements, and a 
 few of a corresponding boldness and de- 
 termination of character. A slight review 
 of the parties into which it was divided, 
 will show how much the influence of the 
 Crown was lowered in the scale. 
 
 There was no party remained which could 
 be termed strictly or properly Royalist. 
 Those who were attached to the old mon- 
 archy of France were now almost all ex- 
 iles, and there were left but few even of that 
 second class of more moderate and more 
 reasonable Royalists, who desired to estab-
 
 Chap. VU.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 ^1 
 
 lishafree constitution on the basis of an 
 effective monarchy, strong enough to pro- 
 tect the laws against licence, but not suffi- 
 ciently predominant to alter or overthrow 
 them. Cazalds, whose chivalrous defence 
 of the nobility, — Maury, whose eloquent 
 pleadings for the church — liad so often 
 made an honourable but vain struggle 
 against the advances of revolution, were 
 now silent and absent, and the few feeble 
 remnants of their party had ranged them- 
 selves with the Constitutionalists who 
 were so far favourers of- monarchy as it 
 made part of their favourite system — and no 
 farther. La Fayette continued to be the 
 organ of that party, and had assembled un- 
 der his banners Duport, Barnave, Lameth, 
 all of whom had striven to keep pace with 
 the headlong spirit of the Revolution, but, 
 beingx)utstrippedby more active and forward 
 champions of the popular cause, now shift- 
 ed ground, and formed a union with tliose 
 who were disposed to maintr.in, that the 
 present Constitution was adapted to all the 
 purposes of free and effectual government, 
 and that, by its creation, all farther revolu- 
 tionary measures were virtually supersed- 
 ed. 
 
 In stem opposition to tho^e admirers of the 
 Constitution, stood two bodies of unequal 
 numbers, strength, and efficacy; of which 
 the first was determined that the Revolu- 
 tion should never stop until the downfall 
 of the monarchy, while the second enter- 
 tained the equally resolved purpose of urg- 
 ing these changes still farther onwards, to 
 the total destruction of all civil order, and 
 the establishment of a government in which 
 terror and violence should be the ruling 
 principles, to be wielded by the hands of the 
 demagogues who dared to nourish a scheme 
 80 nefarious. We have indicated the exist- 
 ence of both these parties in the first, or 
 Constituent Assembly ; but in the second, 
 called the Legislative, they assumed a more 
 decided form, and appeared united towards 
 the abolition of royalty as a common end, 
 though certain, when it was attained, to dis- 
 pute with each other the use which was 
 to be made of the victory. In the words 
 of Shakspeare, they ^verc determined 
 
 " To lay this Angiers even with the ground, 
 Then, after, fight who should be king of it." 
 
 The first of these parties took its most 
 common denomination irom the Gironde, 
 a department which sent most of its mem- 
 bers to the Convention. Condorcet, dear to 
 science, was one of this party, and it was of- 
 ten named from Brissot, another of its princi- 
 pal lead»s. Its most distinguished chain- 
 piona were men bred as lawyers in the south 
 of France, who had, by mutual flattery, and 
 the habit of living much together, acquired 
 no small portion of that self-conceit and 
 overweening opinion of each other's tal- 
 ents, which may be frequently found among 
 small provincial .associations for politico I 
 or literary purposes. Many had eloquence, 
 and most of them a high fund of enthusi- 
 asm, which a classical education, and their 
 intimate communication with each other, 
 where each idea was caught up, lauded, re- 
 V«i. I. ^ D% 
 
 echoed, and enhanced, had exalted into a 
 spirit of republican zeal. They doubtless 
 had personal ambition, but in gener.al it 
 seems not to have been of a low or selfish 
 character. Their aims were often honour- 
 able though visionary, and they march.ed 
 with great courage towards their proposed 
 goal, with the vain purpose of erecting a 
 pure republic, in a state so disturbed at; 
 that of France, and by hands so polluted as 
 those of their Jacobin associates. It will 
 be recorded, however, to the disgrace of 
 their pretensions to stern republican vir- 
 tue, that the Girondists were willing to em- 
 ploy, for the accomplishment of their 
 purpose, those base and guilty tools which 
 alterwards effected their own destruction. 
 They were for using the revolutionary 
 means of insurrection and violence, until 
 the republic should be established, and no 
 longer ; or, in the words of the satirist, 
 
 " For letting Rapine ioose, and Murther, 
 To rage just so far, but no further ; 
 And setting all the land on fire 
 To burn to a scantling, but no higher." 
 
 The Jacobins — the second of these parties 
 — were allies of the Brissotins, with the ul- 
 terior purpose of urging the revolutionary 
 force to the uttermost, but using as yet the 
 shelter of their republican mantle. Robes- 
 pierre, who, by an affectation of a frugal 
 and sequestered course of life, preserved 
 among the multitude the title of tlie Incor- 
 ruptible, might oe considered as the head 
 of the Jacobins, if they had indeed a lead- 
 er more than wolves have, which tune their 
 united voices to the cry of him who bays 
 the loudest. Danton, inexorable as Robes- 
 pierre himself, but less prudent, because he 
 loved gold and pleasure as well as blood 
 and power, was next in authority. Marat, 
 who loved to talk of murder as soldiers do 
 of battles ; the wretched Collot d'Herbois, 
 a broken-down play-actor ; Chabot, an ex- 
 capuchin ; with many other men of despe- 
 rate character, whose moderate talents 
 were eked cut by the most profligate ef- 
 frontery, formed the advanced guard of this 
 party, soiled with every epecies of crime, 
 and accustv.med to act their parts in the 
 management of those dreadful insurrec- 
 tions, which had at once promoted and dis- 
 lionoured the Revolution. It is needless 
 to preserve from oblivion names such a.< 
 .Santerre and Hebert, distinguished for 
 cruelty and villany above the other subal- 
 tern villains. Such was the party who, an 
 the side of the Brissotins, stood prompt to 
 storm the last bulwarks of the Monarchy, 
 reserving to themselves the secret detev- 
 ininakion, that the spoil should be all their 
 own. 
 
 The force of these three parties was as v:!- 
 riously composed as their principles. That 
 of La Fayette , as we have repeatedly observ- 
 ed, lay amongst the better order of shop- 
 keepers and citizens, and other proprietors, 
 who had assumed arms for their own protec- 
 tion, and to maintain something like gene- 
 ral good order. These composed the stead- 
 iest part of the National Guard, and, gene- 
 rally speaking, were at the devotion of their
 
 82 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. Vn. 
 
 commandant, though his authority was re- 
 sisted by them on some occasions, and 
 seemed daily to grow more precarious. 
 The RoyaJists might perhaps have added 
 some forco to the Constitutional party, but 
 La Fayette did not now possess such an un- 
 suspected character with the so called 
 friends of freedom, as could permit him to 
 use the obnoxious assistance of those who 
 were termed its enemies. His high char- 
 acter as a military man still sustained an 
 importance, which, nevertheless, was al- 
 ready somewhat on the wane. 
 
 The party of the Gironde had in their fa- 
 vour the theoretical amateurs of liberty and 
 equality, young men, whose heated imagi- 
 nations saw the Forum of ancient Rome 
 in the gardens of the Palais Royal, and 
 yielded a ready assent to whatsoever doc- 
 trine came recommended by a flourishing 
 and eloquent peroration, and was rounded 
 off in a sounding sentence, or a quaint 
 apothegm. The partisans of Brissot had 
 some interest in the southern departments, 
 who had sent them to the capital, and con- 
 ceived that they had a great deal more. 
 They pretended that there existed in those 
 districts a purer flame of freedom than in 
 the metropolis itself, and held out, that 
 Liberty, if expelled from Paris, would yet 
 find refuge in a new republic, to be found- 
 ed on the other side of the Loire. Such 
 day-dreams did not escape the Jacobins, 
 who carefully treasured them to be the 
 apology of future viol once, and finally 
 twisted them into an accusation which be- 
 stowed on the Brissotins the odious name 
 of Federalists, and charged them with an 
 intention to dismember France, by split- 
 ting it into a league of petty common- 
 wealths, like those of Holland and Swit- 
 zerland. 
 
 The Brissotins had a point of union in 
 the saloon of Madame Roland, wife to one 
 of their number. The beauty, talents, 
 courage, and accomplishments of this re- 
 markable woman, pushed forward into pub- 
 lic notice a husband of very middling abil- 
 ities, and preserved a high influence over 
 the association of philosophical rhapsodists, 
 who'hoped to oppose pikes with syllogisms, 
 and to govern a powerful country by the 
 <iiBcipline of an academy. 
 
 The substantial and dreadful support of 
 the Jacobins lay in the Club so named, witli 
 the yet more violent association of Corde- 
 liers and their original affiliated societies, 
 which reigned paramount over those of the 
 municipal bodies, which in most depart- 
 ments were fain to crouch under their stern 
 and sanguinary dominion. This Club had 
 more than once changed masters, for its 
 principal and leading feature being the 
 highest point of democratical ardour, it 
 drove from its bosom in succession those 
 who fell short of the utmost pitch of ex- 
 travagant zeal for liberty and equality, man- 
 ifested by the most uncompromising vio- 
 lence. The word moderation was as odi- 
 ous in this society as could have been that 
 of slavery, and he who could afiect the 
 inost exaggerated and outracreous btrain of 
 patriotism, was sore to outstrip their former 
 
 leaders. Thus the Lameths took the guid- 
 ance of the Club out of the hands of La 
 Fayette ; Robespierre, and Marat, wrench- 
 ed ^he management from the Lameths ; 
 and, considering their pitch of extravagant 
 ferocity, there was little chance of their 
 losing it, unless an .\vatar of the Evil Spirit 
 had brought Satan himself to dispute the 
 point in person. 
 
 The leaders, who were masters of this 
 Club, had possession, as we have often re- 
 marked, of the ma;ster-keys to the passions 
 of the populace, could raise a forest of pikes 
 with one word, and unsheathe a thousand 
 daggers with another. They directly and 
 openly recommended the bloodiest and 
 most ruflian-like actions, instead of those 
 which, belonging to open and manly war- 
 fare, present something that is generous 
 even in the midst of violence. '■ Give me," 
 said the atrocious iVIarat, when instructing 
 Barbaroux in his bloody science, — " Give 
 me two hundred Neapolitans — the knife in 
 their right hand, in their left a muff, to 
 serve for a target — with these 1 will trav- 
 erse France, and complete the revolution." 
 At the same lecture he made an exact cal- 
 culation, (for the monster was possessed of 
 some science,) showing in what manner 
 two hundred and sixty thousand men might 
 be put to death in one day. Such were the 
 means, the men, and the plans of the Jaco 
 bins, which they were now, in the Legisla- 
 tive Assembly, to oppose to the lukewarm 
 loyalty of the Constitutionalists, and, in 
 the hour of need, to the fine-spun republi- 
 can theories of the Brissotins. But ere we 
 proceed iu our review of the internal af- 
 fairs of tlie nation, it becomes now neces- 
 sary to glance at her external relations. 
 
 Hitherto France had acted alone in this 
 dreadful tragedy, while the other nations 
 of Europe looked on in amazement, which 
 now began to give place to a desire of ac- 
 tion. No part of public law is more subtle 
 in argument than that which pretends to 
 define the exact circumstances in which, 
 according to the proper interpretation of 
 the Jus Gentium, one nation is at liberty, 
 or called upon, to interfere in the internal 
 concerns of another. If my next neigh- 
 bour's house is on fire, I am not only enti- 
 tled, but obliged, by the rules alike of pru- 
 dence and humanity, to lend my aid to 
 extinguish it ; or if a cry of murder arises 
 in his household, the support due to the 
 law, and the protection of the innocent, 
 will excuse my forcible entrance upon his 
 premises. These are extreme cases and 
 easily decided ; they have their parallels 
 in the laws of nations, but they are of rare 
 occurrence. But there lies between them 
 and the general maxim, prohibiting the un- 
 called-for interference of one party in what 
 primarily and principally concerns another, f, 
 a whole terra incognita of special cases, in 
 which it may be diflicult to pronounce any I 
 satisfactory decision. 
 
 In the history of nations, however, little 
 practical difficulty has been felt, for wher- 
 ever the jurisconsults have fbund a Gordian 
 knot, the sword of the sovereign has sev- 
 ered it without ceremony, The doubt )is8
 
 cfcop- yu] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 83 
 
 OBually been decided on the practical ques- 
 tions', What benefit the neutral power is 
 like to derive from his interference ? And 
 whether he possesses the power of using it 
 effectually, and to his own advantage ? In 
 free countries, indeed, the public opinion 
 must be listened to ; but man is the same 
 in every situation, and the same desire of 
 aggrandizement, which induces an arbitrary 
 monarch to shut his ears to the voice of 
 justice, is equally powerful with senates 
 and popular assemblies j and aggressions 
 have been as frequently made by republics 
 and limited monarchs on the independence 
 of their neighbours, as by those princes who 
 have no bounds to their own royal pleasure. 
 The gross and barefaced injustice of the 
 partition of Poland, had gone far to extin- 
 guish any remains of hesitation upon such 
 subjects, and might be said to be a direct 
 recogniUon of the right of the strongest. 
 There would not, therefore, have wanted 
 pretexts for interference in the .affairs of 
 France, of the nations around her, had any 
 of them been at the time capable of bene- 
 fiting by the supposed opportunity. 
 
 England, the rival of France, might, from 
 the example of that country, have exercised 
 a right of interfering with her domestic 
 concerns, in requital of the aid which slie 
 afforded to the .\mericar.s ; but besides that 
 the publicity of the parliamentary debates 
 must compel the most ambitious British 
 minister to maintain at least an appearance 
 erf" respect to the rights of other countries, 
 England was herself much divided upon the 
 subject of the French Revolution. 
 
 This was not the case when the eventful 
 ecene first commenced. We believe that 
 the first display of light, reason, and rational 
 liberty in France, was hailed aa a day-spring 
 through all Britain, and that there were 
 few if any in that country, who did not feel 
 their hearts animated and enlarged by see- 
 ing such a great and noble nation throwing 
 aside the fetters, which at once restrained 
 and dishonoured them, and assuming the 
 attitude, language, and spirit of a free peo- 
 ple. All men's thoughts and eyes v.-ere 
 bent on struggles, which seemed to promise 
 the regeneration of a mighty, country, and 
 the British generally felt as if days of old 
 hate and mutual rivalry would thereafter be 
 foigotten, and that in future the similarity 
 of liberal institutions, and the possession 
 of a just portion of rational liberty on either 
 side, would throw kindness and cordiality 
 into the intercourse between tlie two coun- 
 tries, since France would no longer have 
 ground to contemn F.ngland as a country 
 of seditious and sullen downs, or Britain 
 to despise France as a nation of williiiij 
 slaves. 
 
 This universal sympathy was not remov- 
 ed by the forcible capture of the Bastille, 
 and the violences of the people on tliat oc- 
 casion. The name of that fortress wa.* so 
 unpopular, as to palliate and apologise, for 
 the excesses which took plare on its fall. 
 and it was not to be expected that a peo- 
 ple 80 long oppressed, when exerting their 
 Eower for the first time, should be limited 
 y the strict bounds of moderation. But in 
 
 England there always have been, and must 
 exist, two parties of politicians, who will 
 not long continue to regard events of such 
 an interesting nature with similar sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 The revolutionists of France were nat- 
 urally desirous to obtain the applause of 
 the elder-born of freedom, and the socie- 
 ties in Britain, which assumed the charac- 
 ter of the peculiar admirers and protectors 
 of liberty, conceived themselves obliged ti> 
 extend their countenance to the changes in 
 the neighbouring nation. Hence there arose 
 a great intercourse between the clubs and 
 self-constituted bodies in Britain, which as- 
 sumed the extension of popular freedom as 
 the basis of their association, and the rev- 
 olutionists in France, who were realizing 
 tlie systems of philosophical theorists up- 
 on the same ground. Warm tributes of ap- 
 plause were transmitted from several of 
 tliese associations ; the ambassadors sent 
 to convey them were received with great 
 distinction by the National Assembly ; and 
 the urbane intercourse which took place on 
 these occasions, led to exaggerated admi- 
 ration of the French system on the part of 
 those, who had thus unexpectedly become 
 the medium of intercourse between a great 
 nation and a few private societies. The 
 latter were gradually induced to form unfa- 
 vourable comparisons betwixt the Temple 
 of French Freedom, built, as it seemed to 
 them, upon the most perfect principles of 
 symmetry and uniformity, and that in which 
 the goddess had been long worshipped in 
 England, and which, on the contrast, ap- 
 peared to them like an ancient ediCce con- 
 structed in barbaric times, and incongru- 
 ously encumbered with Gothic ornaments 
 and emblems, which modern political arch- 
 itects had discarded. But these political 
 sages overlooked the important circum- 
 stance, that the buttresses, which seemed 
 in some respects encumbrances to the Eng- 
 lish edifice, might, on examination, be 
 found to add to its stability ; and that in 
 fact they furnished evidence to show, that 
 the venerable pile was built with cement 
 fitted to endure the test of ages, while that 
 of France, constructed of lath daubed with 
 untempercd mortar, like the pageants she 
 exhibited on the revolutionary festivals, 
 was only calculated to be the wonder of a 
 day. 
 
 The earnest admiration of either party 
 of the state is sure in England to be balanr- 
 ed by the censure of the other, and leads to 
 an immediate trial of strength betv\'ixt them. 
 i The popular side is always the more loud, 
 I the more active, the more imposing of the 
 I two contending parties. It is formidable. 
 j from the body of talents which it exhibits, 
 I (for those ambitious of distinction are iis- 
 1 ually friends to innovation,) and from the 
 i unanimity and vigour with which it can 
 I Vfield them. There may be, and indeed 
 I always are, great differences in the point to 
 wliich each leader is desirous to carry re- 
 formation ; but they are unanimous in de- 
 I siring its commencement. The Opposition, 
 also, a-s it is usually termed, has always in- 
 cladcd several of the high ariitocracy of
 
 64 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VII. 
 
 the country, whose names ennoble their 
 rank, and whose large fortunes are a pledge, 
 that they will, for their own sakes, be a 
 check upon eager and violent experiment- 
 alists. The Whigs, moreover, have the 
 means of influencing assemblies of the 
 lower orders, to whom the name of liberty 
 is, and ought to be dear, since it is the 
 privilege which must console them for nar- 
 row circumstances and inferiority of condi- 
 tion ; and these means the party, so called, 
 often use successfully, always with indus- 
 try and assiduity. 
 
 The counterbalance to this active and 
 powerful body is to be found, speaking gen- 
 erally, in the higher classes at large — the 
 great mass of nobility and gentry — the cler- 
 gy of the Established Church — the superior 
 branches of the law — the wealthier of the 
 commercial classes — and the bulk of those 
 who have property to lose, and are afraid 
 of endangering it. This body is like the 
 Ban of the Germanic empire, a formidable 
 force, but slow and diffident in its opera- 
 tions, and requiring the stimulus of sudden 
 alarm to call it into effective exercise. To 
 one or other of these great national 
 parties, every Englishman, of education 
 enough to form an opinion, professes to be- 
 long; with a perfect understanding on the 
 part .of all men of sense and probity, that 
 the general purpose is to ballast the vessel 
 of the state, not to overset it, and that it be- 
 comes a state-treason in any one to follow 
 his party when they carry their doctrines to 
 extremity. 
 
 From the nature of this grand national 
 division it follows, that the side which is 
 most popular should be prompt in adopting 
 theories, and eager in recommending meas- 
 ures of alteration and improvement. It is 
 by such measures that men of talents rise 
 into importance, and by such that the popu- 
 lar part of the constitution is maintained in 
 its integrity. The other party is no less 
 useful, by opposing to each successive at- 
 tempt at innovation the delays of form, the 
 doubts of experience, the prejudices of 
 rank and condition, legal objections, and 
 the weight of ancient and established prac- 
 tice. Thus, measures of a doubtful ten- 
 dency are severely scrutinized in Parlia- 
 ment, and if at length adopted, it is only 
 when public opinion has long declared in 
 their favour, and when, men's minds having 
 become habituated to the discu.=sion, their 
 introduction into our system cannot pro- 
 duce the violent effect of absolute novelty. 
 If there were no Whigs, our constitution 
 would fall to pieces for want of repair; if 
 there were no Tories, it would be broken 
 in the course of a succession of rash and 
 venturous experiments. 
 
 It .'olio wed as a matter of course, that 
 the Whigs of Britain looked witli compla- 
 cence, the Tories with jealousy, upon tlie 
 progress of the new principles in France ; 
 but the latter had a powerful ami unexpect- 
 ed auxiliary in the person of Edmund 
 Burke, whose celebrated Reflections on the 
 French Revolution had the most striking 
 efTect on the public mind, of any work in 
 our time. There was something exaggerat- 
 
 ed at all times in the character as well as 
 the eloquence of that great man ; and upon 
 reading at this distance of time his cele- 
 brated composition, it must be confessed 
 that the colours he has used in painting the 
 extravagancies of the Revolution, ought to 
 have been softened, by considering the pe- 
 culiar state of a country, which, long la- 
 bouring under despotism, is suddenly re- 
 stored to the possession of unembarrassed 
 license. On the other hand, no political 
 prophet ever viewed futurity with a surer 
 ken. He knew how to detect the secret 
 purpose of the various successive tribes of 
 revolutionists, and saw in the constitution 
 the f^uture republic ; in the republic the 
 reign of anarchy ; from anarchy he predict- 
 ed military despotism, and from military 
 despotism, last to be fulfilled, and hardest 
 to be believed, he prophesied the late but 
 secure resurrection of the legitimate mon- 
 archy. Above all, when the cupidity of the 
 French rulers aspired no farther than the 
 forcible possession of Avignon and the 
 Venaissin territories, he foretold their pur- 
 pose of extending the empire of France by 
 means of her new political theories, and, 
 under pretext of propagating the principles 
 of freedom, her project of assailing with 
 her arras the stages, whose subjects had 
 been already seduced by her doctrines. 
 
 The work of Burke raised a thousand en- 
 emies to the French Revolution, who had 
 before looked upon it with favour, or at 
 least with in'.lifference. A very large por- 
 tion of the talents and aristocracy of the 
 opposition party followed Burke into the 
 ranks of the ministry, who saw with pleas- 
 ure a member, noted for his zeal in the 
 cause of the Americans, become an avow- 
 ed enemy of the French Revolution, and 
 with equal satisfaction heard him use argu- 
 ments, which might in their own mouths 
 have assumed an obnoxious and suspicious 
 character. 
 
 But the sweeping terms in which the au- 
 thor reprobated all attempts at state refor- 
 mation, in which he had himself been at 
 one time so powerful an agent, subjected 
 him to the charge of inconsistency among 
 his late friends, many of whcni, and Fox in 
 particular, declared themselves favourable 
 to the progress of the Revolution in France, 
 thougli they did not pretend to excuse its 
 excesses. Out of Parliament it met more 
 unlimited applause ; for England, as well 43 
 France, had talent impatient of obscurity, 
 ardour which demanded employment, am- 
 bition which sought distinction, and men of 
 headlong passions, who expected in a new 
 order of things more unliwiited means of 
 indulging them. The middling classes 
 were open in England as elsewhere, though 
 not perhaps so much so, to the tempting of- 
 fer of incrensed power and importance ; 
 and the populace of London and other large 
 towns loved license as well as the sans cu- 
 lottes of France. Hence the division of the 
 country into .Vristocrats and Democrats, the 
 introduction of political hatred into the bo- 
 som of families, and the dissolution of ma- 
 ny a band of friendship which had stood the 
 strain of a life-time. One part of the king-
 
 Chap. VIl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 85 
 
 dom looked upon Uie other with the stem 
 and relentless glance of keepers who are re- 
 straining madmen, while the others bent on 
 them the furious glare of madmen conspir- 
 ing revenge on their keepers. 
 
 From this period the progress of the 
 French Revolution seemed in England like 
 a play presented upon the stage, where two 
 contending factions divide the audience, 
 and hiss or applaud as much from party 
 spirit as from real critical judgment, while 
 every instant increases the probability that 
 they will try the question by actual force. 
 
 Still, though the nation was thus divided 
 on account of French politics, England and 
 France observed the usual rules of amity, 
 and it seemed that the English were more 
 likely to wage hostility with each other than 
 to declare war against France. 
 
 There was in other kingdoms and states 
 upon the Continent, the same diversity of 
 feelings respecting the Revolution which 
 divided England. The favour of the lower 
 and unprivileged classes, in Germany espe- 
 cially, was the more fixed upon the prog- 
 ress of the French Revolution, because they 
 lingered under the same incapacities from 
 which the changes in France had delivered 
 the Commons, or Third Estate, of that 
 country. Thus far their partiality was not 
 only natural and innocent, but praisewor- 
 thy. It is as natural for ajnan to desire 
 the natural liberty from which he is un- 
 justly excluded, as it is for those who are 
 in an apartment where the air is polluted, 
 to wish for the wholesome atmosphere. 
 
 Unhappily these justifiable desires were 
 connected with others of a description less 
 harmless and beneficial. The French Rev- 
 olution had proclaimed war on castles, as 
 well as peace to cottages. Its doctrine and 
 practice held out the privileged classes in 
 every country as the natural tyrants and op- 
 pressors of the poor, whom it encouraged 
 by the thousand tongues of its declaimers 
 to pull down their thrones, overthrow their 
 altars, renounce the empire of God above, 
 and of kings below, and arise, like regene- 
 rated France, alike from thraldom emd from 
 superstition. And such opinions, calling 
 upon the other nations of Europe to follow 
 them in their democratic career, were not 
 only trumpeted forth in all affiliated clubs 
 of the Jacobins, whose influence in the Na- 
 tional Assembly was formidable, but were 
 formally recognized by that body itself up- 
 on an occasion, which, but for the momen- 
 tous omen it presented, might have been 
 considered as the most ridiculous scene ev- 
 er gravely acted before the legislators of a 
 great nation. 
 
 There was in Paris a native of Prussia, an 
 exile from his country, whose brain, none 
 of the soundest by nature, seems to have 
 been afiacted by the progress of the Revo- 
 lution, as that of ordinary madmen is said to 
 be influence i by the increase of the moon. 
 This personage having become disgusted 
 with his baptismal name, had adopted that 
 of the Scythian philosopher, and uniting it 
 with his own Teutonic family appellation, 
 entitled himself— " Anacharsia Klootz, Or- 
 ator G^ the Human Race." 
 
 It could hardly be expected, that the aa- 
 sumption of such a title should remain un- 
 distinguished by some supreme act of folly. 
 Accordingly, the self-dubbed Anacharsis set 
 on foot a procession, which was intended 
 to exhibit the representatives of delegates 
 from all nations upon earth, to assist at the 
 Feast of the Federation of the 14th July, 
 1790, by which the French nation propos- 
 ed to celebrate the Revolution. In recruit- 
 ing his troops, the Orator easily picked up a 
 few vagabonds of ditFerent countries in rsr 
 ria ; but as Chaldeans, Illinois, and Siberi- 
 ans, are not so common, the delegates of 
 those more distant tribes were chosen 
 among the rabble of the city, and subsidized 
 at the rate of about twelve francs each. 
 We are sorry we cannot tell whether the 
 personage, whose dignity was much insist- 
 ed upon as " a Miltonic Englishman," was 
 genuine, or of Parisian manufacture. If the 
 last, he must have been worth seeing. 
 
 Anacharsis Klootz, having got his ragged 
 regiment equipped in costume at the ex- 
 pense of the refuse of some theatrical ward- 
 robe, conducted them in solemn procession 
 to the bar of the National Assembly, pre- 
 sented them as the representatives of all the 
 nations on earth, awakened to a sense of 
 their debased situation by the choral voices 
 of twenty-five millions of freemen, and de- 
 manding that the sovereignty of the peo- 
 ple should be acknowledged, and their op- 
 pressors destroyed, through all the uni- 
 verse, as well as in France. 
 
 So far this absurd scene was the extrav- 
 agance of a mere madman, and if the As- 
 sembly had sent Anacharsis to Bedlam, 
 and his train to the Bic6tre, it would have 
 ended as such a farce ought to have done. 
 But the President, in the name of the At- 
 sembly, Monsieur deMenou, (the same, we 
 believe, who afterwards turned Turk when 
 in Egypt.) applauded the zeal of the Orator, 
 and received the homage of his grotesque 
 attendants as if they had been what they 
 pretended, the deputies of the four quarters 
 of the globe. To raise the jest to the high- 
 est, Alexander Lameth proposed, — as the 
 feelings of these august pilgrims must ne- 
 cessarily be hurt to see, in the land of free- 
 dom, those kneeling figures representing 
 conquered nations, which surround the 
 statue of Louis XV., — that, from respect to 
 this body of charlatans, these figures should 
 be forthwith demolished. This was doite 
 accordingly, and the destruction of these 
 symbols was regarded as a testimony of the 
 assistance which France was ready to ren- 
 der such states as should require her assis- 
 tance, for following in the revolutionary 
 course. The scene, laughable in itself, be- 
 came serious when its import was consider- 
 ed, and went far to persuade the govern- 
 ments of the neighbouring countries, that 
 the purpose of France was to revolutionize 
 Europe, and spread the reign of liberty and 
 equality over all the civilized nations of 
 the globe. Hopes so flattering as these, 
 which should assign to the commons not 
 merely freedom from unjust restraints and 
 disqualifications, (and that granted with re- 
 serve^ and only in proportion as they bt •
 
 86 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VII. 
 
 came qualified to use it with advantage,') 
 but their hour of command and sovereiL'ii- 
 ty, with the privilege of retaliation on those 
 who had so long kept them in bondage, 
 were sure to find a general good reception 
 among all to whom they were addressed, 
 in whatsoever country ; while, on the con- 
 trary, the fears of existing governments for 
 the propagation of doctrines so seductive 
 in themselves, and which France seemed 
 apparently prepared to support with arms, 
 were excited in an equal, proportion. 
 
 It is true that the National Assembly h^d 
 formerly declared that France renounced 
 the unphilosophical practices of extending 
 her limits by conquest, but although this 
 disavowal spoke to the ear, it was contra- 
 dicted by the annexation of those desirable 
 possessions, the ancient city of Avignon, 
 and the district called the Comiat Venais- 
 sin, to the kingdom of France; while the 
 principle on which the annexation was de- 
 termined on, seemed equally applicable in 
 all similar cases. 
 
 A dispute had broken out betwixt the 
 aristocrats and democrats, in the town and 
 province in question ; blood had flowed ; a 
 
 Cart of the population had demanded to 
 ecome citizens of regenerated France. 
 Would it be worthy of the Protectress of 
 Liberty, said the advocates for the annex- 
 ation, to repel from her bosom supplicants, 
 who panted to share the freedom they liad 
 achieved 1 And so Avignon and the Com- 
 tat Venaissin were declared lawful prize, 
 and reunr/cd to France, (so went the phrase.) 
 as Napoleon afterwards reunited the broken 
 fragments of the empire of Charlemagne. 
 The prescient eye of Burke easily detected, 
 in these petty and surreptitious acquisi- 
 tions, the gigantic plan by which France af- 
 terwards encircled herself by the depend- 
 ent states, which, while termed allies and 
 auxiliaries, were in fact her most devoted 
 subjects, and the governments of which 
 changed their character from monarchical 
 to popular, like the Great Nation. 
 
 The princes at the head of despotic gov- 
 ernments were, of course, most interested 
 in putting an end, if it were possible, to the 
 present Revolution of France, and extin- 
 guishing a flame which appeared so threat- 
 ening to its neighbours. Yet there was a 
 long hesitation ere any thing to this pur- 
 pose was attempted. Austria, whom the 
 matter concerned as so near an allv of 
 France, was slow ere she made any deci- 
 sive step towards hostility. The emperor 
 Joseph was too much embroiled by the dis- 
 Hcneions which he had provoked in the 
 Netherlands, to involve himself in war with 
 France. His successor, Leopold, had been 
 always reckoned to belong to the philosoph- 
 ical party. He put down, without much 
 trouble, the insurrection which had nearly 
 cost his brother the dominion of Flanders, 
 and as he used the victory with moderation, 
 it seemed unlikely that the tranquillity of 
 his government should be again disturbed. 
 Still, it would have been hazardous to ex- 
 pose the allegiance of the subjects, so new- 
 ly restored to order, to the temptations 
 which must have opened to the Flemiogs 
 
 by engaging m a war with France, and Leo- 
 pold, far from seeking for a ground of quar- 
 rel with the favourers of the Revolution, 
 entered into frendly relations with the gov- 
 ernment which they established ; and, with 
 anxiety, doubtless, for the safety of his 
 brother-in-law, and an earnest desire to see 
 the government of France placed on some- 
 thing like a steady fooling, the Emperor 
 continued in amicable terms with the ex- 
 isting rulers of that country down till his 
 death. Francis, his successor, for some 
 time seemed to adopt the same pacific pol- 
 icy. 
 
 Prussia, justly proud of her noble army, 
 her veteran commanders, and the bequest of 
 military fame left her by the Great Frederick, 
 was more eager than Austria, to adopt what 
 began to be called the cause of Kings and 
 Nobles, though the sovereign of the latter 
 kingdom was so nearly connected with the 
 unfortunate Louis. Frederick William had 
 been taught to despise revolutionary move- 
 ments by his cheap victory over the Dutch 
 democracy, while the resistance of the Low 
 Countries had induced the Austrians to 
 dread such explosions. 
 
 Russia declared herself hostile to the 
 French Revolution, but hazarded no effect- 
 ive step against them. The King of Swe- 
 den, animated by the adventurous charac 
 ter which made (iustavus, and after him 
 Charles, sally fortlifrom their frozen realms 
 to influence the fates of Europe, showed 
 the strongest disposition to play the same 
 •part, though the limited state of his re- 
 sources rendered his valour almost nuga- 
 tory. 
 
 Thus, while so many mcreasing discon- 
 tents and suspicious shovved that a decision 
 by arms became every day more inevitable, 
 Europe seemed still reluctant to commence 
 the fatal encounter, as if the world had an- 
 ticipated the long duration of the dreadful 
 struggle, and the millions of lives which it 
 must cost to bring it to a termination. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the emigration 
 of the French princes, followed by a great 
 part of the nobles of France, a step ill-judg- 
 ed in itself, as removing beyond the fron- 
 tiers of the country all those most devoted- 
 ly interested in the preservation of the 
 monarchy, had the utmost effect in precipi- 
 tating the impending hostilities. The pres- 
 ence of so many noble exiles, the respect 
 and sympathy which their misfortanes ex- 
 cited in those of the same rank, the exagger- 
 ated accounts which they gave of their own 
 consequence, above all, the fear that the 
 revolutionary spirit should extend beyond 
 the limits of France, and work the same 
 effects in other nations, produced through 
 the whole aristocracy of Germany a gene- 
 ral desire to restore them to their country 
 and to their rights by the force of arms, and 
 to extinguish by main force a spirit which 
 seemed destined to wage war against all 
 established governments, and to abolish the 
 privileges which they recognized, in their 
 higher classes. 
 
 The state of the expatriated French cler- 
 gy, driven from their home, and deprived of 
 their means of subsistence^ because tbey
 
 Chap. VU.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 87 
 
 refused an oath imposed contrary to their ec- 
 clesiastical vows, and to their conscience, 
 added religious zeal to the general interest 
 excited by the spectacle, yet new to Europe, 
 of thousands of nobility and clergy compell- 
 ed to forsake their country, and take refuge 
 among aliens. 
 
 Several petty princes of the empire made 
 A show of levying forcss, and complained 
 of a breach of public faith, from the forfeit- 
 ure of rights which individual princes of 
 toe Germanic body possessed in Alsace and 
 Lorraine, and which, though sanctioned by 
 the treaty of Westphalia, the National As- 
 sembly had not deemed worthy of excep- 
 tion from their sweeping abolition of feudal 
 tenures. The emigrants formed themselves 
 into armed corps at Treves and elsewhere, 
 in which the noblest youths in France car- 
 ried arms as privates, and which, if their 
 number and resources had been in any pro- 
 portion to their zeal and courage, were 
 qualified to bear a distinguished part in de- 
 ciding the destinies of the nation. Thus 
 united, they gave way but too much to the 
 natural feelings of their rank and country, 
 menaced the land from which they had em- 
 igrated, and boasted aloud that it needed 
 but one thrust {botte) of an Austrian Gen- 
 eral, to parry and pay home all the decrees 
 of the National Assembly. This ill-timed 
 anticipation of success was founded in a 
 great measure on the disorganization of the 
 French army, which had been begun by the 
 decay of discipline during tire progress of 
 the Revolution, and was supposed to be 
 rendered complete by the emigration of 
 such numbers of officers as had joined the 
 princes and their standards. It was yet to 
 be learned how soon such situations can be 
 tilled up, from the zeal and talent always 
 found among the lower classes, when crit- 
 ical circumstances offer a reward to ambi- 
 tion. 
 
 Yet while confident of success, the po- 
 sition of the emigrants was far from. being 
 flattering. Notwithstanding their most zeal- 
 ous exertions, the princes found their in- 
 terest with foreign courts unable to bring 
 either kings or ministers willingly or hasti- 
 ly 'to the point which they desired. The 
 nearest approach was by the declaration of 
 Pilnitz,* in which, with much diplomatical 
 caution, the Emperor and King of Prussia 
 announced the interest which they took in 
 the actual condition of the King of France ; 
 and intimated, that, supposing the other 
 nations appealed to should entertain feel- 
 ings of the same kind, they would, conjoin- 
 ed with those other powers, use the most 
 efficacious means to place Louis in a situa- 
 tion to establish in his dominions, on the 
 basis of the most perfect liberty, a monarch- 
 ical government, suitable to the rights of 
 the sovereign, and the welfare of the people. 
 
 This implied threat, which was to be 
 conditionally carried into effect in case 
 other powers not named should entertain 
 the same sentiments with the two sove- 
 rei^s by whom it was issued, was well cal- 
 culated to irritate, but far too vague to in- 
 
 •23d August, 1791, 
 
 timidate, such a nation as France. It show- 
 ed the desire to wound, but showed it ac- 
 companied by the fear to strike, and instead 
 of inspiring respect, only awakened indig- 
 nation mingled with contempt. 
 
 The emigrants were generally represent- 
 ed among the people of France, as men, 
 who, to recover their own vain privileges, 
 were willing to lead a host of foreigners 
 into the bosom of their country ; and lest 
 some sympathy with their situation, as men 
 suffering for the cause to which they had 
 devoted themselves, and stimulated by am- ^ 
 iety for the fate of their imprisoned King, 
 should have moderated the severity of this 
 judgment, forgery was employed to render 
 their communication with the foreign mon- '• 
 su-chs still more odious and unpopular. j 
 
 The secret articles of a pretended treaty 
 were referred to, by which it was alleged ' 
 that Monsieur and the Compte d'Artois 
 had agreed to a dismemberment of France ; 
 Lorraine and Alsace being to be restored 
 to Austria, in consequence of her entering 
 into the counter-revolutionary league. The 
 date of this supposed treaty was first placed 
 at Pavia^ and afterwards transferred to Pil- 
 nitz 5 but although it was- at one time as- 
 sumed as a real document in the British 
 House of Commons, it is now generally al- 
 lowed to have had no existence.* In the 
 meanwhile, as a calumny well adapted to 
 the prejudices of the time, the belief in 
 such a secret compact became generally 
 current, and excited the utmost indignation 
 against the selfish invaders, and against the 
 exiles who were supposed willing to dis- 
 member their native country, rather than 
 submit to a change in its constitution ad- 
 verse to their own selfish interests. 
 
 A great deal of this new load of unpopu- 
 larity was transferred to the account of the 
 unfortunate Louis, who was supposed to 
 instigate and support in private the attempts 
 of his brothers for engaging foreign courts 
 in his favour, while the Queen, from her 
 relationship to the Emperor of Austria, was 
 universally represented as a fury, urging 
 him to revenge her loss of power on the 
 rebellious people of France. An Austrian 
 committee was talked of as managing th"e 
 correspondence between these royal per- 
 sons on the one part, and the foreign courts 
 and emigrant princes on the other. This 
 was totally groundless ; but it is probable 
 and natural that some intercourse was main- 
 tained between Louis and his brothers, ae, 
 though their warlike schemes suited the 
 King's temper too little, he might wish to 
 derive advantage from the dread which it 
 was vainly supposed their preparations 
 would inspire. The royal pair were indeed 
 in a situation so disastrous, that they might 
 have been excused for soliciting rescue by 
 almost any means. But, in fact, Louis and 
 Leopold seem to have agreed in the same 
 system of temporizing politics. Their cor- 
 respondence, as far as can be judged from 
 the letters of De Lessart, Louis's trusted 
 
 * See two articles on the pretended treaties of 
 Pavia and Pilnitz, in the Anti-jacobin newspaper. 
 They were, we believe, written by the late Ut 
 Pitt.
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. Vn. 
 
 minister for foreign affairs, seems always 
 to point to a middle course ; tljat of suffer- 
 ing the Constitution of France to remain 
 ■uch as it had been chosen by the people, 
 and sanctioned by the National Assembly, 
 while the ministers attempted, by the influ- 
 ence of fear of dangers from abroad, to 
 prevent any future assaults upon the power 
 of the Crown, and especially against the 
 King's person. On condition that such 
 further aggression should be abstained from, 
 the Emperor seems to have been willing to 
 prohibit the mustering of the emigrant for- 
 ces in his dominions. But Leopold demand- 
 ed that, on their part, the French nation 
 should release themselves from the clubs 
 of Jacobins and Cordeliers, (another assem- 
 bly of the same nature,) which, pretending 
 to be no more than private associations, 
 without public character or responsibility, 
 nevertheless dictated to the National As- 
 sembly, the King, and all France, in virtue 
 of the power of exciting the insurrectional 
 movements, by which their denunciations 
 and proposed revolutions had been as regu- 
 larly seconded, as the flash is followed by 
 the thunderbolt. 
 
 On the death of Leopold, and the suc- 
 cession of his brother Francis to the impe- 
 rial throne, the disposition of Austria be- 
 came much more turned towards war. It 
 became the object of Francis to overcome 
 the revolutionists, and prevent, if possible, 
 the impending fate of the royal family. In 
 adopting these warlike counsels, the mind 
 of the new Emperor was much influenced 
 by the desire of Prussia to take the field. 
 Indeed, the condition of the royal family, 
 which became every day more precarious, 
 seemed to both powers to indicate and au- 
 thorize hostile measures, and they were at 
 no pains to conceal their sentiments. It is 
 not probable that peace would have remain- 
 ed long unbroken, unless some change of 
 ;m unexpected and unhoped-for character, 
 in favour of royalty, had taken place in 
 France ; but after all the menaces which 
 had been made by the foreign powers, it 
 was France herself, who, to the surprise of 
 JCurope, first resorted to arms. The osten- 
 .sible reason was, that, in declaring war, she 
 only anticipated, as became a brave and 
 generous nation, the commencement of 
 hostilities which Austria had menaced. But 
 each party in the state had its own privat'; 
 views for concurring in a measure, which, 
 at the time, seemed of a very audacious 
 character. 
 
 La Fayet*e now felt his influence in the 
 National Guard of Paris was greatly on the 
 wane. With the democrats he was regard- 
 ed as a denounced and devoted man, for 
 having employed the armed force to dis- 
 perse the people in the Champ de Mars, 
 upon the 17th of July, 1791. Those who 
 countenanced him on that occasion were 
 Parisian citir.ens of substance and property, 
 but timorous, even from the very conscious- 
 r.css of their wealth, and unwilling, either 
 for the sake of La Fayette, or the Constitu- 
 tion which he patronized, to expose them- 
 eelves to be denounced by furious dema- 
 gogues, or pillaged by the hordes of robbers 
 
 and assassins whom they had at their dispo- 
 sal. This is the natural progress in revolu- 
 tions. While order continues, property 
 has always the superior influence over those 
 who may be desirous of infringing the pub- 
 lic paace ; but when law and order are in a 
 great measure destroyed, the wealthy are 
 too much disposed to seek, in submission, 
 or change of party, the means of securing 
 themselves and their fortunes. The prop- 
 erty which, in ordinary times, renders its 
 owners bold, becomes, in those of immi- 
 nent danger, the cause of their selfish cow- 
 ardice. La Fayette tried, however, one de- 
 cisive experiment, to ascertain what share 
 remained of his once predominant influ- 
 ence over the Parisians. He stood an elec- 
 tion for the mayoralty of Paris against Pe- 
 thion, a person attached to the Brissotin, or 
 Republican faction, and the latter was pre- 
 ferred. Unsuccessful in this attempt. La 
 Fayette became desirous of a foreign war. 
 A soldier, and an approved one, he hoped 
 his fortune would not desert him, and that 
 at the head of armies which he trusted to 
 render victorious over the public enemy, 
 he might have a better chance of being lis- 
 tened to by those factions who began to 
 hold in disrespect the red flag, and the de- 
 caying efforts of the Natioial Guard of 
 Parir. ; and thus gaining the power of once 
 more enforcing submission to the Constitu- 
 tion, vi?hich he had so large a ehar^ in' cre- 
 ating. Unquestionably also. La Fayette 
 rcmembercci the ardour of the French for 
 national glory, and welcomed iiie thoughts 
 of shifting the scene to combat against a 
 public and avowed enemy, Irom his obscure 
 and tmsatisfactory"~sVuggle with the clubs 
 of Paris. La Fayette, therefore, desired 
 war, and was followed in his opinion by 
 most of the Constitutional party. 
 
 The Girondists were not less eager for a 
 declaration of hostilities. Either the King 
 must, in that case, place his veto upon the 
 measure, or he must denounce hostilities 
 against his brother-in-law and his brothers, 
 subjecting himself to all the suspicions of 
 bad faith which such a measure inferred. 
 If the arms of the nation were victorious, 
 the risk of a revolution in favour of royal- 
 ty by insurrcctioiia' within, or invasions 
 from without the kingdom, was ended at 
 once and for ever. And if the foreigners 
 obtained advantages, it would be easy to 
 turn the unpopularity of the defeat upon 
 the monarch, and upon the Constitutional- 
 ists, who had insisted, and did still insist, 
 on retaining him as the ostensible head of 
 the executive government. 
 
 The Jacobins, those whose uniform ob- 
 ject it was to keep the impulse of forcible 
 and revolutionary measures in constant ac- 
 tion, seemed to be divided among them- 
 selves on the great question of war or 
 peace. Robespierre himself struggled, in the 
 Club, against the declaration of hostilities, 
 probably because he wished the Brissotins 
 to take all the responsibility of that hazar- 
 dous measure, secure beforehand to share 
 the advantage which it might afford those 
 Republicans against the King and Consti- 
 tutionalists. He took care that Louis should
 
 Chap. VU] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 89 
 
 profit nothing by the manner in which he 
 pleaded the cause of justice and humanity. 
 He affected to prophesy disasters to the 
 ill-provided and ill-disciplined armies of 
 France, and cast the blame beforehand or. 
 the known treachery of the King and the 
 Royalists, the arbitrary designs of La Fay- 
 ette and the Constitutionalists, and the 
 doubtful patriotism of Brissot and Condor- 
 cet. His arguments retarded, though tliey 
 could not stop, the declaration of war, 
 which probably they were not intended 
 seriously to prevent j and the most violent 
 and sanguinary of men obtained a temiiora- 
 ry character for love of humanity, by adding 
 hypocrisy to his other vices. The Jacobins 
 in general, notwithstanding Robcs()ierre's 
 remonstrances, moved by the same motives 
 which operated with the Brissotins, declar- 
 ed ultimately in favour of hostilities. 
 
 The resolution for war, tlierefore, pre- 
 dominated in the Assembly, and two pre- 
 paratory flaeasures served, as it were, to 
 sound the intentions of the King on the 
 subject, and to ascertain how far he was 
 disposed to adhere to the Constitutional 
 government which he had accepted, against 
 those who, in his name, seemed prepared 
 by force of arms to restore the old system 
 of monarcliy. Two decrees were passed 
 against the emigrants in the Assembly.* 
 The first was directed against the King's 
 brother, and summoned Xavier .Stanislaus, 
 Prince of France, to return into France in 
 two months, upon pain of forfeiting his 
 right to the regency. The King consented 
 to this decree — he could not, indeed, dis- 
 sent from it with consistency, being, as he 
 had consented to be, the holder of the 
 crown under a constitirtion, against which 
 his exiled brother had publicly declared 
 war. The second decree denounced death 
 against all emigrants who should be found 
 assembled in arms on the !st of January 
 next. The right of a nation to punish with 
 extreme pains those of its native subjects 
 who bear arms against her, has never been 
 disputed. But although on great clianges 
 of the state, the vancjuished party, when 
 essaying a second struggle, stand in the re- 
 lation of rebels against the existing govcrn- 
 nient, yet there is generally wisdom, as 
 well as humanity, in delaying to assert this 
 right in its rigour, until suc^i aoeriod shall 
 have elapsed, as shall at once have estab- 
 lished the new government in a confirmed 
 state of pnssession, and given those attach- 
 ed to the old one time to forget their habits 
 and predilections in its favour. 
 
 Under this defence, Louis ventured to 
 use the sole constitutional weapon with 
 which he was intrusted. He refused his 
 consent to the decree. Sensible of the 
 unpopularity attending this rejection, the 
 King endeavoured to qualify it, by is.suing 
 a severe proclamation against the emi- 
 grants, countermanding their proceedings : 
 — which \vas only considered as an act of 
 dissimulation and nypocrisy. 
 
 The decree last proposed, jarred nr^ccs- 
 earilv on the heart and sensibility of Louis 
 
 * 8th November, 1791. 
 
 — the next affected his religious scruples. 
 The National Assembly had produced a 
 schism in the church, by imposing on the 
 clergy a constitution.al oath, inconsistent 
 with their religious vows. The philoso- 
 phers in the present Legislative Bodjr, 
 with all the intolerance which they were in 
 the habit of objecting against the Catholic 
 Church, resolved to render the breach ir- 
 reparable. 
 
 They had, they thought, the opportunity 
 of striking a death's blow at the religion of 
 the state, and they remembered that the 
 watch-word applied by the Encyclopedists 
 to Christianity, had been Ecrasez Vinfame. 
 The proposed decree bore, that such priests 
 as refused the Constitutional oath should 
 forfeit the pension allowed them for sub- 
 sistence, when the state seized upon the 
 estates of the clergy ; that they should be 
 put into a state of surveillance, in the sev- 
 eral departments where they resided, and 
 banished from France the instant they ex- 
 cited any religious" dissensions. 
 
 A prince, with the genuine principles of 
 philosophy, would have rejected this law 
 as unjust and intolerant; but Louis had 
 stronger motives to interpose his constitu- 
 tional Veto, as a Catholic Christian whose 
 conscience would not permit him to assent 
 to the persecution of the faithful servants 
 of his church. He refused his assent to 
 this decree also. 4^ 
 
 In attempting to shelter the emigrants 
 and the recusant churchmen, the King only 
 rendered himself the more immediate ob- 
 ject of the popular resentment. His com- 
 passion for the former was probably min- 
 gled with a secret wish, that the success ' 
 of their arms might relieve him from his 
 present restraint ; at any rate, it was a mo- 
 tive easily imputed and difficult to be dis- 
 proved. He was, therefore, represented to 
 iiis people as in close union with the bands 
 of exiled Frenchmen, who menaced the 
 frontiers of the kingdom, and were about 
 to accompany the foreign armies on their 
 march to the metropolis. The royal rejec- 
 tion of the decree against the orthodox 
 clergy was imputed to Louis's superstition, 
 and his desire of rebuildmg an ancient 
 Gothic hierarchy unworthy of .an enlight- 
 ened age. In short, that was now made 
 manifest, which few wise men had ever 
 doubted, namely, that so soon as the King 
 should avail himself of his constitutional 
 right, in res'-tance to the popular will, he 
 was sure to incur the risk of losing both 
 his crown and life. 
 
 Meantime this danger was accelerated by 
 the consequences of a dissension in the 
 royal cabinet. It will scarce be believed, 
 that situations in the ministry of France, 
 so precarious in its tenure, so dangerous in 
 its possession, so enfeebled in its authori- 
 ty, should have !>een even at this time the 
 object of ambition ; and that to possess 
 such momentary and doubtful eminence, 
 men, and wise men too, employed all the 
 usual arts of intrigue and circumvention, by 
 which rival statesmen, under settled gov- 
 ernments and in peaceful times, endeavour 
 to undermine and supplant each other. Wa
 
 90 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VII. 
 
 have heard of criminals in the Scottish 
 Highlands, who asserted with obstinacy the 
 dignity of their clans, when the only test 
 of pre-eminence was the priority of execu- 
 tion. V-^e have read, too, of the fatal rail, 
 ■where shipwrecked men in the midst of the 
 Atlantic contended together with mortal 
 strife for equally useless preferences. But 
 neither case is equal in extravagance to the 
 conduct of those rivals, who struggled for 
 power in the cabinet of Louis XVI. in 1792, 
 when, take what party they would, the jeal- 
 ousy of the Assembly, and the far more fa- 
 tal proscription of the Jacobins, was sure 
 to be the reward of their labours. So, how- 
 ever, it was, and the fact serves to show, 
 that a day of power is more valuable in the 
 eyes of ambition, than a life-time of ease 
 and safety. 
 
 De Lessart, the Minister of Foreign Af- 
 fairs already mentioned, had wished to 
 avoid war, and had fed Leopold and his 
 ministers with hopes, that the King would 
 be able to establish a constitutional power 
 superior to that of the dreadiul Jacobins. 
 The Compte de Narbonne, on the other 
 side, being Minister of War, was desirous 
 to forward the views of La Fayette, who, as 
 we have said, longed to be at the head of 
 the arm^ To obtain his rival's disgrace, 
 Karbonne combined with La Fayette and 
 other generals to make public the opposi- 
 tion which De Lessart and a majority of the 
 cabinet ministers had opposed to the dec- 
 laration of hostilities. Louis, justly incens- 
 ed at an appeal to the public from the inte- 
 rior of his own cabinet, displaced Nar- 
 bonne. 
 
 The Legislative Body immediately fell 
 on De Lessart. He was called to stand on 
 his defence, and imprudently laid before 
 the Assembly his correspondence with 
 Kaunitz, the Austrian minister. In their 
 communications De Lessart and Kaunitz 
 had spoken with respect of the Constitu- 
 tion, and with moderation even of their 
 most obnoxious measures ; but they had 
 reprobated the violence of the Jacobins and 
 Cordeliers, and stigmatized the usurpations 
 of those clubs over the constitutional au- 
 thorities of the state, whom they openly 
 insulted and controlled. These moderate 
 fientiments formed the real source of De 
 Lessart's fall. He was attacked on all 
 sides — by the party of Narbonne and his 
 friends from rivalry — by Brissot and his fol- 
 lowers from policy, and in order to remove 
 a minister too much a royalist for their 
 purpose — by the Jacobins from hatred and 
 revenge. Yet when Brissot condescended 
 upon the following evidence of his guilt, 
 argument and testimony against him must 
 have indeed been scarce. De Lessart, with 
 a view of representing the present affairs of 
 France under the most softened point of 
 view to the Emperor, had assured him that 
 the Constitution of 1791 was firmly adhered 
 to by a majority of the nation. " Hear the 
 atrocious calumniator !" said the accuser. 
 "The inference is plain. He dares to in- 
 sinuate the existence of a minority, which 
 
 is not attached to the Constitution."* An • 
 other accusation, which in like manner 
 w;is adopted as valid by the acclamation of 
 the Assembly, was formed thus. \ most 
 horrible massacre had taken place during 
 the tumults which attended the union of 
 Avignon with the kingdom of France. 
 Vergniaud, the friend and colleague of Bris- 
 sot, alleged, that if the decree of uiiion 
 had been early enough sent to Avignon, the 
 dissensions would not have taken place ; 
 and he charged upon the unhappy De 
 Lessart, that he had not instantly trans- 
 mitted the official intelligence. Now the 
 decree of reunion was, as the orator 
 knew, delayed on account of the King's 
 scruples to accede to what seemed an in- 
 vasion of the territory, of the Church ; and, 
 at any rate, it could no more have prevent- 
 ed the massacre of Avignon, which was 
 conducted by that same Jourdain, called 
 Coupe-t6te, the Bearded Man of the march 
 to Versailles, than the subsequent massacre 
 of Paris, perpetrated by similar agents. The 
 orator well knew this ; yet, with eloquence 
 as false as his logic, he summoned the 
 ghosts of the murdered from the glaciere, 
 in which their mangled remains had been 
 piled, to bear witness against the minister, 
 to whose culpable neglect they owed their 
 untimely fate. All the while he was im- 
 ploring for justice on the head of a man, 
 who was undeniably ignorant and innocent 
 of the crime. Vergniaud ai^dhis friends se- 
 cretly meditated extending the mantle of 
 safety over the actual perpetrators of the 
 massacre, by a decree of amnesty ; so that 
 the whole charge against De Lessart can 
 only be termed a mixture of hypocrisy and 
 cruelty. In the course of the same discus- 
 sion, Gauchon, an orator of the suburb of 
 Saint Antoine, in which lay the strength 
 of the Jacobin interest, had already pro- 
 nounced sentence in the cause, at the very 
 bar of the Assembly which was engaged in 
 trying it. " Royalty may be struck out of 
 the Constitution," said the demagogue, 
 " but the unity of the Legislative Body de- 
 fies the touch of time. Courtiers, ministers, 
 kings, and their civil lists, may pass away, 
 but the sovereign of the people, and the 
 pikes which enforce it, are perpetual." 
 
 This was touching the root of the matter. 
 De Lessart was a royalist, though a timid 
 and cautious one, and he was to be pun- 
 ished as an example to such ministers as 
 should dare to attach themselves to their 
 sovereign and his personal interest. A de- 
 cree of accusation was passed against him, 
 and he was sent to Orleans to be tried be- 
 
 * This strange arftument reminds us of an esaay 
 read before a literary society in dispraise of tba 
 east wind, which tlie author supported by quota- 
 tions from every poem or popular work, in which 
 Eurus is the subject of invective. The learned 
 auditors sustained the first part of this infliction 
 with becoming fortitude, but declined submitting 
 to the second, understanding that the accomplish- 
 ed author bad there fortified himself by the numer- 
 ous testimonies of almost all poets in favour of the 
 west, and which, with logic similar to that of Moi>- 
 sieur Brissot in the text, he rega-ded as indirect 
 testimonv against the east wind.
 
 Chap. VIIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 91 
 
 fore the High Court there. Other Royalists 
 of distinction were committed to the same 
 
 E risen, and, in the fatal month of Septem- 
 er, 1792, were involved in the same dread- 
 ful fate. 
 
 Pethion, the Mayor of Paris, appearwd 
 next day at the bar, at the head of the Muni- 
 cipality, to congratulate the Assembly on a 
 great act of justice, which he declared re- 
 sembled one of those thunder-storms by 
 which nature purifies the atmosphere from 
 noxious vapours. The ministry was dis- 
 solved by this severe blow on one of the 
 wisest, at least, one of the most moderate, 
 of its members. Xarbonne, and the Con- 
 stitutional party who had espoused his 
 cause, were soon made sensible, tliat he or 
 they were to gain nothing by the impeach- 
 ment, to which their intrigues led the way. 
 Their claims to share the spoils of the dis- 
 placed ministry were passed over with con- 
 tempt, and the King was compelled, in or- 
 der to have the least chance of obtaining 
 a hearing from the Assembly, to select his 
 ministers from the Brissotin, or Girondist 
 faction, who, though averse to the existence 
 of a monarchy, and desiring a republic in- 
 stead, had still somewhat more of principle 
 and morals than the mere Revolutionists 
 and Jacobins, who were altogether destitute 
 of both. 
 
 With the fall of De Lessart, all chance of 
 peace vanished, as indeed it had been grad- 
 ually disappearing before that event. The 
 demands of the Austrian court went now, 
 when fully explained, so far back upon the 
 Revolution, that a peace negotiated upon 
 such terms, must have laid France and all 
 its various parties, (with the exception, 
 perhaps, of a few of the first Assembly,) at 
 the foot of the sovereign, and what might 
 be more dangerous, at the mercy of the re- 
 stored emigrants. The Emperor demand- 
 ed the establishment of monarchy in France, 
 
 on the basis of the Royal Declaration of 
 of 23d June, 1789, which liad been general 
 ly rejected by the Tiers Etat when offered 
 to them by the King. He farther demanded, 
 the restoration of the effects of the Church, 
 and that the German Princes having rights 
 in Alsace and Lorraine should be replaced 
 in those rights agreeably to the treaty of 
 Westphalia. 
 
 The Legislative Assembly received these 
 extravagant terms as an insult on the nation- 
 al dignity ; and the King, whatever might 
 be his sentiments as an individual, could 
 not, on this occasion, dispense with the 
 duty his office as Constitutional Monarch 
 ira])osed on him. Louis, therefore, had the 
 melancholy task of* proposing to an Assem- 
 bly, filled with the enemies of his throne 
 and person, a declaration of war against 
 his brotlier-ia-law the Emperor, in his ca- 
 pacity of King of Hungary and Bohemia, 
 involving, as matter of course, a civil war 
 with his own two brothers, who had taken 
 the field at the head of that part of his sub- 
 jects from birth and principle the most en- 
 thusiastically devoted to their sovereign's 
 person, and who, if they had faults towards 
 France, had committed them in love to him. 
 
 The proposal was speedily agreed to by 
 the Assembly ; for the Constitutionalists 
 saw their best remaining chance for power 
 was by obtaining victory on the frontiers. — 
 the Girondists had need of war, as what 
 must necessarily lead the way to an altera- 
 tion in the constitution, and the laying 
 aside the regal government, — and the Jac- 
 obins, whose chief, Robespierre, had just 
 objected enough to give him the character 
 and credit of a prophet if any reverses were 
 sustained, resisted the war no longer, but 
 remained armed and watchful, to secure 
 the advantage of events as they might oc- 
 cur. 
 
 * 20th April, 1792 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Defeats of the French on the Frontier. — Decay of the Party of Constitutionalist* — 
 They form the Club of Feuillans, and are dispersed by the Jacobins forcibly. — The 
 Ministry — Dumouriez — Versatility of his Character. — Breach of Confidence betwixt 
 the King and his Ministers. — Dissolution of the King's Constitutional Guard. — Ex- 
 travagant measures of the Jacobins — Alarms of the Girondists. — Departmental army 
 proposed. — King puts his Veto on the Decree, against Dumouriez' s Representations. 
 — Decree against the Recusant Priests — King refuses it. — Letter of the Ministers to 
 the King — He dismi'ises Roland. Clav'iere. and Servan. — Dumouriez , Duranton. and 
 Lacoste, appointed in their stead. — King ratifies the Decree concerning the Depart- 
 mental Army. — Dumouriez retorts against the late Ministers in the Assembly — Re- 
 signs, and departs for the Frontiers. — A'eio Ministers named from the Constitutional- 
 ists. — Insurrection of the ~(Uh of June. — Armed Mob intrude into the Assembly — 
 Thence into the Tuilleries. — Assembly send a deputation to the Palace — And the Mob 
 disperse. — La Fayette repairs to Paris — Remonstrates in favour of the King — But is 
 compelled to return to the Frontiers, and leave him to his fate. — Marseillois appear in 
 Paris. — Duke of Brunswick's Manifesto. — Its Operation agai7ist the King. 
 
 Ir is not our purpose here to enter into any 
 detail of military events. It is sufficient to 
 say, that the first results of the war were 
 more disastrous than could have been ex- 
 pected, even from the want of discipline 
 and state of mutiny in wliich this call to 
 
 arms found the troops of France. If .Aus- 
 tria, never quick at improving an opportu- 
 nity, had possessed more forces on the 
 Flemish frontier, or had even pressed her 
 success with the troops she had, events 
 might have occurred to ir.Suence, if not to
 
 92 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 iChap. Vllf. 
 
 niter, the fortunes of France and her King. 
 They were inactive, however, and La Fay- 
 ette, who was at the head of the amiy, ex- 
 erted himself, not without effect, to'rally 
 the spirits of the French, and infuse disci- 
 pline and confidence into their ranks. But 
 ne was able to secure no success of so 
 marked a character as to correspond with 
 the reputation he had acquired in America; 
 80 that as the Austrians were few in num- 
 ber, and not very decisive in their move- 
 ments, the war seemed to languish on both 
 sides. 
 
 In Paris, the absence of La Fayette had 
 removed the main stay from the Constitu- 
 tional interest, which were now nearly re- 
 duced to that state of nullity to which they 
 had themselves reduced the party, first of 
 pure Royalists, and then that of the Mo- 
 deris, or friends of limited monarchy, in 
 the first Assembly. The wealthier classes, 
 indeed, continued a fruitless attachment to 
 the Constitutionalists, which gradually di- 
 minished with their decreased power to 
 protect their friends. At length this be- 
 came so contemptible, that their enemies 
 were emboldened to venture upon an in- 
 sult, which showed how little they were 
 disposed to keep measures with a feeble ad- 
 versary. 
 
 Among other plans, by which they hop- 
 ed to counterpoise the omnipotence of the 
 Jacobin Club, the Constitutionalists had es- 
 tablished a counter association, termed, 
 from its place of meeting, Les Feuillans. 
 In this Club, — which included about two 
 hundred members of the Legislative Body, 
 the ephemeral rival of the great Jacobinical 
 forge in which the Revolutionists had their 
 etrength and fabricated their thunders, — 
 there was more eloquence, argument, learn- 
 ing, and wit, than was necessary ; but the 
 Feuillans wanted the terrible power of ex- 
 citing the popular passions, which the ora- 
 tors of the Jacobin Club possessed and 
 wielded at pleasure. These opposed fac- 
 tions might be compared to two swords, 
 of which one had a gilded and ornamenled 
 hilt, but a blade formed of glass or other 
 brittle substance, while the brazen handle 
 of the other corresponded in strength and 
 coarseness to the steel of the weapon itself. 
 When two such weapons come into collis- 
 ion, the consequence may be anticipated, 
 and it was so with the opposite clubs. The 
 Jacobins, after many preparatory insults, 
 went down upon and assailed their adversa- 
 ries with open force, insulting and dispers 
 
 fact his friends and partisans, not the caus- 
 es of, or willing consenters to, his present 
 imprisoned and disabled condition. Of six 
 ministers, by whom De Lessart and his 
 comrades had been replaced, the husband 
 of Madame Roland, and two others, Servan 
 and Claviere, were zealous republicans, 
 Duranthon and Lacoste were moderate in 
 their politics, but timorous in character 
 the si.\th, Dumouriez, who held the warde 
 partment, was the personal rival of La Fay 
 ette, both in civil and military matters 
 and the enemy, therefore, of the' Constitu 
 tional party, it is now, for the first time 
 that we mention one of those names re 
 nowned in military history, which had the 
 address to attract Victory to the French 
 banners, to which she so long appeared to 
 adhere without shadow of changing. Du- 
 mouriez passed early from the scene, but 
 left his name strongly written in the annale 
 of France. 
 
 Dumouriez was little in person, but full 
 of vivacity and talent ; a brave soldier, hav- 
 ing distinguished himself in the civij dis- 
 sensions of Poland ; an able and skilfu' 
 intriguer, and well fitted to play a conspic- 
 uous part in times of public confusion. He 
 has never been supposed to possess any 
 great firmness of principle, whether public 
 or private ; but a soldier's honour, and a 
 soldier's frankness, together with the habits 
 of good society, led him to contemn and 
 hate the sordid treachery, cruelty, and cyn- 
 icism of the Jacobins ; while his wit and 
 common sense enabled him to see through 
 and deride the affected and pedantic fanati- 
 cism of rebublican zeal of the Girondists, 
 who, he plainly saw, were amusing them- 
 selves with schemes to which the country 
 of France, the age, and the state of man- 
 ners, were absolutely opposed. Thus, he 
 held the situation of minister at war, co- 
 quetting with all parties ; wearing one eve- 
 ning in the Jacobin Club the red nightcap, 
 which was the badge of brecchless freedom, 
 and the next, with better sincerity, advising 
 the King how he might avoid the approach- 
 ing evils ; though the by-roads he pointed 
 out were often too indirect to be trodden 
 by the good and honest prince, to whom 
 Providence had, in Dumouriez, assigned a 
 counsellor better fitted to a less scrupulous 
 sovereign. The King nevertheless reposed 
 considerable confidence in the general, 
 which, if not answered with all the devo- 
 tion of^ loyalty, was at least never betrayed. 
 The Republican ministers were scarce 
 
 ing them with blows and violence ; while I qualified by their talents, to assume the 
 Pethion, theMayor of Paris, who was pres- I 1''' of" Areopagites. or Roman tribunes. — 
 
 ent on the occasion, consoled the fugitives, 
 by assuring them that the law indeed pro- 
 tected them, but the people having pro- 
 nounced against them, it was not for him to 
 enforce the behests of the law in opposi- 
 tion to the will of that people, from whom 
 the law originated. A goodly medicine for 
 their aching bones ! 
 
 The Constitutional party, amidst their 
 general humiliation, had lost almost all in- 
 fluence in the ministry, and could only com- 
 municate with the King underhand, and in 
 B secret manner, — as if thev had been in 
 
 Roland, by himself, was but a tiresome 
 pedant, and he could not bring his wife 
 to the cabinet council, although it is 
 said she attempted to make her way to the 
 ministerial dinners.* His colleagues were 
 of the same character, andafToctcd in their 
 
 * So aays fk's Fcrricros, and pretenils thai Rlst- 
 climc Roland's prRtcnsiiins to \ie presontcd at the 
 niinistcriiil parties hoing rcjoclnd, was iho first 
 breach to the ainicalili; undcrstiuidin;;or the minis- 
 ters. But nothing' ol" I his sort is to h<t found in Ma- 
 dame U(daii(l's Momoires, and we are confidant she 
 would liavc recorded it, had the fact been accurate.
 
 Chap. Vni.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 intercourse with the King a stoical con- 
 tempt of the forms of the court, although, 
 in effect, these are like other courtesies of 
 society, which it costs little to observe, and 
 is brutal to neglect.* Besides petty insults 
 of this sort, there was a total want of con- 
 fidence on both sides, in the intercourse be- 
 twixt them and the King. If the ministers 
 were desirous to penetrate his sentiments 
 on any particular subject, Louis evaded 
 them by turning the discourse on matters 
 of vague and general import ; and did he, 
 on the other hand, press them to adopt any 
 particular measure, they were cold and re- 
 served, and excused themselves under the 
 shelter of their personal responsibility. In- 
 deed, how was it possible that confidence 
 could exist betwixt the King and his Re- 
 publican ministers, when the principal ob- 
 ject of the latter was to procure the aboli- 
 tion of the regal dignity, and when the 
 former was completely aware that such was 
 their purpose ? 
 
 The first step adopted by the factions of 
 Girondists and Jacobins, who moved to- 
 wards the same object side by eide, though 
 not hand in hand, was to deprive the King 
 of a guard, assigned him by the Constitu- 
 tion, in lieu of his disbanded Gardes du 
 Corps. It was, indeed, of doubtful loy.ilty, 
 being partly levied from soldiers of the line, 
 partlv from the citizens, and imbued in ma- 
 ny cases with the revolutionary spirit of the 
 day ; but they were officered by persons 
 selected for their attachment to the King, 
 and even their name of Guards expressed 
 and inspired an esprit de corps, which 
 might be formidable. Various causes of 
 suspicion were alleged against this guard — 
 that they kept in their barracks awhile flag 
 (which proved to be the ornament of a cake 
 presented to them by the Dauphin) — that 
 their sword-hilts were formed into the fash- 
 ion of a cock, which announced some anti- 
 revolutionary enigma — that att«tmpts were 
 made to alienate them from the Assembly, 
 and fix their affections on the King. The 
 guard contained several spies, who had 
 taken that service for the purpose of betray- 
 ing its secrets to the Jacobins. Three or 
 four of these men, produced at the bar, af- 
 firmed much that was, and much that was 
 not, true ; and amid the causes they had 
 for distrusting the King, and their reasons 
 for desiring to weaken nim, the Assembly 
 decreed the reduction of the Constitutional 
 Guard. The King was with difficulty per- 
 suaded not to oppose his Veto, and was 
 thus left almost totally undefended to the 
 next blast of the revolutionary tempest. 
 
 Every successive proceeding of the fac- 
 tions tended to show more etrongly that 
 the storm was speedily to arisa. The in- 
 vention of the Jacobins exhausted itself in 
 proposing and adopting revolutionary meas- 
 ures so extravagant, that very shame pre- 
 vented the Girondists from becoming par- 
 
 * \Vfien Rolanil, whose dress was somewfiat like 
 that of a Quaker, appeared at court in slice-strings, 
 the usher approaclied him witli a severe look, and 
 addressed him, " How, sir, no liuckles !" — " Ah," 
 wid Dumouriez, who laughed at all and at every- 
 thing,* ' all is lost." 
 
 ties to them. Such was the carrying the 
 atrocious cut-throat Jourdain in triumph 
 through the streets of Avignon, where he 
 had piled eighty carcases into a glaciere 
 in the course of one night. .\ less atro- 
 cious, but not less insolent proceeding, 
 was the feast given in honour of the regi- 
 ment of Chateau \'aux, whose mutiny had 
 teen put down at Nancy by Monsieur de 
 Bouille, acting under the express decree of 
 the first jVational Assembly. 
 
 In a word, understanding much better 
 than the Brissotins the taste of the vulgar 
 for what was most violent, gross, and exag- 
 gerated, the Jacobins purveyed for them 
 accordingly, filled their ears with the most 
 incredible reports, and gulled their eyes by 
 the most absurd pageants. 
 
 The Girondists, retaining some taste and 
 some principle, were left far behind in the 
 race of vulgar popularity, where he that 
 throws off every mark of decency bids most 
 fair to gain the prize. They beheld with 
 mortification feats which they could not 
 emulate, and felt that their own assertions 
 of their attachment to freedom, emphatic 
 as they were, seemed cold and spiritless 
 compared to the extravagant and flaming 
 declamations of the Jacobins. They re- 
 garded with envy the advantages which 
 thoir rivals acquired by those exaggerated 
 proceedings, and were startled to find how 
 far they were like to be outstripped by 
 those uncompromising and unhesitating 
 demagogues. The Girondists became sen- 
 sible that a struggle approached, in which, 
 notwithstanding their strength in the As- 
 sembly, they must be vanquished, unless 
 they could raise up some body of forces, 
 entirely dependent on themselves, to be 
 opposed in time of need to the Jacobin in- 
 surgents. This was indeed essentially ne- 
 cessary to their personal safety, and to the 
 stability of their power. If they looked to 
 the National Guard, they found such of 
 that body as were no longer attached to La 
 Fayette wearied of revolutions, unmoved 
 by the prospect of a republic, and only de- 
 sirous to protect their shops and property. 
 If they turned their eyes to the lower or- 
 ders, and especially the suburbs, ihe myri- 
 ads of pikemen which they could pour forth 
 were all devoted to the Jacobins, from 
 whom their leaders received orders and 
 regular pay. 
 
 The scheme of a departmental army waa 
 resorted to by the Girondists as the least 
 startling, yet most certain mode of bringing 
 together a military force sufficient to sup- 
 port the schemes of the new administration. 
 Five men were to be t'urnished by every 
 canton in France, which would produce a 
 body of 20.000 troops to be armed and train- 
 ed under the walls of Parib-. This force 
 was to serve as a central army to leinforoe 
 the soldiers on the frontier, and maintain 
 order in the capital, as occasion should de- 
 mand. Th<" measure, proposed by the Gi- 
 rondists, v.ds unexpectedly furthered br 
 the Jacobins, who plainly saw, that through 
 the means of their affiliated societies, which 
 existed in every canton, they would be able 
 to dictate the choice of ao large a part of
 
 94 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Ch(^. vin. 
 
 the departmental army, that, when assem- 
 bled, it should add to the power of their in- 
 ■urrectionary bands at Paris, instead of 
 controlling them. 
 
 The citizens of Paris were disposed to 
 consider this concourse of undisciplined 
 troops under the walls of the city as dan- 
 gerous to its safety, and an insult to the 
 National Guard, hitherto thouglit adequate 
 to the defence of the metropolis. They 
 petitioned the Assembly against the meas- 
 ure, and even invoked the King to reject 
 the decree, when it should pass through 
 that body. 
 
 To this course Louis was himself suffi- 
 ciently inclined, for neither he nor any one 
 doubted that the real object of the Giron- 
 dists was to bring together such an army, as 
 would enable them to declare their beloved 
 republic without fear of La Fayette, even 
 if he should find himself able to bring the 
 army which he commanded to his own sen- 
 timents on the subject. 
 
 Dumouriez warned Louis against follow- 
 ing this course of direct opposition to the 
 Assembly. He allowed, that the ultimate 
 purpose of the proposal was evident to 
 every thinking person, but still its osten- 
 sible object being the protection of the 
 country and capital, the King, he said, 
 v^'ould, in the eyes of the vulgar, be regard- 
 ed as a favourer of the foreign invasion, if 
 he objected to a measure represented as 
 essential to the protection of Paris. He 
 undertook, as Minister of War, that as fast 
 as a few hundreds of the departmental forc- 
 es arrived, he would have them regimented 
 and dismissed to the frontier, where their 
 assistance was more necessary than at 
 home. But all his remonstrances on the 
 subject were in vain. Louis resolved at all 
 risks to place ills Veto on the measure. He 
 probably relied on the feelings of he Na- 
 tional Guard, of which one or two divisions 
 were much attached to him, while the dis- 
 positions of the whole had been certainly 
 ameliorated, from their fear of fresh confu- 
 sion by means of these new levies. Perhaps, 
 also, the King could not bring himself at 
 Once to trust the versatile disposition of 
 Dumouriez, whose fidelity, however, we 
 see no reason for suspecting. 
 
 Another renewed point of discussion and 
 disagreement betwixt the King and his 
 ministers, respected the recusant clergv. 
 A decree was passed in the Assembly, tliat 
 such priests as might be convicted of a re- 
 fusal to subscribe the oath to the civil Con- 
 stitution, should be liable to deportation. 
 This was a point of conscience with Louis, 
 and was probably brouglit forward in order 
 to hasten him into a resignation of the 
 crown. He stood firm accordingly, and de- 
 termined to oppose his Veto to this decree 
 also, in spite at c nee of all the arguments 
 which the worldly prudence of Dumouriez 
 could object, and of the urgency of the Re- 
 publican ministers. 
 
 The firm refusal of the Kingdieconcertcd 
 the measures of the Girondist counsellors. 
 Madame Roland undertook to make the too 
 scrupulous monarch see the errors of his 
 ways j and composed, in the name of her 
 
 husband and two of his colleagues, a long 
 letter, to which Dumouriez and the other 
 two refused to place their names. It was 
 written in what the Citoycnne termed an 
 austere tone of truth ; that is to say, with- 
 out any of the usual marks of deference and 
 respect, and with a harshness calculated to 
 jar all the feelings, aflectionate or religious, 
 of him whom they still called King Alas I 
 the severest and most ofiensive truths, how- 
 ever late in reaching the ears of powerful 
 and prosperous monarchs, make themselves 
 sternly loud to tliose princes ,who are cap- 
 tive and unfriended. Louis might have re- 
 plied to this rude expostulation like the 
 kniglit who received a blow from an enemy 
 when he was disarmed, and a prisoner, — 
 " There is little bravery in this now.'' The 
 King, however, gave way to his resent- 
 ment as far as he could. He dismissed 
 Roland and the other two ministers, and 
 with difficulty prevailed on Dumouriez. Du- 
 ranthon, and Lacostc, to retain their situa- 
 tions, and endeavoured to supply the place 
 of those whom he had deprived of office ; 
 but lie was obliged to purchase their adher- 
 ence, by ratifying the decree concerning 
 the federal or departmental army of twenty 
 thousand men, on condition that they should 
 rendezvous at Soissons, not at Paris. On 
 the decree against the priests, his resolu- 
 tion continued unmoved, and immoveable. 
 Thus Religion, wliich had for half a centu- 
 ry been so slightly regarded in France, at 
 length interposed her influence in deciding 
 the fate of the King and the kingdom. 
 
 The three discarded ministers aflccted 
 to congratulate each other on being releas- 
 ed from scenes so unconget.ial to their re- 
 publican virtues and sentiments, as the an- 
 ti-chambers of a court, ^^here men were 
 forced to wear buckles instead of shoe- 
 strings, or undergo the frowiis of ushers and 
 masters of ceremonies, and where patriotic 
 tongues wete compelled to practice court- 
 language, and to address a being of the 
 same flesh and blood as their own, with the 
 titles of Sire, and your Majesty. The un- 
 happy pedants were not long in learning 
 that there are constraints worse to undergo 
 than the etiquette of a court, and sterner des- 
 pots to be found in the ranks of a republic, 
 than the good-humoured and lenient Louis. 
 As soon as dismissed, they posted to the 
 .\ssembly to claim the applause due to suf- 
 fering virtue, and to exhibit their letter to 
 those for whose ears it was really written — 
 the sympathising democrats and the tri- 
 bunes. 
 
 They were accordingly, as victims of 
 their democratic zeal, received with accla- 
 mation ; but the triumph of those who be 
 stowed it was unexpectedly qualified and 
 diminished. Dumouriez, who spoke flu- 
 ently, and had collected proofs for such a 
 moment, overwhelmed the Assembly by a 
 charge of total neglect and incapacity, 
 against Roland and his two colleagues. He 
 spoke of unrecruited armies, ungarrisoned 
 forts, unprovided commissariats, in a tone 
 which compelled the Assembly to receive 
 his denunciations against his late associ'< 
 ates in the ministry.
 
 <Jhap. VIII.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 95 
 
 But although his unpleasant and threat- 
 ening communications made a momentary 
 impression on the Assembly, almost in spite 
 of themselves, the wily and variable orator 
 eaw that he could only maintaiin his ground 
 as minister, by procuring, if possible, the 
 assent of the King to the decree against 
 the recusant clergy. He made a final at- 
 • tempt, adongwith his ephemeral colleagues ; 
 stated his conviction, that the refusal of 
 the King, if persisted in, would be the cause 
 of insurrection ; and, finally, tendered his 
 resignation, in case their urgent advice 
 should be neglected. " Think not to terri- 
 fy me by threats," replied Louis. " My 
 resolution is fixed.'' Dumouriez was not a 
 man to perish under the ruins of the throne 
 which h% could not preserve. His resigna- 
 tion was again tendered and accepted, not 
 without marks of sensibility on the Kini;'s 
 part and his own ; and having thus saved a 
 part of his credit with the Assembly, who 
 respected his talents, and desired to use 
 them against the invaders, he dejiarted from 
 Paris to the frontiers, to lead the van 
 among the F'rench victors. 
 
 Louis was now left to the pitiless storm 
 of revolution, without the assistance of any 
 one who could in the least assist him in pi- 
 loting through the tempest. The few cour- 
 tiers — or. much better named — the few an- 
 cient and attached friends, who remained 
 around his person, possessed neither tal- 
 ents nor influence to aid him ; they could 
 but lament his misfortunes and share his 
 ruin. He himself expressed a deep convic- 
 tion, that his death was near at hand, yet 
 tlie apprehension neither altered his firm- 
 ness upon points to which he esteemed his 
 conscience was party, nor changed the gen- 
 eral quiet placidity of his temper. A ne- 
 gotiation to resign his crown was, perhaps, 
 the only mode which remained, atfording 
 even a chance to avert his fate ; but the 
 days of deposed monarchs are seldom long, 
 .ind no pledge could have assured Louis 
 that any terms which the Girondists might 
 grant, would have been ratified by their 
 sterner and uncompromising rivals of the 
 Jacobin party. These men had been long 
 determined to make his body the step to 
 their iniquitous power. They affected to 
 feel for the cause of the people, with the 
 zeal which goes to slaying. They had 
 helped upon the crown, and its unhappy 
 wearer, all the guilt and all the misfortunes 
 of the Revolution ; it wa.< incumbent on 
 tliem to show that they were serious in 
 their charge, by rendering Louis a sin-of- 
 fering for the nation. On the whole, it was 
 the more kingly part not to degrade himself 
 - by his own voluntary act, but to await the 
 period which was to close at once his life 
 and his reign. He named his last ministry 
 from the dispirited remnants of the Consti- 
 tutional partv. which still made a feeble 
 and unsupported struggle against the Giron- 
 dists and Jacobins in the .\ssembly. They 
 did not long enjoy their precarious office. 
 
 The factions last named were now unit- 
 ed in tiie purpose of precipitating the King 
 from his throne by actual and direct force. 
 The Toice of the Girondists \ ergniaud had 
 
 already proclaimed in the Assembly. " Ter 
 ror." he said, " must, in the name of the 
 people, burst its way into yonder palace 
 whence she has so often sallied forth at the 
 command of monarchs." 
 
 Though the insurrection was resolved 
 upon, and thus openly announced, each fac- 
 tion was jealous of the force which the oth- 
 er was to employ, and apprehensive of the 
 use which might be made of it against 
 themselves, after the conquest was obtain- 
 ed. But, however suspicious of each oth- 
 er, they were still more desirous of their 
 common object, the destruction of the 
 throne, and the erection of a republic, 
 which the Brissotins supposed they could 
 hold under their rule, and which the Jaco- 
 bins were determined to retain under their 
 misrule. An insurrection was at length ar- 
 ranged, which had all the character of that 
 which brought the King a prisoner from 
 Versailles, the Jacobins being the prime 
 movers of their desperate followers, and 
 the actors on both occasions ; while the Gi- 
 rondists, on the 20th June, 1792. hoped, 
 like the Constitutionalists on the 6th Octo- 
 ber, 1789. to gain the advantage of the en- 
 teqarise which their own force would have 
 been unable to accomplish. The commu- 
 nity, or magistracy, of Paris, which was en- 
 tirely under the dominion of Robespierre, 
 Danton, and the Jacobins, had been long 
 providing for such an enterprise, and under 
 pretext that they were arming the lower 
 classes against invasion, had distributed 
 pikes and other weapons to the rabble, who 
 were to be used on this occasion. 
 
 On the 20th June, tlie sansculottes of the 
 suburbs of Saint Marceau and Saint Antoine 
 assembled together, armed with pikes, 
 scythes, hay-forks, and weapons of every 
 description, whether those actually forged 
 for the destruction of mankind, or those 
 which, invented for peaceful purposes, are 
 readily converted by popular fury into of- 
 fensive arms. They seemed, notwithstand- 
 ing their great numbers, to act under au- 
 thority, and amid their cries, their songs, 
 their dances, and the wild intermixture of 
 grotesque and fearful revel, appeared to 
 move by command, and to act with an una- 
 nimity that gave the effect of order to that 
 which was in itself confusion. They were 
 divided into bodies, and had their leaders. 
 Standards were also displayed, carefully se- 
 lected to express the character and purpose 
 of the wretches who were assembled under 
 them. One ensign was a pair of tattered 
 breeches, with the motto, '■' Vivent lea 
 Sans Culottes.'' Another ensign-bearer, 
 dressed in black, carried on a long pole a 
 liog's harslet, that is, part of the entrails of 
 that animal, still bloody, with the legend, 
 '■ La fresntre d'lin Aristocrat." This for- 
 midable assemblage was speedily recruited 
 by the mob of Paris, to an immense multi- 
 tude, whose language, gestures, and appear- 
 ance, all combined to announce some vio- 
 lent catastrophe. 
 
 The terrified citizens, afraid of general 
 pillage, concentrated themselves, — not to 
 defend the Kin? or protect the National 
 .\ssembly, but for the preservation of the
 
 96 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. VIU. 
 
 Palais Royale, where the splendour of the 
 shops was most likely to attract the cupid- 
 • ity of the sansculottes. A strong force of 
 armed citizens guarded all the avenues of 
 this temple of Mammon, and, by excluding 
 the insurgents from its precincts, showed 
 what they could have done for the Hall of 
 the Legislature, or the palace of the mon- 
 arch, had the cause of either found favour in 
 their eyes. 
 
 The insurrection rolled on to the Hall 
 of the Assembly, surrounded the alarmed 
 deputies, and filled with armed men every 
 avenue of approach; talked of a petition 
 which they meant to present, and demand- 
 ed to file through the Hall to display tlie 
 force by which it was supported. The ter- 
 rified members had nothing better to reply, 
 than by a request that the insurgents should 
 only enter the Assembly by a representa- 
 tive deputation — at least that, coming in a 
 body, they should leave their arms behind. 
 The formidable petitioners laughed at both 
 proposals, and poured through the Hall, 
 shaking in triumph their insurrectionary 
 weapons. The Assembly, meanwhile, made 
 rather an ignoble figure ; and their attempts 
 to preserve an outward appearance of indif- 
 ference, and even of cordiality towards 
 their foul and frightful visitants, have been 
 aptly compared to a band of wretched come- 
 dians, endeavouring to mitigate the resent- 
 ment of a brutal and incensed audience.* 
 
 From the Hall of the Assembly, the pop- 
 ulace rushed to the Tuilleries. Prepara- 
 tions had been made for defence, and sev- 
 eral bodies of troops were judiciously plac- 
 ed, who, with the advantages afforded by 
 the grates and walls, might have defended 
 their posts against the armed rabble which 
 approached. But there was neither union, 
 loyalty, nor energy, in those to whom the 
 defence was intrusted, nor did the King, by 
 placing himself at their head, attempt to 
 give animation to their courage. 
 
 The National Guards drew off at the 
 command of the two municipal officers, 
 decked with their scarfs of office, who 
 charged them not to oppose the will of the 
 peopl-e. The grates were dashed to pieces 
 with sledge hammers. The gates of the 
 palace itself were shut, but the rabble, turn- 
 ing a cannon upgn them, compelled en- 
 
 * It may be alleged in excuse, that the Assem- 
 bly had no resource but submission. Yet, brave 
 men in similar circumstances have, by a timely 
 exertion of spirit, averted similar insolencies. 
 When the furious Anti-Catbolic mob was in pos- 
 session of the avenues to, and even the lobbies 
 of, the House of Commons, in 1780, General Cosmo 
 Gordon, a member of the House, went up to the 
 unfortunate nobleman under whose guidance they 
 were supposed to act, and addressed him thus : 
 " My lord, is it your purpose to bring your rascal- 
 ly adherents into the House of Commons < — for if 
 BO, I apprise you, that the instant one of them en- 
 ters, I pass niy sword, not through his body, but 
 your lordship's." Tlie liint was sulnciont, and \\io 
 mob was directo<l to another quarter. Undoubt- 
 edly there were, in the French Legislative As- 
 lombly, men capable of conjuring down the storm 
 vhey iiad raised, and who might have been movcil 
 to do so, had any man of courage made lliem di- 
 rectly and personally respoisiblo lot the conse- 
 ^uencoa. 
 
 trance, and those apartments of royal mag- 
 nificence, so long the pride uf France, 
 were laid open to the multitude, like those 
 of Troy to her invaders ; — 
 
 Apparet domus intus, et atria longa patescunt, 
 .\pparent Priami et veterum penetralia regum.* 
 
 The august palace of the proud house of 
 Bourbon lay thus exposed to the rude gaze, 
 and vulgar tread, of a brutal and ferocious 
 rabble. Who dared have prophesied such 
 an event to the royal founders of this state- 
 ly pile, to the chivalrous Henry of Navarre, 
 or the m.agnificent Louis XIV. ! — The door 
 of the apartment entering into the vestibule 
 was opened by the hand^ of Louis himself, 
 the ill-fated representative of this lofty 
 line. He escaped with difficulty the thrust 
 of a bavonct, made as the door was in the 
 act of expanding. There were ar.und him 
 a handful of courtiers, and a few of the 
 grenadiers of the National Guard, belong- 
 ins; to the section of Filles Saint Thomas, 
 which had been always distinguished for 
 fidelity. They hurried and almost forced 
 the King into the emhrazure of a window, 
 erected a sort of barricade in front with ta- 
 bles, and stood beside him as his defend- 
 ers. The crowd, at their first entrance, 
 levelled their pikes at Madame Elizabeth, 
 whom they mistook for the Queen. " Why 
 did you undeceive them ?" said the heroic 
 princess to those around her—" It might 
 have saved the life of my sister." Even 
 the insurgents were allected by t'lis trait of 
 heroism. They had encountered none of 
 those obstacles which chafe such minds, 
 and make them thirsty of blood, and it 
 would seem that their leaders had not re- 
 ceived decided orders, or, having received 
 them, did not think the time served for 
 their execution. The insurgents defiled 
 through the apartments, and passed the 
 King,'' now joined by the Queen with her 
 children. The former, though in the ut- 
 most personal danger, would not be sepa- 
 rated from her husband, exclaiming, that her 
 post was by his side ; the lattei" were weep- 
 ing with terror at a scene so horrible. 
 
 The people seemed moved, or rather 
 their purpose was deprived of that energetic 
 unanimity which had hitherto earned them 
 so far. Some shouted against the veto^ 
 some against the unconstitutional priests, 
 some more modestly called out for lower- 
 ing the price of bread and butcher-meat. 
 One of them flung a red cap to the King, 
 who quietly drew it upon his head ; anoth- 
 er offered him a bottle, and commanded 
 him to drink to the Nation. No glass could 
 be had, and he was obliged to drink out of 
 
 * Drydcn has expanded those magnificent lines, 
 without expressing entirely cither their literal 
 meaning or their spirit. But he has added, aa 
 usual, beautiful ideas of his own, ei^ually applica- 
 ble to the scene described in the text : 
 A mighty breach is made •, the rooms conccal'd 
 .Vppear, and all the palace is reveal'd ; 
 The halls of auilience, and of public state. 
 And where the lovely Ciueen in secret sate ; 
 Arm'd soldiers now "by trembling maids arc seen. 
 With not a door, and scarce a space betwecB —
 
 Chap, r///.] 
 
 LIFE OF ^■APOLEO^' BUONAPARTE. 
 
 97 
 
 the bottle. These incidents are grotesque disrespect otTeredto the King. This IcUer 
 and degrading, but they are redeemed by of itself had been accounted an enormous 
 
 offence, both by the Jacobins and the Gi- 
 rondists ; but the tumult of the 20th of June 
 roused the General to bolder acts of inter- 
 cession. 
 
 On the 38th of the same month of June, all 
 parties heard with as much interest as anx- 
 iety, that General La Fayette was in Paris. 
 He came, indeed, only with a part of his 
 staff. Had he brought with him a moderate 
 body of troops upon whom he could have 
 absolutely depended, his presence so sup- 
 ported, in addition to his influence in Pa- 
 ris, would have settled the point at issue. 
 But the General might hesitate to diminish 
 the f rench armv then in front of the enemy, 
 and by doing so to take on himself the re- 
 sponsibility of what might happen in his ab- 
 sence ; or, as it appeared from subsequent 
 events, he may not have dared to repose 
 the necessary confidence in any corps of his 
 armv, so completely had they been imbued 
 with the revolutionary spirit. Still his ar- 
 rival, thus slightly attended, indicated a 
 confidence in his own resources^ which 
 was calculated to strike the opposite party 
 with anxious apprehension. 
 
 He appeared at the bar of the Assembly, 
 and addressed the members in a strain of 
 decision which had not been lately heard 
 on the part of those who pleaded the royal 
 cause in that place. He denounced the au- 
 thors of the violence commit'ed on the 
 20th of June, declared that several corps 
 of his army had addressed him, and that he 
 came to express their horror «s well as his 
 own at the rapid progress of faction ; and 
 to demand that such measures should be ta- 
 ken as to ensure the defenders of France, 
 that while they were shedding their blood 
 on the frontiers, the Constitution, for which 
 they combated, should not be destroyed by 
 traitors in the interior. This epeecli, de- 
 livered by a man of great courage and re- 
 doubted influence, had considerable effect 
 The Girondists, indeed, proposed to in- 
 quire, whether La Fayette had permission 
 from the Minister of War to leave thf; 
 command of his army ; and Sneeringlv af- 
 firmed, that the .Austrians must needs fiave 
 retreated from the frontier, f-iacc the Gen- 
 eral of the French army had returned trv 
 Paris: but a considerable mDJorily prcfci- 
 red the motion of the Constitutionalist Ra- 
 mond, who, eulogising La Fayette as tlio 
 eldest son of liberty, proposed an inquiry 
 into the causes and object of those factious 
 proceedings of which he had complained. 
 Thus happily commenced Li Fayette's 
 daring enterprize ; but thoie by whom ^e 
 expected to be supportfd did not rdliv 
 around him. To disoer^e 'he Jacobin Ciub 
 the head of an army whose aflections he i was probably his object, but i;o sufficient 
 was supposed to possess, was the most for- | force gathered about him to encourage thf 
 midable intercessor. He had two or three j attempt. He ordered for the next day a 
 days before transmitted to the Assembly a I general review of the National Guards, ia 
 letter, or rather a remonstrance, in which, i hopes, doubtless, that thoy v.ould hive re 
 speaking in the name of the army, as well ! cognized the voice which thev had obeyed 
 as his own. he expressed the highest dissat- j with such unanimity of subiliissioQ ; Wt 
 isfaction with the recent events at Paris, | this civic force was by no meon^ in tho 
 complaining of the various acts of viola- i state in which he had left tbem at hi« de 
 tioa of the constitution, and the personal > parturc. The several corps of KreoadiOTs 
 Vol, I. E 
 
 one oi much dignity, '■' Fear nothing, 
 .Sire," said one of the faithful grenadiers of 
 the National Guard who defended him. The 
 King took his hand, and pressing it to his 
 heart, replied, •■ Judge yourself if I fear." 
 
 Various leaders of the Republicans were 
 present at this extraordinary scene, in the 
 apartments, or in the garden, and express- 
 • ed themselves according to their various 
 sentiments. ■• What a figure they have 
 made of him with the red night-cap and the 
 bottle !" said Manuel, the Procureur of the 
 Commune of Paris. — " WTiat a magnificent 
 ^spectacle !'' ."'Jiid the artist David, looking 
 out upon the tumultuary sea of pikes, agi- 
 tated by fifty thousand hands, as; they rose 
 and sunk, welked and waved ; — " Tremble, 
 tremble, tyrants I" — " They are in a fair 
 train," said the fierce Gorsas ; " we shall 
 soon see their pikes garnished with several 
 heads." The crowds who thrust forward 
 into the palace and the presence, were 
 pressed together till the heat increased al- 
 most to suffocation, nor did there appear 
 any end to the confusion. 
 
 Late and slow, the Legislative Assembly 
 did at leni.'th send a deputation of twenty- 
 five members to the palace. Their arrival 
 put an end to the tumult ; for Pethion, the 
 Mayor of Paris, and the other authorities, 
 who had hitherto been well nigh passive, 
 now exerted themselves to clear away the 
 armed populace from the palace and gar- 
 dens, and were so readily obeyed, that it 
 was evident that similar efforts would have 
 entirely prevented the insurrection. The 
 " poor and virtuous people," as Robespierre 
 used to call them, with an affected unction 
 of pronunciation, retired for once with their 
 pikes unbloodied, not 'a little marvelling 
 why they had been called together for such 
 a harmless purpose. 
 
 Tliat a mine so formidable should have 
 exploded without effect' gave some momen- 
 tary advantages to the party at whose safety 
 it was nimed. Men of worth exclaimed 
 against the infamy of such a gratintous in- 
 •ult to the Crown, while it was still called a 
 Couelitutional authority. Men of sub- 
 stance dreaded the recurrence of such acts 
 of revolutionary violence, and the com- 
 mencement of riots, which were likely to 
 end in pillage. Petitions were presented 
 to the Assembly, covered with the names of 
 thousands, praying that the leaders of the 
 insurgents should be brought to punish- 
 ment ; while the King demanded, in a tone 
 which seemed to appeal to France and to 
 Europe, some satisfaction for his insulted 
 dignity, the violation of his palace, and the 
 danjtr of his person. But La Fayette, at
 
 Q.-i 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. vni. 
 
 whi<".l; were chiefly drawn from the more 
 opuli!!it classes, had been, under pretence 
 oi Uie general principle of equality, inelled 
 down and united witli those composed of 
 iiif n of an inferior description, and who 
 had a wore decided revolutionary tenden- 
 cy: Many oificers, devoted to La FayCtte 
 and the (Constitution, had been superseded ; 
 and the service was, by studied contumely 
 and ill usage, rendered disgusting to those 
 who avowed the same sentiments, or dis- 
 played any remaining attachment to the 
 sovereign. By such means Pethion, the 
 Mayor of Paris, had now authority enough 
 with the civic army to prevent tlie review 
 from taking place. A few grenadiers of 
 different sections did indeed muster, but 
 their number was so small that they dis- 
 persed in haste and alarm. 
 
 The Girondists and Jacobins, closely 
 united at this crisis, bega^ to take heart, 
 yet dared not on their part venture to ar- 
 rest the General. Meantime La Fayette 
 saw no other means of saving the King 
 than to propose his anew attempting an es- 
 cape from Paris, which he offered to fur- 
 ther by every means in his power. The plan 
 was discussed, but dismissed in conse- 
 quence of the Queen's prejudices against 
 f^a Fayette, whom, not unnaturally, (though 
 as far as regarded intention certainly un- 
 jitstly.) she regarded as the original author 
 of the King's misfortunes. After two days 
 lin:;ering in Pans, La Fayette found it ne- 
 cessary to return to the army which he 
 commanded, and leave the King to his fate. 
 
 La Fayette"s conduct on this occasion 
 may alway.s be opposed to any aspersions 
 thrown on his character at the commence- 
 ment of the Revolution ; for, unquestiona- 
 bly, in June 179:^, he exposed his own life 
 to the most imminent danger in order to 
 protect that of the King, and the existence 
 of royalty. Yet he must have felt a lesson, 
 which his fate may teach tcf others ; how 
 perilous, namely, it is, to set the example 
 of violent and revolutionary courses, and 
 what dangerous precedents such rashness 
 may afford to those who use similar means 
 for carrying events to still farther extremi- 
 ties. The march to Versailles, 6th Octo- 
 ber 1789, in which La Fayette to a certain 
 degree co-operated, and of which he reap- 
 ed all the immediate advantage, had been 
 the means of placing Louis in that precari- 
 ous situation from which he was now so 
 generously anxious to free him. It was no 
 less La Fayette's own act, by means of his 
 personad aide-de-camp, to bring back the 
 person of the King to Paris from Varennes ; 
 whereas he was now recommending, and 
 offering to further his escape, by precisely 
 such measures as his interference had then 
 thwarted. 
 
 Notwithstanding the low state of the 
 royal party, one constituted authority, 
 amongst so many, had the courage to act 
 offensively on the wsaker and the injured 
 side. The Directory of the Department 
 (or province) of Paris, declared against 
 the Mayor, imputed to him the blame of 
 the scandalous excesses of the 20th of June, 
 «Dd BUBpended him and Manuel, the Pro- 
 
 cureur of the Community of Paris, front 
 their offices. This judgment was athrmed 
 by the King. But, under the protection of 
 the Girondists and Jacobins, Pethion ap 
 pealed to the Assembly, where the demon 
 of discord seemed now let loose, as'the ad- 
 vantage was contended tor by at least three 
 parties, avowedly distinct from each other, 
 together with innumerable subdivisions of 
 opinion. And yet, in the midst of such 
 complicated and divided interests, such va- 
 rious and furious passions, two individuals 
 a lady and a bishop, undertook to restore 
 general concord, and, singular to tell, thej 
 had a momentary success. Olympia dea 
 Gouges was an ardent lover of liberty, but 
 she united with this passion an intense 
 feeling of devotion, and a turn like that en- 
 tertained by our friends the Quakers, and 
 other sects who affect a transcendantal love 
 of the human kind, and interpret the doc- 
 trines of Christian morality in the most 
 strict and literal sense. This person had 
 sent abroad several publications recom- 
 mending* to all citizens of France, and the 
 deputies especially of the Assembly, to 
 throw aside personal views, and form a 
 brotherly and general union with heart and 
 hand, in the service of the public. 
 
 The same healing overture, as it would 
 have been called in the civil dissensions of 
 England, was brought before the .\sseifibly * 
 and recommended by the constitutional 
 Bishop of Lyons, the Abbe L'Araourette. 
 This good-natured orator affected to see, ia 
 the divisions which rent the Assembly to 
 pieces, only the result of an unfortunate error 
 — a mutual misunderstanding of each other's 
 meaning. — " You," he said to the Republi- 
 can members, " are afraid of an undue at- 
 tachment to aristocracy ; you dread the 
 introduction of the English system of two 
 Chambers into the Cbnstitution. You of 
 the right hand, on the contrary, misconstrue 
 your peaceful and ill-understood brethren, 
 so far as to suppose them capable of re- 
 nouncing monarchy, as established by the 
 Constitution. What then remains to ex- 
 tinguish these fatal divisions, but for eacU 
 partv to disown the designs falsely imputed 
 to them, and for the Assembly united to 
 swear anew their devotion to the Constitu- 
 tion, as it has been bequeathed to us by the 
 Constituent Assembly !" 
 
 This speech, wonderful as it may seenv, 
 had the effect of magic ; the deputies of 
 every faction, Royalist, Constitutionalist, 
 Girondist, Jacobin, and Orleanist, rushed 
 into each other's arms, and mixed tears 
 with the solemn oaths by which they re- 
 nounced the innovations supposed to be 
 imputed to them. The King was sent for 
 to enjov this spectacle of concord, so 
 strangely and so unexpectedly renewed. 
 Rut the feeling, though strong, — and it 
 might be with many overpowering for the 
 moment, — was but like oil spilled on the 
 raging sea, or rather like a shot fired acro?a 
 the waves of a torrent, which, though it 
 counteracts them by its momentary im- 
 pulse, cannot for a second alter their 
 
 > 9tb Jul;.
 
 Chap. VIll] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 99 
 
 course. The factions, like Le Sage's de- 
 mona, detested each other the more for 
 having been compelled to embrace, and 
 from the name and countrv of the benevo- 
 lent bishop, the scene was long cadled, in 
 ridicule, Le Baiser d' Amourette , and La 
 reconciliation Normande. 
 
 The next public ceremony showed how 
 little party spirit had been abated by this 
 singular scene. The King's acceptance of 
 the Constitution was repeated in the Champ 
 de Mars before the Federates, or deputies 
 eent up to represent the various depart- 
 ments of France ; and the figure made by 
 the King durmg that pageant, formed a 
 striking and melancholy parallel with his 
 actual condition in the state. With hair 
 powdered and dressed, with clothes em- 
 Droidered in the ancient court-fashion, sur- 
 rounded and crowded unceremoniously by 
 men of the lowest rank, and in the most 
 wretched garbs, he seemed something be- 
 longing to a former ase. but which in the 
 present has l^t its fashion and value. He 
 was conducte* to the Champ de Mars un- 
 der a strong guard, and by a circuitous 
 route, to avoid the insults of the multitude, 
 who dedicated their applauses to the Giron- 
 dist Mayor of Paris, exclaiming, " Pethion 
 or Death !"' When he ascended the altar to 
 go through the ceremonial of the day, all 
 were struck with the resemblance to a vic- 
 tim led to sacrifice, and the Queen so much 
 so, that she exclaimed and nearly fainted. 
 A few children alone called Vive le Roi ! 
 This was the last time Louis was seen in 
 public until he mounted the scaffold. 
 
 The departure of La Fayette renewed 
 the courage of the Girondists, and they pro- 
 posed a decree of impeachment again'st him 
 in the Assembly ; but the spirit which the 
 General's presence had a>vakenpd was not 
 yet extinguished, and his friends in the As- 
 sembly undertook his defence with a de- 
 gree of uneipected courage, which alarmed 
 their antagonists. Nor could their fears be 
 termed groundless. The Constitutional 
 General might march his army upon Paris, 
 or he migiittnake some accommodation with 
 the foreign invaders, and receive assistance 
 from them to accomplish such a purpose. 
 It seemed to the Girondists, that no time 
 was to be lost. They determined not to 
 trust to the Jacobins, to whose want of res- 
 olution they seem to have ascribed the fail- 
 ure of the insurrection of the 20th of June. 
 They resolved upon occasion of the next 
 effort, to employ some part of that depart- 
 mental force, which was now approaching 
 Paris in straggling bodies, under the name 
 of Federates. The affiliated clubs had 
 faithfully obeyed the mandates of the parent 
 society of the Jacobins, by procuring that 
 the most stanch and exalted Revolutionists 
 should be sent on this service. These men, 
 or the greater part of them, chose to visit 
 Paris, rather than to pass straight to their 
 rendezvous at Soissons. As they believed 
 themselves the armed representatives of 
 the country, they behaved with all the in- 
 solence which the consciousness of bearing 
 arms gives to those who are unaccustomed 
 to discipline. They walked in large bodies 
 
 in the Garden of the Tuilleries, and whea 
 any persons of the royal family appeared, 
 they insulted the ladies with obscene larv- 
 guage and indecent songs, the men with the 
 most hideous threats. The Girondists re- 
 solved to frame a force, which might be 
 called their own, out of such formidable 
 materials. 
 
 Barbarous, one of the most enthusiastic 
 admirers of the Revolution, a youth like 
 the Seid of Voltaire's tragedy, 'filled with 
 the most devoted enthusiasm for a cause of 
 which he never suspected the truth, offered 
 to bring up a battalion of Federates from 
 his native city of Marseilles, men, as he 
 describes them, who knew how to die, and 
 who, as it proved, understood at least as 
 well how to kill. In raking up the disgust- 
 ing history of mean and bloody-minded 
 demagogues, it is impossible not to dwell 
 on the contrast afforded by the generous 
 and self-devoted character of Barbaroux, 
 who, voung, handsome, generous, noble- 
 minded, and disinterested, sacrificed his 
 family-happiness, his fortune, and Snally hr» 
 lile, to an enthusiastic though mistaken 
 zeal for the liberty of his country. He had 
 become from the commencement of the 
 Revolution one of its greatest champions 
 at Marseilles, where it had been forwarded 
 and opposed by all the fervour of faction, 
 influenced by the southern sun. He had 
 admired the extravagant writings of Marat 
 and Robespierre ; but when he came to 
 know them personally, he was disgusted 
 with their low sentiments and savage dis- 
 positions, and went to worship Freedom 
 amongst the Girondists, w.here her shrine 
 was served by the fair and acccmplished 
 Citoyenne Roland. 
 
 The Marseillois, besides the advantage 
 of this enthusiastic leader, marched to the 
 air of the finest hymn to which liberty- or 
 the Revolution had yet giren birth. They 
 appeared in Paris, where it had been ^^reed 
 between the Jacobins a^id the Giroi.dists, 
 that the strangers should be welcomed bv 
 the fraternity of the suburbs, raid whatever 
 other force the factions could command. 
 Thus united, they were to march to secure 
 the municipality, occupy the bridgesi and 
 principal posts of the city with detached 
 parties, while the main body should pro- 
 ceed to form an encampment »n the tj-a/icn 
 of the Tuilleries, where the conspirators 
 had no doubt they should Sotl th'Ti <-:;N';h 
 sufficiently pov/erful to e\act the Kings 
 resignation, or declare his forfeiture. 
 
 This plan failed through the cowardice 
 of ."^anterre, the chief leader of the insur- 
 gents of the suburbs, who had engaged to 
 meet the Marseillois with fortv thousam'. 
 men. Very few of the promised auxTliaries 
 appeared; but the undismayed Marseilloif. 
 though only about five Lundred in nu»iber, 
 marched through the citv to the terror of 
 the inhabitants, their keen black evo? 
 seeming to seek out aristocratic victims, 
 and their song.-- partaking of the wild Moor- 
 ish character that lingers in the south of 
 Fr.ance, denouncing vongeaacc on kinpi, 
 priests, and nobles. 
 
 In the Tuilleries the Federated fixed a
 
 100 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CiMp. VIll. 
 
 quarrel on some ^enadiers of the National 
 Guard, who were attached to the Constitu- 
 tion, and giving instant way to their habit- 
 ual impetuosity attacked, defeated, and 
 dispersed tiiem. In the riot, Esnremenil, 
 who had headed the opposition to tlie will 
 of the Xing in Parliament, which led the 
 way to the Convocation of Estates, and 
 who had been once the idol of the people, 
 but now had become the object of their hate, 
 was cut down and about to be massacred. 
 " Assist me," he called out to Pethiou, who 
 had come to the scene of confusion, — '' I 
 am Esprenienil — once, as you are now, the 
 minion of the people's love." Pethion, 
 not unmoved, it is to be supposed, at the 
 terms of the appeal, hastened to rescue 
 him. Not long afterwards both suffered by 
 the guillotine, which was the bloody con- 
 clusion of so many popular favourites. The 
 riot was complained of by the Constitution- 
 al party, but as usual it was explained by a 
 declaration on the part of ready witnesses, 
 that the forty civic soldiers had insulted 
 and attacked the five hundred Marseillois, 
 and therefore brought the disaster upon 
 themselves. 
 
 Meanwhile, though their hands were 
 strengthened by this band of unscrupulous 
 and devoted implements of their purpose, 
 the Girondists failed totally in their attempt 
 against La Fayette in the Assembly, the de- 
 cree of accusation against him being reject- 
 ed by a victorious majority. They were 
 therefore induced to /resort to measures of 
 direct violence, which unquestionably thfey 
 would wiLlingly have abstained from, since 
 they could not attempt them without giv- 
 ing a perilous superiority to the Jacobin 
 faction. The manifesto of the Duke of 
 Brunswick, and his arrival on the French 
 frontier at the head of a powerful Prussian 
 army, acted upon the other motives for in- 
 surrection, as a high pressure upon a steam- 
 engine, producing explosion. 
 
 It was the misfortune of Louis, as we 
 have often noticed, to be as frequently in- 
 jured by the false measures of his friends 
 as by the machinations of his enemies ; and 
 this proclamation, issue(l by a monarch who 
 had taken arms in the King's cause, was 
 couched in language intolerable to the feel- 
 ings even of such Frenchmen as might still 
 retain towards their King some sentiments 
 of loyalty. All towns or villages which 
 should oner the slightest resistance to the 
 allies, were in this ill-timed manifeste me- 
 naced with fire and sword. Paris was de- 
 clared responsible for the safety of Louis, 
 and the most violent threats of the tutal 
 subversion of that great metropolis were 
 denounced as the penalty. 
 
 The Duke of Brunswick was undoubted- 
 ly induced to assume this tone, by the case 
 ■which he had experienced in putting down 
 the revolution in Holland ; but the cases 
 were by no means parallel. Holland w;is a 
 country much divided in political opinions, 
 and there was existing among the constitut- 
 ed authorities a strong party in favour of 
 
 the Stadtholder. France, on the contrarr 
 excepting only the emigrants who were io 
 the Duke's own array, were united, like the 
 Jews of old, against foreign invasion, 
 tiiougii divided into many bitter faction* 
 aniongrjt themselves. Above all, the com- 
 ])arative strength of France and Holland 
 were so different, that a force which might 
 overthrow the one country without almost 
 a struggle, would scarce prove sufficient to 
 wrest from such a nation as France even 
 the most petty of her frontier fortresses. 
 It cannot be doubted, tliat this haughty and 
 insolent language on the part of the inva- 
 ders irritated the personal feelings of every 
 true P'renchraan, and determined them to 
 the most obstinate resistance against inva- 
 ders, who were confident enough to treat 
 them as a conquered people, even before a 
 skirmish had been fought. The impru- 
 dence of the allied General recoiled on the 
 unfortunate Louis, on whose account he 
 used this menacing language. Men began 
 to consider his cause as identified with that 
 of the invaders, of course as manding in 
 diametrical opposition to that of the coun- 
 try ; and these opinions spread generally 
 among the citizens of Paris. To animate 
 the citizens to their defence, the Assembly 
 declared that the country was in danger ; 
 and in order that the annunciation might bo 
 more impressive, cannon were hourly dis- 
 charged from the hospital des Jnvalide» — 
 bands of military music traversed the 
 streets — bodies of men were drawn togeth- 
 er hastily, as if tlie enemy were at the 
 gates — and all the hurried and hasty move- 
 ments of the constituted authorities seem- 
 ed to announce, that the invaders wer« 
 within a day's march of Paris. 
 
 These distracting and alarming move- 
 ments, with the sentiments of fear and anx- 
 iety v.'hich they v^-ere qualified to inspire, 
 aggravated the unpopularity of Louis, in 
 whose cause his brothers and his allies 
 were now threatening the metropolis of 
 France. From these concurring circum- 
 stances the public voice was indeed sc 
 strongly against the cause of monarchy 
 that the Girondists ventured by their organ, 
 \'ergMiaud. to accuse the King iii the As 
 sembly of holding intelligence with the 
 enemy, or at least of omitting sufficient de- 
 fensive preparations, and proposed in ex- 
 press terms that they should proceed to de- 
 clare his forfeiture. The orator, how<>ver, 
 did not press this motion, willing, doubt- 
 less, that the power of carrying through 
 and enforcing such a decree should be com- 
 pletely ascertained, which could only ba 
 after a mortal struggle with the last defend- 
 ers of the Crown ; but when a motion liks 
 this could be made and seconded, it show- 
 ed pl.ainlv h.ow little respect was preserved 
 for tlie King in the Assembly at large. For 
 thi.s struggle all parties were arranging their 
 forces, and it became every hour more evi- 
 dent, that the capital was speedily to b« 
 the scene of some dreadful event.
 
 Chap. IX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 101 
 
 CHAP. ZX. 
 
 The Day of the lOth of August — Tocsin sounded early in tlie Morning. — Swiss Oitardt, 
 and relics of the Royal Party, repair to the Tiiilleries. — Mandat assassinated. — De- 
 jection of Louis, and e7iergy of tht Queen. — King's Ministers appear at the Bar of 
 the Assembly, stating the peril of the Royal Family, and requesting a Deputation 
 might be sent to the Palace. — Assembly pass to the Order of the Day. — Louis and hi* 
 Family repair to the Assembly. — Conflict at the Tuilleries. — Swiss ordered to repair 
 to tUe King's Person — and are many of them shot and dispersed on their way to the 
 Assembly. — At the close of the Day almost all of them are massacred. — Royal Fam- 
 ily spend the Night in tlie neighbouring Convent of the Feuillans. 
 
 Thk King had, since the insurrection of 
 the 20th of June, which displayed how 
 much he was at the mercy of Ins enemies, 
 renounced almost all thoughts of sal'ety or 
 escape. Henry IV. would have called ibr 
 his arms — Louis XVI. demanded his con- 
 fessor. "I hiive no longer ai»y thing to do 
 ■with earth/' he said ; '' I must turn all my 
 thoughts on Heaven.'' Some vain efforts 
 were made to bribe the leaders of the Jac- 
 obins, who took the money, and pursued, as 
 might have been exj^ected, their own course 
 with equal rigour. The motion for the 
 declaration of the King's forfeiture still lin- 
 gered in the Convention, its fate depending 
 upon the coming crisis. At length the fa- 
 bil 10th of August approached, being the 
 day which, after repeated adjournments, 
 had been fixed by the Girondists and their 
 rivals for the final rising. 
 
 The King was apprised of their intention, 
 and had hastily recalled from their barracks 
 at Courbe-V'oie about a thousand Swiss 
 guards, upon whose fidelity he could de- 
 pend. The formidable discipline and steady 
 aemeanour of these gallant mountaineers, 
 might have recalled the description given 
 by historians, of the entrance of their pre- 
 decessors into Paris under similiar circum- 
 stances, the day before the affair of the 
 Barricades, in the reign of Henry II.* But 
 the present moment was too anxious to ad- 
 mit of reflections upon past history. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 10th of Au- 
 gust, the tocsin rung out its alarm peal over 
 the terrified city of Paris, and announced 
 that the long-menaced insurrection was at 
 length On foot. In many parishes the Con- 
 stitutional party resisted those who came 
 to sound this awful signal ; but the well- 
 prepared Jacobins were found everywhere 
 TJctorious, and the prolonged mournful 
 Bound was soon tolled out from every stee- 
 ple in the metropolis. 
 
 To this melancholy music the contend- 
 ing parties arranged their forces for attack 
 and defence, upon a day which was doomed 
 to be decisive. 
 
 The Swiss gOards got under arms, and 
 repaired to their posts in and around the 
 palace. About four hundred grenadiers of 
 the loyal section of Filles Saint Thomas, 
 
 • Thus imitated by the dramatist Lee, from the 
 hiatorian Oavila : 
 
 •* Have you not heard — the King, preventing day, 
 Received the Guards within the city gates ; 
 The jolly Swisses marching to their pipes, 
 The crowd stood gaping heedless and amazed, 
 Shrunk to their shops and left the passage free." 
 
 joined by several from that of Les Petits 
 Peres, in whom all confidence could justly 
 be reposed, were posted i.n the interior of 
 the palace, and a,«sociated with the Swiss 
 for its defence. The relics of the Royal- 
 ist partv, undismayed at the events of the 
 28th of February in the year preceding,* 
 had repaired to the palace on the first sig- 
 nal given l»y the tocsin. Joined to the do- 
 mestic attendants of the royal family, they 
 might amount to about four hundred per- 
 sons. ^Vothing can more strongly mark the 
 unprepared state of the court, than that 
 there were neither muskets nor bayonets 
 for s'-.itably arming these volunteers, nor 
 any supply of ammunition, save what the 
 Swiss and national grenadiers had in their 
 pouches. The appearance also of this lit- 
 tle troop tended to inspire dismay rather 
 than confidence. The chivalrous cry of 
 " Entrance for the Noblesse of France," 
 was the signal for their filing into the pres- 
 ence of the royal family. -Mas ! instead 
 of the thousaiid nobles whose swords used 
 to gleam around their monarch at such a 
 crisis, there entered but veteran officers of 
 rank, whose strength, though not their 
 spirit, was consumed by years, mixed with 
 boys scarce beyond the age of children, and 
 with men of civil professions, several of 
 whom, Lanioignon Malesherbes for exam- 
 ple, had now for the first time worn a sword. 
 Their arras were as miscellaneous as iheir 
 appearance. Rapiers, hangers, and pistols, 
 were the weapons with which they were to 
 encounter bands well provided with mus- 
 ketry and artillery. Their couraje, howev- 
 er, was unabated. It was in vain that the 
 Queen conjured, almost with tears, men 
 aged fourscore and upwards, to retire from 
 a contest where their strength could avail 
 so little. The veterans felt that the fatal 
 hour was come, and, unable to fight, claim- 
 ed the privilege of dying in the discharge 
 of their duty. 
 
 The behaviour of Marie Antoinette wag 
 magnanimous in the highest degree. " Her 
 majestic air," says Peltier, " her Austrian 
 lip, and aquiline nose, gave her an air of 
 dignity, which can only be conceived by 
 those who beheld her iu that trying hour." 
 Could she have inspired the King with 
 some portion of her active spirit, he might 
 even at that extreme hour have wrested the 
 victory from the Revolutionists ; but the 
 misfortunes which he could endure like a 
 
 * When they were in similar circumstance* 
 maltreated by the National Guard. Sec page 76.
 
 102 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChop. IX. 
 
 eaint, lis could not face and combat like a 
 hero ; and his scruples about shedding hu- 
 man blood well nigh unmanned him. 
 
 The distant shouts of the enemy were 
 already heard, while the Gardens of the 
 Tuillenes were fiLed by the successive le- 
 gions of th€ National Guard, with their 
 cannon. Of this civic force, some, and es- 
 pecially the artillerymen, were as ill-dispos- 
 ed towards the King as was possible ; others 
 were well inclined to him ; and tlie great- 
 er part remained doubtful. Mandat, their 
 commander, was entirely in the royal in- 
 terests. He had disposed the force he 
 commanded to the best advantage for dis- 
 couraging the mutinous, and giving confi- 
 dence to the well-disposed, when he receiv- 
 ed an order to repair to the municipality 
 for orders. He went thither accordingly, 
 expecting the support of such Constitution- 
 alists as remained in that magistracy, but 
 he found it entirely in possession of the 
 Jacobin party. Mandat was arrested, and 
 ordered a prisoner to the Abbaye, which 
 he never reached, being pistoled by an as- 
 sassin at the gate of the Hotel de Ville. His 
 death was an inSnite loss to the King's party. 
 
 A signal advantage had at the same time 
 been suffered to escape. Pethion, the 
 Brissotin Mayor of Paris, was now observ- 
 ed among the National Guards. The Roy- 
 alists possessed themselves of his person, 
 and brought him to the palace, where it 
 was proposed to detain this popular magis- 
 trate as an hostage. Upoa this, his friends 
 in the Assembly moved that he should be 
 brought to the bar, to render an account 
 of the state of the capital ; a message was 
 despatched accordingly requiring his atten- 
 dance, and Louis had the weakness to per- 
 mit him to depart. 
 
 The motions of the assailants were far 
 from being so prompt and lively as upon 
 former occasions, when no great resistance 
 was anticipated. Santerre, an eminent 
 brewer, who, from his gieat capital, and his 
 affectation of popular zeal, had raised him- 
 self to the command of the suburb forces, 
 was equally inactive in mind and body, and 
 by no means fitted for the desperate part 
 which he was called on to play. Wester- 
 man, a zealous Republican, and a soldier 
 of skill and courage, came to press San- 
 terre'a march, informing him that the Mar- 
 seillois and Breton Federates were in arms 
 in the Place du Carousel, and expected the 
 advance of the pikemen from the suburbs 
 of oaint Antoine and .St. Margeau. On 
 ' Santerre's hesitating, Westerman placed 
 ; his S\vord-point at his throat, and the citi- 
 zen commandant, yielding to the nearer 
 terror, put his bands at length in motion. 
 Their numbers were immense. But the 
 real strength of the assault was to lie on the 
 Federates of Marseilles and Bretagne, and 
 othei provinces, who nad been carefully pro- 
 vided with arms and ammunition. They 
 were also secure of the Gens-d'armes, or 
 soldiers of police, although these were call- 
 ed out and arranged on the King's side. 
 The Marseillois and Bretons were plac- 
 ed at the head of the long columns of the 
 Euburb pikemen, aa the edge of an axe is 
 
 armed with steel, while the back is of 
 coarser metal to give weight to the blow. 
 The charge of the attack was committed to 
 Westerman. 
 
 In the meantime, the defenders of the 
 place advised Louis to undertake a review 
 of the troops assembled for his defence. 
 His appearance and mien were deeply de- 
 jected, and lis wore, instead of a uniforio, 
 a suit of violet, which is the mourning col- 
 our of sovereigns. His words were brok- 
 en and interrupted, like the accents of a 
 man in despair, and void of tlie energy enit- 
 able to the occasion. " I know not'' he said, 
 ■' what they wouldhave from me — I am wil- 
 ling to die with my faithful servants — Yes, 
 gentlemen, we will at length do our best 
 to resist." It was in vain that the Queen 
 laboured to inspire her husband with a tone 
 more resolved — in vain that she even snatch- 
 ed a pistol from the belt of the Comptc d' Af- 
 fray, and thrust it into the King's hand, 
 saying, " Now is the moment to show 
 yourself as you are." Indeed, Barbarous, 
 whose testimony can scarce be doubted, 
 declares his firm opinion, that had the King 
 at this time mounted his horse, and placed 
 himself at the head of the National Guards, 
 they would have followed him, and succeed- 
 ed in putting down the Revolution. Histo- 
 ry has its strong parallels, and one would 
 think we are writing of Margaret of An- 
 jou, endeavouring in vain to inspire deter 
 mination into her virtuous but feeble-mind- 
 ed husband. 
 
 Within the palace, the disposition of the 
 troops seemed excellent, and there, as well 
 as in the courts of the Tuilleries, the King's 
 address was answered with shouts of " Vive 
 le Roi .'" But when he sallied out into the 
 garden, his reception from the legions of 
 the National Guard was at least equivocal, 
 and tl at of the artillerymen, and of a battal- 
 ion from Saint Margeau, was decidedly 
 unfavourable. Some cried, " Vive la Na- 
 tion!" Some, " Down with the tyrant!" 
 The King did nothing to encourage his own 
 adherents, nr to crush his enemies, but re- 
 tired to hold council in the palace, around 
 which, the storm was fast gathering. 
 
 It might have been expected that the As- 
 sembly, in which the Constitutionalists pos- 
 sessed so strong a majority as to Ihrorv out 
 the accusation against La Fayette by a tri- 
 umphant vote, mijht now in the hour of 
 dread necessity, have made some effort to 
 save the crown which that Constitution re- 
 cognized, and the innocent life of the prince 
 by whom it was occupied. But fear had 
 la-d strong possession upon these unworthy 
 and ungenerous representatives. The min- 
 isters of the King appeared at the bar, and 
 represented the slate of the city and of the 
 palace, conjuring the Assembly to send a 
 deputation to prevent bloodshed. This was 
 courageous on the part of those faithful ser- 
 vants ; for to intim;ite the least interest in 
 the King's fate, was like the bold swimmer 
 who approaches tiie whirlpool caused by 
 the sinking of a gillant vessel. The meas- 
 ure they pro|jose(l hid been resorted to on 
 the 20th June preceding, and was then suc- 
 cessful, oven tliough the deputation consist-
 
 Chap. IX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 103 
 
 ed of members the most unfriendly to the 
 King. But now, the Assembly passed to 
 the order of the day, and thereby left the 
 fate of the King and capital to chance, or 
 the result of battle. 
 
 In themean time the palace was complete- 
 ly invested. The bridge adjacent to the 
 Tuilleries, called the Point Royale, was oc- 
 cupied by the insurgents, and the Quai on 
 the opposite side of the river was mounted 
 with cannon, of which the assailants Iiad 
 about fifty pieces, served by the i-.iost de- 
 termined Jacobins ; for the artillerymen 
 had from the beginning embraced the pop- 
 ular cause with unusual energy. 
 
 At this decisive moment Hoederer, tlie 
 Procureur-general Syndic, the depositary 
 and organ of the law, who had already com- 
 manded the Swiss and armed Royalists not 
 to make any otTensive movement, but to 
 defend themselves wheji attacked, began 
 to think, apparently, that his own safety 
 was compromised, by this implied grant of 
 permission to use arms even in defence of 
 the King's person. He became urgent with 
 the King to retire from the palace, and put 
 himself under the orotection of the Na- 
 tional Assembly. The Queen felt at once 
 all the imbecility and dislionour of throwing 
 themselves as suppliants on the protection 
 ■/)f a body, which had notshowneven ashad- 
 ow of interest in their safety, surrounded as 
 they knew the royal family to be with the 
 most inveterate enemies. Ere she consented 
 to such infamy, she said she would willing- 
 ly be nailed to the walls of the palace. But 
 the counsel which promised to avert the 
 necessity of bloodshed on either part, suited 
 well with the timorous conscience and ir- 
 resolution of I. ouis. Other measures were 
 hastily proposed by those who had devoted 
 themselves to secure his safety. There was, 
 however, no real alternative but to fight at 
 the head of his guards, or to submit himself 
 to the pleasure of the Assembly, and Louis 
 preferred the latter. 
 
 His wife, his sister, and his children, ac- 
 companied him on this occasion , and the 
 utmost effort^ of an escort of tiiree hundred 
 Swiss and national grenadiers were scarce 
 able to protect them, and a small retinue, 
 consisting of the ministers and a few men 
 of rank, the glenni!igs of the most brilliant 
 court of Christendom, who accompanied 
 their master in this last act of humiliation, 
 which was indeed equal to a voluntary de- 
 scent from his throne. They were, at ev- 
 ery moment of their progress, interrupted 
 by the deadliest threats and imprecations, 
 and the weapons of more than one ruffian 
 were levelled against them. The Queen 
 waa robbed even of her watch and purse — 
 BO near might the worst criminals approach 
 the persons of the royal fugitives. Louis 
 showed the greatest composure amidst all 
 these imminent dangers. He was feeble 
 when called upon to kill, but strong in res- 
 olution when the question was only to die. 
 
 The King's entrance into the Assembly 
 was not without dignity. '• My family and 
 I are come among you," he said, " to pre- 
 vent the commission of a great crime." 
 Vergniaud, who was president at the time, 
 
 answered with propriety, though ambign- 
 ouely. He assured the King that the As- 
 sembly knew its duties, and was ready to 
 perish in support of them. \ member of 
 the Mountain observed, with bitter irony. 
 that it was impossible for the Assembly to 
 deliberate freely in presence of the mon- 
 arch, and proposed that he should retreat 
 into one of the most remote committee 
 rooms — a place where assassination must 
 have been comparatively easy. The As- 
 sembly rejected this proposal, alike insult- 
 ing and insidious, and assigned a box, or 
 small apartment, called the Logographe, 
 used for the reporters of the debates, for 
 the place of refuge of this unhappy family. 
 This arrangement wa.s scarce made, ere a 
 heavy discharge of musketry and cannon 
 announced that the King's retreat had not 
 prevented the bloodshed he so greatly 
 feared. 
 
 It must be supposed to nave been Louis's 
 intention that his guards and defenders 
 should draw otT from the Palace, so soon as 
 he himself had abandoned it ; for to what 
 purpose was it now to be defended, when 
 the royal family were no longer concerned ? 
 and at what risk, when the garrison was di- 
 minished by three hundred of the best of 
 the troops, selected as the royal escort? 
 But no such order of retreat, or of non-re- 
 sistance, had, in fact, been issued to the 
 Swiss guards, and the military discipline of 
 this fine corps prevented their retiring from 
 an assigned post without command. Cap- 
 tain Duler is said to have asked the Mares- 
 chal Mailly for orders, and to have receiv- 
 ed for answer, " Do not suffer your posts 
 to be forced." — " You may rely on it," re- 
 plied the intrepid Swiss. 
 
 Meantime, to give no unnecessary prov- 
 ocation as well as on account of their di- 
 minished numbers, the court in front of the 
 palace was abandoned, and the guards were 
 withdrawn into the building itself; their 
 outermost sentinels being placed at the 
 bottom of the splendid staircase, to defend 
 a sort of barricade which had been erected 
 there, ever since the -0th June, to prevent 
 such intrusions as distinguished that day. 
 
 Tlife insurgents, with the Marseillois and 
 Breton Federates at their heads, poured into 
 the court-yard without opposition, planted 
 their cannon where some small buildings 
 gave them adi'.antage, and advanced without 
 hesitation to the outposts of the Swiss. 
 They had already tasted blood that day, 
 having massacred a patrol of rcyalists, who, 
 unable to get into the Tuilleries, had at- 
 tempted to assist the defence, by intermpt- 
 ing, or at least watching and discovering, 
 the measures adopted by the insurgent*. 
 These men's heads were, as usual, borne on 
 pikes among their ranks. 
 
 They pushed forward, and it is said the 
 Swiss at first offered demonstrations of 
 truce. But the assailants thronged onward, 
 crowded on the barricade, and when the 
 parties came into such close collision, a 
 struggle ensued, and a shot was fired. It ii 
 doubtful from what side it came, nor is it 
 of much consequence, for on such an occa 
 sion that body must be held the aggressora
 
 104 
 
 LIFE OF >'APOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chop. IX. 
 
 who approach the pickets of the other, I and while some massacred the living, oth- 
 armed and prepared for assault; and al- ( ers, and pspecially the unsexed women who 
 though the first gun be fired by those whose ^ were mingled in their ranks, committed the 
 
 position is endangered, it is no less defen 
 sive than if discharged in reply to a fire 
 from the other side. 
 
 This unhappy shot seems to have' dispel- 
 led some small chance of a reconciliation 
 between the parties. Hard tiring instantly 
 commenced from the Federates and Mar- 
 seillois, \\ hilst the palace blazed forth fire 
 from every window, and killed a j^eat many 
 of the assailants. T!ie Swiss, whose num- 
 bers were now o.ily about seven hundreJ 
 men, determined, notwithstanding, upon a 
 sally, which, in the beginninfr, was com- 
 pletely successful. They drove the insur- 
 gents from the court-yard, killed many of 
 the Marseillois and Bretons, took some of 
 their guns, and turning them along the 
 streets, compelled tlie assailants to actual 
 flight, so that word was carrievl to the Na- 
 tional Assembly that the Swiss were victo- 
 rious. The utmost confusion prevailed 
 there ; the deputies upbraided each other 
 with thoir share in bringing about the insur- 
 rection : Brifcsot showed timidity ; and sev- 
 eral ot' the deputies thinking the Guards 
 were hastening to massacre them, attempt- 
 ed to escape by the windows of the Hall. 
 If, indeed, the sally of the Swiss had 
 been supported by a suificient body of faith- 
 ful cavalry, the Revolution might have 
 been that day ended. But the Gens- 
 d'armes, the only horsemen in the field, 
 were devoted to the popular cause, and the 
 Swiss, too few to secure their advantage, 
 were obliged to return to the palace, where 
 they were of new invested. 
 
 Westerman posted his forces and artillery 
 with much intelligence, and continued a 
 fire on the Tuilleries from all points. It 
 was now returned with less vivacity, for 
 the ammunition of the defenders began to 
 fail. At this moment D'Hervilly arrived 
 from the Assembly, with the King's com- 
 mands that the Swiss should cease firing, 
 evacuate the palace, and repair to the 
 King's person. The faithful Guards obey- 
 ed at once, not understanding tl.at the ob- 
 ject was submission, but conceiving they 
 were summoned elsewhere, to fight under 
 the King's eye. They had no sooner col- 
 lected themselves into a body, and attempt- 
 ed to cross the Garden of the Tuilleries, 
 than, exposed to a destructive fire on all 
 aides, the remains of that noble regiment, 
 so faithful to the trust assigned to it, di- 
 minished at every step; until, charged re- 
 peatedly by the treacherous Gens-d'armes, 
 who ought to have supported them, they 
 were separated into platoons, which con- 
 tinued to defend themselves with courage, 
 eTen till the very last of them was over- 
 powered, dispersed, and destroyed by mul- 
 titudes. A better defence against such 
 fearful odds scarce remains on historical 
 record — a more useless one can hardly be 
 imagined. 
 
 The rabble, with their leaders the Fede- 
 rates, now burst into the palace, executing 
 the moat barbarous vengeance on the few 
 defenders who had not made their escape ; 
 
 most shameful butchery on the corpses of 
 the slain. 
 
 Almost every species of enormity waa 
 perpetrated upon that occasion excepting 
 pillage, which the populace would not per- 
 mit, even amid every other atrocity. There 
 exist in the coarsest minds, nay, while such 
 are engaged in most abominable wicked- 
 ness, redeeming traits of character, which 
 show that the image of the Deity is seldom 
 totally and entirely defaced even in the 
 rudest bosoms. An ordinary workman of 
 the suburbs, in a dress which implied ab- 
 ject poverty, made his way into the place 
 where the royal family were seated, de- 
 manding the King by the name of Monsieur 
 Veto. '■ So you are here," he said, "beast 
 of a Veto ! There is a purse of gold I 
 found in your honse yonder. If you had 
 found mine, you would not have been so 
 honest." There were, doubtless, amongst 
 that dreadful assemblage many thousands, 
 whose natural honesty would have made 
 them despise pillage, although the misrep- 
 resentations by whiqh vhey were influenced 
 to fiiry easily led them to rebellion and 
 murder. 
 
 Band after band of these fierce men, their 
 faces blackened with powder, their hand* 
 and weapons streaming with blood, came 
 to invoke the vengeance of the Assembly 
 on the head of the King and royal family, 
 and expressed in the very presence of the 
 victims whom they claimed, their expecta- 
 tions and commands how they should bo 
 dealt with. 
 
 Vergniaud, who, rather than Brissot, 
 ought to have given name to the Girondists, 
 took the lead in gratifying the wishes of 
 these dreadful petitioners. He moved, 1st, 
 That a National Convention should be sum- 
 moned. 2d, That the King should be sus- 
 pended from his ofl[ice. 3d, That the King 
 should reside at the Luxembourg palace 
 under safeguard of the law, — a word which 
 they were not ashamed to use. These pro- 
 posals were unanimously assented to. 
 
 An almost vain attempt was made to 
 save the lives of that remaining detachment 
 of Swiss which had formed the King's es- 
 cort to the Assembly, and to whom several 
 of the scattered Royalists had again united 
 themselves. Their officers proposed, as a 
 last effort of despair, to make themselves 
 masters of the Assembly, and declare the 
 deputies hostages for the Ring's safety. 
 Considering the smallness of their numbers, 
 such an attempt could only have produced 
 additional bloodshed, which would have 
 been ascribed doubtless to the King'i 
 treachery. The King commanded them to 
 resign their arms, being the last order which 
 he issued to any military force. He wa» 
 obeyed ; but, as they were instantly attack- 
 ed by the insurgents, few escaped slaugh- 
 ter, and submission preserved but a handful. 
 About seven hundred and fifty fell in the 
 defence, and after the storm of the Tuille- 
 ries. Some few were saved by the gener- 
 ous exertions of individual deputies — others
 
 Chap. X.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 105 
 
 were sent to prison, where a bloody end 
 awaited them — the greater part were butch- 
 ered by the rabble, so soon as they saw 
 them without arms. The mob sought for 
 them the whole night, and massacred many 
 porters of private families, who, at Pans, 
 are generally termed Swiss, though often 
 aativea of other countries. 
 
 The royal family were at length permit 
 ted to spend the night, which, it may be 
 presumed, was sleepless, in the cells of the 
 neighbouring convent of the Feuillans. 
 
 Thus ended, for the period of twenty 
 years and upwards, the reign of the Boiu- 
 bons over their ancient realm of France. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 La Fayette compelled to Escape from France — Is made Prisoner by the Prussians, taitk 
 three Companions. — Reflections. — The Triumvirate, Dav.ton, Robespierre, and Ma- 
 rat. — Revolutionary Tribunal appointed. — Stupor of the Legislative Assembly. — 
 Longvry, Stenay, and Verdun, taken by the Prussians — Mob of Paris enraged. — 
 Great Massacre of Prisoners in Paris, commencing on the 2d, and ending dtk 
 September. — Apathy of the Assembly during and after these Events — Review of its 
 Causes. 
 
 The success of the lOtli of .\ugust had 
 sufficiently established tht; democratic max- 
 im, that the will of the people, expressed 
 by their insurrection.s, was tlie supreme 
 law ; the orators of the clubs its interpret- 
 ers ; and the pikes of the suburbs its exec- 
 utive power. The lives of individuals and 
 their fortunes were from tliat time only to 
 be regarded as leases at will, subject to be 
 revoked so soon as an nrtful, envious, or 
 grasping demagogue should be able to turn 
 against tlie lawful owners the readily-excit- 
 ed suspicions of a giddy multitude, whofti 
 habit and impunity had rendered ferocious. 
 The system established on these princi- 
 ples, and termed liberty, was in fact <in ab- 
 solute despotism, far worse than that of 
 Algiers ; because the tyrannic I)ey only 
 executes his oppression and cruelties with- 
 in a certain sphere, affecting a limited num- 
 ber of his subjects who approach near to 
 his throne ; while, of the many thousand 
 leaders of the Jacobins of France, every 
 one had his peculiar circle in which he 
 claimed right, as full as that of Robespierre 
 or Marat, to avenge former slights or inju- 
 ries, and to gratify his own individual appe- 
 tite for plunder and blood. 
 
 All the departments of France, without 
 exception, paid the most unreserved sub- 
 mission to the decrees of the Assembly, or 
 rather to those which the Community of 
 Paris, and the insurgents, had dictated to 
 that legislative body ; so that the hour 
 seemed arrived when tiie magistracy of 
 Paris, supported by a democratic force, 
 should, in the name and through tlio inrlu- 
 ence of the Assembly, impose its own laws i 
 open France. ! 
 
 La Fayette in v.iin endeavoured to ani- ; 
 mate his soldiers against this new species i 
 of despotism. The Jacobins had Iheir 
 friends and representatives in the very 
 trustiest of his battalions. He made ati 
 effort, however, and a bold one. He seized I 
 on the persons of thrc^e deputies, sent to | 
 him as commissioners by the Afsembly, to 
 compel submission to their decrees, ami 
 proposed to reserve them as hostages for 
 the King's safety. Several of his own gen- 
 fifral officers, the intrepid Dessaix amongst 
 others, seemed willing to support him. Du- 
 Vol. L £« 
 
 mouriez, however, the personal enemy of 
 La Fayette, and ambitious of being his suc- 
 cessor in the supreme command, recogniz- 
 ed the decrees of the Assembly in the sep- 
 arate army which he commanded. His 
 example drew over Luckner, who also 
 commanded an independent corps d'arme'e, 
 and who at first seemed disposed to join 
 witli La Fayette. 
 
 That unfortunate General was at length 
 left unsupported by any considerable part 
 even of his own army ; so that with three 
 friends, whose names were well known in 
 the Revolution, he was fain to attempt an 
 escape from France, and, in crossing a part 
 of the enemy's frontier, they were made 
 prisoners by a party of Prussians. 
 
 F'ugitives from their own camp for the 
 sake of royalty, they might have expected 
 refuge in that of the allied kings, who were 
 in arms for the same object ; but with a 
 littleness of spirit which argued no good 
 for their cause, the allies determined that 
 these unfortunate gentlemen should be 
 consigned as state prisoners to different 
 fortresses. This conduct on the part of the 
 monarch:, however irritated they might be 
 by the recollection of some part of La 
 Fayette's conduct in the outset of the Rev- 
 olution, V..1S neither to be vindicated by 
 morality, the law of nations, nor the rules 
 of sound policy. We are no approvers of 
 the democratic species of monarchy which 
 La Fayette endeavoured to establish, and 
 cannot but be of opinion, that if he had 
 acted upon his victory in the Champ de 
 Mars, he might have shut up the Jacobin 
 Club, and saved his own power and popu 
 larity from being juggled out of his hands 
 by those sanguinary charlatans. But errors 
 of judgment must be pardoned to men 
 placed amidst unheard-of difficulties ; and 
 La Fayette's conduct on his visit to Paris, 
 bore testimony to his real willingness to 
 save the King and preserve the monarchy. 
 But even if he had been amenable for a. 
 crime against his own country, we knou 
 not what right Austria or Prussia had to 
 take cognizance of it. To them he waB a 
 mere prisoner of war, and nothing farther. 
 Lastly, it is very seldom that a petty and 
 vindictive line of policy can consist wills
 
 106 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. X. 
 
 the real interest, either of great princes or 
 of private individuals. In the present case, 
 the arrest of La Fayette waa peculiarly the 
 contrary. It afforded a plain proof to 
 France and to all Europe, that the allied 
 monarchs were determined to regard as en- 
 emies all who had in any manner, or to any 
 extent, favoured the Revolution, being in- 
 deed the whole people of France, except- 
 ing the emigrants now in arms. The effect 
 must necessarily have been, to compel ev- 
 ery Frenchman, who was desirous of en- 
 joying more liberty than the ancient des- 
 potism permitted, into submission to the 
 existing government, whatever it was, so 
 long as invading armies of foreigners, \yhose 
 schemes were apparently as inconsistent 
 with the welfare as with the independence 
 of the country, were hanging on the fron- 
 tiers of France. 
 
 For a short space, like hounds over the 
 carcase of the prey they have jointly run 
 down, the Girondists and Jacobins suspend- 
 ed their dissensions ; but when the Consti- 
 tutional party had ceased to show all signs 
 of existence, their brawl soon recommenc- 
 ed, and the Girondists early discovered, 
 that in the allies whom they had cdled on 
 to assist them in the subjugation of royalty, 
 they had already to strive with men, who, 
 though inferior' to them in speculative 
 knowledge, and in the eloquence which 
 was to sway the Assembly, possessed in a 
 much higher degree the practical energies 
 by which revolutions are accomplished, 
 wwe in complete possession of the com- 
 munity (or magistracy) of Paris, and main- 
 tained despotic authority over all the bands 
 of the metropolis. Three men of terror, 
 whose names will long remain, we trust, 
 unmatched in history by those of any simi- 
 lar miscreants, had now the unrivalled 
 leading of the Jacobins, and were called 
 the Triumvirate. 
 
 Danton deserves to be named first, as un- 
 rivalled by his colleagues in talent and au- 
 diacity. He was a man of gigantic size, and 
 possessed a voice of thunder. His counte- 
 nance waa that of an Ogre on the shoulders 
 of a Hercules. He was as fond of the 
 pleasures of vice as of the practice of cruel- 
 ty ; and it was said there were times when 
 he became humanized amidst his debauch- 
 ery, laughed at the terror which his turious 
 declamations excited, and might be ap- 
 proached with safety, like the Maelstrom 
 at the turn of tide. His profusion was in- 
 dulged to an extent hazardous to his popu- 
 larity, for the populace are jealous of a lav- 
 ish expenditure, as raising their favourites 
 too much above their own degree ; and the 
 charge of speculation finds always ready 
 credit with them, when brought against 
 public men. 
 
 Rol>e8pierre possessed this advantage 
 over Danton, that he did not seem to seek 
 for wealth, either for hoarding or expend- 
 ing, but lived in strict and ecoaoraical re- 
 tirement, to justify the name of the Incor- 
 niptible, with which he was honoured by 
 hit partisans. He appears to have possess- 
 ed little talent, saving a deep fund of hy- 
 Doorisy, considerable powers of sophistry, 
 
 and a cold exaggerated strain of oratory, as 
 foreign to good t:iste, as the measures he 
 recommended, were to ordinary humanity. 
 It seemed wonderful, that even the seeth- 
 ing and boiling of the revolutionary caul- 
 dron should have sent up from the bottom, 
 and long supported on the surface, a th^ng 
 so miserably void of claims to public dis- 
 tinction 5 biit llobespierre had to impose on 
 tiic minds of tlie vulgar, and he knew how 
 to beguile them, by accommodating his flat- 
 tery to their passions and scale of under- 
 standing, and by acts of cunning and hypoc- 
 risy, which weigli more with the multitude 
 than the words of eloquence, or the argu- 
 ments of wisdom. The people listened as. 
 to their Cicero, when he twanged out his 
 apostrophes of Paui-re Peuple, Peuple ver- 
 lueux ! and hastened to execute whatever 
 came recommended by such honied phras- 
 es, though devised by the worst of men for 
 the worst and most inhuman of purposes. 
 
 Vanity was Robespierre's ruling passion, 
 and though his countenance was the image 
 of his mind, he was vain even of his per- 
 sonal appearance, and never adopted the 
 external habits of a sans culotte. Amongst 
 his fellow Jacobins, he was distinguished 
 by the nicety with which his hair was ar- 
 ranged and powdered ; and the neatness of 
 his dress was carefully attended to, so as to 
 counterbalance, if possible, the vulgarity 
 of liis person. His apartments, though 
 small, were elegant, and vanity had filled 
 tliem with representations of the occupant. 
 Robespierre's picture at length hung in one 
 place, his miniature in another, his bust oc- 
 cupied a niche, and on the table were dis- 
 posed a few medallions exhibiting his head 
 in profile. The vanity which all this indicat- 
 ed was of the coldest and most selfish 
 character, being such as considers neglect 
 as insult, and receives homage merely as a 
 tribute ; so that, while praise is received 
 without gratitude, it is withheld at the risk 
 of mortal hate. Self-love of this danger- 
 ous character is closely allied with envy, 
 and Robespierre was one of the most en- 
 vious and vindictive men that ever lived. 
 He never was known to pardon any oppo- 
 sition, atTront, or even rivalry ; aiid to be 
 marked in his tablets on such an account 
 was a sure, though perhaps not an imme- 
 diate, sentence of death. Danton was a 
 hero, compared with this cold, calculating, 
 creeping miscreant ; for his passions, though 
 exaggerated, had at lca.st some touch of hu- 
 manity, and hj^ brutal ferocity was support- 
 ed by brutal courage. Robespierre was a 
 coward, who signed death-warrants with a 
 hand that shook, though his heart was re- 
 lentless. He possessed no passions on 
 which to charge his crimes j they were 
 perpetrated in cold blood, and upon mature 
 deliberation. 
 
 Marat, the third of this infernal triumTi- 
 rate, had attracted the attention of the low- 
 er orders, by the violence of his sentimenta 
 in the journal which he conducted from the 
 commencement of the Revolution, upon 
 such principles that it took the lead in for- 
 warding its successive changes. His po- 
 litical exhortations began and anded lUw
 
 Chttp.X] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUON.\PARTE. 
 
 107 
 
 the howl of a blood-hound for murder ; or, 
 if a wolf could have written a journal, the 
 gaunt and famished wretch could not have 
 ravined more eagerly for slaughter. It was 
 blood which was Marat's constant demand, 
 not in drops from the breast of an individ- 
 ual, not in puny streams from the slaughter 
 of families, but blood in the profusion of an 
 ocean. His usual calculation of the heads 
 which he demanded amounted to two hun- 
 dred and sixty thousand ; and though he 
 sometimes raised it as high as three hun- 
 dred thousand, it never fell beneath the 
 smaller number. It may be hoped, and, for 
 the honour of human nature, we are inclin- 
 ed to believe, there v\-as a touch of insanity 
 in this unnatural strain of ferocity ; and the 
 wild and squalid features of the wretch ap- 
 pear to have intimated a degree of aliena- 
 tion of mind. Marat was, like Robespierre, 
 a coward. Repeatedly denounced in the 
 Assembly, he skulked instead of defending' 
 himself, and lay concealed in some obscure 
 garret or cellar among his cut-throats, un- 
 til a storm appeared, when, like a bird of 
 ill omen, his death-screech was a<Tain heard. 
 >uch was the strange and fatal triumvirate, 
 in which the same degree of cannibal cru- 
 elty existed under different aspects. Dan- 
 ton murdered to glut his rage; Robespierre, 
 to avenge his injured vanity, or to remove 
 a rival whom he envied ; Marat, from the 
 same instinctive love of blood, which indu- 
 ces a wolf to continue his ravage of the 
 flocks long after his hunger is appeased. 
 
 These three men were in complete pos- 
 session of the Community of Paris, which 
 was filled with their adherents exclusively, 
 and which, now in command of the armed 
 force that had achieved the victory of the 
 10th of August, held the .\ssembly as abso- 
 lutely under their control, as the .\sscmbly, 
 prior to that period, had hold the person of 
 the King. It is true, Pethion was still 
 Mayor of Paris ; but. bei<ig considered as a 
 follower of Roland and Brissot, he was re- 
 garded by the, Jacobins as a prisoner, and 
 detained in a sort of honourable restraint, 
 having a body of their most faithful adher- 
 ents constantly around him, as a guard 
 which they pretended was assigned for his 
 defence and protection. The truth is, that 
 Pethion, a vain man, and of very moderate 
 talents, had already lost his consequence. 
 His temporary popularity arose almost sole- 
 ly out of the enmity entertained against 
 him by the court, and his having braved on 
 one or two occasions the King's personal 
 displeasure, particuhrly on the 20th of 
 June. This merit was now for:jf>tten, and 
 Pethion was fast sinking into his natural nul- 
 lity. Nothing could be more pitiful than 
 the appearance of this magistrate, whose 
 name had been so lately the theme of every 
 tongue in Paris, when brought to the bar of 
 the Assembly, pale, and hesitating to back, 
 by his appearance among his terrible revo- 
 lutionary associates, petitions for measures, 
 '«8 distasteful to himself as to his friends of 
 the Gironde party, who had apparcntlv no 
 power to deliver him from his state of hu- 
 miliating restraint. 
 
 The demands of the Copunuaity of Pa- 
 
 ris, now the Sanhedrim of the Jacobins. 
 were of course for blood and vengeance, 
 and revolutionary tribunals to make short 
 and sharp execution upon constitutionalist 
 and royalist, soldier and priest — upon all 
 who acted on the principle, that the King 
 had some right to defend his person and 
 residence against a furious mob, armed with 
 muskets and cannon — and upon all who 
 could, by any possible implication, be 
 charged with having approved such doc- 
 trines as leaned towards monarchy, at any 
 time during all the changes of this change- 
 ful featured Revolution. 
 
 .\ revolutionary tribunal was appointed 
 accordingly ; but the Girondists, to impose 
 some check on its measures, rendered the 
 judgment of a jury necessary for condem- 
 nation, an encumbrance which seemed to 
 the Jacobins a needless and uncivic restric- 
 tion of the rights of the people, Robes- 
 pierre was to have been appointed Presi- 
 dent of this tribunal, but he declined the 
 office on account of his philanthropic prin- 
 ciples ! Meantime, the sharpness of its 
 proceedings was sufficiently assured by the 
 nomination of Danton to the office of Min- 
 ister of Justice, which had fallen to his lot 
 as a Jacobin, while Roland, Servaii, and 
 Claviere, alike fearing and detesting their 
 dreadful colleague, assumed, with Monge 
 and Lebrun, the other offices, in what was 
 now called a Provisionary Executive. These 
 last five ministers were Girondists. 
 
 It was not the serious intention of the 
 Assembly to replace Louis in a palace, or 
 to suffer him to retain the smallest portion 
 of personal freedom or political influence. 
 It had, indeed, been decreed on the night 
 of the iOth of .\ugust, that he should inhabit 
 the Luxembourg palace, but, on the 11th, 
 his residence was transferred, with that of 
 the royal family, to an ancient fortress call- 
 ed the Temple, from the Knights Templars, 
 to whom it once belonged. There was in 
 front a house, with some more moderate 
 apartments, but the dwelling of Louis was 
 the donjon or ancient keep, itself a huge 
 square tower of great antiquity, consisting 
 of four stories. Each story contained two 
 or three rooms or closets ; but these apart- 
 ments were unfernished, and offered no 
 convenience for the accommodation of an 
 ordina:y farp.ily, much less to prisoners of 
 such distinction. Tlie royal family were 
 guarded with a strictness, of which every 
 d,ay increased the rigour. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the' revolutionary tri- 
 bunal was proceeding against the friends 
 and partisans of the deposed monarch with 
 no lack, one would have thought, of zeal or 
 animosity. De la Porte, intendant of the 
 King's civil list, D'Augremont, and Durosoi, 
 a royalist author, were with others con- 
 demned and executed. But Montmorin, 
 the brother of the royal minister, was ac- 
 quitted ; and even the Comte d' Affray, 
 though Colonel of the Swiss guards, found 
 grace in the eyes of this tribunal ; — so len- 
 ient it was in comparison to those which 
 France was afterwards doomed to groan un- 
 der. Danton, balked of his prey, or but 
 half-supplied with victims, miffht be coxstf.
 
 108 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.X. 
 
 pared to the spectre-huntsman of Boccac- 
 cio, — 
 
 ' Aern look'd the fiend, as frustrate of his will, 
 Mot half suffic'd, and greedy yet to kill." 
 
 But he had already devised within his soul, 
 and agitated amongst his compeers, a 
 scheme of vengeance so dark and dreadful, 
 as never I'uiBan before or since had head 
 to contrive, or nerve to execute. It was a 
 measure of extermination which the Jaco- 
 bins had resolved upon — a measure so sweep- 
 ing in its purpose and extent that it should 
 at once drown in their own blood every 
 Royalist or Constitutionalist who could 
 raise a finger, or even entertain a thought 
 against them. 
 
 Three things were indispensably essen- 
 tial to their execrable plan. In the first 
 place, they had to collect and place within 
 reach of their assassins, the numerous vic- 
 tims whom they sought to overwhelm with 
 this common destruction. Secondly, it 
 was necessary to intimidate the Assembly, 
 and the Girondist party in particular ; sens- 
 ible that they were likely to interfere, if it 
 was left in their power, to prevent acts of 
 cruelty incompatible with the principles of 
 most or all of their number. Lastly, the 
 Jacobin chiefs were aware, that ere they 
 could prepare the public mind to endure 
 the massacres which they meditated, it was 
 necessary they should wait for one of those 
 critical moments of general alarm, in which 
 fear makes the multitude cruel, and when 
 the agitations of rage and terror combine to 
 unsettle men's reason, and drown at once 
 their humanity and their understanding. 
 
 To collect prisoners in any numbers was 
 an easy matter, when the mere naming a 
 man, however innocent, as an aristocrat or 
 a suspected person, especially if he happen- 
 ed to have a name indicative of gentle 
 blood, and an air of decency in apparel, was 
 sufficient ground for sending him to prison. 
 For the purpose of making such arrests up- 
 on suspicion, the Community of Paris open- 
 ly took upon themselves the office of grant- 
 ing warrants for imprisoning individuals in 
 neat numbers, and at length proceeded so 
 far in their violent and arbitrary conduct, 
 as to excite the jealousy of the Legislative 
 Body. 
 
 This Assembly of National Representa- 
 tives seemed to have been stunned by the 
 events of the 10th of August. Two-thirds 
 of the deputies had a few days before ex- 
 culpated I, a Fayette for the zeal with which 
 he impeached the unsuccessful attempt of 
 tiie 20th June, designed to accomplish the 
 Msie purpose which had been effected on 
 this last dread epoch of the Ptevolution. 
 The same number, we must suppose, were 
 inimical to the revolution achieved by the 
 taking of the Tuilleries and the detlirone- 
 ment of the monarch, whom it had been 
 La Fayette's object to protect and defend, 
 is dignity and person. But there was no 
 eaergr left in that portion of the Assembly, 
 though by far the largest, and the wisest. 
 Their benches were left deserted, nor did 
 $RY voice arise, either to sustain their own 
 
 dignity, or, as a last resource, to advise a 
 union with the Girondists, now the leading 
 force in the Representative Body, for the 
 purpose of putting a period to the rule of 
 revolutionary terror over that of civil order. 
 The Girondists themselves proposed no de- 
 cisive measures, and indeed appear to have 
 been the most helpless party, (though pos- 
 sessing in their ranks very considerable 
 talent,) that ever attempted to act a 
 great part in the convulsions of a state. 
 They seem to have expected, that, so soon 
 as they had accomplished the overthrow of 
 the throne, their own supremacy should 
 have been established in its room. They 
 became, therefore, liable to the disappoint- 
 ment of a child, who, having built his house 
 of boughs after his own fashion, is astonish* 
 ed to find those bigger and stronger than 
 himself throw its materials out of their 
 way, instead of attempting, according to hia 
 expectations, to creep into it for the pur- 
 pose of shelter. 
 
 Late and timidly, they at length began to 
 remonstrate against the usurped power of 
 the Community of Paris, who paid them aa 
 little regard, as they were themselves do- 
 ing to the constituted authorities of the Ex- 
 ecutive Power. 
 
 The complaints which were laid before 
 them of the violent encroachments made 
 on the liberty of the people at large, the 
 Girondists had hitherto answered by timid 
 exhortations to the Community to be cau- 
 tious in their proceedings. But on the 29th 
 of August they were stirtled out of their 
 weak inaction, by an assumption of open 
 force, and open villainy, on the part of 
 those formidable rivals, under which it waa 
 impossible to remain silent. On the night 
 previous, the Community, proceeding to 
 act upon their own sole authority, had sent 
 their satellites, consisting of the mnnicipal 
 officers who were exclusively attached to 
 them, (who were selected from the most 
 determined Jacobins, and had heen aug- 
 mented to an extraordinary number,) to 
 seize arms of every description, and to ar- 
 rest suspicious persons in every corner of 
 Paris. Hundreds and thousands of indi- 
 viduals had been, under these usurped 
 po^vcrs, committed to the various prisons 
 of the city, which were now filled even to 
 choking, with all persons of every sex and 
 age, against whom political hatred could al- 
 lege suspicion, or ])rivate hatred revive an 
 old quarrel, or love of plunder awake a 
 thirst for confiscation. 
 
 The deeds of robbery, of license, and of 
 ferocity, committed during these illegal 
 proceedings, as well as the barefaced con- 
 tempt which they indicated of the authority 
 of the Assembly, awakened the Girondista, 
 but too late, to some sense of the necessity 
 of exertion. They summoned the munici> 
 pality to their bar. They came, not to de- 
 precate the displeasure of the Assembly, 
 not to submit themselves to its mercy, — 
 they came to triumph ; and brought the 
 speechless and trembling Pethion in their 
 train, as their captive, rather than their 
 mayor. Tallien explained the defence of 
 tlie Community, which amounted t» thM i
 
 Chap. X.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 109 
 
 " The provisional representatives of the 
 city of Paris," he said, " had been calum- 
 niated ; they appeared, to justify vw^hat they 
 had done, not as accused persons, but as 
 triumphing in having disciiarged their duty. 
 The Sovereign People," he said, " had com- 
 mittod to them full powers, saying. Go 
 forth, save the country in our name — what- 
 ever you do we will j atify." This language 
 was, in effect, that of defiance, and it was 
 supported by the shouts and howls of as- 
 Bembl«d multitudes, armed as for the attack 
 on the Tuilleries, and their courage, it may 
 be imagined, not the less, that there were 
 neither aristocrats nor Swiss guards be- 
 tween them and the Legislative Assembly. 
 Their cries were, •' Long live our Commu- 
 nity—our excellent commissioners — we will 
 defend them or die !" 
 
 The satellites of the same party, in the 
 tribunes or galleries, joined in the cry, with 
 invectives on those members of the As- 
 sembly who were supposed, however re- 
 publican in principles, to be opposed to the 
 revolutionary measures of the Community. 
 The mob without soon forced their way in- 
 to the Hall, — joined with the mob within, — 
 and left the theoreti(ml republicans of the 
 Aesembly the choice of acquiescence iu 
 their dictates, flight, or the liberty of dying 
 on their posts like the senators of that Rome 
 which they admired. None embraced this 
 last alternative. They broke up the meet- 
 ing in confusion, and left the Jacobins se- 
 cure of impunity in whatever they might 
 next choose to attempt. 
 
 Thus, Danton and his fell associates 
 achieved the second point necessary to tlie 
 execution of the horrors which they medi- 
 tated ; the Legislative Assembly were com- 
 pletely subdued and intimidated. It re- 
 mained to avail themselves of some oppor- 
 tunity which might e.xcite the people of 
 Paris, in their present feverish state, to par- 
 ticipate in, or to endure crimes, at which in 
 calm moments the rudest would probably 
 have shuddered. The state of affairs on the 
 frontier aided them with such an opportu- 
 nity — aided them, we say, because every 
 step of preparation beforehand, shows that 
 the horrors acted on the 3d September were 
 premeditated ; nay, the very trenches des- 
 tined to inhume hundreds and thousands of 
 prisoners, yet alive, untried and undoonied, 
 were already excavated. 
 
 Temporary success of the allied mou- 
 archs fell upon the mine already prep.ired, 
 and gave fire to it, as lightning might have 
 fired a powder magazine. Longwy, Stenay, 
 and Verdun, were announced to have fallen 
 into the hands of the King of Prussia. The 
 first and last were barrier fortresses of re- 
 puted strength, and considerable resistance 
 had been expected. The ardent and mili- 
 tary spirit of the French was awakened in 
 the resolute, upon learning that tlieir fron- 
 tier was thus invaded ; fear and discomfit- 
 ure took possession of others, who tliouglit 
 they already heard the allied trumpets at 
 the gates of Paris. Between the eager de- 
 ■ire of some to march against the army of 
 the invaders, and the terror and di.''may of 
 •thers, there arose a climax of excitation 
 
 and alarm, favourable to the execution of 
 every desperate design ; as ruffians ply 
 their trade best, and with least chance of 
 interruption, in the midst of an earthquake 
 or a conflagration. 
 
 On the 2d September, the Community 
 of Paris announced the fall of Longwy, and 
 the approaching fate of Verdun, and, as if 
 it had been the only constituted authority 
 in the country, commanded the most sum- 
 mary measures for the general defencfe. 
 All citizens were ordered to keep them- 
 selves in readiness to march on an instant's 
 warning. All arms were to be given up to 
 the Community, save those in the hands of 
 active citizens, armed for the public pro- 
 tection. Suspected persons were to be 
 disarmed, and other measures were an- 
 nounced, all of which were calculated to 
 call men's attention to the safety of them- 
 selves and their families, and to destroy 
 the interest which at ordinary times the 
 public would have taken in the fate of 
 others. 
 
 'i'he awful voice of Danton astounded the 
 Assembly with similar information, hardly 
 deigning to ask their approbation of the 
 measures wliich the Community of Paris 
 had adopted on their own sole authority. 
 '■ You will presently hear," he said, " tlie 
 alarm-guns — falsely so called — for they are 
 the signal of a charge. Courage — courage — 
 and once again courage, is all that is ne- 
 cessary to conquer our enemies." These 
 words, pronounced with the accent ajid at- 
 titude of an exterminating spirit, appalled 
 and fHupilied the Assembly. We find 
 nothing that indicated in tliem either in- 
 terest in the imminent danger of the pub- 
 lie from without, or in the usurpation from 
 witliin. They appeared paralyzed with 
 terror. 
 
 The armed bands of Paris marched is 
 different quarters, to seize arms and horses, 
 to discover antl denounce suspected per- 
 sons ; the youth tit for arms were every- 
 where mustered, and amid shouts, remon- 
 strances, and debates, the general attention 
 was so engaged, each individual with h'xr 
 own afi'airs, in his own quarter, that, with- 
 out interference of any kind, whetlier from 
 legal authority, or general sympathy, an 
 univer.'ial massacre of the numerous pris- 
 oners was perpetrated, with a quietness and 
 deliberation, which iias not its parallel in 
 hi.story. The reader, who may be still sur- 
 prised that a transaction so horrid should 
 have passed witijout opposition or inter- 
 ruption, must be again reminded of the as- 
 tounding effects of the popular victory of 
 the 10th of August ; of the total quiescence 
 of the Legislative Assembly ; of the want 
 of an armed force of any kind to oppose 
 such outrages ; and of the epidemic panic 
 which renders multitudes powerless and 
 pa^■.sivc as infants. Should these causes 
 not appear to hiia sufficient, he must be 
 contented to wonder at the facts we arc to 
 relate, as at one of those dreadful prodigies 
 by which Providence confounds our rea- 
 son, and shows what human nature can bo 
 brought to, when the restraints of moralitf 
 and religion are cast aside.
 
 no 
 
 UFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. X 
 
 The number of individuals accumulated 
 in the various prisons of Paris, had increas- 
 ed by the arrests and domiciliary visits 
 subsequent to the 10th of August, to about 
 eight thousand persons. It was the object 
 of this infernal scheme to destroy the great- 
 er part of these under one general system 
 of murder, not to be executed by the sud- 
 den and furious impulse of an armed mul- 
 titude, but with a certain degree of cold 
 blood and deliberate investigation. A force 
 of armed banditti, Marseillois partly, and 
 partly chosen ruffians of the Fauxbourgs, 
 proceeded to the several prisons, into 
 which they either forced their passage, or 
 were admitted by the jailors, most of whom 
 had j^been apprised of what was to take 
 place, though some even of these steeled 
 officials exerted themselves to save those 
 under their charge. A revolutionary tri- 
 bunal was formed from among the armed 
 ruffians themselves, who examined the re- 
 gisters of the prison, and summoned the 
 captives individually to undergo the form 
 of a trial. If the judges, as was almost al- 
 ways the case, declared for death, their 
 doom, to prevent the efforts of men in de- 
 spair, was expressed in the words, " Give 
 the prisoner freedom." The victim was 
 then thrust out into the street, or yard ; he 
 was despatched by men and women, who, 
 with sleeves tucked up, arms dyed elbow- 
 deep in blood, hands holding axes, pikes, 
 and sabres, were executioners of the s5n- 
 tence ; and, by the manner in which they 
 did their office on the living, and mangled 
 the bodies of the dead, showed that they 
 occupied their post as much from pleasure as 
 from love of hire. They often exchanged 
 places ; the judges going out to take the 
 executioners' duty, the executioners, with 
 their reeking hands, sitting as judges in 
 their turn. Maillard, a ruffian alleged to 
 have distinguished himself at the siege of 
 the Bastille, but better known by his ex- 
 ploits upon the march to Versailles,* pre- 
 sided during these brief and sanguinary in- 
 vestigations. His companions on the bench 
 were persons of the same stamp. Yet 
 there were occasions when tliey showed 
 some transient gleams of humanity, and it 
 is not unimportant to remark, that boldness 
 had more influence on them than any ap- 
 peal to mercy or compassion. An avowed 
 Royalist was occasionally dismissed unin- 
 jured, while the Constitutionalists were 
 sure to be massacred. Another trait of a 
 singular nature is, that two of the ruffians 
 who were appointed to guard one of these 
 intended victims home in safety, as a man 
 acquitted, insisted upon seeing his meeting 
 with his family, seemed to share in the 
 transports of the moment, and on taking 
 leave, ghook the hand of their late prisoner, 
 while their own were clotted with the gore 
 of his friends, and had been just raised to 
 shed his own. Few, indeed, and brief, were 
 , these symptoms of relenting. In general, 
 the doom of the prisoner was death, and 
 that doom was instantly accomplished. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the captives were 
 
 * Page 63. 
 
 penned up in their dungeons like cattle in 
 a shambles, and in many i(istances might, 
 from windows which looked outwards, mark 
 the fate of their comrades, hear their cries, 
 and behold their struggles, and learn from 
 the horrible scene, now tlicy might best 
 meet their own approaching fate. They 
 observed, according to Saint Meard, who, 
 in his well named Agony of Thirty-Six 
 Hours, has given the account of this fearful 
 scene, that those who intercepted the 
 blows of the executioners, by holding up 
 their hands, suffered protracted torment, 
 while those who otfered no show of strug- 
 gle were more easily despatched ; and they 
 encouraged each other to submit to their 
 fate, in the manner least likely to prolong 
 their sufferings. 
 
 Many ladies, especially those belonging 
 to the court, were thus murdered. The 
 Princess de Lamtalle, whose Only crime 
 seems to have been her friendship for Ma- 
 rie Antoinette, was literally hewn to pieces, 
 and her head, and th^t of others, paraded 
 on pikes through the metropolis. It was 
 carried to the Temple on that accursed 
 weapon, the features yet beautiful in death, 
 and the long fair curl:? of the hair floating 
 around the spear. The murderers insisted 
 that the King and Queen should be com- 
 pelled to come to the window to view this 
 dreadful trophy. The municipal officers 
 who were upon d.ity over the royal prison- 
 ers, had difficulty, not merely in saving 
 them from this horrible inhumanity, but 
 also in preventing the prison t'rom being 
 forced. Three-coloured ribbons were ex- 
 tended across the street, and tliis frail bar- 
 rier was found sufficient to intimate that 
 tlie Temple was under the safeguard of the 
 nation. We do not read that the efficiencT 
 of the three-coloured ribbons was tried for 
 the protection of any of the other prisons 
 No doubt the executioners had their in- 
 structions where and when they should b« 
 respected. 
 
 The Clergy who had declined the Con- 
 stitutional oath from pious scruples, were, 
 during the massacre, the peculiar objects 
 of insult and cruelty, and their conduct was 
 such as corresponded with their religious 
 and conscientious professions. They were 
 seen confessing themselves to each other, 
 or receiving the confessions of their lay 
 companions in misfortune, and encouraging 
 thcan to undergo the evil hour, with as 
 much calmness as if they themselves had 
 not been to share its bitterness.. As Pro- 
 testants, we cannot abstractedly approve 
 of the doctrines which render the establish* 
 ed clergy of one Country dependant upon a 
 Sovereign Pontiff, the princs of an alien 
 state. But these priests did not make the 
 laws for which they suffered ; they only 
 obeyed them ; and as men and Christians 
 we must regard them as martyrs, who pre- 
 ferred death to what they considered as 
 apostasy. 
 
 In the brief intervals of this dreadAil 
 butchery, which lasted for four days, the 
 judges and executioners ate, drank, and 
 slept ; and awoke from slumber, or rose 
 from their meal with fresh appetite for m«u.
 
 Chap. X.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 der. There were places arranged for the 
 male, and for the female murderers, for the 
 work had been incomplete without the in- 
 tervention of the latter. Prison after pris- 
 on was invested, entered, and under the 
 eame form of proceeding, made the scene 
 of the same inhuman butchery. The Jac- 
 obins had reckoned on making the massa- 
 cre universal ovr France. But the exam- 
 ple was not generally followed. It requir- 
 ed, as in the case of Saint Bartholomew, 
 the only massacre which can be compared 
 to this in atrocity, the excitation of a large 
 capital, in a violent crisis, to render such 
 horrors possible. 
 
 The Community of Paris were not in 
 fault for this. They did all they could to 
 extend the sphere of murder. Their war- 
 rant brought from Orleans near sixty per- 
 sons, including the Dake de Cosse-Brissac, 
 De Lessart the late minister, and other 
 Royalists of distinction, who were to have 
 been tried beiore the' High Court of that 
 Department. A band of assassins met them, 
 by appointment of the Community at Ver- 
 sailles, who, uniting with their escort, mur- 
 dered almost the whole of these unhappy 
 men. 
 
 From the 2d to the 6th of September, 
 these infernal crimes proceeded unijiter- 
 rupted, protracted by the actors for the 
 sake of the daily pay of a louis to each, 
 openly distributed amongst them, by order 
 of the Commune.* It was either from a 
 desire to continue as long as possible a la- 
 bour so well requited, or because thcs>j be- 
 ings had acquired an insatiable lust of mur- 
 der, that, when the jails were emptied of 
 state criminals, the assassins attacked the 
 Bicetre, a prison where ordinary delinquents 
 were confined. These unhappy wretches 
 offered a degree of resistance which cost 
 the assailants more dear than any they had 
 experienced from their proper victims. 
 Tney were obliged to fire on them with 
 cannon, and many hundreds of the misera- 
 ble creatures were in this way exterminat- 
 ed, by wretches worse than themselves. 
 
 No exact account was ever made of the 
 number of persons murdered daring this 
 dreadful period ; but not above t>vo or 
 three hundred of the prisoners arrested for 
 state offences were known to escape, or be 
 discharged, and the most moderate compu- 
 tation raises the number of those who loll 
 to two or three thou.sand, thousrh some car- 
 ry it to twice the extent. Truchod an- 
 nounced to the Legislative Assembly, that 
 'bur thousand had perished. Soms; exer- 
 tion was made to save the lives of persons 
 imprisoned for debt, whose numbers, with 
 those of common felons, may make up tiic 
 balance betwixt the number slain and eight 
 thousand who were prisoners when the mas- 
 sacre began. The bodies were interred in 
 heaps, in immense trenches, prepared be- 
 forehand by order of the Community of Pa- 
 ris ; but tlieir bones have since beeii trans- 
 ferred to the subterranean catacombs, which 
 
 * The books of the Hotel de Ville preserve evi- 
 dence of this fact. Billaud (ie Varennes appaarfJ 
 publiclv among the asdMsina, and di:<tributed 0.,9 
 price of blood 
 
 form the general charnel-house of the city. 
 In those melancholy regions, while other rel- 
 ics of mortality lie exposed all around, tba 
 remains of those who perished in the massa- 
 cres of September are alone secluded from 
 the eye. The vault in which they repose is 
 closed with a screen of freestone, as if re- 
 lating to crimes unfit to be thought of eren 
 in the proper abode of death, and which 
 France would willingly hide in oblivion. 
 
 In the meanwhile the reader may be de- 
 sirous to know what efforts were made bj 
 the Assembly, to save the lives of so many 
 Frenchmen, or to put a stop to a massacre 
 carried on in contempt of all legal interfer- 
 ence, and by no more formidable force than 
 tliat of two or three hundred atrocious fel- 
 ons, often, indeed, diminished to only fifty 
 or sixty. He might reasonably expect that 
 the National Representatives would have 
 thundered forth some of those decrees 
 which they formerly directed against the 
 Crown, and the Noblesse ; that they should 
 have repaired bv deputations to the various 
 sections, called out the National Guards, 
 and appealed to all, not only that were sus- 
 ceptible of honour or humanity, but to all 
 who had the breath and being of man, to 
 support them in interrupting a series of hor- 
 rors disgraceful to mankind. Such an ap- 
 peal to the feelings of their fellow-citizens 
 made them at last successful in the over- 
 throw of Robespierre. But the reign of 
 terror was now but in its commencement, 
 and men had not yet learned that tliere lay 
 a refuge in the efforts of Despair. 
 
 Instead of such energy as might havu 
 be-on expected from the principles of which 
 they boasted, nothing could be more timid 
 than the conduct of the Girondists, being 
 t!ie or.ly party in the Assembly who had the 
 power, and might be supposed to have the 
 inclination, to control the course of crime. 
 
 We looked carefully through the Moni- 
 teurs, which contain the official account 
 of the sittings of the Assembly on those 
 dreadful d-v.s. We find regular entries of 
 many patii.t'ic gifts, of such importance as 
 the following : — A fusee from an English- 
 man — a pair of hackney-coach horses from 
 tlie coar.Iiaian — a map of the country around 
 Paris ffcr.i a lady. While engaged in re- 
 ceiving ami registering these civic dona- 
 tion.=!, their journal tiears few and doubtful 
 references to the massacres then iu pro- 
 fresa. The Assembly issued no decree 
 a'jainstthe si lughter — demanded no support 
 from the public force, and restricted them- 
 selves to sending to the murderers a pitiful 
 deputation of twelve of their number, whose 
 commission seems to have been limited to 
 petition for the safety of one of their col- 
 I leagues belonging to the Constitutional fac- 
 tion. With difficulty they saved him, and 
 1 the celebrated Abbe Sicard,the philanthro- 
 j pic instructor of the deaf and dumb, impris- 
 oned as a non-juring priest, for whom the 
 I wails and tears ofiiis hapless pupils had 
 j procured a reprieve even from the a-ssas- 
 sins. Dussault, one of that deputation, di»- 
 tiuguisiied himself by the efforts which h« 
 used to persuade the murderers to desist. 
 I " Returu to your place," said one of tb*
 
 112 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. X. 
 
 rnffitns, his arms crimsoned with blood. 
 " You have made us lose too much time. 
 Return to your business, and leave us to 
 ours." 
 
 Dussault went back, to recount to those 
 who had sent him what he had witnes.scd, 
 and how he had been received ; and conclu- 
 ded with the exclamation, " Woe's me, 
 that I should have lived to see such hor- 
 rors, witliout the power of stopping them !" 
 The Assembly heard the detail, and remain- 
 ed timid and silent as before. 
 
 Where, in that hour, were the men who 
 formed their judgment upon tlie models 
 presented by Plutarch, their feelings on the 
 wild eloquence of Rousseau? Where were 
 the Girondists, celebrated by one of their 
 admirers,* as distinguished by good morals, 
 by severe probity, by a profound respect for 
 the dignity of man, by a deep sense of his 
 rights and his duties, by a sound, constant, 
 and immutable love of order, of justice, and 
 of liberty ? Were the eyes of such men 
 blind, that they could not see the blood 
 which flooded for four days the streets of 
 the metropolis ? were their ears deadened, 
 that they could not hear the sliouts of the 
 murderers, and the screams of the victims ? 
 or were their voices mute, that they called 
 not upon God and man — upon the very 
 stones of Paris, to assist them in interrupt- 
 ing such a crime ! Political reasons have, 
 by Royalist writers, been supposed to fur- 
 nish a motive for their acquiescence ; for 
 there is, according to civilians, a certain 
 degree of careless or timid imbecility, 
 which can only be explained as having its 
 origin in fraud. They allege that the Gi- 
 rondists saw, raiher with pleasure tjian hor- 
 ror, the atrocities which were committed, 
 while their enemies the Jacobins, extermi- 
 nating their equally hated enemies the Con- 
 Btitutionalists and Royalists, took on them- 
 selves the whole odium of a glut of blood, 
 which must soon, they might naturally ex- 
 pect, disgust the sense and feelings of a 
 country so civilized as France. We re- 
 main, nevertheless, convinced, that Vergni- 
 aud, Brissot, Roland, and, to a certainty, 
 his high-minded wife, would have stopped 
 the massacres of September, had their 
 courage and practical skill in public affairs 
 borne any proportion to the conceit which 
 led them to suppose, iluit their vocation lay 
 for governing such a nation as France. 
 
 But whatever was the motive of their 
 apathy, the Legislative Assembly was near- 
 ly silent on the subject of the massacres, 
 mot only while they v.'ere in progress, but 
 for several days afterwards. On the IGth 
 of September, wh<in nev.s from the army 
 on the frontiers was beginning to announce 
 successes, and when the panic of the me- 
 tropolis began to subside, Vergniaud adroit- 
 ly charged the Jacobins with turning on 
 anhappy prisoners of state the popular re- 
 sentment, wliicli should have animated 
 them with bravery to march out against the 
 common enemy. He upbraided also the 
 Community of Paris with the assumption 
 of unconstitutional powers, and the inhu- 
 
 *Buzot. 
 
 man tyranny with which they had abused 
 them ; but his speech made little impres- 
 sion, so much are deeds of cruelty apt to 
 become familiar to men's feelings, when 
 of frequent recurrence. When the first 
 accounts were read in the Constituent .As- 
 sembly, of the massLicres perpetrated at 
 Avignon, the President fainted away, and 
 the whole body manifested a horror, as well 
 of the senses as of the mind ; and now, that 
 a fiir more cruel, more enduring, more ex- 
 tensive train of murders was perpetrated 
 under their own eye, the Legislative As- 
 sembly looked on in apathy. The utmost 
 which the eloquence of \'ergniaud could 
 extract from them was a decree, that in fu- 
 ture the Community should be answerabls 
 with their own lives for the security of th» 
 prisoners under their charge. After passing 
 this decree, the i-egislative Assembly, be- 
 ing the second Representative Body of the 
 French nation, dissolved itself according 
 to the resolutions of the 10th of August, to 
 give place to the National Convention. 
 
 The Legislative Assembly was, in it« 
 composition and its character, of a casto 
 greatly inferior to that which il succeeded. 
 The flower of the talents of France had 
 naturally centered in the National Assem- 
 bly, and, by an absurd regalation, its mem- 
 bers were incapacitated from being re- 
 elected ; v.hich nccessnrily occasioned their 
 situation being in many instances supplied 
 by persons of inferior 'attainments. Then 
 the destinies of the first Assembly had been 
 fulfilled in a more lofty manner. They 
 were often wrong, often ;ibsurd, often arro- 
 gant and presumptuous, but never mean or 
 servile. They respected the liberty of de- 
 bate, and even amidst the bitterest political 
 discussions, defended the persons of their 
 colle;^ues, however much opposed to them 
 in sentiment, and maintained their consti- 
 tutional inviolability. They had also the 
 great advantage of being, as it were, free 
 born. They were indeed placed in cap- 
 tivity by their removal to Paris, but their 
 courage was not abated ; nor did they make 
 any concessions of a personal kind to the 
 ruffians, by whom they were at times per- 
 sonally ill-used. 
 
 But the second, or Legislative Assem- 
 bly, had, on the contrary, been captive from 
 the moment of their first convocation. 
 They had never met but in Paris, and were 
 inured to the habit of patient submission to 
 the tribunes and the refuse of the city, who 
 repeatedly broke into their Hall, and issued 
 their mandates in the form of petitions. 
 On two memorablp occasions they showed 
 too distinctly, that considerations of person- 
 al safety could overpower their sense of 
 public duty. Two-thirds of the Represent- * 
 atives joined in acquitting La Fayette, and 
 declared by doing so that they abhorred the 
 insurrection of the 20th of June; yet, when 
 that of the 10th of August had completed 
 what was before attempted in vain upon the 
 occasion preceding, the Assembly unani- 
 mously voted the deposition of the mon- 
 arch, and committed him to prison. Sec- 
 ondly, they remained silent and inactive 
 during all the horrors of September, umI
 
 Chap. X/.J 
 
 LIFE OF N.\POLEO^^ BUONAFArxTn. 
 
 13 
 
 Buffered the executive power to be wrench- 
 ed out of tljeir liunds by the Community of 
 Paris, and used before their eyes for the 
 destruction of many thousands of French- 
 men, whom they represented. 
 
 It must be, however, remembered, that 
 the Legislative Assembly were oppressed 
 by difficulties and dangers the most dread- 
 ful that can threaten a government ; — the 
 bloody discord of contending factions, the I 
 
 arms of forei<rner8 menacing the frontier, 
 and civil war breaking out in the provinces. 
 In addition to these sources of peril and 
 dismay, there were three divided partiei 
 within the Assembly itself; while a rival 
 power, equally formidable from its audaci- 
 ty and its crimes, had erected itself in pre- 
 dominating authority, like that of the Maires 
 du Palais over the feeble monarchs of Um 
 Merovingian dynasty. 
 
 CHAP. ZI. 
 
 Election of Representatives for the A'atioyial Convention. — Jacobins are very aetivt. 
 
 Right hand Party — Left har.d side — Neutral Members. — The Crirondists are inpoi- 
 segsion of the ostensible Power — They denounce the Jacobin Chiefs, but in an irregu- 
 lar and feeble manner. — Marat, Robespierre, and Danton. supported by the Commtt- 
 nity and Populace of Paris. — France declared a Republic. — Duke of Brunswick's 
 Campaign — Neglects the French Emigrants — Is tardy in hit Operations — Occupies 
 the poorest pari of Champagne. — His Army becomes Sickly. — Prospects of a Battle.— 
 Dumouriez's Army recruited xvith Carmagnoles. — The Duke resolves to Retreat — 
 Thoughts on the consequences of that Measure— The Retreat disastrotis. — The Emi- 
 grants disbanded in a great measure. — Reflections on their Fat*. — The Prince qf 
 CondA 's Army. 
 
 It was of course the object of each party to 
 obtain the greatest possible majority in the 
 National Convention now to be assembled, 
 for arranging upon some new footing the 
 government of France, and for replacing 
 that Constitution to which faith had been 
 BO repeatedly sworn. 
 
 The Jacobins made the most energetic 
 exertions. They not only wrote missives 
 through their two thousand affiliated sorie- 
 ties, but sent three hundred commissaries, 
 or delegates, to superintend the elections 
 in the different towns and departments ; to 
 exhort their comrades not only to be firm, 
 but to be enterprising ; and to seize with 
 Rtrong hand the same power ovex the public 
 force, which the mother society possessed 
 in Paris. The advice was poured into will- 
 ing ears ; for it implied the sacred right 
 of insurrection, with the concomitant priv- 
 ileges of pillage and slaughter. 
 
 The power of the Jacobins was irresisti- 
 ble in Paris, where Robespierre, Uantor., 
 ;uid Marat, who shared the high places' in 
 their synagogue, were elected by ar; :rr.- 
 mense majority ; and of the iwentv deputies 
 who represented Paris, there were not 
 above five or si.t unconnected with the mas- 
 .sacres. Nor were they anywhere unsuccess- 
 ful, whence there existed enough of their 
 adherents to overawe by threats, clamour, 
 and violence, the impartial voice of the 
 public. 
 
 But in every state there is a great number 
 of men who love order for itself, and for the 
 protection it affords to property. There 
 were also a great many persons at heart | 
 Rovalists, either pure or constitutional, 
 and all these united in sending to the Na- 
 tional Convention deputies, who, if no op- 
 portunity occurred of restoring the mon- I 
 archy, might at least co-operate with the I 
 f Jirondists and more moderate Republicans 
 in saving the life of the unfortunate Louis, 
 smd in protecting men's lives, and property 
 in general, from the infuriate violence of i 
 
 the Jacobins. These supporters of order 
 — we know no better name to assign to 
 them — were chiefly representatives of the 
 departments, where electors had more time 
 to discriminate and reflect, than when un- 
 der the influence of the revolutionary soci- 
 eties and clubs of the towns. Yet Nantes, 
 Bourdeaux, Marseilles, Lyons, and other 
 towns, chiefly in the west and south, were 
 disposed to support the Gir-^ndists, and sent 
 deputies favourable to their sentiments. 
 Thus the Convention, when assembled, 
 still presented the appearance of two strong 
 parties ; and the feebleness of that, which, 
 being moderate in its views, only sought to 
 act defeBKi'/ely, consisted not in waot of 
 numbers, but in want of energy. 
 
 It was no good omen, that on taking their 
 places in t;:e Assembly, these last assu.Tied 
 the Ricrhi Side , a position which seemed 
 doomed to defeat, since it had been suc- 
 cessivel}' occupied by the suppressed par- 
 tlei of moderate Royalists and Constitu- 
 tionalists. There was defeat in the very 
 sound of the paWt tfroi^, whereas the left- 
 hand position had always been that of vic- 
 tory. r<'en's minds are moved by small in- 
 cidents in dubious times. Even this choice 
 of seats made an impression upon spectator* 
 and auditors unfavourable to the Girondists, 
 ai all naturally shrink from a union with 
 bad fortune. There was a considerable 
 party of neutr.al members, who, without 
 joining themselves to the Girondists, affect- 
 ed to judge impartially betwixt the con- 
 tending parties. They wore chiefly men of 
 consciences too timid to go all the lengths 
 of the Jacobins, but also of too timid nerves 
 to oppose them openly and boldly These 
 wore sure to succumb on all occasions, 
 when the Jacobins judged it necessary to 
 use their favourite argument of popular 
 terror. 
 
 The Girondists took pe-gession, howev- 
 er, of all ostensible marks of power. Dan 
 ton was dismissed from his place as Mini*-
 
 114 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 \Chap. XL 
 
 ter of Justice ; and they were, as far as 
 mere official name and title could bestow 
 it on them, in possession of the authority of 
 government. But the ill-fated regulation 
 which excluded ministers from seats in tiie 
 Assembly, and consequently from any right 
 «avc that of defence, proved as fatal to 
 those of the new system, as it had done to 
 the executive government of Louis. 
 
 Our remarks upon the policy of the great 
 chan::rc from monarchy, to a republic, will 
 be iuore in place elsewhere. Indeed, vio- 
 lent ;l3 the change sounded in words, there 
 w^iii not such an important alteration in ef- 
 fect as to produce much sensation. The 
 Constitution of 1791 was a democracy to all 
 intents and purposes, leaving little power 
 with the King, and that little subject to be 
 Bomuch cramped and straitened in its ope- 
 ration, that the royal authority was even 
 smaller in practice than it had been limited 
 in theory. When to this is added, that 
 Louis was a prisoner amongst his subjects, 
 acting under tlie most severe restraint, and 
 endangering his life every time he attempt- 
 ed to execute his constitutional power, he 
 must long have beer held rather an incum- 
 brance on the motions and councils of the 
 state, than as one of its efficient constituted 
 authorities. The nominal change of the 
 system of government scarcely made a 
 jveater alteration in the internal condition 
 of France, than the change of a sign makes 
 upon a house of entertainment, where the 
 business of the tavern is carried on in the 
 usual way, although the place is no longer 
 distinguished as the King's Head. . 
 
 While France was thus alarmed and agi- 
 tated within,- by change, by crime, by the 
 most bitter political factions, the dawn of 
 that course of victory had already risen on 
 the frontiers, which, in its noon-day splen- 
 dour, was to blaze fiercely over all Europe. 
 It is not our purpose to detail military 
 events at present ; we shall have but too 
 many of them to discuss hereafter. We 
 shall barely state, that the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick's campaign, considered as relative to 
 his proclamation, forms too good an illus- 
 tration of the holy text, '• Pride goeth be- 
 fore destruction, and a haughty spirit before 
 a fall." The Duke was at the head of a 
 splendid army, which had been joined by 
 fifteen thousand emigrants in the finest 
 state of equipment, burning with zeal to 
 rescue the King and avenge themselves on 
 those by whom they had been driven from 
 their country. From what fatality it is hard 
 to conceive, but the Duke of Brunswick 
 seems to have looked with a certain degree 
 of coldness and suspicion on those troops, 
 whose chivalrous valour and high birth 
 called them to the van, instead of the rear, 
 in which the Generalissimo was pleased to 
 detain them. The chance of success that 
 might justly have been expected from the 
 fiery energy which was the very soul of 
 French chivalry, from the fear which such 
 an army might have inspired, or perhaps 
 from the friends whom they might have 
 found, was altogether lost. There was 
 something in this extraordinary conduct, 
 which almost vindicated the suspicion that 
 
 Prussia was warring on her own account, 
 and was not disposed to owe too much of 
 the expected success to the valour of th« 
 emigrants. And it escaped not the remark, 
 both of the emigrants and the French at 
 large, that Longwy and Verdun were os- 
 tentatiously taken possession of by the al- 
 lies, not under the name of the King of 
 I'rance, or the Comte d'.\rtois, but in that 
 of the Emperor ; which appeared to give 
 colour to tlie invidious report, that the 
 allies were to be indemnified for the cost 
 of their assistance at the expense of the 
 French line of frontier towns. Neither did 
 the Duke use his fine army of Prussians, or 
 direct the motions of the Austrians under 
 Clairfait, to any greater advantage. He 
 had, indeed, the troops of the Great Fred- 
 erick ; but under the command of an irres- 
 olute and incapable leader, it was the 
 sword of Scandeft'beg in the hands of a 
 boy. 
 
 This tardiness of the Duke of Brunswick's 
 movements intimated a latent doubt of his 
 own capacity to conduct the campaign. 
 The superiority of his veteran and finely 
 disciplined forces over the disorganized 
 army of Dumouriez, reinforced as it was 
 by crowds of Federates, who were perfect 
 strangers to war, would have been best dis- 
 played by bold and rapid movements, evinc- 
 ing at once activity and combination, and 
 alarming raw troops by a sense of danger, 
 not in front alone, but on every point. Eiach 
 day which these new soldiers spent un- 
 fought, was one step towards military disci- 
 pline, and what is more, towards military 
 confidence. The general who had threat- 
 ened so hard, seemed to suspend his blow 
 in indecision ; and he remained trifling on 
 the frontiers, " when Frederick, had ho 
 been in our front," said the French gene- 
 ral, ■' would long since have driven us back 
 upon Chalons." 
 
 The result of so many false steps began 
 soon to appear. Brunswick, whose army 
 was deficient in battering guns, though en- 
 tering France on a frontier of fortifications, 
 was arrested by the obstinate defence of 
 ThionviUe. Having at length decided to 
 advance, he spent nine days in marching 
 thirty leagues, but omitted to possess him- 
 self of the defiles of Argonnes, by which 
 alone the army of Luckner could co-ope- 
 rate with that of Dumouriez. The allied 
 general now found himself in the most ele- 
 vated part of the province of Champagne, ' 
 branded for its poverty and sterility witri 
 the unseemly name La Champagne FouU- 
 letise, where he found difficulty to subsist 
 his army. Meantime, if corn and forage 
 were scarce, grapes and melons were, un- 
 fortunately, plenty. These last fruits are 
 so proverbially unwholesome, that the ma- 
 gistrates of Liege, and some other towns, 
 forbid the peasants to bring them to market 
 under pain of confiscation. It was the first 
 time such delicacies had been presented to 
 the hyperborean appetites of the Prussians; 
 and they could not resist the temptation, 
 though the same penalty was annexed to 
 the banquet, as to that which produced the 
 first transgression. They ate and died. A
 
 Chi^. XI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BnONAPARTF. 
 
 115 
 
 fatal dysentarybrokf out in the camp, which 
 swept the solJiers away by hundreds in a 
 day, sunk the spirits cf the survivors, and 
 •eems to have totally broken the courage 
 of their commander. 
 
 Two courses remained to the embarrass- 
 ed general. One was, to make his way by 
 giving battle to ihc French, by attacking 
 them in the strong position which they 
 had been permitted to occupy, notwith- 
 standing the ease with which they might 
 La»e been anticipated. It is true, Dumou- 
 riez had been very strongly reinforced. 
 France, from all her departments, had read- 
 ily poured forth many thousands of her 
 fiery youth, from city and town, village and 
 grange and farm, to protect the frontiers, 
 at once, from the invasion of foreigners, 
 and the occupation of thousands of venge- 
 ful emigrants. They were undisciplined, 
 in ieed, but full of zeal and courage, heat- 
 ed and excited by the scenes of the repub- 
 lic, and inflamed by the florid eloquence, 
 the songs, dances, and signal-words with 
 which it had been celebrated. Above all, 
 they were of a country, which, of all oth- 
 ers in Europe, has been most familiar with 
 war, and the youth of which are most ea- 
 sily rendered amenable to military disci- 
 pline. 
 
 But to these new levies the Duke of 
 Brunswick might have safely opposed the 
 ardent valour of the emigrants, men de- 
 scended of families whoscdeeds of chival- 
 ry fill the registers of Europe ; men by 
 whom the road to Paris was regarded as 
 that which was to conduct them to victory, 
 to honour, to the rescue of their King, to 
 reunion with their families, to the recovery 
 of their patrimony ; men accustomed to 
 consider disgrace as more dreadful by far 
 than death, and who claimed as their birth- 
 right, military renown and the use of arms. 
 In one skirmish, fifteen hundred of the 
 emigrant cavalry had defeated, with great 
 slaughter, a column of the Carmagnoles, 
 as the republic.m levies were called. They 
 were routed with great slaughter, and their 
 opponents had tl;e pleasure to count among 
 the slain a considerable number of the as- 
 sas.sins of September. 
 
 But the French general had more confi- 
 dence in the Carmagnole levies, from which 
 his military ge lius derived a valuable sup- 
 port, than Brunswick thought proper to 
 repose in the chivalrous gallantry of the 
 French noblesse. He could only be brouulit 
 to engage in one action, of artillery, near 
 \'a]my, which was attended with no mark- 
 ed consequence, and then issued his order 
 for a retreat, it was in vain that the Comte 
 d'.Artois, with a spirit worthy of the line 
 from which lie was descended, and the 
 throne to which he has now succeeded, 
 entreated, almost implored, a recall of 
 this fatal order ; in vain that he offered in 
 person to head the emigrant forces, and to 
 arsume witli them the most desperate post 
 in the battle, if the Gencrali.'^simo would 
 permit it to be foujht. But the Date, r.i-sti- 
 nate in his desponding in proportion to his 
 former presumption, was not of that high 
 Biiad which adopts hazardous counsc-ls in 
 
 desperate cases. He saw his army moul- 
 dering away around him, beheld the French 
 forming in his rear, knew that the resour- 
 ces of Prussia were unequal to a prolonged 
 war, and, after one or two feeble attempta 
 to negotiate for the safety of the captive 
 Louis, he was at length contented to accep* 
 an implied permission to retreat without 
 molestation. He raised his camp on the 
 30th of September, and left behind him 
 abundant marks of the dreadful state to 
 which his army was reduced. 
 
 When we look back on these events, and 
 are aware of Dumouriez's real opinions, 
 and the interest which he took in the fats 
 of the King, we have little reason to doubt, 
 that the Duke of Brunswick might, by ac- 
 tive and prompt exertions, have eluded that 
 general's defensive measures; nay, that 
 judicious negotiation might have induced 
 him, on certain points being conceded, to 
 have united a pa-t at least of his force* 
 with those of the emigrants in a march to 
 Paris, for the King's rescue, and the punish* 
 ment of the .(acobins. 
 
 But had the restoration of Louis XVL 
 taken place by the armed hand of the emi- 
 grants and the allies, the final event of the 
 war must still have been distant. Almost 
 the whole body of the kingdom was dia- 
 metrically opposed to the restoration of 
 the absolute monarchy with all its evils ; 
 and yet it must have been the object of the 
 emigrants, in case of success, again to 
 establish, not only royalty in its utmost 
 prerogative, but all the oppressive privile- 
 ges and feudal subjections which the Revo- 
 lution had swept away. Much was to have 
 been dreatled, too, from the avidity of the 
 strangers, whose arms had assisted the im- 
 prisoned Louis, and much more from what 
 has since been aptly termed the Reaction, 
 which must have taken place upon a coun- 
 ter-revolution. It was greatly to be appre- 
 hended, that the" emigrants, always deen>- 
 ing too lightly of the ranks beneath them, 
 incensed by the murder of their friends, 
 and stung by their own private wrongs and 
 insults, would, if successful, have treated 
 the Revolution not as an exertion of the 
 public will of France to free the country 
 from public grievances, but as a Jacquerie, 
 (which in some of its scenes it too much r^ 
 sembied,) a domestic treason of the vassals 
 against their liege lords. It was the will 
 of Providence, that the experience of 
 twenty years and upwards should make 
 manifest, tliat in the hour of victory itself 
 concessions to the defeated, as far as jus- 
 tice demands them, is the only mode of 
 deriving permanent and secure peace. 
 
 The retreat of the Prussians was execa- 
 ted in the worst possible order, as is usual- 
 ly the case of such a manoeuvre when un- 
 provided for, and executed by troops who 
 had been led to expect a very difierent 
 movement. But if to them it was a meas- 
 ure of disaster and disgrace, it was to the 
 unfortunate emigrants who had joined their 
 standard, the signal of utter despair and 
 ruin. These corps were composed of 
 gentlemen, who, called suddenly and un- 
 provided from their families and homes,
 
 116 
 
 LIFE OF r^APOLEON BUONAPARTF.. 
 
 [Chap. XI. 
 
 had only brought with them such moderate 
 sums of money as could be raised in an 
 emergency, which they had fondly con- 
 ceived would be of very brief duratuni. 
 They had expended most of their funds 
 in providing themselves with horses, arms, 
 and equipments — some part must have been 
 laid out in their necessary subsistence, for 
 they served chiefly at their own expense — 
 and perhaps, as might have beeu expected 
 among high-spirited and high-born youths, 
 their slender funds had not been managed 
 with an economical view of the possibility 
 of the reverses which had taken place. In 
 the confusion and disorder of the retreat, 
 their baggage was plundered by their aux- 
 iliaries, that is to say, by the disorderly 
 T*mssian soldiers, who had shaken loose all 
 discipline ; and they were in most cases 
 reduced for instant maintenance to sell 
 their horses at such paltry prices as they 
 could obtain. To end the history of such 
 of this devoted army as had been engaged 
 in the Duke of Brunswick's campaign, they 
 were disbanded at Juliers, in November 
 1792. 
 
 The blindness of sovereigns, who, still 
 continuing a war on France, suffered such 
 fine troops to be dissolved for want of the 
 means of support, was inexcusable ; their 
 cold and hard-hearted conduct towards a 
 body of gentlemen, who, if politically 
 wrong, were at least devoted to the cause 
 for which Austria asserted that she con- 
 tinued in arms, was equally unwise and un- 
 senerous. These gallant gentlemen might 
 have upbraided the Kings who had encour- 
 aged, and especially the general who led, 
 this ill-fated expedition, in the words of 
 Shakspeare, if he had been known to 
 them, — 
 
 •• Hast thou not spoke hke thunder on our side, 
 Been sworn our soldier — bidding us depend 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ?" 
 
 But the reproaches of those who have no 
 remedy but the exposition of their wrongs, 
 seldom reach the ears of the powerful by 
 whom those wrongs have been committed. 
 It is not difficult to conceive the agony 
 with which these banished gentlemen aban- 
 doned all hopes of saving the life of their 
 King, and the recovery of their rank and 
 fortune. All their proud vaunts of expect- 
 ed- success were lost, or converted into 
 serpents to sting them. They had no hope 
 before them, and, what is worst to men of 
 high spirit, they had fallen with scarce a 
 blow struck for honour, far less for victory. 
 They were now doomed, such as could, to 
 exercise for mere subsistence the prosecu- 
 tion of sciences and arts, which they had 
 cultivated to adorn prosperity — to wander 
 in foreign lands, and live upon the preca- 
 rious charity of foreign powers, embittered 
 everywhere by the reflections of some, who 
 pitied the folly that could forfeit rank and 
 property for a mere point of honour ; and 
 of others, who saw in them the enemies of 
 rational liberty, and upbraided them with 
 the charge, that their misfortunes were the 
 necessary consequence of their arbitrary 
 principles 
 
 It might have in some degree mitigated 
 their calamity, could some gifted sage have 
 shown Ihcm, at such distance as the Legis- 
 lator of I.«r;iel beheld the Promised Land 
 from Mount Pisgah, the final restoration of 
 the royal house, in whose cause they had 
 suifored shipwreck of tlicir all. But how 
 many perished in tl>e wilderness of misfor- 
 tune which inte'vened — how few survived 
 the twenty years wandering which conduct- 
 ed to this promised point ! and of those 
 few, who, war-worn and wearied by misfor- 
 tunes, survived the restoration of royalty, 
 how very few were rewarded by more thaa 
 the disinterested triumph which they felt 
 on that joyful occasion ! and how iflany 
 might use the simile of a royalist of Britain 
 on a similar occasion, — " The fleece of 
 Gideon remained dry, while the hoped-for 
 restoration shed showers of blessings on all 
 France beside !" 
 
 The emigrant regiments, under the com- 
 mand of the Prince of Conde, had another 
 and a nobler fate. They retained their 
 arms, and signalized themselves by their 
 exertions ; were consumed by the sword, 
 and in toils of service, and died at least the 
 death of soldiers, mourned, and not unre- 
 venged. But they were wasting their de- 
 voted courage in the service of foreigners ; 
 and if their gallantry was gratified by the 
 defeat of those whom they regarded as the 
 murderers of their King and as usurpers of 
 their rights, they might indeed feel that 
 their revenge was satiated, but scarce in 
 any sense could they regard their victories 
 as serviceable to the cause to which they 
 had sacrificed their country, their posses- 
 sions, their hopes, their lives. Their fate, 
 though on a much more extensive scale, 
 much resembles that of the officers of the 
 Scottish army in 1690, who, following the 
 fortunes of James II. to France, were at 
 length compelled to form themselves into 
 a battalion of privates, and, after doing ma- 
 ny feats of gallintry in the service of the 
 country where»they found refuge, at length 
 melted away uiider the sword of the enemy, 
 and the privations of military service. His- 
 tory, while she is called upon to censure 
 or commend the actions of mankind accor- 
 ding to the rules of immutable justice, is 
 no less bound to lament the brave and gen- 
 erous, who, preferring the dictates of hon- 
 ourable feeling to those of prudence, are 
 hurried into courses which may be doubtful 
 in policy, and perhaps in patriotism, but to 
 which they are urged by the disinterested 
 wish of discharging what they account a 
 conscientious duty. The emigrants were 
 impolitic, perhaps, in leaving France, 
 though tliat conduct had many apologies ; 
 and their entrance into their country in 
 arms to bring back the despotic system, 
 which Louis XVI. and the whole nation, 
 save themselves, had renounced, was an 
 enterprise unwisely and unjustly undertak- 
 en. But the cause they embraced was one 
 dear to all the prejudices of the rank and 
 sentiments in which they had been brought 
 up; their loyal purpose in its defence is 
 indisputable ; and it would be hard to con- 
 demn them for following one extreme.
 
 Chap. XL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 117 
 
 when the most violent and tyrannical pro- 
 ceedings were, in the sight of all Europe, 
 urging another, so bloody, black, and fatal 
 as that of the faction which now domineer- 
 ed in Paris, and constrained men, whose 
 prejudices of birth or education were in 
 favour of freedom, to loathe the very name 
 of France, and of the Revolution. 
 
 The tame and dishonourable retreat of 
 the Duke of Brunswick and his Prussians, 
 naturally elated the courage of a proud and 
 martial people. Recruits flowed into the 
 Republican ranks from every department ; 
 and the generals, Custine on the Rhine, 
 and Montesquieu on the side of Savoy, with 
 Dumouriez in the Netherlands, knew how- 
 to avail themselves of these reinforce- 
 ments, which enabled them to assume the 
 offensive on all parts of the extensive south- 
 eastern frontier of France. 
 
 The attack of Savoy, whose sovereign, 
 the King of Sardinia, was brotlier-in-law of 
 the Comte d'Artois, and had naturally been 
 active in the cause of the Bourbons, was 
 successfully commenced, and carried on 
 by General Montcsquiou already mention- 
 ed, a Frencli noble, and an aristocrat of 
 course by birth, and as it was believed, by 
 principle, but to whom, nrvertiicless, the 
 want of experienced leaders had compelled 
 the ruling- party at ,Pari3 to commit the 
 command of an army. He served them 
 well, possessed himeelf of Nice and Cham- 
 beri, and threatened even Italy. 
 
 On the centre of the same line of fron- 
 tier, Custine, an excellent soldier and a 
 fierce republican, took Spires, Oppenheim, 
 Worms, finally the strong city of Pvlentz, 
 and spread dismay through that portion of 
 the Germanic empire. Adopting the re- 
 publican language of the day, he thunderud 
 forth personal vengeance, denounced in 
 the most broad and msulting terms, against 
 such princes of the Germanic body as had 
 distinguished themselves by zeal against 
 the Revolution ; and what was equally for- 
 midable, he prcaclied to their subjects the 
 flattering and exciting doctrines of the Re- 
 publicans, and invited them to join in the 
 sacred league of the oppres<ied people 
 against princes and magistrates, who had so 
 long iield over them an usurped power. 
 
 But the successes of Dumouriez were of 
 a more decided and more grateful character 
 to the ruling men in the Convention. Ho 
 had a heavier task th.an either Custine or 
 Montesquieu ; but his lively and fertile 
 imagination had already devised modes of 
 conquest with the imperfect means he pos- 
 
 sessed. The difference between com- 
 manders is tlie same as between mechan- 
 ics. A workman of commonplace tal- 
 ents, Jiowever expert custom and habit 
 may have made him in the use of his ordi- 
 nary tools, is at a loss when deprived of 
 those which he is accustomed to work with. 
 The man of invention and genius finds out 
 resources, and contrives to make such im- 
 plements as the moment supplies answer 
 his purpose, as well, and perhaps better, 
 than a regular chest of working utensils. 
 The ideas of the ordinary man are like a 
 deep-rutted road, through which his ima- 
 gination moves slowly, and without depart- 
 ing from the track ; thtftee of the man of 
 genius are like an avenue, clear, open, and 
 .^inoot'i, on which he may traverse as occsi- 
 sion requires. 
 
 Dumouriez was a man of genius, re- 
 source, and invention ; Clairfait, who was 
 opposed to him, a brave and excellent sol- 
 dier, hut who had no idea of strategic or tac- 
 tics, save those current during the Seven 
 Ve.-.rs War. The former knew so well 
 how to employ the fire and eagerness of his 
 Carmagnoles, of whose blood he was by n» 
 means chary, and how to prevent the con- 
 sequences of their want of discipline, by 
 reservps of his most steadyund experienc- 
 ed troops, that he gave Clairfait a signal 
 defeat at Jemappes, on the 6th November, 
 179ii. 
 
 It was then that both Austria and Europe 
 had reason to regret the absurd policy of 
 Josepii 11.. both in indisposing the inhabit- 
 ants towards his government, and, in the 
 fine provinces of tlie Austri.an Netherlands, 
 dismantlui'^ the iron girdle of fortified 
 towns, with which the wis-dom of IiLurope 
 had invested the frontier. Clairfait, who, 
 though defeated, was too good a disciplina- 
 rian to be routed, had to retreat on a coun- 
 try unfriendly lo the .Austrians, from recol- 
 lection of their own recent insurrection, 
 and divested of all garrison towns ; which 
 must have been severe checks, particularly 
 at this period, to the incursion of a revolu- 
 tionary army, more fitted to win b.attles by 
 its impetuosity, than to overcome obstacles 
 which could only be removed by long and 
 patient sieges, 
 
 .\s matters stood, the battle of Jamappcs 
 was won, and the Austrian Netherlands were 
 fully conquered without further combat by 
 the Frencli treneral. We shall leave him in 
 his triumph, and return to the fatal scenes 
 actinjj in Paris.
 
 118 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BLONAPARTF.. 
 
 [Chap. XIL 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Jacobins determine upon the Execution of Lovis. — Progress and Rtasom of the King $ 
 Unpopularity. — Girondists taken by surprise, by a proposal for the Abolition of Roy- 
 alty made by the Jacobins. — Proposal carried. — Thoughts on the Nein System of Gov- 
 ernment — Compared unth that of Rome, Greece, America, and other Republican 
 States. — Enthusiasm throughout France at the Change— Follies it gave birth to — And 
 Crimes. — Momiments of Art destroyed. — Madame Roland interposes to save the Life 
 qfthc King.—Darrcre. — Girondists move for a Departmental Legion — Carried — Re- 
 voked—and Girondists defeated.— The Authority of the Community of Paris para- 
 mount even over the Convention. — Documents of the Iron-Chest. — Parallel betwixt 
 Charles I. and Louis XVL — Motion by Pcthion, that the King should be Tried before 
 the Convention. 
 
 It is generally to be remarked, that Crime, 
 as well as Religion, has her sacramental as- 
 sociations, fitted for the purposes to which 
 ■ho desires to pledge her votaries. When 
 Catiline imposed an oath on his fellow- 
 conspirators, a slave was murdered, and his 
 blood mingled witii the beverage in which 
 they pledged each other to their treason 
 against the republic. The most desperate 
 mutineers and pirates loo have believed, 
 that by engaging their associates in some 
 crime of a deep and atrocious nature, so 
 contrary to the ordinary feelings of human- 
 ity as to strike with horror all who should 
 hear of it, they made their allegiance more 
 completely their own ; and, as remorse is 
 useless where retreat is impossible, that 
 tJiey thus rendered them in future the des- 
 perat{» and unscrupulous tools, necessa- 
 ry for the desperate designs of their lead- 
 ers. 
 
 In like manner, the Jacobins,— who had 
 now full possession of the passions and 
 2onfidence of the lower orders in France, 
 IS well as of all those sDirits among the 
 nigher classes, who, whether desirous of 
 promotion by exertions in the revolutionary 
 path, or whether enthusia'-ts whose imagin- 
 atioa !iad become heated with the extrava- 
 gant doctrines that had been current during 
 tiiese feverish times, — the Jacobins resolv- 
 ed to engage their adherents, and all whom 
 thoy influenced, in proceeding to the death 
 of the unfortunate Louis. They had no 
 reason to doubt that they might excite the 
 populace to desire and demand that final 
 uacrifice. and to consider the moment of 
 its being offered as a time of jubilee. Nor 
 vff.rn the belter classes likely to take a 
 warm cr decisive interest in the fate of 
 their unli.ippy prince, so long the object of 
 unpopularity. 
 
 From llie beginning of the Revolution, 
 down to the total overthrow of the throne, 
 Sr.sl t!ie power of tl)e Kin^, and afterwards 
 bis person and the measures to which he i 
 resorted, were the constant subject of at- 
 tack by the parties who successively forced 
 tluimsflveR into his administration. Each 
 faction accused the other during the time 
 of their brief sway, of attempts to extend 
 the power and tlie privileges of the Crown ; 
 which was thus under a perpetual siege, 
 though carried on by distinct and opposite 
 factions, olie of wliom regularly occupied 
 the lines of attack, to dislodge the others, 
 w fast as they obtained successively pos- 
 
 session of the ministry. Thus the Third 
 Estate overcame the two privileged clash- 
 es, in behalf of the people and against the 
 Crown ; La Fayette and the Constitution- 
 alists triumphed over the Moderates, who 
 desired to afford the King the shelter and 
 bulwark of an intermediate Senate ; and 
 then, after creating a Constitution as demo- 
 cratical as it could be, leaving a name and 
 semblance of Royalty, they sunk under the 
 Girondists, who were disposed altogether 
 to dispense with that symbol. In this way 
 it appeared to the people that the King was 
 their natural enemy, and that the royal in- 
 terest was directly opposed to a revolution 
 which had brought them sundry advantages, 
 besides giving them the t'eelings and con- 
 sequence of freemen. In this manner, one 
 of the mildest and best-disposed monarcha 
 that ever swayed a sceptre, became exposed 
 to general suspicion and misconstruction in 
 his measures, and (as is sure speedily to 
 follow) to personal contempt, and even ha- 
 tred. Whatever the King did in compli- 
 ance with the current tide of Revolution, 
 was accounted as fraudful complaisance, do- 
 signed to blind the nation. Whatever op- 
 position he made to that powerful impulse, 
 was accounted an act of open treason 
 against the sovereignty of the people. 
 
 His position, with regard to the invading 
 powers, was enough of itself to load hiro 
 with obloquy and suspicion. It is true, that 
 he was called, and professed himself, the 
 willing King of a popular, or democratic 
 monarchy ; but in the proclamations of hia 
 allies, he was described as a monarch im- 
 prisoned, degraded, and almost dethroned. 
 To achieve his liberty (as they affirmed,) 
 and to re-establish his rights, the Emperor 
 his brother-in-law, the King of Prussia hia 
 ally, and above all. his brothers, the I*rin- 
 ces of the Blood of France, were in arms, 
 and had sent numerous armies to the fron- 
 tiers. It was scarcely possible, in tlie ut- 
 most extent of candour, that the French 
 people should give Louis credit for desiring 
 the success of the revolutionary cause, by 
 which not only his power had been circum- 
 scribed, but his person had been placed un- 
 der virtual restraint, against forces armed 
 avowedly for his safety and liberty, as well 
 as the restoration of his power. W(! cari 
 allow as mucli to the dismterestedness of 
 Louis, as to any whose feelings and right* 
 v/cre immediately concerned with the point 
 at issue 4 and we admit that all concession*
 
 Chap. XII.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 119 
 
 which he made to the popular cause, be- 
 fore the National Assembly had asserted a 
 paramount authority over his, were willing- 
 ly and freely granted. But after the march 
 from Versailles, he must have been an en- 
 thusiast for public liberty of a very uncom- 
 mon character, if we could suppose him 
 seriously wishing the defeat of his brothers 
 and allies, and the victory of those who 
 had deprived him first of authority, and then 
 of freedom. 
 
 A single glance at his-situation must have 
 convinced the people of France, that Louis 
 could scarcely be sincere in desiring the 
 continuance of the system to which he had 
 given his adhesion as a sovereign ; and the 
 consciousness that they could not expect 
 confidence where they themselves had 
 made ungenerous use of their power, added 
 force to their suspicions, and acrimony to 
 the deep resentments which arose out of 
 them. The people had identified them- 
 selves and their dearest interests (riyht or 
 wrong, it signifies little to the result) with 
 the Revolution, and with the increasing 
 freedom which it bestowed, or r?.thcr prom- 
 ised to bestow, in every succeeding change. 
 The King, who had been tlie regular oppo- 
 nent of every one of these innovations, was 
 in ccTisequence regarded as the natural en- 
 emy of the country, who, if he continued 
 to remain at the helm of the executive gov- 
 ernment, did so with tlie sole view of run- 
 ning the vessel upon the rocks. 
 
 If there were any men in France gener- 
 ous enough to give the King credit for com- 
 plete good faith with the Constitutionalists, 
 nis flight from Paris, and the manifestos 
 which he left behind him, protesting against 
 the measures in which lie had acquiesced, 
 as extorted from him by constraint, gave 
 open pi oof of Louis's real feelings. It is 
 true, the King denied any purpose of leav- 
 ing the kingdom, or throwing himscll" into 
 the hands of the foreign powers ; but it 
 could escape no one, that such a step, how- 
 ever little it was calculated upon in the com- 
 mencement of his flight, might very easily 
 have become inevitable before its comple- 
 tion. It does not appear from the beha- 
 viour of the escorts of dragoons and hus- 
 sars, that there was any attachment among 
 the troops to the King's person ; and had 
 tlie mutiny of Bouille's forces against that 
 general's authority taken place after the 
 King reached the camp, the only safety of 
 Louis must have been in a retreat into the 
 Austrian territory. This chnnce was so ev- 
 ident, that Bouille iiimself had provided 
 for it. by requesting that the Austrian for- 
 ces might be so disposed as to afibrd tlie 
 King protection, sliouKl the emergency oc- 
 cur. Whatever, therefore, might be the 
 King's first e\periment, the point to which 
 he directed his flight bore out those, who 
 ■unposed and asserted that it must iiave ul- 
 timately tcrr.iinated in his reunion with his 
 brothers; and that such a conclusion must 
 have repeatedly occurred to the King's 
 thoughts. 
 
 But if the King was doubted and suspect- 
 ed before he gave this decisive proof of his 
 <liaincliaation to the Constitution, there had 
 
 surely happened nothing in the course of 
 his being seized at Varennes, or the circum- 
 stances of his reception at Paris, tending t* 
 reconcile him to the Constitutional Crown, 
 which was a second time proffered him, ana 
 which he again, with all its duties ajid acta 
 of self-denial, solemnly accepted. 
 
 We have before hinted, that the Kind's 
 assuming of new the frail and barren scej>- 
 tre, proffered to him under the most humil- 
 iating circumstances, was a piece of indif- 
 ferent policy. There occurred almost no 
 course of conduct by which, subjected aa 
 he was to general suspicion, he could show 
 himself once more to his people in a clear 
 and impartial point of view — each of his 
 measures was sure to be tho theme of the 
 most malignant commentary. If his con- 
 duct assumed a popular aspect, it was ac- 
 counted an act of princelv hypocrisy; if it 
 was like his opposition to the departmental 
 army, it would have been held as intended 
 to weaken the defence of the country ; if 
 it rcseinbied liis rejection of the decrees 
 against tlie emigrants and refractory priests, 
 then it might be urged as inferring a direct 
 intention ■fcf bringing back the old despotia 
 system. 
 
 In sliort, all confidence was lost betweea 
 the sovereign and the people, from a con- 
 currence of unhappy circumstances, in 
 which it would certainly be unjust to cast 
 the blame exclusively on either party, since 
 there existed so many grounds for dis- 
 trust and misunderstanding on both sides. 
 The noble and generous confidence which 
 Frenchmen had been wont to repose in th« 
 personal character of tlieir monarch, (that 
 confidence, which the probity of no man 
 cciild deserve more than that of Louis,) 
 was withered, root and branch ; or those in 
 whose breasts it still flourished v.ere ban- 
 ished men, and had carried the Oriflamme, 
 and the ancient spirit of French chivalry, 
 into a camp I'.ot her own. The rest of the 
 nation, a scattered and intimidated remnant 
 of Royalists excepted, were Constitutional- 
 ists, wlio, friends rather to the crown than 
 to the King as an individual, wished to pre- 
 serve the form of government, but without 
 either zeal or attachment to Louis ; or Gi- 
 rondists, who detested his office as Repnb- 
 licans ; or Jacobins, who hated his person. 
 Kvery one, therefore, assailed Louis ; and 
 it was held enrolling himself amongst aris- 
 tocrats, the most avowed and hated enemies 
 of the new order of things, if any one lifted 
 a voice in his defence, or even apology. 
 
 To this the influence of the revolutionary 
 clubs, amounting to so many thousands, 
 and of the daily press, almost the only kind 
 of literature which France had left, added 
 the full tribute of calumny and inculpation. 
 The Jacobins attacked the person of tho 
 King from the very commencement of the 
 Revolution; for they desired that Louis 
 should be dethroned, even when some 
 amongst them were leagued for placing Or- 
 leans in his room. The Girondists, on the 
 contrary, would have been well contented 
 to spare the person of Louis ; but they urg- 
 ed arsument after argument in the jour- 
 nal which they directed, against the royal
 
 120 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chop. xn. 
 
 office. But upon the whole, the King, 
 whether in his royal or personal character, 
 had been bo long and Uniformly calumniated 
 and misinterpreted, that through most parts 
 of France he was esteemed the enemy 
 whom the people had most to dread, and 
 whom they were most interested to get rid 
 of. In evidence of which it may be added, 
 that during all successive changes of par- 
 ties, for the next year or two, the cliarge 
 of a disposition towards royalty was always 
 made an aggravation of the accusations 
 which the parties brought against each oth- 
 er, amd was considered as so necessary an 
 ingredient of the charge, that it was not 
 omitted even when circumstances rendered 
 it impossible. 
 
 Both partios in tlie Convention were thus 
 prepared to acquire popularity, by gratify- 
 ing the almost uni/ersal prejudices. against 
 monarchy, and against the Ring. The Gi- 
 rondists, constant to the Pvepublican princi- 
 ples they entertained, had resolved to abol- 
 ish the throne ;, but their audacious rivals 
 were prepared to go a step beyond them, 
 by gratifying the popular spirit of venge- 
 ance v.hich tlieir own calumnies had in- 
 creased to such a pitch, by taking the life 
 of the dethroned monarch. This was the 
 great national crime which was to serve 
 P'rance for a republican baptism", and which, 
 once committed, was to be regarded as an 
 act of definite and deadly ndliesion to the 
 cau.ie of tl'.c Re\olution. But not content- 
 ed %vith taking measures for the death of 
 the monarch, this desperate but active fac- 
 tion resolved to anticipate their rivals in 
 the proposal for the abolition of royalty. 
 
 The Girondists, who counted much on 
 the popularity which they ^yere to attain 
 by this favourite measure, were so far from 
 tearing the anticipation of tlie Jacobins, 
 that, under the idea of Orleans having 
 some interest remaining with Danton and 
 others, they rather expected some opposi- 
 tion on their part. But what was their sur- 
 prise and mortification when* Manuel 
 arose, and demanded tliat the first proposal 
 submitted to the Convcnt'.f.n should be the 
 abolition of royalty! Ere the Girondists 
 could recover from their surprise, Collot 
 d'Herb jis, a sorry comedian, who had been 
 hissed from the stage, desired the motion 
 to be instnntlv put to the vote. The Gi- 
 rondists, anticipated in their scheme, had 
 no resource left but to be clamorous in ap- 
 plaudinij; the motion, lest their hesitation 
 bad brought their republican zeal into ques- 
 tion. Thus all thev could do was but to 
 save their credit with tlie popular party, at 
 a time when they expected to increase it 
 to such a licight. Their antagonists had 
 been so alert as to steal the game out of 
 thoir h.-iiids. 
 
 The violence with which the various or- 
 ators expressed themselves against monar- 
 chy of every complexion, and kings in gen- 
 oral, wa-s such as to shov/, either that they 
 were in no state of mind composed enough 
 to decide on a great national measure, or 
 that the horrors of the massacres, scarce 
 
 * Slst September, 1792. 
 
 ten days remote, impressed on them the 
 danger of being lukewarm in the cause of 
 the sovereign people, who were not %nly 
 judges without resort, but the prompt exe- 
 cutioners of their own decrees. 
 
 The Abbe Gregoire declared, that the 
 dynasties of kings were a race of devouring 
 animals, who fed on the blood of the peo- 
 ple ; and that kings were in the moral order 
 of things what monsters are in the physic- 
 al — that courts were the arsenals of Crimea, 
 and the centre of corruption — and that the 
 history of princes was the martyrology of 
 the people. Finally, tliat all the members 
 of the Convention, being fully sensible of 
 these self-evident truths, it was needless 
 to delay even kx a moment the vote of ab- 
 olition, reserving it to more leisure to put 
 their declaration into better form. Ducoa 
 exclaimed, that the crimes of Louis alone 
 formed a sufficient reason for the abolition 
 of monarchy. The motion was received 
 and passed unanimously ; and each side of 
 the Hall, anxious to manifest their share in 
 this great measure, echoed back to the oili- 
 er the new war-cry of Vivt la Republique ! 
 Thus fell, at the voice of a wretched play- 
 er and cut-throat, backed by that of a rene- 
 gade priest, the most ancient and most dis- 
 tinguished monarchy of Europe. A few 
 remarks may be permitted upon the new 
 government, the adoption of which had 
 been welcomed with so much gratulation. 
 
 It has been said, that the government 
 which is best administered is best. This 
 maxim is true for the time, but for the time 
 only ; as good administration depends often 
 on the life of individuals, or other circum- 
 stances in themselves mutable. One would 
 rather incline to say, that the government 
 is best calculated to produce the happiness 
 of a nation, which is best adapted to the 
 existing state of the country which it gov- 
 erns, and possesses at the same time such 
 internal means of regeneration as may ena- 
 ble it to keep pace with the changes of 
 circumstances, and accommodate itself to 
 the unavoidable alterations which must oc- 
 cur in a progressive state of society. In 
 this point of view, and even in the patri- 
 archal circle, the most natural for.n of gov- 
 ernment, in the early periods of society, ars 
 Monarchy, or a Republic. The father is 
 head of his own family, the assembled 
 council of the fathers governs the republic ; 
 or the patria potestas of the whole state ia 
 bestowed jpon some successful warrior or 
 eminent legislator, who becomes king of 
 the tribe. But a republic, in the literal ac- 
 ceptation, which supposes all the individu- 
 als subject to its government to be consult- 
 ed in council upon all afTairf. of the public, 
 cannot survive the most early period of 
 existence. It is only to be found around 
 the council-fire of a North American tribe 
 of Indians ; and even there, the old men 
 forming a sort of senate, have already es- 
 tablished a sort of aristocracy. .\s society 
 advances, and tlie little state extends itiiclt', 
 ordinary matters of government are confid- 
 ed to delegates, or exclusively grasped by 
 some of the higher orders of the state. 
 Rome, when she dismissed the Tarquiiu,
 
 Chap. Xn.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 121 
 
 the period to which the Girondists were i 
 fond of assimilating that of the French Rev- 
 olution, had already its privileged body of 
 patricians, its senate, from which were ex- 
 clusively chosen the consuls ; until at a 
 later period, and at the expense of many 
 feuds with the patricians, the plebeians suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining for their order many 
 advantages. But the state of Rome was 
 not more republican, in the proper sense, 
 than before these concessions. The cor- 
 porate citizens of Rome were indeed ad- 
 mitted into some of the privileges of the 
 nobles ; but the quantity of territory and of 
 population over which these citizens ex- 
 tended their dominion, was so great, that 
 the rural and unrepresented part of the in- 
 habitants quite outnumbered that of the cit- 
 izens who voted in the Comitia, and consti- 
 tuted the source of authority. There was 
 the whole body of slaves, who neither were 
 nor could be represented, being considered 
 by the law as no farther capable of political 
 or legal rights, than a herd of so many cat- 
 tle j and there were tlie numerous and ex- 
 tensive dominions, over which, under the 
 name of auxiliaries, Rome exercised a right 
 of absolute sovereignty. In fact, the so 
 called democracy was rather an oligarchy, 
 dispersed more widely than usual, and vest- 
 ing the government of an immense empire 
 in a certain limited number of the inhabit- 
 ants of Rome called citizens, bearing a very 
 sniall proportion in bulk to the gross num- 
 ber of the inhabitants. These privileged 
 persons in some degree lived upon their 
 votes ; — the ambitious caressed them, fed 
 them, caught their eyes with magnificent 
 exhibitions, and their ears with extravagant 
 eloquence, and by corrupting their princi- 
 ples, at last united the small class of privi- 
 leged citizens themselves, under the very 
 bondage in which they had long kept their 
 extensive empire. There is no one period 
 of the Roman republic, in which it can be 
 said, considering the number of the persons 
 governed relatively to those who had as 
 citizens a share of that government by vote, 
 or capacity of bearing office, that the peo- 
 ple, as a whole, were fairly and fully rep- 
 resented. 
 
 All other republics of which we have 
 any distinct account, including the cele- 
 brated states of Greece, were of so small a 
 size, that it was by no means difficult to 
 consult the citizens to a considerable ex- 
 tent in the affairs of the state. Still this 
 right of being consulted was retained among 
 the free citizens of Greece. Slaves, who 
 amounted to a very large proportion of the 
 inhabitants, were never permitted any in- 
 terference there, more than in Rome. Now, 
 as it was by slaves that the coarser, more 
 debasing, and more sordid parts of the la- 
 bour of the community were performed, 
 there were thus excluded from the privi- 
 lege of citizens almost all those, who, by 
 constant toil, and by the sordid character 
 of the employments to which their fate 
 condemned them, might be supposed inca- 
 pable of exercising political rights with due 
 feelings of reflection and of independence. 
 |t is not too much to say, ia conclusion, 
 Vol. I. V 
 
 that excepting in the earliest stage of hu- 
 man society, there never existed a commu- 
 nity, in which was to be found that liberty 
 and equality, which the French claimed fbr 
 each individual in the whole extent of their 
 empire. 
 
 Not only the difficulty or impossibility 
 of assigning to every person in France an 
 equal portion of political power, was one 
 against which antiquity had never attempt- 
 ed to struggle, but the wealth and size of 
 the French empire were circumstances 
 which experience induced wise statesmen 
 to conclude against the favourable issue of 
 the experiment. These memorable repub- 
 lics, which Montesquieu compliments with 
 being ibrraed upon virtue, as the leading 
 principle, inhabited the modest and seques- 
 tered habitations where virtue is most often 
 found. In mountainous countries like those 
 of the Swiss, where the inhabitants are 
 nearly of the same rank, and not very much 
 disproportioned in substance, and where 
 they inhabit a small district or territory, a 
 republic seems the most natural form of 
 government. Nature has to a certain ex- 
 tent established an equality among the fa- 
 thers of such a society, and there is no rea- 
 son why policy should supplant it. In 
 their public meetings, they come togetlier 
 upon the same general footing, and possess 
 nearly the same opportunity of forming a 
 judgment; and the affairs of such a stat'j 
 are too simple, and too little complicated, 
 to require frequent or prolonged discus 
 sions. The same applies to small states 
 like Geneva, and some of the Dutch prov- 
 inces, where the inequality of wealth, if it 
 exists in some instances, is qualified by the 
 consideration, that it is gained in the same 
 honourable pursuit of mercantile traific, 
 where all fortunes are founded on the same 
 commercial system, and where the chance 
 that has made one man rich yesterday, may 
 to-morrow depress him and raise another. 
 Under such favorable circumstances, re- 
 publics may exist long and happily, provid- 
 ing they can prevent luxury from working 
 the secret dissolution of their moral princi- 
 ples, or the exterior force of more powerful 
 neighbours from swallowing up their little 
 community in the rage of conquest. 
 
 America must certainly be accounted a 
 successful attempt to estiiblish a republic 
 on a much larger scale than those we have 
 mentioned. But that great and flounshirifr 
 empire consists, it mut-.t be remembered, of 
 a federative union of many slates, which, 
 though extensive in territory, are compara- 
 tively thin in occupants. There do not ex- 
 ist in America, in the sdme degree, those 
 circumstances of a dense ^nd degraded pop- 
 ulation, which occasion in the old nation-i 
 of Europe such an infinite difference of 
 knowledge and ignorance, of wealth the 
 most exuberant, and indigence the most 
 horrible. No man in America need he poor, 
 if he has a hatchet r.nd anna to use it. The 
 wilderness is to him the same retreat whicli 
 the world afforded to our first parents. His 
 family, if he has one. is wealth; if he is 
 unencumbered with wife or children, he is 
 the more easily provided for. A maa who
 
 122 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XII. 
 
 wisiies to make a large fortune, may be dis- 
 appointed in America ; but he who seeks, 
 With a moderate degree of industry, but the 
 wants which nature demands, is certain to 
 fifid them. An immense proportion of the 
 population of the United States consists of 
 agriculturalists, who live upon tiieir own 
 property, which is generally of moderate 
 extent, and cultivated by their own labour. 
 Such a situation is peculiarly favourable to 
 republican habits. The man who feels 
 himself really independent, — and so must 
 each American who can use a spade or an 
 axe, — will please himself with the mere 
 exertion of his free-will, and form a strong 
 contrast to the hollowing, bawling, bluster- 
 ing rabble of a city, where a dram of liquor, 
 or the money to buy a meal, is sure to pur- 
 chase the acclamation of thousands, whose 
 situation in the scale of society is too low 
 to permit their thinking of their political 
 right as a thing more valuable than to be 
 bartered against the degree of advantage 
 tliey may procure, or of license which they 
 may exercise, by placing it at the disposal 
 of one candidate or another. 
 
 Above all, before considering the case 
 of America as parallel with that of France, 
 the statesmeB of the latter country should 
 have observed one great and radical differ- 
 ence. In America, after the great change 
 in their system had been effected by shak- 
 ing off the sovereignty of the mother coun- 
 try, the States arranged their new govern- 
 ment so as to make the least possible alter- 
 ation in the habits of their people. They 
 left to future and more convenient opportu- 
 nity, what farther innovations this great 
 uiiange might render necessary ; being 
 more desirous to fix the general outlines of 
 a firm and orderly government, although 
 containing some anomalies, than to cast all 
 existing authorities loose, in order that they 
 might produce a constitution more regular 
 in theory, but far less likely to be put into 
 effectual execution, than those old forms 
 under which the people had grown up, and 
 to which they were accustomed to render 
 regular obedience. They abolished no no- 
 bility, for they had none in the Colonies to 
 abolish ; but in fixing the basis of their con- 
 stitution, they balanced the force and im- 
 pulse of the representative body of the 
 States by a Senate, designed to serve the 
 purposes answered by the House of Lords 
 in the British Constitution. The govern- 
 ors of the different States also, in whose 
 power the executive government of each was 
 reposed, continued to exercise the same du- 
 ties as before, without much other chann;o, 
 than that they were named by their fellow- 
 citizens, instead of being appointed by the 
 sovereign of the mother country. The 
 Congress exercised the rights which suc- 
 cess had given them over the loyalists, 
 with as much temperance as could be ex- 
 pected after the rage of a civil war. Above 
 all, the mass of the American population 
 was in a sound healthy state, and well fit- 
 ted to bear their share in the exercise of 
 political rights. They were independent, 
 as we have noticed, and had comparatively 
 fewiastancee amongst them of great wealth, 
 
 contrasted with the most degrading indi- 
 gence. They were deeply imbued with a 
 sense of religion, and the morality which is 
 its fruit. They had been brought up under 
 a free government, and in the exercise of 
 the rights of freemen 5 and their fancies 
 were not liable to be excited, or their un- 
 derstandings made giddy, with a sudden el- 
 evation to privileges, the nature of which 
 was unknown to them. The republic of 
 America, moreover, did not consist of one 
 huge and populous country, with an over- 
 grown capital, where the Legislative Body, 
 cooped up in its precincts like prisoners, 
 were liable to be acted upon by the ap- 
 plauses or threats of a desperate rabble. 
 Kach state of America carries on its own 
 immediate government, and enjoys unmo- 
 lested the privilege of adopting such plans 
 as are best suited to their own peculiar sit- 
 uation, without embarrassing themselves 
 with that ideal uniformity, that universal 
 equality of rights, which it was the vain 
 object of the French Constituent Assem- 
 bly to establish. The Americans know 
 that the advantage of a constitution, like 
 that of a garment, consists, neither in 
 the peculiarity of the fashion, nor in the 
 fineness of the texture, but in its being well 
 adapted to tlie person w!io receives pro- 
 tection from it. In short, the sagacity of 
 Washington was not more apparent in his 
 military exploits, than in the manly and 
 wise pause which he made in the march of 
 revolution, so soon as peace gave an oppor- 
 tunity to interrupt its impulse. To replace 
 law and social order upon an established 
 basis, was as much the object of this great 
 general, as it seems to have been that of 
 the statesmen of Paris, civilians as they 
 were, to protract a period of insurrection, 
 murder, and revolutionary tyranny. 
 
 To such peculiarities and advantages as 
 those we have above stated, France oppos- 
 ed a direct contrast. Not only was the ex- 
 orbitant influence of such a capital as Paris 
 a bar to the existence of that republican 
 virtue which is the essence of a popular 
 form of government, but there was nothing 
 like fixed or settled principles in the minds 
 of the people of France at large. Every- 
 thing had. within the last few years, been 
 studiously and industriously altered from 
 the most solemn rites of the Church of 
 Koine, to the most trifling article of dress ; 
 from the sacrament of the mass to the fash- 
 ion of a shoe-tie. Religion was entirely 
 out of the question, and the very slightest 
 vestiges of an est:i!jlished church were 
 about to be demolished. Republican vir- 
 tue (with the exception of that of the sol-. 
 diers. whose valour did honour to the name) 
 consisted in wearing a coarse dress and 
 foul linen, swearing the most vulgar oaths, 
 obeying without scruple the most villain- 
 ous mandates of the Jacobin Club, and as- 
 suming the title, manner, and sentiments 
 of a real saus-culotte. The country was 
 besides divided into an infinite variety of 
 factions, and threatened with the plague of 
 civil war. The streets of the metropolis 
 had been lately the scene of a desperate 
 conflict, and yet morp recently of a (tonl*
 
 Chap. A'//.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 123 
 
 ble massacre. On the frontiers, the coun- 
 try was pressed by armies of invaders. It 
 was a crisis in which the Romans, with all 
 their love of freedom, would have called 
 in the asr'stance of a Dictator ; yet it was 
 then, when, without regarding either the 
 real wants of the country, or the temper 
 of its inhabitants, France was erected into 
 a Republic, a species of government the 
 most inconsistent with energetic, secret, 
 and successful councils. 
 
 These considerations could not have es- 
 caped the Girondists. Neither could they 
 be blind to the fact, that each republic, 
 whatever its pretensions to freedom, has 
 committed to some high officer of the state, 
 under the name of Doge, Stadtholder, Pres- 
 ident, or other title, the custody of the ex- 
 ecutive power ; from the obvious and unde- 
 niable principle, that, with safety to free- 
 dom, it cannot be lodged in the hands of 
 the Legislative Body. But knowing this to 
 be the case, they dared not even hint that 
 such a separation of powers was indispensa- 
 ble, aware that their fierce enemies, the Jac- 
 obins, while they would have seized on the 
 office without scruple, would, with the oth- 
 er hand, sign an accusation of leze-nation 
 against them for proposing it. Thus crude, 
 raw, and ill-considered, did one of the most 
 important changes that could be wrought 
 upon a country, pass as hastily through this 
 Legislative Body as the change of a decora- 
 tion in the theatre. 
 
 The alteration was, notwithstanding, 
 hailed by the community at large, as the 
 consummation of the high fortunes to which 
 France was called. True, half Europe was 
 in arms at her gates — but the nation who op- 
 posed their swords to them were become 
 republicans. True, the most frightful dis- 
 order had stalked abroad, in the shape of 
 armed slaughter — it was but the efferves- 
 cence and delirium of a republican con- 
 sciousness of freedom. Peculation had 
 crept into the finance, and theft had finger- 
 ed the diamonds of the state — but the name 
 of a republic was of itself sufficient to re- 
 store to the blackest Jacobin of the gang, 
 the moral virtues of a Cincinnatus. The 
 mere word Republic was now the universal 
 medicine for all evils which France could 
 complain of, and its regenerating opera- 
 tions were looked for with as much faith 
 and confidence, as if the salutary effects of 
 the convocation of the Estates of the King- 
 dom, once worshipped as a panacea with 
 similar expectations, had not deceived the 
 hopes of the country. 
 
 Meantime, the actors in the new drama 
 began to play the part of Romans with the 
 most ludicrous solemnity. The name of 
 citizen was now the universal salutation to 
 all classes -, even when a deputy spoke to a 
 shoe-black, that fond symbol of equality 
 was regulEU-lv exchanged betwixt them ; 
 and, in the ordinary intercourse of society, 
 there was the most ludicrous affectation of 
 Renublican brevity and simplicity. " When 
 you conquer Brussels," said CoUot d'Her- 
 bois, the actor, to General Dumouriez, 
 " my wife, who is in that city, has my per- 
 mission to reward you with a kiss," The 
 
 I general was ungallant enough not to profit 
 by this flattering permission. His quick 
 wit caught the ridicule of such an ejacula- 
 tion as that which Camus addressed to him : 
 " Citizen General,'' said the deputy, "thou 
 dost meditate the part of Caesar 3 but re- 
 member I will be Brutus, and plunge a 
 poniard in your bosom." — "My dear Ca- 
 mus," said the lively soldier, who had been 
 in worse dangers than were involved in this 
 classical threat, '• I am no more like Caesar 
 than you are like Brutus •, and an assurance 
 that I should live till you kill me, would be 
 equal to a brevet of immortality." 
 
 With a similar assumption of' republican 
 dignity, men graced their children, baptiz- 
 ed or unbaptized, with the formidable names 
 of Roman heroes, and the folly of Anachar- 
 sis Klootz seemed to become general 
 throughout the nation. 
 
 Republican virtues were of course adopt- 
 ed or affected. The duty of mothers nurs- 
 ing their own children, so eloquently in- 
 sisted on by Rousseau, and nevertheless so 
 difficult to practise under the forms of mod- 
 ern life, was generally adopted in Paris, 
 and as the ladies had no idea that this pro- 
 cess of parental attention was to interferp 
 with the usual round of entertainment, mo- 
 thers, with their infants dressed in the most 
 approved Roman costume, were to be seen 
 at the theatre, with the little disastrous vic- 
 tims of republican affectation, whose wail- 
 ings, as well as other embarrassments oc- 
 casioned by their presence, formed some- 
 times disagreeable interruptions to the 
 amusements of the evening, and placed tho 
 inexperienced matrons in an awkward situ- 
 ation. 
 
 These were follies to be laughed at. But 
 when men read Livy, for the sake of dis- 
 covering what degree of private crime might 
 be committed under the mask of public vir- 
 tue, the affair became more serious. The 
 deed of the younger Brutus served any man 
 as an apology to betray to ruin and to death 
 a friend, or a patron, whose patriotism 
 might not be of the pitch which suited the 
 time. Under the example of the elder 
 Brutus, the nearest ties of blood were re- 
 peatedly made to give way before the fe- 
 rocity of party zeal — a zeal too often as- 
 sumed for the most infamous and selfish 
 purposes. As some fanatics of vore studied 
 the Old Testament for the purpose of find- 
 ing examples of bad actions to vindicate 
 those which themselves were tempted to 
 commit, so the repirl)licans of France, we 
 mean the desperate and outrageous bigVits 
 of the Revolution, read history, to justify, 
 by classical instances, their public and pri- 
 vate crimes. Informers, those scourges of 
 a state, were encouraged to a degree scar-^e 
 known in ancient Rome in the time of the 
 Emperors, though Tacitus has huiled bin 
 thunders against them, as the poison and 
 pest of his time. Th-^ duty of lodging such 
 informations was unblushingly urged as in- 
 dispensable. The safety of the Republic 
 being the supreme charge of every citizen, 
 he was on no account to hesitate in ite- 
 nouncing, as it was termed, anyone whom- 
 soever, or howsoever connected with hiaiy
 
 i-24 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUOJNAFARTE. 
 
 — the I'rieiid of Ms counsels, o;- the wife of 
 ins bosom, — providing lie had reason to sus- 
 pect tliu devoted individual of the crime of 
 inciviimi, — a crime the more mysteriously 
 dreadful, that no one knew exactly its na- 
 ture. 
 
 The virtue, even of comparatively good 
 men. gave way under the temptations held 
 out by these fearful innovations on the 
 state of morals. The Girondists them- 
 selves did not scruple to avail themselves 
 of the villainy of others, when what they 
 called the cause of the country, in reality 
 that of their own faction, could be essen- 
 tially served by it ; but it was reserved for 
 the Jacobins to carry to the most hideous 
 extremity the principle which made an ex- 
 clusive idol of patriotism, and demanded 
 that every other virtue, as well as the most 
 tender and honourable dictates of feeling 
 and conscience, should be offered up at 
 the shrine of the Republic, as children were 
 of old made to pass through the fire to Mo- 
 loch. 
 
 Another eruption of republican zeal was 
 directed against the antiquities, and fine 
 arts of France. The name of King being 
 pronounced detestable, all the remembran- 
 ces of royalty were to be destroyed. The 
 task was committed to the rabble ; and al- 
 though a work dishonourable to their em- 
 ployers, and highly detrimental both to his- 
 tory and the fine arts, it was nevertheless 
 infinitely more harmless than those in 
 which the same agents had been lately em- 
 ployed. The royal sepulchres at Saint De- 
 nis, near Paris, the ancient cemetery of the 
 Bourbons, the Valois, and all the long line 
 of French monarchs, were not only defac- 
 ed on the outside, but utterly broken down, 
 the bodies exposed, the bones dispersed, 
 and the poor remains, even of Henry IV. 
 of Navarre, so long the idol of the French 
 nation, exposed to the rude gaze, and irrev- 
 erent grasp, of the banditti who commit- 
 ted the sacrilege. 
 
 Le Noire, an artist, had the courage to 
 interpose for preventing the total disper- 
 sion of the materials of those monuments, 
 80 valuable to history and to literature. He 
 procured, with difficulty, permission to pre- 
 serve and collect them in a house and 
 garden in the Rue des Petits Augustins, 
 where their mutilated remains continued in 
 safety till after the Restoration of the Bour- 
 bons. The enterprise was accomplished at 
 much personal risk ; for if the people he 
 had to deal with had suspected that the zeal 
 which he testified for the preservation of 
 the monuments, was rather that of a royal- 
 ist than of an antiquary, his idolatry would 
 have been punished by instant death. 
 
 But the demolition of those .ancient and 
 sacred monuments was comparatively a 
 trivial mode of showing hatred to royalty. 
 The vengeance of the Republicans was 
 directed against the emigrants, who, armed 
 or unarmed, or from whatever cause they 
 were absent from France, were now to be 
 at once confounded in a general set of de- 
 crees. 1. All emigrants taken in arms were 
 to suffer death within twenty-four hours. 
 2. Foreigners who had quitted the service 
 
 [Chap. XII. 
 
 of France since the Mth July 1789, were, 
 contrary to the law of nations, subjected to 
 the same penalty. 3. .All emigrants who 
 had sought refuge in foreign parts, were 
 banished for ever from their native coun- 
 try, without any distinction, or inquiry into 
 the cause of their absence. The effects of 
 these unfortunate exiles were already under 
 sequestration, and by the assignats which 
 were issued on the strength of Kiis spolia- 
 tion, Cambon, who managed the finances, 
 carried on the war, and supplied the expen- 
 ses of government. 
 
 The emigrants who had fled abroad, were 
 not more severely treated than those sup- 
 posed to share their.sentiments who had re- 
 mained at home. Persons suspected, from 
 whatever cause, or denounced by private 
 malice as disinclined to the new system, 
 were piled anew into the prisons, which 
 had been emptied on the 2d and 3d of Sep- 
 tember, and where the blood of their pred- 
 ecessors in misfortune was yet visible on 
 the walls. The refractory priests were par- 
 ticularly the objects of this species of op- 
 pression, and at length a summary decree 
 was made for transporting them in the masa 
 from the land of France to the unhealthy 
 colony of Guiana, in South America. Many 
 of these unfortunate men came to a more 
 speedy fate. 
 
 But the most august victims destined to 
 be sacrificed at the altar of republican vir- 
 tue, were the royal family in the Temple, 
 whose continuing in existence seemed, 
 doubtless, to the leaders, a daily reproach 
 to their procrastination, and an object to 
 which, when the present spirit should 
 abate, the affections of the bewildered peo- 
 ple might return with a sort of re-action. 
 The Jacobins resolved that Louis should 
 die, were it only that the world might see 
 they were not ashamed to attest, with a 
 bloody seal, the truth of the accusations 
 they had brought against him. 
 
 On the other hand, there was every rea- 
 son to hope that the Girondists would ex- 
 ert, in protection of the unhappy prince, 
 whatever vigour they derived from their 
 predominating influence in the Convention. 
 They were, most of them, men, whose phi- 
 losophy, though it had driven them on wild 
 political speculations, had not destroyed the 
 sense of moral right and wrong, especially 
 now that the struggle was ended betwixt 
 monarchy and democracy, and the only 
 question remaining concerned the use to be 
 made of their victory. Although they had 
 aided the attack on the Tuilleries, on the 
 10th of August, which they considered as a 
 combat, their hands were unstained with 
 the massacres of September, which, as we 
 shall presently see, they urged as an atro- 
 cious crime against their rivals, the Jaco- 
 bins. Besides, they had gained the prize, 
 and were in possession of the government - 
 and, like the (Constitutionalists before them 
 the Girondists now desired that here, a 
 length, the revolutionary career should ter 
 minate, and that the ordinary forms of lap 
 and justice should resume their usual chan- 
 nels through France ; yielding to the peo- 
 ple proteQtion for life, personal iibertj, anil
 
 Chap. XIl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 125 
 
 private property, and affording themselves, 
 who held the reins of government, the 
 means of guiding them honourably, safely, 
 and with advantage to fhe community. 
 
 The philosophical statesmen, upon whom 
 these considerations were not lost, felt 
 nevertheless great embarrassment in the 
 mode of interposing their protection in the 
 King's favour. Their republicanism was 
 the feature on which they most prided 
 themselves. They delighted to claim the 
 share in the downfall of Louis, which was 
 due to their colleagues Barbaroux, and tlie 
 Federates of Marseilles and Brest. It was 
 upon their accession to this deed that the 
 Girondists rested their claims to populari- 
 ty ; and with what front could they now 
 step forward the defenders, at the least the 
 apologists, of the King whom they had 
 aided to dethrone ; or what advantages 
 would not the Jacobins obtain over them, 
 when they represented them to the people 
 as lukewarm in their zeal, and as falling 
 off from the popular cause, in order to pre- 
 serve the life of the dethroned tyrant ? 
 The Girondist ministers felt these embar- 
 rassments, and suffered themselves to be 
 intimidated by them from making any open, 
 manly, and direct interference in the King's 
 cause. 
 
 A woman, and, although a woman, not the 
 least distinguished among the Girondist 
 party, had the courage to urge a decisive 
 and vigorous defence of the unliappy 
 Prince, without having recourse to the veil 
 of a selfish and insidious policy. This was 
 the wife of Roland, one of the most re- 
 markable women of her time. A worthless, 
 at least a careless father, and the doating 
 folly of her mother, had left her when 
 young to pick out such an education as she 
 could, among the indecencies and impieties 
 of French philosophy. Yet, though her 
 Memoirs afford revolting specimens of in- 
 delicacy, and exaggerated sentiments in 
 politics, it cannot be denied ihat the tenor 
 of her life was innocent and virtuous in 
 practice, and her sentiments unperverted, 
 when left to their natural course. She saw 
 the great question in its true and real posi- 
 tion ; she saw, that it was only by interpos- 
 ing themselves betwixt the Legislative 
 Body of France and the commission of a 
 great crime, that the Girondists could 
 either remain firm in the government, at- 
 tract the confidence of honest men of any 
 description, or have the least chance of 
 putting a period to the anarchy which was 
 devouring their country. " Save the life 
 of Louis," she said ; " save him by an open 
 and avowed defence. It is the only meas- 
 ure that can assure your safety — the only 
 course which can fix the stamp of public 
 virtue on your government." Those whom 
 she addressed listened with admiration ; 
 but, like one who has rashly climbed to a 
 height where his brain grows giddy, they 
 felt their own situation too tottering to per- 
 mit their reaching a willing hand to support 
 another, who was in still more imminent 
 peril. 
 
 Their condition was indeed precarious. 
 A large party in the Convention avowedly 
 
 supported them ; and in the Plain, as it 
 was called, a position held by deputies af- 
 fecting independence, both of the Giron- 
 dists and the Jacobins, and therefore occu- 
 pying the neutra ground betwixt them, 
 sate a large number, who, from the timidity 
 of temper which makes sheep and other 
 weak animals herd together in numbers, 
 had formed themselves iiito a faction, which 
 could at any time cast decision into either 
 scale which they favoured. But they ex- 
 ercised this power of inclining the balance 
 less with a view to carrying any political 
 point, than with that of securing their own 
 safety. In ordinary debates, they usually 
 gave their votes to the ministers, both be- 
 cause they were ministers, and also because 
 the milder sentiments of the Girondists 
 were more contjenial to the feelings of men, 
 who would gladly have seen peace and or- 
 der restored. But then 'hese timid mem- 
 bers of the Plain also assiduously courted 
 the Jacobins, avoided joining in any meas- 
 ure which should give them mortal offence, 
 and purchased a sort of immunity from their 
 revenge^ by showing plainly that they de- 
 served only contempt. In this neutral party 
 the gleanings of the defeated factions of 
 Moderates and of Constitutionalists were 
 chiefly to be found ; resigning themselves 
 to the circumstances of the moment, con- 
 sulting their own safety as they gave their 
 votes, and waiting, perhaps, till less disor- 
 derly days might restore to them the privi- 
 lege of expressing their actual sentiments. 
 The chief of tliese trucklers to fortune 
 was Barrere, a man of wit and eloquence, 
 prompt invention, supple opinions, and 
 convenient conscience. His terror of the 
 Jacobins was great, and his mode of dis 
 arming their resentment, so far as he and 
 the neutral party were concerned, was of- 
 ten very ingenious. When by argument 
 or by eloquence the Girondists had obtain- 
 ed some triumph in the Assembly,, which 
 seemed to reduce their adversaries to de- 
 spair, it was then Barrere, and the members 
 of the Plain, threw themselves between 
 the victors and vanquished, and, by some 
 proposal of an insidious and neutralizing 
 nature, prevented the completion of the 
 conquest, and afforded a safe retreat to the 
 defeated. 
 
 The majorities, therefore, which the Gi- 
 rondists obtained in the Assembly, being 
 partly eked out by this heartless and fluctuat- 
 ing band of auxiliaries, could never be sup- 
 posed to arm them with solid or effective au- 
 thority. It was absolutely necessary that 
 they should exhibit such a power of pro- 
 tecting themselves and those who should 
 join them, as might plainly show that the 
 force was on their side. This point once 
 established, they migh', reckon Barrere and 
 his party as faithful adherents. But while 
 the Jacobins retained the power of sur- 
 rounding the Convention at their pleasure 
 with an insurrection of the suburbs, with- 
 out the deputies possessing other means of 
 defence than arose out of their inviolability, 
 the adherence of those whose chief object 
 in voting was to secure their personal safe- 
 ty, was neither to be hoped nor expected.
 
 126 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XII. 
 
 The Girondists, therefore, looked anxiously 
 round, to secure, if it were possible, tlie 
 possession of such a force, to protect them- 
 selves and their timorous allies. 
 
 It has been thought, that a more active, 
 more artful body of ministers, and who 
 were better acquainted vtfith the mode of 
 carrying on revolutionary movements, might 
 at this period have secured an important 
 auxiliary, by detaching the formidable Dan- 
 ton from the ranks of the enemy, and re- 
 ceiving him into their own. It must be 
 observed, that the camp of the Jacobins 
 contained three separate parties, led each 
 by one of the triumvirs whom we have al- 
 ready described, and acting in concert, for 
 the common purpose of propelling the Rev- 
 olution by the same violent means which 
 had begun it — of unsheathing the sword of 
 terror, and making it pass for that of justice 
 — and, in the name of liberty, of letting 
 murder and spoil, under the protection of 
 armed ruffians of the basest condition, con- 
 tinue to waste and ravage the departments 
 of France. But although agreed in this 
 main object, the triumvirs were extremely 
 suspicious of each other, and jealous of the 
 rights each might claim in the spoil which 
 they contemplated. Danton despised Ro- 
 bespierre for his cowardice, Robespierre 
 feared the ferocious audacity of Danton ; 
 and with him to fear was to hate — and to 
 hate was — when the hour arrived — to de- 
 stroy. They differed in their ideas also of 
 the mode of exercising their terrible sys- 
 tem of go"fernment. Danton had often in 
 his mouth the sentence of Machiavel, that 
 when it becomes necessary to shed blood, 
 a single great massacre has a more dread- 
 ful effect than a series of successive execu- 
 tions. Robespierre, on the contrary, pre- 
 ferred the latter process as the best way of 
 sustaining the reign of terror. The appe- 
 tite of Marat could not be satiated but by 
 combining both modes of murder. Both 
 Danton and Robespierre kept aloof from the 
 sanguinary Marat. This position of the 
 chiefs of the Jacobins towards each other, 
 seemed to indicate, that one of the three 
 at least might be detached from the rest, 
 and might bring his ruffians in opposition 
 to those of his late comrades, in case of 
 any attempt on the Assembly ; and poli- 
 cy recommended Danton, not averse, it is 
 said, to the alliance, as the most useful 
 auxiliary. 
 Among the three monsters mentioned, 
 . Danton had that energy which the Giron- 
 I dists wanted, and was well acquainted with 
 I the secret movements of those insurrec- 
 ' tions to which they possessed no key. His 
 vices of wrath, luxury, love of spoil, dread- 
 ful as they were, are attributes of mortal 
 men; — the envy of Robespierre, and the 
 instinctive blood-thirstiness of Marat, were 
 the properties of fiends. Danton, like 
 the huge serpent called the Boa, might be 
 approached with a degree of safety when 
 gorged with prey — but the appetite of Ma- 
 rat for blood was like the horse-leech, 
 which says, Not enough — and the slaugh- 
 terous envy of Robespierre was like the 
 gnawing worm that dieth not and yields no 
 
 interval of repose. In glutting Danton 
 with spoil, and furnishing the means of in- 
 dulging his luxury, the Girondists might 
 have purchased his support; but nothing 
 under the supreme rule in France would 
 have gratified Robespierre ; and an unlim- 
 ited torrent of the ijlood of that unhappy 
 country could alone have satiated Marat. 
 If a colleague was to be chosen out of that 
 detestable triumvirate, unquestionably Dan- 
 ton was to be considered as the most eligi- 
 ble. 
 
 On the other hand, men like Brissot, 
 Vergniaud, and others, whose attachment 
 to republicanism was mixed with a spirit 
 of virtue and honour, might be well ad- 
 verse to the idea of contaminating their 
 party with such an auxiliary, intensely 
 stained as Danton was by his share in the 
 massacres of September. They might well 
 doubt, whether any physical force which 
 his revolutionary skill, and the arms it 
 could put in motion, might bring to their 
 standard, would compensate for the moral 
 horror with which the presence of such a 
 grisly proselyte must strike all who had 
 any sense of honour or justice. They, 
 therefore, discouraged the advances of 
 Danton, and resolved to comprise him with 
 Marat and Robespierre in the impeach- 
 ment against the Jacobin chiefs, which 
 they designed to bring forward in the As- 
 sembly. 
 
 The most obvious means by which the 
 Girondists could ascertain their safety, and 
 the freedom of debate, was by levying a 
 force from the several departments, each 
 contributing its quota, to be called a De- 
 partmental Legion, which was to be armed 
 and paid to act as a guard upon the Nation- 
 al Convention. The subject was introdu- 
 ced by Roland in a report* to the Assem- 
 bly, and renewed on the next day by Ker- 
 saint, a spirited Girondist, who candidly 
 declared the purpose of his motion : " It 
 was time," he said, "that assassins and 
 their prompters should see, that the law 
 had scaffolds." 
 
 The Girondists obtained, that a commit- 
 teei of six members should be named, to 
 report on the state of the capital, on the 
 encouragement afforded to massacre, and 
 on the mode of forming a departmental 
 force for the defence of the metropolis. 
 The decree was carried for a moment, but 
 on the next day the Jacobins demanded 
 that it should be revoked, denying that 
 there was any occasion for such a defence 
 to the Convention, and accusing the minis- 
 ters of an intention to surround themselves 
 with a force of armed satellites, in order 
 to overawe the good city of Paris, and car- 
 ry into effect their sacrilegious plan of dis- 
 membering Frnncc. Rebecqui and Barba- 
 roux replied to tliis charge by impe.aching 
 Robespierre, on their own testimony, of 
 aspiring to tlie post of Dict.-itor. The de 
 bate becanif! more tempestuous tlie more 
 that the tribunes or galleries of the hall 
 were filled with the violent followers of 
 the Jacobti party, who shouted, cursed, and 
 
 *24tli September
 
 Chap. Xliri 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BL'ONAPARTE. 
 
 127 
 
 velled.to back the exclamations and threats 
 of their leaders in the Assembly. While 
 the Girondists were exhausting themselves 
 to find out terms of reproach for Marat, that 
 prodigy stepped fo/th, and raised the disor- 
 der to the highest, by avowing himself the 
 author and advocate for a dictatorship. The 
 anger of the Convention seemed thorough- 
 ly awakened, and Vergniaud read to the 
 deputies an extract from Marat's journal, 
 in which, after demanding one hundred and 
 sixty thousand heads, which was his usual 
 stint, he abused the Convention in the gross- 
 est terms, and exhorted the people to act 
 — words ef which the import was by this 
 time perfectly understood. 
 
 This passage excited general horror, and 
 the victory for a moment seemed in the 
 hands of the Girondi.-;ts ; but they did not 
 pursue it with sufficient vigour. The meet- 
 ing passed to the order of the day ; and Ma- 
 rat, in ostentatious triumph, produced a 
 pistol, with which he said he would have 
 blown out his brains, had a decree of accu- 
 sation been passed against him. The Gi- 
 rondists not only lost the advantage of dis- 
 comfiting their enemies by the prosecution 
 of one of their most noted leaders, but 
 were compelled for the present to abandon 
 their plan of a departmental guard, and re- 
 sign tnemselves to the guardianship of the 
 faithful citizens of Paris. 
 
 This city of Paris was at the time under 
 the power of the intrusive Community, (or 
 Common Council,) many of whom had forc- 
 ed themselves into office on the 10th of 
 August. It was the first act of their admin- 
 istration to procure the assassination of 
 Mandat, the commandant of the National 
 Guard; and their accounts, still extant, 
 bear testimony, that it was by their instru- 
 mentality that the murderers of September 
 were levied and paid. Trained Jacobins 
 and pitiless ruffians themselves, this civic 
 body had raised to be their agents and as- 
 sistants an unusual number of municipal 
 officers, who were at once their guards, 
 their informers, their spies, their jailors, and 
 their executioners. They had, besides, ob- 
 tained a majority of the inhabitants in most 
 of the sections, whose votes placed them 
 and their agents in command of the Na- 
 tional Guard; and the pikemen of the sub- 
 urbs were always ready to second their 
 excellent Community, even against the 
 Convention itself, whicli, in point of free- 
 dom of action, or effective power, made a 
 figure scarcely more respectable than that 
 of the King after his return from Varennes. 
 Roland almost every day carried to the 
 Convention his vain complaints, that the 
 course of the kiw, for which he was respon- 
 sible, was daily crossed, thwarted, and im- 
 peded, by the proceedings of this usurping 
 body. The considerable funds of the city 
 itself, with those of its hospitals and other 
 public establishments of every kind, were 
 dilapidated by these revolutionary intru- 
 ders, and applied to their own purposes. 
 The Minister at length, in a formal report 
 to the Convention, inculpated the Commu- 
 nity in these and such-like offences. In 
 another part of the report, he intimated a 
 
 plot of the Jacobins to assassinate the Gi- 
 rondists, possess themselves of the govern- 
 ment by arms, and choose Robespierre dic- 
 tator. Louvet denounced Robespierre as 
 a traitor, and Barbaroux proposed a series 
 of decrees. The first declaring the Con- 
 vention free to leave any city, where they 
 should be e.vposed to constraint and vio- 
 lence. The second resolving to form a 
 (Jonventiona! guard. The third declaring, 
 that the Convention should form itself into 
 a court of justice, for trial of state crimes. 
 The fourth announcing, that in respect the 
 sections of Paris had declared their sit- 
 tings permanent, that resolution should be 
 abrogated. 
 
 Instead of adopting the energetic meas- 
 ures proposed by Barbaroux, the Conven- 
 tion allowed Robespierre several days for 
 his defence against Louvet's accusation, 
 and ordered to the bar* ten members of 
 the Community, from whom they were con- 
 tented to accept such slight apologies, and 
 evasive excuses, for their unauthorised in- 
 terference with the power of the Conven- 
 tion, as these insolent demagogues conde- 
 scended to offer. 
 
 The accusation of Robespierre, though 
 boldly urged by Louvet and Barbaroux, was 
 also eluded, by passing to the order of the 
 day ; and thus the Convention showed 
 plainly, that however courageous they had 
 been against their monarch, they dared not 
 protect the liberty which they boasted of, 
 against the encroachment of fiercer dema- 
 gogues than themselves. 
 
 Barbaroux endeavoured to embolden the 
 Assembly, by bringing once more from his 
 native city a body of those fiery Marseil- 
 lois, who had formed the vanguard of the 
 mob on the lOth of August. He succeeded 
 so far in his scheme, that a few scores of 
 those Federates again appeared in Paris, 
 where their altered demeanour excited sur- 
 prise. Their songs were again chanted, 
 their wild Moresco dances and gestures 
 again surprised the Parisians ; and the more, 
 as in their choruses they imprecated venge- 
 ance on the Jacobins, called out for mercy 
 to the " poor tyrant," so they termed the 
 King, and shouted in the cause of peace, 
 order, and the Convention. 
 
 The citizens of Paris, who could not rec- 
 oncile the songs and exclamations of the 
 Marseillois wiih their appearance and char- 
 acter, concluded that a snare was laid for 
 them, and abstained from uniting them- 
 selves with men, whose sincerity was so 
 suspicious. The Marseillois themselves, 
 discouraged with their cold reception, or 
 not liking their new trade of maintaining 
 order so well as their old one of oversetting 
 it, melted away by degrees, and were soon 
 no more seen or heard of. Some of the 
 Breton Federates, kept in the interest of 
 the Girondists, by their countrymen the 
 deputies Kersaint and Kervclagan, remain- 
 ed still attached to the Convention, though 
 their numbers were too few (o afford them 
 protection in any general danger. 
 If the Memoirs of Dumouriez are to be 
 
 *5th November.
 
 128 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 \chttp. xn. 
 
 relied on, that active and intriguing general 
 presented to the Girondists another re- 
 source, not free certainly from hazard or 
 difficulty to the Republican government, 
 which was the idol of these theoretical 
 statesmen, but affording, if his means had 
 proved adequate to the execution of his 
 plan^, a certain bulwrark against the en- 
 croachments of the hideous anarchy threat- 
 ened by the Jacobin ascendency. 
 
 General Dumouriez was sufficiently hated 
 oy the Jacobins, notwithstanding the suc- 
 cesses which he had gained on the part of 
 France over foreign enemies, to induce 
 him to feel the utmost desire of putting 
 down their usurped power ; but he was un- 
 der the necessity of acting with great cau- 
 tion. The bad success of La Fayette, de- 
 serted bv his army as soon as he attempted 
 to lead them against Paris, was in itself dis- 
 couraging ; but Dumouriez was besides con- 
 scious that the Jacobin clubs, together with 
 the commissioners of the Convention with 
 Danton at their head, had been actively 
 engaged in disorganizing his army, and di- 
 minishing his influence over them. Thus 
 circumstanced, he naturally resolved to 
 avoid haza^'ding any violent measure with- 
 out the support of the Convention, in case 
 of being deserted by his army. But he af- 
 firms that he repeatedly informed the Gi- 
 rondists, then predominant in the Assem- 
 bly, that if they could obtain a decree, but 
 of four lines, authorizing such a measure, 
 he was ready to march to Paris at the head 
 of a chosen body of troops, who would have 
 been willing to obey such a summons ; and 
 that he would by this means have placeu 
 the Convention in a situation, when they 
 might iiave set the Jacobins and their insur- 
 rectionary forces at absolute defiance. 
 
 Perhaps the Girondists entertained the 
 fear, first, that Dumouriez's influence with 
 his troops might prove as inefficient as that 
 of La Fayette, and leave them to atone 
 with their heads for such a measure at- 
 tempted and unexecuted. Or, secondly, 
 that if the mancEUvre proved successful, 
 they would be freed from fear of the Jaco- 
 bins, only to be placed under the restraint 
 of a military chief, whose mind was well 
 understood to be in favour of monarchy of 
 one kind or other. So that, coaceiving 
 they saw equal risk in the alternative, they 
 preferred the hazard of seeing their fair 
 and favqurite vision of a Republic over- 
 thrown by the pikes of the Jacobins, rather 
 , than the bayonets of Dumouriez's army. 
 < They turned, therefore, a cold ear to the 
 ; proposal, which afterwards they would 
 gladly have accepted, when the general had 
 no longer the power to carry it into exe- 
 cution. 
 
 Thus the factions, so intimately united 
 for the destruction of royalty, could not, 
 when that step was gained, combine for 
 any other purpose save the great crime of 
 murdering their deposed sovereign. Nay, 
 while the Jacobins and Girondists seemed 
 moving hand in hand to the ultimate com- 
 pletion of that joint undertaking, the union 
 was only in outward appearance ; for the 
 Girondists, though apparently acting in con- 
 
 ' cert with their stern rivals, were in fact 
 dragged alter them by compulsion, and 
 played the part less of actors than subdued 
 I captives in this final triumph of democracy. 
 They were fully persuaded of the King's 
 innocence as a man, of his inviolability and 
 exemption from criminal process as a co»- 
 stitutional authority. They were aware 
 that the deed meditated would render 
 France odious to all the other nations of 
 Europe ; and that the Jacobins, to whom 
 war and confusion were natural elements, 
 were desirous for that very reason to bring 
 Louis to the scaffold. All this was plain 
 to them, and yet their pride as philosophers 
 made them ashamed to be thought capable 
 of interesting themselves in the fate of a 
 tyrant; and their desire of getting the 
 French nation under their own exclusive 
 government, induced them to consent to 
 anything rather than protect the obnoxious 
 though innocent sovereign, at the hazard of 
 losing their popularity, and forfeiting their 
 dearly-won character of being true Repub- 
 licans. 
 
 A committee of twenty-four persons had 
 been appointed early in the Session of the 
 Convention, to inquire into, and report up- 
 on, the grounds for accusing Louis. Their 
 report was brought up on the 1st of Novem- 
 ber. 1792, and a more loathsome tissue of 
 confusion and falsehood never was laid up- 
 on the table of such an Assembly. All acts 
 that had been done by the ministers in ev- 
 ery department, which could be twisted 
 into such a shape as the times called crim- 
 inal, were charged as deeds, for which the 
 sovereign was himself responsible ; and the 
 burthen of the whole wps to accuse the 
 King, when he had scarcely a single regi- 
 ment of guards even at his nominal dispo- 
 sal, of nourishing the intentions of massa- 
 cring the Convention, defended by thirtj 
 thousand National Guards, besides the Fed- 
 erates, and the militia of the suburbs. 
 
 The Convention were rather ashamed of 
 this report, and would t-carce permit it to 
 be printed. So soon a= it appeared, two or 
 three persons, who were therein mentioned 
 as accomplices of particular acts charged 
 against the King, contradicted the report 
 upon their oath.* An additional charge wa» 
 brought under the following mysterious cir- 
 cumstances : — Gamin, a locksmith of Ver- 
 sailles, communicated to Roland about the 
 latter end of Decemb'^r, that in the beginning 
 of May 17'J2, he had been employed by the 
 King to secrete an iron chest, or cabinet in 
 the w.iU of a certain apartment in the Tuille- 
 ries, which he disclosed to the minister* 
 of justice. He added a circumstance which 
 throws discredit on his whole story, name- 
 ly, that the King gave him with his own 
 hand a glass of wine, after taking which, he 
 was seized with a colic, followed by a kind 
 of paralysis, which deprived him for four- 
 teen months of the use of his limbs, and the 
 power of working for his bread. The infer- 
 
 * Monsieur dc l^ptueil, in particular, quoted a* 
 being the a»cnt by vvlinm Louia XVI. was said to 
 have transmitteil nionny to his hrolhers when \m 
 exile, positively (leiiiid the fact, and made affidavit 
 accordingly
 
 Chap. Xll] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 129 
 
 «nce of the wretch was, that the King had 
 attempted to poison him ; which those may 
 believe who can number fourteen months 
 betwixt the beginning of May and the end 
 of December in the same year. This gross 
 falsehood utterly destroys Gamin's evi- 
 dence ; and as the King always denied his 
 knowledge of the existence of such a chest 
 with such papers, we are reduced to sup- 
 
 Eose, either that Gamin had been employed 
 y one of the royal ministers, and had 
 brought the King personally into the tale 
 for the greater grace of his storj', or that 
 the papers found in some other place of 
 safety had been selected, and put into the 
 chest by the Jacobin commissioners, then 
 employed in surveying and searching the 
 palace, with the purpose of trumping up 
 evidence against the Ring. 
 
 Roland acted very imprudently in exam- 
 ining the contents of the chest alone and 
 without witness, instead of calling in the 
 commissioners aforesaid, who were in the 
 palace at the time. This was perhaps done 
 with the object of putting aside such papers 
 as might, in that hour of fear and uncertain- 
 ty, have brought into danger some of his 
 own party or friends. One of importance, 
 however, was found, which the Jacobins 
 turned into an implement against the Gi- 
 rondists. It was an overture from that par- 
 ty addressed to the Kir^g, shortly before the 
 10th of Auffust, engajring to oppose the 
 motion for the forfeiture of the King, pro- 
 viding Louis would recall to his councils 
 the three discarded ministers of their fac- 
 tion. 
 
 The contents of the chest were of a very 
 miscellaneous nature. The documents 
 consisted of letters, memorials, and plans, 
 from different persons, and at diflerent 
 dates, offering advice, or tendering support 
 to the King, and proposing plans for the 
 freedom of hi? person. The Royalist project 
 of Mirabeau, in his latter days, was found 
 amongst the rest j in consequence of which 
 his hodv was dragged <mt of the Pantheon, 
 formerly the Church of Saint Genevieve, 
 now destined to receive the bodies of the 
 freat men of the Revolution, but whose 
 lodgings shifted as often an if they had been 
 taken by the month. 
 
 The documents, xs wr> have said, con- 
 sisted chiefly of projects for the Kin!:;'s ser- 
 vice, cm which he certainly never acted, 
 probably r.ever approved of, and perhaps 
 never saw. The utmost to which he could 
 be liable, was such penalty as may be due 
 to one who rf'tains ooFsessicm of plans sub- 
 mitted to hi.s considerntion, but v.'hich have 
 in no shape obtained his assent. It was 
 •ufficiently hard to nrf nunt Louis responsi- 
 ble for such advice of his ministers as he 
 really adopted ; but it was a dreadful exten- 
 »ion of his responsibility to make him an- 
 twerable for such as he had virtuallv re- 
 jected. Besides which, the story of Gamin 
 w-is so self-contradictory in one circum- 
 ■V&nce, and so doubtful in others, as to car- 
 ry no available proof that the papers had 
 oieen in the King's possession ; so that this 
 new charge was as groundless as those 
 brought up by the first committee, and, ar- 
 Vot, I. F ? 
 
 guing upon the known law of any civilized 
 country, the accusations against him ought 
 to have been dismissed, as founded on the 
 most notorious injustice. 
 
 There was one circumstance which prob- 
 ably urged those into whose hands Louis 
 had fallen, to proceed against his person to 
 the uttermost. They knew that, in English 
 history, a king had been condemned to 
 death by his subjects, and were resolved 
 that France should not remain behind 
 England in the exhibition of a spectacle so 
 interesting and edifying to a people newly 
 regenerated. This parallel case would not 
 perhaps have been thought a worthy pre- 
 cedent in other countries ; but in France 
 there is a spirit of wild enthusiasm, a de- 
 sire of following out an example eveu to 
 the most exaggerated point, and of outdo- 
 ing, if possible, what other nations have 
 done before them. This had doubtless its 
 influence in causing Louis to be brought to 
 the bar in 1792, like Charles of England in 
 1648, 
 
 The French statesmen did not pause to 
 reflect, that the violent death of Charles 
 only paved the way for a series of years 
 spent in servitude under military despot- 
 ism, and then to restoration of the legiti- 
 mate sovereign. Had they regarded the 
 precedent on this side, thej would have 
 obtamed a glimpse into futurity, and might 
 have presaged what were to be the conse- 
 quences of the death of Louis. Neither 
 did the French consider, that by a great 
 part of the English nation the execution ol' 
 Charles Stuart is regarded as a national 
 crime, and the anniversary still observed 
 as a day of fasting and penitence ; that oth- 
 ers who condemn the King's conduct in 
 and preceding the Civil War, do, like the 
 Whig Churchill, still consider his death as 
 an unconstitutional action ;* that the num- 
 ber is small indeed who think it justifiable 
 even on the precarious grounds of state ne- 
 cessity ; and that it is barely possible a 
 small portion of enthusiasts may still exist 
 who glory in the deed as an act of popular 
 vengeance. 
 
 But even among this last description of 
 persons, the French regicides would find 
 themselves entirely at a loss to vindicate 
 the execution of Louis by the similar fate 
 of Charles ; and it would be by courtesy 
 only, if at all, that they could be admitted 
 to the honours of the sitting at a Calves - 
 Head Club. 
 
 * I'^r.happy Stuart . harshly though that name 
 
 Grates on my ear, I should have died with sham''. 
 
 To see my King before his subjects stand, 
 
 And at tiicir bar bold up his royal hand ; 
 
 At their command to liear the monarch plead. 
 
 By their decrees to see that monarch bleed. 
 
 What though thy faults were many, and wem 
 
 great — 
 What though they shook the fabric of the itate.' 
 In royalty secure thy per.=on stood, 
 .\nd sacred was the fountain of thy blood. 
 Vile ministers, who dared abuse their trust, 
 Who dared seduce a kin" to be unjust. 
 Vengeance, with justice leagued, with power m^^ 
 
 strong, 
 Had nobly crush'd — The King can do no wroo^ 
 Church I LL't Ootkam,
 
 130 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XII. 
 
 The comparison between these unhappy 
 monarchs fails in almost every point, ex- 
 cepting in the closing scene ; and no par- 
 allel can, with justice to either, be drawn 
 betwixt them. The most zealous Cavalier 
 will, in these enlightened days, admit, that 
 the early government of Charles was mark- 
 ed by many efforts to extend the preroga- 
 tive beyond its legal bounds ; that there 
 were instances of oppressive fines, cruel 
 punishments by mutilation, long and severe 
 imprisonment in distant forts and castles 5 
 exertions of authority which no one seeks 
 to justify, and which those who are the 
 King's apologists can only endeavour to 
 mitigate, by alleging the precedents of ar- 
 bitrary times, or the interpretation of the 
 laws by courtly ministers, and time-serving 
 lawyers. The conduct of Louis XVI., from 
 the hour he assumed the throne, was, on 
 the contrary, an example of virtue and mod- 
 eration. Instead of levying ship-money 
 and benevolences, Louis lightened the feu- 
 dal services of the vassals, and the corvee 
 among the peasantry. Where Charles en- 
 deavoured to enforce conformity to the 
 Church of England by the pillory and ear- 
 slitting, Louis allowed the Protestants the 
 free use of their religion, and discharged 
 the use of torture in all cases whatever. 
 Where Charles visited his parliament to 
 violate their freedom by arresting five of 
 their members, Louis may be said to have 
 surrendered himself an unresisting prisoner 
 to the representatives of the people, whom 
 he had voluntarily summoned around him. 
 But above all, Charles, in person, or by his 
 generals, waged a long and bloody war with 
 his subjects, fought battles in every county 
 of England, and was only overcome and 
 made prisoner, after a lengthened and dead- 
 ly contest, in which many thousands fell 
 on both sides. The conduct of Louis was 
 in every respect different. He never offer- 
 ed one blow in actual resistance, even 
 when he had the means in his power. He 
 ordered up, indeed, the forces under Mare- 
 schal Broglio ; Ijut he gave them com- 
 mand to retire, so soon as it was evident 
 that they must either do so, or act offen- 
 eively against the people. In the most 
 perilous situations of his life, he showed 
 the utmost reluctance to shed the blood of 
 his subjects. He would not trust his at- 
 tendants with pistols, during the flight to 
 Varennes; he would not give the officer of 
 hussars orders to clear the passage, when 
 his carriage v/as stopped upon the bridge. 
 When he saw that the martial array of the 
 Guards did not check the audacity of the 
 assailants on the 10th of August, he surren- 
 dered himself to the Legislative .\ssembly, 
 a prisoner at discretion, rather than mount 
 his horse and place himself at the head of 
 his faithful troops and subjects. The blood 
 that was shod that day was without conj- 
 mand of his. He could have no reason for 
 encouraging such a strife, which, far from 
 defending his person, then in the custody 
 of the Assembly, was likely to place it in 
 the most imminent danger. And in the 
 very last stage, when he received private 
 notice that there were individuals deter- 
 
 mined to save his life at peril of their own, 
 he forbade the enterprise. '•' Let not a 
 drop of blood be shed on my account," he 
 said ; " I would not consent to it for the 
 safety of my crown : I never will purchase 
 mere life at such a rate." These were 
 sentiments perhaps fitter for the pious sec- 
 taries of the community of Friends, than 
 for the King of a great nation ; but such as 
 they were, Louis felt and conscientiously 
 acted on them. And yet his subjects could 
 compare his character, and his pretended 
 guilt, with the bold and haughty .Stuart, who, 
 in the course of the Civil War, bore arms 
 in person, and charged at the head of his 
 own regiment of Guards ! 
 
 Viewed in his kingly duty, the" conduct 
 of Louis is equally void of blame ; unless 
 it be tliat blame which attaches to a prince, 
 too yielding and mild to defend the just 
 rights of his crown. He yielded, with fee- 
 ble struggling, to every demand in succes- 
 sion which was made upon him, and gave 
 way to every inroad on the existing state 
 of France. Instead of placing Wmself as 
 a barrier between his people and his nobil- 
 ity, and bringing both to some fair terms 
 of composition he suffered the latter to be 
 driven from his side, and by the ravaging 
 their estates, and the burning of their 
 houses, to be hurried into emigration. He 
 adopted one popular improvement after 
 another, each innovating on the royal au- 
 thority, or derogatory to the royal dignity. 
 Far from having deserved the charge of op- 
 posing the nation's claim of freedom, it 
 would have been well for themselves and 
 him, had he known how to limit his grant 
 to that quantity of freedom which they 
 were qualified to make a legitimate use of"^; 
 leaving it for future princes to slacken the 
 reins of government, in proportion as the 
 public mind in France should become form- 
 ed to the habitual exercise of political 
 rights. 
 
 The King's perfect innocence was there- 
 fore notorious to the whole world, but es- 
 pecially to those who now usurped the title 
 of arraigning him ; and men could hardly 
 persuade themselves, that his life was seri- 
 ously in danger. An ingenious contrivance 
 of the Jacobins seems to have been intend- 
 ed to drive the wavering Girondists into 
 the snare of voting for the King's trial. 
 Saint Just, one of their number, made & 
 furious speech against any formality being 
 observed, save a decree of death on the ur- 
 gency of the occasion. " What availed," 
 said the supporters of this brief and sure 
 measure, "the ceremonies of Grand and 
 Petty Jury ? The cannon which made a 
 breach in the Tuilleries, the unanimous 
 shout of the people on the 10th of August, 
 had come in place of all other solemnities. 
 The Convention had no farther power to 
 inquire ; its sole duty was to pronounce, or 
 rather confirm and execute, the doom of 
 the sovereign people." 
 
 This summary proposal was highly ap- 
 plauded, not only by the furious crowds by 
 whom the galleries were always occupied, 
 but by all the exaggerations of the more vi- 
 olent democrats. They exclaimed that ev-
 
 Chap. XUL] 
 
 LIFE OF N.\POLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [31 
 
 ery citizen had the same right over the life 
 of Louis which Brutus possessed over that 
 of Casar. Others cried out, that the very 
 fact of having reigned, was in itself a crime 
 notorious enough to dispense with further 
 investigation, and authorize instant punish- 
 ment. 
 
 Stunned by these clamours, the Giron- 
 dists and neutral party, like all feeble-mind- 
 ed men, chose a middle course, and instead 
 of maintaining the King's innocence, adopt- 
 ed measures, calculated to save him indeed 
 from immediate slaughter, but which ended 
 by consigning him to a tribunal too timid to 
 hear his cause justly. They resolved to 
 urge the right of the National Convention 
 to judge in the case of Louis. 
 
 There were none in the Convention that 
 dared to avow facts to which their con- 
 science bore witness, but the consequen- 
 ces of admitting which, were ingeniously 
 urged by the sophist Robespierre, as a con- 
 demnation of their own conduct. " One 
 party," said the wily logician, " must be 
 clearly guilty ; either the King, or the Con- 
 vention, who have ratified the actions of 
 the insurgent people. If you have dethron- 
 ed an innocent and legal monarch, what are 
 you but traitors ? and why sit you here — , 
 why not hasten to the Temple, set Louis | 
 at liberty, install him again in the Tuille- 
 ries, aind beg on your knees for a pardon 
 you have not merited ? But if you have, in I 
 
 the great popular act which you have rat- 
 ified, only approved of the deposition of a 
 tyrant, summon him to the bar, and demand 
 a reckoning for his crimes." This dilemma 
 pressed on the mind of many members 
 who could not but see their own condem- 
 nation the necessary consequence of the 
 King's acquittal. And while some felt the 
 force of this argument, all were aware of 
 the obvious danger to be encountered from 
 the wrath of the Jacobins and their satel- 
 lites, should they dare to dissent from the 
 vote which these demagogues demanded 
 from the Assembly. 
 
 When Robespierre had ended, Pethion 
 arose and moved that the King should be 
 tried before the Convention. It is said the 
 Mayor of Paris took the lead in this cruel 
 persecution, because Louis had spoken to 
 him .sharply about the tumultuary inroad of 
 the Jacobin rabble into the Tuilleries on 
 the 20th of June ; and when Pethion at- 
 tempt«»d to reply, had pointed to the brok- 
 en grating through which the entrance had 
 been tbrced, and sternly commanded him 
 to be silent. If this was true, it was a bit- 
 ter revenge for so slight an offence, and the 
 subsequent fate of Pethion is the less de- 
 serving of pity. 
 
 The motion was carried without oppoBi- 
 tion, and the ne.tt chapter affords us the 
 melancholy results. 
 
 CHAP. XIZI. 
 
 Indeciiion of the Girondists, and its Effects. — The Royal Family in the Temple — In- 
 gulted by the Agents of the Community, both within and without the Prison — Their 
 exemplary Patience — Jt.c King deprived of his Son's Society. — Buzot's admission 
 of the general dislike of I'rcnce to a Republican Form of Government. — The King 
 brought to Trial before tiie Convention — His first Examination — Carried back to 
 Prison amidst Insults and Abi'se. — Tumult in the Assembly. — The King deprived of 
 Intercourse with his Family. — Malesherbes appointed as Counsel to defend the King. 
 — and De Seze, — Louis again brought before the Convention — Opening Speech of 
 De Seze — Kirig remanded to the Temple. — Stormy Debate in the Convention. — Elo 
 quent Attack of Vergniaud on the Jacobins. — Sentence of Dzath proTiounced against 
 the Kirig — General Sympathy for his Fate. — Dumouriez arrives in Paris — Vainly 
 
 trie* to avert the King's Fate. — Louis XV'I. BEHKiDEi) ojr 2Ist Januarv 1793 
 
 Marie A.vtoi.vette on the I6th October thereafter— The Princess Ei.i7.ABt:TH in 
 May \19A—The Dauphin Perishes by Cruelty, June 8th, ]19o.— The Princess Royal 
 exchanged for La Fayette, I9th December, 1795. 
 
 We have already said that the vigorous I 
 and masculine, as well as virtuous eshorta- I 
 tions of Madame Roland, were thrown away 
 upon her colleagues, whose fears were I 
 more than female. The Girondists could ! 
 not be made to perceive, that, though their ' 
 ferocious adversaries were feared throut'h ! 
 France, yet they were also hated. The ' 
 moral feeling of all Frenchmen who had | 
 any left, detested the authors of along train ! 
 of the most cold-blooded murders ; the sus- j 
 picions of all men of property were attach- ' 
 ed to the conduct of a party, whose leaders j 
 rose from indigence to affluence by fines. , 
 confiscations, sequestrations, besides every j 
 other kind of plunder, direct and indirect. ' 
 If the majority of the Convention had I 
 adopted the determination of boldly resist- 1 
 MJg their unprincipled tyrants, and prevent- 1 
 
 ing, at whatever hazard, the murder of the 
 King, the strength of the country would 
 probably have supported a constituted au- 
 thority against the usurpations of the Com- 
 munity of Paris, which had no better titlp 
 to tyrannize over the Convention, and by 
 so doing to govern France at pleasure, 
 than had the council of the meanest town 
 in the kingdom. 
 
 The Girondists ought to have been sens^;- 
 ble, that, even by thwarting this favourite 
 measure, they could not increase the hatred 
 which the Jacobins already entertained 
 against them, and should have known that 
 further delay to give open battle, would not 
 bo received as an overture of friendship, 
 but be regarded as a timid indecision, which 
 must have heated their enemies, in proper- 
 tion as it cooled their friends. The truck-
 
 132 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. Xin. 
 
 ling, time'SerTing policy which they observ- 
 ed on this occasion, deprived the Girondists 
 of almost all chance of forming a solid and 
 substantial interest in the country. By a 
 bold, open, and manly defence of the King, 
 they would have done honour to them- 
 aelves ae public men, willing to discharge 
 tiieir duty at the risk of their lives. They 
 would have been sure of whatever number 
 could be gathered, either of royalists, who 
 were beginning to raise a head in Bretagne 
 *nd La Vendee, or of Constitutionalists, 
 who feared the persecution of the Jaco- 
 bins. The materials were already kindled 
 for those insurrections, which afterwards 
 broke out at Lyons, Marseilles, Toulon, 
 and generally through the south and west of 
 France. They might have brought up five 
 or six thousand Federates from the depart- 
 ments, and the force would then have been 
 in their own hands. They might, by show- 
 ing a bold and animated front, have regain- 
 ed possession of the National Guard, which 
 was only prevented by a Jacobin command- 
 er and his staff officers, as well as by their 
 timidity, from throwing off a yoke so bloody 
 and odious as that which they were groan- 
 ing under. But to dare this, it was neces- 
 •ary that they should have the encourage- 
 ment of the Convention ; and that body, 
 managed as it was by the Girondists, show- 
 ed a timorous unwillingness to support the 
 measures of the Jacobins, which implied 
 their dislike indeed, but also evinced their 
 fear. 
 
 Meantime the King, with the Queen, his 
 sister, and their children, the Dauphin and 
 the Princess Royal, remained in the Tower 
 of the Temple, more uncomfortably lodg- 
 ed, and much more harshly treated, than 
 state prisoners before the Revolution had 
 been in the execrable Bastille.* The royal 
 prieoners were under the especial charge 
 of the Community of Paris, who, partly 
 from their gross ignorance, partly from their 
 desire to display their furious Jacobinical 
 real, did all in their power to embitter their 
 captivity. 
 
 Pethion, whose presence brought with it 
 so many cruel recollections, studiously in- 
 tuited him by his visits to the prison. The 
 municipal officers sent thither to ensure the 
 custody of the King's person, and to be 
 •pies upon his private conversation, were 
 •elected among the worst and most malig- 
 nant Jacobins. His efforts at equanimity, 
 and even civility, towards these brutal jail- 
 ors, were answered with the most gross in- 
 solence. One of them, a mason, in his 
 working dress, had thrown himself^ into an 
 arm-chair, where> decorated with his muni- 
 cipal scarf, he reposed at his ease. The 
 King condescended to ask him, by w-iy of 
 conversation, whore he wrought. lie an- 
 swered gruffly, " at the Church of Saint 
 Genevieve." — " I remember," said the 
 King, " I laid the foundation stone — a fine 
 edifice ; but I have heard the foundation is 
 iBsecure." — " It is more sure," answered 
 
 *The reader may compare the account wht' h 
 Marmontel given of hU residence in the Rustille, 
 with the faithful Clerj'i DArrative of I^ouis'i cap- 
 fivilj to thB Xenpla. 
 
 the fellow, " than the thrones of tyrants.' 
 The King smiled and was silent. He en- 
 dured with the same patience the insolent 
 answer of another of these officials. The 
 man not having been relieved at the usual 
 and regular hour, the King civilly expressed 
 his hopes that he would find no inconven- 
 ience from the delay. " I am come here," 
 answered the ruffian, " to watch your con- 
 duct, not for you to trouble yourself with 
 mine. No one," he added, faxing his hat 
 firm on his brow, " least of all you, have 
 any business to concern themselves with it." 
 We have seen prisons, and are sure that 
 even the steeled jailor, accustomed as he 
 is to scenes of distress, is not in the habit, 
 unprovoked and wantonly, of answering 
 with reproach and insult such ordinary ex- 
 pressions of civility, when offered by the 
 worst criminals. The hearts of these men, 
 who, by chance as it were, became dungeon- 
 keepers, and whose first captive had been 
 many years their King, must have been a* 
 hard as the nether millstone. 
 
 While such scenes occurred within the 
 prison, those who kept watch without, ei- 
 ther as sentinels or as patroles of the Jaco- 
 bins, (who maintained stern vigilance in the 
 environs of the prison,) were equally ready 
 to contribute their share of vexation and in- 
 sult. Pictures and placards, representing 
 the royal family under the hands of the ex- 
 ecutioner, were pasted up where the King 
 and Queen might see them. The most vi- 
 olent patriotic songs, turning upon the ap- 
 proaching death of Monsieur and Madame 
 V^eto, were sung below their windows, and 
 the most frightful cries for their blood din- 
 turbed such rest as prisoners can obtain. 
 The head of the Princess of Lamballe was 
 brought under their window on the 3d Sep- 
 tember, and one of the municipal officert 
 would have enticed the royal family to the 
 window that they might see this ghastly 
 spectacle, had not the other, " of milder 
 mood," prevented them from complying. 
 When questioned concerning the names of 
 these two functionaries by some less savage 
 persons, who wished to punish the offend- 
 ing ruffian, Louis would only mention that 
 of the more humane of the two; so little 
 was this unhappy prince addicted to seek 
 revenge, even for the most studied cruel- 
 ties practised against him. 
 
 The conduct of the Community increased 
 in rigour, as the process against Louis 
 seemed to draw nearer. The most ordina- 
 ry points of personal accommodation were 
 made subjects of debate ere they could be 
 granted, and that upon the King's being 
 permitted to shave himself, lasted a long 
 while. Every article was taken from him, 
 even to his tooth-pick and penknife, and 
 the Queen and prfncesses were deprived of 
 their scissors and housewives. This led 
 to a touching remark of Louis. He saw 
 his sister, while at work, obliged to bite 
 asunder a thread which she had no means 
 of cutting, and the words escaped him. 
 " .\h I you wanted nothing in your pretty 
 house at Montreuil." — " Dearest brother,* 
 answered the princess, whose character wte 
 that of sanctity^ purity of thought, and b»>
 
 Chap. XZn.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 133 
 
 nevolence, " can I complain of anything, 
 ■ince Heaven has preserved me to share 
 and to comfort, in some degree, your hours 
 of captivity 1" It was, indeed, in the so- 
 ciety of his family that the character of 
 Louis shone to the greatest advantage ; and 
 if, when on the throne, he did not always 
 possess the energies demanded of his high 
 situation, in the dungeon of the Temple 
 misfortune threw around him the glories of 
 a martyr. His morning hours were spent in 
 instructing or amusing the young Dauphin, 
 a. task for which the King's extensive in- 
 formation well qualified him. The cap- 
 tives enjoyed, as they best might, a short 
 interval, when they were permitted to walk 
 in the gardens of the Temple, sure to be 
 insulted (like Charles L in the same situa- 
 tion) by the sentinels, who puffed volumes 
 of tobacco-smoke in their faces as they 
 passed them, while others annoyed the ears 
 of the ladies with licentious songs, or the 
 most cruel denunciations. 
 
 All this Louis and his family endured with 
 such sainted patience, that several who ob- 
 tained access to his person were moved by 
 the spectacle of royalty reduced to a situa- 
 tion so melancholy, yet sustained with such 
 gentleness and fortitude. Some of the mu- 
 nicipal officers themselves became melted, 
 and changed their ideas of the King, when 
 they beheld him in so new and singular a 
 light. 
 
 Stories of the insults which he daily re- 
 ceived, and of the meekness with which he 
 sustained them, began to circulate among 
 the citizens of the higher classes ; and, 
 joined to their fear of falling completely 
 under the authority of the sans culottes, led 
 many of the Republicans to cast back their 
 thoughts to the Constitution of 1791. with 
 all its faults, and with its monarchical exec- 
 utive government. 
 
 The more wise and sensible of the Gi- 
 rondists began to suspect that they had 
 been too hasty in erecting their favourite 
 Republic, on ground incapable of affording a 
 •ound and secure foundation for such an edi- 
 fice. Buzot gives testimony to this, dated 
 later, no doubt, than the period we are tieat- 
 ing of; but the grounds of the reasoning exist- 
 ed as much at the King'.s trial as after the 
 expulsion of the Girondists. The passage 
 is remarkable. "My friends,'' says this 
 distinguished Girondist, " preserved a long 
 time the hopes of establishing a republic 
 in France, even when all seemed to demon- 
 strate that the enlightened classes, wheth- 
 er from prejudice or from just reasoning, 
 felt indisposed to that form of soveniment. 
 That hope did not forsake my friends when 
 the most wicked and vilest of men obtain- 
 ed possession of the minds of the inferior 
 classes, and corrupted them by the opportu- 
 nities they offered of license and pillage. 
 My friends reckoned on the lightness and 
 aptitude to change proper to the French 
 cnaracter, and which they considered to be 
 
 rculiarly suitable to a republican natior. 
 have always considered that conclusion 
 as entirely false, and have repeatedly in 
 my heart despaired of my darling wish to 
 Mabliab a republic in my country." In 
 
 another place he says, " It must not be dis- 
 sembled that the majority of Frenchmen 
 earnestly desired royalty, and the constitu- 
 tion of 1791. In Paris, the wish was gen- 
 eral, and was expressed most freely, though 
 only in confidential society, and among 
 private friends. There were only a few 
 noble and elevated minds who felt them- 
 selves worthy to be Republicans, and whom 
 the example of the Americans had encour- 
 aged to essay the project of a similar gov- 
 ernment in France, the country of frivoli- 
 ty and mutability. The rest of the nation, 
 with the exception of the ignorant wretch- 
 es, without eiiher sense or substance, who 
 vomited abuse against royalty, as at anoth- 
 er time they would have done against a 
 commonwealth, and all without knowing 
 why, — the rest of the nation were all at- 
 tached to the constitution of 1791, and 
 looked on the pure Republicans as a very 
 well-meaning kind of madmen." 
 
 In these lines, written by one of the 
 most sincere of their number, we read the 
 condemnation of the Girondists, who, to 
 adventure the precarious experiment of a 
 republic, in which they themselves saw so 
 many difficulties, wers contented to lend 
 their arms and countenance to the destruc- 
 tion of that very government, which they 
 knew to be desired by all the enlightened 
 classes of France except themselves, and 
 which demolition only made room for 
 the dreadful triumvirate, — Dunton, Robes- 
 pierre, and ^larat. 
 
 But we also sec, from this and other pas- 
 sages, that there existed feelings, both in 
 Paris and in the departments, which, if the 
 Convention had made a manly appeal to 
 them, might have saved the King's life, and 
 prevented the Reign of Terror. There 
 began to arise more obvious signs of dis- 
 affection to the rulers, and of interest in 
 the King's fate. These were increased 
 when he was brought before the Conven- 
 tion for examination, an occasion upon 
 which Louis was treated with the same 
 marked appearance of premeditated insult, 
 which had been offered to him when in 
 his dungeon. He had as yet been allowed 
 to enjoy the society of his son, though his 
 intercourse with the other members of the 
 family had been much abridged. He waa 
 passionately attached to this unhappy son, 
 who answered his affection, and showed 
 early token of talents which were doomed 
 never to blossom. It was the cruel resolu- 
 tion of his jailors to take the boy from hi* 
 father on the very morning" when Louis 
 was to undergo an interrogatory before 
 the Convention. In other words, to give 
 the deepest blow to his feelings, at the verj 
 moment when it was necessary he should 
 combine his whole mental powers for de- 
 fending his life against his subtle and pow- 
 erful enemies. 
 
 This cruel measure produced in eom« 
 respect the effect desired. The King tes- 
 tified more deep aifliction than he had yet 
 manifested. The child was playing at the 
 game called Siam with his father, and, bj 
 
 * Jlth December.
 
 134 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIIL 
 
 no effort could the Dauphin get beyond the 
 number stxteen. " That is a very unlucky 
 number," said the child. "True, indeed, 
 my child. I have long had reason to think 
 60, my son," answered the King. This 
 petty omen seemed soon accomplished by 
 the commissioners of the Assembly, who, 
 without deigning further explanation than 
 that Louis must prepare to receive the 
 Mayor of Paris, tore the child from his 
 father, and left him to his sorrow. In about 
 two hours, during which the trampling of 
 many horses was heard, and a formidable 
 body of troops with artillery were drawn 
 up around the prison, the mayor appeared, 
 a man called Chambon, weak and illiterate, 
 the willing tool of the ferocious Communi- 
 ty in which he presided. He read to the 
 King the decree of the Convention, that 
 Louis Capet should be brought to their bar. 
 " Capet," answered Louis, " is not my 
 name — it was that of one of my ancestors. 
 I could have wished that I had not been 
 deprived of the society of my son during 
 the two hours I have expected you — but it 
 is only of a piece with the usage I have ex- 
 perienced for four months. I will attend 
 you to the Convention, not as acknowledg- 
 ing their right to summon me, but because 
 I yield to the superior power of my ene- 
 mies." 
 
 The crowd pressed much on the King 
 during the passage from the Temple to the 
 Tuilleries, where the Convention had now 
 established their sittings, as men who had 
 Blain and taken possession. Loud cries 
 were heard, demanding the life of the ty- 
 rant ; yet Louis preserved the most perfect 
 composure, even when he found himself 
 standing as a criminal before an assembly 
 of his native subjects, born most of them 
 in a rank which excluded them from judi- 
 cial offices, till he himself had granted the 
 privilege. 
 
 " Louis," said the President, (the versa- 
 tile, timorous, but subtle Barrere,) " you may 
 be seated." The King sat down according- 
 ly, and listened without apparent emotion 
 to a long act of accusation, in which every 
 accident that had arisen out of the Revolu- 
 tion was gravely charged eis a point of in- 
 dictment against the King. He replied by 
 short laconic answers, which evinced great 
 presence of mind and composure, and al- 
 leged the decrees of the National Assem- 
 bly as authority for the affair of Nancy, and 
 the firing on the people in the Champ-de- 
 Mars, both of which were urged against 
 him as aggressions on the people. One or 
 two replies we cannot omit inserting. 
 
 ■' You are accused," said the President, 
 " of having authorized money to be dis- 
 tributed to poor unknowns in the suburb 
 of Saint Antoine. What have you to re- 
 ply ?" — " That I know no greater pleasure," 
 answered Louis, " than in giving assistance 
 to, the needy." — "You held a review of the 
 Swiss at five o'clock in the morning of the 
 10th of August." — " I did," replied the King, 
 '' review the troops that were about my 
 person. It was in presence of the consti- 
 tuted authorities, the department, and the 
 Mayor of Paris— I had seqt in vain to re- 
 
 quest from the Convention a deputation of 
 its members, and I came with my family 
 to place myself in their hands." — " Why 
 did you double the strength of the Swiss 
 (iuards at that time ?" demanded the Presi- 
 dent. — " It was done with the knowledge 
 of all the constituted authorities," said the 
 King, in a tone of perfect composure ; " I 
 was myself a constituted authority, I have 
 aright to defend my office." — " You have 
 caused," said the President, " the blood 
 of Frenchmen to be shed. What have you 
 to reply ?" — "It was not I who caused it," 
 answered Louis, speaking with more em- 
 phasis than he had before used. 
 
 The King was carried back to his prison, 
 amid threats and abuse from the same ban- 
 ditti whose ranks he had before traversed. 
 
 In replying to the articles alleged against 
 him, Louis had followed a different course 
 from Charles, who refused to plead before 
 the tribunal at which he was arraigned. 
 The latter acted w'ith the high spirit of a 
 prince, unwilling to derogate from the hon- 
 our of the crown he had worn j the former, 
 as a man of honour and probity, was desirous 
 of defending his character wherever it 
 should be attacked, without stopping to 
 question the authority of the court which 
 was met to try him. 
 
 A great tumult followed in the Assembly 
 the moment when the King had withdrawn 
 from the Hall. The Jacobins became sen- 
 sible that the scene which had just pass- 
 ed had deeply affected many of the neu- 
 tral party, and was not unlikely to influ- 
 ence their final votes. They demanded 
 an instant decree of condemnation, and 
 that in the name of the oppressed people. 
 " You who have heard the tyrant,'' said 
 Billaud de Varennes, " ought in justice to 
 hear the people whom he has oppressed." 
 The Convention knew well what was meant 
 by the appearance of the people at the bar, 
 and while they trembled at this threat, 
 Duhem made a motion that the King should 
 be executed that very night. The majority, 
 however, retained too much pense of shame 
 to permit themselves to be hurried far- 
 ther that evening. They indulged the 
 King with the selection of counsel to de- 
 fend him. 
 
 The monarch, on returning to his prison, 
 had found he was doomed to solitary con- 
 finement. All intercourse with his family 
 was denied him. He wept, but neither 
 wife, sister, nor child, was permitted to 
 share his tears. It was for the fate of his 
 son that he showed the deepest interest. 
 Yet, anxious as his apprehensions were, 
 they could not reach the extremities to 
 which the child was reduced. The heart 
 of man could not have imagined the cruelty 
 of his lot. 
 
 Louis chose for his counsel two lawyers 
 of celebrity, carefully selecting such as he 
 thought would incur least risk of danger by 
 the task imposed. One of these, Tronchet, 
 was too sensible to the honour of hie pro- 
 fession to hesitate a moment in accepting 
 the perilous office ; but the other, Target, 
 refused to undertake it. The phrase used 
 by this unworthy jurisconsult seemed to
 
 Chap. XIII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 135 
 
 involve the King's condemnation. '•' A 
 free republican," he said, " ought not to 
 undertake functions of which he feels him- 
 self incapable." Timid as the Convention 
 was, this excuse was heard with disappro- 
 bation. It was declaring that the defence 
 of the King was untenable by any friend of 
 the present system. 
 
 Several persons offered their services 
 with voluntary devotion, but the preference 
 was claimed by Lamoignon Malesherbes, 
 who, twice called by Louis to be a member 
 of his council, when the office was the ob- 
 ject of general ambition, alleged his right 
 to a similar function, when others might 
 reckon it dangerous. This burst of honour- 
 able self-devotion awakened a sentiment of 
 honour in the Convention, which, could it ' 
 have lasted, might have even yet prevented | 
 a great national crime. ' 
 
 Paris began to show symptoms of return- , 
 ing interest in the person of Louis. The ' 
 oft-repeated calumnies against liim seemed 
 to lose their influence on all but the igno- 
 rant multitude, and hired bandits. The 
 honest devotion of Malesherbes, whose 
 character was known through the nation as I 
 a man of talent, honour, and probity, re- j 
 fleeted a forcible light on that of his royal I 
 client, who had, in the hour of need, found ! 
 such a defender. De Seze, an excellent j 
 lawyer, was afterwards added to the King's i 
 band of counsel ; but the King gained little 
 more by this indulgence, excepting the con- j 
 Bolation of communicating with such men j 
 aa Malesherbes and his two associates, at a 
 time when no other friend was suffered to 
 approach him, excepting the faithful Clery, 
 his valet-de-chambre.* 
 
 The lawyers entertained some hopes, 
 and, in the spirit of their frofession, exult- 
 ed when they saw how ficts contradicted 
 the charges of the prosecutors. " Mode- 
 rate your satisfaction, my friends," said 
 Louis ; " all these favourable circumstanc- 
 es are well known to the gentlemen of the 
 Convention, and if they considered them as 
 entitled to weight in my favour, I should I 
 not be in this difficulty. You take. I fear, I 
 a fruitless task in hand, but let us perform 
 it as a last duty." When the terra of his 
 second appearance at the Convention ar- j 
 rived, ne expressed anxiety at the thoughts 
 of appearing before them with his beard 
 and hair overgrown, owing to his being de- 
 prived of razors and scissors. " Were it 
 not better your Majesty went as you are at ! 
 present," said the faithful Clery^ ■' that all | 
 men may see the usage you have received?" ! 
 — " It does not become me," answered the i 
 King, ■' to seek to obtain pity." With the i 
 same spirit, he commanded his advocates ' 
 to avoid all appeals to the passions or the , 
 feeling^ of the judges and audience, and to I 
 rest his defence exclusively upon logical . 
 deductions from the evidence produced. 
 
 • Clery we have seen and known, and the form 
 and manners of that model of prUtine faith and | 
 lofaky can never be forgotten. Gentlemanlike | 
 and complaisant in his manners, his deep gravity 
 and melancholy features announced, that the =a(l ! 
 •penes in which he had acted a part so honouraUN', | 
 were never for a moment out of his memory. < 
 
 When summoned to the Convention, 
 Louis was compelled to wait for a time in 
 the outer hall, where he walked about con- 
 versing with his counsel. A deputy who 
 passed, heard Malesherbes during this inter- 
 course use to his royal client the courtesies 
 of Sire — Your Majesty. " \Vhat renders 
 you so bold." he said, " that you utter 
 these prohibited expressions ?" — " Con- 
 tempt of life," answered the generous Male- 
 sherbes. 
 
 De Seze opened his case with great abil- 
 ity. He pleaded with animation the right 
 which the King had to the character of in- 
 violability, a right confirmed to him by the 
 Legislative Assembly after the flight to 
 Varennes, and which implied a complete 
 indemnity for that crime, even supposing a 
 journey from his capital in a post carriage, 
 with a few attendants, could be deemed 
 criminal. But he urged that, if the Con- 
 vention did not respect his inviolability — 
 if, in a word, they did not consider him as 
 a King, he was then entitled to the formal 
 securities provided for every citizen by the 
 laws. He ridiculed tlie idea that, with a tri- 
 fling force of Swiss, Louis could meditate 
 any serious injury against the Convention. 
 " He prepared," said De Seze, " for his de- 
 fence, as you citizens would doubtless do, 
 when you heard that an armed multitude 
 were on their way to surprise you in your 
 sanctuary." He closed an excellent plead- 
 ing with an enumeration of the benefits 
 which Louis had conferred on the French 
 nation, and reminded them that their King 
 had given them liberty so soon as they de- 
 sired to be free. Louis himself said a few 
 words with much firmness. He was re- 
 manded to the Temple, and a stormy de- 
 bate commenced. 
 
 At first, the Jacobins attempted to carry 
 all by a clamorous demand of the vote. 
 Lanjuinais replied to them with unexpect- 
 ed spirit, charged them with planning and 
 instigating the assault on the 10th of Au- 
 gust, and then with turning on the King the 
 blame which justly lay with themselves 
 alone. Dreadful outcries followed this true 
 and intrepid speech. '•' Let the friends of 
 the despot die with him !" was the general 
 exclamation of the Jacobins ; " to the Ab- 
 bay — to the scaffold with the perjured dep- 
 uty, who slanders the glorious 10th of Au- 
 gust !" — 'Be it so," answered Lanjuinais. 
 " Better death, than the crime of pronounc- 
 ing an unjust sentence." 
 
 The Ciirondists were too much themse ves 
 accessory to the attack on the Tuilleries to 
 follow this bold and manly line of defence, 
 and Lanjuinais stood unsupported in his 
 opinion. 
 
 Saint Just and Robespierre eagerly call- 
 ed for a doom of death. The former ac- 
 cused the King of a design to cheat the 
 people out of their liberties by a pretended 
 show of submission to their will, and an 
 affected moderation in exercising his an 
 thority. On the 10th of August, (he had the 
 effrontery to state tliis,) the King, entering 
 the hall of the Convention with armed fol- 
 lowers, (the small escort who had difficulty 
 in protecting him through the armed crowd,)
 
 136 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xm. 
 
 had Tiolated the asylum of the laws. Be- 
 sides, as he triumphantly concluded, was it 
 for a people who had declared war against 
 all the tyrants in the world, to sorrow for 
 the fate of their own ? Robespierre openly 
 disowned the application of legal forms, 
 and written rubricks of law, to such a case 
 as was before the Convention. The people 
 who had asserted their own right in wrest- 
 ing the sceptre from the hands of Louis, 
 had a right to punish him for having swayed 
 it. He talked of the case being already 
 decided by the unanimous voice and act of 
 the people, from whom all legal authority 
 emanated, and whose authority was para- 
 mount to that of the Convention, which 
 were only their representatives. 
 
 Vergniaud, the most eloquent of the Gi- 
 rondists found nothing better to propose, 
 than that the case of Louis should be de- 
 cided by an appeal to the nation. He al- 
 leged that the people, who, in solemn fed- 
 eration had sworn, in the Champ-de-Mars, 
 to recognise the Constitution, had thereby 
 sworn the inviolability of the King. This 
 was truly said ; but, such being the case, 
 what right had the Convention to protract 
 the King's trial by sending the case from 
 before themselves to the people ? If his 
 inviolability had been formally admitted 
 and sworn to by the nation, what had the 
 Convention more to do than recognise the 
 inviolability with which the nation had in- 
 vested the monarch, and dismiss him from 
 the bar accordingly ? 
 
 The explanation lay here ; — that the elo- 
 quent orator was hampered and constrain- 
 ed in his reasoning, by the difficulty of rec- 
 onciling his own conduct, and that of his 
 associates, to the principles which he was 
 now willing to adopt as those that were just 
 and legal. If the person of the King was 
 indeed inviolable, what was to be thought 
 of their consistency, who, by the means of 
 their daring and devoted associates, Barba- 
 rous and Rebecque,had actually brought up 
 the force of Marseillois who led the van, 
 and were, in fact, the efficient and almost the 
 only means by which the palace of that 
 inviolable sovereign was stormed, his 
 guards slaughtered, his person committed 
 to prison, and, finally, his life brought in 
 danger ? It was the obvious and personal 
 answer arising out of their own previous 
 manoeuvres, the argumentum ad hominem, 
 as it is called by logicians, which hung a 
 padlock on the lips of the eloquent Vergni- 
 aud, while uaing the argument which, in it- 
 self most just and true, was irreconcilable 
 with the revolutionary measures to which 
 he had been an express party. " Do not 
 evil, that good may come of it," is a lesson 
 which may be learned, not indeed in the 
 transcendental philosophy which authorizes 
 the acting of instant and admitted wrong, 
 with the view of obtaining some distant, 
 hypothetical, and contingent good; but in 
 \he rules of Christian faith and true philos- 
 ophy, which commands that each case be 
 weighed on its own circumstances, and de- 
 cided upon the immutable rules of right or 
 wroDg, without admitting any subterfuge 
 
 founded on the hope of remote contingen 
 cies and future consequences. 
 
 But Vergniaud's oratory was freed from 
 these unhappy trammels, when, with the 
 fervour of a poet, and the inspiration of a 
 prophet, he declaimed against the faction 
 of Jacobins, and announced the consequen- 
 ces of that sanguinary body's ascending to 
 supreme power, by placing their first step 
 on the body of Louis. The picture whicn 
 he drew of the coming evil seemed too hor- 
 rible for reality ; and yet the scenes which 
 followed even more than realized the pre- 
 dictions of the baffled republican, who saw 
 too late and too clearly the tragic conclu- 
 sion of the scenes, in which he had born» 
 so active a part. 
 
 The appeal to the people, or to the nv 
 tion, had been argued against by the Jaco- 
 bin speakers, as opening the nearest road 
 to civil war. Indeed it was one of the ma- 
 ny objections to this intermediate and eva- 
 sive plan, that the people of France, con 
 vened in their different bodies, were likely 
 to come to very different conclusions on 
 the King's impeachment. Where the Jac- 
 obin clubs were strong and numerous, they 
 would have been sure, according to tho 
 maxim of their unitm, touse the compulso- 
 ry but ready means of open violence, to 
 disturb the freedom of voting on this impor- 
 tant question, and would thus have carried 
 by forcible measures tlie vote of death. In 
 departments in which Constitutionalists and 
 Royalists had strong interest, it was proba- 
 ble that force would have been repelled by 
 force ; and upon the whole, in France, 
 where the law had been long a dead letter, 
 the arbitrament of the nation on the King's 
 fate must and would have proved a bloody 
 one. 
 
 But from that picture which must have 
 followed the success of his party on this 
 memorable occasion, Vergniaud pSdeavour- 
 ed to avert the thoughts of his hearers, i 
 while he strove to fis them oh the crimei 
 and criminal ambition of the Jacobins. 
 
 "It is they who wish civil wer," he ex- 
 claimed, " who threaten with daggers the 
 National Convention of France — they who 
 preach in the tribune, and in the market- 
 plDce doctrines subversive of all social or- 
 der. They are the men who desire civil 
 war, who accuse justice of pusillanimity, 
 because she will not strike before convic- 
 tion — who call common humanity a proof 
 of conspiracy, and accuse all those as trai- 
 tors to their country who will not join in 
 acts of robbery and assassination — those, in 
 fine, who pervert every sentiment and prin- 
 ciple of morality, and by the grossest flatte- 
 ries endeavour to gain the popular assent 
 and countenance to the most detestable 
 crimes." He dissected the arts of tho 
 demagogues in terms equally just and se- 
 vere. They had been artfully referred t« 
 the Temple as the cause of every distress 
 under which the populace laboured ; after 
 the death of Louis, which they so eagerly 
 pursued, they would have the same reasons 
 and the same power for directing the odium 
 of every distress or misfortune against thA
 
 Chop. XIIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 137 
 
 Convention, and making the representa- 
 tives of France equally obnoxious to the 
 people, as they had now rendered the de- 
 throned King. He concluded with a horri- 
 ble picture of Paris under the dominion of 
 Jacobinism, which was, however, exceeded 
 by the facts that ensued. " To what hor- 
 rors," he said, " will not Paris be delivered, 
 when she becomes the prey of a horde of 
 desperate assassins ? Who will inhabit a 
 city, where Death and Desolation will then 
 fix their court ? Who will console the ru- 
 ined citizen, stripped of the wealth he has 
 honourably acquired, or relieve the wants 
 of his family, which his exertions can no 
 longer supply ? Go in that hour of need." 
 he continued, '• and ask bread of those who 
 have precipitated you from competence in- 
 to ruin, and they will answer, ' Hence ! 
 dispute with hungry hounds for the carcases 
 of those we have last murdered — or, if you 
 would drink, here is the blood we have 
 lately shed — other nourishment we have 
 none to afford you I' " 
 
 The eloquence of Vergniaud, and the ex- 
 ertions of his associates, were in vain. Bar- 
 rere, the auxiliary of the Jacobins, thoughr* 
 scarcely the partaker of their coiifiJence, 
 drew off as usual many of the timid host of 
 neutrals, by alleging specious reasons, of 
 which the convincing power lay in this, 
 that they must consult their own safety 
 rather than the cause of justice. The ap- 
 peal to the people, on which the Girondists 
 relied as the means of reprieving rather 
 than saving the King — of giving their con- 
 Bciences the quieting opiate that he died 
 not by their direct agency — was rejected 
 by four hundred and twenty voices against 
 two hundred and eighty-one. A decisive 
 appeal was made to the Constitution on 
 the question, to what punishment the de- 
 throned monarch should be subjected. 
 
 The bravos of the Jacobins surrounded 
 the place of meeting on every point of ac- 
 cess while this final vote was called, and, 
 to men already affrighted with their situa- 
 tion, added every motive of terror that 
 words, and sometimes acts of violence, 
 could convey; " Think not," they said, 
 "to rob the people of their prey. If you 
 acquit Louis, we go instantly to the Tem- 
 ple to destroy him with his whole fam- 
 ily, and we add to his massacre that of all 
 who befriended him." Undoubtedly, among 
 the terrified deputies, there were some 
 moved by these horrible arguments, who 
 conceived that, in giving a vote for Louis's 
 life, they would endanger their own, with- 
 out saving him. Still, however, among this 
 overawed and trembling band of judges, 
 there were many whose hearts failed them 
 aa they reflected on the crime they were 
 about to commit, and who endeavoured to 
 find some evasion stopping short of regi- 
 cide. Captivity till the peace was in 
 general proposed as a compo.^ition. The 
 philosophical humanity of Condorcet threw 
 in fetters, to make the condition more ac- 
 ceptable to the Jacobins. Others voted for 
 death conditionally. The most intense anx- 
 iety prevailed during the vote ; and even 
 the banditti in the tribunes suspended their 
 
 usual howls, and only murmured death to 
 the voter, when the opinion given was for 
 the more lenient punishment. When the 
 Duke of Orleans, who had returned from 
 England on t!.e fall of La Fayette, and sat 
 as a member of the Convention, under the 
 absurd name of Citizen L'Egalite — when 
 this base prince was asked his vote, there 
 was a deep pause ; and when the answer 
 proved Death, a momentary horror electri- 
 fied the auditors. When the voices were 
 numbered, the direct doom was carried by 
 a majority of fifty-three, being the differ- 
 ence between three hundred and eighty- 
 seven and three hundred and ihirty-four. 
 The President announced that the doom of 
 Death was pronounced against Louis Ca- 
 pet, 
 
 Let none, we repeat, dishonour the paral- 
 lel passage in England's history, by com- 
 paring it with this disgraceful act of mur- 
 der, committed by a few in rabid fury of 
 gain, by the greater part in mere panic and 
 cowardice. That deed, which Algernon 
 Sidney pronounced the bravest and justest 
 ever done in England, — that /acintM tamil- 
 lustre of Milton, — was acted by men, from 
 whose principles and feelings we differ en- 
 tirely ; but not more than the ambition of 
 Cromwell differed from that of the blood- 
 thirsty and envious Robespierre, or the po- 
 litical views of Hutchinson and his asso- 
 ciates, who acted all in honour, from those 
 of the timid and pedantic Girondists. 
 
 The same palsy of the mind which had 
 annihilated the courage of the Convention, 
 pervaded Paris. There was a general feel- 
 ing for the King's condition, a wish that he 
 might be saved, but which never became 
 strong enough to arise into the resolution 
 to effect his safety, Dumouriez himself 
 came to Paris with all the splendour of a 
 conqueror, whose victory at Jemappes had 
 added Belgium, as Flanders began to be 
 called, to the French nation ; and there can 
 be no doubt, that whatever might be his ul- 
 terior design, which his situation and char- 
 acter render somewhat doubtful, his pur- 
 pose was, in the first place, to secure the 
 person of Louis from farther danger or in- 
 sult. But conqueror as he was, Dumou- 
 riez, though more favourably placed than 
 La Fayette had been upon a similar at- 
 tempt, was far from being, with respect to 
 Paris, in the same independent situation in 
 which Cromwell had been to London, or 
 Caesar to Rome, 
 
 The army with which he had accomplish- 
 ed his victories was yet but half his own. 
 Six Commissioners from the Convention, 
 Danton himself being the principal, had 
 carefully remained at his head-quarters, 
 watching his motions, controlling his pow- 
 er, encouraging the private soldiers of each 
 regiment to hold Jacobin clubs exclusive 
 of the authority of the general, studiously 
 placing in their recollection at every in- 
 stant, that the doctrines of liberty and 
 equality rendered the soldier to a certain 
 point independent of his commander ; and 
 reminding them that they conquered by the 
 command of Dumouriez, indeed, but under 
 the auspices of the Republic, to whom th«
 
 138 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 iChap. XIU. 
 
 general, as they themselvee, was but a ser- 
 vant and factor. The more absolute the 
 rule of a community, the more do its mem- 
 bers enjoy any relaxation of such severe 
 bonds ; so that he who can with safety 
 preach a decay of discipline to an army, of 
 which discipline is the very essence, is 
 sure to find willing listeners. A great part 
 of Dumouriez's army was unsettled in their 
 minds by doctrines, which taught an inde- 
 pendence of official authority inconsistent 
 with their situation as soldiers, but proper, 
 they were assured, to their quality of citi- 
 zens. 
 
 The manner in which Pache, the minis- 
 ter of war, who, brought into office by Ro- 
 land, deserted his benefactor to join the Ja- 
 cobin faction, had conducted his branch of 
 the administration, was so negligent, that it 
 had given ground for serious belief that it 
 was his intention to cripple the resources 
 of the armed force (at whatever risk of na- 
 tional defeat,)!in such a manner, that if in 
 their disorganized state Dumouriez had at- 
 tempted to move them towards Paris for in- 
 suring the safety of Louis, he should find 
 them unfit for such a march. The army had 
 no longer draught-horses for the artillery, 
 and was in want of all with which a regular 
 body of forces should be supplied. Du- 
 mouriez, according to his own account, both 
 from the want of equipments of every kind, 
 and from the manner in which the Jacobin 
 Commissioners had enfeebled the discipline 
 of his troops, could not have moved to- 
 wards Paris without losing the command of 
 the army, and his head to boot, before he 
 had got beyond the frontiers of Belgium. 
 
 Dumouriez had detached, however, ac- 
 cording to his own statement, a considera- 
 ble number of officers and confidential per- 
 sons, to second any enterprise which he 
 might find himself capable of undertaking 
 in the King's behalf. While at Paris, he 
 states that he treated with every faction in 
 turn, attempting even to move Robespierre ; 
 and through means of his own intimate 
 friend Gensenn6, he renewed his more nat- 
 ural connexions with the Girondists. But 
 the one party were too determined on their 
 bloody object to be diverted from it ; the 
 other, disconcerted in viewing the result of 
 their timid and ambiguous attempt to carry 
 through an appeal to the people, saw no 
 fiKther chance of saving the King's life oth- 
 erwise than by the risk of their own, and 
 chose rather to be executioners than vic- 
 tims. 
 
 Among the citizens of Paris, many of 
 whom Dumouriez states himself to have 
 urged with the argument, that the Conven- 
 tion, in assuming the power of judging the 
 King, had exceeded the powers granted to 
 them by the nation, he found hearers, not 
 indeed uninterested or unmoved, but too 
 lukewarm to promise efficient assistance. 
 The citizens were in that state, in which 
 an English poet has said of them, — 
 
 •« Cold burghers must be struck, and struck like 
 
 flints, 
 Ere their hid fire will sparkle." 
 
 With the natural sense of right and justice, 
 they perceived what was expected of them ; 
 but felt not the less the trammels of their 
 situation, and hesitated to incur the fury of 
 a popular insurrection, which passiveness 
 on their own part might postpone or avert. 
 They listened to the general with interest, 
 but without enthusiasm ; implored him to 
 choose a less dangerous subject of conver- 
 sation ; and spoke of the power of the Jac- 
 obins, as of the influence of a tempest, 
 which mortal efforts could not withstand. 
 With one man of worth and confidence, 
 Dumouriez pressed the conversation on the 
 meanness of suffering the city to be govern- 
 ed by two or three thousand banditti, till 
 the citizen looked on the ground and blush- 
 ed, as he made the degrading confession, — 
 " I see, citizen-general, to what conclusion 
 your argument tends ; but we are cowards, 
 and the King must perish. What exertion 
 of spirit can you expect from a city, which, 
 having under arms eighty-thousand well- 
 trained militia, suffered themselves, not- 
 withstanding, to be domineered over and dis- 
 armed by a comparative handful of rascally 
 Federates from Brest and Marseilles 1" The 
 hint was sufficient. Dumouriez, who was 
 involved in much personal danger, desisted 
 from efforts, in which he could only com- 
 promise his own safety without insuring 
 that of the King. He affirms, that during 
 twenty days' residence near Paris he wit- 
 nessed no effort, either public or private, to 
 avert the King's fate ; and that the only 
 feelings which prevailed among the higher 
 clEisses, were those of consternation and ap- 
 athy. 
 
 It was then especially to be regretted, 
 that an emigration, certainly premature, 
 had drained the country of those fiery and 
 gallant nobles, whose blood would have 
 been so readily ventured in defence of the 
 King. Five hundred men of high charac- 
 ter and determined bravery would probably 
 have been seconded by the whole burgher- 
 force of Paris, and might have bid open 
 defiance to the Federates, or, by some sud- 
 den and bold attempt, snatched from their 
 hands their intended victim. Five hun- 
 dred — but five hundred — of those who were 
 winning barren laurels under Conde, or, 
 yet more unhappily, were subsisting on the 
 charity of foreign nations, might at this mo- 
 ment, could they have been collected in 
 Paris, have accomplished the purpose for 
 which they themselves most desired to 
 live, by saving the life of their unhappy 
 sovereign. But although powerful reasons, 
 and yet more aggrieved feelings, had recom- 
 mended the emigration from that country, 
 it operated like the common experiment of 
 the Leyden phial, one side of which being 
 charged with an uncommon quantity of the 
 electrical fluid, has the effect of creating a 
 deficiency of the same essence upon the 
 other. In the interior of France, the spirit 
 of loyalty was at the lowest ebb ; because 
 those upon whom it especially acted as a 
 principle, were divided from the rest of the 
 nation, to whom they would otherwise 
 have afforded both encouragement and ex- 
 ample.
 
 Cha^. xni] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 139 
 
 The sacrifice therefore was to be made — 
 made in ppite of those who certainly com- 
 posed the great majority of Paris, at least 
 of such as were capable of reflection, — in 
 epite of the commander of the army, Du- 
 mouriez, — in spite of the consciences of 
 tlie Girondists, who, while they affected an 
 air of republican stoicism, saw plainly, and 
 were fully sensible of the great political er- 
 ror, the great moral sin they were about to 
 commit. 
 
 Undoubtedly they expected, that by joining 
 in, or acquiescing in at least, if not author- 
 ising, this unnecessary and wanton cruelty, 
 they should establish their character with 
 the populace as firm and unshaken republi- 
 cans, who had not hesitated to sacrifice the 
 King, since his life was demanded at the 
 ehrine of freedom. They were not long of 
 learning, that they gained nothing by their 
 mean-spirited acquiescence in a crime 
 which their souls must have abhorred. All 
 were sensible that the Girondists had been 
 all along, notwithstanding their theoretical 
 pretensions in favour of a popular govern- 
 ment, lingering and looking back with some 
 favour to the dethroned prince, to whose 
 death they only consented in sheer cold- 
 ness and cowardice of heart, because it re- 
 Suired to be defended at some hazard to 
 leir own safety. The faults at once of 
 duplicity and cowardice were thus fixed on 
 this party ; who, detested by the Royalists, 
 and by all who in any degree harboured 
 opinions favourable to monarchy, had their 
 lives and offices sought after by the whole 
 host of Jacobins in full cry, and that on ac- 
 count of faint-spirited wishes, which they 
 had scarcely dared even to attempt to ren- 
 der efficient. 
 
 On the 21st of January 1793, Louis XVL 
 was publicly beheaded in the midst of his 
 own metropolis, in the Place Louis Quiiize, 
 erected to the memory of his grandfather. 
 It is possible, for the critical eye of the his- 
 torian, to discover much weakness in the 
 conduct of this unhappy monarch ; for he 
 had neither the determination necessary to 
 fight for his rights, nor the power of sub- 
 mitting with apparent indifference to cir- 
 cumstances, where resistance inferred dan- 
 ger. He submitted, indeed, but with so bad 
 a grace, that he only made himself suspect- 
 ed of cowardice, without getting credit for 
 voluntary concession. But yet his behav- 
 iour on many trying occasions efl'ectually 
 vindicated him from the charge of timidity, 
 and showed that the unwillingness to slied 
 blood, by which he was peculiarly distin- 
 guished, arose from benevolence, not from 
 pusillanimity. 
 
 Upon the scaffold, he behaved with the 
 firmness which became a noble spirit, and 
 the patience beseeming one who was recon- 
 ciled to Heaven. As one of the few marks 
 of sympathy with which his sufferings were 
 softened, the attendance of a confessor who 
 had not taken the constitutional oath, was 
 permitted to the dethroned monarch. He 
 who undertook the honourable but danger- 
 ous office, was a gentleman of the gifted fam- 
 ily of Edgevi'orth of Edgeworthstown ; and 
 the devoted zeal with which he rendered 
 
 the last duties to Louis, had like in the is- 
 sue to have proved fatal to himself. As the 
 instrument of death descended, the confes- 
 sor pronounced the impressive words, — 
 " Son of Saint Louis, ascend to Heaven '." 
 
 There was a last will of Louis XVL cir- 
 culated upon good authority, bearing this 
 remarkable passage : — " I recommend to 
 my son, should he have the misfortune to 
 become King, to recollect that his whole 
 faculties are due to the service of the pub- 
 lic ; that he ought to consult the happiness 
 of his people, by governing according to the 
 laws, forgetting all injuries and misfor- 
 tunes, and in particular those which I may 
 have sustained. But while I exhort him to 
 govern under the authority of the laws, I 
 cannot but add, that this will be only in his 
 power, in so far as he shall be endowed 
 with authority to cause right to be respect- 
 ed, and wrong punished ; and that without 
 such authority, his situation in the govern- 
 ment must be more hurtful than advanta- 
 geous to the state." 
 
 Not to mingle the fate of the illustrious 
 victims of the royal family with the general 
 tale of the sufferers under the Reign of Ter- 
 ror, we must here mention the deaths of 
 the rest of that illustrious house, which 
 closed for a time a monarchy, that, existing 
 through three dynasties, had given sixty- 
 si-t kings to France. 
 
 It was not to be supposed, that the Queen 
 was to be long permitted to survive her 
 husband. She had been even more than 
 he the object of revolutionary detestation; 
 nay, many were disposed to throw on Ma- 
 rie Antoinette, almost exclusively, the 
 blame of those measures, which they con- 
 sidered as counter-revolutionary. She came 
 to France a gay, young, and beautiful Prin- 
 cess — she found in her husband a faithful, 
 affectionate, almost an uxorious husband. 
 In the early years of her reign she was guil- 
 ty of two faults. 
 
 In the first place, she dispensed too much 
 with court-etiquette, and wished too often 
 to enjoy a retirement and freedom, incon- 
 sistent with her high rank and the customs 
 of the court. This was a great though nat- 
 ural mistake. The etiquette of a court pla- 
 ces round the great personages whom it re- 
 gards, a close and troublesome watch, but 
 that very guard acts a barrier against cal- 
 umny ; and when these formal witnesses 
 are withdrawn, evil tongues are never want- 
 ing to supply with infamous reports ablank 
 which no testimony can be brought to fill 
 up with the truth. No individual suffered 
 more than Mane Antoinette from this spe- 
 cies of slander, which imputed the most 
 scandalous occupations to hours that were 
 only meant to be stolen from form and from 
 state, and devoted to the ease which 
 crowned heads ought never to dream of en- 
 joying. 
 
 Another natural, yet equally false step, 
 was her interfering more frequently with 
 politics than became her sex ; exhibiting 
 thus her power over the King, and at the 
 same time lowering him in the eyes of his 
 subjects, who, whatever be the auspices 
 under which their own domestic affairs are
 
 140 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XUL 
 
 conducted, are always scandalized if they 
 see, or think they see, anything like female 
 influence directing the councils of their 
 sovereigns. We are uncertain what degree 
 of credit is to be given to the Memoirs of 
 Bezenval, but we believe they approach 
 near the truth in representing the Queen as 
 desirous of having a party of her own, and 
 carrying points in opposition to the minis- 
 ters ; and we know that a general belief of 
 this sort was the first foundation of the fa- 
 tal report, that an Austrian cabal existed in 
 the Court of France, under the direction of 
 the Queen, which was supposed to sacri- 
 fice the interests of France to favour those 
 of the Emperor of Germany. 
 
 The terms of her accusation were too 
 basely depraved to be even hinted at here. 
 She scorned to reply to it, but appealed to 
 all who had been mothers, against the very 
 possibility of the horrors which were stat- 
 ed against her. The widow of a King, the 
 •ister of an Emperor, was condemned to 
 death, dragged in an open tumbril to the 
 place of execution, and beheaded on the 
 16th October 1793. She suffered death in 
 her 39th year. 
 
 The Princess Elizabeth, sister of Louis, 
 of whom it might be said, in the words of 
 Lord Clarendon, that she resembled a chap- 
 el in a King's palace, into which nothing 
 but piety and morality enter, while all 
 around is filled with sin, idleness, and fol- 
 ly, did not, by the most harmless demean- 
 our and inoffensive character, escape the 
 miserable fate in which the Jacobins had 
 determined to involve the whole family of 
 Louis XVI. Part of the accusation re- 
 doundci to tlie honour of her character. 
 She was accused of having admitted to the 
 apartments of the Tuilleries some of the 
 National Guards, of the section of Fillesde 
 Saint Thomas, and causing the wounds to 
 be looked to which they had received in a 
 akirmish with the Marseillois, immediate- 
 ly before the 10th of August. The prin- 
 cess admitted her having done so, and it 
 waa exactly in consistence with her whole 
 conduct. Another charge stated the ridic- 
 ulous accusation, that she had distributed 
 bullets chewed by herself and her attend- 
 ants, to render them more fatal, to the de- 
 fenders of the Castle of the Tuilleries ; a 
 
 ridiculous fable, of which there was no 
 proof whatever .'^he was beheaded in May 
 
 1794, and met her death as became the 
 manner in wiiich her life had been spent. 
 
 We are weary of recounting these atroci- 
 ties, as others must be of reading them. 
 Yet it is not useless that men should see 
 how far human nature can be carried, in 
 contradiction to every feeling the most sa- 
 cred, to every pleading whether of justice 
 or of humanity. The Dauphin we have al- 
 ready described as a promising child of sev- 
 en years old, an age at which no offence 
 could have been given, and from which no 
 danger could have been apprehended. Nev- 
 ertheless, it was resolved to destroy the 
 innocent child, and by means to which or- 
 dinary murders seem deeds of mercy. 
 
 The unhappy boy was put in charge of 
 the most hard-hearted villain whom the 
 Community of Paris, well acquainted where 
 such agents were to be found, were able to 
 select from their band of Jacobins. This 
 wretch, a shoemaker called Simon, asked 
 his employers, " what was to be done with 
 the young wolf-whelp ; was he to be slain ?" 
 _" No."—" Poisoned ?"— •' No."—" Starv- 
 ed to death?"— "No."— "What then?"— 
 " He was to be got rid of." Accordingly, 
 by a continuance of the most severe treat- 
 ment — by beating, cold, vigils, fasts, and ill 
 usage of every kind, so frail a blossom was 
 soon blighted. He died on the 8th June 
 1795. 
 
 After this last horrible crime, there was 
 a relaxation in favour of the daughter, and 
 now the sole child of this unhappy house. 
 The Princess Royal, whose qualities have 
 since honoured even her birth and blood, 
 experienced from this period a mitigated 
 captivity. Finally, on the 19th December 
 
 1795, this last remaining relic of the family 
 of Louis was permitted to leave her prison 
 and her country, in exchange for La Fay- 
 ette and others, whom, on that condition, 
 Austria delivered from captivity. She be- 
 came afterwards the wife of her cousin tha 
 Duke d'Angouleme, eldest son of the reign- 
 ing monarch of France, and obtained, by 
 the manner in which she conducted her- 
 self at Bourdeaux in 1815, the highest 
 praise for gallantry and spirit.
 
 Ckap- XIV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 141 
 
 CHAP. ZIV. 
 
 Dumouriez — His displeasure at the Treatment of the Flemish Provinces by the Convtn>- 
 tion — His Projects in consequence — Gains the ill-imll of his Army — and is forced to 
 Jiy to the Austrian Camp — Lives many years in retreat, and finally dies in England.— 
 Struggles betwixt the Girondists and Jacobins in the Convention. — Robespierre im- 
 peaches the Leaders of the Girondists — and is denounced by them. — Decree of Accu- 
 $ation passed against Marat, who conceals himself. — Commission of Tivelve appoint- 
 ed. — Marat acquitted, and sent back to the Convention with a Civic Crown. — Terror 
 and Indecision of the Girondists. — Jacobins prepare to attack the Palais Royal, but 
 are repulsed — Repair to the Convention, who recall the Commission of Twelve. — Lou- 
 vet and other Girondist Leaders Jiy from Paris. — Convention go forth in Procession 
 to Expostulate with the People — Forced back to their Hall, and compelled to Decree 
 the Accusation of Thirty of their Body. — Girondists finally Ruined — and their Prin- 
 cipal Leaders perish in Prison, by the Guillotine, and by Famine — Close of their 
 History. 
 
 While the Republic was thus indulging 
 the full tyranny of irresistible success over 
 the remains of the royal family, it seemed 
 about to sustain a severe shock from one of 
 ita own children, who had arisen to emi- 
 nence by its paths. This was Dumouriez, 
 whom we left victor at Jemappes, and con- 
 queror, in consequence, of the Flemish 
 provinces. These fair possessions, the 
 Convention, without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, anne.xed to the dominions of France ; 
 and proceeded to pour down upon them 
 their tax-gatherers, commissaries, and ev- 
 ery other denomination of spoilers, who not 
 only robbed without ceremony the unfortu- 
 nate inhabitants, but insulted their religion 
 by pillaging and defacing their churches. 
 •et their laws and privileges at contempt, 
 and tyrannized over them in the very man- 
 ner, which had so recently induced the 
 Flemings to offer resistance to their own 
 hereditary princes of the House of Austria. 
 Dumouriez, naturally proud of his con- 
 quest, felt for these who had surrendered 
 to his arms upon assurance of being well 
 treated, and was sensible that his own hon- 
 our and influence were aimed at; and that 
 it was the object of the Convention to make 
 use of his abilities only as their implements, 
 and to keep his army in a state of complete 
 dependence upon themselves. 
 
 Tiie general, on the contrary, had the 
 ambition as well as the talents of a con- 
 queror; he considered his army as the 
 means of attaining the victories, which, 
 without him, they could not have achieved, 
 and he desired to retain it under his own 
 immediate command, as a combatant wish- 
 es to keep hold of the sword which he has i 
 wielded with success. He accounted him- i 
 •elf strongly possessed of the hearts of his ' 
 soldiers, and therefore thought himself I 
 qualified to play the part of military umpire \ 
 in the divisions of the state, which La • 
 fayette had attempted in vain ; and it was I 
 with tliis view, doubtless, that he undertook 
 that expedition to Paris, in which he vain- 1 
 ly attempted a mediation in behalf of the 
 King. 
 
 .•^ftor leaving Paris, Dumouriez seems to I 
 
 have abandoned Louis personally to his 
 
 fate, yet still retaining hopes to curb the 
 
 headlong course of the Revolution. 
 
 Two plans presented themselves to his 
 
 fertile invention, nor can it be known with 
 certainty to which he most inclined. He 
 may have entertained the idea of prevailinj^ 
 upon the army to decide for the youthful 
 Dauphin to be their Constitutional King; 
 or, as many have thought, it may better 
 have suited his personal views to have rec- 
 ommended to the throne a gallant young 
 prince of the blood, who had distinguished 
 himself in his army, the eldest son of the 
 miserable Duke of Orleans. Such a change 
 of dynasty might be supposed to limit the 
 wishes of the proposed sovereign to that 
 share of power intrusted to him by the Rev- 
 olution, since he would have had no title to 
 the crown save what arose from the Consti- 
 tution. But, to qualify himself in either case 
 to act as the supreme head of the army, in- 
 dependent of the National Convention, it 
 was necessary that Dumouriez should pur- 
 sue his conquests, act upon the plan laid 
 down by the ministers at Paris, and in ad- 
 dition to his title of victor in Belgium, add 
 that of conqueror of Holland. He com- 
 menced, accordingly, an invasion of the 
 latter country, with some prospect of suc- 
 cess. But though he took Gertruydenberg, 
 and blockaded Bergen-op-Zoom, he was 
 repulsed from Williamstadt ; and at the 
 same time he received information that an 
 army of Austrians, under the Prince of 
 Saxe-Coburg, a general of eminence, though 
 belonging to the old military school of Ger- 
 many, was advancing into Flanders. Du- 
 mouriez retreated from Holland to make a 
 stand against these new enemies, and waa 
 again unfortunate. The French were de- 
 feated at Aix-la-Chapelle, and their new- 
 levies almost entirely dispersed. Chagrin- 
 ed with this disaster, Dumouriez gave an 
 imprudent loose to the warmth of his tem- 
 per. Following the false step of La Fay- 
 ette, iu menacing before he was prepared to 
 strike, he wrote a letter to the Convention, 
 threatening the Jacobin party with the in- 
 dignation of his array. This was on the 
 rith March 1793, and six days afterward* 
 lie was again defeated in the battle of Neer- 
 winden. 
 
 It must have been extremely doubtful, 
 whether, in the very pitch of victory, Du- 
 mouriez possessed enough of individual in- 
 fluence over his army, to have inclined 
 them to declare against the National Con-
 
 142 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Ch<^. XIV. 
 
 vention. The forces which he commanded , 
 were not to be regarded in the light of a I 
 regular army, long embodied, and engaged 
 perhaps for years in difficult enterprises, 
 and. in foreign countries, where such a 
 force exists as a community only by their 
 military relations to each other ; wlicre the 
 common soldiers know no other home than 
 their tents, and no other direction than the 
 voice of their officers ; and the officers no 
 other laws than the pleasure of their gen- 
 eral. Such armies, holding themselves 
 independent of the civil authorities of their 
 country, came at length, through the habit 
 of long wars and distant conquests, to e.xist 
 in the French empire, and upon such rested 
 the foundation-stone of the Imperial throne ; 
 but as yet, the troops of the Republic con- 
 Bisted either of the regiments revolution- 
 ized, when the great change had ortered 
 commissions to privates, and batons to sub- 
 alterns, or of new levies, who had their very 
 existence through the Revolution, and 
 whose common nickname of Carmagnols, 
 expressed their Republican origin and opin- 
 ions. Such troops might obey tlie voice 
 of the general on the actual field of battle, 
 but were not very amenable even to the or- 
 dinary course of discipline elsewhere, and 
 were not likely to exchange their rooted 
 political principles, with all the ideas of 
 license connected with them, at Dumou- 
 riez's word of command, as tlicy would 
 have changed their front, or have adopted 
 any routine military movement. Still less 
 were they likely implicitly to obey this 
 commander, when the prestige of liis for- 
 tune seemed in the act of abandoning him, 
 and least of all, when they founc' him dis- 
 posed to make a compromise with the very 
 ibe wlio had defeated him, and perceived 
 that he negotiated, by abandoning his con- 
 quests to the Austrians, to purchase the 
 opportunity or permission of executing the 
 counter-revolution which he proposed. 
 
 Nevertheless, Dumouriez, either pushed 
 on by an active and sanguine temper, or 
 being too far advanced to retreat, endeav- 
 oured, by intrigues in his own army, and 
 an understanding with the Prince of Saxe- 
 Coburg, to render himself strong enough 
 to overset the reigning party in the Con- 
 vention, and restore, with some modifica- 
 tions, the Constitution of 1791. fie ex- 
 pressed this purpose with imprudent open- 
 ness. Several generals of division de- 
 clared against his scheme. He failed in 
 obtaining possession of the fortress of Lisle, 
 Valenciennes, and Conde. Another act of 
 imprudence aggravated tlie unpopularity 
 into which he began to fall with his army. 
 Four Commissioners of the Convention re- 
 monstrated publicly on the course he was 
 pursuing. Dumouriez, not contented with 
 arresting them, had the imprudence to send 
 them to the camp of the .\ustrians prison- 
 ers, thus delivering up to the public enemy 
 the representatives of the government un- 
 der which he was appointed, and for which 
 he had hitherto acted, and proclaiming his 
 alliance with the invaders whom he was 
 commissioned to oppose. 
 All this rash conduct disunited the tic 
 
 between Dumouriez and his army. The 
 ■esistance to his authority became general, 
 and finally, it was with great difficulty and 
 danger that he made his escape to the Aus- 
 trian camp, with his young friend the Duke 
 de Chartres. 
 
 All that this able and ambitious man rsav- 
 ed in his retreat was merely his life, of 
 which he spent some years afterwards in 
 Germany, concluding it in England about 
 1822, without again making any figure in 
 the political horizon.* Thus, the attempt 
 of Dumouriez, to use military force to stem 
 the progress of the Revolution, failed, like 
 that of La Fayette some months before. To 
 use a medical simile, the imposthume was 
 not yetfar enough advanced, andsufficiently 
 come to a head, to be benefited by the use 
 of the lancet. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Convention, though tri- 
 umphant over the schemes of the revolted 
 general, was divided by the two parties to 
 whom its walls served for an arena, in 
 which to aim against each other the most 
 deadly blows. It was now manifest that 
 the strife must end tragically for one of the 
 parties, and all circumstances pointed out 
 the Girondists as the victims. They had 
 indeed still the command of majorities in 
 the Convention, especially when the votes 
 were taken by scrutiny or ballot ; on which 
 occasions the feebler deputies of the Plain 
 could give their voice according to their 
 consciences, without its being known that 
 they had done so. But in open debate, and 
 when the members voted viva voce, amongst 
 the intimidating cries and threats of tribunes 
 filled by an infuriated audience, the spirit 
 of truth and justice seemed too nearly al- 
 lied to that of martyrdom, to be prevalent 
 generally amongst men who made their 
 own safety the rule of their political con- 
 duct. The party, however, continued for 
 several months to exercise the duties of 
 administration, and to make such a struggle 
 in the Convention as could be achieved by 
 oratory and reasoning, against underhand 
 intrigue, supported by violent declamation, 
 and which was, upon the least signal, sure 
 of the aid of actual brutal violence. 
 
 The Girondists, we have seen, had aimed 
 decrees of the Assembly at the triumvirate, 
 and a plot was now laid among the Jacobins, 
 to repay that intended distinction by the 
 actual strokes of the axe, or, failing that, 
 of the dagger. 
 
 When the news of Dumouriez's defection 
 arrived, the Jacobins, always alert in pre- 
 possessing the public mind, held out the 
 Girondists as the associates of the revolted 
 general. It was on them whom thev direct- 
 ed the public animosity, great and furious 
 in proportion to the nature of the crisis. 
 That majority of the Convention, whom the 
 traitor Dumouriez affirmed was sound, and 
 with which he acted in concert, intimated, 
 according to the Jacobins, the Girondists 
 tlie allies of liis treasons. They called out 
 in the Convention, on the Sth of March, for 
 
 * Dumouriez was a man of pleasing manners and 
 lively conversation. He lived in retirement, near 
 Ealing, in Middlese.x, and (iicd only within tbea9 
 last two or three jears,
 
 Chap. XIV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLKOX BUOxXAPARTE. 
 
 143 
 
 a tribunal of judgment fit to decide on such 
 crimes, without the delays arising from or- 
 dinary forms of pleading and evidence, and 
 without even the intervention of a jury. 
 The Girondists opposed this measure, and 
 the debate was violent. In the course of 
 the subsequent days, an insurrection of the 
 people was prepared by the Jacobins, as 
 upon the 20th of June and 10th of August. 
 It ought to have broken out upon the 10th 
 of March, which was the day destined to 
 put an end to the ministerial party by a 
 general massacre. But the Girondists re- 
 ceived early intelligence of what was in- 
 tended, and absented themselves from the 
 Convention on the day of peril. A body of 
 Federates from Brest, about 400 strong, 
 were also detached in their favour by Ke- 
 velegaa, one of the deputies from the an- 
 cient province of Bretagne, and who was a 
 zealous Girondist. The precaution, how- 
 ever slight, was sufficient for the time. The 
 men who were prepared to murder, were 
 unwilling to fight, however strong the odds 
 on their side ; and the mustering of the 
 Jacobin bravos proved, on this occasion, an 
 empty menace. 
 
 Duly improved, a discovered conspiracy 
 is generally of advantage to the party against 
 which it was framed. But V'ergniaud, 
 when, in a subsequent sitting, he denounc- 
 ed to the Convention the existence of a 
 conspiracy to put to death a number of the 
 deputies, was contented to impute it to the 
 influence of the aristocracy, of the nobles, 
 the priests, and the emissaries of Pitt and 
 Coburg ; thus suffering the Jacobins to 
 escape every imputation of that blame, 
 which all the world knew attached to them, 
 and to them only. He was loudly applaud- 
 ed. Marat, who rose after him, was ap- 
 plauded as loudly, and the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal was established. 
 
 Louvet, who exclaims against Vergniaud 
 for his pusillanimity, says, that the orator 
 alleged in his excuse, " the danger of in- 
 censing violent men, already capable of all 
 excesses." They had come to the boar- 
 chase, they had roused him and provoked 
 his anger, and now they felt, too late, that 
 they lacked weapons with which to attack 
 the irritated monster. The plot of the 10th 
 March had been compared to that of the 
 Catholics on the 5th November, in Eng- 
 land. It had been described in the Moni- 
 teur a:^ a horrible conspiracy, by which a 
 company of ruffians, assuming the title of 
 de la Glaciere, in remembrance of the mas- 
 sacre of Avignon, surrounded the hall for 
 two (lays, with the purpose of dissolving the 
 National Convention by force, and putting 
 to deatii a great proportion of the deputies. 
 Vet the Convention passed over, without 
 eifective prosecution of any kind, a crime 
 of so enormous a die ; and in doing so, 
 showed themselves more afraid of imme- 
 diatQ personal consequences, than desirous 
 of seizing an opportunity to rid France of 
 the horrible faction by whom they were 
 scourged and menaced. 
 
 In the midst of next month the Jacobins 
 became the assailants, proud, it may be sup- 
 posed, of the impunity under which they 
 
 had been sheltered. Robespierre impeach- 
 ed by name the leaders of the Girondists, 
 as accomplices of Dumouriez. But it was 
 not in the Convention where Robespierre's 
 force lay. Guadet, with great eloquence, 
 repelled the charge, and in his turn de- 
 nounced Robespierre and the Jacobins. He 
 proclaimed to the Convention that they sat 
 and debated under raised sabres and pon- 
 iards, which a moment's signal could let 
 loose on them ; and he read from the Jour- 
 nal conducted by Marat, an appeal, calling 
 on the people to rise in insurrection. Fear 
 and shame gave the Convention momentary 
 courage. They passed a decree of accusa- 
 tion against Marat, who was obliged to con- 
 ceal himself for a few days. 
 
 Buzot, it may be remarked, censures this 
 decree against Marat as impolitic, seeing it 
 was the first innovation affecting the invio- 
 lability of the persons of the deputies. In 
 point of principle he is certainly right ; but 
 as to any practical effects resulting from 
 this breach of privilege, by reprisals on the 
 other side, we are quite sceptical. What- 
 ever violence was done to the Girpndists, 
 at the end of the conflict, was sure to have 
 befallen them, whether Marat had been ar- 
 rested or not. Precedents were as useless 
 to such men, as a vizard to one of their ruf- 
 fians. Both could do their business bare- 
 faced. 
 
 The Convention went farther than the de- 
 cree of accusation against Marat ; and for the 
 first time showed their intention to make a 
 stand against the Jacobins. They nomina- 
 ted a commission of Twelve Members, 
 some Girondists, some neutrals, to watch 
 over and repress 'the movements of such 
 citizens as should seem disposed to favour 
 anarchy. 
 
 The Convention were not long of learn- 
 ing the character of the opposition which 
 they had now defied. Pache, Mayor of Pa- 
 ris, and one of the worst men of the Revo- 
 lution, appeared at the bar of the Conven- 
 tion with two thousand petitioners, as they 
 were called. They demanded, in the name 
 of the sections, the arrest of twenty-two 
 of the most distinguished of the Girondist 
 leaders. The Convention got rid of the 
 petition by passing to the order of the day. 
 But the courage of the anarchists was 
 greatly increased ; and they saw that they 
 had only to bear down with repeated attacks 
 an enemy who had no fortification save the 
 frail defences of the law, which it was the 
 pride of the Jacobins to surmount and to 
 defy. Their demand of proscription against 
 these unfortunate deputies was a measure 
 from which thev never departed ; and their 
 audacity in urging it placed that party on 
 the defensive, who ought, in all reason, to 
 liave been active in the attack. 
 
 The Girondists, however, felt the extrem- 
 ity to which they v.^ere reduced, and sensi- 
 ble of the great advantage to be attained 
 by being the assailants in such a struggle, 
 they endeavoured to regain the offensive. 
 
 The Revolutionary Tribunal to which Ma- 
 rat had been sent by the decree of accusa- 
 tion, knew their business too well to con- 
 vict any one, much less such a distinguish*
 
 144 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIV. 
 
 ed patriot, who was only accused of stimu- 
 lating the people to exercise the sacred 
 right of insurrection. He was honourably 
 acquitted, after scarcely the semblance of 
 a trial, and brought back to his place in the 
 Convention, crowned with a civic coronet, 
 and accompanied by a band of such deter- 
 mined ruffians as were worthy to form his 
 body-guard. They insisted on filing through 
 the hall, while a huge pioneer, their spokes- 
 man, assured the Convention that tbo peo- 
 ple loved Marat, and that the cause of Ma- 
 rat and the people would always be the 
 same. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Committee of Twelve 
 proceeded against the Terrorists with some 
 vigour. One of the most furious provokers 
 of insurrection and murder was Hebert, a 
 devoted Jacobin, substitute of the Procu- 
 reur Syndic of the Community. Speaking 
 to this body, who now exercised the whole 
 powers of magistracy iu Paris, this man 
 had not blushed to demand the heads of 
 three hundred deputies. He wa^ arrested 
 and committed to prison. 
 
 This decisive action ought in policy to 
 have been followed by other steps equally 
 firm. The Girondists, by displaying confi- 
 dence, might surely have united to them- 
 ■elves a large number of the neutral party ; 
 and might have established an interest in 
 the sections of Pans, consisting of men, 
 who, though timid without leaders, held in 
 deep horror the revolutionary faction, and 
 trembled for their families and their proper- 
 ty, if put under the guardianship, as it had 
 been delicately expressed, of the rabble of 
 the fauxbourgs. The very show of four 
 hundred Bretons had disconcerted the 
 whole conspiracy of the lOth of March ; 
 and therefore, with a moderate support of 
 determined men, statesmen of a more reso- 
 lute and practised character than these 
 theoretical philosophers, might have bid 
 defiance to the mere mob of Paris, aided by 
 a few hundreds of hired rufSans. At the 
 worst they would have perished in attempt- 
 ing to save their country from the most vile 
 ajid horrible tyranny. 
 
 The Girondists, however, sat in the Con- 
 vention, like wild-fowl when the hiiwk is 
 abroad, afraid either to remain where they 
 were, or to attempt a llight. Yet, as they 
 could make no armed interest in Paris, 
 there was much to induce them to quit the 
 metropolis, and seek a place of free delib- 
 eration elsewhere. France, indeed, was in 
 such a state, that had these unfortunate ex- 
 perimentalists possessed any inHuence in 
 almost any department, they could hardly 
 have failed to bring friends around thciin. if 
 they had effected a retreat to it. Versailles 
 •earns to have been thought of as the scene 
 of their adjournment, by those who nour- 
 ished such an idea ; and it was believed 
 that the inhabitants of that town, repentant 
 of the part they had ])layed in driving from 
 them the royal family and the Legislative 
 Body, would have stood in their defence. 
 But neither from the public journals and 
 histories of the time, nor from the private 
 memoirs of Buzot, Barbaroux, or Louvet, 
 ioes it »ippear that these infatuated phiioeo- 
 
 phers thought either of flight or defence 
 They appear to have resembled the wretch- 
 ed animal, whose chance of escape from it« 
 e.temies rests only in the pitiful cries which 
 it utters when seized. Their whole system 
 was a castle in the air, and when it vanish- 
 ed they could oi)ly sit down and lament 
 over it. On the other hand, it must be al- 
 lowed to the Girondists, that the inefficien- 
 cy and imbecility of their conduct was not 
 to be attributed to personal cowardice. En- 
 thusiasts in their political opinions, they 
 saw their ruin approaching, waited for it, 
 and dared it ; but like that of the monarch 
 they had been so eager to dethrone, and by 
 dethroning whom they had made way for 
 their own ruin, their resolution was of a 
 passive not an active character ; patient and 
 steady to endure wrong, but inefficient 
 where tlic object v/as to do right tov/arda 
 themselves and France, 
 
 i'or many nights these unhappy and de- 
 voted deputies, still possessed of the min- 
 isterial power, were so far from being able 
 to ensure their own safety, or that of the 
 country under their nominal government, 
 that Ihey had shifted about from one place 
 of rendezvous to another, not daring to oc- 
 cupy their own lodgings, and usually re- 
 maining, three or four together, armed for 
 defence of their lives, in such places of 
 secrecy ai;d safety as they could devise. 
 
 It was on the night preceding the .SOth 
 of Mav, that Louvet, with five of the most 
 distinguished of the Girondist party, had 
 absconded into such a retreat, more like 
 robbers afraid of the police than legislators, 
 when tlie tocsin was rung at dead of night. 
 Rabaud de Saint Etienne, a Protestant 
 clergvmin, and one of the most distin- 
 guished of the party for humanity and reso- 
 lution, received it as a death-knell, and 
 continued to repeat. Ilia suprema dies. 
 
 The alarm was designed to raise the sub- 
 urbs ; but in this task the Jacobins do not 
 seem to have had the usual facilities — at 
 least they began by putting their blood 
 hounds on ascent, upon which they thought 
 them likely to run more readily than the 
 mere murder or arrest of twenty or thirty 
 deputies of tlie Convention, They devis- 
 ed one which suited admirably, both to 
 alarm the wealthier citizens, and teach 
 thcia to be contented with looking to their 
 own safety, and to animate the rabble with 
 the hope of plunde/. The rumour was 
 spread, that the section of La Butte-des- 
 IMoulins, comprehending the Palais Royal, 
 and the hiost v/ealthy shops in Paris, had 
 become counter-revolutionary — had dis- 
 played the white cockade, and were declar- 
 ing i'or the Bnurbons. 
 
 Of tliis not a wonl was true. The citi- 
 zens of the Palais Royal were disposed per- 
 haps to roy.iUy — certaiv.ly for a quiet and 
 established government — but loved their 
 ov.'u shop.-; much better than the House of 
 Bourbon, and had no intention of pl^cia:; 
 them in joopardv either for king or kaisar. 
 They heard with alarm the accusation 
 against thcni, mustered in defence of their 
 property, shut the gates of the Palais Roy- 
 al, which admits of being strongly defended,
 
 Chap. XIV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 145 
 
 ttirned cannon with lighted matches upon 
 the mob as they approached their precincts, 
 and showed, in a way sufficient to intimi- 
 date the rabble of Saint Antoine, that 
 though the wealthy burgesses of Paris might 
 abandon to the mob the care of killing kings 
 and changing ministers, they had no inten- 
 tion whatsoever to yield up to them the 
 charge of their counters and tills. Five 
 sections were under arms and ready to act. 
 Not one of the Girondist party seems to 
 have even attempted to point out to them, 
 that by an exertion to preserve the indepen- 
 dence of the Convention, they might rid 
 themselves for ever of the domination, un- 
 der which all who had property, feeling, or 
 education, were rendered slaves by these 
 recurring insurrections. This is the more 
 extraordinary, as Raffe, the commandant 
 of the section of La Butte-des-Moulins, 
 had actually marched to the assistance of 
 the Convention on the 10th of March, then, 
 as now, besieged by an armed force. 
 
 Left to themselves, the sections who 
 were in arms to protect order, thought it 
 enough to provide against the main danger 
 of the moment. The sight of their array, 
 and of their determined appearance, far 
 more than their three-coloured cockades, 
 and cries of " Vive la Republique," were 
 sufficient to make the insurgents recognize 
 those as good citizens, who could not be 
 convicted of incivism without a bloody 
 combat. 
 
 They were, however, at length made to 
 comprehend by their leaders, that the busi- 
 ness to be done lay in the Hall of the Con- 
 vention, and that the exertions of each active 
 citizen were to entitle him to forty sous for 
 the day's work. In the whole affair there 
 was so much of cold triok, and so little 
 popular enthusiasm, that it is difficult to 
 believe that the plotters might not have 
 been countermined and blown to the moon 
 with their own petard, had there been ac- 
 tive spirit or practical courage on the side 
 of those who were the assailed party. But 
 we see no symptoms of either. The Con- 
 vention were surrounded by the rabble, 
 and menaced in the grossest terms. Under 
 the general terror inspired by their situa- 
 tion, they finally recalled the Commission 
 of Twelve, and set Hebert at liberty; — 
 concessions which, though short of those 
 which the Jacobins had determined to in- 
 sist upon, were such as showed that the 
 power of the Girondists was entirely de- 
 stroyed, and that the Convention itself 
 might be overawed at the pleasure of whom- 
 soever should command the mob of Paris. 
 
 The Jacobins were now determined to 
 follow up their blow, by destroying the ene- 
 my whom they had disarmed. The 2d of 
 June was fixed for this purpose. Louvet and 
 some otliers of the Girondist party, did not 
 choose to a.vait the issue, but fled from 
 Paris. To secure the rest of the devoted 
 party, the barriers of the city were shut. 
 
 On this decisive occasion the Jacobins 
 had not trusted entirely to the efficiency 
 of their suburb forces. They had also un- 
 der their orders about two thousand Fed- 
 VoL, L G 
 
 erates, who were encamped in the CkaOipB 
 Elysees, and had been long tutored in the 
 part they had to act. They harnessed <piiiB 
 and howitzers, prepared grape-shot and 
 shells, and actually heated shot red-hot, as 
 if their purpose had been to attack some 
 strong fortress, instead of a hall filled with 
 the unarmed representatives of the- people. 
 Henriot, commander-general of the armed 
 force of Paris, a fierce, ignorant man, en- 
 tirely devoted to the Jacobin interest, took 
 care, in posting the armed force which ar- 
 rived from all hands around the Conven- 
 tion, to station those nearest to the Legis- 
 lative Body, whose dispositions with re^ird 
 to them were most notoriously violent. 
 They were thus entirely surrounded as if 
 in a net, and the Jacobins had little mors 
 to do than to select their victims. 
 
 The universal cry of armed men who 
 surrounded the Convention, was for a de- 
 cree of death or outlawry against twenty- 
 two members of the Girondist party, who 
 had been pointed out, by the petition of 
 Pache, and by subsequent petitions of the 
 most inflammatory nature, as accomplices 
 of Dumouriez, enemies of the gooa city , 
 of Paris, and traitors, vrho meditated a 
 federative instead of an indivisible Repub- 
 lic. This list of proscription included the 
 ministers. 
 
 The Convention were in a dreadful situa- 
 tion ; it was manifest that the arm of strong 
 force was upon them. Those who were 
 supposed to belong to the Girondist party, 
 were struck and abused as they entered the 
 hall, hooted and threatened as they arose 
 to deliver their opinion. The membe.-s 
 were no longer free to speak or vote. 
 There could be no deliberation within the 
 Assembly, while such a scene of tumult 
 and fury continued and increased without. 
 
 Barrere, leader, as we have said, of the 
 Plain, or neutral party, who thought with 
 the Girondists in conscience, and acted 
 with the Jacobins in fear, proposed one of 
 those seemingly moderate measures, which 
 involve as sure destruction to those who 
 adopt them, as if their character were more 
 decisively hostile. With compliments to 
 their irood intentions, with lamentations for 
 the emergency, he entreated the proscribed 
 Girondists to sacrifice themselves, as the 
 unhappy subjects of disunion in the Repub- 
 lic , and to resign their character of depu- 
 ties. The convention, he said, would then 
 declare them under the protection of the 
 law, — as if they were not invested with 
 that protection while they were convicted 
 of no crime, and clothed .at the same time 
 with the inviolability, of which he advised 
 them to divest themselves. It was as if a 
 man were requested to lay a^'ide his armour, 
 on the promise that the ordinary garments 
 which he wore under it should be rendered 
 impenetrable. 
 
 But a Frenchman is easily induced to do 
 that to which he is provoked, as involving 
 a point of honour. This treacherous ad- 
 vice was adopted by Isnard, Dussaus, and 
 others of the proscribed deputies, who were 
 thus persuaded to abandon what defences
 
 146 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIV. 
 
 remained to them, in hopes to soften the 
 ferocity of aji enemy, too inveterate to en- 
 tertain feelings of generosity. 
 
 Lanjuinais maintained a more honourable 
 struggle. ■' Expect not from me," he said 
 to thf Convention, " to hear either of sub- 
 mission, or resignation of my otficial char- 
 acter. Am I free to offer such a resigna- 
 tion, or are you free to receive it ?" As he 
 would have turned his eloquence against 
 Robespierre and the Jacobins, an attempt 
 was made by Legendre and Chabot to drag 
 him from the tribune. While he resisted 
 he received several blows. " Cruel men I" 
 he exclaimed — " The Heathens adorned 
 and caressed the victims whom they led to 
 the slaughter — you load them with blows 
 and insult.'' 
 
 Shame procured him a moment's hearing, 
 during which he harangued the Assembly 
 with much effect on the baseness, treache- 
 ry, cruelty, and impolicy, of thus surrender- 
 ing their brethren to the call of a blood- 
 thirsty multitude from without, stimulated 
 by a vengeful minority of their own mem- 
 bers. The Convention made an effort to 
 free themselves from the toils in which they 
 were entangled. They resolved to go out 
 in a body, and ascertain what respect would 
 be paid to their persons by the armed force 
 assembled around them. 
 
 They sallied forth accordingly, in pro- 
 cession, into the gardens of the Tuilleries, 
 the Jacobins alone remaining in the Hall ; 
 but their progress was presentlyarrested by 
 Henriot, at the head of a strong military 
 staff, and a large body of troops. Every 
 passage leading from the gardens was se- 
 cured by soldiers. The President read the 
 decree of the Assembly, and commanded 
 Henriot's obedience. The commandant of 
 Paris only replied by reining back his horse, 
 and commanding the troops to stand to their 
 arms. " Return to your posts," he said to 
 the terrified legislators ; " the people de- 
 mand the traitors who are in the bosom of 
 your Assembly, and will not depart till their 
 will is accomplished." Marat came up 
 presently afterwards at the head of a select 
 band of a hundred ruffians. He called on the 
 multitude to stand firm to their purpose, 
 and commanded the Convention, in the 
 name of the people, to return to their place 
 of meeting, to deliberate, and, above all, to 
 obey. 
 
 The Convention re-entered their Hall in 
 the last degree of consternation, prepared 
 to submit to the infamy which now seemed 
 inevitable, yet loathing themselves for their 
 cowardice, even while obeying the dictates 
 of self-preservation. The Jacobins mean- 
 while enhanced their demand, like Her 
 who sold the books of the Sibyls. Instead 
 of twenty-two deputies, the accusation of 
 thirty was now demanded. Amid terror 
 mingled with acclamations, the decree was 
 declared to be carried. This doom of pro- 
 scription passed on the motion of Couthon ; 
 a decrepid being, whose lower extremities 
 
 were paralysed, whose benevolence of 
 
 feeling seemed to pour itself out in the 
 most gentle expressions, uttered in the 
 most melodious tones, — whose sensibility 
 
 led him constantly to foster a favourite 
 spaniel in his bosom, that he might have 
 something on which to bestow kindness 
 and caresses, — but who was at heart aa 
 fierce as Danton, and as pitiless as Robes- 
 pierre. 
 
 Great part of the Convention did not join 
 in this vote, protesting loudly against the 
 force imposed on them. Several of the 
 proscribed deputies were arrested, others 
 escaped from the Hail by the connivance 
 of their brethren, and of the official persons 
 attached to the Convention, some, foresee- 
 ing their fate, had absented themselves from 
 the meeting, and were already fled from 
 Paris. 
 
 Thus fell, without a blow struck, or sword 
 drawn in their defence, the party in the 
 Convention which claimed the praise of 
 acting upon pure Republican principles — 
 who had overthrown the throne, and led 
 the way to anarchy, merely to perfect aB 
 ideal theory. They fell, as the wisest of 
 them admitted, dupes to their own system, 
 and to the vain and impracticable idea of 
 ruling a large and corrupt empire, by the 
 motives which may sway a small and virtu- 
 ous community. They might, as they too 
 late discovered, have as well attempted to 
 found the Capitol on a bottomless and 
 quaking marsh, as their pretended Republic 
 in a country like France. The violent rev- 
 olutionary expedients, the means by which 
 they acted, were turned against them by 
 men, whose ends were worse than their 
 own. The Girondists had gloried in their 
 share of the triumphs of the 10th of August ; 
 yet what was that celebrated day, save an 
 insurrection of the populace against the 
 constituted authority of the time, as those 
 of the 31st of May and 2d of June, 1793, 
 under which the Girondists succumbed, 
 were directed against them as successors, 
 ii. the government? In the one case, a 
 King was dethroned ; in the other, a gov- 
 ernment or band of ministers dismissed. 
 And if the people had a right, as the Giron- 
 dists claimed in their behalf, to act as the 
 executioners of their own will in the one in- 
 stance, it is difficult to see upon what prin- 
 ciple their power should be trammelled in 
 the other. 
 
 In the important process against the 
 King, the Girondists had shown themselves 
 pusillanimous ; — desirous to save the life 
 of a guiltless man, they dared not boldly 
 vouch his innocence, but sheltered them- 
 selves under evasions which sacrificed his 
 character, while they could not protect his 
 life. After committing this great error, 
 they lost every chance of rallying with ef- 
 ficacy under their standard what might re- 
 main of well-intentioned individuals in Pa- 
 ris and in F'rance, who, if they had seen 
 the Girondists, when in power, conduct 
 themselves with firmness, would probably 
 rather have ranked themselves in the train 
 of men who were friends to social order, 
 however republican their tenets, than have 
 given way to the anarchy which was doom- 
 ed to ensue. 
 
 Upon all their own faults whether of act 
 or of omission, the unfortunate Girondists
 
 Caap. XIV.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 147 
 
 had now ample time to meditate. Twenty- 
 two of their leading members, arrested on 
 the fatal 2d of June, already waited their 
 doom in prison, while the others wandered 
 on, in distress and misery, through the dif- 
 ferent departments of France. 
 
 The fate of those who were prisoners was 
 not very long suspended. In about three 
 months they were brought to trial, and con- 
 victed — of Royalism .' Such was the tem- 
 per of France at the time, and so gross the 
 impositions which might be put upon the 
 people, ! that the men in the empire, who, 
 upon abstract principle, ^ve^e most averse 
 to monarchy, and who had sacrificed even 
 their consciences to join with the Jacobins 
 in pulling down the throne, were now ac- 
 cused and convicted of being Royalists ; 
 and that at a time when what remained of 
 the royal family was at so low an ebb, that 
 the imprisoned Queen could not obtain the 
 most ordinary book for the use of her son, 
 ■without a direct and formal application to 
 the Community of Faris.^ 
 
 \VTien the Girondists were brought before 
 the tribunal, the people seem to have shown 
 more interest in men, whose distinguished 
 talents had so often swayed *he Legislative 
 Body, than was altogether acceptable to the 
 Jacobins, who were induced to fear some 
 difficulty in carrying through their convic- 
 tion. They obtained a decree from the 
 Convention, declaring that the President 
 of the Revolutionary tribunal should be at 
 liberty to close the procedure so soon as 
 the Jury should have made up their minds, 
 and without hearing the accused in their 
 defence. This frightful expedient of cut- 
 ting short the debate, (couper la parole was 
 the phrase,) was often resorted to on those 
 revolutionary trials. Unquestionably, they 
 dreaded the reasoning of Brissot, and the 
 eloquence of \'ergniaud, of which they had 
 80 long and so often experienced the thun- 
 ders. One crime, — and it was a fatal of- 
 fence, considering before what judicature 
 they stood. — seems to have been made out 
 by Brissot's own letters. It wa^ that by 
 which the late members attempted to ef- 
 fect a combination among the departments, 
 for the purpose of counterpoising, if possi- 
 ble, the tremendous influence which the 
 capital and the revolutionary part of its 
 magistracy exercised over thei'onvention, 
 whom Paris detained prisoners within her 
 walls. This delinquency alone was well 
 calculated to remove all scruples from the 
 minds of a jury, selected from that very 
 class of Parisians, whose dreadful impor- 
 tance would have been altogether annihilat- 
 ed by the success of such a scheme. The 
 accused were found guilty as conspirators 
 against the unity and indivisibility of the 
 Republic, and the liberty and sal'ety of the 
 French people. 
 
 When the sentence of death was pro- 
 nounced, one of their number, Valaze, 
 plunged a d^gcr in his bosom. The rest 
 
 * Witness the following entry in the minutes of 
 the Commune, on a day, be it remarked, betwixt 
 the Q9th May and the ■2d Juna : " Antoinette f;.it 
 <ieraander pour son fib le roman de Gil Bias de 
 Sontillane — accord^ " 
 
 suffered in terms of the sentence, and were 
 conveyed to the place of execution in the 
 same tumbril with the bloody corpse of 
 their suicide colleague. Brissot seemed 
 downcast and unhappy. Fauchet, a rene- 
 gade priest, showed signs of remorse. The 
 rest affected a Roman resolution, and went 
 to execution singing a parody on the Hymn 
 of the Marseillois, in which that famous 
 composition was turned against the Jaco- 
 bins. They had long rejected the aids of 
 religion, which, early received and cher- 
 ished, would have guided their steps in 
 prosperity, and sustained them in adversity. 
 Their remaining stay ■vvas only that of the 
 same vain and speculative philosophy, 
 which had so deplorably influenced their 
 political conduct. 
 
 Those members of the Girondist party, 
 who, escaping from Paris to the depart- 
 ments, avoided their fate somewhat longer, 
 saw little reason to pride themselves on the 
 political part they had chosen to act. They 
 found the eastern and southern departments 
 in a ferment against Paris and the Jacobins, 
 and ready to rise in arms ; but they became 
 aware, at the same time, that no one was 
 thinking of or regretting their system of a 
 pure republic, the motives by which the 
 malcontents were agitated being of a very 
 different, and far more practical character. 
 Great part of the nation, all at leost of bet- 
 ter feelings, had been deeply affected by 
 the undeserved fate of the King, and the 
 cruelty with which his family had been, 
 and were still treated. The rich feared to 
 be pillaged and murdered by the Jacobins ; 
 the poor suffered no less under scarcity cf 
 grain, under the depreciation of assignats. 
 and a compulsory levy of no less than three 
 hundred thousand men over France, to 
 supply the enormous losses of the French 
 army. But everywhere the insurrections 
 took a Royalist, and not a Republican char- 
 acter ; and although the Girondists were 
 received at Caen and elsewhere with com- 
 passion and respect, the votes they had 
 given in the King's trial, and their fanatic 
 zeal for a kind of government for which 
 France was totally unfitted, and which those 
 from ■svhom they obtained refuge were far 
 from desiring, prevented their playing any 
 distinguished part in the disturbed district* 
 of the West. 
 
 Buzot seems to see this in the true sense. 
 '■ It is certain,"' he says, " that if we coultl 
 have rested our pretensions upon having 
 wished to establish in France a moderate 
 government of that character, which, ac- 
 cording to many well-instructed persons, 
 best suited the people of France," (indicat- 
 ing a limited monarchy.) ''we might have 
 entertained hopes of forming a formidable 
 coalition in the department of Calvados, 
 and rallying around us all whom ancient 
 prejudices attached to royalty," As it was, 
 they were only regarded as a few enthusi- 
 asts, whom the example of America had in- 
 duced to attempt the establishment of a re- 
 public, in a country where all hopes amd 
 wishes, save those of the Jacobins, and trie 
 vile rabble whon they courted and i:ovcrt<» 
 ed, were turned towards a moderate ttion-
 
 146 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIV. 
 
 archy. Buzot also observed, that the many 
 fiolences, and atrocities, forced levies, and 
 other acts of oppression practised in the 
 name ot' the Republic, had disgusted men 
 with a form of government, where cruelty 
 seemed to rule over misery by the sole aid 
 of terror. With more candour than some 
 of his companions, he avows his error, and 
 admits that he would, at this closing scene, 
 have willingly united with the moderate 
 monarchists, to establish royalty under the 
 safeguard of constitutional restraints. 
 
 .Several of the deputies, Louvet, Riouffe, 
 Barbarous, Pethion, and others, united 
 themselves with a body of Royalists of 
 Bretagne, to whom General Wimpfen had 
 given something of the name of an army, 
 but which never attained the solidity of 
 one. It was defeated at Vernon, and never 
 afterwards could be again assembled. 
 
 The proscribed deputies, at first with a 
 few armed associates, afterwards entirely 
 deserted, wandered through the country, 
 incurring some romantic adventures, which 
 have been recorded by the pen of their 
 histori^in, Louvet. At length, six of the 
 party succeeded in obtaining the means of 
 transportation to Bourdeaux, the capital 
 of that Gironde from which their party de- 
 rived its name, and which those who were 
 natives of it, remembering only the limited 
 society in which they had first acquired 
 their fame, had described as possessing and 
 cherishing the purest principles of philo- 
 sophical freedom. Guadet had protested 
 to his companions in misfortune a thousand 
 times, that if liberal, honourable, and gen- 
 erous sentiments were chased from every 
 other corner of France, they were never- 
 theless sure to find re<uge in La Gironde. 
 The proscribed wanderers had well nigh 
 kissed the land of refuge, when they dis- 
 embarked, as in a country of assured protec- 
 tion. But Bourdeaux was by this time no 
 more than a wealthy trading town, where 
 the rich, trembling before the poor, were 
 not willing to increase their own imminent 
 dan^ei", by intermeddling with the misfor- 
 tunes of others. All doors, or nearly so, 
 of La Gironde itself, were shut against the 
 Girondists, and they wandered outcasts 
 in the country, suffering every extremity 
 of toil and hunger, and bringing, in some 
 cases, death upon the friends who ventured 
 to afford them refuge. 
 
 Louvet alone escaped, of the sis Giron- 
 dists who took refuge in their own peculiar 
 province. Guadet, Salles, and the enthu- 
 siastic Barbarous, were seized and execu- 
 ted at Bourdeaux, but not till the last had 
 twice attempted suicide with his pistols. 
 Buzot and Pethion killed themselves in ex- 
 tremity, and were found dead in a field of 
 •cm. This was the same Pethion who had 
 
 been so long the idol of the Parisians, and 
 who, when the forfeiture of the King waa 
 resolved on, had been heard to say with 
 simple vanity, " If they should force me to 
 become Regent now, I cannot see any 
 means by which I can avoid it." Otherii 
 of this unhappy party shared the same mel- 
 ancholy fate. Condorcet, who had pro- 
 nounced his vote for the King's life, but 
 in perpetual fetters, was arrested, and poi- 
 soned himself. Rabaud de St Etienne wa* 
 betrayed by a friend in whom he trusted, 
 and was executed. Roland was found 
 dead in the high road, accomplishing a 
 prophecy of his wife, whom the Jacobina 
 had condemned to death, and who had de- 
 clared her conviction that her husband 
 would not long survive her. That remarka- 
 ble woman, happy if her high talents had, 
 in youth, fallen under the direction of those 
 who could better have cultivated them, 
 made before the revolutionary tribunal a 
 defence more manly than the most elo- 
 quent of the Girondins. The bystanders, 
 who had become amateurs in cruelty, were 
 as much delighted with her deportment, as 
 the hunter with the pulling down a noble 
 stag. " What sense," they said, " what 
 wit, what courage ! What a magnificent 
 spectacle it will be to behold such a woman 
 upon the scaffold!" She met her death with 
 great firmness, and, as she passed the statue 
 of Liberty, on her road to execution, she 
 exclaimed, " Ah, Liberty ! what crimes are 
 committed in thy name !" 
 
 About forty-two of the Girondist deputiefl 
 perished by the guillotine, by suicide, or 
 by the fatigue of their wanderings. About 
 twenty -four escaped these perils, and were, 
 after many and various sufferings, recalled 
 to the Convention, when the Jacobin influ- 
 ence was destroyed. They owed their fall 
 to the fantastic philosophy and visionary 
 theories which they had adopted, not less 
 than to their presumptuous confidence^ 
 that popular assemblies, when actuated by 
 the most violent personal feelings, must 
 yield to the weight of argument, as inani- 
 mate bodies obey the impulse of external 
 force ; and that they who possess the high- 
 est powers of oratory, can, by mere elo- 
 cution, take the weight from clubs, the 
 edge from sabres, and the angry and brutal 
 passions from those who wiefd them. They 
 made no further figure as a partv in any of 
 the state changes in France ; and, in rela- 
 tion to their experimental republic, may 
 remind the reader of the presumptuous 
 champion of antiquity ; who was caught in 
 the cleft oak, which he in vain attempted 
 to rend asunder. History has no more to 
 say on the subject of La Gironde, consid- 
 ered as a party name.
 
 Chap. XV.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 149 
 
 CHAP. ZV. 
 
 Viem of parties in Britain relative to the Revolution. — Affiliated Societies — Counter- 
 poised bv Aristocratic Associations. — Aristocratic Party eager for Wartoith France. 
 — The French proclaim the Navigation of the Scheldt. — British Ambassador re- 
 called from Paris, and French Envoy no longer accredited in London. — France de- 
 Clares War against England. — British Army sent to Holland, under the Duke of 
 York — State of the Army. — View of the Military Positiojis of France in Flanders — 
 on the Rhine — in Piedmont — Savoy — on the Pyrenees. — State of the War in La Ven- 
 due — Description of the Country — Le Bocage — Le Louroux — Close Union betunxt the 
 Nobles and Peasantry— Both strongly attached to Royalty, and abhorrent of the Rev- 
 olution. — The Priesti. — The Religion of the Vendeans outraged by the Convention 
 — A general insurrection takes place in 1793. — Military Organization and Habits of 
 the Vendeans. — Division in the British Cabinet on the Mode of conducting the War. 
 — Pitt — Windham. — Rca-ioning upon the Subject. — Capitulation of Mentz enables 
 15,000 Veterans to act in La Vendfie. — Vendeans defeated, and pass the Loire — They 
 defeat, in their turn, the French Troops at Laval — But are ultimately destroyed and 
 ditpersed. — Unfortunate expedition to Quiberon. — La Charette defeated and execut- 
 ed, and the War of La Vendue finally terminated. — Return to the State of France m 
 /Spring: 1793. — Unsuccessful Resistance of Bcnirdeaux. Marseilles, and Lyons to the 
 Convention. — Siege of Lyons — Its surrender and dreadful Punishment. — Siege qf 
 Toulon. 
 
 The Jacobins, by their successive victo- 
 ries on the 31st May and 2d June 1793, had 
 vanquished and driven from the field their 
 adTersaries ; and we have already seen with 
 ■what fury they had pursued their scattered 
 enemies, and dealt among them vengeance 
 and death. But the situation of the coun- 
 try, both in regard to external and internal 
 relations, was so precarious, that it requir- 
 ed the exertion of men as bold and unhesi- 
 tating as now assumed the guidance of the 
 power of France, to exert the energies ne- 
 cessary to repel foreign force, and at the 
 same time to subdue internal dissension. 
 
 We have seen that England had become 
 in a great measure divided into two large 
 parties, one of which continued to applaud 
 the French Revolution, although the wise 
 and good among them reprobated its esces- 
 es ; while the other, with eyes fixed in de- 
 testation upon the cruelties, confiscations, 
 and horrors of every description which it 
 had given rise to, looked on the very name 
 of this great change, — though no doubt com- 
 prehending much good as well as evil. — 
 with the unmixed feelings of men in con- 
 templating a spectacle equally dreadful and 
 disgusting. 
 
 The affair of the 10th of August, and the 
 approaching fate of the King, excited gen- 
 eral interest in Britain ; and a strong incli- 
 nation became visible among the higher 
 and middling classes, that the nation should 
 lake up arms and interfere in the fate of the 
 nnhappy Louis. 
 
 Mr. Pitt had been making up his mind to 
 the same point ; but feeling how much his 
 own high talents were turned to the im- 
 provement of the internal regulations and 
 finances of the country, he hesitated for 
 •ome time to adopt a hostile course, though 
 approved by the sovereign, and demanded 
 by a large proportion of his subjects. But 
 new circumstances arose every day to com- 
 pel a decision on this important point. 
 
 The French, whether in their individual 
 or collective capacities, have been always 
 desirous to take the lead among European 
 
 nations, and to be considered as the fore 
 most member of the civilized republic. li» 
 almost all her vicissitudes, France has ad- 
 dressed herself as much to the citizens of 
 other countries as to those of her own ; and 
 it was thus, that in the speeches of her 
 statesmen, invitations were thrown out to 
 the subjects of other states, to imitate the 
 example of the Republic, castasvay the rub- 
 bish of their old institutions, dethrone their 
 Kings, demolish their nobility, divide the 
 lands of the church and the aristocracy 
 among the lower classes, and arise a free 
 and regenerated people. In Britain as else- 
 where, these doctrines carried a fascinat- 
 ing sound ; for Britain as -veil as France 
 had men of parts, who thought themselves 
 neglected, — men of merit, who conceived 
 themselves oppressed, experimentalists, 
 who would willingly put the laws in their re- 
 volutionary crucible, — and men desirous of 
 novelties in the church and in the state, ei- 
 ther from the eagerness of restless curiosi- 
 tv, or the hopes of bettering by the change. 
 Above all, Britain had afar too ample mass of 
 poverty and ignorance, subject always to be 
 acted upon by the hope of license. Affiliated 
 societies were formed in almost all the 
 towns of Great Britain. They correspond- 
 ed with each other, held very high and in- 
 timidating language, and seemed to frame 
 themselves on the French model. They 
 addressed the National Convention of 
 France directly in the name of their own 
 bodies, and of societies united for the same 
 purpose ; and congratulated them on their 
 freedom, and on the manner in which they 
 had gained it, with many a broad hint that 
 their example would not be lost on Britain 
 The persons who composed these societieb 
 had, generally speaking, little pretension 
 to rank or influence ; and though they con- 
 tained some men of considerable parts, 
 there was a deficiency of anything like 
 ; weight or respectability in their meetings. 
 Their consequence lay chiefly in the num- 
 I bers who were likely to be influenced bj 
 1 their arguments ; and these were eitraordi-
 
 150 
 
 LIFE OF ^•APOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 narily great, especially in large towns, and 
 in the manufacturing districts. That state 
 of things began to take place in Britain, 
 which had preceded the French Revolu- 
 tion ; but the British aristocracy, well ce- 
 mented together, and possessing great 
 weight in the state, took the alarm sooner, 
 and adopted precautions more effectual, 
 than had been thought of in France. They 
 associated together in political unions on 
 their side, and by the weight of influence, 
 character, and fortune, soon obtained a su- 
 periority, which made it dangerous, or at 
 least inconvenient, to many, whose situa- 
 tions in society rendered them in some de- 
 gree dependent upon the favour of the aris- 
 tocracy, to dissent violently from their 
 opinions. The political Stiibboleth, used by 
 these associations, was a renunciation of 
 the doctrines of the French Revolution ; 
 and they have been reproached that this ab- 
 horrence was expressed by some of them 
 in terms so strong, as if designed to with- 
 hold the subscribers from attempting any 
 reformation in their own government, even 
 by the most constitutional means. In short, 
 while the democratical party made in their 
 clubs the most violent and furious speeches 
 against the aristocrats, the others became 
 doubly prejudiced against reform of every 
 description, and all who attempted to as- 
 sert its propriety. After all, had this polit- 
 ical ferment broke out in Britain at any oth- 
 er period, or on any other occasion, it would 
 have probably passed away like other heart- 
 burniiigs of the same description, which in- 
 terest for a time, but weary out the public 
 attention, and are laid aside and forgotten. 
 But the Freneh Revolution blazed in the 
 neighbourhood like a beacon of hope to the 
 one party, of feai and caution to the other. 
 The shouts of the democratic triumphs— 
 the foul means by which their successes 
 were obtained, ajid the cruel use which was 
 made of them, increasc<i the animosity of 
 both parties in England. In the fury of 
 party zeal, the democrats excused many of 
 the excesses of the French Revolution, in 
 respect of its tendency ; while the other 
 party, in condemning the whole Revolu- 
 tion, both root and branch, forgot that, af- 
 ter all, the struggle of the French nation to 
 recover their liberty, was, in its commence- 
 ment, not only justifiable, but laudable. 
 
 The wild and inflated language addressed 
 ty the French statesmen to mankind in 
 g ineril, and the spirit of conquest which 
 the nation had lately evinced, mixed with 
 their marked desire to extend their politi- 
 cal principles, and with the odium which 
 they had heaped upon themselves by the 
 King's death, made the whole aristocratic 
 party, commanding a very large majority in 
 both Houses of Parliament, become urgent 
 that war should be declared against France ; 
 a holy war, it was said, against treason, 
 blasphemy, and murder, and a necessary 
 war, in order to break off all connexion be- 
 twixt the French government, and the dis- 
 contented part of our own subjects, who 
 could not otherwise be prevented from tne 
 most close, constant, and dangerous inter- 
 course with them. 
 
 Another reason for hostilities, more in 
 parallel with similar cases in history, oc- 
 curred, from the French having, by a form- 
 al decree, proclaimed the Scheldt naviga- 
 ble. In so doing, a point had been assum- 
 ed as granted, upon the denial of which the 
 States of Holland had always rested as the 
 very basis of their na»ional prosperity. It 
 is probable that this might, in other circum- 
 stances, have been made the subject of ne- 
 gotiation. But the difference of opinion on 
 the general politics of the Revolution, 
 and the mode in which it had been carried 
 on, set the governments of France and Eng- 
 land m such direct and mortal opposition to 
 each other, that war becanie inevitable. 
 
 Lord Gower, the British ambassador, was 
 recalled from Paris, immediately on the 
 King's execuuou. The prince to whom he 
 was sent was no more ; and, on the same 
 ground, the French envoy at the Court of 
 St. James's, though not dismissed by his 
 Majesty's government, was made acquaint- 
 ed that the ministers no longer considered 
 him as an ace edited person. Yet, through 
 Maret, a subo iinate agent, Pitt continued 
 to keep up so iie correspondence with the 
 French govciiiment, in a lingering desire 
 to preserve peace, if possible. What the 
 British minister chiefly wished was, to have 
 satisfactory assurances that the strong ex- 
 pressions of a decree, which the French 
 Convention had passed on the 19th Novem- 
 ber, were not to be considered as applica- 
 ble to England. The decree was in these 
 words : " The national Convention declares, 
 in the name of the French nation, that ic 
 will grant fraternity and assistance to all 
 people who wish to recover their liberty : 
 and it charges the executive power to send 
 the necessary orders to the generals, to 
 give succours to such people, and to de- 
 fend those citizens who have suffered, or 
 may suffer, in the cause of liberty." — 
 •• That this decree might not remain a se- 
 cret to those for whose benefit it was in- 
 tended, a translation of it, in every foreign 
 language, was ordered to be printed."* The 
 Convention, as well as the ministers of 
 France, refused every disavowel of the de- 
 cree as applicable to Great Britain ; were 
 equally reluctant to grant explanation of 
 any kind on the opening of tlie Scheldt ; 
 and finally, without one dissentient v«ice, 
 the whole Convention, in a full meeting, 
 declared war upon England ; — which last 
 nation is, nevertheless, sometimes repre- 
 sented, even at this day, as having declared 
 war upon France. 
 
 In fact, Mr. Pitt came unwillingly into 
 the war. With even more than his great 
 father's ministerial talents, he did not ha- 
 bitually nourish the schemes of military 
 triumph which were familiar to the genius 
 of Chatham, and was naturally unwilling, 
 bv engaging in an expensive war, to derange 
 those plans of finance by which he had re- 
 trieved the revenues of Great Britain from 
 a very low condition. It is said of Chat- 
 ham, that he considered it as the best 
 economy, to make every military expedition 
 
 * Annual Register for 1793, p. 153.
 
 Chap.XV.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 151 
 
 which he fitted out, of such a power and 
 strength, as to overbear, as far as possible, 
 all chance of opposition. A general officer, 
 who was to be employed in such a piece of 
 service, having demanded a certain body of 
 troops as sufficient to effect his purpose,' 
 " Taike double the number," said Lord Chat- 
 ham, " and answer with your head for your 
 Bucccss." His son had not the same mode 
 of computation, and would perhaps have 
 been more willing to have reduced tlie offi- 
 cer's terms, chaffered witli him for the low- 
 est number, and finally despatched him at 
 the head of as small a body as the general 
 could have been prevailed onto consider as 
 affording any prospect Oi" success. This 
 untimely economy of resources arose from 
 the expense attending the British army. 
 They are certainly one of the bravest, best 
 appointed, and most liberally paid in Eu- 
 rope ; but in forming demands on their val- 
 our, and expectations from their exertions, 
 their fellow-subjects are apt to indulge ex- 
 travagant computations, from not being in 
 the habit of considering military calcula- 
 tions, or being altogether aware of the nu- 
 merical superiority ptK'^'ssed by other 
 countries. That one Engi^nman will fight 
 two Frenchmen is certain ; but that he will 
 beat them, though a good article of the pop- 
 ular creed, must be allowed to be more du- 
 bious j and it is not wise to wage war on 
 euch odds, or to suppose that, because our 
 soldiers are infinitely valuable to us, and 
 a little expensive besides, it is therefore ju- 
 dicious to send them in small numbers 
 against desperate odds. 
 
 Another point, well touched by Sheridan, 
 on the debate of the question of peace or 
 war, was not sufficiently attended to by the 
 British administration. That statesman, 
 whose perception of the right and wrong of 
 any great constitutional question was as 
 acute as that of any whomsoever of his great 
 political contemporaries, said, " He wished 
 every possible exertion to be made for the 
 preservation of peace. If, however, that 
 were impracticable, in such case, but in 
 such case only, he proposed to vote for a vi- 
 gorous war. Not a war of shifts and scraps, 
 of timid operation, or protracted effort: but 
 a war conducted with such energy as might 
 convince the world that we were contend- 
 ing for our dearest and most valuable privi- 
 leges."* 
 
 Of this high-spirited and most just prin- 
 ciple, the policy of Britain unfortunately 
 lost sight during the first years of the war, 
 when there occurred more than one oppor- 
 tunity in which a home and prostrating blow 
 might have been aimed at her gigantic ad- 
 versary. 
 
 A gallant auxiliary army was, however, 
 immediately fitted out, and embarked for 
 Holland, with his Royal Highness the Duke 
 of York at their head, as if the King had 
 meant to give to his allies the dearest pledge 
 in his power, how serious was the interest 
 which he took in their defence. 
 
 But though well equipped, and command- 
 ed, under the young Prince, by Abercrom- 
 
 » Annual Register for 1793, p. 250. 
 
 by, Dundas, Sir William Erskine, and many 
 other officers of gallantry and experience, 
 it must be owned that the British army had 
 not then recovered the depressing and dis- 
 organizing effects of the American war. The 
 soldiers were, indeed, fine men on the pa- 
 rade ; but tlieir external appearance was ac- 
 quired by dint of a thousand minute and vex- 
 atious attentions, exacted from them at the 
 expense of private comfort, and which, af- 
 ter all, only gave them the exterior appear- 
 ance of high drilling, in exchange for ease 
 of motion and simplicity of dress. No 
 general system of manoeuvres, we believe, 
 had been adopted for the use of the forces ; 
 each commanding officer managed his regi- 
 ment according to his own pleasure. In a 
 field-day, two or three battalions could not 
 act in concert, without much previous con- 
 sultation ; in action, they got on as chance 
 directed. The officers, too, were acquaint- 
 ed both with their soldiers and with their 
 duty, in a degree far inferior to what is now 
 exacted from them. Our system of pur- 
 chasing commissions, which is necessary to 
 connect the army with the country, and 
 the property of the country, was at that 
 time so much abused, that a mere beardless 
 boy might be forced at once through the 
 subordinate and subaltern steps into a com- 
 pany or a majority, without having been a 
 month in the army. In short, all those gi- 
 gantic abuses were still subsisting, which 
 the illustrious prince whom we have named 
 eradicated from tne British army, by regu- 
 lations for which his country can never be 
 sufficiently grateful, and without which they 
 could never have performed the distinguish- 
 ed part finally destined to them in the ter- 
 rible drama, which was about to open under 
 less successful auspices. 
 
 There hung also, like a cloud, upon the 
 military fame of England, the unfortunate 
 issue of the American struggle, in which 
 the advantages obtained by regulars, against 
 less disciplined forces, had been trifled 
 with in the commencement, until the gen- 
 ius of Washington, and the increasing spirit 
 and numbers of the continental armies, 
 completely overbalanced, and almost anni- 
 hilated, that original preponderance. 
 
 Yet the British soldiery did not disgrace 
 their high national character, nor show 
 themselves unworthy of fighting under the 
 eye of the son of their monarch ; and when 
 they joined the Austrian army, under the 
 Prince of Saxe-Cobourg, gave many demon- 
 strations both of valour and discipline. 
 The storming the fortified camp of the 
 French at F'amars — the battle of Lincelles 
 — the part they bore in the sieges of Va- 
 lenciennes and Conde, both of which sur- 
 rendered successively to the allied forces, 
 upheld the reputation of their country, and 
 amounted, indeed, to what in former wars 
 would have been the fruits of a very suc- 
 cessful campaign. But Europe was now 
 arrived at a time when war was no longer 
 to be carried on according to the old usage, 
 by the agency of standing armies of mode- 
 rate numbers ; when a battle lost and won, 
 or a siege raised or successful, was 
 thought sufficient for the active exertions
 
 153 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 of the year, and the troops on either side 
 were drawn off into winter-quarters, while 
 diplomacy took up the contest which tac- 
 tics had suspended. All this was to be 
 laid aside ; and instead of this drowsy state 
 of hostility, nations were to contend with 
 each other like individuals in mortal con- 
 flict, bringing not merely the hands, but 
 every limb of the body into violent and fu- 
 rious struggle. The situation of France, 
 both in internal and external relations, re- 
 quired the most dreadlal efforts which had 
 been ever made by any country ; and the 
 exertions which she demanded, were either 
 willingly made by the enthusiasm of the in- 
 habitants, or extorted by the energy and se- 
 verity of the Revolutionary government. 
 We must bestow a single glance on the 
 state of the country, ere we proceed to no- 
 tice the measures adopted for its defence. 
 
 On the eastern frontier of Flanders, con- 
 siderable advances had been made by the 
 English and Hanoverian army, in communi- 
 cation and conjunction with the Austrian 
 force under the Prince of Saxe-Cobourg, 
 an excellent officer, Lut who, belonging to 
 the old school of formal and prolonged war, 
 never sufficiently considered that a new de- 
 scription of enemies were opposed to him, 
 who were necessarily to be combated in a 
 different manner from those whom his 
 youth had encountered, and who, unenter- 
 
 E rising himself, does not appear either to 
 ave calculated upon, or prepared to coun- 
 teract, strokes of audacity and activity on 
 the part of the enemy. 
 
 Tne war on the Rhine was furiously 
 maintained by the Prussians and Austrians 
 united. The French lost the important 
 town of Mentz, were driven out of other 
 places, and experienced many reverses, al- 
 though Custine, Moreau, Houchard, Beau- 
 hamois, and other general officers of high 
 merit, had already given lustre to the arms 
 of the Republic. The loss of the strong 
 lines of Weissenburgh, which were carried 
 by General Wurmser, a distinguished Aus- 
 trian officer, completed the shade of disad- 
 vantage which were hung on the Republic- 
 an banners. 
 
 In_, Piedmont, the French were also un- 
 successful, though the scale was less grand 
 and imposing. The Republican General 
 Brunet was unfortunate, and he was forced 
 from his camp at Belvidere ; while, on the 
 side of Savoy, the King of Sardinia also ob- 
 tained several temporary advantages. 
 
 On the Pyrenees, the Republican armies 
 had been equally unsuccessful. A Spanish 
 army, conducted with more spirit than had 
 been lately the case with the troops of that 
 once proud monarchy, had defeated the Re- 
 publican General Servan, and crossed the 
 Bidassoa. On the eastern extremity of 
 these celebrated mountains, the Spaniards 
 had taken the towns of Port Vendre and 
 Ollvoulles. 
 
 Assailed on so many sides, and by so 
 many enemies, all of whom, excepting the 
 Sardinians, had more or less made impres- 
 sion upon the frontiers of the Republic, it 
 might seem, that the only salvation which 
 remained for France, must have been 
 
 sought for in the unanimity of her inhabit- 
 ants. But so far was the nation from pot* 
 sessing this first of requisites for a buccess- 
 ful opposition to the overpowering coalition 
 which assailed her, that a dreadful civil 
 war was already waged in the western prov- 
 inces of France, which threatened, from ita 
 importance and the success of the ineur- 
 geots, to undo in a great measure the work 
 of the Revolution ; while similar discords 
 breaking out on different points in tho 
 south, menaced conclusions no less formi- 
 dable. 
 
 It does not belong to us to trace the in- 
 teresting features of the war in La Vcndte 
 with a minute pencil, but they mingle too 
 much with the history of the period to b« 
 altogether omitted. 
 
 We have elsewhere said, that, speaking 
 of La Vendee as a district, it was there 
 alone, through the whole kingdom of 
 France, that the peasants and the nobles, 
 in other words the proprietors and cultiva- 
 tors of the soil, remained on terms of closa 
 and intimate connexion and friendship, 
 which made them feel the same undivided 
 interest in the great changes created by the 
 Revolution. The situation of La Vendee, 
 its soil and character, as well as the man- 
 ners of the people, had contributed to an 
 arrangement of interests and habits of think- 
 ing, which rendered the union betwixt theso 
 two classes indissoluble. 
 
 La Vendee is a wooded and pastoral 
 country, not indeed mountainous, but 
 abounding in inequalities of ground, crossed 
 by brooks, and intersected by a variety of 
 canals and ditches, made for drainage, but 
 which become, with the numerous and in- 
 tricate thickets, posts of great strength in 
 time of war. The inclosures seemed to be 
 won, as it were, out of the v/oodland; and 
 the paths which traversed the country were 
 so intricate and perplexed, as to render it 
 inaccessible to strangers, and not easily 
 tra\elled through by the natives themselves. 
 There were almost no roads practicable for 
 ordinary carriages during the rainy season} 
 and the rainy season in La Vendee is a long 
 one. The ladies of rank, when they visit- 
 ed, went in carriages drawn by bullocks ; 
 the gentlemen, as well as the peasants, trav- 
 elled chiefly on foot; and by assistance of 
 the long leaping-poles, which they carried 
 for that purpose, surmounted the ditchee 
 and other obstacles which other traveller* 
 found impassable. 
 
 The whole tract of country is about one 
 hundred and fifty miles square, and lies at 
 the mouth and on the southern bank of the 
 Loire. The internal part is called Le Bo- 
 cage (the Thicket,) because partaking in a 
 peculiar degree of the wooded and intricate 
 character which belongs to the whole coun- 
 try. That portion of La Vendee which lies 
 close to the Loire, and nearer its mouth, ia 
 called Le Louroux. The neighbouring dis- 
 tricts partook in the insurrection, but the 
 strength and character which it assumed 
 was derived chietlv from La Vendee. 
 
 The union betwixt the noblesse of La 
 Vendi'c and their peasants, was of the most 
 intimate character. Their chief e'xporU-
 
 Chap XV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 153 
 
 tions from the district consisted in the im- 
 mense herds of cattle which thej reared 
 in their fertile meadows, and which suppli- 
 ed the consumption of the metropolis. 
 These herds, as well as tlie land on which 
 they were raised, were in general the prop- 
 erty of the Seigneur ; but the farmer pos- 
 sessed a joint interest in the latter. He 
 managed the stock and disposed of it at 
 market, and there was an equitable adjust- 
 ment of their interests in disposing of the 
 produce. 
 
 Their amusements were also in common. 
 The chase of wolves, not only for the sake 
 of sport, but to clear the woods of those 
 ravenous animals, was pursued as of yore 
 by the Seigneur at the head of his follow- 
 ers ,and vassals. Upon the evenings of 
 Sundays and holidays, the young people of 
 each village and nn^tairie repaired to the 
 court-yard of the chateau, as the natural 
 and proper scene for their evening amuse- 
 ment, and the family of the Baron often 
 took part in the pastime. 
 
 In a word, the two divisions of society 
 depended mutually on each other, and were 
 strongly knit together by ties, which, in 
 other districts of France, existed only in 
 particular instances. The Vendean peas- 
 ant was the faithful and attached, though 
 humble friend of his lord ; he was his part- 
 ner in bad and good fortune ; submitted to 
 lis decision the disputes which might oc- 
 cur betwixt him and his neighbours ; and 
 bad recourse to his protection, if he sus- 
 tained wrong, or was threatened with injus- 
 tice from any one. 
 
 This system of simple and patriarchal 
 manners coald not have long subsisted un- 
 der any great inequality of fortune. Ac- 
 cordingly, v.e find that tlije wealthiest of 
 the Vendean nobility did not hold estates 
 worth more than twelve or fifteen hundred 
 a-year, while the lowest might be three or 
 four hundred. They were not accordingly 
 much tempted by exuberance of wealth to 
 seek to display magnificence; and such as 
 went to court, and conformed to the fash- 
 ions of the capital, were accustomed to 
 lay them aside in all haste when they re- 
 turned to the Bocage, and to rcassume the 
 •imple manners of their ancestors. 
 
 All the incentives to discord which 
 abounded elsewhere through France, were 
 wanting in this wild and wooded region, 
 where the peasant was the noble's aSec- 
 tionate partner and friend, the noble the 
 natural judge and protector of the peasant. 
 The people had retained the feelings of the 
 ancient French in favour of royalty; they 
 listened witli dissatisfaction and disgust to 
 the accounts of the Revolution as it pro- 
 ceeded ; and feelins themselves none of 
 the evils in which it oriffinated, its wliole 
 tendency became the object of their alarm 
 and suspicion. The nrisilibouring districts, 
 and Brelagiie in particular, were ai;itated 
 by similar commotions ; for although the 
 revolutionary principles predominated in 
 the towns of the west, they were not rel- 
 ished by the country people any more than 
 hj the nobles. Great agitation had for some 
 tune taken place through the provinces of 
 \.u.. I. ^''^ 
 
 Bretagne, Anjou, Maine, and Poiton, to 
 which the strength of the insurrection in 
 La Vendee gave impulse. It was not, how- 
 ever, a political impulse which induced th« 
 Vendeans to take the field. The influence 
 of religion, seconded by that of natural 
 affection, was the immediate stimulating 
 motive. 
 
 In a country so simple and virtuous in its 
 manners as we have described La Vendee, 
 religious devotion must necessarily be a 
 general attribute of the inhabitants, who, 
 conscious of loving their neighbours as 
 themselves, are equally desirous, to the 
 extent of their strength and capacity, to 
 love and honour the Great Being who cre- 
 ated all. The Vendeans were therefore 
 very regular in the performance of their 
 prescribed religious duties ; and their par- 
 ish priest, or cure, held an honoured and 
 influential rank in their little society, was 
 the attendant of the sick-bed of the peas- 
 ant, as well for rendering medical as reli- 
 gious aid ; his counsellor in his family af- 
 fairs, and often the arbiter of disputes not 
 of sufficient importance to be carried be- 
 fore the Seigneur. The priests were them- 
 selves generally natives of the country, 
 more distinguished for the primitive duty 
 with whicli they discharged their office. 
 than for talents and learning. The cure 
 took frequent share in the large hunting 
 parties which he announced from the pul- 
 pit, and after having said mass, attended in 
 person with the fowling-piece on his shoul- 
 der. This active and simple manner of 
 life rendered the priests predisposed to en- 
 counter the fatigues of war. They accom- 
 panied the bands of Vendeans with the cru- 
 cifix displayed, and promised, in the name 
 of the Deity, victory to the survivors, and 
 honour to those who fell in the patriotic 
 combat. But Madame La Roche-Jacque- 
 lien repels, as a calumny, their bearing 
 arms, except for the purpose of self-de- 
 fence. 
 
 Almost all these parish priests were 
 driven from their cures by the absurd and 
 persecuting fanaticism of that decree of 
 the Assembly, which, while its promoters 
 railed against illiberality and intolerance, 
 deprived of their office and of their liveli- 
 hood, soon after of liberty and life, thoB« 
 churchmen who would not renounce the 
 doctrines in wliich they had been educated, 
 and which they had sworn to maintain.* In 
 La Vendee, as elsewhere, where the cu- 
 rates resisted this unjust and impolitic in- 
 junction of the legislature, persecution fol- 
 lowed on the part of the government, and 
 was met in its turn by violence on that of 
 the people. 
 
 The peasants maintained in secret their 
 ancient pastors, and attended their minis- 
 try in woods and deserts ; while the intiud- 
 I ers, who were settled in the livings of tfte 
 i recusants, dared hardly appear in the 
 I churches without the protection of the .N's- 
 ! tional Guards, 
 
 .So early as 1791, when Dumouriez com- 
 I manded the forces at Nantes, and the dis- 
 
 I *Seepage92,
 
 154 
 
 LIFE OF KAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 iricts adjacent, UiC flame of dissension had 
 begun to kindle. That general's sagacity 
 induced him to do his best to appease the 
 quarrel by moderating betwixt the parties. 
 His military eyC' detected in the inhabit- 
 ants and their country an alarming scene 
 for civil war. He received the slightest 
 concessions on the part of the parish priests 
 as satisfactory, and appears to have quieted 
 the disturbances of the country, at least for 
 a time. 
 
 But in 1793, the same causes of discon- 
 tent, added to others, hurried the inhabit- 
 ants of La Vendue into a general insurrec- 
 tion of the most formidable description. 
 The events of the 10th of August 1792, had 
 driven from Paris a great proportion of the 
 Royalist nobility, wlio had many of them 
 carried their discontents and their counter- 
 revolutionary projects into a country pre- 
 pared to receive and adopt them. 
 
 Then follov.ed the Conventional decree, 
 which supported their declaration of war 
 by a compulsory levy of three hundred thou- 
 sand men throughout France. This meas- 
 ure was felt as severe by even those de- 
 partments in which the revolutionary prin- 
 ciples were most predominant, but was 
 regarded as altogether intolerable by the 
 Vendeans, averse alike to the republican 
 cause and principles. They resisted its 
 exaction by main force, delivered the con- 
 scripts in many instances, defeated the 
 National Guards in others, and finding that 
 they had incurred the vengeance of a san- 
 guinary government, resolved by force to 
 maintain the resistance which in force had 
 begun. Thus originated that celebrated 
 war, which raged so long in the very bosom 
 of France, and threatened the stability of 
 her government, even while tlie Republic 
 was achieving the most brilliant victories 
 over her foreign enemies. 
 
 It is remote (rom our purpose to trace 
 the history of these hostilities ; but a sketch 
 of their nature and character is essential to 
 a general view of the Revolution, and the 
 events connected with it. 
 
 The insurgents, though engaged in the 
 same ca-use, and frequently co-operating, 
 were divided into different bodies, under 
 leaders independent of each other. Those 
 of the right bank of the Loire were chiefly 
 under the orders of the celebrated La Cha- 
 rette, who, descended from a family distin- 
 guished as commanders of privateers, and 
 himself a naval officer, had taken on him 
 this dangerous command. .\n early wan- 
 dering disposition, not unusual amon2;youth 
 of eager and ambitious character, had made 
 him acquainted with the inmost recesses 
 of the woods, and his native genius had in- 
 duced him to anticipate the military advan- 
 tages which they afforded. In his case, as 
 in many others, eitlier the sagacity of these 
 ■ninstructed peasants led tliem to choose 
 for command men whose talents best fitted 
 them to enjoy it, or perliaps the perils 
 whicli environed such authority prevented 
 its being aspired to, save by those whom a 
 miixture of resolution and prudence led to 
 fcol themselves capable of maintaining their 
 character when invested witli it. It was 
 
 remarkable also, that in choosing their lead- 
 ers, the insurgents made no distinction be- 
 tween the noblesse and the inferior ranks. 
 Names renowned in ancient history — Tal- 
 mont, D'.\utichamp, L'Escure, and La 
 Roche-Jacquelein, were joined in equal 
 command with the game-keeper Stonet; 
 Cathelineau, an itinerant wool-merchant j 
 La Charette, a roturier of slight pretensions ; 
 and others of the lowest order, whom the 
 time and the public voice called into com- 
 mand, but who, nevertheless, do not seem, 
 in general, to have considered their official 
 command as altering the natural distinction 
 of their rank in society.* In their success, 
 they formed a general council of oflicers, 
 priests, and others, who held their meetings 
 at Chatillon, and directed the military 
 movements of the different bodies ; assem- 
 bled them at pleasure on particular points, 
 and for particular objects of service ; and 
 dispersed them to their homes when these 
 were accomplished. 
 
 With an organization so simple, the Ven- 
 dean insurgents, in about two months, pos- 
 sessed themselves of several towns and an 
 extensive tract of country ; and though re- 
 peatedly attacked by regular forces, com- 
 manded by experienced generals, they 
 were far more frequently victors than van- 
 quished, and inflicted more loss on the re- 
 publicans by gaining a single battle, than 
 they themselves sustained in repeated de- 
 feats. 
 
 Yet at first their arms were of the most 
 simple and imperfect kind. Fowling-pie- 
 ces, and fusees of every calibre, they pos- 
 sessed from their habits as huntsmen and 
 fowlers ; for close encounter they had only 
 scythes, axes, clubs, and such weapons as 
 anger places most readily in the hands of 
 the peasant. Their victories, latterly, sup- 
 plied them with arms in abundance, and 
 they manufactured gunpowder for their own 
 use in great quantity. 
 
 Their tactics were peculiar to themselves, 
 but of a kind so well suited to their coun- 
 try and their habits, that it seems impossi- 
 ble to devise a better and more formidablo 
 system. The Vendean took the field with 
 the greatest simplicity of military equip- 
 munt. His scrip served as a cartridge-box. 
 his uniform was the country short jacket 
 and pantaloons, which he wore at his ordi- 
 nary labour ; a cloth knapsack contained 
 bread and some necessaries, and thus 
 he was ready for service. They were ac- 
 customed to move with great secrecy and 
 silence among the thickets and enclosures 
 by which their country is inter3ec^ed, and 
 were thus enabled to choose at pleasure the 
 most favourable points of attack or defence. 
 Their army, unlike any other in the world, 
 was not divided into companies, or regi- 
 ments, but followed in bands, and at their 
 
 * Madame La Roche-Jacquelein mentions an 
 interesting anecdote of a young plebeian, a distin- 
 guished officer, whose habits of respect would 
 scarce permit him to sit down in her oresence. 
 This cannot be termed servility. It is iha oobl* 
 pride of a generous mind, faithful to its •rigioal 
 impressions, and diiiclaiming the merit* wbick 
 others are ready to heap on it.
 
 Chap. XV.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 155 
 
 pleasure, the chiefs to whom they were 
 most attached. Instead of drums or milita- 
 ry music, they used, like the ancient Swiss 
 and Scottish soldiers, the horns of cattle for 
 giving signals to their troops. Their offi- 
 cers wore, for distinction, a sort of chequer- 
 ed red handkerchief knotted round their 
 head, with others of the same colour tied 
 round their waist, by way of sash, in which 
 they stuck their pistols.* 
 
 The attack of the Vendeans was that of 
 sharp-shooters. They dispersed themselves 
 80 as to surround their adversaries with a 
 semicircular fire, maintained by a body of 
 formidable marksmen accustomed to take 
 aim with fatal precision, and whose skill 
 was the more dreadful, because, being ha- 
 bituated to take advantage of every tree, 
 bush, or point of shelter, those who were 
 dealing destruction amongst others, were 
 themselves comparatively free from risk. 
 This manoeuvre was termed s'egailler ; and 
 the e.Tecution of it resembling the Indian 
 bush-fighting, was, like the attack of the 
 Red warriors, accompanied by whoops and 
 shouts, which seemed, from the extended 
 space through which they resounded, to 
 multiply the number of the assailants. 
 
 When the Republicans, galled in this 
 manner, pressed forward to a close attack, 
 they found no enemy on which to wreak 
 their vengeance ; for the loose array of the 
 Vendeans gave immediate passage to the 
 head of the cliarging column, while its 
 flanks, as it advanced, were still more ex- 
 posed than before to the murderous fire of 
 their invisible enemies. In this manner 
 they were sometimes led on from point to 
 point, until the regulars meeting with a bar- 
 ricade, or an abhatis, or a strong position 
 in front, or becoming perhaps involved in a 
 defile, the Vendeans exchanged their fatal I 
 musketry for a close and furious onset, 
 throwing themselves with the most devot- 
 ed courage among the enemy's ranks, and 
 slaughtering them in great numbers. If, on ' 
 the other hand, the insurgents were com- 
 pelled to give way, a pursuit was almost as 
 dangerous to the Republicans as an engage- | 
 ment. The Vendean, when hard-pressed, j 
 threw away his clogs, or wooden-shoes, of 
 which he could make himself a new pair at I 
 the next resting-place, sprang over a fence j 
 or canal, loaded his fusee as he ran, and , 
 discharged it at the pursuer with a fat.ol | 
 aim, whenever he found opportunity of i 
 pausing for that purpose. I 
 
 This species of combat, which the ground | 
 rendered so advantageous to the Vendeans, i 
 was equally so in case of victory or defeat, j 
 If the Republicans were vanquished, tlicir I 
 army was nearly destroyed; for the preser- 
 vation of order became impossible, and 
 
 * The adoption of this wild costume, which pro- 
 eored them the name ofbritrands, from its fiintastic ( 
 singularity, originated in the whim of Henri La 
 Roohe-Jacquelein, who first used the attire. But 
 as this peeuliarity, joined to the venturous expos- 
 ore of his person, occasioned a general cry amon^' 
 the Republicans, of " Aim at the red liandker- 
 •hief," other officers assumed the fashion to di- 
 minish the danger of the chie'" whom they valued 
 •o highly, until at length it became a kind of uni- 
 form. 
 
 without order their extermination was in- 
 evitable, while baggage, ammunition, car- 
 riages, guns, and all the maverial part, as it 
 is called, of the defeated army, fell into 
 possession of the conquerors. On the o!' - 
 er hand, if the Vendeans sustained a !(.->, 
 the victors found nothing on the field but 
 the bodies of the slain, and the tabots or 
 wooden-shoes, of the fugitives. The few 
 prisoners whom they made had generally 
 thrown away or concealed their arms, and 
 their army having no baggage or carriages 
 of any kind, could of course lose none. 
 Pursuit was very apt to convert an advan- 
 tage into a defeat ; for the cavalry could not 
 act, and the infantry dispersed in the chase, 
 became frequent victims to those whom 
 they pursued. 
 
 In the field, the Vendeans were courage- 
 ous to rashness. They hesitated not to at- 
 tack and carry artillery with no other weap- 
 ons than their staves ; and most of their 
 worst losses proceeded from their attack- 
 ing fortified tovi'ns and positions with the 
 purpose of carrying them by main force. 
 After conquest they were in general hu- 
 mane and merciful. But this depended on 
 the character of their chiefs. At Mache- 
 coul, the insurgents conducted themselves 
 with great ferocity in the very beginning of 
 the civil war ; and towards the end of it, 
 mutual and reciprocal injuries had so exas- 
 perated the parties against each other, that 
 quarter was neither given nor taken on ei- 
 ther side. Yet until provoked by the es- 
 treme cruelties of the Revolutionary party, 
 and unless when conducted bv some pecu- 
 liarly ferocious chief, the character of the 
 \'endeans united clemency with courage. 
 They gave quarter readily to the vanquish- 
 ed, but having no means of retaining pris- 
 oners, they usually shaved their heads be- 
 fore they set them at liberty, that they 
 might be distinguished, if found again in 
 arms, contrary to their parole. A no less 
 striking feature, was the severity of a dis- 
 cipline respecting property, which was 
 taught them only by their moral sense. No 
 temptation could excite them to pillage ; and 
 Madame La Roche-Jacquelein has preserv- 
 ed the following singular instance of their 
 simple honesty : — After the peasants had 
 taken the town of Bressuire by storm, she 
 overheard two or three of them complain 
 of the want of tobacco, to the use of which 
 they were addicted, like the natives of 
 moist countries in general. " What," said 
 the lady, ■' is- there no tobacco in the 
 sliops ?" — " Tobacco enough," answered 
 the simple-hearted and honest peasants, 
 who had not learned to make steel supply 
 tlie want of gold, — " tobacco enough ; but, 
 we have no money to pay for it." 
 
 Amidst these primitive warriors were 
 mingled many gentlemen oT the first fami- 
 lies in France, who. Royalists from princi- 
 ple, had fled to La Vendee rather than sub- 
 mit to the dominion of tha Convention, or 
 the Convention's yet more cruel masters. 
 There were found many men, the anec- 
 dotes told of whom remind us continually 
 of the age of Henri Quatre, and the heroess 
 of chivalry. In these ranks, and almost oq
 
 156 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 a IcTel with the valiant peasants of which 
 they were composed, fought the calm, stea- 
 dy, and magnajiimous L'Escure, — D'Elbee, 
 a man of the most distinguished military 
 reputation, — Bonchamp, the gallant and the 
 able officer, who, like the Constable Mont- 
 morency, with all his talent, was persecut- 
 ed by fortune, — the chivalrous Henry La 
 Roche-Jacquelein, whose call upon his sol- 
 diers was — " If I fly, slay me — if I advance, 
 follow me — if I fall, avenge me ;" with 
 other names distinguished* in the roll of 
 fame, and not the less so that they have 
 been recorded by the pen of affection. 
 
 The object of the insurrection was an- 
 nounced in the title of The Royal and 
 Catholic Army, assumed by the Vendeans. 
 In their moments of highest hope their 
 wishes were singularly modest. Had they 
 gained Paris, and replaced the royal au- 
 thority in France, they meditated the fol- 
 lowing simple boons : — 1. They had resolv- 
 ed to petition, that the name of La Vendee 
 be given to the Bocage and its dependen- 
 cies, which should be united under a sepa- 
 rate administration, instead of forming, as 
 at present, a part of three d-stinct provin- 
 ces. — 2. That the restored Monarch would 
 honour the Bocage with a visit. — 3. That 
 in remembrance of the loyal services of the 
 country, a white flag should be displayed 
 from each steeple, and the King should add 
 a cohort of Vendeans to his body guard. — 
 4. That former useful projects of im- 
 proving the navigation of the Loire and 
 its canals, should be perfected by the gov- 
 ernment. So little of selfish hope or am- 
 bition was connected with the public 
 spirit of these patriarchal warriors. 
 
 The war of La Vendee was waged with 
 various fate for nearly two years, during 
 which the insurgents, or brigands as they 
 were termed, gained by far the greater num- 
 ber of advantages, though with means infi- 
 nitely inferior to those of the government, 
 which detached against them one general 
 after another, at the head of numerous ar- 
 mies, with equally indifferent success. 
 Most of the Republicans intrusted with 
 this fatal command suffered by the guillo- 
 tine, f< r not having done that which circum- 
 stances rendered impossible. 
 
 Upwards of two hundred battles and skir- 
 mishes were fought in this devoted coun- 
 try. The revolutionary fever was in its ac- 
 cess ; the shedding of blood seemed to have 
 become positive pleasure to the perpetra- 
 tors of slaughter, and was varied by each 
 invention which crusty could invent to 
 give it new zest. The habitations of the 
 Vendeans were destroyed, their families 
 subjected to violation and massacre, their 
 
 *The Memoirs of Madame Eonchamp, and still 
 more those of La Roche-Jacquelein, are remarka- 
 ble for the virtues of the heart, as well as the tai- 
 nts, which are displayed by their authors. With- 
 out affectation, without vanity, without violnnce 
 or impotent repining, those ladic^i have described 
 the sanguinary and irre<;ular warfare, in which 
 they and tho^c who were dearest to thorn wnre eii- 
 nced for so long and stormy a period ; and we 
 ariso from the perusal sadder and wiser, by havin;? 
 teamed what the brave can daro, and what the 
 ipatia can endure with palietnco 
 
 cattle houghed and slaughtered, and their 
 crops burnt and wasted. One Republican 
 column assumed and merited the name of 
 the Infernal, by the horrid atrocities which 
 they committed. At Pillau, they roasted 
 the women and children in a heated oven. 
 Many similGir horrors could be added, did 
 not the heart and hand recoil from the 
 task. Without quoting any more special 
 instances of horror, we use the words of a 
 Republican eye-witness, to express the 
 general spectacle presented by the theatre 
 of civil conflict. 
 
 " I did not see a single male being at the 
 towns of Saint Hermand, Cliantonnay, or 
 Herbiers. .\ few women alone had escap- 
 ed the sword. Country-seats, cottages, 
 habitations of whichever kind, were burnt. 
 The herds and flocks were wandering ia 
 terror around their usual places of shelter, 
 now smoking in ruins. I was surprised by 
 night, but the wavering aud dismal blaze of 
 conflagration afforded light over the coun- 
 try. To the bleating of the disturbed flocks, 
 and bellowing of the terrified cattle, waa 
 joined the deep hoarse notes of carrion 
 crows, and the yells of wild animals com- 
 ing from the recesses of the woods to prey 
 on the carcases of the slain. .\t length a 
 distant column of fire, widening and in- 
 creasing as I approached, served me as a 
 beacon. It was the town of Mortagne in 
 flames. When I arrived there, no living 
 creatures were to be seen, save a few 
 wretched women wlio were striving to save 
 some remnants of their property from the 
 general conflagration."'* 
 
 Such is civil war ; and to this pass had ita 
 extremities reduced the smiling, peaceful, 
 and virtuous country, which we have de- 
 scribed a few pages before. 
 
 It is no wonder, after such events, that 
 the hearts of the peasants became harden- 
 ed in turn, and that they executed fearful 
 vengeance on those who could not have 
 the face to expect mercy. We read, there- 
 fore, without surprise, that the Republican 
 General Haxo, a man of great military tal- 
 ent, and who had distinguished himself in 
 the Vendean war, shot himself through the 
 head when he saw his army defeated by the 
 insurgents, rather tlian encouuter their ven- 
 geance. 
 
 During tlie superiority of the Vendeans, 
 it may be asked why their eftorts, so gigan- 
 tic in tliemselves, never extended beyond 
 the frontier of their own country ; and why 
 an insurrection, so considerable and so sus- 
 tained, neither made any great impression 
 on the French Convention, where they 
 were spoken of only as a handful of brig- 
 ands, nor on foreign nations, by whom their 
 existence, far less their success, seema 
 hardly to have been known ? On the for- 
 mer subject, it is perhaps sufficient to ob- 
 serve, that the war with the Vendeans, and 
 their mode of conducting it, so formidable 
 in their own country, became almost nuga- 
 tory when extended into districts of an open 
 character, and affording high roads and 
 
 *Les Memoires d'un Ancien AdmiaictnUMW 
 ded Aiiu^3 UcpublicaioM
 
 Chap. XV.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 157 
 
 plains, by which cavalry and artillery could 
 act against peasants, who formed no close 
 ranks, and carried no bayonets. Besides, 
 the Vendeans remained bound to their or- 
 dinary occupation — they were necessarily 
 children of the soil — and their army usually 
 dispersed after the battle was over, to look 
 after their cattle, cultivate the plot of ara- 
 ble land,' and attend to their families. The 
 discipline of their arrays, in which mere 
 good-will supplied the place of the usual 
 distinctions of rank, would not have been 
 sufficient to keep them united in long and 
 distant marches, and they must have found 
 the want of a commissariat, a train of bag- 
 gage, field-pieces, a general staff, and all 
 the other accompaniments of a regular ar- 
 my, which, in the difficult country of La 
 Vendee, familiar to the natives, and un- 
 known to strangers, could be so easily dis- 
 pensed with. In a word, an army which, 
 under circumstances of hope and excita- 
 tion, might one day amount to thirty or for- 
 ty thousand, and on the next be diminished 
 to the tenth part of the number, might be 
 excellent for fighting battles, but could not 
 be relied on for making conquests, or se- 
 curing the advantages of victory. 
 
 It is not but that a man of D'Elbee's 
 knowledge in the art of war, who acted as 
 one of their principal leaders, meditated 
 higher objects for the Vendeans than mere- 
 ly the defence of their own province. 
 
 A superb prospect offered itself to them 
 by a meditated attack on the town of J\an- 
 tes. Upon the success of tliis attempt 
 turned perhaps the fate of the Revolution. 
 This beautiful and important commercial 
 city is situated on the right bank of the 
 Loire, which is there a fine navigable river, 
 about twenty-seven miles from its junction 
 with the sea. It is without fortifications 
 of any regular description, but had a garri- 
 son of perhaps ten thousand men, and wa.'; 
 covered by such hasty works of defence as 
 time had permitted them to erect. The 
 force of the Vendeans by which it was at- 
 tacked, has been estimated so high as thir- 
 ty or forty thousand men under D'Elbec, 
 while the place was blockaded on the left 
 bank by Charette, and an army of royalists 
 equal in number to the actual assailants. 
 Had this important place been gained, it 
 would probably have changed the face of 
 the war. One or more of the French prin- 
 ces might have resorted there with such 
 adherents as tiiey had then in r.rms. The 
 Loire was open to succours from England, 
 the indecision of whose cabinet might have 
 been determined by a success so impor- 
 tant. Bretagne and Xormandy, already 
 strongly disposed to the royal cause, would 
 have, upon sucli encouragement, risen in 
 mass upon the Republicans ; and as Poitou 
 and Anjou were already in possession of 
 The Royal and Catholic .\.rmy, they micht 
 probably have opened a march upon Paris, 
 distracted as the capital then was by civil 
 and foreign war. 
 
 Accordingly,* the rockets which were 
 thrown up, and the sound of innumerable 
 
 •18th June 1799, 
 
 bugle-horns, intimated to General Can- 
 claux, who commanded the town, that he 
 was to repel a general attack of the Ven- 
 deans. Fortunately for the infant republic, 
 he was a man of military skill and high 
 courage, and by his dexterous use of such 
 means of defence as the place afforded, and 
 particularly by a great superiority of artil- 
 lery, he was enabled to baffle the attacks 
 of the Vendeans, although they penetrated, 
 with the utmost courage, into the suburbs, 
 and engaged at close quarters the Republi- 
 can troops. They were compelled to re- 
 treat after a fierce combat which lasted 
 from three in the morning till four in the 
 afternoon.* 
 
 At different times after the failure of 
 this bold and well-imagined attempt, op- 
 portunities occurred during which the al- 
 lies, and the English government in par- 
 ticular, might have thrown important suc- 
 cours into La Vendee. The island of Noir- 
 moutier was for some time in possession 
 of the Royalists, when arms and monej 
 might have been supplied to them to any 
 amount. Auxiliary forces would probably 
 have been of little service, considering 
 in wliat sort of country they were to be en- 
 gaged, and with wliat species of troops 
 they were to act. At least it would have 
 required the talents of a Peterborough or a 
 Montrose, in a foreign commander, to have 
 freed himself sufficiently from the tram- 
 mels of military pedantry, and availed him- 
 self of the peculiar qualities of such troops 
 as the V'endeans, irresistible after their 
 own fashion, but of a character the most 
 opposite possible to the ideas of excellence 
 entertained by a mere martinet. 
 
 But it is nov/ well known, there was a 
 division in the British cabinet concerning 
 the mode of carrying on the war. Pitt was 
 extremely unwilling to interfere with the 
 internal government of France. He de- 
 sired to see the Barrier of Flanders (so 
 foolishly thrown open by the Emperor Jo- 
 seph) again re-established, and he hoped 
 from tlie success of the allied arms, that 
 this might be attained. — that the French 
 lust for attacking their neighbours might b« 
 endeii — their wildness for crusading in the 
 cause of innovation checked, and some 
 political advances to a regular government 
 effected. On the other hand, the enthusi- 
 astic, ingenious, but somewhat extravagant 
 opinions of Windham, led him to espouse 
 those of Burke in their utmost extent; and 
 he recommended to England, as to Europe, 
 the replacing the Bourbons, with the an- 
 cient royal govcrnme!;t and constitution, 
 as the fundamental principle on which the 
 war should be waged. This variance of 
 opinion so far divided the British counsels, 
 tliat, as it proved, no sufficient efforts were 
 
 * A picture by Veniet, representing the attack 
 on Xnntos, estimable as a work of art, but ex- 
 tremely curious in a historical point of view, used 
 to be in the Luxembourg pala ;o, and is probably 
 now remo\-0(l to the Louvre. The Vendeans ar« 
 prcriented there in iill their simplicity of attire, 
 and devoted valour j the priests who attended them 
 displaying their crosses, and encouraging the as 
 saiilt, which is, on the other hand, repelled by tte 
 regular steadiness of the Republican lorcei
 
 15S 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 made, either on the one line of conduct or 
 the other. 
 
 Indeed, Madame La Roche-Jacquelein 
 (who, however, we are apt to think, has 
 been in some degree misled in her account 
 of that matter) says, the only despatches 
 received by the Vendeans from the British 
 cabinet, indicated a singular ignorance of 
 the state of La Vendee, which was cer- 
 tainly near enough to Jersey and Guernsey, 
 to have afforded the means of obtaining 
 accurate information upon the nature and 
 principles of the Vendean insurrection. 
 
 The leaders of the Royal and Catholic 
 Army received their first communication 
 from Britain through a Royalist emissary, 
 the Chevalier de Tinteniac, who carried 
 them concealed in the wadding of his pis- 
 tols, addressed to a supposed chief named 
 Gaston, whose name had scarce been known 
 among them. In this document they were 
 required to say for what purpose they were 
 in arms, whether in behalf of the old gov- 
 ernment, or of the constitution of 1791, 
 or the principles of the Girondists ? These 
 were strange questions to be asked of men 
 who had been in the field as pure Royalists 
 for more than five months, who might have 
 reasonably hoped that the news of their 
 numerous and important victories had re- 
 sounded through all Europe, but must at 
 least have expected they sliould be well 
 known to those neighbours of France who 
 were at war with her present government. 
 Assistance was promised, but in a general 
 and indecisive way ; nor did the testimony 
 of Monsieur de Tinteniac give his friends 
 much assurance that it was seriously pro- 
 posed. In fact, no support ever arrived 
 until after the first pacification of La Ven- 
 dee. The ill-fated expedition to Quiberon, 
 delayed until the cause of royalty was nigii 
 hopeless, was at length undertaken, wlien 
 its only consequence was that of involving 
 in absolute destruction a multitude of brave 
 and high-spirited men. But on looking 
 back on a game so doubtful, it is easy to 
 criticise the conduct of the players ; and 
 perhaps no blunder in war or politics is so 
 common, as that which arises from missing 
 the proper moment of exertion. 
 
 The French, although more able to seize 
 the advantageous opportunity than we, (for 
 their government being always in practice 
 something despotic, is at liberty to act more 
 boldly, secretly, and decisively, than tliat 
 of England,) are nevertheless chargeable 
 with similar errors. If the English cabinet 
 missed the opportunities given by the in- 
 surrection of La Vendee, the French did 
 not more actively improve tliose afi"orded 
 by the Irish rebellion ; and if we had to re- 
 gret the too tardy and unhappy expedition 
 to Quiberon, they in their turn might repent 
 having thrown away the troops whom they 
 landed at Castlehaven, after the pacification 
 of Ireland, for the sole purpose, it would 
 eeem, of surrendering at Ballinamuck. 
 
 It is yet more wonderful, that a country 
 whose dispositions were so loyal, and its 
 local advantages so strong, should not have 
 been made by the loyalists in general the 
 •eutre of those counter-revolutionary ex- 
 
 ertions which were vainly expended on the 
 iron eastern frontier, where the fine army 
 of Conde wasted their blood about paltry 
 frontier redoubts and fortresses. The no- 
 bles and gentlemen of France, fighting 
 abreast with the gallant peasants of La 
 Vendee, inspired with the same sentiments 
 of loyalty with themselves, would have 
 been more suitably placed than in the mer- 
 cenary ranks of foreign nations. It is cer- 
 tain that the late King, Louis XVIII., and 
 also his present Majesty, were desirous t« 
 have exposed their persons in the war of 
 La Vendee. The lormer wrote to the Duke 
 d'Harcourt — " What course remains for me 
 but La Vendee ? — Who can place me 
 there ? — England — Insist upon that point ; 
 and tell the English ministers in my name, 
 that I demand from them a crown or a 
 tomb." If there were a serious intention 
 of supporting these unfortunate Princes, 
 the means of this experiment ought to 
 have been afforded them, and that upon no 
 stinted scale. The error of England through 
 all the early part of the war, was an unwil- 
 lingness to proportion her efforts to the 
 importance of the ends she had in view. 
 
 Looking upon the various chances which 
 might have befriended the unparalleled ex- 
 ertions of the Vandeans, considering the gen- 
 erous, virtuous, and disinterested character 
 of those primitive soldiers, it is with sin- 
 cere sorrow that we proceed to trace their 
 extermination by the blood-thirsty ruffians 
 of the reign of terror. Yet the course of 
 Providence, after the lapse of time, is justi- 
 fied even in our weak and undiscerning 
 eyes. We should indeed have read with 
 hearts throbbing with the just feelings of 
 gratified vengeance, that La Charette or 
 La Roche-Jacquelein had succsssfully 
 achieved, at the head of their gallant adher- 
 ents, the road to Paris — had broke in upon 
 the Committees of Public Safety and Pub- 
 lic Security, like Thalaba the Destroyer 
 into the Dom-Daniel ; and with the same 
 dreadful result to the agents of the horrors 
 with which these revolutionary bodies had 
 deluged France. But such a reaction, ac- 
 complished solely for the purpose of restor- 
 ing the old despotic monarchy, could not 
 have brought peace to France or to Europe; 
 na)', could only have laid a foundation for 
 farther and more lasting quarrels. The 
 flame of liberty had been too widely spread 
 in France to be quenched even by such a 
 triumph of royalty as we have supposed, 
 however pure the principles and high the 
 spirit of the Vendeans. It was necessary 
 that the nation should experience both the 
 extremes, of furious license and of stern 
 despotism, to fix the hopes of the varioiu 
 contending parties upon a form of govero- 
 ment, in which a limited power in the mon- 
 arch should be united to the enjoyment of 
 all rational freedom in the subject. We 
 return to our sad task. 
 
 jVotwithstanding the desolating mode in 
 wliich the Republicans conducted the war, 
 with the avowed purpose of rendering La 
 \'end<^e uninhabitable, the population seem- 
 ed to increase in courage, and even in num- 
 bers, as their eituation became more deipa-
 
 Chap. XV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 159 
 
 rate. Renewed armies were sent into the 
 devoted district, and successively destroyed 
 in assaults, skirmishes, and ambuscades, 
 where they were not slaughtered in general 
 actions. More than a hundred thousand 
 men were employed at one time in their 
 efforts to subjugate this devoted province. 
 But this could not last for ever ; and a 
 chance of war upon the frontiers, which 
 threatened reverses to the Convention, com- 
 pensated them by furnishing new forces, 
 aad of a higher description in point of char- 
 acter and discipline, for the subjection of 
 La Vendee. 
 
 This was the surrender of the town of 
 Mentz to the Prussians. By the capitula- 
 tion, a garrison of near fifteen thousand ex- 
 perienced soldiers, and some officers of 
 considerable name, were debarred from 
 again bearing arms against the allies. These 
 troops were employed in La V'andee, where 
 the scale had already begun to preponder- 
 ate against the dauntless and persevering 
 insurgents. At the first encounters, the 
 soldiers of Mentz, unacquainted with the 
 Vendeaa mode of fighting, sustained loss, 
 and were thought lightly of by the Royal- 
 ists.* This opinion of their new adversa- 
 ries was changed, in consequence of a de- 
 feat near ChoUet, more dreadful in its con- 
 eequences than any which the Vendeans 
 had yet received, and which determined 
 iheir generals to pass the Loire with their 
 whole collected force, leave their beloved 
 Bocage ti> the axes and brands of the vic- 
 tors, and carry the war into Bretagne, 
 where they expected either to be supported 
 by a descent of the I'-nclish, or by a general 
 insurrection of the inhabitants. 
 
 In this miiitary emigration the Royalists 
 were accompanied by their aged people, 
 their wives, and their children ; so that 
 their melancholy march resembled that of 
 the Cimbrians or Helvetians of old, when, 
 abandoning their ancient dwellings, they 
 wandered forth to find new settlements in a 
 more fertile land. They crossed the river 
 near Saint Florent, and the banks were 
 olackened with nearly a hundred thousand 
 pilgrims of both sexes, "and of every age. 
 The broad river was before them, and be- 
 hind them their burning cottiges and the 
 exterminating sword of the Republicans. 
 The means of embarkation were few and I 
 precarious ; the affright of the females ul- j 
 most iingovemable ; and such was the tu- i 
 mult and terror of the scene, that, in the j 
 words of Madame La Roche-Jacquelein, 
 the awe-struck spectators could only com- I 
 pare it to the day of judgment. Without , 
 food, directions, or organization of any kind i 
 — without the show of an army, saving in i 
 the front and rear of the column, the centre ! 
 consisting of their defenceless families ! 
 marching together in a mass — these indom- I 
 itable peasants defeated a Republican army ' 
 under the walls of Laval. ' 
 
 The garrison of Mentz, whose arrival in ; 
 La Vendee had been so fatal to the insur- \ 
 
 * They punned on the word Mayence (Mentz,) 
 and aaid, the newly arrived Republicans were sol- 
 diers of /uycnce (potter's ware,) which could Qjt 
 •odure the fire. 
 
 gents, and who had pursued them in a state 
 of rout, as they thought, out of their own 
 country, across the Loire, were almost ex- 
 terminated in this most unexpected defeat. 
 An unsuccessful attack upon Granville 
 more than counterbalanced this advantage, 
 and although the Vendeans afterwards ob- 
 tained a brilliant victory at Dol, it was the 
 last success of what was termed the Great 
 Army of La Vendee, and which well de- 
 served that title, on more accounts than in 
 its more ordinary sense. They had now 
 lost, by the chances of war, most of their 
 best chiefs ; and misfortunes, and the exas- 
 perating feelings attending them, had intro- 
 duced disunion, which had been so long a 
 stranger to their singular association. Cha- 
 rette was reflected upon as being little will- 
 ing to aid La Roche-Jacquelein ; and Stoflet 
 seems to have set up an independent stand- 
 ard. The insurgents were defeated at Mons, 
 where of three Republican Generals of 
 name, Westerman, Marceau, and Kleber, 
 the first disgraced himself by savage cruel- 
 ty, and the other two gained honour by their 
 clemency. Fifteen thousand male and fe- 
 male natives of La Vendee perished in the 
 battle and the massacre which ensued. 
 
 But tliough La Vendee, after this decisive 
 loss, which included some of her best 
 troops and bravest generals, could hardlj 
 be said to exist. La Chstrette continued, 
 witli indefatigable diligence, and undaunted 
 courage, to sustain the insurrection of Low- 
 er Poitou and Bretagne. He was followed 
 by a division of peasants from the Marais, 
 whose activity in marshv grounds gave 
 them similar advantaiges to those possessed 
 by the Vendeans in their woodlands. He 
 was followed also by the inhabitants of 
 ^lorbiham, called, from their adherence to 
 royalism, the Little La Vendee. He was 
 the leader, besides, of many of the bands 
 called Chouans, a name of doubtful origin 
 given to the insurgents of Bretagne, but 
 which their courage has rendered celebrat- 
 ed.* La Charette himself, who, with these 
 and other forces, continued to sustain the 
 standard of royalty in Bretagne and Poitou, 
 was one of those extraordinary characters, 
 made to shine amidst difficulties and dan- 
 gers. As prudent and cautious as he was 
 courageous and adventurous, he was at the 
 same time so alert and expeditious in hia 
 motions, that he usually appeared at the 
 time and place where his presence waa 
 least expected and most formidable. A Re- 
 publican officer, who had just taken pos- 
 session <-f a village, and was speaking of 
 the Royalist leader as of a person at twenty 
 lea;jues' distance, said publicly, — " I should 
 like to see this famous Cliarette." — "There 
 he is," said a woman, pointing with her 
 finger. In fact, he was at that moment in 
 the act of charging the Piepublican troops, 
 who were all either slam or made prisoners. 
 
 After the fall of Robespierre, the Con 
 vention made offers of pacification to La 
 
 * Some derived it from Chat-Iiuant, as if the in- 
 surgents, like owls, appeared chiefly at ni^ht — 
 others traced it to Cfiouin, the name of two broth- 
 ers, said to have beeo the earliest leaders of tto 
 i Breton insurgents..
 
 160 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV 
 
 Charette, which were adjusted betwixt the 
 Vendean chief and General Canclaux, the 
 heroic defender of Nantes. The articles 
 of treaty were subscribed in that place, 
 which La L-'harette entered at the head of 
 his military staff, with his long white plume 
 ■treaming in the wind. He heard with 
 coldness shouts of welcome from a city, 
 to which his name had been long a terror ; 
 and there was a gloom on his brow as he 
 signed his name to the articles agreed up- 
 on. He certainly suspected the faith of 
 those with whom he transacted, and they 
 did not by any means confide in his. An 
 armistice was agreed on until the Conven- 
 tion should ratify the pacification. But this 
 never took place. Mutual complaints and 
 recriminations followed, and the soldiers 
 of La Charette and of the Republic began 
 once more to make a petty war on each 
 other. 
 
 Meantime, that party in the British cabi- 
 net which declared for a descent on France, 
 in name and on behalf of the successor to 
 the crown, had obtained the acquiescence 
 of their colleagues in an experiment of 
 this nature ; but unhappily it had been post- 
 poned until its success had become impos- 
 eible. The force, too, which composed this 
 experimental operation, was injudiciously 
 selected. A certain proportion consisted 
 of emigrants, in whom the highest confi- 
 dence might be with justice reposed; but 
 about two battalions of this invading expe- 
 dition were vagrant foreigners of various 
 descriptions, many or most of them enlist- 
 ed from among the prisoners of war, who 
 readily took any engagement to get out of 
 captivity, with the mental resolution of 
 breaking it the first opportunity. Besides 
 these imprudences, the purpose and time 
 of executing a project, which, to be suc- 
 cessful, should have been secret and sud- 
 den, were generally known in France and 
 England before the expedition weighed an- 
 chor. 
 
 The event, as is universally known, was 
 most disastrous : The mercenaries deserted 
 to the Republicans as soon as they got 
 ashore ; and the unfortunate emigrants, who 
 became prisoners in great numbers, were 
 condemned and executed without mercy. 
 The ammunition and muskets, of which 
 a quantity had been landed, fell into the 
 hands of the enemy ; and what was worse, 
 England did not, among other lighter loss- 
 es, entirely save her honour. She was se- 
 verely censured as giving up her allies to 
 destruction, becaus^e she had yielded to the 
 wishes which enthusiastic and courageous 
 men had elevated into hope. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, can be more difficult, 
 than to state the just (extent of support 
 which can prudently be extended by one 
 nation to a civil faction in the bosom of an- 
 other. Indeed, nothing short of success — 
 absolute success — will prove the justifica- 
 tion of such enterprises in the eyes of some, 
 who will allege, in the event of failure, 
 that men have been enticed into perils, in 
 which they have not been adequately sup- 
 ported ; or of others, who will condemn I 
 wich measures as squandering the public I 
 
 resources, in enterprises which ought not 
 to have been encouraged at all. But in 
 fair judgment, the expedition of Quiberon 
 ought not to be summarily condemned. It 
 was neither inadequate, nor, excepting as 
 to the description of some of the force* 
 employed, ill calculated for the service pro- 
 posed. Had such reinforcements and sup- 
 plies arrived while the Royalists were at- 
 tacking Nantes or Grenoble, or while they 
 yet held the island of Noirmoutier, the good 
 consequences to the royal cause might have 
 been incalculable. But the expedition wa» 
 ill-timed, and that was m a great measure 
 owing to those unfortunate gentlemen en- 
 gaged, who, impatient of inactivity, and 
 sanguine by character, urged the British 
 ministry, or rather Mr Windham, to au- 
 thorise the experiment, without fully con- 
 sidering more than their own zeal and cour- 
 age. We cannot, however, go so far as to 
 say, that their impatience relieved minis- 
 ters from the responsibility attached to the 
 indifferent intelligence on which they acU 
 ed. There could be no difiiculty in get- 
 ting full information on the state of Bre- 
 tagiie by way of Jersey ; and they ought to 
 have known that there was a strong French 
 force collected from various garrisons, for 
 the purpose of guarding against a descent at 
 Quiberon.* 
 
 .\fter this unfortunate affair, and some sub- 
 sequent vain attempts to throw in supplies 
 on the part of the I'.nglish, La Charette still 
 continued in open war. But Hoche.an of- 
 ficer of high reputation, was now sent into 
 the disturbed districts, with a larger army 
 than had yet been employed against them. 
 He was thus enabled to form moveable col- 
 umns, which acted in concert, supporting 
 each other when unsuccessful, or complet- 
 ing each other's victory when such was ob- 
 tained. La Charette, after his band was al- 
 most entirely destroyed, was himself made 
 prisoner. Being condemned to be shot, he 
 refused to have his eyes covered, and died 
 as courageoufly as he had lived. With him 
 and Stoflet. who suffered a similar fate, the 
 war of La Vendee terminated. 
 
 To trace this remarkable civil war, even 
 so slightly as we have attempted the task, 
 has carried us beyond the course of our 
 narrative. It broke out in the beginning of 
 March 1793, and La Charette's execution, 
 by which it was closed, took place at Nan- 
 tes, 29th March 1796. The astonishing 
 part of the matter is, that so great a confla- 
 gration should not have extended itself be- 
 yond a certain limited district, while within 
 
 * We can and ought to make great allowan- 
 ces for national feeling ; yet it is a little hard to 
 find a well-informed historian, like Monsieur La- 
 cretclle, gravely insinuate that England threw tb« 
 unfortunate Royalists on the coast of duiboron to 
 escape the future burthen of maintaining them. 
 Her liberality towards the emigrants, honourable 
 and meritorious to the country, was entirely 
 gratuitous. She might have withdrawn when sba 
 pleased a bounty conferred by her benevolence j 
 and it is rather too hard to be supposed capable or 
 meditating their murder, merely to save the ex- 
 pense of supporting them. The expedition was • 
 blunder, but one in which the unfortunate sufferer* 
 contributed to mLiload tho British goveromaoU
 
 Chap XV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 161 
 
 that region it raged with such fury, that for 
 a length of lime no meaas of eitinguishing 
 it could be discovered. 
 
 We now return to the state of France in 
 ■pring 1793, when the Jacobins, who had 
 possessed themselves of the supreme pow- 
 er of the Republic, found that they had to 
 contend, not only with the Allied Forces on 
 two frontiers of France, and with the Roy- 
 alists in the west, but also with moro than 
 one of the great commercial towns, which, 
 with less inclination to the monarchical 
 cause, than a general terror of revolutionary 
 measures, prepared for resistance after the 
 proscription of the Girondists upon the 31st 
 of May. 
 
 Bourdeaux, Marseilles, Toulon, and Ly- 
 ons, had declared themselves against the 
 Jacobin supremacy. Rich from commerce 
 and their maritime situation, and, in the 
 case of Lyons, from their command of in- 
 ternal navigation, the wealthy merchants 
 and manufacturers of those cities foresaw 
 the total insecurity of property, and in con- 
 Bequence their own ruin, in the system of 
 arbitrary spoliation and murder upon which 
 the government of the Jacobins was found- 
 ed. But property, for which they were so- 
 licitous, though, if its natural force is used 
 in time, the most powerful barrier to with- 
 stand revolution, becomes, after a certain 
 period of delay, its most helpless victim. 
 If the rich are in due season liberal of their 
 means, they have the power of enlisting in 
 their cause, and as adherents, those among 
 the lower orders, who, if they see their su- 
 periors dejected and despairing, will be 
 tempted to consider them as objects of 
 plunder. But this must be done early, or 
 those who might be made the most active 
 defenders of property will join with such as 
 are prepared to make a prey of it. 
 
 We have already seen that Bourdeaux, in 
 which the Brissotines or Girondists had ven- 
 tured to hope for a zeal purely republican, at 
 once adverse to Royalty and to Jacobin dom- 
 ination, had effectually disappointed their 
 ejcpectations, and succumbed with little 
 •triiggle under the ferocious victors. 
 
 Marseilles sliowed at once her good will 
 and her impotency of means. The utmost 
 exertions of that wealthy city, whose revo- 
 lutionary band had contributed so much to 
 the downfall of the monarchy in the at- 
 tack on the Tuilleries, were able to equip 
 only a small and doubtful army of about 
 8000 men, who were despatched to the re- 
 lief of Lyons. This inconsiderable army 
 threw themselves into Avignon, and were 
 defeated with the utmost ease, by the re- 
 publican general Cartaux, despicable as a 
 military officer, and whose forces would 
 not have stood a single egaillement of the 
 Vendean sharp-shooters. Marseilles re- 
 ceived the victors, and bowed her head to 
 the subsequent horrors which it pleased 
 Cartaux, with two formidable Jacobins, 
 Barras and Ferron. to inflict on that flour- 
 ishing city. The place underwent the usu- 
 al terrors of Jacobin purification, and was 
 for a time aflectedly called, " the nameless 
 commune." 
 
 Lyons made a more honourable stani 
 That noble city had been subjected for 
 some time to the domination of Chalier, 
 one of the most ferocious, and at the same 
 time one of the most extravagantly absurd, 
 of the Jacobins. He was at the head of a 
 formidable club, which was worthy of being 
 affiliated with the mother society, and am- 
 bitious of treading in its footsteps ; and h» 
 was supported by a garrison of two revolu- 
 tionary regiments, besides a numerous ar- 
 tillery, and a large addition of volunteers, 
 amounting in all to about ten thousand men, 
 forming what was called a revolutionary ai- 
 my. This Chalier was an apostate priest, an 
 atheist, and a thorough-paced pupil in tho 
 school of terror. He had been created 
 Procureur of the Community, and had im- 
 posed on the wealthy citizens a tax, which 
 was raised from six to thirty milliona of 
 livres. But blood as well as gold was hi* 
 object. The massacre of a few priests 
 and aristocrats confined in the fortress of 
 Pierre-Seize, was a pitiful sacrifice ; and 
 Chalier, ambitious of deeds more decisive, 
 caused a general arrest of an hundred prin- 
 cipal citizens, whom he destined as a hec- 
 atomb more worthy of the demon whom ho 
 served. 
 
 This sacrifice was prevented by the 
 courage of the Lyonnois ; a courage which, 
 if assumed by the Parisians, might have 
 prevented most of the horrors which dis- 
 graced the Revolution. The meditated 
 slaughter was already announced by Cha- 
 lier lo the Jacobin Club. " Three hundred 
 heads," he said, " are marked for slaughter. 
 Let us lose no time in seizing the mem- 
 bers of the departmental office-bearers, the 
 presidents and secretaries of the sections, 
 all the local authorities who obstruct our 
 revolutionary measures. Let us make o»e 
 faggot of the whole, and deliver them at 
 once to the guillotine." 
 
 But ere he could execute his threat, ter- 
 ror was awakened into the courage of de- 
 spair. The citizens rose in arms and be- 
 sieged the Hotel de Viile, in which Chalier, 
 with his revolutionary troops, made a des- 
 perate, and for some time a successful, yet 
 ultimately a vain defence.* But the Lyon- 
 nois unhappily knew not how to avail them> 
 selves of their triumph. They were notsoffi- 
 ciently aware of the nature of the vengeance 
 which they had provoked, or of the neces- 
 sity of supporting the bold step which they 
 had taken, by measures which precluded a 
 compromise. Their resistance to the vio- 
 lence and atrocity of the Jacobins had no 
 political character, any more than that of- 
 fered by the traveller against robbers whe 
 threaten him with plunder and murder. 
 /They were not sufficiently aware, that, 
 Tiaving done so mucii, they must necessari- 
 ly do more. They ought, by declaring 
 themselves Royalists, to have endeavoured 
 to nrevail on the troops of Savoy, if not on 
 the Swiss, (who had embraced a species of 
 neutrality, which, after the 10th of August, 
 was dishonourable to their ancient reputa- 
 tion,) to send in all haste soldiery to the 
 
 ♦ 29th May, 1793.
 
 162 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 assistance of a city which had no fortifica- 
 tions or regular troops to defend it ; but 
 which possessed, nevertheless, treasures to 
 pay their auxiliaries, and strong hands and 
 able officers to avail themselves of the lo- 
 calities of their situation, which, when well 
 defended, are sometimes as formidable as 
 the regular protection erected by scientific 
 engineers. 
 
 The people of Lyons vainly endeavoured 
 to establish a revolutionary character for 
 themselves, upon the system of the Gi- 
 ronde ; two of whose proscribed deputies 
 tried to draw them over to their unpopular 
 and hopeless cause : and they inconsist- 
 ently sought protection by affecting a re- 
 publican zeal, even while resisting the de- 
 crees, and defeating the troops of the Jac- 
 obins. There were undoubtedly many of 
 Royalist principles among the insurgents, 
 and some of their leaders were decidedly 
 such ; but these were not numerous or in- 
 fluential enough to establish the true prin- 
 ciple of open resistance, and the ultimate 
 chance of rescue, by a bold proclamation 
 of the King's interest. They still appealed 
 to the Contention as their legitimate sove- 
 reign, in whose eyes they endeavoured to 
 vindicate themselves, and at the same time 
 tried to secure the interest of two Jacobin 
 deputies, who had countenanced every vio- 
 lence attempted by Chalier, that they might 
 prevail upon them to represent their con- 
 duct favourably. Of course they had enough 
 of promises to this effect, while Messrs. 
 Guathier and Nioche, the deputies in ques- 
 tion, remained in their power; promises, 
 doubtless, the more readily given, that the 
 Lyonnois, though desirous to conciliate the 
 favour of the Convention, did not hesitate 
 in proceeding to the punishment of the 
 Jacobin Chalier. He was condemned and 
 executed, along with one of his principal 
 associates, termed Reard. 
 
 To defend these vigorous proceedings, 
 the unhappy insurgents placed themselves 
 under the interim government of a council, 
 who, still desirous to temporize and main- 
 tain the Revolutionary character, termed 
 themselves " The Popular and Republican 
 Commission of Public i"afety of the De- 
 partment of the Rhine and Loire ;" a title 
 which, while it excited no popular enthu- 
 siasm, and attracted no foreign aid, no ways 
 soothed, but rather exasperated, the resent- 
 ment of the Convention, now under the 
 absolute domination of the Jacobins, by 
 whom everything short of complete frater- 
 nization was accounted presumptuous defi- 
 ance. Those who were not with them, it 
 was their policy to hold as their most de- 
 cided enemies. 
 
 The Lyonnois had indeed letters of en- 
 couragement, and promised concurrence, 
 from several departments ; but no effectual 
 snpport was ever directed towards their 
 city, excepting the petty reinforcement 
 from Marseilles, which we have seen was 
 intercepted and dispersed with little trouble 
 by the Jacobin General Cartaux. 
 
 Lyons had expected to become the pa- 
 troness and focus of an Anti-jacobin league, 
 formed by the great commercial towns, 
 
 against Paris and the predominant part of 
 the Convention. She found herself isolat- 
 ed and unsupported, and left to oppose her 
 own proper forces and means of defence, 
 to an army of sixty thousand men, and to 
 the numerous Jacobins contained within 
 her own walls. About the end of July, af- 
 ter a lapse of an interval of » two months, a 
 regular blockade was formed around the 
 city, and in the first week of August hostil- 
 ities took place. The besieging army was 
 directed in its military character by General 
 Kellerman, who, with other distinguished 
 soldiers, had now begun to hold an emi- 
 nent rank in the Republican armies. But 
 for the purpose of executing the vengeance 
 for which they thirsted, the Jacobins relied 
 chiefly on the exertions of the deputies 
 they had sent along with the commander, 
 and especially of the repreisentative Du- 
 bois Crance, a man whose sole merit ap- 
 pears to have been his frantic Jacobinism. 
 General Precy, formerly an officer in the 
 royal service, undertook the almost hope- 
 less task of defence, and by forming re- 
 doubts on the most commanding situations 
 around the town, commenced a resistance 
 against the immensely superior force of 
 the besiegers, which was honourable if it 
 could have been useful. The Lyonnois, at 
 the same time, still endeavoured to make 
 fair weather with the besieging army, by 
 representing themselves as firm Republic- 
 ans. They celebrated as a public festival 
 the anniversary of the 10th of August, while 
 Dubois Crance, to show the credit he gave 
 them for their republican zeal, fixed the 
 same day for commencing his fire on the 
 place, and caused the first gun to be dis- 
 charged by his own concubine, a female 
 born in Lyons. Bombs and red-hot bulleta 
 were next resorted to, against the second 
 city of the French empire ; while the be- 
 sieged sustained the attack with a constan- 
 cy, and on many parts repelled it with a 
 courage, highly honourable to their char- 
 acter. 
 
 But their fate was determined. The 
 deputies announced to the Convention their 
 purpose of pouring their instruments of 
 havoc on every quarter of the town at once, 
 and when it was on fire in several places 
 to attempt a general storm. " The city," 
 they said, " must surrender, or there shall 
 not remain one stone upon another, and ' 
 this we hope to accomplish in spite of the 
 suggestions of false compassion. Do not 
 then be surprised when you shall hear that 
 Lyons exists no longer." The fury of the 
 attack threatened to make good these prom- 
 ises. 
 
 In the mean time the Piedmontese troojw 
 made a show of descending from their 
 mountains to the succour of the city, and 
 it is probable their interference would have 
 given a character of royalism to the insur- 
 rection. But the incursion of the Pied- 
 montese and Sardinians was speedily re- 
 pelled by the skill of Kellerman, and pro- 
 duced no effect in favour of the city of Ly- 
 ons, except that of supporting for a time 
 the courage of its defenders. 
 
 The sufferings of the citizens became In
 
 Chap. XV.] 
 
 LIFE CF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 163 
 
 tolerable. Several quarters of the city 
 were on fire at the same time, immense 
 magazines were burnt to the ground, and a 
 loss incurred, during two nights' bombard- 
 ment, which was calculated at two hundred 
 milliojs of livres. A black flag was hoist- 
 ed by the besieged on the Great Hospital, 
 as a sign that the fire of the assailants should 
 not be directed on that asylum of hopeless 
 misery. The signal seemed only to draw 
 the Republican bombs to the spot where 
 they could create the most frightful dis- 
 tress, and outrage in the highest degree the 
 feelings of humanity. The devastations ot^ 
 famine were soon added to those of slaugh- 
 ter ; and after two months of such horrors 
 had been sustained, it became obvious that 
 farther resistance was impossible. 
 
 The military commandant of Lyons, Pre- 
 cy, resolved upon a sally, at the head of 
 the active part of the garrison, hoping that, 
 by cutting his way through the besiegers, 
 he might save the lives of many of those 
 who followed him in the desperate at- 
 tempt and gain the neutral territory of 
 Switzerland, while the absence of those 
 who had been actual combatants during the 
 siege, might, in some degree, incline the 
 Convention to lenient measures towards the 
 more helpless part of the inhabitants. A 
 column of about two thousand men made 
 this desperate attempt. But pursued by 
 the Republicans, and attacked on every 
 side by the peasants, to whom they had 
 been represented in the most odious col- 
 ours by the Jacobin deputies, and who were 
 stimulated besides by the hope of plunder, 
 ■carcely fifty of the devoted body reached, 
 with their leader, the protecting soil of 
 Switzerland. Lyons reluctantly opened her 
 gates after the departure of her best and 
 bravest. The rest may be described in the 
 words of Horace, — 
 
 *' Barbaras heu cineres insistet victor, et urbem, 
 ■ dissipabit insolens." 
 
 The paralytic Couthon, with Collot 
 D'Herbois, and other deputies, were sent to 
 Lyons by the Committee of Public Safety, 
 to execute the vengeance which the Jaco- 
 bins demanded ; while Dubois Crance was 
 recalled, for having put, it was thought, 
 less energy in his proceedings than the 
 prosecution of the siege required. Collot 
 D'Herbois had a personal motive of a sin- 
 gular nature for delighting in the task in- 
 trusted to him and his colleagues. In his 
 capacity of a playactor, he had been hissed 
 from the stage at Lyons, and the door to 
 revenge was now open. The instructions 
 of this committee enjoined them to take 
 the most satisfactory revenge for the death 
 of Chalier, and the insurrection of Lyons, 
 not merely on the citizens, but on the town 
 itself. The principal streets and buildings 
 were to be levelled with the ground, and a 
 monument erected where they stood, was 
 to record the cause ; — " Lyons rebelled 
 against the Republic — Lyons is no more." 
 Such fragments of the town as might be per- 
 mitted to remain, were to bear the name of 
 Ville Affranchie. It will scarce be believ- 
 
 ed, that a doom like that which might have 
 passed the lips of some Eastern despot, in 
 all the frantic madness of arbitrary power 
 and utter ignorance, could have been seri- 
 ously pronounced, and as seriously enforc- 
 ed, in one of the most civilized nations in 
 Europe ; and that in the present enlighten 
 ed age, men who pretended to wisdom and 
 philosophy, should have considered the la- 
 bours of the architect as a proper subject 
 of punishment. So it was, however ; and 
 to give the demolition more effect, the im- 
 potent Couthon was carried from house to 
 house, devoting each to ruin, by striking 
 tlie door with a silver hammer, and pro- 
 nouncing these words — '• House of a rebel, 
 I condemn thee in the name of the Law." 
 Workmen followed in great multitudes, 
 who executed fhe sentence by pulling the 
 house down to the foundations. This wan- 
 ton demolition continued for six months, 
 and is said to have been carried on at aa 
 expense equal to that which the superb mil- 
 itary hospital, the Hotel des Invalides, cost 
 its founder, Louis XIV. But Republican 
 vengeance did not waste itself exclusively 
 upon senseless lime and stone — it sought 
 out sentient victims. 
 
 The deserved death of Chalier had been 
 atoned by an apotheosis, executed after Ly- 
 ons had surrendered} but Collot D'Herboia 
 declared that every drop of that patriotic 
 blood fell as if scalding his own heart, and 
 that the murder demanded atonement. All 
 ordinary process, and every usual mode of 
 execution, was thought too tardy to avenge 
 the death of a Jacobin proconsul. Th© 
 judges of the revolutionary commisBion 
 were worn out with fatigue — th3 arm of 
 the executioner was weary — the very steel 
 of the guillotine was blunted. Collot d'Her- 
 bois devised a more summary mode of 
 slaughter. A number of from two to three 
 hundred victims at once were dragged from 
 prison to the Place de Brotteaux, one of 
 the largest squares in Lyons, and there sul^- 
 jected to a fire of grape shot. Etficaciooa 
 as this mode of execution may seem, it was 
 neither speedy nor merciful. The suffer- 
 ers fell to the ground like singed flies, mu- 
 tilated but not slain, and imploring their 
 executioners to dispatch them speedily. 
 This was done with sibres and bayonets, 
 and with such haste and zeal, that some of 
 the jailors Lnd assistants were slain along 
 with those whom they had assisted in 
 dragging to death ; and the mistake was not 
 discerned, until, upon counting the dead 
 bodies, the military murderers found them 
 amount to more than the destined tale. 
 The bodies of the dead were thrown inio 
 the Rhone, to carry news of the Republic- 
 an vengeance, a.* Collot d'Herbois express- 
 ed himself, to Toulon, then also in a state 
 of revolt. But the sullen stream rejected 
 the office imposed on it, and heaved back 
 the dead in heaps upon the banks ; and the 
 Committee of Representatives was compel- 
 led at length to allow the relics of their 
 cruelty to be interred, to prevent the risk 
 of contagion. 
 
 The people of the south of France have 
 always been distinguished by the vivacity
 
 1«4 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XVL 
 
 «f their temperament. As cruelties beget 
 retaliation, it may be as well here mention- 
 ed, that upon the fall of the Jacobins, the 
 people of Lyons forgot not what indeed 
 was calculated for eternal remembrance, 
 and took by violence a severe and sanguin- 
 ary vengeance on those who had been ac- 
 cessary to the atrocities of Couthon and 
 Collot d'Herbois. They rose on the Jaco- 
 bins after the fall of Robespierre, and put 
 to death several of them. 
 
 Toulon, important by its port, its arse- 
 nals, and naVcJ-yard, as well as by its forti- 
 fications both on the sea and land side, had 
 partaken deeply in the feelings which per- 
 vaded Marseilles, Rourdeaux and Lyons. 
 But the insurgents of Toulon were deter- 
 minedly royalist. The place had been for 
 Bome time subjected to the administration 
 of a Jacobin Club, and had seen the usual 
 quantity of murders and excesses with the 
 greater pain, that the town contained many 
 naval officers and others who had served 
 under the King, and retained their affection 
 for the royal cause. Their dissatisfaction 
 did not escape the notice of men, to whom 
 every sullen look was cause of suspicion, 
 and the slightest cause of suspicion a 
 ground of death. The town being threat- 
 ened with a complete purification after the 
 Jacobin fashion, the inhabitants resolved 
 to anticipate the blow. 
 
 At the dead of night the tocsin was 
 Monded by the citizens, who dispersed the 
 Jacobin Club, seized on the two represent- 
 ■tives who had governed its proceedings, 
 
 arrested seven or eight Jacobins, who had 
 been most active in the previous assassina- 
 tions, and, in spite of some opposition, ac- 
 tually executed them. With more decis- 
 ion than the inhabitants of Lyons, they 
 proceeded to proclaim Louis XVIL under 
 the constitution of 1791. Cartaux present- 
 ly marched upon the insurgent city, driving 
 before him the Marseillois, whom, as be- 
 fore-mentioned, he had defeated upon their 
 march towards Lyons. Alarmed at this 
 movement, and destitute of a garrison 
 which tlisy could trust, the Toulonnoia 
 implored the assistance of the English and 
 Spanish Admirals, Lord Hood and Langara, 
 who were cruising off their port. It wa« 
 instantly granted, and marines were sent on 
 shore for their immediate protection, while 
 efforts were made to collect from the dif- 
 ferent allied powers such a supply of troops, 
 as could be immediately thrown into tiie 
 place. But the event of the siege of Tou- 
 lon brings our general historical sketch in- 
 to connexion with the life of that wonder- 
 ful person, whose actions we have under- 
 taken to record. It was during this siege 
 that the light was first distinguished, which 
 broadening more and more, and blazing 
 brighter and brighter, was at length to fill 
 with its lustre the whole hemisphere of 
 Europe, and was then to set with a rapidity 
 equal to that with which it had arisen. 
 
 Ere, however, we produce this first-rate 
 actor upon the stage, we must make the 
 reader still more particularly acquainted 
 with the spirit of the scene. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 yUwt of the British Cabinet regarding the French Revolution.— Extraordinary Situ- 
 ation of France. — Explanation of the Anomaly which it exhibited. — System of Ter^ 
 ror.— Committee of Public Safely— Of Public Security.— David the Painter.— Law 
 C^ainst suspected Persons.— Revolutionary Tribunal. — Effects of the Emigration of 
 the Princes and Nobles.— Carises of the Passiveness of the French People under the 
 Tyranny of the Jacobins. — Singular Address of the Committee of Public Safety. — 
 General Reflections. 
 
 It has been a maxim with great statesmen, 
 that evil governments must end by becom- 
 ing their own destruction, according to the 
 maxim, Res nolunt diu male administrari. 
 Pitt himself was of opinion, that the fury 
 of the French Revolution would wear itself 
 out; and that it already presented so few 
 of the advanttiges and privileges of social 
 Oompact, that it seemed as if its political 
 elements must either altogether dissolve, or 
 assume a new form more similar to that on 
 ■which all other states and governments rest 
 their stability. It was on this account that 
 this great English statesntan declined as- 
 sisting, in plain and open terms, the royal 
 cause, and desired to keep England free 
 firom any pledge concerning the future state 
 of government in France, aware of the 
 danger of involving her in any declared 
 and avowed interference with the right of 
 a people to choose their own system. How- 
 ever anxious to prevent the revolutionary 
 Opinions, as well as arms, from extending 
 beyond their own frontier, it was thought in 
 
 the British cabinet, by one large party, that 
 the present frantic excess of republican 
 principles must, of itself, produce a reac- 
 tion in favour of more moderate sentiments. 
 Some steady system for the protection of 
 life and property, was, it was said, essential 
 to the very existence of society. The 
 French nation must assume such, and re- 
 nounce the prosecution of those revolution- 
 ary doctrines, for the sake of their own as 
 well as of other countries. The arrangement 
 must, it was thought, take place, from the 
 inevitable course of human affairs, which, 
 however they may fluctuate, are uniformly 
 determined at length by the interest of the 
 parties concerned. 
 
 Such was the principle assumed by mSr- 
 ny great statesmen, whose sagacity was 
 unhappily baffled by the event. In fact, it 
 was calculating upon the actions and per- 
 sonal exertions of a raving madman, as if 
 he had been under the regulation of his sen- 
 ses, and acting upon principles of self-re- 
 gard and self-preservation. France con-
 
 Oxap. XVI.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 163 
 
 tinued not only to subsist, but to be victo- 
 rious, without a government, unless the 
 Revolutionary Committees and Jacobin 
 Clubs could be accounted such — for the 
 Convention was sunk into a mere engine of 
 that party, and sanctioned whatever they 
 proposed ; without religion, which, as we 
 ehall see, they formerly abolished; with- 
 out municipal laws or rights, except that 
 any one of the ruling party might do what 
 mischief he would, while citizens, less dis- 
 tinguished for patriotism, were subjected, 
 for any cause, or no cause, to loss of liber- 
 ty, property, and life itself; without milita- 
 ry discipline, for officers might be dragged 
 from their regiments, and generals from 
 their armies, on the information of their 
 own soldiers ; without revenues of state, 
 for the depression of the assignats was ex- 
 treme ; without laws, for there were no or- 
 dinary tribunals left to appeal to ; without 
 colonies, ships, manufactories, or com- 
 merce ; without fine arts, any more than 
 those which were useful ; — In short, France 
 continued to subsist, and to achieve victo- 
 ries, althougli apparently forsaken of God, 
 and deprived of all the ordinary resources 
 of human wisdom. 
 
 The whole system of society, indeed, ap- 
 peared only to retain some appearances of 
 cohesion from mere habit, the same which 
 makes trained horses draw up in something 
 like order, even without their riders, if the 
 trumpet is sounded. And yet in foreign 
 wars, notwithstanding the deplorable state 
 of the interior, the Republic was not only 
 occasionally, but permanently and triumph- 
 antly victorious. She was like the champion 
 in Berni's romance, who was so delicately 
 sliced asunder by one of the Paladins, that 
 he went on fighting, and slew other warriors, 
 without discovering for a length of time 
 that he was himself killed. 
 
 All this extraordinary energy, was, in 
 one word, the efiect of terror. Death — 
 a grave — are sounds which awaken the 
 strongest efforts in those whom they men- 
 ace. There was never anywhere, save in 
 Franco during this melancholy period, so 
 awful a comment on the expression of scrip- 
 ture. " All that a man hath he will give for 
 his life," Force, immediate and irresistible 
 force, was the only logic used by the gov- 
 ernment — Death was the only appeal from 
 their authority — the guillotine the all-suffi- 
 cing argument, which settled eacli debate 
 betwixt them and the governed. 
 
 Was the exchequer low, the guillotine 
 filled it with the effects of the wealthy, who 
 were judged aristocratical in exact propor- 
 tion to the extent of their property. Were 
 these supplies insufficient, diminished as 
 they were by peculation ere they reached 
 tJie public coffers, the assignats remained, 
 which might be multiplied to any quantity. 
 Did the paper medium of circulation fall in 
 the market to fifty under the hundred, the 
 guillotine was r(!ady to punish those who 
 refused to exchange it at par. A few ex- 
 amples of such jobbers in the public funds 
 made men glad to give one hundred francs 
 for state money, which they knew to be 
 worth no more than fifty. Was bread want- 
 
 ing, com was to be found by the same com* 
 pendious means, and distributed among the 
 Parisians, as among the ancient citizens of 
 Rome, at a regulated price. The guillo- 
 tine was a key to storehouses, bams, aod 
 granaries. 
 
 Did the army want recruits, the guillotine 
 was ready to exterminate all conscript* 
 who should hesitate to march. On the gen- 
 erals of the Pvcpublican army, this decisive 
 argument, which, a priori, might have been 
 deemed less applicable, in all its rigour, to 
 them than to others, was possessed of the 
 most exclusive authority. They were be- 
 headed for want of success, which may seem 
 less different from the common course of 
 affairs ;* but they were also guillotined 
 when their successes were not improved 
 to the full expectations of their masters.t 
 Nay, they were guillotined, when, being too 
 successful, they were suspected of having 
 acquired over the soldiers who had con- 
 quered under them, an interest dangerous 
 to those who had the command of this all- 
 sufficing reason of state. | Even mere me- 
 diocrity, and a limited but regular discharge 
 of duty, neither so brilliant as to incur jeal- 
 ousy, nor so important as to draw down cen- 
 sure, was no protection. § There was no 
 rallying point against this universal, and 
 very simple system — of main force. 
 
 The Vendeans, who tried the open and 
 manly mode of generous and direct resist- 
 ance, were, as we have seen, finally de- 
 stroyed, leaving a name which will live for 
 ages. The commercial towns, which, up- 
 on a scale more modified, also tried thei,- 
 strength with the revolutionary torrens, 
 were successively overpowered. One can, 
 therefore, be no more surprised that the 
 rest of the nation gave way to predomi- 
 nant force, than we are daily at seeing a 
 herd of strong and able-bodied cattle driv- 
 en to the shambles before one or two butch- 
 ers, and as many bull-dogs. As the victims 
 approach the slaughter-house, and smell 
 the blood of those which have suffered the 
 fate to which they are destined, they may 
 be often observed to hesitate, start, roar, 
 and bellow, and intimate their dread of the 
 fatal spot, and instinctive desire to escape 
 from it, but the cudgels of their drivers, 
 and the fangs of the mastiffs, seldom fail 
 to compel them forward, slavering, and 
 snorting, and trembling, to the destiny 
 which awaits them. 
 
 The power of exercising this tremer»- 
 
 * The fate of Custine illustrates this, — a gene- 
 ral who had done much for the Republic, and who, 
 when his fortune began to fail him, excused him- 
 self by saying, Fortune was a woman, and hia 
 hairs were growing grey. 
 
 t Witness Houclmrd, who performed the distio- 
 guished service of raising the siege of Dunkirk, 
 and who, during his trial, could be hardly made to 
 understand that he was to suffer for not carrying 
 his victory still farther. 
 
 J Several generals of reputation sustained capi- 
 tal punishment, from no other reason than tha 
 jealousy of the committees of their influence with 
 the army. 
 
 § Luckner, an old German thick-headed soldier 
 who was oi no party, and scrupulously obeyed tha 
 command of whichever was uppermost at ParW| 
 had no better fate thaa others.
 
 166 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 \Chap.XVI. 
 
 dous authority over a terrified nation^ was 
 vested in few hands, and rested on a Tery 
 eimple basis. 
 
 The Convention had, after the fall of the 
 Girondists, remained an empty show of 
 what it had once some title to call itself, — 
 the Representative Body of the French 
 Nation. The members belonging to the 
 Plain, who had observed a timid neutrality 
 betwixt The Mountain and the Girondists, 
 if not without talent, were without courage 
 to make any opposition to the former when 
 triumphant. They crouched to their fate, 
 were glad to escape in silence, and to yield 
 full passage to the revolutionary torrent. 
 They consoled themselves with the usual 
 apology of weak minds — that they submit- 
 ted to what they could not prevent ; and 
 their adversaries, while despising them. 
 were yet tolerant of their presence, and 
 somewhat indulgent to their scruples, be- 
 cause, while tlirse timid neutrals remained 
 in their ranks, they furnished to the eye at 
 least the appearance of a full Senate, tilled 
 the ranks of the Representative Body as a 
 garment is stuffed out to the required size 
 by buckram, and countenanced by their 
 passive acquiescence the measures which 
 they most detested in their hearts. It was 
 worth the while of The Mountain to endure 
 the imbecility of such associates, and even 
 to permit occasionally some diffident oppo- 
 sition on their part, had it only been to 
 preserve appearances, and afford a show 
 of a free assembly debating on the affairs 
 of the Nation. Thus, although the name 
 of the National Convention was generally 
 used, its deputies, carefully selected from 
 the Jacobin or ruling party, were every- 
 where acting in their name, with all the au- 
 thority of Roman proconsuls ; while two- 
 thirds of the body sate with submitted necks 
 and pad-locked lips, unresisting slaves to 
 the minor proportion, which again, under its 
 various fierce leaders, was beginning to wage 
 a civil war within its own limited circle. 
 
 But the young reader, to whom this 
 eventful history is a novelty, may ask in 
 what hands was the real power of the gov- 
 ernment lodged, of which the Convention, 
 considered as a body, was thus effectually 
 deprived, though permitted to retain, like 
 the apparition in Macbeth, — 
 
 " upon its baby brow the round 
 
 .\nd type of sovereignty." 
 
 France had, indeed, in 1792, accepted, 
 with the usual solemnities, anew constitu- 
 tion, which was staled to rest on the right 
 republican basis, and was alleged to aft'ord, 
 of cours"^, the most perfect and absolute 
 •ecurity for liberty and equality, that the 
 nation could desire. But this constitution 
 was entirely superseded in practice by tlie 
 more compendious mode of povernintr by 
 means of a junto, selected out of the Con- 
 rention itself, without observing anv far- 
 ther ceremony. In fact, two small Commit- 
 tees, vested with the full powers of the 
 utate, exercised the powers of a dictator- 
 ship, while the representatives of the peo- 
 ple, like the senate under the Roman em- 
 
 pire, retained the form and semblance 
 of supreme power, might keep their cu- 
 rule chairs, and enjoy the dignity of fasces 
 and lictors, but had in their possession and 
 exercise scarcely the independent powers 
 of an English vestry, or quarter-sessions. 
 
 The Committee of Public Safety dicta- 
 ted every measure of the Convention, or 
 more frequently acted without deigning to 
 consult the Legislative Body at all. The 
 number of members who exercised this 
 executive government fluctuated betwixt 
 ten and twelve ; and, as they were all cho- 
 sen Jacobins, and selected as men capable 
 of going all the lengths of their party, care 
 was taken, by re-elections from time to 
 time, to render the situation permanent. 
 This body deliberated in secret, and had 
 the despotic right of isterfering with and con- 
 trolling every other authority in the state ; 
 and before its absolute powers, and the uses 
 which were made of them, the Council of 
 Ten of the Venetian government might 
 be thought a harmless and liberal insti- 
 tution. Another Committee, w'th powers 
 of the same revolutionary nature and in 
 which the members were also renewed 
 from time to time, was that of I'ublic Se- 
 curity. It was inferior in importance to 
 that of Public Safety, but was nevertheless 
 as active within its sphere. We regret to 
 record of a man of genius, that David, the 
 celebrated painter,* held a seat in the Com- 
 mittee of Public Security. The fine arts, 
 which he studied, had not produced on his 
 mind the softening and humanising effect 
 ascribed to them. Frightfully ugly in his 
 exterior, his mind seemed to correspond 
 with the harshness of his looks. " Let us 
 grind enough of the Red," was the profes- 
 sional phrase of which he made use, when 
 sitting down to the bloody work of the day. 
 
 That these revolutionary Committees 
 might have in their hands a power subject 
 to no legal defence or evasion on the part 
 of the accused. Merlin of Douay, a lawyer, 
 it is said, of eminence, framed what was 
 termed the law against suspected persons, 
 which was worded with so much ingenuity, 
 that not only it enveloped every one who, 
 by birth, friendship, habits of life, depend- 
 encies, or other ties, was linked, however 
 distantly, with aristocracy, whether of 
 birth or property, but also all who had, in 
 the various changes and phases of the Revo- 
 lution, taken one step too few in the career 
 of the most violent patriotism, or had, 
 though it were but for one misguided and 
 doubtful moment, held opinions short of 
 the most extravagant Jacobinism. This 
 crime of suspicion was of the nature of 
 the cameleon ; it derived its peculiar 
 shade or colour from the person to whom 
 it attached for the moment. To have been 
 a priest, or even an assertor of the rights 
 and doctrines of Christianity, was fatal ; but 
 in some instances, an overflow of atheistical 
 blasphemy was equally so. To be silent 
 on public affairs, betrayed a culpable indif- 
 
 David is generally allowed to have poasessw! 
 great merit as a draughtsman. Foreigners do not 
 admire his composition and colouring lo much &■ 
 bis countrymea.
 
 Chap. XVL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUON.\PARTE. 
 
 167 
 
 ference ; but it incurred darker suspicion 
 to speak of them otherwise than in the 
 most violent tone of the ruling party. By 
 a supplementary law, this sp.Jer's web was 
 eo widely extended, that it appeared no fly 
 could be found insignificant enough to es- 
 cape its meshes. Its general propositions 
 were of a nature so vague, that it was im- 
 possible they could ever be made subjects 
 of evidence. Therefore they were assum- 
 ed without proof; and at length, defini- 
 tion of the characteristics of suspicion 
 eeems to have been altogether dispensed 
 with, and all those were suspected persons 
 whom the revolutionary committees and 
 their asristants chose to hold as such. 
 
 The operation of this law was terrible. A 
 suspected person, besides being thrown 
 into prison, was deprived of all his rigdts, 
 his effects seaJed up, his property placed 
 under care of the state, and he himself 
 considered as civilly dead. If the unfortu- 
 nate object of suspicion had the good for- 
 tune to be set at libert)-, it was no security 
 whatever against his being again arrested on 
 the day following. There was, indeed, no 
 end to the various shades of sophistry which 
 brought almost every kind of person under 
 this oppressive law, so ample was its scope, 
 4nd undefined its objects. 
 
 That the administrators of this law of 
 suspicion might not have too much trouble 
 in seeking for victims, all householders 
 were obliged to publish on the outside of 
 their doors a list of the names and descrip- 
 tion of their inmates. Domestic security, 
 the most precious of all rights to a people 
 who know what freedom really is, weis vio- 
 lated on every occasion, even the slightest, 
 by domiciliary visits. The number of ar- 
 rest.; which took place through France, 
 choked the prisons anew which had been 
 80 fearfully emptied on the 2d and 3d of 
 September, and is said to have been only 
 moderately computed at three hundred 
 thousand sculs, one-third of whom were 
 women. The Jacobins, however, found a 
 mode of jail-delivery less summary than by 
 direct miissacre ; although ditferingso little 
 from it in every other respect, that a victim 
 might have had pretty nearly the same 
 chance of a fair trial before Maillard and 
 his men of September, as from the Revolu- 
 tionary Tribunal. It requires an effort even 
 to write that word, from the extremities of 
 guilt and horror which it recalls. But it is 
 the lot of humanity to record its own great- 
 est disgraces ; and it is a wholesome and 
 humbling lesson to exhibit a just picture 
 of those excesses, of which, in its unassist- 
 ed movements, and when agitated by evil 
 and misguiding passions, human nature can 
 be rendered capable. 
 
 The extraordinary criminal Court, better 
 known by the name of the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal, was first instituted upon the mo- 
 tion of Danton. Its object was to judge of 
 itate crimes, plots, and attempts against 
 liberty, or in favour of royalty, or affecting 
 the rights and liberty of man, or in any way, 
 more or less, tending to counteract tke 
 progress of the Revolution, In short, it 
 was the business of this Court to execute 
 
 the laws, or inflict the sentence rather, up- 
 on such as had been arrested as suspected 
 persons ; and they generally saw room to 
 punish in most of the instances where the 
 arresting functionaries had seen ground for 
 imprisonment. 
 
 This frightful Court consisted of six judg- 
 es or public accusers, and two assistants. 
 There were twelve jurymen ; but the ap- 
 pointment of these was a mere mockery. 
 They were official persons, who held per- 
 manent appointments ; had a salary from 
 the state ; and were in no manner liable to 
 the choice or challenge of the party tried. 
 It may be sure the jurors and judges were 
 selected for their Republican zeal and 
 steady qualities, and were capable of see- 
 ing no obstacle either of law or humanity 
 in the path of their duty. This tribunal 
 had the power of deciding without proof, — 
 or cutting short evidence when in the prog- 
 ress of being adduced, — or stopping the 
 defence of the prisoners at pleasure ; priv- 
 ileges which tended greatly to shorten the 
 forms of court, and aid the despatch of 
 business. 
 
 The Revolutionary Tribunal was in a 
 short time so overwhelmed with work, that 
 it became necessary to divide it into four 
 sections, all armed with similar powers. 
 The quantity of blood which it caused to 
 be shed was something unheard of even 
 during the proscriptions of the Roman Em- 
 pire ; and there were involved in its sen- 
 tences crimes the most different, person- 
 ages the most opposed, and opinions the 
 most dissimilar. When Henry VTII. roused 
 the fires of Smithfield both against Protest- 
 ant and Papist, burning at the same stake 
 one wretch for denying the King's suprem- 
 acy, and another for disbelieving the divine 
 presence in the Eucharist, the association 
 was consistency itself compared to the 
 scenes presented at the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal, in which Royalist, Constitution- 
 alist, Girondist, Churchman, Theophilan- 
 thropist, Noble and Roturier, Prince and 
 Peasant, both sexes and all ages, were in- 
 volved in one general massacre, and sent 
 to execution by scores together, and on the 
 same sleOge. 
 
 Supporting by their numerous associa- 
 tions the government as exercised by the 
 Revolutionary Committees, came the masa 
 of Jacobrns, who, divided into a thousand 
 clubs, emanating from that which had its 
 meetings at Paris, formed the strength of 
 the party to which they gave the name. 
 
 The sole principle of the Jacobinical in- 
 stitutions was to excite against all persons 
 who had anything to lose, the pjfcsions of 
 those who possessed no property, and were, 
 by birth and circumstances, brutally igno- 
 rant, and envious of the advantages enjoyed 
 by the higher classes. All other govern- 
 ments have ipade individual property the 
 object of countenance and protection ; but 
 in this strangely inverted state of things, it 
 seemed the object of constant suspicion 
 and persecution, and exposed the owner to 
 perpetual danger. We have elsewhere 
 said that Equality (unless in the no less in- 
 telligible than iacred 8en£e of equal n\^
 
 168 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chop. XVI 
 
 misflion to the law) is a mere chimera, i 
 which can no more exist with respect to j 
 property, than in regard to mental qualifi- , 
 cations, or personal strength, beauty, or ! 
 stature. Divide the whole property of a I 
 country equally among its inhabitants, and 
 a week will bring back the inequality which 
 you have endeavoured to remove ; nay, a 
 much shorter space will find the industri- 
 ous and saving richer than the idle and 
 prodigal. But in France, at the period un- 
 der discussion, this equality, in itself so un- 
 attainable, had completely superseded even 
 the principle of liberty, as a watch-word 
 for exciting the people. It was to sin 
 against this leading principle to be possess- 
 ed of, and more especially to enjoy osten- 
 tatiously, anything which was wanting to 
 your neighbour. To be richer, more ac- 
 complished, better bred, or better taught, 
 subjected you to the law of suspicion, and 
 you were conducted instantly before a 
 Revolutionary Committee, where you were 
 probably convicted of incivism ; not for in- 
 terfering with the liberty and property of 
 others, but for making what use you pleased 
 of your own. 
 
 The whole of the terrible mystery is in- 
 cluded in two regulations, communicated 
 by the Jacobin Club of Paris to the Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety. — I. That when, by 
 the machinations of opulent persons, se- 
 ditions should arise in any district, it should 
 be declared in a state of rebellion. — II. 
 That the Convention shall avail themselves 
 of such opportunity to excite the poor to 
 make war on the rich, and to restore order 
 at any price whatsoever. — This was so 
 much understood, that one of the persons 
 tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal, when 
 asked what he had to say in his defence, 
 answered, — " I am wealthy — what avails it 
 to me to offer any exculpation when such 
 is my offence 1" 
 
 The Committees of Government distrib- 
 uted large sums of money to the Jacobin 
 Club and its affiliated societies, as being 
 necessary to the propagation of sound po- 
 litical principles. The clubs themselves 
 took upon them in every village the exer- 
 cise of the powers of govenwrent ; and 
 while they sat swearing, drinking, and 
 amoking, examined passports, imprisoned 
 citizens, and enforced to their full extent 
 the benefits of liberty and equality. " Death 
 or Fraternity" was usually inscribed over 
 their place of assembly, which some one 
 translated, — " Become my brother, or I 
 will kill thee." 
 
 These clubs were composed of members 
 drawn from the lees of the people, that 
 they might not, in their own persons, give 
 an example contradicting the equality 
 which it was their business to enforce. 
 They were filled with men without resour- 
 ces or talents, but towards whom the con- 
 fidence of the deceived people was direct- 
 ed, from the conviction that, because taken 
 from among themselves, they would have 
 the interest of the lower orders constantly 
 in view. Their secretaries, however, were 
 generally selected witli some attention to 
 aleiftness of capacity ; for on them depend- 
 
 ed the terrible combination which extend* 
 ed from the mother society of Jacobins in 
 Paris, down mto the most remote villages 
 of the most distant provinces, in which 5i» 
 same tyranny was maintained by the influ- 
 ence of similar means. Thus rumours 
 could be either circulated or collected with 
 a speed and uniformity, which enabled a 
 whisper from Robespierre to regulate the 
 sentiments of the Jacobins at the most dis- 
 tant part of his empire ; for his it unque»- 
 tionably was, for the space of two dreadful 
 years. 
 
 France had been subjected to many evils 
 ere circumstances had for a time reduced 
 her to this state of passive obedience to a 
 yoke, which, after all, when its strength 
 was fairly tried, proved as brittle as it wai 
 intolerable. Those who witnessed the 
 tragedies which then occurred, look back 
 upon that period as the delirium of a na- 
 tional fever, filled with visions too horrible 
 and painful for recollection, and which, be- 
 ing once wiped from the mind, we recall 
 with difficulty and reluctance, and dwell 
 upon with disgust. A long course of events, 
 tending each successively to disorganize 
 society more and more, had unhappily pre- 
 vented a brave, generous, and accomplished 
 people from combining together in mutual 
 defence. The emigration and forfeiture of 
 the nobles and clergy had deprived the 
 country at once of those higher classes, 
 that right-hand file, who are bred up to hold 
 their lives light if called on to lay them 
 down for religion, or in defence of the 
 rights of their country, or the principles of 
 their own honour or conscience. Whatev- 
 er may be thought of the wisdom or neces- 
 sity of emigration, its evils were the same. 
 A high-spirited and generous race of gentry, 
 accustomed to consider themselves as pe- 
 culiar depositaries of the national honour — 
 a learned and numerous priesthood, the 
 guardians of religious opinion — had been 
 removed from their place, and society waa 
 so much the more weak and more ignorant 
 for the want of them. Whether voluntarily 
 abandoning or forcibly driven from the 
 country, the expulsion of so large a mass, 
 belonging entirely to the higher orders, 
 tended instantly to destroy the balance of 
 society, and to throw all power into the 
 hands of the lower class, who, deceived by 
 bad and artful men, abused it to the fright- 
 ful excess we have described. 
 
 We do not mean to say that the emigrants 
 had carried with them beyond the frontiers 
 all the worth and courage of the better 
 classes in France, or that there were not, 
 among men attached to the cause of liberty, 
 many who would have shed their blood to 
 have prevented its abuse. But these had 
 been unhappily, durina the progress of the 
 Revolution, divided and subdivided amoni 
 themselves, were split up into a variety of 
 broken and demolished parties, which had 
 repeatedly sulfered proscription ; and, what 
 was worse, sustained it from the hand of 
 each other. The Constitutionalist could 
 not safely join in league with the Royalist, 
 oreither'with the Girondist; and thus there 
 existed no confidence on which a uoioa
 
 Chap. X VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 169 
 
 could be effected, among materials repul- 
 8ive of each other. There extended be- 
 sides through France, far and near, that sor- 
 row and sinking of the heart, which pre- 
 Tails amid great national calamities where 
 there is little hope. The state of oppres- 
 sion was 80 universal, that no one strove to 
 remedy its evils more than they would 
 have struggled to remedy the malaria of an 
 infected country. Those who escaped the 
 disorder contented themselves with their 
 individual safety, without thinking of the 
 general evil as one which human art could 
 remedy, or human courage resist. 
 
 Moreover, the Jacobinical rulers had sur- 
 rounded themselves with such a system of 
 espionage and delation, that the attempt to 
 organize any resistance to their power, 
 would have been in fact to fall inovitably 
 and fatally under their tyranny. If the bold 
 conspirator against this most infernal au- 
 thority did not bestow his confidence on a 
 false friend or a concealed emissary of the 
 Jacobin party, he was scarce the safer ou 
 that account ; for if he breathed forth in the 
 jnost friendly ear anything tending to re- 
 flect on the free, happy, and humane gov- 
 ernment under which he had the happiness 
 to live, his hearer was bound, equally as a 
 hired spy, to carry the purport of the con- 
 versation to the constituted authorities — 
 that is, to the Revolutionary Committees 
 or Republican Commissioners ; and, above 
 all, to the Committee of Public Safety. Si- 
 lence on public affairs, and acquiescence 
 in democratic tyranny, became, therefore, 
 matter of little wonder; for men will be 
 long mute, when to indulge the tongue may 
 endanger the head. And thus, in the king- 
 dom which boasts herself most civilized in 
 Europe, and with all that ardour for liberty 
 which seemed out of late to animate every 
 bosom, the general apathy of terror and as- 
 tonishment, joined to a want of all power 
 \f of combination, palsied every effort at re- 
 sistance. They who make national reflec- 
 tions on the French for remaining passive 
 onder circumstances so hopeless, should 
 first reflect, that our disposition to prevent 
 or punish crime, and our supposed readiness 
 to resist oppression, have tneir foundation 
 in a strong confidence in the laws, and in 
 the immediate support which they are sire 
 to receive from the numerous classes who 
 have been trained up to respect them, as 
 protectors of the rich equally and of the 
 poor. But in France the whole system of 
 the administration of justice was in the 
 hands of brutal force ; and it is one thing to 
 join in the hue and cry against a murderer, 
 seconded by the willing assistance of a 
 whole population — another to venture upon 
 withstanding him in his den, he at the head 
 of his banditti, the assailant defenceless, 
 Excepting in the justice of his cause. 
 
 It has further been a natural subject of 
 wonder, not only that the richer and better 
 classes, the avowed objects of Jacobin per- 
 secution, were so passively resigned to this 
 frightful tyranny, but also whv the French 
 populace, whose general manners are so 
 civilized and so kindly, that they are, on 
 vrdinary occasions, the gayest and best- 
 VOL. I. U 
 
 humoured people in Europe, should have 
 so far clianged their character as to delight 
 in cruelty, or at least to look on, without 
 e.xpressing disgust, at cruelties perpetrated 
 in their name. 
 
 But the state of a people in ordinary 
 times and peaceful occupations, is in every 
 country totally different from the character 
 which they manifest under strong circum- 
 stances of excitation. Rousseau says, that 
 no one who sees the ordinary greyhound, 
 the most sportive, gentle, and timid per- 
 haps of the canine race, can form an idea 
 of the same animal pursuing and strang- 
 ling its screaming and helpless victim. 
 Something of this sort must plead the 
 apology of the French people in the early 
 excesses of the Revolution ; and we must 
 remember, that men collected in crowds, 
 and influenced with a sense of wrongs, 
 whether real or imaginary, are acted upon 
 by the enthusiasm of the moment ; and arf; 
 besides in a state of such general and un- 
 distinguishing fury, that they adopt, by join- 
 ing in the clamours and general shouts, 
 deeds of which they hardly witness the im- 
 port, and which perhaps not one of the as- 
 sembled multitude out of a thousand would 
 countenance, were that import distinctly 
 felt ai,d known. In the revolutionary mas- 
 sacres and cruelties, there was always an 
 executive po^ver, consisting of a few well- 
 breathed and thorough-paced ruffians, whose 
 hands perpetrated the actions, to which the 
 ignorant vulgar only lend their acclama- 
 tions. 
 
 This species of assentation became less 
 wonderful when instant slaughter, without 
 even the ceremony of inquiry, had been 
 exchanged for some forms, however flimsy 
 and unsubstantial, of regular trial, condem- 
 nation, and execution. These served for a 
 time to satisfy the public mind. The pop- 
 ulace saw men dragged to the guillotine, 
 convicted of criminal attempts, as they 
 were informed, against the liberty of the 
 people ; and they shouted as at the punish- 
 ment of their own immediate enemies. 
 
 But as the work of death proceeded daily, 
 the people became softened as their pas- 
 sions abated; and the frequency of such 
 sacrifices having removed the odious inter- 
 est which for :■- while attended thom, the 
 lower classes, whom Robespierre desired 
 most to conciliate, looked on, first wth in- 
 difference, but afterwards with shame and 
 disgust, and at last with the wish to put an 
 end to cruelties, which even the most ig- 
 norant and prejudiced began to regard in 
 their own true, undisguised light. 
 
 Yet the operation of these universal t'oel- 
 in^s was long delayed. To support the 
 reign of Terror, the Revolutionarv Com- 
 mittees had their own guards and execu- 
 tioners, without whom they could not have 
 long withstood the general abhorre:';;; of 
 mankind. All official situations were scfw- 
 pulously and religiously filled um by indi- 
 viduals chosen from the Sans-Culottes, who 
 had rendered themselves, by their zeal, wor- 
 thy of that honourable appellation. Were 
 they of little note, they were empioved in 
 the varioue capacities ot guards, officers.
 
 170 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XVI. 
 
 and jailors, for which the times created an 
 unwearied demand, hia tiiey hold places 
 in the Convention, they were frequently 
 despatched upon commissions to different 
 parts of France, to give new edge to the 
 guillotine, and superintend in person the 
 punishment of conspiracy or rebellion, real 
 or supposed. Such commissioners, or pro- 
 consuls as they were frequently termed, be- 
 ing vested with unlimited power, and fresh 
 in its exercise, signalized themselves by 
 their cruelty, even more than the tyrants 
 whose will they discharged. 
 
 We may quote, in illustration, a remarka- 
 ble passage in an address by the Commis- 
 sioners of Public Safety, to the representa- 
 tives absent upon commissions, in which 
 there occur some gentle remarks on their 
 having extended capital punishment to ca- 
 ses where it was not provided by law, al- 
 though the lustre of their services to the 
 Republic far outshone the shade of such 
 occasional peccadilloes. For their future 
 .direction, they are thus exhorted. " Let 
 your energy awaken anew as the term of 
 your labour approaches. The Convention 
 charges you to complete tlie purification 
 and reorganization of the constituted au- 
 thorities with the least possible delay, and 
 to report the conclusion of these two ope- 
 rations before the end of the next month. A 
 simple measure may effect the desired pu- 
 rification. Convoke the people i7i the pop- 
 ular societies — Let the public functionaries 
 appear before them — Interrogate the people 
 on the subject of their conduct, and let their 
 judgment dictate yours."* Thus, the wild- 
 est prejudices arising in the Jacobin Club, 
 consisting of the lowest, most ignorant, 
 most prejudiced, and often most malicious 
 members in society, were received as evi- 
 dence, and the populace declared masters, 
 at their own pleasure, of the property, hon- 
 our, and life, of those who had held any 
 brief authority over them. 
 
 Where there had occurred any positive 
 rising or resistance, the duty of the Com- 
 missioners was extended by all the powers 
 that martial law, in other words, the rule of 
 superior force, could confer. We have 
 mentioned the murders committed at Ly- 
 ons ; but even these, though hundreds were 
 swept away by vollies of musket-shot, fell 
 short of the horrors perpetrated by Carrier 
 at Nantes, who, in avenging t e Republic 
 on the obstinate resistance of La V^endee, 
 might have summoned hell to match his 
 cruelty, without a demon venturing to an- 
 swer his ch.iUenge. Hundreds, men, wo- 
 msjn, and children, were forced on board of 
 Tessels which were scuttled and sunk in 
 the Loire, and this was called republican 
 baptism. Men and women were stripped, 
 bound together, and thus thrown into the 
 river, and this was called republican mar- 
 riage. But we have said enough to show 
 that men's blood seems to have been con- 
 verted into poison, and their hearts into 
 stone, by the practices in which they were 
 daily engaged. Many affected even a lust 
 
 * Moniteur, No. 995 ; Nivoie Pan 2me, 25tb De- 
 «niit)ex 1793. 
 
 of cruelty, and the instrument of punish- 
 ment was talked of with the fondness and 
 gaiety with which we speak of a beloved 
 and fondled object. It had its pet name 
 of the Little National Window, and others 
 equally expressive ; and although saints 
 were not much in fashion, was, in some de- 
 gree, canonized by the name of the Holy 
 Mother Guillotine. That active citizen, 
 the Executioner, had also his honours, as 
 well as the senseless machine which he di- 
 rected. This official was admitted to the 
 society of some of the more emphatic pa- 
 triots, and, as we shall afterwards see, 
 shared in their civic festivities. It may be 
 questioned whether even his company was 
 not too good for the patrons who thus re- 
 galed him. 
 
 There was also an armed force raised 
 among the most thorough-paced and harden- 
 ed satellites of the lower order, termed by 
 pre-eminence the Revolutionary Army. 
 They were under the command of Rous- 
 sin, a general every way worthy of such 
 soldiers. These troops were produced on 
 all occasions, when it was necessary to in- 
 timidate the metropolis and the National 
 Cuard. They were at the more immediate 
 disposal of the Commune of Paris, and were 
 a ready, though not a great force, which al- 
 ways could be produced at a moment's no- 
 tice, and were generally joined by the more 
 active democrats, in the capacity of a Jaco- 
 bin militia. In their own ranks they mus- 
 tered six thousand men. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, that some of the 
 persons whose agency was distinguished 
 during this disgraceful period, and whose 
 hands were deeply dyed in the blood so un- 
 relentingly shed, under whatever phrenzy 
 of brain, or state of a generally maddening 
 impulse, they may have acted, nevertheless 
 made amends in their after conduct for their 
 enormities then committed. This was 
 the case with Tallien, with Barras, with 
 Fouche, Legendre, and others, who, nei- 
 ther good nor scrupulous men, were yet, up- 
 on many subsequent occasions, much more 
 humane and moderate than could have 
 been expected from their early acquaint- 
 ance with revolutionary horrors. They re- 
 sembled disbanded soldiers, who, returned 
 to their native homes, often resume so en- 
 tirely the habits of earlier life, that they 
 seem to have forgotten the wild, and per- 
 haps sanguinary character of their military 
 career. We cannot, indeed, pay any of 
 these reformed Jacobins the compliment 
 ascribed to Octavius by the Romans, who 
 found a blessing in the Emperor's benevo- 
 lent government, which compensated the 
 injuries inflicted by the Triumvir. But it 
 is certain that, had it not been for the cour- 
 age of Tallien and Barras in particular, il 
 might have been much longer ere ih« 
 French had been able to rid themselves of 
 Robespierre, and that the revolution of 9th 
 Tliermidor, as they called the memorable 
 day of his fall, was in a great measure 
 brought about by the remorse or jealousy 
 of the Dictator's old comrades. But ere 
 we arrive at that more auspicious point of 
 our story, we have to consider the traiii of
 
 Ckap. X F/.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 171 
 
 causes which led to the downfall of Jaco- 
 binism. 
 
 Periods which display ^eat national fail- 
 ings or vices, are those also which bring to 
 light distinguished and redeeming virtues. 
 France unfortunately, during the years 1793 
 and 1794, e.-shibited instances of extreme 
 cruelty, in principle and practice, which 
 make the human blood curdle. She may 
 also be censured for a certain abasement of 
 epirit, for sinking so long unresistingly un- 
 der a yoke so unnaturally horrible. But 
 she has to boast that, during this fearful pe- 
 riod, she can produce as many instances of 
 the most high and honourable fidelity, of the 
 most courageous and devoted humanity, as 
 honour the annals of any country whatever. 
 
 The cruelty of the laws denounced the 
 highest penalties against those who relieved 
 proscribed fugitives. These were execut- 
 ed with the most merciless rigour. Ma- 
 dame Boucquey and her husband were put to 
 death at Bourdeau.x for affording shelter to 
 ihe members of the Gironde faction ; and 
 the interdiction of fire and water to outlawed 
 oersons, of whatever description, was en- 
 orced with the heaviest penalty. Yet, 
 /lot only among the better classes, but 
 among the poorest of the poor, were there 
 men of noble minds found, who, having but 
 half a morsel to support their own family, 
 (livided it willingly with some wretched 
 fugitive, though death stood ready to re- 
 ward their charity. 
 
 In some cases, fidelity and devotion aid- 
 ed tiie suggestions of humanity. Among 
 domestic servants, a race whose virtues 
 should be the more esteemed, that they are 
 practised sometimes in defiance of strong 
 temptation, were found many distinguished 
 instances of unshaken fidelity. Indeed, it 
 must be said, to the honour of the French 
 manners, that the master and his servant 
 live on a footing of much more kindliness 
 than attends the same relation in other 
 countries, and especially in Britain. Even 
 
 in the most trj'ing situations, there wer« 
 not many nstances of domestic treason, 
 and many a master owed his life to the at- 
 tachment and fidelity of a menial. The 
 feelings of religion sheltered others. The 
 recusant and exiled priests often fouad 
 among their former flock the means of con- 
 cealment and existence, wlien it was death 
 to administer them. Often, this must have 
 flowed from grateful recollection of their 
 former religious services — sometimes froea 
 unmingled veneration for the Being whose 
 ministers they professed themselves.* No- 
 thing short of such heroic exertions, which 
 were numerous, (and especially in the class 
 where individuals, hard pressed on account 
 of their own wants, are often rendered cal- 
 lous to the distress of others,) could have 
 prevented France, during this horrible pe- 
 riod, from becoming an universal charnel- 
 house, and her history an unvaried kalendar 
 of mur ler. 
 
 * Stranger? are forcibly affected by the trifling 
 incidenlB which sometimes recall the memory of 
 those fearful time.'). A venerable French ecclesi- 
 a.stic being on a visit at a gentleman's house in 
 North Britain, it was remarked by the family, thai 
 a favourite cat, rather wild and capricious in his 
 habits, paid particular attention to their guc«t. 
 It was explained, by the priest giving an account 
 of his lurking in the waste garret, or lumber-room, 
 of an artisan's house fur several weeks. In this 
 condition he had no better amusement than to 
 study the manners and habits of the cats which 
 frequented his place of retreat, and acquire the 
 mode of conciliating their favour. The difficulty 
 of supplying him with food, without attracting 
 suspicion, was extreme, and it could only be plac- 
 ed near his place of concealment in small quanti- 
 ties, and at uncertain times. Men, women, and 
 children, knew of his being in that place; tliefc 
 were rewards to be gained by discovery, life to 
 be lost by persevering in concealing him ; yet he 
 was faithfully preserved, to try upon a Scottish 
 cat, after the restoration of the Monarchy, the 
 arts which he had learned in his miserable pl«e« 
 of shelter during the reign of Terror. The bit 
 tbry of the time abounds with similar icitances
 
 172 
 
 LITE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 
 
 [Chap. xvn. 
 
 OHAP. ZVII. 
 
 Marat, Danion, Robespierre. — Marat poniarded — Danton and Robespierre beeom* 
 Rivals. — Commune of Paris — their gross Irreligion.—Gobet. — Goddess of Reasorv. — 
 Marriage reduced to a Civil Contract. — Views of Danton — and of Robespierre. — 
 Principal Leaders of the Commune arrested— and Nineteen of them executed. — Dan^ 
 ton arrested by the influence of Robespierre — and, along inth Camille Desmoulitu, 
 Westermann, and La Croix, taken before the Revolutionary Tribunal, condemned, 
 and executed. — Decree issued, on the motion of Robespierre, acknowledging a Su- 
 preme Being. — Cecilie Regnaut. — Gradual Change in the Public Mind. — Robespierre 
 becomes unpopular — Makes every effort to retrieve his power. — Stormy Debate in the 
 Convention. — Collot D'Herbois, TalHen, &.c. expelled from the Jacobin Club at the 
 instigation of Robespierre. — Robespierre denounced in the Convention on the 9th 
 Thermidor (21th July,) and, after furious struggles, an'ested, along with his brother, 
 Couthon, and Saint Just. — Henriot, Commandant of the National Guard, arrested. — 
 Terrorists take Refuge in the Hotel de Ville — Attempt their own lives. — Robespierre 
 wounds himself — but lives, along with most of the others, long enough to be carried to 
 the Guillotine, and execxited. — His character— Struggles that followed his Fate. — 
 Final Destruction of the Jacobinical System— and return of Tranquillity. — Singular 
 colour given to Society in Paris. — Ball of the Victims. 
 
 The reader need not be reminded, that the 
 three distinguished champions who assum- 
 ed the front in the Jacobin ranks, were 
 Marat, Danton, and Robespierre. The 
 'first was poniarded by Charlotte Corday, 
 an enthusiastic young person, who had 
 nourished, in a feeling betwixt lunacy and 
 heroism, the ambition of ridding the world 
 of a tyrant. Danton and Robespierre, re- 
 duced to a Duumvirate, might have divided 
 the power betwixt them. But Danton, far 
 the more able and powerful-minded man, 
 could not resist temptations to plunder and 
 to revel ; and Robespierre, who took care 
 to preserve proof of his rival's peculations, 
 a crime of a peculiarly unpopular charac- 
 ter, and from which he seemed to keep his 
 own hands pure, possessed thereby the 
 power of ruining him whenever he should 
 find it onvenient. Danton married a beau- 
 tiful woman, became a candidate for do- 
 mestic happiness, withdrew himself for 
 some time from state affairs, and quitted 
 the stern and menacing attitude which he 
 had presented to the public during the ear- 
 lier stages of the Revolution. Still his 
 ascendancy, especially in the Club of Cor- 
 deliers, was formidable enough to command 
 Robespierre's constant attention, and keep 
 awake his envy, which was like the worm 
 that dieth not, though it did not draw down 
 any indication of his immediate and active 
 vengeance. A power, kindred also in 
 crime, but more within his reach for the 
 moment, was first to be demolished, ere 
 Robespierre was to measure strength with 
 his great rivnl. 
 
 This third party consisted of those who 
 had possessed themselves of official situa- 
 tions in the Commune of Paris, whose civic 
 authority, and the implement which they 
 command/^f' in the Uevolutionary army, 
 commanded by Roussin, pave them the 
 power of marching, at a moment's warning, 
 upon the Ct)nvcution, or even against the 
 Jacobin Club. It is true, these men, of 
 whom Hebcrt Cliaumette, and others, were 
 kaders, had never sliown the least diffi- 
 dence of Robespierre, but, on the contrary, 
 had used ail meana to propitiate his favour. 
 
 But the man whom a tyrant fears, becomes, 
 with little farther provocation, the object 
 of his mortal enmity. Robespierre watch- 
 ed, therefore, with vigilance, the occasion 
 of overreaching and destroying this party, 
 whose power he dreaded ; and, singular to 
 tell, he sought the means of accomplishing 
 their ruin in the very extravagance of their 
 revolutionary zeal, which shortly before ho 
 might have envied, as pushed farther than 
 his own. But Robespierre did not want 
 sense ; and he saw with pleasure Hebert, 
 Chaumette, and their followers, run into 
 such inordinate extravagancies, as he 
 thou[;ht might render his own interference 
 desirable, even to those who most disliked 
 his principles, most abhorred the paths by 
 which he had climbed to power, and most 
 feared the use which he made of it. 
 
 It was through the subject of religion 
 that this means of ruining his opponents, aa 
 he hoped, arose. A subject, which one 
 would have thought so indifferent to either, 
 came to be on both sides the occasion of 
 quarrel between the Commune of Paris and 
 the Jacobin leader. But there is a fanati- 
 cism of atheism, as well as of superstitious 
 belief; and a philosopher can harbour and 
 express as much malice against those who 
 persevere in believing what he is pleased 
 to denounce as unworthy of credence, aa 
 an ignorant and bigoted priest can bear 
 against a man who cannot yield faith to dog- 
 mata which he thinks insufficiently provei 
 Accordingly, the throne being totally anni 
 hilated, it appeared to the philosophers of 
 the school of Hebert, (who was author of 
 the most gross and beastly periodical paper 
 of the time, called the Pere du Chene,) 
 that in totally destroying such vestiges of 
 religion ;ind public worship as were still 
 retained by the people of France, there wa» 
 room for a splendid triumph of liberal opin- 
 ions. It was not enough, they said, for a 
 regenerate nation to have dethroned earthly 
 kings, unless she stretched out the arm of 
 defiance towards those powers which su- 
 perstition had represented as reigning over 
 Doundless space. 
 
 An uoh^py man, named Gobet, ComU-
 
 Ckap. XVII.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 173 
 
 totional Bishop of Paris, was brought for- 
 wtrd to play the principal part in the most 
 impudent and scandalous farce ever acted 
 in the face of a national representation. 
 
 It is said that the leaders of the scene 
 had some difficulty in inducing the bisiiop 
 to coniply with the task assigi;ed him, 
 which, after all, he executed, not without 
 present tears and subsequent remorse. But 
 he did play the part prescribed. He was 
 brought forward in full procession, to de- 
 clare to the Convention, that the religion 
 which he had taught so many years, was, in 
 every respect, a piece of priestcraft, which 
 had no foundation either in history or sa- 
 cred truth. He disowned, in solemn and 
 explicit terms, the existence of the Deity 
 to whose worship he had been consecrated, 
 and devoted hi.nself in future to the hom- 
 age of Liberty, Equality. \'irtue, and Mo- 
 rality. He then laid on the table his Epis- 
 copal decorations, and received a fraternal 
 embrace from the President of the Conven- 
 tion. Several apostate priests followed the 
 example of this prelate. 
 
 The gold and silver plate of the churches 
 waa seized upon and desecrated ; proces- 
 sions entered the Convention, travestied in 
 priestly garments, and singing the most pro- 
 fane hymns ; while many of the chalices 
 and sacred vessels were applied by Chau- 
 mette and Hebert to the celebration of their 
 own impious orgies. The world, for the 
 first time, heard an assembly of men, born 
 and educated in civilization, and assuming 
 the right to govern one of the finest of the 
 European nations," uplift their united voice 
 to deny the most solemn truth which man's 
 soul receives, and renounce unanimously 
 the belief and worship of a Deity. For a 
 short time the same mad profanity continu- 
 ed to be acted upon. 
 
 One of the ceremonies of this insane 
 time stands unrivalled for absurdity, com- 
 bined with impiety. The doors of the Con- 
 vention were thrown open to a band of mu- 
 sicians ; preceded by whom, the members 
 of the Municipal Body entered in solemn 
 procession, singing a hymn in praise of lib- 
 erty, and escorting, as the object of their 
 future worship, a veiled female, whom they 
 termed the Goddess of Reason. Being 
 brought within the bar, she was unveiled 
 with great form, and placed on the right 
 band of the President ; when .she was gen- 
 erally recognized as a dancing-girl of the 
 Opera, with whose charms most of the per- 
 sons present were acquainted from her ap- 
 pearance on the stage, while the experi- 
 ence of individuals was farther extended. 
 To this person, as the fittest representative 
 of that Reason whom they worshipped, the 
 National Convention of France rendered 
 public homage. 
 
 This impious and ridiculous mummery 
 had a certain fashion ; and the installation 
 of the Goddess of Reason was renewed and 
 imitated throughout the nation, in such pla- 
 ces where the inhabitants desired to show 
 themselves equal to all the heights of the 
 Revolution. The churches were, in most 
 districts of France, closed against priests 
 ud worshippers — the bells were broken 
 
 and cast into cannon — the whole ecclesias- 
 tical establishment destroyed — and the Re- 
 publican inscription over the cemeteries, 
 declaring death to be perpetual sleep, an- 
 nounced to those who lived under that do- 
 minion, that they were to hope no redress 
 even in the next world. 
 
 Intimately connected with theae laws 
 affecting religion, was that which reduced 
 the union of marriage, the most sacred en- 
 gagement which human beings can form, 
 and the permanence of which leads most 
 strongly to the consolidation of society, to 
 the state of a mere civil contract of a tran- 
 sitory character, which any two persons 
 might engage in, and cast loose at pleasure, 
 when their taste was changed, or their ap- 
 petite gratified. If fiends had set them- 
 selves to work to discover a mode of most 
 effectually destroying whatever is venera- 
 ble, graceful, or permanent in domestic life, 
 and of obtaining at the same time an assur- 
 ance that the mischief which it was their 
 object to create should be perpetrated from 
 one generation to another, they could not 
 have invented a more effectual plan than 
 the degradation of marriage into a state of 
 mere occasional cohabitation, or licer.sed 
 concubinage. Sophie Arnoult, an actress 
 famous for the witty things she said, de- 
 scribed the Republican marriage as the Sa- 
 crament of adultery. 
 
 These anti-religious and anti-social regu- 
 lations did not answer the purpose of the 
 frantic and inconsiderate zealots, by whom 
 they had been urged forward. Hebert and 
 Chaumette had outrun the spirit of the 
 time, evil as that was, and had contrived to 
 get beyond the sympathy even of those, 
 who, at heart as vicious and criminal as 
 they, had still the sagacity to fear, or the 
 taste to be disgusted with, this overstrained 
 tone of outrageous impiety. Perhaps they 
 might have other motives for condemning 
 so gross a display of irreligion. The most 
 guilty of men r.re not desire us, generally 
 speaking, totally to disbelieve and abandon 
 all doctrines of religious faith. They can- 
 not, if they would, prevent themselves from 
 apprehending a future state of retribution ; 
 and little effect as such feeble glimmering 
 of belief may have on their lives, they will 
 not in general willingly throw away the 
 slight chance, that it may be possible on 
 some occasion to reconcile themselves to 
 the Church or to the Deity. This hope, 
 even to those on whom it has no salutary 
 influence, resembles the confidence given 
 to a sailor during a gale of wind, by his 
 knowing that there is a port under his lee. 
 His purpose may be never to run for the 
 haven, or he may judge there is great im- 
 probability that by doing so he should 
 reach it in safety ; yet still, such being the 
 case, he would esteem himself but little in- 
 debted to any one who should blot the har- 
 bour of refuge out of the chart. To all 
 those, who, in various degrees, received 
 and believed the great truths of religion, 
 on which those of morality are dependant, 
 the professors of those wild absurdities be« 
 came objects of contempt, dislike, hatred, 
 and punishment.
 
 174 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOJV BUONAPARTE. 
 
 iChap. XVIL 
 
 Danton regarded tlie proceedings of He- 
 bert arid nis phiiosopuers of the Commune 
 with scorn and disgust. However wicked 
 he had shown himself, he was too wise and 
 too proud to approve of such impolitic and 
 senseless folly. Besides, this perpetual 
 undermining whatever remained of social 
 institutions, prevented any stop being put 
 to the revolutionary movements, which 
 Danton, having placed his party at the head 
 of affairs, and himself nearly as high as he 
 could promise to climb, was now desirous 
 should be done. 
 
 _ Robespierre looked on these extravagant 
 proceedings with a different and more 
 watchful eye. He saw what Hebert and 
 his associates had lost in popularity, by af- 
 fecting the doctrines of atheism and utter 
 profaneness ; aixl he imagined a plan, first 
 for destroying these blasphemers, by the 
 general consent of the nation, as noxious 
 animals, and then of enlarging, and, as it 
 "vere, sanctifyinii his own power, by once 
 more connecting a spirit of devotion of 
 so.ne modified kind or other with the rev- 
 olutionary form of government, of which 
 he desired to continue the head. 
 
 It has even been supposed, that Robes- 
 pierre's extravagant success in rising so 
 much above all human expectation, had in- 
 duced him to entertain some thoughts of 
 acting the part of a new Maliomet, in bring- 
 ing back religious opinion into France, un- 
 der his own direct auspices. He is said to 
 have countenanced in secret the extrava- 
 gancies of a female called Catharine The- 
 ot, orTheos, an enthusiastic devotee, whose 
 doctri.ies leaned to Quietism. She was a 
 kind of Joanna Southcote, and the Aaron 
 of her sect wasDom Gerle, formerly a Car- 
 thusian monk, and remarkable for the mo- 
 tion he made in the first National Assembly 
 that the Catholic religion should be recog- 
 nised as that of France.* Since that time 
 he had become entirely deranged. A few 
 visionaries of both sexes attended secret 
 and nightly meetings, in which Theot and 
 Dom Gerle presided. Robespierre was re- 
 cognised by them as one of the elect, and is 
 said to have favoured their superstitious 
 doctrines. But wliether the Dictator saw 
 in them anything more than tools, which 
 might be applied to his own purpose, there 
 seems no positive authority to decide. At 
 any rate, whatever religious opinions he 
 might have imbibed himself, or have be- 
 come desirous of infusing into the state, 
 thev were not such as were qualified to 
 modify eitlicr his ambition, his jealousy, or 
 his love of blood. 
 
 The power of Hebert, Cliaumette, and 
 of the Community of Paris was now ripe 
 for destruction. Roussin, with the other 
 armed satellites of the revolutionary army, 
 bullied indeed, and spoke about taking the 
 part of the magistracy '^f Paris against the 
 Convention ; but though they had the mas- 
 ter and active ruffians still at their service, 
 they could no loncrer command the long sa- 
 ble columns of pikes, which used to follow 
 and back them, and witliout whose aid they 
 
 Page 71. 
 
 feared they might not be found equal in 
 number to face the National Guard. So 
 early as 27th December 1793, we find 
 Cliaumette expressing himself to the Com- 
 mune as one who had fallen on evil times 
 and evil days. He brought forward evi- 
 dence to show, that it was not he who haid 
 conducted the installation of the Goddess 
 of Reason in his native city of Nevers ; and 
 he complains heavily of his lot, that the 
 halls were crowded with women demand- 
 ing the liberty of their husbands, and com- 
 plaining of the conduct of the Revolutiona- 
 ry .Societies. It was plain that a change 
 was taking place in the political atmosphere, 
 when Chaumette was obliged to vindicate 
 himself from the impiety which used to be 
 his boast, and was subjected besides to fe- 
 male reproach for his republican zeal, in 
 imprisoning and destroying a few thousand 
 suspected persons. 
 
 This spirit of reaction increased, and was 
 strengthened by Robespierre's influence 
 now thrown into the scale against the Com- 
 mune. The principal leaders in the Com- 
 mune, many of whom seem to have been 
 foreignens, and among the rest the celebrat- 
 ed Anacharsis Clootz, were arrested.* 
 
 The case of these men was singular, and 
 would have been worthy of pity had it ap- 
 plied to any but such worthless wretches. 
 They were accused of almost every spe- 
 cies of crime which seemed such in the 
 eyes of a Sans-Culotte. Much there waa 
 which could be only understood metaphysi- 
 cally, much there was of literal falsehood, 
 but little or nothing like a distinct or well- 
 grounded accusation of a specific criminal 
 fact. The charge bore, that they were aa- 
 sociates of Pitt and Cobourg, and had com- 
 bined against the sovereignty of the peo- 
 ple — loadej them with the intention of 
 starving thereby Paris — with that of ridi- 
 culing the Convention, by a set of puppets 
 dressed up to imitate that scarce less pas- 
 sive Assembly — and much more to the 
 same purpose, consisting of allegations that 
 were totally unimportant, or totally unprov- 
 ed. But nothing was said of their rivalry 
 to Robespierre, which was the true cause 
 of their trial, and as little of their revolu- 
 tionary murders, being the ground on 
 which they really deserved their fate. 
 Something was talked of pillage, at which 
 Roussin, the commandant of the Revolu- 
 tionary .\rmy, lost all patience. " Do they 
 talk to me of pilfering?" he says— " Dare 
 they accuse such a man as I am of a theft 
 of bed and body linen '! Do they bring 
 against me a charge of petty larceny — 
 against me who have had all their throats at 
 my disposal ?" 
 
 The accused persons were convicted and 
 executed, to the number of nineteen. From 
 that time the city of Paris lost the means 
 of being so pre-eminent in the affairs of 
 France, as her Commune had formerly ren- 
 dered her. The power of the magistracy was 
 much broken by the reduction of the Rev- 
 olutionary Army, which the Convention dis- 
 solved as levied upon false principles, and 
 
 * iSd March 1794.
 
 Cht^.XVU.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEO.N BUONAPARTE. 
 
 175 
 
 as being rather a metropolitan than a na- gence, the most complete stifler of human 
 tional force, and one which was easily ap- virtue, and his implication at the beginning 
 plied to serve the purposes of a party. I of his career with the wretched faction of 
 
 The Hebertists being removed, Robes- ' Orleans, made him, if not a worse, certainly 
 pierre had yet to combat and defeat a more j a meaner villain than nature had designed 
 formidable adversary. The late conspira- | him ; for his pride must have saved him 
 tors had held associations witli the club of j from much, which he yielded to from the 
 Cordeliers, with which Danton was suppos- ' temptations of gross indulgence, and from 
 
 ed to have particular relations, but they had 
 not experienced his support, whicli in poli- 
 cy he ought to have extended to them. He 
 had begun to separate his party and his 
 views too distinctly from his old friends 
 and old proceedings. He imagined, falsely 
 as it proved, that his bark could sail as tri- 
 umphantly upon waves composed only of 
 water, as on those of blood. He and oth- 
 ers seem to have been seized witii a loath- 
 ing against these continued acts of cruelty, 
 as if they had been gorged and nauseated by 
 the constant repetition. Danton spoke oi" 
 mercy and pardon ; and his partisan, Ca- 
 mille Desmoulins, in a very ingenious parody 
 upon Tacitus, drew a comparison between 
 the tyrants and informers of the French Jac- 
 obin government, and those of the Roman 
 Imperial Court. The parallels were most 
 ably drawn, and Robespierre and his agents 
 might read their own characters in those of 
 the most odious wretches of that odious 
 time. From these agiiressions Danton 
 seemed to meditate the part which Tallien 
 afterwards adopted, of destroying Robes- 
 pierre and his power, and substituting a 
 mode of government which should show 
 some regard at least to life and to property. 
 But he was too late in making his move- 
 ment; Robespierre was beforehand with 
 him 5 and, on the morning of the 31st of 
 March, the Parisians and the members of the 
 Convention hardly dared whisper to each 
 other, that Danton, whose name had been 
 as formidable as the sound of the :ocs:n, had 
 been arrested like any poor ex-noble, and 
 was in the hands of the fatal lictors. 
 
 There was no end of exclamation and 
 wonder ; for Danton was the great apostle, 
 the very Mahomet of Jacobinism. His gi- 
 gantic stature, his huge and ferocious phys- 
 iognomy, his voice which struck terror in 
 
 the sense of narrow circumstances. Still 
 wlieu Danton fell under Robespierre, it 
 seemed as if the mousing-owl had hawked 
 at and struck an eagle, or at least a high- 
 soaring vulture. His avowed associates 
 lamented him of course ; nay, Legendre 
 and others, by undertaking his defence in 
 the Convention, and arrogating for him the 
 merit of those violent measures which had 
 paved the way to the triumph of Jacobin- 
 ism, showed more consistency in their 
 friendship than these ferocious demagogues 
 manifested on any other occasion. 
 
 Danton, before his fall, seemed to have 
 lost much of his sagacity as well as energy. 
 He had full warning of his danger from La 
 Croix, Wcstermann, and others, )et took 
 no steps either for escape or defence, 
 though either seemed in his power. Still 
 his courage was in no degree abated, or his 
 haughty spirit tamed ; although he seemed 
 to submit passively to his fate with the 
 disheartening conviction, which often un- 
 mans great criminals, that his hour was 
 come. 
 
 Danton's process was, of course, a short 
 one. He and his comrades, Camille Des- 
 moulins, Westermann, and La Croix, were 
 dragged before the Revolutionary Tribunal, 
 a singular accomplishment of the prophecy 
 of the Girondist, Boyer Fonfrede. This 
 man had exclaimed to Danton, under whose 
 auspices that engine of arbitrary power was 
 established, '' You insist, then, upon erect- 
 ing this arbitrary judgment-seat ? Be it so j 
 and, like the tormenting engine devised by 
 Phalaris, may it not fail to consume its in- 
 ventors !" As judges, witnesses, accusers, 
 and guards, Danton was now surrounded 
 by those who had been too humble to as- 
 pire to be companions of his atrocities, and 
 held themselves sufficiently honoured in 
 
 its notes of distant thunder, and the ener- becoming his agents. They looked on his 
 gies of talent and vehemence mingled, unstooping pride and unshaken courage, as 
 which supplied that voice with language | timid spectators upon a lion in a cage, whUe ■ 
 worthy of its deep tones, were such as be- they still doubt the security of the bars, 
 came the prophet of that horrible and fear- and' have little confidence in their own per- 
 ful sect. Marat was a madman, raised into I sonal safety. He answered, to the formal 
 consequence only by circumstances, — Ro- j interrogatories concerning his name and 
 bespierre a cold, creeping, calculating hyp- dwelling, " My dwelling will be soon with 
 ocrite, whose malignity resembled that of I annihilation — my name will live in the 
 a paltry and second-rate fiend, — but Danton | Pantheon of History." Camille Desmou- 
 was a character for Shakspeare or .Schiller ; lins, Herault les Sechelles, Fabre d'Eglan- 
 to have drawn in all its broad lights and | tine, men of considerable literary talent, and 
 shades ; or Bruce could have sketched from | amongst the few Jacobins who "had any real 
 him a yet grander Ras Michael than he of ' pretension to such accomplishments, shared 
 Tigre. His passions were a hurricane, his fate. Westermann was also numbered 
 which, furious, regardless, and desolating ; with them, the same officer who directed 
 in its course, had yet its intervals of sun- the attack on the palace of the Tuilleries 
 shine and repose. Neither good by nature, i on 10th August, and who afterwards was 
 nor just by principle or political calcula- ) distinguished by so many victories and 
 tion, men were often surprised at finding i defeats in La Vendee, that he was called, 
 he still possessed some feelings of generos- from his activity, the scourge of that dis- 
 ity, and some tendency even towards mag- ' trict. 
 Banimity. Early habits of profligate indul I Their accusation was, as in all such cm-
 
 176 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUOiNAFARTE. 
 
 [Chap, XVIL 
 
 es at the period, an olla podrida, if we can 
 be allowed the expression, in which every 
 criminai ingredient was mixed up j but so 
 incoherently mingled and assembled to- 
 gether, so inconsistent with each other, 
 and so obscurely detailed in the charge 
 Vid in the proof, that it was plain that ma- 
 lignant falsehood had made the gruel thick 
 and slab. Had Danton been condemned 
 for his real crimes, the doom ought, in 
 justice, to have involved judges, jurors, 
 witnesses, and most of the spectators in 
 the court. 
 
 Robespierre became much alarmed for 
 the issue of the trial. The Convention 
 showed reviving signs of spirit; and when 
 a revolutionary deputation demanded at the 
 bar, " that death should be the order of the 
 day," and reminded them, that, •' had they 
 granted the moderate demand of three hun- 
 dred thousand heads, when requested by 
 the philanthropic, and now canonized Ma- 
 rat, they would have saved the republic the 
 wars of La Vendue," they were received 
 with discouraging murmurs. Tallien, the 
 president, informed them, "that not death, 
 brt justice, was the order of the day ;" and 
 the petitioners, notwithstanding the patri- 
 otic turn of their modest request, were 
 driven from the bar with execrations. 
 
 This looked ill ; but the power of Robes- 
 pierre was still predominant with the Rev- 
 olutionary Tribunal, and after a gallant, and 
 unusually long defence, (of which no notice 
 was permitted to appear in the Moniteur,) 
 Danton and his associates were condemn- 
 ed, and carried to instant execution. They 
 maintained their firmness, or rather harden- 
 edness of character, to the last ; and when 
 Danton observed Fabre d'Eglantme begin- 
 ning to look gloomV; he cheered him with 
 a play on words: •'•'Courage, my friend," 
 he said, in his deep, sullen tone of voice, 
 " we are all about to lake up your trade — 
 Nous aUonsfaire des vers." The sufferers 
 on this occasion, were men whose accom- 
 plishments and talents attracted a higher 
 degree of sympathy, than that which had 
 been given to the equally eloquent but less 
 successful Girondists. Even honest men 
 looked on the fate of Danton with some re- 
 gret, as when a furious bull is slain with a 
 slight blow by a crafty Tauridor ; and many 
 men of good feelings had hoped, that the 
 cause of order and security might at least 
 have been benefited in some degree, by his 
 obtaining the victory in a struggle with 
 "Robespierre. Those, on the other hand, 
 who followed the fortunes of the latter, 
 conceived his power had been rendered 
 permanent, by the overthrow of his last and 
 most formidable rival, and exalted in pro- 
 portion. Both were deceived in their cal- 
 culations The predominance of such a 
 man as Danton, might possibly have pro- 
 tracted the reign of Jacobinism, even by 
 rendering it somewhat more endurable ; 
 but the permanent, at least the ultimate, 
 ■access of Robespierre, was becoming more 
 impossible, from the repeated decimations 
 to which his jealousy subjected his party. 
 He was like the wild chief. Lope d' Aguirre, 
 whose story is so vrcll told by Southey, 
 
 who, descending the great river Orellaiu 
 with a party of buccaneers, cut off one 
 part of his followers after another, in 
 doubt of their fidelity, until the remainder 
 saw no chance for escaping a similar fate, 
 unless by being beforehand with their lead- 
 er in murder. 
 
 Alluding to Robespierre's having been the 
 instrument of his destruction, Danton had 
 himself exclaimed, " The cowardly pol- 
 troon ! I am the only person who could have 
 commanded influence enough to save him." 
 And the event showed that he spoke with 
 the spirit of prophecy which the approach 
 of fate has been sometimes thought to 
 confer. 
 
 In fact, Robespierre was much isolated 
 by the destruction of the party of Hebert, 
 and still more by that of Danton and his 
 followers. He had, so to speak, scarped 
 away the ground which he occupied, until 
 he had scarce left himself standing-room j 
 and, detested by honest men, he had alien- 
 ated, by his successive cruelties, even the 
 knaves who would otherwise have adhered 
 to him for their own safety. All now look* 
 ed on him with fear, and none dared hope 
 at the hands of the Dictator a better booa 
 than that which is promised to Outis, that 
 he should be the last devoured. 
 
 It was at this period that Robespierre 
 conceived the idea of reversing the profan- 
 ities of Chaumette. Hebert, and the athe- 
 ists, by professing a public belief in tLe 
 existence of a Deity. This, he conceived, 
 would at once be a sacrifice to public opin- 
 ion, and, as he hoped to manage it, anew 
 and potent spring, to be moved by his own 
 finger. In a word, he seems to have de- 
 signed to unite, with his power in the state, 
 the character of High Pontiff of the new 
 faith. 
 
 As the organ of the Committee of Public 
 Safety, Robespierre, by a speech of great 
 length, and extremely dull, undertook the 
 conversion of the French nation from infi- 
 delity. Upon all such occasions he had 
 recourse to that gross flattery, which wa« 
 his great, rarely-failing, and almost sole 
 receipt for popularity. He began by -assur- 
 ing them, that, in her lights, and the prog- 
 ress of her improvement, France had pre- 
 ceded the rest of Europe by a march of at 
 least two thousand years ; and that, ezisV' 
 ing among the ordinary nations of the 
 world, she appeared to belong to another 
 race of beings. Still he thought some be- 
 lief in a Deity would do her no harm. Then 
 he was ag.iin hurried away by his elo- 
 quence, of which we cannot heip giving a 
 literal specimen, to show at how little ex- 
 pense of sense, taste, or talent, a man may 
 be held an excellent orator, and become 
 dictator of a gre.-vt nation : — 
 
 •' Yes, the delicious land which we in- 
 habit, and which Nature caresses with so 
 much predilection, is made to be the do- 
 main of liberty and of happiness ; and that 
 people, at once so open to fee'ing and to 
 generous pride, are born for glory and for 
 virtue. O my native country ! if fortune had 
 caused my birth in some region remote from 
 thy shores, I would not the less have ad-
 
 Ckap.XVII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 177 
 
 dressed constant prayers to Heaven in thy 
 behalf, and would have wept over the reci- 
 tal of thy combats and thy virtues. My 
 soul would have followed with restless ar- 
 dour every change in this eventful Revolu- 
 tion — I would have envied the lot of thy 
 natives — of thy representatives. But I am 
 myself a native of France — I am myself a 
 representative. Intoxicating rapture I — O 
 sublime people, receive the sacrifice of my 
 entire being ! Happy is he who is born in 
 the midst of thee ! More happy he who 
 can lay down his life for thy welfare !"* 
 
 Such was the language which this great 
 demagogue held to the sublime people 
 whose lives he disposed of at the rate of 
 fifty per day, regular task-work ; and who 
 were so well protected in person and prop- 
 erty, that no man dared call his hat his own. 
 or answer for ten minutes' space for the se- 
 curity of the head that wore it. Much there 
 was, also, about the rashness of the wor- 
 shippers of Reason, whose steps he accuses 
 of being too premature in her cause — much 
 about England and Mr. Pitt, who, he says 
 fasted on account of the destruction of the 
 Catholic religion in France, as they wore 
 mourning for Capet and his wife. But the 
 summary of this extraordinary oration was 
 a. string of decrees, commencing with a de- 
 claration that the Republic of France ac- 
 knowledged the existence of a Supreme 
 Being, in the precise form in which the 
 ■grand nation might have recognised the 
 government of a co-ordinate siate. The 
 other decrees established the nature of the 
 worship to be rendered to the Great Being 
 whom these frail atoms had restored to his 
 place in their thoughts ; and this was to be 
 expressed by dedicating a day in each de- 
 cade to some peculiar and established Vir- 
 tue, with hymns and processions in due 
 honour of it, approaching as near to Pagan- 
 ism as could well be accomplished. The 
 last decree appointed a fete to be given in 
 honour of the Supreme Being himself, as 
 the nation might have celebrated by public 
 rejoicings a pacitication with some neigh- 
 bouring power. 
 
 The speech was received with servile ap- 
 plause by the Convention. Couthon, with 
 affected enthusiasm, demanded that not on- 
 ly the speech should be published in the 
 osual form, by supplying each member with 
 six copies, but that the plan should be trans- 
 lated into all languages, and dispersed 
 through the universe. 
 
 The conducting of this heathen mumme- 
 ry, which was substituted for every external 
 sign of rational devotion, was intrusted to 
 the genius of the painter, David ; and had 
 it not been that the daring blasphemy of the 
 purpose threw a chill upon the sense of rid- 
 icule, it was scarcely matched as a masque- 
 rade even by the memorable procession 
 conducted bv the notorious Orator of the 
 
 • V\Tien we read such mi:>crable stuff, and con- 
 sider the crimes which such oratory occasioned, it 
 leminds us of the opinion of a Mahomedau doctor, 
 vbo assured Bruce that the Uugial, ur .\ntichrist, 
 was to appear in the form of an a.ss, and that mul- 
 titudes were to follow him to hell, attracted by the 
 ' ; of his brayine. 
 Vol. L H a 
 
 Human Race.* There was a general mus- 
 ter of all Paris, divided into bauds of young 
 women and matrons, and old men and 
 youths, with oaken boughs and drawn 
 swDrds, and all other emblems appertaining 
 to their different ages. They were preced- 
 ed by the representatives of the people, 
 having their hands full of ears of corn, "and 
 spices, and fruits ; while Robespierre, their 
 president, clad in a sort of purlpe garment, 
 moved apart and alone, and played the part 
 of Sovereign Pontiff. 
 
 After marching up and down through the 
 streets, to the sound of doggrel hymns, the 
 procession drew up in the gardens of the 
 Tuilleries, before some fireworks which had 
 been prepared, and Robespierre made a 
 speech, entirely addressed to the bystanders, 
 without a word either of prayer or invoca- 
 tion. His acknowledgment of a Divinity 
 was, it seems, limited to a mere admission 
 in point of fact, and involved no worship 
 of the great Being, whose existence he at 
 length condescended to own. He had no 
 sooner made his offering, than fire was set 
 to some figures dressed up to resemble 
 Atheism, Ambition, Egotism, and other evil 
 principles. The young men then brandish- 
 ed their weapons, the old patted them on 
 the head, the girls flung about their flow- 
 ers, and the matrons flourished aloft their 
 children, all as it had been set down -n Da- 
 vid's programme. And this scene of mask- 
 ing was to pass for the repentance of a great 
 people turning themselves again to ^ne Dei- 
 ty, whose worship they had forsaken, and 
 whose being they had denied ! 
 
 I will appeal — not to a sincere Christian 
 — but to any philosopher forming such idea 
 of the nature of the Deity, as even mere 
 unassisted reason can attain to, whether 
 there does not appear more impiety in Ro- 
 bespierre's mode of acknowledging the Di- 
 vinity, than in Hebert's horrible avowal of 
 direct Atheism ? 
 
 The procession did not, in commos 
 phrase, take with the people ; it produced 
 no striking effect — awakened no deep feel- 
 ing. By Catholics it was regarded with 
 horror, by wise men of every or no princi- 
 ple as ridiculous ; and there were politi- 
 cians, who, under the disguise of this re- 
 ligious ceremony, pretended to detect fur- 
 ther and deeper schemes of the dictator 
 Robespierre. Even in the course of the. 
 procession, threats and murmurs had reach- 
 ed his ears, which the impatient resentment 
 of the friends of Danton was unable to sap- 
 press ; and he saw plainly that he must 
 again betake himself to the task of murder, 
 and dispose of Tallien, Collot d'Herboie. 
 and others, as he had done successively of 
 Hebert and Danton himself, or else his 
 
 * Poor Anacharsis Clooli. He had been expelled 
 from the Jacobin Club as a Prussian, an ex-noble, 
 and, what perhaps was not previously sospected, a 
 person of fortune enough to be judged an ariet» 
 crat. His real offence was being a Hebertist, anrf 
 he sufferej accordingly with the leaders of thai 
 party, — This note was rather unnecessary j bat 
 Anacharsis Clootz was, in point of absurdity, o<k 
 of the moat iaimitable personages in the Bavo|t- 
 tioo.
 
 178 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XVII. 
 
 former victorieB would but lead to his final 
 ruin. 
 
 Meanwhile the despot, whose looks made 
 even the democrats of The Mountain trem- 
 ble, when directed upon them, shrunk him- 
 self before the apprehended presence of a 
 young female. Cecile Regnaud, a girl, and, 
 as it would seem, unarmed, came to his 
 house and demanded to see Robespierre. 
 Her manner exciting some suspicion, she 
 was seized upon by the body-guard of Jaco- 
 bins, who day and night watched the den 
 of the tyrant, amidst riot and blasphemy, 
 while he endeavoured to sleep under the 
 security of their neighbourhood. When 
 the young woman was brought before the 
 Revolutionary Tribunal, she would return 
 no answer to the questions respecting her 
 purpose, excepting that she wished to see 
 "what a tyrant was like." She was con- 
 demned to the guillotine of course ; and 
 about sixty persons were executed as asso- 
 ciates of a conspiracy, which was never 
 proved, by deed or word, to have existed at 
 all. The victims were drawn at hazard out 
 of the prisons, where most of them had 
 been confined tor months previous to the 
 arrest of Cecile Regnaud, on whose ac- 
 count they were represented as suffering.* 
 Many have thought the crime entirely im- 
 aginary, and only invented by Robespierre, 
 to represent his person as endangered by 
 the plots of the aristocracy, and attach to 
 himself a part at least of the consequence, 
 which A/arat had acquired by the act oi' 
 CharJotte Corday. 
 
 A few weeks brought on a sterner en- 
 caunter than that of the supposed female 
 assassin. The Terrorists were divided 
 among themselves. The chosen and an- 
 cient bands of the 10th August, 2d Septem- 
 ber, 31th May, and other remarkable peri- 
 ods of the Revolution, continued attached 
 to the Jacobins, and the majority of the 
 Jacobin Club adhered to Robespierre ; it 
 was there his strength consisted. On the 
 other hand, Tallien, Barras, Legendre, 
 Fouch^, and other of the Mountain party. 
 remembered Danton, and feared for a simi- 
 lar fate. The Convention at large were 
 sure to embrace any course which promised 
 to -free them from their present thraldom. 
 
 The people themselves were beginning 
 to be less passive. They no longer saw 
 the train of victims pass daily to the guillo- 
 tine, in the Place de la Revolution, witli 
 stupid wonder, or overwhelming fear, but, 
 on the contrary, with the sullenness of 
 man.'fest resentment, that waited but an op- 
 portunity to display itself. The citizens in 
 the Rue St. Honort- shut up their shops at 
 the hours when the fatal tumbrils passed 
 to the scene of death, and that whole q'lar- 
 ter of the city was covered with gloom. 
 
 •This unlieard-of iniquity is stated in the ro- 
 pott of th« committee appuiiiteJ to examine Ro- 
 Iwjpiorre'a papers, of wliieh Coiirlois was thn re- 
 [wrter. It is rather a curious circumstance that, 
 :i!>out the time of Cecils Uegnaud's adventure, 
 tlicre app«are<l, at a ma.-^ktd ball at London, a 
 charttctfif dressed like the spectre of Chai lotto Cor- 
 day, eo me, as she said, to noek Kob^pierre, and 
 inflict oil hiiD the doom of Marat. 
 
 These ominous feelings were observed, 
 and the fatal engine was removed to a more 
 obscure situation at tl;e Barrier de la Trone, 
 near the Fauxbourg Saint .\ntoine, to the 
 inhabitants of which it was thought a daily 
 spectacle of this nature must be an inter- 
 esting relief from labour. But even the 
 people of that turbulent suburb had lost 
 some of their Republican zeal — the men's 
 feelings were altered. They saw, indeed, 
 blood stream in such quantities, that it was 
 necessary to make an artificial conduit to 
 carry it off 5 but they did not feel that they, 
 or those belonging to them, received any 
 advantages from the number of victims, 
 daily immolated, as they were assured, in 
 their belialf. The constant effusion of 
 blood, without plunder or license to give it 
 zest, disgusted them, as it would have dis- 
 gusted all but literal cannibals, to whose 
 sustenance, indeed, the Revolutionary Tri- 
 bunal would have contributed plentifully. 
 
 Robespierre saw all this increasing un- 
 popularity with much anxiety. He plainly 
 perceived that, strong as its impulse was, 
 the stimulus of terror began to lose its ef- 
 fect on the popular mind ; and he resolved 
 to give it novelty, not by changing the 
 character of his system, but by varying the 
 mode of its application. Hitherto, men 
 had only been executed for political crimes, 
 although the circle had been so vaguely 
 drawn, and capable of such extension when 
 desired, that the law regarding suspected 
 persons was alone capable of desolating a 
 whole country. But if the penalty of death 
 were to be inflicted for religious and moral 
 delinquencies, as well as for crimes direct- 
 ed against the state, it would at once throw 
 the lives of thousands at his disposal, upon 
 whom he could have no ready hold on po- 
 litical motives, and might support, at the 
 same time, his newly assumed character as 
 a reformer of manners. He would also 
 thus escape the disagreeable and embar- 
 rassing necessity, of drawing lines of dis- 
 tinction betwixt his own conduct and that 
 of the old friends whom he found it conven- 
 ient to sacrifice. He could not say he was 
 less a murderer than the rest of his associ- 
 ates, but he might safely plead more exter- 
 nal decency of morals. His own manners 
 had always been reserved and austere ; and 
 what a triumph would it have been, had the 
 laws permitted him the benefit of slaying 
 Danton, not under that political character 
 which could hardly be distinguished from 
 his own, but on account of the gross pecu- 
 lation and debauchery, which none could 
 impute to the austere and incorruptible 
 Robespierre. 
 
 His subordinate agents began already to 
 point to a reformation of manners. Payan, 
 who succeeded Hebert in the important 
 station of Procureur to the Commune of the 
 metropolis, had already adopted a very dif- 
 ferent line from his predecessor, whose 
 stylo derived energy by printing at full 
 length the foulest oaths, and most beastly ei- 
 
 Fressions, used by the refuse of the people, 
 ayan, on the contrary, in direct opposi- 
 tion to Pere Duchesne, is found gravely ad 
 vising with the Commune of Pahs, »d a
 
 Chap.XVII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 179 
 
 plan of preventing the exposing licentious 
 prints and works to sale, to the evident 
 danger of corrupting the rising generation. 
 There exists aiso a curious address from 
 the Convention, which tends to evince a 
 similar purpose in the framer, Robespierre. 
 The guilt of profane swearing, and of intro- 
 ducing the sacred name into ordinary 
 epeech, as an unmeaning and blasphemous 
 expletive, is severely censured. The us- 
 ing indecent and vicious expressions in 
 common discourse is also touched up()n ; 
 but as this unbounded energy of speech 
 had been so very lately one of the most ac- 
 credited marks of a true .Sans-Culotte, the 
 legislators were compelled to qualify their 
 censure by admitting, that, at the com- 
 mencement of the Revolution, the vulgar 
 mode of speaking bad been generally adopt- 
 ed by patriots, in order to destroy the jar- 
 gon employed by the privileged classes, 
 and to popularize , as it was expressed, the 
 general language of society. But these 
 ends bein^ etfected, the speech of Repub- 
 licans ought, it is said, to be simple, manly, 
 ajid concise, but at the same time free from 
 coarseness and violence. 
 
 From these indications, and the tenor of 
 a decree to be hereafter quoted, it seems 
 plain that Robespierre was about to affect 
 a new character, not, perhaps, without the 
 hope of finding a Puritanic party in France, 
 as favourable to his ambitious views as 
 that of the Independents was to Cromwell. 
 He might then have added the won! virtue 
 to liberty and equality, which fonned the 
 national programme, and, doubtless, would 
 have made it the pretext of committing 
 additional crimes. The decree which we 
 allude to was brought forward by the phi- 
 lanthropic Couthon, who, with his kindness 
 of manner, rendered more impressive by a 
 silver-toned voice, and an affectation of 
 extreme gentleness, tendered a law, ex- 
 tending the powers of the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal, and the penalty of death, not on- 
 ly to all sorts of persons who should in any 
 manner of way neglect their duty to the 
 Republic, or assist her enemies, but to the 
 following additional classes : All who , 
 should have deceived the people, or their I 
 representatives — all who sliould have I 
 sought to inspire discouragement into good i 
 citizens, or to favour the undert;ikiags of 
 tyrants — all who should spread false news 
 — all who should seek to lead astray the 
 public opinion, and to prevent the instruc- 
 tion of the people, or to debauch manners. 
 and corrupi the public conscience ; or who 
 should diminish the purity of revolutionary 
 principles by counter-revolutionary works, 
 &.C. &,c. &,c. 
 
 It is evident, that compared with a law 
 couched in terms s'o vague and general, 
 30 obscure and indefinite, the description 
 of crimes concerning suspected persons 
 was broad sunshine; that there wa-s no 
 Frenchman living who might not be brought 
 within the danqer ol" t!ie decree, under one 
 or other of those t-v.eeping clauses ; that a 
 loose or careless expression, or the repeti- 
 tion of an inaccurate article of news, might 
 !>• founded o& as corrupting thu public 
 
 [ conscience, or misleading the public opin- 
 
 I ion ; in short, that the slightest indulgence 
 
 in the most ordinary functions of speech 
 
 might be brought under this comprehensive 
 
 edict, and so cost the speaker his life. 
 
 The decree sounded like a death-knell 
 in the ears of the Convention. All were 
 made sensible that another decimation of 
 the Legislative Body approached ; and be- 
 held with terror, that no provision was 
 made in the proposed law for respecting 
 the personal inviolability of the deputies, 
 but that the obnoxious members of the 
 Convention, without costing Robespierre 
 even the formality of asking a decree froim 
 their complaisant brethren, might be trans- 
 ferred, like any ordinary individuals, to the 
 butchery of the Revolutionary Tribunal, 
 not only by the medium of either of the 
 committees, but at the instance of the pub- 
 lic prosecutor, or even of any of their own 
 brethren of the Representative Body, who 
 were acting under a commission. Ruamps, 
 one of the deputies, exclaimed in accents 
 of despair, that if this decree were resolv- 
 ed upon, the friends of liberty had no other 
 course left than to blow their own brains 
 out. 
 
 The law passed for the night, in spite of 
 all opposition ; but the terrified deputies re- 
 turned to the attack next day. The meas- 
 ure was again brought into debate, and the 
 question of privileges was evasively pro- 
 vided for. At a third sitting the theme 
 w>is renewed; and, after much violence, 
 the fatal decree was carried, witliout any of 
 the clogs which had offended Robespierre, 
 and he attained possession of the fatal 
 weapon, such as he had originally forged it. 
 
 From this moment there was mortal 
 though secret war betwixt Robespierre and 
 the most distinguished members of the As- 
 sembly, particularly those who had sate 
 with him on the celebrated Mountain, and 
 shared all tlic atrocities of Jacobinism. 
 Collot d'Herbois, the demolisher of Lyons, 
 and regenerator of Ville Affranchie, threw 
 his weight into the scale against his master ;. 
 and several other members of both commit- 
 tees, which were Robespierre's own organs, 
 began secretly to think on means of screen- 
 ing themselves from a power, which, like 
 the huge Anaconda, enveloped in its coile, 
 and then crushed and swallowed, whatever 
 came in contact with it. The private proe- 
 ress of the schism cannot be traced ; but it 
 is said that the Dictator found himself ui 
 a minority in the Committee of Public 
 Safety, when he demanded the head of 
 Fouche, whom he had accused as a Danton- 
 ist in the Convention and the Jacobin Club. 
 It is certain he had not attended the meet- 
 ing of the Committee for two or three 
 weeks before his fall, leaving his interest 
 there to be managed by Couthon and Saint 
 Just. 
 
 Feeling himself thus placed in the list-i 
 against his ancient friends the TerroristK. 
 the astucious tyrant endeavoured to acquire 
 allies among the remains of the Girondists, 
 who had been spared in contempt more 
 than clemency, and permitted to hide 
 themselves among the neutral party v/\ist.
 
 idO 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xvn. 
 
 occupied the Plain, and who gave generally 
 'Cbeir votes on the prudential system of ad- 
 hering to the stronger side. 
 
 Finding little countenance from this tim- 
 id and long-neglected part of the Legisla- 
 tive Body, Robespierre returned to his 
 more steady supporters in the Jacobin Club. 
 Here he retained his supremacy, and was 
 heard with enthusiastic applause ; while he 
 intimated to them the defection of certain 
 members of the legislature from the true 
 revolutionary course ; complained of the 
 inactivity and lukewarmness of the Com- 
 mittees of Public Safety and Public Securi- 
 ty, and described himself as a persecuted 
 patriot, almost the solitary supporter of the 
 cause of his country, and exposed for that 
 reason to the blows of a thousand assassins. 
 
 " All patriots," exclaimed Couthon, " are 
 brothers and friends ! For my part, I invoke 
 on myself the poniuds destined against 
 Robespierre." 
 
 " So do we all !" exclaimed the meeting 
 unanimously. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Robespierre urged a 
 purification of the Society, directing his 
 accusations against Fouche and other mem- 
 bers of The Mountain j and he received 
 the encouragement he desired. 
 
 He next ascertained his strength among 
 the Judges of the Revolutionary Tribunal, 
 and his willing agents among the reformed 
 Commune of Paris, which, aJier the fall of 
 Hebert and Chaumette, he had taken care 
 to occupy with his most devoted friends. 
 But still he knew that, in the storm which 
 was about to arise, these out-of-door dem- 
 agogues were but a sort of tritons of the 
 minnows, compared to Tallien, Fouche, 
 Barraa, CoUot d'Herbois, Billaud V'arennes, 
 and other deputies of distinguished powers, 
 accustomed to make their voices heard and 
 obeyed amid all the roar of revolutionary 
 tempest. He measured and remeasured 
 hie force with theirs ; and for more than 
 «ix weeks avoided the combat, yet without 
 making any overtures for reconciliation, in 
 ■which, indeed, neither party would proba- 
 Wy have trusted the other. 
 
 Meantime the Dictator's enemies had 
 also their own ground on which they could 
 engage advantageously in these skirmishes, 
 which were to serve as preludes to the 
 main and fatal conflict. V'adier, on the 
 part of the Committee of Public Safety, 
 Iftid before the Convention, in a tone of 
 bitter Mkliucal ridicule, the history of the 
 mystical meetings and formation of a reli- 
 gious sect under Catherine Theot, whose 
 pretensions have been already hinted at. 
 No mention was indeed made of Robes- 
 pierre, or of the countenance he wxs sup- 
 posed to have given to these fanatical in- 
 triguers. But the fact of his having done 
 BO was well known ; and the shafts of V'a- 
 dier were aimed with such malignant dex- 
 terity, that while they seemed only direct- 
 ed against the mystics of whom he spoke, 
 tiiey galled to the quick the High Pontiff, 
 who had 80 lately conducted the new and 
 singular syBtem of worship which his influ- 
 ence had been employed to ingraft upon 
 the genuine atheism aatural to Jacobinism. 
 
 Robespierre felt he could not remaia 
 long in this situation — that there were no 
 means of securing himself where he stood 
 — that he must climb higher, or fall — and 
 that every moment in which he supported 
 insults and endured menaces without mak> 
 ing his vengeance felt, brought with i* a 
 diminution of his power. He seems to 
 have hesitated between combat and flight. 
 Among his papers, according to the report 
 of Courtois who examined them, was found 
 an obscure intimation, that he had acquir- 
 ed a competent property, and entertained 
 thoughts of retiring at the close of his hor- 
 rible career, after the example of the cele- 
 brated Sylla. It was a letter from some 
 unknown confidant, unsigned and undated, 
 containing the following singular passage :— 
 " You must employ all your dexterity to 
 escape from the scene on which you are 
 now once more to appear, in order to leave 
 it for ever. Your having attained the Pres- 
 ident's chair will be but one step to the 
 guillotine, through a rabble who will spit 
 upon you as you pass, as they did upon 
 Egalite. Since you have collected a treas- 
 ure sufficient to maintain you for a long 
 time, as well as those for whom you have 
 made provision, I will expect you with 
 anxiety, that we may enjoy a hearty laugh 
 together at the expense of a nation as cred- 
 ulous as it is greedy of novelty." If, how- 
 ever, he had really formed such a plan, 
 which would not have been inconsistent 
 with his base spirit, the means of accom- 
 plishing it were probably never perfected. 
 
 At length hisi fate urged him on to the 
 encounter. Robespierre descended to the 
 Convention, ^yhrtre he had of late but rare- 
 ly appeared, like the far nobler Dictator of 
 Rome ; and in his case also, a band of sen- 
 ators was ready to poniard the tyrant on the 
 spot, had they not been afraid of the pop- 
 ularity he was supposed to enjoy, and which 
 they feared might render them instant vic- 
 tims to the revenge of the Jacobins. The 
 speech which Robespierre addressed to the 
 Convention was as menacing as the first 
 distant rustle of the hurricane, and dark and 
 lurid as the eclipse which announces its 
 approach. Anxious murmurs had been 
 heard among the populace who filled the 
 tribunes, or crowded the entrances of the 
 hall of the Convention, indicating that a 
 second 31st of May (being the day on 
 which the Jacobins proscribed the GiroiH 
 dists) was about to witness a similar opera- 
 tion. 
 
 The first theme of the gloomy orator was 
 the display of his own virtues and his ser- 
 vices as a patriot, distinguishing as enemies 
 to their country all whoso opinions were 
 contrary to his own. He then reviewed 
 successively the various departments of the 
 government, and loaded them in turn with 
 censure and contempt. He declaimed 
 against the supinencss of the Committees 
 of Public Safety and Public Security, as if 
 the guillotine had never been in exercise ; 
 and he accused the Committee of Finance 
 of having counter-revoUUionixed the reve- 
 nues of the Republic. He enlarged with 
 BO less bitterness on withdrawing ue v^;
 
 Chap. XVn.] 
 
 LIFE or NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 181 
 
 lery-men (always violent Jacobins) from | 
 Parii, and on the mode of management 
 adopted in the conquered countries of Bel- 
 gium. It seemed as if he wished to collect 
 within the same lists all the functionaries 
 of the state, and in the same breath to utter 
 defiance to them all. 
 
 The usual honorary motion was made to 
 print the discourse ; but then the storm of 
 opposition broke forth, and many speakers 
 vociferously demanded, that before so far 
 adopting the grave inculpations which it 
 contained, the discourse should be referred 
 to the two Committees. Robespierre, in 
 his turn, exclaimed, that this was subject- 
 ing his speech to the partial criticism and 
 revision of the very parties whom he had 
 accused. Exculpations and defences were 
 heard on all sides against the charges 
 which had been thus sweepingly brought 
 forward ; and there were many deputies 
 who complained in no obscure terms of in- 
 dividual tyranny, and of a conspiracy on 
 foot to outlaw and murder such part of the 
 Convention as might be disposed to offer 
 resistance. Robespierre was but feebly 
 supported, save by Saint Just, Couthon, and 
 by his own brother. After a stormy debate, 
 in which the Convention were alternately 
 ewayed by their fear and their hatred of 
 Robespierre, the discourse was finally re- 
 ferred to the Committees, instead of being 
 printed; and the haughty and sullen Dicta- 
 tor saw, in the open slight thus put on his 
 measures and opinions, the sure mark of 
 his approaching fall. 
 
 He carried his complaints to the Jacobin 
 Club, to repose, as he expressed it, his pa- 
 triotic sorrows in their virtuous bosoms, 
 where alone he hoped to find succour and 
 sympathy. To this partial audience he re- 
 newed, in a tone of yet greater audacity, 
 the complaints with which he had loaded 
 every branch of the government, and the 
 Representative Body itself. He reminded 
 those around him of various heroic eras. 
 when their presence and their pikes had 
 decided the votes of the trembling deputies. 
 He reminded them of their pristine actions 
 of revolutionary vigour — asked them if they 
 had forgot the road to the Convention, 
 and concluded by pathetically npsuring 
 them, that if they forsook him, " he stood 
 resigned to his fate ; and they should be- 
 hold with what courage he would drink the 
 fatal hemlock." The artist, David, caught 
 him by the hand as he closed, exclainiinij, 
 in rapture at his elocution, " I will drink it 
 with thee." 
 
 The distinguished painter has been re- 
 proached, as having, on the subsequent d:iy, 
 declined the pledge which he seemed bo 
 eagerly to embrace. But there were many 
 of hia original opinion, at the time ho ex- 
 pressed it 80 boldly ; and had Robespierre 
 possessed either military talent^, or oven 
 decided courage, there was notliing to 
 have prevented him from placing himself 
 Uiat very night at the head of a desperate 
 tnsurrectioQ of the Jacobins and their fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 Payaa, the succoMor of Hebert, actually 
 
 proposed that the Jacobins should instantlr 
 march against the two Committees, whicL 
 Robespierre charged with being the focns 
 of the anti-revolutionary machinations, sur- 
 prise their handful of guards, and stifle the 
 evil with which the state was menaced, 
 even in the very cradle. This plan wa» 
 deemed too hazardous to be adopted,., al- 
 though it was one of those sudden and 
 master-strokes of policy which Machiavel 
 would have recommended. The fire of 
 the Jacobins spent itself in tumult and 
 threatening, and in expelling from the bo- 
 som of their society CoUot d'Herbois, TaK 
 lien, and about thirty other deputies of the 
 Mountain party, whom they considered as 
 specially leagued to effect the downfall 
 of Robespierre, and whom they drove from 
 their society with execrations and even 
 blows. 
 
 CoUot d'Herbois, thus outraged, went 
 straight from the meeting of the Jacobin* 
 to the place where the Committee of Pub- 
 lic Safety was still sitting, in consultation 
 on the report which they had to make to 
 the Convention the next day upon the 
 speech of Robespierre. Saint Just, one of 
 their number, though warmly attached to 
 the Dictator, had been intrusted by th« 
 Committee with the delicate task of draw- 
 ling up that report. It was a step towards 
 reconciliation ; but the entrance of CoUot 
 d'Herbois, frantic with the insults he had 
 received, broke off all hope of accommoda- 
 tion betwixt the friends of Danton and those 
 of Robespierre. D'Herbois exhausted him- 
 .self in threats against Saint Just, Couthon, 
 and their master, Robespierre, and they 
 parted on terms of mortal and avowed en- 
 mity. Every exertion now was used by the 
 associated conspirators against the power 
 of Robespierre, to collect and combine 
 against him the whole forces of the Con- 
 vention, to alarm the deputies of The Plain 
 with fears for themselves, and to awaken 
 tlie rage of the Mountaineers, against whose 
 throat the Dictator now waved the sword, 
 which their short-sighted policy had placed 
 in his hands. Lists of proscribed deputies 
 were handed around, said to have been cop- 
 ied from the tablets of the Dictator : genu- 
 ine or false, they obtained universail credit 
 and currency ; and those whose namea 
 stood on the fatal scrolls, engaged then- 
 selves for protection in tlie league against 
 their enemy The opinion that his fall 
 could not be delayed now became general. 
 i This sentiment wa-s so commonly enter- 
 1 tained in Paris on the 9th Thermidor, or 
 I '27th July, thit a herd of about eighty vic- 
 j tinis, who werrj in the .ict of being dragged 
 ! to the guillotine, were nearly saved by 
 ] means of it. The people, in a generooa 
 ' burst of compassion, began to gather in 
 I crowds, and interrupted the melancholy 
 I procession, as if the power which presided 
 I over these hideous exhibitions had already 
 been deprived of energy. But the hoar 
 ! was not come. The vile Henriot, con»- 
 j mandant of the National Guards, came np 
 I with fresh forces, and on the day destined 
 I to be the last of bis own life, proved tbe
 
 182 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xvri. 
 
 means of carrying to execution this crowd 
 of unhappy and doubtless innocent per- 
 sons. 
 
 On this eventful day Robespierre arrived 
 in the Convention, and beheld The Moun- 
 tain in close array and completely manned, 
 while, as in the case of Catiline, the beiicli 
 on which he himself was accustomed to 
 sit, seemed purposely deserted. Saint Just, 
 Couthon, Le 13as (his brother-in-law,) and 
 the younger Robespierre, were the only 
 deputies of name who stood prepared to 
 support him. But could he make an effec- 
 tual struggle, he might depend upon the 
 aid of the servile Barrere, a sort of Belial 
 in the Convention, the meanest, yet not the 
 least able, amongst those fallen spirits, 
 who, with great adroitness and ingenuity, 
 as well as wit and eloquence, caught op- 
 portunities as they arose, and was eminent- 
 ly dexterous in being always strong upon 
 the strongest, and safe upon the safest side. 
 There was a tolerably numerous party 
 ready, in times so dangerous, to attach 
 themselves to Barrere, as a leader who 
 
 Erofessed to guide them to safety if not to 
 onour; and it was the existence of this 
 vacillating and uncertain body, whose ulti- 
 mate motions could never be calculated 
 upon, which rendered it impossible to pre- 
 sage with assurance the event of any debate 
 in the Convention during this dangerous 
 period. 
 
 Saint Just arose, in the name of the 
 Committee of Public Safety, to make, after 
 his own manner, not theirs, a report on the 
 discourse of Robespierre on the previous 
 evening. He had begun a harangue in the 
 tone of his patron, declaring that, were the 
 tribune which he occupied the Tarpeian 
 rock itself, he would not the less, placed 
 aa he stood there, discharge the duties of a 
 patriot. — ■' I am about," he said, '• to lift 
 the veil." — " I tear it asunder," said Tal- 
 lien, interrupting him. " The public inte- 
 rest is sacrificed by individuals, wlio come 
 hither to speak e.xclusively in their own 
 name, and conduct themselves as superior 
 to the whole Convention." He forced 
 Saint Just from the tribune, and a violent 
 debate ensued. 
 
 Billaud Varennes called the attention of 
 the Assembly to the sitting of the Jacobin 
 Club on the preceding evening. He de- 
 clared the military force of Paris was plac- 
 ed under the command of Henriot, a traitor 
 and a parricide, who was ready to march 
 the soldiers whom he commanded against 
 the Convention. He denounced Robes- 
 pierre himself as a second Catiline, artful 
 as well as ambitious, whose system it had 
 beeil to nurse jealousies and inflame dis- 
 sensions in the Convention, so as to disu- 
 nite parties, and even individuals, from each 
 other, attack them in detail, and thus de- 
 stroy those antagonists separately, upon 
 whose combined and united strength he 
 dared not have looked. 
 
 The Convention echoed with applause 
 every violent expression of the orator, and 
 when Robespierre sprung to the tribune, 
 his voice was drowned by a general shout 
 of "Down with the tvrauti" Tallien 
 
 moved the denunciation of Robespierre, 
 with the arrest of Henriot, his staff-officers, 
 and of others connected wit!) the meditated 
 violence on the Convention. He had un- 
 dertaken to lead the attack upon the tyrant, 
 he said, and to poniard hiin in the Conven- 
 tion itself, if tlie meiubers did not show 
 courage enoegh to enforce the law against 
 him. With these <vords he brandished an 
 unsheathed poniard, as if about to make 
 his purpose good. Robespierre still strug- 
 gled hard to obtain audience, but the tri- 
 bune was adjudged to Barrere ; and the 
 part taken against the fallen Dictator by 
 that versatile and self-interested statesman, 
 was the most absolute sign that his over- 
 throw was irrecoverable. Torrents of invec- 
 tive were now uttered from every quarter 
 of the hall, against him whose single word 
 was wont to hush it into silence. 
 
 The scene was dreadful; yet not without 
 its use to those who may be disposed to 
 look at it as an extraordinary crisis, in 
 which human passions were brought so sin- 
 gularly into collision. While the vaults of 
 the hall echoed with exclamations from 
 those who had hitherto been the accompli- 
 ces, tlie flatterers, the followers, at least 
 the timid and overawed assentators to the 
 dethroned demagogue — he himself, breath- 
 less, foaming, exhausted, like the hunter of 
 classical antiquity when on the point of be- 
 ing overpowered and torn to pieces by his 
 own hounds, tried in vain to raise thos« 
 screech-owl notes, by which the Conven- 
 tion had formerly been terrified and put to 
 silence. He appealed for a hearing from 
 the President of the Assembly, to the vari- 
 ous parties of which it was composed. Re- 
 jected by the Mountaineers, his former as- 
 sociates, who now headed the clamour 
 against him, he applied to the Girondists, 
 few and feeble as they were, and to the 
 more numerous but equally helpless depu- 
 ties of The Plain, with whom they shelter- 
 ed. The former shook him from them with 
 disgust, the last with horror. It was in 
 vain he reminded individuals that he had 
 spared their lives, while at his mercy. Thi» 
 might have been applied to every member 
 in the house ; to every man in France ; for 
 who was it during two years that had lived 
 on other terms than under Robespierre't 
 permission I and deeply must he internally 
 nave regretted the clemency, as he might 
 term it, which had left so many with un- 
 gashed throats to bay at him. But his agi- 
 tated and repeated appeals were repulsed 
 by some with indignation, by others with 
 sullen, or embarrassed and timid silence. 
 
 A British historian must say, that even 
 Robespierre ought to have been heard in hia 
 defence ; and tii.it such calmness would 
 have done honour to the Convention, and 
 dignified their final sentence of condemna- 
 tion. As it was, they no doubt treated the 
 guilty individual according to his deserts t 
 but they fell short of that regularity and 
 manly staidness of conduct which was du» 
 to themselves and to the law, and which 
 would have given to the punishment of tha 
 "demagogue the efiect and weight of a sol 
 emu and dclibcratu sentence, in place of
 
 Ckap.XVIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 183 
 
 its seeming the result of the hasty and 
 precipitate seizure of a temporary advan- 
 tage. 
 
 H.oate was, however, necessary, and must 
 have appeared more so at such a crisis than 
 perhaps it really was. Much must be par- 
 doned to the terrors of the moment, the 
 horrid character of the culprit, and the ne- 
 cessity of hurrying to a decisive conclusion. 
 We have been told that his last audible 
 words, contending against the exclamations 
 of hundreds, and the bell which the Presi- 
 dent was ringing incessantly, and uttered in 
 the highest tones which despair could give 
 to a voice naturally shrill and discordant, 
 dwelt long on the memory, and haunted the 
 dreams, of many who heard him : — " Presi- 
 dent of assassins," he screamed, " for the 
 last time I demand privilege of speech !" — 
 After this exertion his breath became short 
 and faint ; and while he still uttered broken 
 murmurs and hoarse ejaculations, the mem- 
 bers of The Mountain called out, that the 
 blood of Danton choked his voice. 
 
 The tumult was closed by a decree of ar- 
 rest against Robespierre, his brother. Cou- 
 thon, and Saint Just ; Le Pas was included 
 on his own motion, and indeed could scarce 
 have escaped the fate of his brother-in- 
 law, though his conduct then, and subse- 
 quently, showed more energy than that of 
 others. Couthon, hugging in his bosom the 
 spaniel upon which he was wont to exhaust 
 the overflowing of his affecfed sensibility, 
 appealed to his decrepitude, and asked 
 whether, maimed of proportion and activity 
 as he was, he could be suspected of nour- 
 ishing plans of violence or ambition. — 
 " Wretch," said Legendre, '• thou hast the 
 strength of Hercules for the perpinration 
 of crime." Dumas, President of the Rev- 
 olutionary Tribunal, with Henriot, Com- 
 mandant of the National Guards, and oilier 
 satellites of Robespierre, were included in 
 the doom of arrest. 
 
 The officers of the Legislative Body were 
 ordered to lay hands on Robespierre ; but 
 such was the terror of his name, tliat they 
 hesitated for some time to obey ; and the 
 reluctance of their own immediate satel- 
 lites afforded the Convention an indifferent 
 omen of the respect which was likely to be ' 
 paid without doors to their decree against | 
 this powerful demagogue. Subsequent i 
 events seemed for a while to confirm the j 
 apprehensions thus excited. j 
 
 The Convention had declared their sitting I 
 permanent, and had taken all precautions 
 for appealing for protection to the large | 
 mass of citizens, who, wearied out by the | 
 reign of Terror, were desirous to close it ; 
 at all hazards. They quickly had deputa- I 
 tions from several of the neighbouring sec- 
 tions, declaring their adherence to the Na- 
 tional Representatives, in who.^e defenc*; i 
 they were arming, and (many undoubtedly j 
 prepared beforehand) were marching in all ' 
 naste to the protection of the Convention, j 
 But they heard also the less pleasin':; li- I 
 dings, that Henriot, having etfected the dis- ' 
 persion of those citizens who had obstrmtt- '• 
 «a, as elsewhere mentioned, the execution i 
 of tlie eighty condemned persons, and cou- ' 
 
 summated that final act of murder, was ap- 
 proaching the Tuilleries, where they had 
 held their sitting, with a numerous staff, 
 and such of the Jacobinical forces as could 
 hastily be collected. 
 
 Happily for the Convention, this com- 
 mandant of the National Guards, on whoso 
 presence of mind and courage the fate of 
 France perhaps for the moment depended, 
 was as stupid and cowardly as he was bru- 
 tally ferocious. He suffered himself, with- 
 out resistance, to be arrested by a few gens 
 d'armes, the immediate guards of the Con- 
 vention, headed by two of its members, 
 who behaved in the emergency with equal 
 prudence and spirit. 
 
 But fortune, or the demon whom he had 
 served, afforded Robespierre another chance 
 for safety, perhaps even for empire ; for 
 moments which a man of self-possession 
 might have employed for escape, one of 
 desperate courage might have used for 
 victory, which, considering the divided and 
 extremely unsettled state of the capital, 
 was likely to be gained by the boldest com- 
 petitor. 
 
 The arrested deputies had been carried 
 from one prison to another, all the jailors re- 
 fusing to receive .under their official charge 
 Robespierre, and those wlio had aided him 
 in supplying their dark habitations with such 
 a tide of successive inhabitants. At length 
 the prisoners were secured in the office of 
 the Committee of Public Safety. But by 
 this time all wai^ in alarm amongst the Com- 
 mune of Paris, where Fleurict the Mayor 
 and Payan the successor of Hebert, con 
 voked the civic body, despatched munici 
 pal officers to raise the city and the Faux- 
 bourgs in their name, and caused the tocsin 
 to be rung. Payan speedily assembled a 
 force sufficient to liberate Henriot, Robes- 
 pierre, and the other arrested deputies, and 
 to carry them to the Hotel de Ville, where 
 about two thousand men were congregated, 
 consisting chiefly of artillerymen, and of 
 insurgents from the suburb of Saint An- 
 toine, who already expressed their resolu- 
 tion of marcliing against the Convention. 
 But the selfish and cowardly character of 
 Robespierre was unfit for such a crisis. He 
 appeared altogether confounded and over- 
 whelmed with what had passed and wa« 
 passing around him ; and not one of all the 
 victims of tlie reign of Terror felt its disa- 
 bling intlurnre ho completely as he, the 
 Despot who had so long directed its sway. 
 He had not, even though the means must 
 have been in his power, the presence of 
 mind to disperse money in considerable 
 sums, which of itself would not have failed 
 ti> insure the support of the revolutionary 
 rabble. 
 
 Meantime the Convention continued to 
 maintain the bold and commanding front 
 which they had .so suddenly and critically 
 assumed. Upon learning the escape of the 
 arrested deputies, aad hearing of the insur- 
 rection at the Hotel de Ville, they instantly 
 passed a decree outlawing Robespierre and 
 his a.s.^ociates, inflicting a similar doom 
 upon the Mayor of Paris, the Procureur 
 and other members of the Commune, U)4
 
 184 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XVII. 
 
 charging twelve of their members, the 
 boldest who could be selected, to proceed 
 with the armed force to the execution of 
 the sentence. The drums of the National 
 Guards now beat to arms in all the sections 
 under authority of the Convention, while 
 the tocsin continued to summon assistance 
 with its iron voice to Robespierre and the 
 civic magistrates. Everything appeared to 
 threaten a violent catastrophe, until it was 
 seen clearly that the public voice, and es- 
 pecially amongst the National Guards, was 
 declaring itself generally against the Ter- 
 rorists. 
 
 The Hotel de Ville was surrounded by 
 about fifteen hundred men, and cannon turn- 
 ed upon the doors. The force of the as- 
 sailants was weakest in point of number, 
 but their leaders were men of spirit, and 
 night concealed their inferiority offeree. 
 
 The deputies commissioned for the pur- 
 pose read the decree of the Assembly to 
 those whom they found assembled in front 
 of the city-hall, and they shrunk from the 
 attempt of defending it, some joining the 
 assailants, others laying down their arms 
 and dispersing. Meantime the deserted 
 group of Terrorists within conducted them- 
 oelves like scorpions, which,when surround- 
 ed by a circle of fire, are said to turn their 
 stings on each other, and on themselves. 
 Mutual and ferocious upbraiding took place 
 among these miserable men. " Wretch, 
 were these the means you promised to fur- 
 nish 1" said Payan to Henriot, whom he 
 found intoxicated and incapable of resolu- 
 tion or exertion ; and seizing on him as 
 he spoke, he precipitated the revolutiona- 
 ry general from a window. Henriot sur- 
 vived the fall only to drag himself into a 
 drain, in which he was afterwards discover- 
 ed and orought out to execution. The 
 younger Robespierre threw himself from 
 the window, but had not the good fortune 
 to perish on the spot. It seemed as if even 
 the melancholy fate of suicide, the last 
 refuge of guilt and despair, was denied to 
 men who had so long refused every spe- 
 cies of mercy to their fellow-creatures. 
 Le Bas alone had calmness enough to de- 
 spatch himself with a pistol-shot. Saint 
 Just, after imploring his comrades to kill 
 him, attempted his own life with an irreso- 
 lute hand, and failed. Couthon lay beneath 
 the table brandishing a knife, with which 
 he repeatedly wounded his bosom, without 
 daring to add force enough to reach his 
 heart. Their chief, Robespierre, in an un- 
 successful attempt to shoot himself, had 
 only inflicted a horrible fracture on his un- 
 der-jaw. 
 
 In this situation they were found like 
 wolves in their lair, foul with blood, muti- 
 lated, despairing, and yet not able to die. 
 Robespierre lay on a table in an anti-room, 
 his head supported by a deal-box, and his 
 hideous countenance half hidden by a bloody 
 and dirty cloth bound round the shattered 
 eiiin.* 
 
 • It did not escape the minute observers of this 
 •eane, that he still held in bis hand the bag which 
 «4 ogot«ined thQ fatti pistol, and wfaicb waa io- 
 
 The captives were carried in triumph to 
 the Convention, who, without admitting 
 them to the bar, ordered them, as outlaws, 
 for instant execution. As the fatal cars 
 passed to the guillotine, those who filled 
 them but especially Robespierre, were 
 overwhelmed with execrations from th« 
 friends and relatives of victims whom he 
 had sent on the same melancholy road. 
 The nature of his previous wound, from 
 wliicli the cloth had never been removed 
 till the executioner tore it off, added to the 
 torture of the sufferer. The shattered jaw 
 dropped, and the wretch yelled aloud, to 
 the horror of the spectators.* A masqoe 
 taken from that dreadful head was long ei- 
 hibited in different nations of Europe, and 
 appalled the spectator by its ugliness, and 
 the mixture of fiendish expression with that 
 of bodily agony. 
 
 Thus fell Maximilian Robespierre, after 
 having been the first person in the French 
 Republic for nearly two years, during which 
 time he governed it upon the principles of 
 Nero or Caligula. His elevation to the sit- 
 nation which he held involved more con- 
 tradictions than perhaps attach to any sim- 
 ilar event in history. A low-born and low- 
 minded tyrant was permitted to rule with 
 the rod of the most frightful despotism a 
 people, whose anxiety for liberty had short- 
 ly before rendered them unable to endure 
 the rule of a humane and lawful sovereign. 
 A dastardly coward arose to the command 
 of one of the bravest nations in the world ; 
 and it was under the auspices of a man who 
 dared scarce fire a pistol, that the greatest 
 generals in France began their careers of 
 conquest. He had neither eloquence nor 
 imagination ; but substituted in their stead a 
 miserable, atTocted, bombastic style, which, 
 until other circumstances gave him conse- 
 quence, drew on him general ridicule. Yet 
 against so poor an orator, all the eloquence 
 of the philosophical Girondists, all the ter- 
 rible power of his associate Danton, em- 
 ployed in a popular assembly, could not en- 
 able them to make an effectual resistance. 
 It may seem trifling to mention, that in a 
 nation where a good deal of prepossession ia 
 excited by amiable manners and beauty of 
 external appearance, the person who ascend- 
 ed to the highest power was not only ill- 
 locking, but singularly mean in person, 
 awkward and constrained in his address, 
 ignorant how to set about pleasing even 
 when he most desired to give pleasure, and 
 as tiresome nearly as he was odious aad 
 heartless. 
 
 To compensate all these deficiencies, 
 Robespierre had but an insatiable ambition, 
 founded on a vanity which made him think 
 himself capable of filling the highest sitna- 
 tion ; and therefore gave him daring, when 
 to dare is frequently to achieve. He mix- 
 ed a false and overstrained, but rather flo- 
 
 scribcd with the words Jiu grand Monarque, al- 
 lulling to the sign, doubtless of the gunsmith who 
 sold the weapon, but singularly applicable to ii» 
 high pretensions of the purchaser. 
 
 * The fate of no tyrant in story was so faideotuat 
 the conclusion, excepting perhaps that of f\ifm- 
 tha.
 
 Chap. XVII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 185 
 
 ent species of bombastic composition, with 
 the grossest flattery to the lowest classes 
 of the people J in consideration of which, 
 they could not but receive as genuine the 
 praises which he already bestowed on him- 
 self. His prudent resolution to be satisfied 
 with possessing the essence of power, with- 
 out seeming to desire its rank and trappings, 
 formed another art of cajoling the multi- 
 tude. His watchful envy, his long-protract- 
 ed but sure revenge, his craft, which to vul- 
 gar minds supplies the place of wisdom, 
 were his only means of competing with his 
 distinguished antagonists. And it seems to 
 have been a merited punishment of the ex- 
 travagancies and abuses of the French Rev- 
 olution, that it engaged the country in a state 
 of anarchy which permitted a wretch such as 
 we have described, to be for a long period 
 master of her destiny. Blood was his ele- 
 ment, like that of the other Terrorists, and he 
 never fastened with so much pleasure on a 
 new victim, as when he was at the same 
 time an ancient associate. In an epitaph, 
 of which the following couplet may serve 
 as a translation, his life was represented as 
 incompatible with the existence of the hu- 
 man race : — 
 
 '• Here lies Robespierre — let no tear be shed : 
 Header, if he had lived, thou hads>t been dead." 
 
 When the report of Robespierre's crimes 
 was brought to the Convention, in which he 
 is most justly charged with the intention of 
 possessing himself of the government, the 
 inconsistent accusation is idded, that he 
 plotted to restore the Bourbons ; in support 
 of which it is alleged that a seal, bearing 
 a fleur-de-lis, was found at the Hotel de 
 Ville. Not even the crimes of Robespierre 
 were thought sufficiently atrocious, with- 
 out their being mingled with a tendency to 
 Royalism 1 
 
 With this celebrated demagogue the 
 reign of Terror may be said to have termi- 
 nated, although those by whose agency the 
 tyrant fell were as much Terrorists ashim- 
 eelf, being, indeed, the principal members 
 of the very Committees of Public Safety 
 and Public Security, who had been his col- 
 leagues in all the excesses of his revolu- 
 tionary authority. Among the Thermido- 
 riens, as the actors in Robespierre's down- 
 fall termed themselves, there were names 
 almost as dreadful as that of the Dictator, 
 for whom the ninth Thermidor proved the 
 Ides of March. What could be hoped for 
 from CoUot d'Herbois, the butcher of the 
 Lyonnoise— what from Billaud Varennes— 
 what from Barras, who had directed the ex- 
 ecutions at Marseilles after its ephemeral 
 revolt— what from Tallien, whose arms 
 were afterwards dyed double red, from fin- 
 ger-nails to elbow, in the blood of the un- 
 fortunate emigrant gentlemen who were 
 made prisoners at Quiberon ? It seemed 
 that only a new set of Septembrisers had 
 succeeded, and that the same horrible prin- 
 ciples would continue to be the moving 
 •pring of the government, under the direc- 
 tion of other chiefs indeed, but men who 
 Were scarce less familiar with its horrors, 
 than was the departed tyrant. 
 
 Men looked hopelessly towards the Con- 
 vention, long rather like the corpse of a 
 legislative assembly, actuated, during ita 
 apparent activity, like the supposed Vam- 
 pire, by an internal spirit not its own, which 
 urged it to go forth and drink blood, but 
 which, deserted by the animating demon, 
 must, it was to be expected, sink to th» 
 ground in helpless incapacity. What could 
 be expected from Barrere, the ready pane- 
 gyrist of Robespierre, the tool who was 
 ever ready to show to the weak and ths 
 timid the exact point where their safety rec- 
 ommended to them to join the ranks of the 
 wicked and the strong ? But in spite of 
 these discouraging circumstances, the feel- 
 ings of humanity, and a spirit of self-pro- 
 tection, dictating a determined resistance 
 to the renovation of the horrid system un- 
 der which the country had so long suffered, 
 began to show itself both in the Convention 
 and without doors. Encouraged by the 
 fall of Robespierre, complaints poured in 
 against his agents on all sides. Lei>on wa» 
 accused before the Convention by a depu- 
 tation from Cambrai ; and as he ascended 
 the Tribune to put himself on his defence, 
 he was generally hailed as the hangman of 
 Robespierre. The monster's impudence 
 supported him in a sort of defence ; and 
 when it was objected to him that he had 
 had the common executioner to dine in 
 company with him, he answered, " That 
 delicate people might think tl^at wrong; 
 but Lequinio (another Jacobin proconsul 
 of horrible celebrity) had made the same 
 useful citizen the companion of his leisure, 
 and hours of relaxation." He acknowledg- 
 ed with the same equanimity, that an aris- 
 tocrat being condemned to the guillotine, 
 he kept him lying in the usual posture up- 
 on his back, with his eyes turned up to the 
 axe, which was suspended above his throat, 
 — in short, m all the agonies which can 
 agitate the human mind, when within an 
 hair's breadth of the distance of the great 
 separation between Time and Eternity, — 
 until he had read to him, at length, the Ga- 
 zette which had just arrived, giving an ac 
 count of a victory gained by the Republic- 
 an armies. This monster, with Heron, 
 Rossignol, and other agents of terror more 
 immediately connected with Piobespierre, 
 were ordered for arrest, and shortly after 
 for execution. Tallien and Barras would 
 have here paused in the retrospect ; but 
 similar accusations now began to pour in 
 from every quarter, and when once stated, 
 were such as commanded public attention 
 in the most forcible manner. Those who 
 invoked vengeance, backed the solicita- 
 tions of each other — the general voice of 
 mankind was with them ; and leaders who 
 had shared the excesses of the Reign of 
 Terror, Thermidoriens as they wer" began 
 to see some danger of being themselves 
 buried in the ruins of the power which they 
 had overthrown. 
 
 Tallien, who is supposed to have taken 
 the lead in the extremely difficult naviga- 
 tion which lay before the vessel of the 
 state, seems to have 'experienced a change 
 °n his own sentiments, at least nis princi
 
 JS6 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 \Chap. XVJL 
 
 pies of action, inclining liim to the cause 
 of humanity. He was also, it is said, urged 
 to so favourable a modification of feelings 
 by his newly married wife, formerly Ma- 
 dame Fontenai, who, bred a royalist, had 
 herself been a victim to the law of suspi- 
 cion, and was released from a prison to re- 
 ceive the hand, and influence the activity, 
 of the republican statesman. Barras, who, 
 as commanding the armed force, might be 
 termed the hero of the 9th Thermidor, was 
 supposed to be also inclined towards hu- 
 manity and moderation. 
 
 Thus disposed to destroy the monstrous 
 system which had taken root in France, 
 and which indeed, in the increasing impa- 
 tience of the country, they would have 
 found it impossible to maintain, Tallien 
 and Barras had to struggle, at the same 
 time, to diminish and restrict the general 
 demand for revenge, at a time when, if 
 past tyranny was to be strictly inquired into 
 and punished, the doom, as Carrier himself 
 told them, would have involved everything 
 in the Convention, excepting perhaps the 
 President's bell and his arm-chair. So 
 powerful were these feelings of resisting a 
 retrospect, that the Thermidoriens declin- 
 ed to support Le Cointre in bringing for- 
 ward a general charge of inculpation against 
 the two Committees of Public Safety and 
 Public Security, in which accusation, not- 
 withstanding their ultimate quarrel with 
 Robespierre, he showed their intimate con- 
 nexion with him, and their joint agency in 
 all which bad been imputed to him as guilt. 
 But the time was not mature for hazarding 
 euch a general accusation, and it was re- 
 jected by the Convention with marks of 
 extreme displeasure. 
 
 Still, However, the general voice of hu- 
 manity demanded some farther atonement 
 for two years of outrage, ar.d to satisfy this 
 demand, the Thermidoriens set themselves 
 to seek victims connected more immedi- 
 ately with Robespierre ; while they endeav- 
 oured gradually to form a party, which, 
 setting out upon a principle of amnesty, and 
 oblivion of the past, should in future pay 
 some regard to that preservation of the 
 lives and property of the governed, which, 
 in every other system saving that which 
 had been just overthrown in France, is re- 
 garded as the principal end of civil govern- 
 ment. With a view to the consolidation of 
 such a party, the restrictions of the press 
 were removed, and men of talent and liter- 
 ature, silenced during the reign of Robes- 
 pierre, were once more admitted to exer- 
 cise their natural influence in favour of 
 civil order and religion. Marmontel, La 
 Harpe, and others, who, in their youth, had 
 been enrolled in the list of Voltaire's dis- 
 ciples, and amongst the infidels of the En- 
 cyclopedie, now made amends for their 
 youthful errors, by exerting themselves in 
 the cause of good morals, and of a regulated 
 government. 
 
 At length followed that general and long- 
 desired measure, which gave liberty to so 
 many thousands, by suspending tlie law de- 
 nouncing suspected persons, and empty- 
 ing at once of their inhabitants the pris- 
 
 ons, which had hitherto only transmitted 
 them to the guillotine. The tales which 
 these victims of Jacobinism had to repeat, 
 when revealing the secrets ol their prison- 
 house, together with the moral influence 
 produced by such an universal gaol delive- 
 ry, and the reunion which it efiected 
 amongst friends and relations that had 
 been so long separated, tended greatly to 
 strengthen the hands of tlie Thermidoriens, 
 who still boasted of that name, and to con- 
 solidate a rational and moderate party, both 
 in the capital and provinces. It is, how- 
 ever, by no means to be wondered at, that 
 the liberated sufferers showed a disposition 
 to exercise retribution in a degree which 
 their liberators trembled to indulge, lest 
 it might have recoiled upon themselves. 
 Still both parties united against the remains 
 of the Jacobins. 
 
 A singular and melancholy species of 
 force supported these movements towards 
 civilization and order. It was levied 
 among the orphans and youthful friends of 
 those who had fallen under the fatal guillo- 
 tine, and amounted in number to two or 
 three thousand young men, who acted in 
 concert, were distinguished by black col- 
 lars, and by their hair being plaited and 
 turned up a la victime, as prepared for the 
 guillotine. This costume was adopted in 
 memory of the principle of mourning on 
 which they were associated. These volun- 
 teers were not regularly armed or disci- 
 plined, but formed a sort of free corps, who 
 opposed themselves readily and eflfectually 
 to the Jacobins, when they attempted their 
 ordinary revolutionary tactics of exciting 
 partial insurrections, and intimidating the 
 orderly citizens by shouts and violence. 
 Many scuffles took place betwixt the par- 
 ties, with various success ; but ultimately 
 the spirit and courage of the young Aven- 
 gers seemed to give them daily a more de- 
 cided superiority. The Jacobins dared not 
 show themselves, that is, to avouch their 
 principles, either at the places of public 
 amusement, or in the Palais Royal, or the 
 Tuilleries, all of which had formerly wit- 
 nessed their victories. Their assemblies 
 now took place under some appearance of 
 secrecy, and were held in remote streets^ 
 and with such marks of diminished audaci- 
 ty as augured that the spirit of the party 
 was crestfallen. 
 
 Still, however, the Jacobin party possess- 
 ed dreadful leaders in Billaud Varennes 
 and Collot d'Herbois, who repeatedly at- 
 tempted to awaken its terrific energy. 
 These demagogues had joined, indeed, in 
 the struggle against Robespierre, but it was 
 with the expectation that an Amurath was 
 to succeed an Amurath — a Jacobin a Jaco- 
 bin — not for the purpose of relaxing the 
 reins of the revolutionary government, far 
 less changing its character. These veteran 
 revolutionists must be considered as sepa- 
 rate from those who called themselves 
 Thermidoriens, though they lent their as- 
 sistance to the revolution on the 9th Ther- 
 midor. They viewed as deserters and apos- 
 tates Legendre, Le Cointre, and others, 
 above all Tallien and Barras, who, in the
 
 Chap. XVIl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 187 
 
 *ull height of their career, had paused to 
 take breath, and were now endeavouring 
 to shape a course so different from tliat 
 which they had hitherto pursued. 
 
 These genuine Sans-Culottes endeavour- 
 ed to rest their own power and popularity 
 upon the same basis as formerly. They 
 re-opened the sittings of the Jacobin Club, 
 shut up on the 9th Therinidor. This an- 
 cient revolutionary cavern again heard its 
 roof resound with denunciations, by which 
 Vadier, Billaud Varrennes, and others, de- 
 voted to the infernal deities Le Cointre, 
 and those, who, they complained, wished 
 to involve all honest Republicans in the 
 charges brought against Robespierre and 
 his friends. Those threats, however, were 
 no longer rapidly followed by the thunder- 
 bolts which used to attend such flashes of 
 Jacobin eloquence. Men's homes were 
 now in comparison safe. A man might be 
 named in a Jacobin Club as an Aristocrat, or 
 a Moderate, and yet live. In fact, the dem- 
 agogues were more anxious to secure im- 
 munity for their past crimes, than at present 
 to incur new censure. The tide of general 
 opinion was flowing strongly against them, 
 and a single incident increased its power, 
 and rendered it irresistible. 
 
 The Parisians had naturally enough im- 
 agined, that the provinces could have no 
 instances of Jacobinical cruelty and mis- 
 rule to describe, more tragic and appalling 
 than the numerous executions which the 
 capital had exhibited every day. But the 
 arrival of eighty prisoners, citizens of Nan- 
 tes, charged with the usual imputations 
 cast upon suspected persons, undeceived 
 them. Th :se captives had been sent, for 
 the purpose of being tried at Paris before 
 the Revolutionary Tribunal. Fortunately, 
 they did not arrive till after Robespierre's 
 fall, and consequently when they were 
 looked upon rather as oppressed persons 
 than as criminals, and were listened to 
 more as accusers of those by whom they 
 were persecuted, than as cul^jrits on their 
 defence. 
 
 It was then that the metropolis first 
 heard of horrors which we have formerly 
 barely hinted at. It was then they were 
 told of crowds of citizens, most of whom 
 had been favourable to the republican order 
 of things, and had borne arnis against the 
 Vendeans in their attack upon Nantes; 
 men accused upon grounds equally slight, 
 and incapable of proof, h,aving been piled 
 together in dungeons, where the air was 
 pestilential from ordure, from the carcases 
 of the dead, and the infectious diseases 
 of the dying. It was then they heard of 
 Republican baptism and Republican m.ar- 
 riages — of men, women, and children 
 sprawling together, like toads and frogs in 
 the season of spring, in the waters of the 
 Loire, too shallow to afford them instant 
 death. It was then they heard of an hun- 
 dred other abominations — how those upper- 
 most upon the expiring mass prayed to be 
 thrust into the deeper water, that they 
 might have the moans of death — and of 
 much more that humanity forbears to detail ; 
 but in regard to which, tlie »>'"*"• "".IHen, 
 
 and sure blow of the Parisian guillotine 
 was clemency. 
 
 This tale of horrors could not be endured ; 
 and the point of immediate collision be- 
 tween the Thermidoriens, compelled and 
 drvien onward by the public voice and feel- 
 ing, and the remnant of the old Jacobin fac- 
 tion, became the accusation of Carrier, the 
 commissioiied deputy under whom these 
 unheard of horrors had been perpetrated 
 Vengeance on the head of this wretch waa 
 so loudly demanded, that it could not bo 
 denied even by those influential personB, 
 who, themselves deeply interested in pre- 
 venting recrimination, would willingly 
 have drawn a veil over the past. Through 
 the whole impeachment and defence, the 
 Thermidoriens stood on the most delicate 
 and embarrassing ground ; for horrid as his 
 actions were, he had in general their own 
 authority to plead for them. For example, 
 a letter was produced with these directions 
 to General Haxo — " It is my plan to carry 
 off from that accursed country all manner 
 of subsistence or provisions for man or 
 beast, all forage — in a word, everything — 
 give the buildings to the flames, and exter- 
 minate the whole inhabitants. Oppose 
 their being relieved by a single grain of 
 corn for their subsistence. I give thee 
 the most positive, most imperious order. 
 Thou art answerable for the execution 
 from this moment. In a word, leave 
 nothing in that proscribed country — let 
 the means of subsistence, provisions, for- 
 age, everything— absolutely everything, be 
 removed to Nantes." The representatives 
 of the French nation heard with horror 
 such a fiendish commission ; but with what 
 sense of shame and abasement must they 
 have listened to Carrier's defence, in which 
 he proved he was only literally executing 
 the decrees of the very Convention which 
 was now inquiring into his conduct ! A lu- 
 natic, who, in a lucid moment, hears some 
 one recount the crimes and cruelties he 
 committed in his frenzy, might perhaps en- 
 ter into their feelings. They were not the 
 less obliged to continue the inquiry, fraught 
 as it was with circumstances so disgrace- 
 ful to themselves ; and Carrier's impeach- 
 ment and conviction proved the point on 
 which the Thermidoriens, and those who 
 continued to entertain tbe violent popular 
 opinions, were now ,at is?ue. 
 
 The atrocious Carrier v/as taken under 
 the avowed protection of the Jacobin Club, 
 before which audience he made out a case 
 which was heard with applause. He ac- 
 knowledged his enormities, and pleaded his 
 patriotic zeal ; ridiculed the delicacy of 
 those who cared whether an aristocrat died 
 by a single blow, or a protracted death; 
 was cncou'.iged tlirougliout by acclama- 
 tions, and received assurances of protec- 
 tion from the remnant of that once formida- 
 ble association. But their magic influ- 
 ence was dissolved — their best orators had 
 fallen successively by each other's im- 
 peachment — and of their mott active ruf- 
 fians, some had been killed or executed, 
 some had fled, or lay ■concealed, many were 
 in custody, and the rest had become intimi-
 
 1S8 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOJN BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XVIL 
 
 dated. Scarce a man who had signalized 
 himself in the French Revolution, but had 
 enjoyed ihe applause of these demagogues, 
 as versatile in personal attachments, as 
 steady in their execrable principles — scarce 
 one whom they had not been active in sac- 
 rificing. 
 
 Nevertheless, those members of the 
 Revolutionary Committees, who had so 
 lately lent their aid to dethrone Robespierre, 
 the last idol of the Society, ventured to 
 invoke them in their own defence, and 
 that of their late agents. Billaud Varen- 
 nes, addressing the Jacobins, spoke of the 
 Convention as men spared by their clemen- 
 cy during the reign of Robespierre, who 
 novr rewarded the Mountain deputies by 
 terming them men of Blood, and by seek- 
 ing the death of those worthy patriots, Jo- 
 seph Lebon and Carrier, who were about 
 to fall under their counter-revolutionary 
 violence. These excellent citizens, he said, 
 ■were persecuted, merely because their 
 seal for the Republic had been somewhat 
 ardent — their forms of proceeding a little 
 rash and severe. He invoked the awaking 
 of the Lion — a new revolutionary rising of 
 the people, to tear the limbs and drink the 
 blood — (these were the very words) — of 
 those who had dared to beard them. The 
 meeting dispersed with shouts, and vows 
 to answer to the halloo of their leaders. 
 
 But the opposite party had learned that 
 such menaces were to be met otherwise 
 than by merely awaiting the issue, and 
 then trying the force of remonstrances, or 
 ^e protection of the law, with those to 
 whom the stronger force is the only satisfy- 
 ing reason. 
 
 Well organized, and directed by military 
 oflScers in many instances, large bands of 
 Anti-jacobins, as we may venture to call 
 the volunteer force already mentioned, ap- 
 peared in the neighbourhood of the suburbs, 
 and kept in check those from whom the 
 Mother Club expected its strongest aid; 
 while the main body of the young Avengers 
 marched down upon the citadel of the ene- 
 my, and invested the Jacobin Club itself 
 in the midst of its sitting. These dema- 
 gogues made but a wretched defence when 
 attacked by that species of popular violence, 
 which they had always considered as their 
 own especial weapon ; and the facility 
 with which they were dispersed amid ridi- 
 cule and ignominy, served to show how 
 easily, on former occasions, the mutual un- 
 derstanding and spirited exertion of well- 
 disposed men could have at any time pre- 
 vented criminal violence from obtaining 
 the mastery. Had La Fayette marched 
 against and shut up the Jacobin Club, the 
 world would have been spared many hor- 
 rors, and in all probability he would have 
 found the task as easy as it proved to those 
 bandn of incensed young men. — It must be 
 mentioned, though the recital is almost un- 
 worthy of history, that the female Jacobins 
 came to rally and assist their male asso- 
 ciates, and that several of them were seized 
 opon and punished in a manner, which 
 might excellently suit their merits, but 
 wluch shows that the young associates for 
 
 maintaining order were not suiEciently 
 aristocratic to be under the absolute re- 
 straints imposed by the rules of chivalry. 
 It is impossible, however, to grudge tte 
 flagellation administered upon this memo- 
 rable occasion. 
 
 When the Jacobins had thus fallen in the 
 popular contest, they could expect little 
 success in the Convention ; and the less, 
 that the impulse of general feeling seemed 
 about to recall into that Assembly, by the 
 reversal of their outlawry, the remnant of 
 the unhappy Girondists, and other mem- 
 bers, who had been arbitrarily proscribed 
 on the 3Ist of May. The measure was de- 
 layed for some time, as tending to effect a 
 change in the composition of the House, 
 which the ruling party might find inconven- 
 ient. At length upwards of sixty deputies 
 were first declared free of the outlawry, 
 and finally readmitted into the bosom of 
 the Convention, with heads which had 
 been so long worn in insecurity, that it 
 had greatly cooled their love of political 
 theory. 
 
 In the meantime the government, through 
 means of a revolutionary tribunal, acting 
 however with much more of legal formality 
 and caution than that of Robespierre, made 
 a sacrifice to the public desire of vengeance. 
 Lebon, Carrier, already mentioned, Fou- 
 quier, the public accuser under Robespierre, 
 and one or two others of the same class, 
 selected on account of the peculiar infamy 
 and cruelty of their conduct, were con- 
 demned and executed as an atonement for 
 injured humanity. 
 
 Here probably the Thermidoriens would 
 have wished the reaction to s'op ; but this 
 was impossible. Barras and Tillien per- 
 ceived plainly, that with whatever caution 
 and clemency they might proceed toward* 
 their old allies of The Mountain, there wa« 
 still no hope of anything like reconcilia- 
 tion ; and that their best policy was to get 
 rid of them as speedily and as quietly as 
 they could. The Mountain, like a hydra 
 whose heads bourgeoned, according to the 
 poetic expression, as fast as they were 
 cut off, continued to hiss at and menace the 
 government with unwearied malignity, and 
 to agitate the metropcMs by their intrigues, 
 which were the more easily conducted that 
 the winter was severe, bread had become 
 scarce and high-priced, and the common 
 people of course angry and discontented. 
 Scarcity is always the grievance of which 
 the lower classes must be most sensible ; 
 and when it is remembered that Robes- 
 pierre, though at the expense of the gross- 
 est injustice to the rest of the kingdom, 
 always kept bread beneath a certain tntuc- 
 imum or fixed price in the metropolis, it 
 will not be wondered at that the population 
 of Paris should be willing to favour those 
 who followed his maxims. The impulse of 
 these feelings, joined to the machinations 
 of the Jacobins, showed itself in many dis- 
 orders. 
 
 At length the Convention, pressed by 
 shame on the one side and fear on the oth- 
 er, saw the necessity of some active meas> 
 ure, ami appointed a commission to con
 
 Chop, xvn.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 189 
 
 ■ider and report upon the conduct of the 
 four most obnoxious Jacobin chiefs, CoUot 
 d'Herbois, Billaud Varennes, Vadier, and 
 Barrere. The report was of course unfa- 
 vourable ; yet upon the case being consid- 
 ered, the Convention were satisfied to con- 
 demn them to transportation to Cayenne. 
 Some resistance was offered to this sen- 
 tence, so mild in proportion to what those 
 who underwent it had been in the habit of 
 inflicting; but it was borne down, and the 
 sentence was carried into execution. Col- 
 lot d'Herbois, the demolisher and depopu- 
 lator of Lyons, is said to have died in the 
 common hospital, in consequence of drink- 
 ing off at once a whole bottle of ardent 
 spirits. Billaud Varennes spent his time 
 in teaching the innocent parrots of Gui- 
 ana the frightful jargon of the Revolution- 
 ary Committee ; and finally perished in 
 misery. 
 
 These men both belonged to that class 
 of atheists, who, looking up towards heav- 
 en, loudly and literally defied the Deity to 
 make his existence known by lanching his 
 thunderbolts. Miracles are not wrought on 
 the challenge of a blasphemer more than 
 on the demand of a sceptic ; but both these 
 tmhappy men had probably before their 
 death reason to confess, that in abandoning 
 the wicked to their own free will, a greater 
 penalty results even in this life, than il' 
 Providence had been pleased to inflict the 
 immediate doom which they had impiously 
 defied. 
 
 The notice of one more desperate at- 
 tempt at popular insurrection, finishes, in a 
 great measure, the history of Jacobinism 
 and of The Mountain ; of those, in short, 
 who professed the most outrageous popular 
 doctrines, considered as a political body. 
 They continued to receive great facilities 
 from the increasing dearth, and to find 
 ready opportunities of agitating the discon- 
 tented part of a population, disgusted by 
 the diminution not only of comforts, but of 
 the very means of subsistence. The Jaco- 
 bins, therefore, were easily able to excite 
 an insurrection of the same description as 
 those which had repeatedly influenced the 
 fate of the Revolution, and which, in fact, 
 proceeded to greater extremfties than any 
 which had preceded it in the same despe- 
 rate game. The rallying word of the rab- 
 ble was " Bread, and the Democratic Con- 
 stitution of 1793 ;"' a constitution which 
 the Jacobins had projected, but never at- 
 tempted seriously to put in force. No in- 
 surrection had yet appeared more formida- 
 ble in numbers, or better provided in pikes, 
 muskets, and cannon. They invested the 
 Convention,* without experiencing any ef- 
 fectual opposition ; burst into the hall, as- 
 sassinated one deputy, Ferrand, by a pistol- 
 shot, and paraded his head amongst his 
 trembling brethren, and through the neigh- 
 bonrinjr streets and environs on a pike. 
 They presented Boissy d'Anglas, the Pres- 
 ident, with the motions which they demand- 
 ed should be passed ; but were defeated by 
 
 • JOth May 1795. 
 
 the firmness with which ne preferred hie 
 
 duty to his life. 
 
 The steadiness of the Convention gave at 
 length confidence to the friends of good 
 order without. The National Guards begaa 
 to muster strong, and the insurgents to 
 lose spirits. They were at length, not- 
 withstanding their formidable appearance, 
 dispersed with very little effort. The tu- 
 mult, however, was renewed on the two 
 following days ; until at length the neces- 
 sity of taking sufficient measures to end 
 it at once and for ever, became evident to 
 all. 
 
 Pichegru, the conqueror of Holland, who 
 chanced to be in Paris at the time, waa 
 placed at the head of the National Guards 
 and the volunteers, whose character we 
 have noticed elsewhere. At the head of 
 this force, he marched in military order to- 
 wards the Fauxbourg Saint Antoine, which 
 had poured forth repeatedly the bands of 
 armed insurgents that were the principal 
 force of the Jacobins. 
 
 After a show of defending themselves, 
 the inhabitants of this disorderly suburb 
 were at length obliged to surrender up their 
 arms of every kind. Those pikes, which 
 had so often decided the destinies of France, 
 were now delivered up by cart-loads ; and 
 the holy right of insurrection was rendered 
 in future a more dangerous and difficult 
 task. 
 
 Encouraged by the success of this deci- 
 sive measure, the government proceeded 
 against some of the Terrorists whom they 
 had hitherto spared, but whose fate was 
 now determined, in order to strike dismay 
 into their party. SLx Jacobins, accounted 
 among the most ferocious of the class, 
 were arrested as encouragers of the late in- 
 surrection, and delivered up to be tried by 
 a military commission. They were all dep- 
 uties of The Mountain gang. Certain of 
 their doom, they adopted a desperate reso- 
 lution. Among the whole party, they pos- 
 sessed but one knife, but they resolved it 
 should serve them all for the purpose of 
 suicide. The instant their sentence was 
 pronounced, one stabbed himself with this 
 weapon ; another snatched the knife from 
 his companion's dying hand, plunged it in 
 his own bosom, and handed it to the third, 
 who imitated the dreadful example. Such 
 was the consternation of the attendants, 
 that no one arrested the fatal progress of the 
 weapon — all fell either dead or desperately 
 wounded — the last were despatched by the 
 guillotine. 
 
 After this decisive victory, and last dread- 
 ful catastrophe. Jacobinism, considered aa 
 a pure and unmixed party, can scarce be 
 said to have again raised its head in France, 
 although its le.aven has gone to qualify and 
 characterize, in some degree, more than 
 one of the different parties which have suc- 
 ceeded them. As a political sect, the Jac- 
 obins can be compared to none that ever 
 existed, for none but themselves evef 
 thought of an organized, regular, and con- 
 tinued system of murdering and plundering 
 the rich, that they might debauch the poor 
 by the distribution of their spoils. Tbef
 
 190 
 
 LIFE O^- NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xvm. ' 
 
 bear, however, some resemblance to the 
 frantic followers of John of Leyden and 
 Knippcrdoling who occupied Munster in 
 the seventeenth century, and committed, in 
 the name of Religion, the same frantic hor- 
 rors which the French Jacobins did in that 
 of Freedom. In both cases, the courses 
 adopted by these parties were most foreign 
 to, and inconsistent with, the alleged mo- 
 tives of their conduct. The Anabaptists 
 practised every species of vice and cruelty, 
 by the dictates, they said, of inspiration — 
 the Jacobins imprisoned three hundred 
 thousand of their countrymen in name of 
 liberty, and put to death more than half the 
 number, under the sanction of fraternity. 
 
 Now at length, however, society began to 
 resume its ordinary course, and the business 
 and pleasures of life succeeded each other 
 as usual. But even social pleasures brought 
 with them strange and gloomy associations 
 with that Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
 through which the late pilgrimage of France 
 appeared to have lain. An assembly for 
 dancing, very much frequented by the young 
 of both sexes, and highly fashionable, was 
 called the " Ball of the Victims." The 
 qualification for attendance was the having 
 lost some near and valued relation or friend 
 
 in the late reign of Terror. The hair and 
 head-dress were so arranged as to resemble 
 the preparations made for the guillotine, and 
 the motto adopted was, " We dance amidst 
 tombs." In no country but France could 
 the incidents have taken place which gave 
 rise to this association ; and certainly in no 
 country but France would they have been 
 used for such a purpose. 
 
 But it is time to turn from the considera- 
 tion of the internal government of France, 
 to its external relations ; in regard towhicii 
 the destinies of the country rose to such a 
 distinguished height, that it is hardly possi- 
 ble to reconcile the two pictures of a na- 
 tion, triumphant at every point against all 
 Europe coalesced against her, making ef- 
 forts and obtaining victories, to which his- 
 tory had been yet a stranger; while at the 
 same time her affairs at home were direct- 
 ed by ferocious blood-thirsty savages, such 
 as Robespierre. The Republic, regarded 
 in her foreign and domestic relations, might 
 be fancifully compared to the tomb erected 
 over some hero, presenting, without, tro- 
 phies of arms and the emblems of victory, 
 while, within, there lies only a mangled 
 and corrupted corpse. 
 
 CHAP. XVIIZ. 
 
 Retrospective View of the External Relations of France — Her great Military Sucees»- 
 es — Whence they arose. — Effect of the Compulsory Levies — Military Genius and 
 Character of the French. — French Generals. — New Mode of training the Troops. — 
 Light Troops. — Successive Attacks in Column. — Attachment of the Soldiers to the 
 Revolution. — Also of the Generals. — Carnot. — Effect of the French Principla 
 preached to the Countries invaded by their Arms. — Close of the Revolution vrith th* 
 fall of Robespierre. — Reflections upon what was to succeed. 
 
 It may be said of victory, as the English 
 satirist has said of wealth, that it cannot be 
 of much importance in the eye of Heaven, 
 considering in what unworthy association it 
 is sometimes found. While the rulers of 
 France were disowning the very existence 
 of a Deity, her armies appeared to move 
 almost as if protected by the especial fa- 
 vour of Providence. Our former recapitu- 
 lation presented a slight sketch of the peril- 
 ous state of France in 1793, surrounded by 
 foes on almost every frontier, and with dif- 
 ficulty maintaining her ground on any point ; 
 yet the lapse of two years found her victo- 
 rious, nay, triumphantly victorious, on all. 
 
 On the north-eastern frontier, the English, 
 after a series of hard fisrhting, had lost not 
 only Flanders, on which we left them ad- 
 vancing, but Holland itself, and had been 
 finally driven with great loss to abandon the 
 Continent. The King of Prussia had set 
 out on his first campaign as the chief hero 
 of the coalition, and had undertaken that 
 the Duke of Brunswick, liis general, should 
 put down the revolution in France as easily 
 .13 ho had done that of Holland. But find- 
 ing the enterprise which he had undertaken 
 was above his strength ;.that his accumulat- 
 ed treasures were exhausted in an unsuc- 
 > cessful war ; and that Austria not Prussia, 
 
 was regarded as the head of the coalition, 
 he drew off his forces, after they had been 
 weakened by more than one defeat, and 
 made a separate peace with France, in 
 which he renounced to the new Republic 
 the sovereignty of all those portions of the 
 Prussian territory which lay on the east side 
 of the Rhine. The king, to make up for 
 these losses, sought a more profitable, 
 though less honourable field of warfare, and 
 concurred with Russia and Austria in effect- 
 ing by conquest a final partition and appro- 
 priation of Poland, on the same unprinci- 
 pled plan on which the first had been con- 
 ducted. 
 
 Spain, victorious at the beginning of the 
 conquest, had been of late so unsuccessful 
 in opposing the French armies, that it was 
 the opinion of many, that her character for 
 valour and patriotism was lost for ever. 
 Catalonia was overrun by the Republicans, 
 Rosas taken, and no army intervening be- 
 twixt the victors and Madrid, the King of 
 Spain was obliged to clasp hands with tlu» 
 murderers of his kinsman, Louis XVI., ac 
 knowledge the French Republic, and with- 
 draw from the coalition. 
 
 Austria had well sustained her ancient 
 renown, both by the valour of her troopo, 
 the resolution of her cabinet, and the tal-
 
 Chap. XVII J] LIFK OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 191 
 
 enta of one or two of her generals, — the 
 Archduke Charles in particular, and the 
 veteran Wurmser. Yet she too had suc- 
 cumbed und*"- the Republican superiority. 
 Belgium, as the French called Flanders, 
 was, as already stated, totally lost; and war 
 along the Rhine was continued by Austria, 
 more for defence than with a hope of con- 
 quest. 
 
 So much and so generally had the for- 
 tune of war declared in favour of France 
 upon all points, even while she was herself 
 sustaining the worst of evils from the 
 worst of tyrannies. There must have been 
 unquestionably several reasons for such 
 success as seemed to attend universally on 
 tiie arms of the Republic, instead of being 
 limited to one peculiarly efficient army, or 
 to one distinguished general. 
 
 The first and most powerful cause must 
 be looked for in the extraordinary energy 
 of the Republican government, which, from 
 its very commencement, tlirew all subordi- 
 nate considerations asitle, and devoted the 
 whole resources of the country to its mili- 
 tary defence. It was then that France 
 fully learned the import of the word " Re- 
 <luisition," as meaning thst whicli govern- 
 ment needs, and which must at all hazards 
 be supplied. Compulsory levies were uni- 
 versally resorted to ; and the undoubted 
 right wliici) a state has to call upon each 
 of its subjects to arise in defence of the 
 community, was extended into the power 
 of sending them upon e.^peditions of for- 
 eign conquest. 
 
 In the month of March 1793, a levy of 
 two hundred thousand men was appointed, 
 and took place ; but by a subsequent decree 
 of the '23d .August in the same year, a more 
 gigantic mode of recruiting was resorted to. 
 
 F.very man in France able to bear arms 
 was placed at the orders of the slate, and 
 being divided into classes, the youngest, to 
 the amount of five hundred thousand, after- 
 wards augmented to a million, were com- 
 manded to march for immediate action. 
 The rest of society were to be disposed of 
 as might best second the efforts of the act- 
 ual combatants. The married men were 
 to prepare arms and forward convoys, — 
 the women to make uniforms, — the chil- 
 dren to scrape lint. — and the old men to 
 preach Republicanism. .'Ml property ^Vas 
 in like manner devoted to maintaining the 
 war, — all buildings were put to military pur- 
 poses — all arms .appropriated to the public 
 service — and all horses, excepting those 
 which might be necessary for agriculture, 
 seized on for tiie cavalry, and other milita- 
 ry services. Representatives of the peo- 
 ple were named to march with the various 
 Icvio!-,— those terrible commissioners, who 
 punished no fault with a slighter penalty 
 than deatli. .\o excuse was sustained for 
 want ')f p-=rsonal compliance with the re- 
 quisition for personal service — no delay 
 permitted — no substitution allowed — actual 
 and literal compliance was demanded from 
 every one, and of what rank soever. Con- 
 scripts who failed to appear, resisted, or 
 fled, were subjected to the penalties which 
 attached to emigration. 
 
 By successive decrees of this peremptory 
 
 nat'.re. enforced with the full energy of 
 
 revolutionary violence, the government 
 
 succeeded in bringing into the field, and 
 
 maintaining, forces to an amount more 
 
 than double those of their powerful ene- 
 
 . mies ; and the same means of supply — arbi- 
 
 I trary requisition, namely — which brought 
 
 ! them out, supported and maintained them 
 
 I during the campaign ; so that, while there 
 
 remained food and clothing of any kind in 
 
 I the country, the soldier was sure to be fed, 
 
 paid, and equipped. 
 
 There are countries, however, in which 
 the great numerical superiority thus attain- 
 ed is of little consequence, when a confus- 
 ed levy en masse of raw, inexperienced, and 
 disorderly boys, are opposed against the 
 ranks of a much smaller, but a regular and 
 well-disciplined army, such as in every re- 
 spect is that of Austria. On such occa- 
 sions the taunting speech of Alaric recurs 
 to recollection, — '-'The thicker the hay the 
 more easily it is mowed." But this was 
 not tound to be the case with the youth of 
 France, who adopted the habits most neces- 
 sary for a soldier with singular facility and 
 readiness. JNIilitary service has been pop- 
 ular amongst them in all ages ; and the sto- 
 ries of the grardsire in a French cottage 
 have always tended to excite in his de- 
 scendants ideas familiar with a military con- 
 dition. They do not come to it as a violent 
 change of life, which they had never previ- 
 ously contemplated, and where all is new 
 •ind terrible ; but as to a duty which every 
 Frenchman is liable to discharge, and 
 which is as natural to him as to his father 
 or grandfather before him. 
 
 Besides this propensity, and undoubtedly 
 connected with it, a young Frenchman is 
 possessed of the natural character most de- 
 sirable in the soldier. He is accustomed 
 to fare hard, to take much exercise, to 
 make many shifts, and to support with pa- 
 tience occasional deprivations. His happy 
 gayety renders him indifferent to danger, 
 his good-humour patient under hardship. 
 His ingenuity seems to amuse as well as to 
 assist hira in the contingencies of a roving 
 life. He can be with ease a cook or an ar- 
 tificer, or what eLe the occasion may re- 
 quire. His talents for actual war are not 
 less decided. Either in advancing with 
 spirit, or in retreatimg with order, the 
 j Frenchman is one of the finest soldiers in 
 I the world ; and when requisite, the privates 
 I in their army often exhibit a degree of in- 
 I telligence anil knowledge of the profession, 
 which might become individuals of a high- 
 1 er rank in other services. If not absolute 
 water-drinkers, they are less addicted to 
 intoxication than the English soldier, who, 
 perhaps, 0!dy brings, to counterbalance tha 
 numerous advantages on the part of his op- 
 ponent, that mastiff-like perseverance and 
 determination in combat, which induce* 
 him to repeat, maintain, and prolong hia 
 efforts, under ever)' disadvantage of num- 
 bers and circumstances. 
 I The spirits of the Frenchman, such aa 
 we have described, did not suffer much 
 ! from the violent iumraons which tore bin*
 
 192 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [ciuip. xvm. 
 
 from his home. We have, unhappily, in 
 our own navy, an example, how little men's 
 courage is broken by their being forced in- 
 to a dangerous service. But comfortless 
 as the state of France then was, and pain- 
 ful as the sights must have been by which 
 the eyes were daily oppressed — closed up 
 too as were the avenues to every civil 
 walk of life, and cheap as they were held 
 in a nation which had become all one vast 
 camp, a youth of spirit was glad to escape 
 from witnessing the desolation at home, 
 and to take with gayety the chance of death 
 or promotion, in the only line which might 
 now be accounted comparatively safe, and 
 indubitably honourable. The armies with 
 whom these new levies were incorporated 
 were by degrees admirably supplied witli 
 officers. The breaking down the old dis- 
 tinctions of ranks had opened a free career 
 to those desirous of promotion ; and in 
 times of hard fighting, men of merit are 
 distinguished and get preferment. The 
 Toice of the soldier had often its influence 
 upon the officer's preferment ; and that is a 
 TOte seldom bestowed, but from ocular 
 proof that it is deserved. The revolutiona- 
 ry rulers, though bloody in their resent- 
 ment, were liberai, almost extravagant, in 
 their rewards, and spared neither gold nor 
 •teel, honours nor denunciations, to incite 
 their generals to victory, or warn them 
 against the consequences of defeat. 
 
 Under that stern rule which knew no 
 excuse for ill success, and stimulated by 
 opportunities which seemed to offer every 
 prize to honourable ambition, arose a race 
 of generals whom the world scarce ever 
 ■aw equalled, and of whom there certainly 
 never at any other period flourished so ma- 
 ny, in any other service. Such was Buona- 
 garte himself; such were Pichegru and 
 loreau, doomed to suffer a gloomy fate un- 
 der his ascendency. Such were those 
 Marshals and Generals who were to share 
 his better fortunes, and cluster around his 
 future throne, as the Paladins around that 
 bf Charlemagne, or as the British and .^r- 
 morican champions begirt the Round Table 
 of Uther's fabled son. In those early wars, 
 and summoned out by the stern conscrip- 
 tion, were trained Murat, whose eminence 
 and fall seemed a corollary to that of his 
 brother-in-law — Ney, the bravest of tlie 
 brave — the calm, sagacious Macdonald — 
 Joubert, who had almost anticipated the 
 part reserved for Buonaparte — Massena, 
 the spoiled child of Fortune — .\ugereau, 
 Berthier, Lannes, and many others, whose 
 Hames began already to stir the French sol- 
 dier as with the sound of a trumpet. 
 
 These adventurers in the race of fame 
 belonged some of them, as Macdonald, to 
 the old military school •, some, like Mo- 
 reau, came from the civil class of society ; 
 many arose from ori'.;ins that were positive- 
 ly mean, and were thcrefcre still more de- 
 cidedly children of the Revolution. But 
 that great earthquake, by throwing down 
 distinctions of birth and rmk, had removed 
 •bstacles which would otherwise Iiave im- 
 peded the progress of uhnost all these dis- 
 tinguished men ; and they were therefore. 
 
 for the greater part, attached to that new 
 order of aflfairs which afforded full scope to 
 their talents. 
 
 The French armies, thus recruited, and 
 thus commanded, were disciplined in a 
 manner suitable to the materials of which 
 they were composed. There was neither 
 leisure nor opportunity to subject the new 
 levies to all that minuteness of training, 
 which was required by the somewhat pe- 
 dantic formality of the old school of war. 
 Dumouriez, setting the example, began to 
 show that the principle of revolution might 
 be introduced with advantage into the art 
 of war itself; and that the difference be- 
 twixt these new conscripts and the veteran 
 troops to whom they were opposed, might 
 be much diminished by resorting to the 
 original and more simple rules of stratagie, 
 and neglecting many formalities which had 
 been once considered as essential to play- 
 ing the great game of war with success, h 
 is the constant error of ordinary minds to 
 consider matters of mere routine as equally 
 important with those which are essential, 
 and to entertain as much horror at a disor- 
 dered uniform as at a confused manosuvre. 
 It was to the honour of the French Gene- 
 rals, as men of genius, that in the hour of 
 danger they were able to surmount all the 
 prejudices of a profession which has its 
 pedantry as well as others, and to suit the 
 discipline which they retained to the char- 
 acter of their recruits and the urgency of 
 the time. 
 
 The foppery of the manual e.^ercise was 
 laid aside, and it was restricted to the few 
 motions necessary for effectual use of the 
 musket and bayonet. Easier and more sim- 
 ple manoBUvres were substituted for such 
 as were involved and difficult to execute ; 
 and providing the line or column could be 
 formed with activity, and that order wa« 
 preserved on the march, the mere etiquette 
 of military movements was much relaxed. 
 The quanfity of light troops was increased 
 greatly beyond the number which had of 
 late been used by European nations. Tho 
 Austrians, who used to draw from the Ty- 
 rol, and from their wild Croatian frontier, 
 the best light troops in the world, had at 
 this time formed many of them into regi- 
 ments of the line, and thus, limited and di- 
 minished their own superiority in a species 
 of force which was becoming of greater 
 importance daily. Tiie French, on the 
 contrary, disciplined immense bodies of 
 their conscripts as irregulars and sharp- 
 shooters. Their numbers and galling firo 
 frequently prevented their more systemat- 
 ic and formal adversaries from being able 
 to push forward reconnoitring parties, by 
 which to obtain any exact information as to 
 the numbers and disposition of the P>ench ; 
 while the Republican troops of the line, 
 protected by this swarm of wasps, chose 
 their lime, place, and manner, of advancing 
 to the attack, or retreating, as the case de- 
 manded. It is true, tint this service cost 
 an immense number of lives ; but the French 
 Generals were sensible that human life waa 
 the commodity which the Republic set the 
 least value upon; and that when Death waa
 
 Chap. XVni.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 193 
 
 served with so wide a feast from one end 
 of France to the other, he was not to be 
 stinted in his own proper banquetting-hall, 
 the field of battle. 
 
 The same circumstances dictated anoth- 
 er variety or innovation in French tactics, 
 which greatly increased the extent of 
 slaughter. The armies with whom they 
 engaged, disconcerted by the great superi- 
 ority of numbers which were opposed to 
 them, and baffled in obtaining intelligence 
 by the teazing activity of the French light 
 troops, most frequently assumed the defen- 
 sive, and taking a strong position, improved 
 perhaps by field-works, waited until the fie- 
 TV youth of France should come to throw 
 themselves by thousands upon their batte- 
 ries. It was then that the French generals 
 began first to employ those successive at- 
 tacks in column, in which one brigade of 
 troops is brought up after another, without 
 interruption, and without regard to the loss 
 of lives, until the arms of the defenders 
 are weary with slaying, and their line being 
 in some point or other carried, through the 
 impossibility of everywhere resisting an as- 
 sault so continued and desperate, the battle 
 is lost, and the army is compelled to give 
 way ; while the conquerors can, by the 
 multitudes they have brought into action, 
 afford to pay the dreadful price which they 
 have given for the victory. 
 
 In this manner the French generals em- 
 ployed whole columns of the young con- 
 scripts, termed from that circumstance, 
 " food for the caimon" (chair a canon,) be- 
 fore disease had deprived them of bodily 
 activity, or experience had taught them the 
 dangers of the profession on which they 
 entered with the thoughtless vivacity of 
 schoolboys. It also frequently happen- 
 ed, even when the French possessed no 
 numerical superiority upon the whole, that 
 by the celerity of their movements, and the 
 skill with which they at once combined and 
 executed them, they were able suddenly to 
 concentrate such a superiority upon the 
 point which they meant to attack, as insur- 
 ed them the same advantage. 
 
 In enumerating the causes of the general 
 success of the Republican arms, we must 
 not forget the moral motive — the interest 
 which the troops took in the cause of the 
 war. The army, in fact, derived an instant 
 and most flattering advantage from the Re- 
 volution, which could scarce be said of any 
 other class of men in France, excepting the 
 peasant. Their pay was improved, their 
 importance increased. There was not a 
 private soldier against whom the highest 
 ranks of the profession was shut, and many 
 attained to them. Massena was originally 
 a drummer, Ney a common hussar, and 
 there were many others who arose to the 
 command of armies from the lowest condi- 
 tion. Now this was a government for a 
 soldier to live and flourish under, and seem- 
 ed still more advantageous when contrast- 
 ed with the old monarchical system, in 
 which the prejudices of birth interfered at 
 every turn with the pretensions of merit, 
 where a roturier could not rise above a 
 vubaltern rank, and where all ofiices of dis- 
 VOL. I, I 
 
 tinction were, as matters of inheritance, re- 
 served for the grande noblesse alone. 
 
 But besides the reward which it held out 
 to its soldiers, the service of the Republic 
 had this irresistible charm for the soldiery 
 — it was victorious. The conquests which 
 they obtained, and the plunder which at- 
 tended those conquests, attached the vic- 
 tors to their standards, and drew around 
 them fresh hosts of their countrymen. 
 " Vive la Repuhlique !" became a war-cry, 
 as dear to their army as in former times the 
 shout of Dennis Mountjoie, and the Tri-col- 
 oured flag supplied the place of the Ori- 
 flamme. By the confusion, the oppression, 
 the bloodshed of the Revolution, the sol- 
 diers were but little affected. They heard 
 of friends imprisoned or guillotined, in^ 
 deed 5* but a military man, like a monk, 
 leaves the concerns of the civil world be- 
 hind him, and while he plays the bloody 
 game for his own life or death with the en- 
 emy who faces him, has little time to think 
 of what is happening in the native country 
 which he has abandoned. For any other 
 acquaintance with the politics of the Re- 
 public, they were indebted to flowery 
 speeches in the Convention, resounding 
 with the praises of the troops, and to har- 
 angues of the representatives accompany- 
 ing the armies, who never failed by flattery 
 and largesses to retain possession of the 
 affection of the soldiers, whose attachment 
 was so essential to their safety. So well 
 did they accomplish this, that while the 
 Republic flourished, the armies were so 
 much attached to that order of things, as to 
 desert successively some of their most fa- 
 vourite leaders, when they became objects 
 of suspicion to the fierce democracy. 
 
 The generals, indeed, had frequent and 
 practical experience, that the Republic 
 could be as severe with her military as with 
 her civU subjects, and even more so, judg- 
 ing by the ruthlessness with which they 
 were arrested and executed, with scarce 
 the shadow of a pretext. Yet this did not 
 diminish the zeal of the survivors. If the 
 revolutionary government beheaded, they 
 also paid, promised, and promoted ; and 
 amid the various risks of a soldier's life, the 
 hazard of the guillotine was only a slight 
 addition to those of the sword and the mus- 
 ket,! which, in the sanguine eye of cour- 
 age and ambition, joined to each individu- 
 al's confidence in his own good luck, did 
 not seem to render his chance much worse. 
 
 * Such was the fate of Moreau, who, on the eve 
 of one of his most distinguished victories, had to 
 receive tlie news that his father had been beheaded 
 
 t The risk was considered as a matter of course . 
 Madame La Roche-Jacqueleia informs us th.T. 
 General duentineau, a Republican officer who 
 had behaved with great humanity in La Vendeu 
 having fallen into the hands nf the insurgents, war: 
 pressed by L'Escure, who commanded them, not 
 to return to Paris. " I know the ditference ot our 
 political opinions," said the Royalist ; " but wfiv 
 should yrju deliver up your life to those men witii 
 whom want of success will be a sufficient leason 
 for abridging it."' — "You say truly," replied 
 duentineau; "but as a man of honour, I must 
 present myself in defence of my conduct wherever 
 it may be impeached." He went, and perished by 
 the guillotine accordingly
 
 194 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChap. XVIlf. 
 
 Wlieii such punishment arrived, the gene- 
 rals submitted to it as one of the casualties 
 of war ; nor was the Republic worse or 
 more reluctantly served by those who were 
 left. 
 
 .Suc:li being the admirable quality and 
 talents, the mode of thinking and acting, 
 which the Republican, or rather Revolu- 
 tionary, armies possessed, it required only 
 the ruling genius of the celebrated Carnot, 
 who, bred in the department of engineers, 
 was probably one of the very best tacticians 
 in the world, to bring them into effectual 
 use. He was a member of the frightful Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety ; but it has been 
 said in his defence, that he did not meddle 
 with its atrocities, limiting himself entire- 
 ly to the war department, for which he 
 showed so much talent, that his colleagues 
 left it to his exclusive management. In 
 his own individual person he constituted 
 the whole bureau militaire, or war office, 
 of the Committee of Public Safety, corres- 
 ponded with and directed, the movements 
 of the armies, as if inspired by the Goddess 
 of Victory herself. He first daringly claim- 
 ed for France her natural boundaries (that 
 is, the boundaries most convenient for her). 
 The Rhine, the Alps, and the Pyrenees, 
 he assigned as the limits of her dominions ; 
 and asserted that all within these, belong- 
 ing to other powers must have been usurpa- 
 tions on France, and were unhesitatingly to 
 be resumed aa such. And he conquered by 
 his gen'us the countries which his ambi- 
 tion claimed. Belgium became an integral 
 part of the F>ench Republic— Holland was 
 erected into a little dependent democracy, 
 aa an outwork for defending the Great Na- 
 tion — the Austrians were foiled on the 
 Rhine— the King of Sardinia driven ftom 
 SavoT — and schemes realized which Louis 
 XIV. never dared to dream of. In return 
 for the complaisance exhibited by the Com- 
 mittee towards himself, he did not express 
 any scruples, if he entertained such, con- 
 cerning the mode in which they governed 
 the interior of their unhappy country. Yet 
 notwithstanding his skill and his caution, 
 the blighting eye of Robespierre was fixed 
 on him, as that of the snake which watches 
 its victim. He could not dispense with the 
 talents of Camot in the career of victory ; 
 but it is well known, that if his plans on any 
 occasion had miscarried, the security of his 
 head would have become very precarious. 
 
 It must also be allowed, that although the 
 French armies were attached to the Repub- 
 lic, and moved usually under direction of a 
 member of the Committee of Public Secu- 
 rity, they did not adopt, in their brutal ex- 
 tent, the orders for exterminating warfare 
 ■which were transmitted to them by their 
 masters. At one time a decree was passed 
 refusing quarter to such of the allied troops 
 as might be made prisoners : but the French 
 soldiers could not be prevailed on to take a 
 step which must have aggravated so dread- 
 fully the necessary horrors of war. When 
 we consider how the civil government of 
 France were employed, when the soldiers 
 refused their sanction to this decree, it 
 >«eeins as if Humanity had fled from cities 
 
 and tlie peaceful dwellings of men, to seek 
 a home in camps and combats. 
 
 One important part of the subject can be 
 here treated but slightly. We allude to thi; 
 great advantages derived by the French 
 arms from the reception of their political 
 doctrines at this period among the people 
 whom they invaded. They proclaimed 
 aloud that they made war on castles and 
 palaces, but were at peace with cottages ; 
 and as on some occasions besieging generals 
 are said to have bribed the governor of a 
 place to surrender it, by promising they 
 would leave in his unchallenged possession 
 the military chest of the garrison, so the 
 French in all cases held out to the popu- 
 lace the plunder of their own nobles, as an 
 inducement for them to favour, at least not 
 to oppose, the invasion of their noujitry. 
 Thus their armies were always preceded 
 by their principles. A party favourable t" 
 France, and listening with delight to tin- 
 doctrines of liberty and equality, was form- 
 ed in the bosom of each neighbouring state, 
 so that the power of the invaded nation was 
 crushed, and its spirit quenched, under n 
 sense of internal discontent and discord. 
 The French were often received at once as 
 conquerors and deliverers by the countries 
 they invaded 5 and in almost all cases, the 
 governments on which they made war were 
 obliged to trust exclusively to such regular 
 forces as they could bring into the field, be- 
 ing deprived of the inappreciable advantage 
 of general zeal among their subjects in their 
 behalf. It was not long ere the inhabitant* 
 of those deceived countries found that the 
 fruits of the misnamed tree of liberty re- 
 sembled those said to grow by the Dead 
 Sea — fair and goodly to the eye, but to the 
 taste all filth and bitterness. 
 
 We are now to close our review of the 
 French Revolution, the fall of Robespierre 
 being the era at which its terrors began to 
 ebb and recede, nor did they ever again 
 arise to the same height. If we look back 
 at the whole progress of the change, from 
 the convocation of the States-General to 
 the 9th Thermidor, as the era of that man's 
 overthrow was called, the eye in vain seeks 
 for any point at which even a probability 
 existed of establishing a solid or permanent 
 government. The three successive consti- 
 tutions of 1791, 1792, and 1795, the succes- 
 sive work of Constitutionalists, Girondists, 
 and Jacobins, possessed no more power to 
 limit or arrest the force of the revolutionary 
 impulse, than a bramble or briar to stop the 
 progress of a rock rushing down from a 
 precipice. Though ratified and sworn to, 
 with every circumstance which could add 
 solemnity to the oblig.ation, each remained, 
 in succession, a dead letter. France, in 
 1795 nnd 1796, was therefore a nation 
 without either a regular constitution, or a 
 regular administration ; governed by the 
 remnant of an Assembly called a Conven- 
 tion, who continued sitting, merely because 
 the crisis found them in possession of their 
 seats, and who administered the government 
 through the medium of Provisional Com- 
 mittees, with whose dictates they compli- 
 ed implicitly, and who really directed aU
 
 Ckap. XIX.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 195 
 
 things, though in the Convention's name. 
 
 In the meantime, and since those strange 
 scenes had commenced, France had lost 
 her Kinc and Nobles, her Church and Cler- 
 gy, her Judges, Courts, and Magistrates, 
 her Colonies and Commerce. The greater 
 part of her statesmen and men of note had 
 perished by proscription, and her orators' 
 eloquence had been cut short by the guillo- 
 tine. She had no finances — the bonds of 
 civil society seem to have retained their 
 influence from habit only. The nation pos- 
 sessed only one powerful engine, which 
 France called her own, and one impulsive 
 power to guide it — These were her army 
 and her ambition. She resembled a person 
 in the delirium of a fever, who has stripped 
 himself in his frenzy of all decent and ne- 
 cessary clothing, and retains in his hand 
 only a bloody sword ; while those who have 
 endeavoured to check his furj', lie subdued 
 around him. Never had so many great 
 events successively taken place in a na- 
 tion, without affording something like a 
 fixed or determined result, either already 
 attained, or soon to be expected. 
 
 Again and again did reflecting men say 
 to each other, — This unheard-of state of 
 things, in which all seems to be temporary 
 und revolutionary, will not, cannot last ; — 
 and especially after the fall of Robespierre, 
 t seemed that some change was approach- 
 ng. Those who had achieved that work, 
 lid not hold on any terms of security the 
 emporary power which it had procured 
 .hem. They rather retained their influence 
 ly means of the jealousy of two extreme 
 parties, than from any confidence reposed 
 in themselves. Those who had suffered so 
 deeply under the rule of the revolutionary 
 government, must have looked with suspi- 
 
 cion on the Thermidoriens as regular Jac- 
 obins, who had shared all the excesses ef 
 the period of Terror, and now employed 
 their power in protecting the perpetrators. 
 On the other hand, those of the Revolution- 
 ists who yet continued in the bond of Jac- 
 obin fraternity, could not forgive Tallien 
 and Barras the silencing the Jacobin Clubs, 
 the exiling Collot d'Herbois and Billaud 
 Varennes, putting to death many other pa- 
 triots, and totally crushing the system of 
 revolutionary government. In fact, if the 
 thorough-bred Revolutionists still endured 
 the domination of Tallien and Barras, it 
 was only because it shielded them from the 
 reaction, or retributive measures threaten- 
 ed by the moderate party. Matters, it was 
 thought, could not remain in this uncertain 
 state, nor was the present temporary pa- 
 geant of government likely to linger long 
 on the scene. But by whom was that scene 
 next to be opened ? Would a late return- 
 ing to ancient opinions induce a people. 
 who had suffered so much through innova- 
 tion, to recall either absolutely, or upon 
 conditions, the banished race of her ancient 
 Princes ? Or would a new band of Revolu- 
 tionists be permitted by Heaven, in its con- 
 tinued vengeance, to rush upon the stage ? 
 Would the supreme power become the 
 prize of some soldier as daring as Csesar. 
 or some intriguing statesman as artful as 
 Octavius ? Would France succumb be- 
 neath a Cromwell or a Monk, or again be 
 ruled by a Cabal of hackneyed statesmen, 
 or an Institute of Theoretical Philosophy, 
 or an anarchical Club of Jacobins ? These 
 were reflections which occupied almost all 
 bosoms. But the hand of Fate was on the 
 curtain, and about to bring the scene to 
 light. 
 
 CHAP. ZIZ. 
 
 Coriica. — Family of Buonaparte. — Napoleon bom lolh Augtut 1769 — His early Hab- 
 its—Sent to the Royal Military School at Brienne — His great Progress in Mathe- 
 matical Science — Deficiency in Classical Literature. — Anecdotes of him while at 
 School — Removed to the General School of Paris. — IVhen seventeen Years Old. 
 appointed 2d Lieutenant of Artillery — His early Politics — Promoteu to a Captaincy. 
 — Pascal Paoli. — Napoleon sides with the French Government against Paoli — Along 
 with his Brother Lucien, he ia banished from Corsica — Never revisits it — Alicayt 
 unpopular there. 
 
 The Island of Corsica was, in ancient 
 times, remarkable as the scene of Seneca's 
 exile, and in the last century was distin- 
 iniished by the memorable stand which the 
 natives made in defence of their liberties 
 a<^ainst the Genoese and French, during a 
 war which tended to show the high and in- 
 domitable spirit of the islanders, united as 
 it i« with the fiery and vindictive feelings 
 proper to their country and climate. 
 
 In this island, which was destined to de- 
 rive its future importaiice chiefly from the 
 rircum?:tance. Napoleon Buonaparte, 
 f>r Bonaparte,* had his origin. His fam- 
 
 * There wa» an ab?urd debate about the spelling 
 •f the name, which became, as trifles often do, a 
 •Mt ef {wrt; qoestioD. Buonapprte b4d diiiued 
 
 ily was noble, though not of much distinc- 
 tion, and rather reduced in fortune. Flat- 
 tery afterwards endeavoured to trace the 
 name which he had made famous, into re- 
 
 the iuperfluous u, which his father retained in the 
 name, and adopted a more modern spelling. Thii 
 was represented on one side as an attempt tu 
 bring his name more nearly to the French idioir ; 
 and, as if it had been a matter of the lact moment, 
 the vowel was obstinately replaced in the nanio, 
 by a class of writers who deemed it pohtic not to 
 permit the successful General to relinquish th» 
 slightest mark of his Italian extractiun, which wai 
 in every respect impossible fiir him either to cvn- 
 ceal or to deny, even if be had nourished such an 
 idea. In his baptismal reguter, his name is fpe.'l- 
 ed Napoleon Bonaparte, though the father sub- 
 Birribes, Carlo Buonaparte. The speUing s**.tiii !• 
 have be«a quite iodiffereat.
 
 196 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIX. 
 
 mote ages, and researches were mtide 
 through ancient records, to discover that 
 there was one Buonaparte who had written 
 ;t book, another who had signed a treaty — 
 a female of the name who had given birth 
 to a pope, with other minute claims of dis- 
 tinction, which Napoleon justly considered 
 a3 trivial, and unworthy of notice. He an- 
 swered the Emperor of Austria, who had a 
 fancy of tracing his son-in-law's descent 
 from one of the petty sovereigns of Treviso, 
 that he was the Rodolph of Hapsbourg of 
 his family ; and to a genealogist, who made 
 a merit of deducing his descent from some 
 ancient line of Gothic princes, he caused 
 reply to be made, that he dated his patent 
 of nobility from the battle of Monte Notte, 
 that is, from his first victory. 
 
 All that is known with certainty of Napo- 
 leon's family, may be told in few words. 
 The Buonapartes were a family of some 
 distinction in the middle ages ; their names 
 are inscribed in the Golden Book at Trevi- 
 so, and their armorial bearings are to be 
 seen on several houses in Florence. But 
 attached, during the civil war, to the party 
 of the Ghibellines, they of course were per- 
 secuted by the Guelphs ; and being exiled 
 from Tuscany^ one of the family took ref- 
 uge in Corsica, and there established him- 
 self and his successors, who were regularly 
 enrolled among the noble natives of the 
 island, and enjoyed all the privileges of 
 gentle blood. 
 
 The father of Napoleon, Charles Buona- 
 parte, was the principal descendant of this 
 exiled family. He was regularly educated 
 at Pisa, to the study of the law, and is stat- 
 ed to have possessed a very handsome per- 
 son ; a talent for eloquence, and a vivacity 
 of intellect, which he transmitted to his 
 son. He was a patriot also and a soldier, 
 and ass'sted at the gallant stand made by 
 Paoli against the French. It is said he 
 would have emigrated along with Paoli, 
 who was his friend, and, it is believed, his 
 kinsman, but was withheld by the influence 
 of his father's brother, Lucien Buonaparte, 
 who was Archdeacon of the Cathedral of 
 Ajaccio, and the wealthiest person of the 
 family. 
 
 It was in the middle of civil discord, 
 fights and skirmishes, that Charles Buona- 
 parte married Laetitia Ramolini, one of the 
 most beautiful young women of the island, 
 and possessed of a great deal of firmness of 
 character. She partook the dangers of her 
 husband during the years of civil war, and 
 is said to have accompanied him on horse- 
 back in some military expeditions, or per- 
 haps hasty flights, shortly before her being 
 delivered of the future Emperor. Though 
 left a widow in the prime of life, she had 
 already borne her husband thirteen children, 
 of whom five sons and three daughters sur- 
 vived him. I. Joseph, the eldest, who, 
 though placed by his brother in an obnox- 
 ious situation, as intrusive King of Spain, 
 held the reputation of a good and moderate 
 man. II. Napoleon himself. III. Lucien, 
 t».^aTce inferior to his brother in ambition 
 rtiid talent. IV. Louis, the merit of whose 
 rJiaracter consists in its unpretending worth, 
 
 and who renounced a crown rather than 
 consent to the oppression of his subjects. 
 V. Jerome, whose disposition is said to 
 liave been chiefly marked by a tendency to 
 dissipation. The females were, 1. Maria 
 Anne, afterwards Grand Duchess of Tusca- 
 ny, by the name of Elisa. II. Maria An- 
 nonciada, who became Maria Pauline, 
 Princess of Borghese. III. Carlotta, or 
 Caroline, wife of Murat, and Queen of 
 Naples. 
 
 The family of Buonaparte being recon- 
 ciled to the French government after the 
 emigration of Paoli, enjoyed the protection 
 of the Count de Marboeuf, the French Gov- 
 ernor of Corsica, by whose interest Charles 
 was included in a deputation of the nobles 
 of the island, sent to Louis X\'I. in 177C. 
 As a consequence of this mission, he was 
 appointed to a judicial situation, that of 
 assessor of the tribunal of Ajaccio, the in- 
 come of which aided him to maintain his 
 increasing family, which the smallness of 
 his patrimony, and some habits of expense, 
 would otherwise have rendered ditficult. 
 Charles Buonaparte, the father of Napole- 
 on, died at the age of about forty years, of 
 an ulcer in the stomach, on the Sltli Feb- 
 ruary 1785. His celebrated son fell a victim 
 to the same disease. During Napoleon's 
 grandeur, the community of Montpellier ex- 
 pressed a desire to erect a monument to 
 the memory of Charles Buonaparte. His 
 answer was both sensible and in good taste. 
 " Had I lost my father yesterday," he said, 
 " it would be natural to pay his memory 
 som3 mark of respect consistent with my 
 present situation. But it is twenty years 
 since the event, and it is one in which the 
 public can take no concern. Let us leave 
 the dead in peace." 
 
 The subject of our narrative was born 
 according to the best accounts, and his own 
 belief, upon the 15th day of August 176S, 
 at his father's house in Ajaccio, forming 
 one side of a court which leads out of the 
 Rue Charles.* We read with interest, that 
 his mother's good constitution, and bold 
 character of mind, having induced her to 
 attend mass upon the day of his birth, (be- 
 ing the Festival of the Assumption,) she 
 was obliged to return home immediately, 
 and as there was no time to prepare a bed 
 or bedroom, she was delivered of the future 
 victor upon a temporary couch prepared for 
 her accommodation, and covered with an 
 ancient piece of tapestry, representing the 
 heroes of the Iliad. The infant was chris- 
 tened by the name of Napoleon, an obscure 
 saint, who had dropped to leeward, and fall- 
 en altogether out of the calendar, so that hia 
 namesake never knew which day he ^vas to 
 celebrate as the festival of his patron. 
 When questioned on this subject by tlie 
 bishop who confirmed him, he answered 
 smartly, that there were a great many saints, 
 and only three hundred and sixty-five days 
 to divide amongst them. The politeness 
 of the Pope promoted the patron in order 
 to compliment the godchild, and Saint Na- 
 poleon des Ursins was accommodated with 
 
 * ^nsoa's Sl^etfbes of Corsica, p> 4
 
 Chap. XJX.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 197 
 
 a festival. To render this compliment, 
 which no one but a Pope could have paid, 
 Btill more flattering, the feast of Saint Na- 
 poleon was fixed for the fifteenth August, 
 the birth-day of the Emperor, and the day 
 on which he signed the Concordat So 
 that Napoleon had the rare honour of pro- 
 moting his patron saint. 
 
 The young Napoleon had, of course, 
 the simple and hardy education proper to 
 the natives of the mountainous island of 
 his birth, and in his infancy was not re- 
 markable for more than that animation of 
 temper, and wilfulness and impatience of 
 inactivity, by which children of quick 
 parts and lively sensibility are usually dis- 
 tinguished. The winter of the year was 
 generally passed by the family of liis fa- 
 ther at Ajaccio, where they still preserve 
 and exhibit, as the ominous plaything of 
 Napoleon's boyhood, the model of a brass 
 cannon, weighing about thirty pounds.* 
 We leave it to philosophers to inquire, 
 whether the future love of war was suggest- 
 ed by the accidental possession of such a 
 toy : or whether the tendency of the mind 
 dictated the selection of it: or, lastly, 
 whether the nature of the pastime, corre- 
 sponding with the taste which chose it, 
 may not have had each their action and re- 
 action, and contributed between them to 
 the formation of a character so warlike. 
 
 The same traveller who furnishes the 
 above anecdote, gives an interesting ac- 
 count of the country retreat of the family 
 of Buonaparte, during the summer. 
 
 Going silong the sea-shore from Ajaccio 
 towards the Isle Sanguiniere, about a mile 
 from the town, occur two stone pillars, the 
 remains of a door-way, leading up to a 
 dilapidated villa, once the residence of 
 Maaame Buonaparte's half-brother on the 
 mother's side, whom Napoleon created 
 Cardinal Fesch.f The house is approach- 
 ed by an avenue, surrounded and overhung 
 by the cactus and other shrubs, which luxu- 
 riate in a warm climate. It has a garden 
 and a lawa, showing amidst neglect vesti • 
 ges of their former beauty, and the house 
 is surrounded by shrubberies, permitted to 
 run to wilderness. This was the summer 
 residence of Madame Buonaparte and her 
 family. Almost inclosed by the wild olive, 
 the cactus, the clematis, and the almond- 
 tree, is a very singular and isolated granite 
 rock, cidled Napoleon's grotto, which seems 
 to have resisted the decomposition which 
 has taken place around. The remains of a 
 email summer-house are visible beneath 
 the rock, the entrance to which is nearly 
 closed by a luxuriant fig-tree. This was 
 Buonaparte's frequent retreat, when the 
 vacations of the school at which he studi- 
 ed permitted him to visit home. — How the 
 imagination labours to form an idea of the 
 visions, which, in this sequestered and ro- 
 mantic spot, must have arisen before the 
 
 • Sketches of Corsica, p. 4. 
 
 \ The mother of Letitia Ramolini, wife of Car- 
 lo Buonaparte, married a Swiss officer in the 
 French service, named Fesch, after the death of 
 Letitia'g father. 
 
 eyes of the future hero of a hundred bat- 
 tles ! 
 
 The Count de Marb(Euf, already men- 
 tioned as Governor of Corsica, interested 
 himself in the young Napoleon, so much aa 
 to obtain him an appointment to the Roy- 
 al Military School at Brienne, which was 
 maintained at the royal expense, in order 
 to bring up youth? for the engineer and «r- 
 tillery service. The malignity of contem- 
 porary historians has ascribed a motive of 
 gallantry towards Madame Buonaparte as 
 the foundation of this kindness ; but Count 
 Marbreuf had arrived at a period of life 
 when such connexions are not to be pre- 
 sumed, nor did the scandal receive any 
 currency from the natives of Ajaccio. 
 
 Nothing could be more suitable to the 
 nature of young Buonaparte's genius, than 
 the line of study which thus fortunately 
 was opened before him. His ardour for 
 the abstract sciences amounted to a pas- 
 sion, and was combined with a singular ap- 
 titude for applying them to the purposes 
 of war, while his attention to pursuits so 
 interesting and exhaustless in themselves, 
 was stimulated by his natural ambition and 
 desire of distinction. Almost all the sci- 
 entific teachers at Brienne, being accus- 
 tomed to study the character of their pu- 
 pils, and obliged by their duty to make 
 memoranda and occasional repwrts on the 
 subject, spoke of the talents of Buona- 
 parte, and the progress of his studies, witii 
 auiniration. Circumstances of various 
 kinds, exaggerated or invented, have been 
 circulated concerning the youth of a per- 
 son so remarkable. The following are giv- 
 en upon good authority.* 
 
 The conduct of Napoleon among hie 
 companions, was that of a studious and re- 
 served youth, addicting himself deeply to 
 the means of improvement, and rather 
 avoiding than seeking the usual tempta- 
 tions to dissipation of time. He had few 
 friends, and no intimates, yet at different 
 times, when he chose to exert it, he exhibit- 
 ed considerable influence over his fellow- 
 students, and when there was any joint plan 
 to be carried into eff"ect, he was frequently 
 chosen Dictator of the little republic. 
 
 In the time of winter, Buonaparte upon 
 one occasion engaged his companions in 
 constructing a fortress out of the snow, 
 regularly defended by ditches andbastions, 
 according to the rules of fortification. It 
 was considered as displaying the great pow- 
 ers of the juvenile engineer in the way of 
 his profession, and was attacked and de- 
 fended by the students, who divided into 
 parties for the purpose, until the battle be 
 came so keen that their superiors thought 
 it proper to proclaim a truce. 
 
 The young Buonaparte gave another in- 
 stance of address and enterprise upon the 
 following occasion. There was a fair held 
 
 * They were many years since communicated 
 to the author by Messrs. Joseph and Louis Law, 
 brothers of General Baron Lauriston, Buonaparte's 
 favourite aid-de-camp. These <re"tl<5™^"> "' ** 
 least Joseph, were educated at Brienne, but at a 
 later period than Napoleon. Their distinguiihea 
 brother was his contemporary.
 
 198 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIX. 
 
 annually in the neighbourhood of Brienne, 
 where the pupils of the Military School 
 used to find a day's amusement ; but on ac- 
 count of a quarrel betwixt them and the 
 country people upon a former occasion, or 
 for some such cause, the masters of the 
 Institution had directed that the students 
 should not on the fair-day be permitted to 
 go beyond their own precincts, which were 
 surrounded with a wall. Under the direc- 
 tion of the young Corsican, however, the 
 scholars had already laid a plot for securing 
 their usual day's diversion. They had un- 
 dermined the wall which encompassed their 
 exercising ground, with so much skill and 
 secrecy, that their operations remained en- 
 tirely unknown till the morning of the fair, 
 when a part of the boundary une.^pectedly 
 tell, and gave a free passage to the impris- 
 oned students, of which they immediately 
 took the advantage, by hurrying to the pro- 
 hibited scene of amusement. 
 
 But although on these, and perhaps other 
 occasions, Buonaparte displayed some of 
 the frolic temper of youth, mixed with the 
 inventive genius and the talent for com- 
 manding others by which he was distin- 
 guished in after time, his life at school was 
 in general that of a recluse and severe stu- 
 dent, acquiring by his judgment, and treas- 
 uring in his memory, that wonderful pro- 
 cess of almost unlimited combination, by 
 means of which he was afterwards able to 
 simplify the most difficult and complicated 
 undertaicings. His mathematical teacher 
 was proud of the young islander, as the 
 boast of his school ; and his other scientific 
 instructors had the same reason to be satis- 
 fied. 
 
 In languages Buonaparte was less a pro- 
 ficient, and never acquired the art of writ- 
 ing or spelling French, far less foreign lan- 
 guages, with accuracy or correctness ; nor 
 had the monks of Brienne any reason to 
 pride themselves on the classical proficien- 
 cy of their scholar. "The full energies of 
 his mind being devoted to the scientific 
 pursuits of his profession, left little time 
 or inclination for other studies. 
 
 Though of Italian origin, Buonaparte 
 had not a decided taste for the fine arts. 
 and his taste in composition seems to have 
 leaned towards the grotesque and the bom- 
 bastic. He used always the most exag- 
 gerated phrases ; and it is seldom, if ever, 
 Siat his bulletins present those touches of 
 sublimity which are founded on dignity and 
 f simplicity of expression. 
 / Notwithstanding the external calmness 
 ; and reserre of his deportment, he who was 
 destined for such great things, had, while 
 yet a student at Brienne, a full share of that 
 ambition for distinction and dread of dis- 
 grace, that restless and irritating love of 
 fame, which is the spur to extraordinary at- 
 tempts. Sparkles of this keen temper 
 sometimes showed themselves. On one oc- 
 casion, a harsh superintendent imposed on 
 the future Emperor, for some trifling fault, | 
 the disgrace of wearing a penitential dress, j 
 and being excluded from the table of the | 
 students, and obliged to eat his meal apart. ) 
 His pride felt the indignity so severely, i 
 
 that it brought on a severe nervous attack} 
 to which, though otherwise of good consti- 
 tution, he was subject upon occasions of 
 extraordinary irritation. Father Petrault, 
 the Professor of Mathematics, hastened to 
 deliver his favourite pupil from the punish- 
 ment by which he w.is so much affected. 
 
 It is also said that an early disposition to 
 the popular side distinguished Buonaparte 
 even when at Brienne. Pichegru, after- 
 wards so celebrated, who acted as his moni- 
 tor in the military school, (a singular cir- 
 cumstance,) bore witness to his early prin- 
 ciples, and to the peculiar energy and te- 
 nacity of his temper. He was long after- 
 wards consulted whether means might not 
 be found to engage the commander of the 
 Italian armies in the royal interest. " It 
 will be but lost time to attempt it," said 
 Pichegru. " I knew him in his youth — his 
 character is inflexible — he has taken hia 
 side, and he will not change it." 
 
 In 1783, Napoleon Buonaparte, then only 
 fourteen years old, was, though under the 
 usual age, selected by Monsieur de Kera- 
 lio, the inspector of the twelve military 
 schools, to be sent to have his education 
 completed in the general school of Paris. 
 It was a compliment paid to the precocity 
 of his extraordinary mathematical talent, 
 and the steadiness of his application. While 
 at Paris he attracted the same notice as at 
 Brienne ; and among other society, fre- 
 quented that of the celebrated Abbe Ray- 
 nal, and was admitted to his literary parties. 
 His taste did not become correct, but hia 
 appetite for study in all departments waa 
 greatly enlarged ; and notwithstanding the 
 quantity which he daily read, his memory 
 was strong enough to retain, and his judg- 
 ment sufficiently ripe to arrange and digest, 
 the knowledge which he then acquired ; so 
 that he had it at his command during all the 
 rest of his busy life. Plutarch was his fa- 
 Tourite author ; upon the study of whom he 
 had so modelled his opinions and habits of 
 thought, that Paoli afterwards pronounced 
 him a young man of an antique caste, and 
 resembling one of the classical herdfes. 
 
 Some of his biographers have about this 
 time ascribed to him the anecdote of a cer» 
 tain youthful pupil of the military school, 
 who desired to ascend in the car of a bal- 
 loon with the aeronaut Blanchard, and waa 
 so mortified at being refused, that he made 
 an attempt to cut the balloon with hia 
 sword. The story has but a flimsy support, 
 and indeed does not accord well with the 
 character of the hero, which was deep and 
 reflective, as well as bold and determined, 
 and not likely to suflfcr its energies to es- 
 cape in idle and useless adventure. 
 
 A better authenticated anecdote states, 
 that at this time he expressed himself disre- 
 spectfully towards the King in one of hia 
 letters to his family. According to the 
 practice of the school, he Nvas obliged to 
 submit the letter to the censorship of Mon- 
 sieur Domairon, the Professor ol Belles 
 Lettres, who, taking notice of the offensive 
 passage, insisted iipun the letter being burnt, 
 and added a severe rebuke. Long after- 
 wards, in 1802, Monsieur Domairon wa«
 
 Chap. XIX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 199 
 
 commanded to attend Napoleon's levee, in 
 order that he might receive a pupil in the 
 
 r^rson of Jerome Buonaparte ; when the 
 irst Consul reminded his old tutor good- 
 bumouredly,. that times had changed con- 
 siderably smce the burning of the letter. 
 
 Napoleon Buonaparte, in his seventeenth 
 year, received his first commission as sec- 
 ond lieutenant in a regiment of artillery, 
 and was almost immediately afterv.-ards pro- 
 moted to the rank, of first lieutenant in the 
 corps quartered at Valance. He mingled 
 with society when he joined his regiment, 
 more than he had hitherto been accustomed 
 to do ; mixed in public amusements, and ex- 
 hibited the powers of pleasing which he 
 possessed in an uncommon degree, when he 
 chose to exert them. His handsome and 
 intelligent features, with his active and 
 neat, though slight figure, gave him addi- 
 tional advantages. His manners could 
 scarcely be called elegant, but made up in 
 vivacity and variety of expression, and of- 
 ten in great spirit and energy, for what they 
 wanted in grace and polish. 
 
 He became an adventurer lor the honours 
 of literature also, and was anonymously a 
 competitor for the prize off'ered by the acad- 
 emy of Lyons on Raynal's question, " What 
 are the principles and institutions, by ap- 
 plication of which mankind can be raised 
 to the highest pitch of happiness ?" The 
 prize was adjudged to the young soldier. It 
 u impossible to avoid feeling curiosity to 
 know the character of the juvenile theories 
 respecting government, advocated by one 
 who at length attained the power of practi- 
 cally making what experiments he pleased. 
 Probably his early ideas did not exactly co- 
 incide with his more mature practice ; for 
 when Talleyrand, many years afterwards, 
 got the Essay out of the records of the 
 Academy, and returned it to the author, 
 Buonaparte destroyed it after he had read a 
 few paiges. He also laboured under the 
 temptation of writing a journey to Mount 
 Cenis, after the manner of Sterne, which 
 he was fortunate enough finally to resist. 
 The affectation which pervades Sterne's pe- 
 culiar style of composition, was not likely 
 to be simplified under the pen of Buona- 
 parte. 
 
 Sterner times were fast approaching, and 
 the nation v/as now fully divided by those 
 factions which produced the Revolution. 
 The officers of Buonaparte's regiment were 
 also divided into Royalists and Patriots ; 
 and it is easily to be imagined, that the 
 young and friendless stranger and adven- 
 turer should adopt that side to which he 
 had already shown some inclination, and 
 which promised to open the most free ca- 
 reer to those who had only their merit to 
 rely upon. " Were I general officer," he is 
 alleged to have said, " I would have ad- 
 hered to the King ; being a subaltern, I join 
 the Patriots." 
 
 There was a story current, that in a de- 
 bate with some brother officers on the poli- 
 tics of the time, Buonaparte expressed him- 
 self eo outrageously, that they were provok- 
 ed to throw him into the Rhone, where he 
 had nearly perished. But this ie an inac- 
 
 curate account of the accident which ac- 
 tually befell him. He was seized with the 
 cramp when bathing in t'.ie river. His com- 
 rades saved him with difficulty, but his dan- 
 ger was matter of pure chance. 
 
 Napoleon has himself recorded that he 
 was a warm patriot during the whole sitting 
 of the National .\ssembly ; but that on the 
 appointment of the Legislative Assembly, 
 he became shaken in his opinions. If so, 
 his original sentiments regained force ; for 
 we shortly afterwards find him entertaining 
 such as went to the extreme heights of tne 
 Revolution. 
 
 Early in the year 1792, Buonaparte be- 
 came a captain in the artillerj' by seniori- 
 ty ; and in the s.ime year, being at Paris, he 
 witnessed the two insurrections of the 22d 
 June and 10th .\ugust. He was accustom- 
 ed to speak of the insurgents as the most 
 despicable banditti, and to express with 
 what ease a determined officer could have 
 checked these apparently formiJable, but 
 dastardly and unwieldy masses. But with 
 what a different feeling of interest would 
 Napoleon have looked on that infuriated 
 populace, those still resisting though over- 
 powered Swiss, and that burning palace, had 
 any seer whispered to him, '' Emperor that 
 shall be, all this blood and massacre is but 
 to prepa'e your future empire !" Little an- 
 ticipatisag the potent effect which the pass- 
 ing eveats were to bear on his owti fortune, 
 Buonaparte, anxious for the safety of bis 
 mother and family, was now desirous to ex- 
 change France for Corsica, where the same 
 things were acting on a less distinguished 
 stage. 
 
 It was a singular feature in the French 
 Revolution, that it brought out from his re- 
 tirement the celebrated Pascal Paoli, who, 
 long banished from Corsica, the freedom 
 and independence of which he had so val- 
 iantly delended, returned from exile with 
 the Sattering hope of still witnessing the 
 progress of liberty in his native land. On 
 visiting Paris, he was received there with 
 enthusiastic veneration, and the National 
 Assembly and Royal Family contended 
 which should show him most distinction. 
 He was created President of the Depart- 
 ment, and Commander of the National 
 Guard of his native island, and used the 
 powers intrusted to him with great wisdom 
 and patriotism. 
 
 But Paoli's views of liberty were differ- 
 ent from those which unhappily began to 
 be popular in France. He was desirous of 
 establishing that freedom, which is the pro- 
 tector, not the destroyer of property, and 
 which confers practical happiness, instead 
 of aiming at theoretical perfection. In a 
 word, he endeavoured to keep Corsica free 
 from the prevailing infection of Jacobinism; 
 and in reward, he was denounced in the 
 Assembly. Paoli, summoned to attend ibr 
 the purpose of standing on his defence, de- 
 clined the journey on account of his age, 
 but offered to withdraw from the island. 
 
 A large proportion of the inhabitants took 
 part with the aged champion of their free- 
 dom, while the Convention sent an expedi- 
 tion, at the head of which were La Combe,
 
 200 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XIX, 
 
 Saint Michel, and Salicetti, one of the 
 Corsican deputies to the Convention, with 
 the usual instructions for bloodshed and 
 pillage issued to their commissaries. 
 
 Buonaparte was in Corsica, upon leave 
 of absence from hie regiment, when these 
 events were taking place ; and although he 
 himself, and Paoli, had hitherto been on 
 friendly terms, and some family relations 
 existed between them, the young artillery 
 officer did not hesitate which side to choose. 
 He embraced that of the Convention witli 
 heart and hand ; and his first military ex- 
 ploit was in the civil war of his native isl- 
 and. In the year 1793, he was despatched 
 from Bastia, in possession of the French 
 party, to surprise his native town Ajaccio, 
 then occupied by Paoli or his adherents. 
 Buonaparte was acting provisionally, as 
 commanding a battalion of National Guards. 
 He landed in the Gulf of Ajaccio with 
 about fifty men, to take possession of a 
 tower called the Torre di Capitello, on the 
 opposite side of the gulf, and almost facing 
 the city. He succeeded in taking the 
 place ; but as there arose a gale of wind 
 which prevented his communicating with 
 the frigate which had put him ashore, he 
 was besieged in his new conquest by the 
 opposite faction, and reduced to such dis- 
 tress, that he and his littie garrison were 
 obliged to feed on horse-flesh. After five 
 days he was relieved by the frigate, and 
 evacuated the tower, having first in vain 
 attempted to blow it up. The Torre di 
 Capitello still shows marks of tlie damage 
 it then sustained, and its remains may be 
 looked on as a curiosity, as the first scene 
 of Am combats, before whom 
 
 '♦ Temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground "* 
 
 A relation of Napoleon, Masserio by name, 
 effectually defended Ajaccio against the 
 force employed in the expedition. 
 
 The strength of Paoli increasing, and the 
 English preparing to assist him, Corsica 
 became no longer a safe or convenient res- 
 idence for the Buonaparte family. Indeed, 
 both Napoleon and his brother Lucien,who 
 
 * Such is the report of theCorsicans, concerning 
 the alleged fiist exploit of their celebrated coun- 
 tryman, bee Bensrn's Sketches, p. 4. But there 
 is room to believe that Buonaparte had been in 
 action so early as February 1793. Admiral Tru- 
 euet, with a strong fleet, and having on board a 
 large body of troops, had been at anchor for several 
 weeks in the Corsican harbours, announcing a de- 
 icent upon Sardinia. At length, having received 
 on board an additional number of forces, he set 
 sail on his expedition. Buonaparte is supposed to 
 have accompanied the Admiral, of whose talent 
 and judgment he is made in the Saint Helena MSS. 
 to speak with great contempt. Buonaparte suc- 
 ceeded in taking some batteries in the straits of 
 Saint Bonifacio j but the expedition proving un- 
 successful, they were speedily abandoned. 
 
 had distinguished themselves as partisans 
 of the French, were subjected to a decree 
 of banishment from their native island 5 and 
 Madame Buonaparte, with her three daugh- 
 ters, and Jerome, who was as yet but achild, 
 set sail under their protection, and settled 
 for a time, first at Nice, and afterwards at 
 Marseilles, where the family is supposed to 
 have undergone considerable distress, until 
 the dawning prospects of Napoleon afforded 
 him the means of assisting them. 
 
 Napoleon never again revisited Corsica, 
 nor does he appear to have regarded it with 
 any feelings of affection. One small foun- 
 tain at Ajaccio is pointed out as the only 
 ornament which his bounty bestowed oa 
 his birth-place. He might perhaps think 
 it impolitic to do anything whicli might re- 
 mind the country he ruled that lie was not 
 a child of her soil, nay, was in fact very near 
 having been bom an alien, for Corsica was 
 not united to, or made an integral part of 
 France, until June 1769, a few weeks only be- 
 fore Napoleon's birth. This stigma was re- 
 peatedly cast upon him by his opponents, 
 some of whom reproached the French with 
 having adopted a master, from a country from 
 which the ancient Romans were unwilling 
 even to choose a slave ; and Napoleon may 
 have been so far sensible to it, as to avoid 
 showing any predilection to the place of his 
 birth, which might bring the circumstance 
 strongly under observation of the great na- 
 tion, with which he and his family seemed 
 to be indissolubly united. But, as a travel- 
 ler already quoted, and who had the best 
 opportunities to become acquainted with 
 the feelings of the proud islanders, has ex- 
 pressed it, — " The Corsicans are still highly 
 patriotic, and possess strong local attach- 
 ment — in their opinion, contempt for the 
 country of one's birth is never to be re- 
 deemed by any other qualities. Napoleon, 
 therefore, certainly was not popular in 
 Corsica, nor is his memory cherished 
 there."* 
 
 The feelings of the parties were not un- 
 natural on either side. Napoleon, little 
 interested in the land of his birth, and hav- 
 ing such an immense stake in that of his 
 adoption, in which he had everything to 
 keep and lose,f observed a policy towards 
 Corsica which his position rendered advisa- 
 ble J and who can blame the high-spirited 
 islanders, who, seeing one of their country- 
 men raised to such exalted eminence, 
 and disposed to forget his connexion with 
 them, returned with slight and indifference 
 the disregard with which he treated them T 
 
 * Benson's Sketches of Corsica, p. 121. 
 
 f Not literally, however ; for it is worth men- 
 tioning, that when he was in full-blown possessioa 
 of his power, an inheritance fell to the family situ- 
 ated near Ajaccio, and was divided amongst them. 
 The first Consul, or Emprror, received an olive 
 garden as his share. — Sketches of Corsica.
 
 Chop. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 201 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 Sitge of Toulon. — Recapitulation. — Buonaparte appointed Brigadier- General of Ar- 
 tillery, with the Command qf the Artillery at Toulon — Finds everything in disorder 
 — His Plan for obtaining the Surrender of the Place — Adopted. — Anecdotes during 
 the Siege. — Allied Troops resolve to evacuate Toulon — Dreadful Particulars of the 
 Evacuation — England censured on this occasion. — Lord Lynedoch. — Fame of Buon- 
 aparte increases, and he is appointed Chief of Battalion in the Army of Italy — Joins 
 Head-quarters at Nice. — On the Fall of Robespierre, Buonaparte superseded in com- 
 mand — Arrives in Paris in May 1795 to solicit employment — He is unsuccessful. — 
 Talma. — Retrospect of the Proceedings of the National Assembly. — Difficulties in 
 forming a new Cotistitution. — Appointment of the Directory — of the Two Council* 
 of Elders and of Five Hundred. — Nation at large, and Paris in particular, disgusted 
 XDith their pretensions. — Paris assembles in Sections. — General Danican appointed 
 their Commander-in-Chief. — Menou appointed by the Directory to disarm the Nation- 
 al Guards — brit suspended for incapacity — Buonaparte appointed in hi.t room. — The 
 Day of the Sections. — Conflict betwixt the Troops of the Convention under Buona- 
 parte, and those of the Sections of Paris under Danican. — The latter defeated with 
 much slaughter. — Buonaparte appointed Second in Command of the Army of the In- 
 terior — then General iii Chief— Marries Madame Beauharnois — Her Character. — 
 Buonaparte immediately afterwards joins the Army of Italy. 
 
 a few battalions, would have been requi- 
 site ; and a general of consummate ability 
 must have held the chief command. This 
 was the more especially necessary, as Tou- 
 lon, from the nature of the place, must 
 have been defended by a war of posts, re- 
 quiring peculiar alertness, sagacity, and vi- 
 gilance. On the other hand, there were cir- 
 cumstances very favourable for the de- 
 fence, had it been conducted with talent 
 and vigour. In order to invest Toulon on 
 the right and left side at once, it was neces- 
 sary there should be two distinct blockad 
 ing armies ; and these could scarce com- 
 municate with each other, as a steep ridge 
 of mountains, called Pharon, must inter- 
 pose betwixt them. This gave opportunity 
 to the besieged to combine their force, and 
 choose the object of attack when they sal- 
 lied ; while, on the other hand, the two bod- 
 ies of besiegers could not easily connect 
 their operations, either for attack or de- 
 fence. 
 
 Lord Mulgrave, who commanded person- 
 ally in the place, notwithstanding th6 mot- 
 ley character of the garrison, and other dis- 
 couraging circumstances, began the defence 
 with spirit. Sir George Keith Elphinstone 
 also defeated the Republicans at tne moun- 
 tain-pass, called OUioulles. The English 
 for some time retained possession of this 
 important gorge, but were finally driven out 
 ffom it. Cartaux, a republican general 
 whom we have already mentioned, now ad- 
 vanced on the west of Toulon, at the head 
 of a very considerable army, while General 
 Lanoype blockaded the city on the east, 
 with a part of the army of Italy. It was the 
 object of the French to approach Toulon 
 on both sides of the mountainous ridge call- 
 ed Pharon. But on the east the town was 
 covered by the strong and regular fort of 
 La Malgue, and on the west side of the 
 road by a less formidable work, called Mnl 
 bosquet. To support Malbosquet, and to 
 protect the entrance to the roadstead .ind 
 the harbour, the English engineers fortified 
 with great skill an eminence, called Hai»- 
 teur de Graase. The height bent into \ 
 
 The siege of Toulon was the first incident 
 of importance, which enabled Buonaparte to 
 distinguish himself in the eyes of the French 
 government, and of the world at large. 
 
 We have already mentioned that a gene- 
 ral diffidence and dread of the proceedings 
 of the Jacobins, joined to the intrigues of 
 the Girondists, had, after the fall of the lat- 
 ter party, induced several of the princi- 
 pal towns in France to take arms against 
 the Convention, or rather against the Jac- 
 obin party, who had attained the com- 
 plete mastery in that body. We have also 
 said that Toulon, taking a more decided 
 step than either Marseilles or Lyons, had 
 declared for the King and the Constitution 
 of 1791, and invited the support of lb j F.ng- 
 lish and Spanish squadrons, who •xere cruis- 
 ing upon the coast. A disembarkation was 
 made, and a miscellaneous force Iiastily 
 collected, of Spaniards, Sardinians, Neapol- 
 itans, and English, was thrown into the 
 place. 
 
 This was one of the critical periods when 
 vigorous measures, on the part of the allies, 
 might have produced marked effects on the 
 result of the war. Toulon is the Arsenal 
 of France, and contained at that time im- 
 mense naval stores, besides a fleet of sev- 
 enteen sail of the line ready for sea, and 
 thirteen or fourteen more, which stood in 
 need of refitting. The possession of it was 
 of the last importance, and with a suffi- 
 ciently large garrison, or rather an army 
 strong enough to cover the more exposed 
 points without the town, the English might 
 nave maintained their footing at Toulon, as 
 they did at a later period both at Lisbon 
 .■uid Cadiz. The sea would, by maintaining 
 the defensive lines necessary to protect 
 the roadstead, have been entirely at the 
 cpmmand of the besieged ; and they could 
 have been supplied with provisions in any 
 quantity from Sicily, or the Barbary States, 
 vrhile the besiegers would have experienc- 
 ed great difficulty, such was the dearth in 
 Provence at the time, in supporting their 
 own army. But to have played this bold 
 ^juae. tiie presence of an arm^, instead of 
 Vofc. I. 18
 
 202 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 sort of baj, the two promontories of which 
 were secured by redoubts, named L'Eguil- 
 lotte and Balagniere, which communicated 
 with and supported the new fortification, 
 which the English had termed Fort Mul- 
 grave. 
 
 Several sallies and skirmishes took place, 
 m most of which the Republicans were 
 worsted. Lieutenant-General O'Hara ar- 
 rived from Gibraltar with reinforcements, 
 and assumed the chief command. 
 
 Little could be said for the union of the 
 commanders within Toulon ; yet their en- 
 terprises were so far successful, that the 
 French began to be alarmed at the slow 
 progress of the siege. The dearth of pro- 
 visions was daily increasing, the discontent 
 of the people of Provence was augmented; 
 the Catholics were numerous in the neigh- 
 bouring districts of Vivarais and Lower 
 Languedoc ; and Barras and Freron wrote 
 from Marseilles to the Convention, suggest- 
 ing that the siege of Toulon should be rais- 
 ed,* and the besieging army withdrawn be- 
 yond the Duramce. But while weaker 
 minds were despairing, talents of the first 
 order were preparing to achieve the con- 
 quest of Toulon. 
 
 Buonaparte, since his return from Corsi- 
 ca, seems to have enjoyed some protection 
 from his countryman Salicetti, the only 
 one of the Corsican deputies who voted 
 for the King's death, and a person to whom 
 the young artillery officer had been known 
 during the civil war of his native island. 
 Napoleon had shown that his own opinions 
 were formed on the model of the times, by 
 a small Jacobin publication, called Le Sou- 
 per de Beaucaire, a political dialogue be- 
 tween Marat and a Federalist, in %vhich the 
 latter is overwhelmed and silenced by the 
 arguments and eloquence of the Friend of 
 the People. Of this juvenile production 
 Buonaparte was afterwards so much asham- 
 ed, that he caused the copies to be collect- 
 ed and destroyed with the utmost rigour, 
 so that it is now almost impossible to meet 
 with one. It is whimsical to observe, that, 
 in the manuscripts of Saint Helena, he 
 mentions this publication as one in which 
 he assumed the mask of Jacobin principles, 
 merely to convince the Girondists and Roy- 
 alists that they were choosing an unfit time 
 for insurrection, and attempting it in a 
 bopelees manner. He adds, that it made 
 many converts. 
 
 Buonaparte's professional qualifications 
 were still better vouched than the sound- 
 ness of his political principles, though these 
 were sufficiently decided. The notes which 
 the inspectors of the Military School al- 
 ways preserve concerning their scholars, 
 described his genius as being of the first or- 
 der ; and to these he owed his promotion to 
 the rank of a brigadier-general of artillery, 
 with the command of the artillery during 
 the siege of Toulon. 
 
 ^Vhen he had arrived at the scene of ac- 
 tion, and had visited the posts of the be- 
 
 * This letter apptaire<l in the Moniteur, 10th De- 
 roirber 1733. But as the town of Toulon was ta- 
 km a few days afterwards, the CoDveotioa voted 
 iha lettec a fabriaatioo 
 
 sieging army, he found so many marks of 
 incapacity, that he could not conceal his 
 astonishment. Batteries had been erect* 
 ed for destroying the English shipping, but 
 they were three gun-shots' distance from 
 the point which they were designed to 
 command; red-hot balls were preparing, 
 but they were not heated in furnaces be- 
 side the guns, but in the country-houses in 
 the neighbourhood at the most ridiculous 
 distance, as if they had been articles of ea- 
 sy and ordinary transportation. Buonaparte 
 with difficulty obtained General Cartaux's 
 permission to make a shot or two by way 
 of experiment ; and when they fell more 
 than half-way short of the mark, the Gener- 
 al had no excuse but to rail against the aris- 
 tocrats, who had, he said, spoiled tha quality 
 of the powder with which he was supplied. 
 The young officer of artillery, with pru- 
 dence, and at the same time with spirit 
 made his remonstrances to the member of 
 Convention, Gasparin, who witnessed th« 
 experiment, and explained the necessity of 
 proceeding more systematically, if any suc- 
 cessful result was expected. 
 
 At a council of war, where Gasparin 
 presided, the instructions of the Committee 
 of Public Safety were read, directing that 
 the siege of Toulon should be commenced 
 according to the usual forms, by investing 
 the body of the place, in other words, the 
 citv itself The orders of the Committe« 
 of Public Safety were no safe subject of 
 discussion or criticism for those who wer« 
 to act under them ; yet Buonaparte ventur- 
 ed to recommend their being departed from 
 on this important occasion. His compre- 
 hensive genius had at once discovered a less 
 direct, yet more certain manner, of obtain- 
 ing the surrender of the place. He advi^ 
 ed, that neglecting the body of the town, 
 the attention of the besiegers should be 
 turned to attain possession of the promoi>- 
 tory called Hauteur de Grasse, by driving 
 the besieged from the strong work of Fort 
 Mulgrave. and the two redoubts of L'EguiU 
 lette and Balagniere, by means of which the 
 English had established the line of defence 
 necessary to protect the fleet and harbour. 
 The fortress of Malbosquet, on the same 
 point, he also recommended as a principai 
 object of attack. He argued, that if the be- 
 siegers succeeded in possessing themselves 
 of these fortifications, they must obtain a 
 complete command of the roads where the 
 English fleet lay, and oblige them to put 
 to sea. They would, in the same manner, 
 effectually command the entrance of the 
 bay, and prevent supplies or provisions 
 from being thrown into the city. If th* 
 garrison were thus in danger of being to- 
 tally cut off" from supplies by their vessels 
 being driven from their anchorage, it waa 
 natural to suppose that the English troop* 
 would rather evacuate Toulon than remain 
 within the place, blockaded on all sides, 
 until they might be compelled to surrender 
 by famir,e. 
 
 The plan was adopted by the council of 
 war after much hesitation, and the yoanii 
 officer by whom it was projected receiveo 
 full powers to carry it c.o. Ue laiiied roatMl
 
 Ghttp XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 203 
 
 him a number of excellent artillery officers 
 &nd soldiers ; assembled against Toulon 
 more than two hundred pieces of cannon, 
 well ser/ed ; and stationed them so advan- 
 tageously, that he annoyed considerably the 
 English vessels in the roads, even before 
 he had constructed those batteries on which 
 he depended for reducing Fort Mulgrave 
 and Malbosquet, by which they were in a 
 great measure protected. 
 
 In the meanwhile, General Doppet, for- 
 merly a physician, had superseded Cartaux, 
 whose incapacity could no longer be con- 
 cealed by his rhodomontading language ; 
 and, wonderful to tell, it had nearly been 
 the fate of the ex-doctor to take Toulon, at 
 a time when such an event seemed least 
 within his calculation. A tumultuary attack 
 of Bome of the young French Carmagnoles 
 on a body of Spanish troops which garrison- 
 ed Fort Mulgrave, had very nearly been 
 successful. Buonaparte galloped to the 
 spot, hurrying his reluctant commander 
 along with him, and succours were ordered 
 to advance to support the attack, when an 
 aid-de-camp was shot by Doppet's side ; on 
 which the medical general, considering this 
 as a bad symptom, pronounced the case 
 desperate, and, to Buonaparte's great indig- 
 nation, ordered a retreat to be commenced. 
 Doppet being found as incapable as Car- 
 taux, was in his turn superseded by Du- 
 gommier, a veteran who had served for fifty 
 years, was covered with scars, and as fear- 
 less as the weapon he wore. 
 
 From this time the Commandant of Ar- 
 tillery, having the complete concurrence 
 of his General, had no doubt of success. 
 To ensure it, however, he used the utmost 
 vigilance and exertion, and exposed his per- 
 son to every risk. 
 
 One of the dangers which he incurred 
 was of a singular character. An artillery- 
 man being shot at the gun which he was 
 serving, while Napoleon was visiting a bat- 
 tery, he took up the dead man"s rammer, 
 and to give encouragement to the soldiers, 
 charged the gun repeatedly with his own 
 hands. In consequence of using this im- 
 plement he caught an infectious cutaneous 
 complaint, which, being injudiciously treat- 
 ed and thrown inward, was of great preju- 
 dice to his health, until after his Italian 
 campaigns, when he was completely cured 
 by Dr Corvissart; after which, for the first 
 time, he showed that tendency to embon- 
 point, which marked the latter part of his 
 Ufe. 
 
 Upon another occasion, while Napoleon 
 was overlooking the construction nl a bat- 
 tery, which the enemy endeavoured to in- 
 terrupt by their fire, he called tor some per- 
 son who could write, that he might dictate 
 an order. A young soldier stepped out of 
 the ranks, and resting the paper on the 
 breast-work, began to write accordingly. 
 A shot from the enemy's battery covered 
 tho letter with earth the instant it was fin- 
 ished. " Thank you — we shall have no oc- 
 casion for sand this bout," said the military 
 secretary. The gaiety and courage of the 
 remark drew Buonaparte's attention on the 
 ToiMig man, who was the celebrated Gener- 
 
 al Junot, afterwards created Duke D'Abran- 
 tes. During th's siege, also, he discovered 
 the talents of Duroc, afterwards one of his 
 most faithful adherents. In these and ma- 
 ny other instances, Buonaparte showed his 
 extensive knowledge of mankind, by the 
 deep sagacity which enabled him to discov- 
 er and attach to him those, whose talents 
 were most distinguished, and most capable 
 of rendering him service. 
 
 Notwithstanding the influence which the 
 Commandant of Artillery had acquired, he 
 found himself occasionally thwarted by the 
 members of the Convention upon missiou 
 to the siege of Toulon, who latterly were 
 Freron, Ricors, Salicetti, and the younger 
 Robespierre. These representatives of the 
 people, knowing that their commission gave 
 them supreme power over generals and ar- 
 mies, never seem to have paused to consid- 
 er whether nature or education had quali- 
 fied them to exercise it with advantage to 
 the public and credit to themselves. The} 
 criticised Buonaparte's plan of attack, find 
 ing it impossible to conceive how his op- 
 erations, being directed against detached 
 fortifications at a distance from Toulon, 
 could be eventually the means of placing 
 the town itself with facility in their hands 
 But Napoleon was patient and temporising j 
 and having the good opinion of Salicetti 
 and some intimacy with young Robespierre 
 he contrived to have the works conducted 
 according to his own plan. 
 
 The presumption of these dignitaries be- 
 came the means of precipitating his opera- 
 tions. It wais his intention to complete his 
 proposed works against Fort Mulgrave be- 
 fore opening a large and powerful battery, 
 which he had constructed with great silence 
 and secrecy against Malbosquet, so that the 
 whole of his meditated assault might con- 
 found the enemy by commencing at the same 
 time. The operations being shrouded by an 
 olive plantation, had been completed with- 
 out being observed by the English, whom 
 Buonaparte proposed to attack on the whole 
 line of defence simultaneously. Messrs. 
 Freron and Robespierre, however, in visit- 
 ing the military posts, stumbled upon this 
 masked oattery ; and having no notion why 
 four mortars and eight twenty -four pounders 
 should remain inactive, they commanded 
 the fire to be opened on Malbosquet with- 
 out any farther delay. 
 
 General G'Hara, confounded at finding 
 this important post exposed to a fire so for- 
 midable and unexpected, determined by a 
 strong effort to carry the French battery at 
 once. Three thousand men were employ- 
 ed in this sally ; and the General himself, 
 rather contrary to what is considered the 
 duty of the governor of a place of impor- 
 tance, resolved to put himself at their head. 
 The sally was at first completely success- 
 ful; but while the English pursued the tiip- 
 my too far, in all the confidence of what 
 they considered as assured victory, Buona- 
 parte availed himself of some broken ground 
 and a covered way, to rally a strong body of 
 troops, bring up reserves, and attack the 
 scattered English both in flank and rear 
 There was a warm skirmiih, in which N|k
 
 204 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 poleon himself received a bayonet wound 
 in the thigh, by which, though a serious in- 
 jury, he was not, however, disabled. The 
 English were thrown into irretrievable con- 
 fusion, and retreated, leaving their General 
 wounded, and a prisoner in the hands of the 
 enemy. It is singular, that during his long 
 warfare, Buon&parte was never personally 
 engaged with the British, e.\cept in his first, 
 and at Waterloo, his last and fatal battle. 
 The attack upon Acre can scarce be termed 
 an exception, as far as his own person was 
 concerned. 
 
 The loss of their commandant, added to 
 the discouragement which began to prevail 
 among the defenders of Toulon, together 
 with the vivacity of the attack, which en- 
 sued, seem finally to have disheartened the 
 garrison. Five batteries were opened on 
 Fort Mulgrave, the possession of which 
 Buonaparte considered as ensuring success. 
 After a fire of twenty-four hours, Dugom- 
 mier and Napoleon resolved to try the fate 
 of a general attack, for which the represen- 
 tatives of the people showed no particular 
 zeal. The attacking columns advanced be- 
 fore day, during a heavy shower of rain. 
 They were at first driven back on every 
 point by the most determined opposition ; 
 and Dugommier, as he saw the troops fly 
 in confusion, exclaimed, well knowing the 
 consequences of bad success to a General 
 of the Republic, " I am a lost man !" Re- 
 newed efforts, however, at last prevailed ; 
 the Spanish artillerymen giving way on one 
 point, the fort fell into the possession of the 
 French, who showed uo mercy to its de- 
 fenders. 
 
 Three hours, according to Buonaparte, 
 after the fort was taken, the representatives 
 of the people appeared in tne trenches, 
 with drawn swords, to congratulate the sol- 
 diers on their successful valour, and hear 
 from their Commandant of Artillery the 
 reiterated assurance, that, this distant fort 
 being gained, Toulon was now their own. 
 In their letter to the Convention, the depu- 
 ties gave a more favourable account of 
 their own exploits, and failed not to repre- 
 sent Ricors, Salicetti, and young Robes- 
 pierre, as leading the attack with sabre in 
 hand, and, to use their own phrase, show- 
 ing the troops the road to victory. On the 
 other hand, they ungraciously forgot, in 
 their despatches, to mention so much as 
 the name of Buonaparte, to whom the vic- 
 tory was entirely to be ascribed. 
 
 In the meantime. Napoleon's sagacity 
 was not deceived in the event. The offi- 
 cers of the allied troops, after a hurried 
 council of war, resolved to evacuate Tou- 
 lon, since the posts gained by the French 
 must drive the English ships from their an- 
 chorage, and deprive them of a future op- 
 portunity of retreating, if they neglected 
 the passing moment. Lord Hood alone 
 urged a bolder resolution, and recommend- 
 ed the making a desperate effort to regain 
 Fort Mulgrave, and the heights which it 
 commanded. But his spirited council was 
 rejected, and the evacuation resolved on ; 
 which the panic of the foreign troops, es- 
 pecially the Neapolitans, would have ren- 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 dered still more horrible than it proved, 
 but for the steadiness of the British seamen. 
 
 The safety of the unfortunate citizens, 
 who had invoked their protection, was not 
 neglected even amid the confusion of the 
 retreat. The numerous merchant vessels 
 and other craft, offered means of transpor- 
 tation to all, who, having to fear the resent- 
 ment of the republicans, might be desirous 
 of quitting Toulon. Such was the dread 
 of the victors' cruelty, that upwards of four- 
 teen thousand persons accepted this mel- 
 ancholy refuge. Meantime there was oth- 
 er work to do. 
 
 It had been resolved, that the arsenal and 
 naval stores, with such of the French shipa 
 as were not ready for sea, should be de- 
 stroyed ; and tliey were set on fire accord- 
 ingly. This task was in a great measure 
 intrusted to the dauntless intrepidity of Sir 
 Sidney Smith, who carried it through with 
 a degree of order, which, everything con- 
 sidered, was almost marvellous. The as- 
 sistance of the Spaniards was offered and 
 accepted ; and they undertook the duty of 
 scuttling and sinking two vessels used aa 
 powder magazines, and destroying some 
 part of the disabled shipping. The rising 
 conflagration growing redder and redder, 
 seemed at length a great volcano, amid 
 which were long distinctly seen the masts 
 and yards of the burning vessels, and which 
 rendered obscurely visible the advancing 
 bodies of republican troops, who attempted 
 on different points to push their way into 
 the place. The Jacobins began to rise in 
 the town upon the flying Royalists ; — horrid 
 screams and yells of vengeance, and revo- 
 lutionary chorusses, were heard to mingle 
 with the cries and plaintive entreaties of 
 the remaining fugitives, who had not yet 
 found means of embarkation. The guns 
 from Malbosquet, now possessed by the 
 French, and turned on the bulwarks of the 
 town, increased the uproar. At once a 
 shock like that of an earthquake, occasion- 
 ed by the explosion of many hundred bar 
 rels of gunpowder, silenced all noise save 
 its own, and threw high into the midnight 
 heaven a thousand blazing fragments, which 
 descended, threatening ruin wherever they 
 fell. A second explosion took place, as 
 the other magazine blew up, with the same 
 dreadful effects. 
 
 This tremendous addition to the terrors 
 of the scene, so dreadful in itself, was ow- 
 ing to the Spaniards setting fire to those 
 vessels used as magazines, instead of sink- 
 ing them, according to the plan which had 
 been agreed upon. Either from ill-will, 
 carelessness, or timidity, they were equal- 
 ly awkward in their attempts to destroy the 
 dismantled ships intrusted to their charge, 
 which fell into the hands of the French but 
 little damaged. The British fleet, with the 
 flotilla crowded with fugitives which it es- 
 corted, left Toulon without loss, notwith- 
 standing an ill-directed fire maintained on 
 them from the batteries which the French 
 had taken. 
 
 It was upon this night of terror, confla- 
 gration, tears, and blood, that the star of 
 Napoleon first ascended the horizon;. and
 
 Chap. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 305 
 
 though it gleamed over many a scene of 
 horror ere it set, it may be doubtful wheth- 
 er its light was ever blended with those of 
 one more dreadful. 
 
 The capture of Toulon crushed all the 
 hopes of resistance to the Jacobins, which 
 had been cherished in the south of France. 
 There was a strong distrust excited against 
 England, who was judged only desirous to 
 avail herself of the insurrection of these 
 unhappy citizens to cripple and destroy the 
 naval power of France, without the wish 
 of effectually assisting the Royalists. This 
 was an unjust belief, but it cannot be de- 
 nied that there were specious grounds for 
 the accusation. The undertaking the pro- 
 tection of a city in such a situation as that 
 of Toulon, if the measure was embraced 
 at all, should have been supported by efforts 
 worthy of the country whose assistance was 
 implored and granted. Such efforts were 
 not made, and the assistance actually af- 
 forded was not directed by talent, and was 
 squandered by disunion. The troops show- 
 ed gallantry ; but the leaders, excepting the 
 naval officers, evinced little military skill, 
 or united purpose of defence. One gentle- 
 man, then in private life, chancing to be in 
 Toulon at the time, distinguished himself 
 as a volunteer,* and has since achieved a 
 proud career in the British army. Had he, 
 or such as he, been at the head of the gar- 
 rison, the walls of Toulon might have seen 
 a battle like that of Barossa, and a very dif- 
 ferent result of the siege might probably 
 have ensued. 
 
 So many of the citizens of Toulon con- 
 cerned in the late resistance had escaped, 
 by the means provided by the English, that 
 republican vengeance could not collect its 
 victims in the usual numbers. Many were 
 shot, however, and it his been said that 
 Buonaparte commanded the artillery, by 
 which, as at Lyons, they were exterminat- 
 ed 5 and also, that he wrote a letter to Fre- 
 ron and the younger Robespif:rre, congratu- 
 lating them and himself on the execution of 
 these aristocrats, and signed Brutus Buona- 
 parte, Sans-culotte. If he actually com- 
 manded at this execution, he had the poor 
 apology, that he must do so or himself per- 
 ish ; but, had the fact and the letter been 
 genuine, there has been enough of time 
 since his downfall to prove the truth of the 
 accusation, and certainly enough of writers 
 disposed to give these proofs publicity. He 
 himself positively denied the charge ; and 
 alleged that the victims were shot by a de- 
 tachment of what was called the Revolu- 
 tionary Army, and not by troops of the line. 
 This we think higlily probable. Buonaparte 
 has besides affirmed, that far from desiring 
 to sharpen the vengeance of the Jacobins, or 
 act as their agent, he hazarded the displeas- 
 ure of those whose frown was death, by in- 
 terposing his protection to save the unfor- 
 tunate family of Chabrillant. emigrants and 
 
 *Mr. Graham ofBalgowan, now Lord Lynedoch. 
 He marched out on one nf the sorties, and when 
 the affair hccarae hot, seized the musket and car- 
 touch-hox of a fallen soldier, and afforded such an 
 example to the troops, as contributed greatly to 
 their gaining the object desired. 
 
 aristocrats, who, being thrown by a storm 
 on the coast of France, shortiy after the 
 siege of Toulon, became liable to punish- 
 ment by the guillotine, but whom he saved 
 by procuring them the means of escape by 
 sea. 
 
 In the meanwhile the young General of 
 Artillery was rapidly rising in reputation. 
 The praises which were suppressed by the 
 representatives of the people, were willing- 
 ly conferred and promulgated by the frank, 
 old veteran, Dugommier. Buonaparte's 
 name was placed on the list of those whom 
 he recommended for promotion, with the 
 pointed addition, that if neglected, he would 
 be sure to force his own way. He was ac- 
 cordingly confirmed in his provisional situa^ 
 tion of Chief of Battalion, and appointed to 
 hold that rank in the Army of Italy. Before 
 joining that army, the genius of Napoleon 
 was employed by the Convention in survey- 
 ing and fortifying the sea-coast of the Med- 
 iterranean ; a very troublesome task, as it 
 involved many disputes with the local au- 
 thorities of small towns and villages, and 
 even hamlets, all of whom wished to have 
 batteries erected for their own special pro- 
 tection, without regard to the general safe- 
 ty. It involved him, moreover, as we shall 
 presently see, in some risk with the Con- ~ 
 vention at home. 
 
 The chief of battalion discharged his 
 task scientifically. He divided the neces- 
 sary fortifications into three classes, distin- 
 guisiiiag those designed to protect harbours 
 and roadsteads, from such as were intend- 
 ed to defend anchorages of less conse- 
 quence, and both from the third class, 
 which were to be placed on proper situa- 
 tions, to prevent insults and partial de- 
 scents on the coast by an enemy superior 
 at sea. Napoleon dictated to General 
 Gourgaud hints on this subject, which must 
 be of consequence to the sea coasts which 
 need such military defences.* 
 
 Having made his report to the Conven- 
 tion, Buonaparte proceeded to join the head 
 quarters of the French army, then lying 
 at Nice, straitened considerably and hem- 
 med in by the Sardinians and Austrians, 
 who, after some vain attempts of General 
 Brunet to dislodge them, had remained 
 masters of the ColdiTende,and lower pasa- 
 es of the .\lps, together with the road 
 leading from Turin to Nice by Saorgio. 
 
 Buonaparte had influence enough to re- 
 commend with success to the general, Du- 
 morbion. and the representatives of the 
 people, Ricors and Robespierre, a plan for 
 driving the enemy out of this position, forc- 
 ing them to retreat beyond the higher Alps, 
 and taking Saorgio ; all which measurea 
 succeeded as he had predicted. Saorgio 
 surrendered, with much stores and baggage, 
 and the French army obtained possession 
 of the ch.ain of the higher Alps,t which, bc- 
 
 * .\n Englishman will probably remember the 
 sublime passage in " The mariners of England j" — 
 Britannia needs no bulwark, 
 Xo towers along the steep : 
 Her march is on the Mountain-wave, 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 t The .'Sardinians were dislodged from tke Col 
 di Tcnde, 7th of May 1794.
 
 206 
 
 LIFE OF N.^POLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 ing tenable by defending few and difficult 
 passes, placed a great part of the Army of 
 Italy, (as it was already termed, though on- 
 ly upon the frontier,) at disposal for actual 
 service. While directing the means of at- 
 taining these successes, Buonaparte, at the 
 same time, acquired a complete acquaint- 
 ance with that Alpine country, in which he 
 was shortly to obtain victories in his own 
 name, not in that of others, who obtained 
 reputation by acting on his suggestions. 
 But while he was thus employed, he was 
 involved in an accusation before the Con- 
 vention, which, had his reputation been less 
 for approved patriotism, might have cost 
 him dear. 
 
 In his plans for the defence of the Med- 
 iterranean, Napoleon had proposed repair- 
 ing an old state prison at Marseilles, called 
 the fort of Saint Nicholas, that it might serve 
 aa a powder magazine. This plan his suc- 
 cessor on the station proceeded to exe- 
 cute, and by doing so gave umbrage to the 
 patriots, who charged the commandant of 
 artillery then at Marseilles, and superin- 
 tending the work, with an intention to re- 
 build this fort to serve as a Bastille for con- 
 trolling the good citizens. The officer be- 
 ing summoned to the bar of the Conven- 
 tion, proved that the plan was not his own, 
 but drawn out by Buonaparte. The repre- 
 sentatives of the army in Italy, however, 
 not being able to dispense with his servi- 
 ces, wrote to the Convention in his behalf, 
 and gave such an account of the origin and 
 purpose of the undertaking, as divested it 
 of sdl shade of suspicion, even in the sus- 
 picious eye of the Committee of Public 
 bafety. 
 
 In the remainder of the year 1794, there 
 was little service of consequence in the Ar- 
 my of Italy, and the 9th and 10th Thermi- 
 dor (27th and 28th July) of that year, 
 brought the downfall of Robespierre, and 
 threatened unfavourable consequences to 
 Buonaparte, who had been the friend of 
 the tyrant's brother, and was understood to 
 have participated in the tone of exaggerat- 
 ed patriotism affected by his party. He 
 endeavoured to shelter himself under his 
 ignorance of the real tendency of the pro- 
 ceedings of those who had fallen ; an apol- 
 ogy which resolves itself into the ordinary 
 excuse, that he found his late friends had 
 not been the persons he took them for. 
 According to this line of defence, he made 
 all haste to disclaim accession to the polit- 
 ical schemes of which they were accused. 
 " I am somewhat affected," he \vrote to a 
 correspondent, " at the fate of the younger 
 Robespierre ; but had he been my brother. 
 I would have poniarded him with my own 
 hand, had I been aware that he was forming 
 schemes of tyranny." 
 
 Buonaparte's disclamations do not seem 
 at first to have been favourably received. 
 His situation was now precarious, and when 
 those members were restored to the Con- 
 vention, who had been expelled and pro- 
 scribed by the Jacobins, it became still more 
 eo. The reaction of the moderate party, 
 accompanied by horrible recollections of 
 ii^B past, and fears for the future, began 
 
 now to be more strongly felt, as their nam- 
 bers in the Convention acquired strength. 
 Those officers who had attached them- 
 selves to the Jacobin party, were the objects 
 of their animosity ; and besides, they were 
 desirous to purify the armies as far as pos- 
 sible of those whom they considered aa 
 their own enemies, and those of good or- 
 der; the rather, tliat the Jacobinical prin- 
 ciples still continued to be more favoured 
 in the armies than in the interior. 
 
 To the causes of this we have before al- 
 luded ; but it may not be unnecessary to re- 
 peat, that the soldiers had experienced all 
 the advantages of the fierce energies of a 
 government which sent them out to con- 
 quest, and offered them the means of 
 achieving it; and they had not been wit- 
 nesses to the atrocities of their tyranny in 
 the interior. It was highly desirable to the 
 moderate party to diminish the influence of 
 the Jacobins with the army, by dismissing 
 the officers supposed most friendly to such 
 principles. Buonaparte, among others, was 
 superseded in his command, and for a time 
 detained under arrest. This was removed 
 by means of the influence which his coun- 
 tryman Salicetti still retained among the 
 Thermidoriens, and Buonaparte appears to 
 have visited Marseilles, though in a condi- 
 tion to give or receive little consolatioo 
 from his family. 
 
 In May 1795, he came to Paris to solicit 
 employment in his profession. He found 
 himself unfriended and indigent in the city 
 of which he was at no distant period to b« 
 the ruler. Some individuals, however, as- 
 sisted him, and among others the celebrat- 
 ed performer Talma, who had known him 
 while at the Military School, and even then 
 entertained high expectations of the part in 
 life which was to be played by " U petit 
 Bonaparte."* 
 
 On the other hand, as a favourer of th« 
 Jacobins, his solicitations for employment 
 were resolutely opposed by a person of con- 
 siderable influence. Aubry, an old officer 
 of artillery, president of the military com- 
 mittee, placed himself in strong opposition 
 to his pretensions. He had been nominat- 
 ed as removed from the artillery service to 
 be placed in that of the infantry. He re- 
 monstrated with great spirit against this 
 proposed change ; and when, in the heat of 
 discussion, Aubry objected his youth, Buon- 
 aparte replied, that presence in the field of 
 battle ought to anticipate the claim of years. 
 The president, who had not been much in 
 action, considered his reply as a personal in- 
 sult ; and Napoleon, disdaining farther ao- 
 swer, tendered his resignation. It was not, 
 however, accepted ; and he still remained 
 in the rank of expectants, but among thosa 
 whose hopes were entirely dependent upon 
 their merits. 
 
 Buonaparte had something of his native 
 country in his disposition — he forgot nei- 
 ther benefits nor injuries. He was always, 
 during the height of his grandeur, particu- 
 larly kind to Talma, and honoured him even 
 with a degree of intimacy. As for Aubry, 
 
 * Oa the authority of the late John Philip KenbW
 
 Chap. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 207 
 
 being amongst those belonging to Pichegru's 
 party who were banished to Cayenne, he 
 caused him to be excepted from the decree 
 vhich permitted the return of those unfor- 
 tunate exiles, and Aubry died at Demarara. 
 
 Meantime, his situation becoming daily 
 more unpleasant, Buonaparte solicited Bar- 
 ras and Freron, who, as Thermidoriens, 
 had preserved their credit, for occupation 
 in almost any line of his profession, and 
 even negotiated for permission to go into 
 the Turkish service, to train the Mussul- 
 mans to the use of artillery. A fanciful 
 imagination may pursue him to the rank of 
 Pacha, or higher ; for, go where he would, 
 he could not have remained in mediocrity. 
 His own ideas had a similar tendency. 
 " How strange," he said, " it would be, if a 
 little Corsican officer of artillery were to 
 become King of Jerusalem !" He was of- 
 fered a command in La Vendee, which he 
 declined to accept, and was finally named to 
 command a brigade of artillery in Holland. 
 But it was in a land where there still exist- 
 ed so many separate and conflicting factions 
 as in France, that he was doomed to be 
 raised, amid the struggles of his contending 
 countrymen, and upon their shoulders and 
 over their heads, to the very highest emi- 
 nence to which Fortune can exalt an indi- 
 vidual. The times required such talents as 
 his, and the opportunity for exercising them 
 Boon arose. 
 
 The French nation were in general tired 
 of the National Convention, which succes- 
 sive proscriptions had drained of all the 
 talent, eloquence, and energy, it had once 
 possessed ; and that Assembly had become 
 hateful and contemptible to all men, by 
 Buffering itself to be the passive tool of the 
 Terrorists for two years, when, if they had 
 shown proper firmness, the revolution of 
 the 9th Thermidor might as well have been 
 achieved at the beginning of that frightful 
 anarchy, as after that long period of unheard- 
 of Buffering. The Convention was not 
 greatly improved in point of talent, even 
 by the return of their banished brethren ; 
 and, in a word, they had lost the confidence 
 of the public entirely. They therefore 
 prepared to gratify the general wish by dis- 
 solving themselves. 
 
 But before they resigned their ostensible 
 authority, it was necessary to prepare some 
 mode of carrying on the government in fu- 
 ture. 
 
 The Jacobin constitution of 1793 still ex- 
 isted on paper ; but although there was an 
 unrepealed law, menacing with death any 
 one who should propose to alter that form 
 of government, no one appeared disposed 
 to consider it as actually in exercise ; and 
 notwithstanding the solemnity with which 
 it had been received and ratified by the 
 tanction of the national voice, it was actu- 
 ally passed over and abrogated as a matter 
 of course, by a tacit but unanimous con- 
 tent. Neither was there any disposition to 
 adopt the Girondist constitution of 1791, 
 or to revert to the democratic monarchy of 
 1792, the only one of these models which 
 eould be said to have had even the dubious 
 •oduniocv of a few months. .\s at the 
 
 general change of the world, all fonner 
 things were to be done away — all was to b* 
 made anew. 
 
 Each of these forms of government had 
 been solemnized by the national oaths and 
 processions customary on such occasions; 
 but the opinion was now universally enter- 
 tained, that not one of them was founded 
 on just principles, or contained the power 
 of defending itself against aggression, and 
 protecting the lives and rights of the sub- 
 ject. On the other hand, every one not 
 deeply interested in the late anarchy, and 
 implicated in the horrid course of blood- 
 shed and tyranny which was its very es- 
 sence, was frightened at the idea of reviv- 
 ing a government, which was a professed 
 continuation of the despotism ever attend- 
 ant upon a revolution, and which, in all civ- 
 ilized countries, ought to terminate with 
 the extraordinary circumstances by which 
 revolution has been rendered necessary. 
 To have continued the revolutionary gov 
 ernment, indeed, longer than this, would 
 have been to have imitated the conduct of 
 an ignorant empiric, who should persist in 
 subjecting a convajescent patient to the 
 same course of exhausting and dangerous 
 medicines, which a regular physician would 
 discontinue as soon as the disease had been 
 brought to a favourable crisis. 
 
 It seems to have been in general felt and 
 admitted, that the blending of the execu- 
 tive and legislative power together, as both 
 had been exercised by the existing Conven- 
 tion, opened the road to the most aiBicting 
 tyranny ; and that to constitute a stable 
 government, the power of executing the 
 laws, and administering the ministerial 
 functions, must be vested in some separate 
 individuals, or number of individuals, who 
 should, indeed, be responsible to the na- 
 tional legislature for the exercise of this 
 power, but neither subject to their direct 
 control, nor enjoying it as emanating inune- 
 diately from their body. With these reflee- 
 tions arose others, on the utility of dividing 
 the Legislative Body itself into two assem- 
 blies, one of which might form a check on 
 the other, tending, by some exercise of an 
 intermediate authority, to qualify the rash 
 rapidity of a single Chamber, and obstruct 
 the progress of any individual, who might, 
 like Robespierre, obtain a dictatorship in 
 such a body, and become, in doing so, an 
 arbitrary tyrant over the whole authorities 
 of the state. Thus, loath and late, the 
 French began to cast an eye on the British 
 constitution, and the system of checks and 
 balances upon which it is founded, as the 
 best uieans of uniting the protection of lib- 
 erty with the preservation of order. Think- 
 ing men had come gradually to be aware, 
 that in hopes of getting something better 
 than a system which had been sanctioned 
 by the experience of ages, they had only 
 produced a set of models, which were suc- 
 cessively wondered at, applauded, neglect- 
 ed, and broken to pieces, instead of a sim- 
 ple machine, capable, in mechanical phrase, 
 of working well. 
 
 Had such a feeling prevailed during the 
 commencement of the Revolution, as w^s
 
 208 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 advocated by Mounier and others, France 
 and Europe might have been spared the 
 bloodshed and distress which afflicted them 
 during a period of more than twenty years 
 of war, with all the various evils which ac- 
 companied that great convulsion. France 
 had then a king ; nobles, out of whom a 
 senate might have been selected ; and abun- 
 dance of able men to have formed a Lower 
 House, or House of Commons. But the 
 golden opportunity was passed over ; and 
 when the architects might, perhaps, have 
 been disposed to execute the new fabric 
 which they meditated, on the plan of a lim- 
 ited monarchy, the materials for the struc- 
 ture were no longer to be found. 
 
 The legitimate King of France no doubt 
 existed, but he was an exile in a foreign 
 country ; and the race of gentry, from whom 
 a house of peers, or hereditary senate, might 
 have been chiefly selected, were to be 
 found only in foreign service, too much ex- 
 asperated by their sufferings to admit a ra- 
 tional hope that they would ever make any 
 compromise with those who had forced 
 them from their native land, and confiscated 
 their family property. Saving for these 
 circumstances, and the combinations which 
 arose out of them, it seems very likely, that 
 at the period at which we have now arriv- 
 ed, the tide, which began to set strongly 
 against the Jacobins, might have been 
 adroitly turned in favour of the Bourbons. 
 But though there was a general feeling of 
 melancholy regret, which naturally arose 
 from, comparing the peaceful days of the 
 Monarchy with those of the Reign of Terror, 
 — ^the rule of Louis the XVL with that of 
 Robespierre, — the memory of former quiet 
 and security with the more recent recol- 
 lections of blood and plunder, — still it 
 seems to have existed rather in the state 
 of a predisposition to form a royal party, 
 than as the principle of one already exist- 
 ing. Fuel was lying ready to catch the 
 flame of loyalty, but the match had not yet 
 been applied 5 and to counteract this gen- 
 eral tendency, there existed the most for- 
 midable obstacles. 
 
 In the first place, we have shown already 
 the circumstances by which the French ar- 
 mies were strongly attached to the name 
 of the Republic, in whose cause all their 
 wars had been waged, and all their glory 
 won ; by whose expeditious and energetic 
 administration the military profession was 
 benefited, while they neither saw nor felt 
 the misery entailed on the nation at large 
 But the French soldier had not only fought 
 in favour of Democracy, but actively and 
 directly against Royalty. As Vive la Re- 
 publique was his war-cry, he was in La 
 Vendee, on the Rhine, and elsewhere, met, 
 encountered, and sometimes defeated and 
 driven back, by those who used the oppo- 
 site signal-word, Vive le Roi. The Royal- 
 ists were, indeed, the most formidable bp- 
 ponents of the military part of the French 
 nation ; and such was the animosity of the 
 latter at this period to the idea of returning 
 to the ancient system, that if a general 
 could have been found capable of playing 
 de part of Monk, he would probably have 
 
 experienced the fate of La Fayette and 
 Dumouriez. 
 
 A second and almost insuperable objec 
 tion to the restoration of the Bourbons, oc- 
 curred in the extensile change of property 
 that had taken place. If the exiled family 
 had been recalled, they could not, at this 
 very recent period, but have made stipula- 
 tions for their devoted followers, and insist- 
 ed that the estates forfeited in their cause, 
 should have been compensated or restored : 
 and such a resumption would have inferred 
 ruin to all the purchasers of national de- 
 mesnes, and, in consequence, a general 
 shock to the security of property through 
 the kingdom. 
 
 The same argument applied to the church 
 lands. The Most Christian King could not 
 resume his throne, without restoring the 
 ecclesiastical establishment in part, if not 
 in whole. It was impossible to calculate 
 the mass of persons of property and wealth 
 with their various connexions, who, as pos- 
 sessors of national demesnes, that is, of the 
 property of the church, or of the emigrants 
 were bound by their own interest to opposa 
 the restoration of the Bourbon family. 
 The revolutionary government had follow- 
 ed the coarse, but striking and deeply poli- 
 tic, admonition of the Scottish Reformer — 
 " Pull down the nests," said Knox, when 
 he urged the multitude to destroy churches 
 and abbeys, " and the rooks will fly off'." 
 The French government, by dilapidating 
 and disposing of the property of the emi- 
 grants and clergy, had established an almost 
 insurmountable barrier against the return 
 of the original owners. The cavaliers in 
 the great Civil War of England had been 
 indeed fined, sequestrated, impoverished j 
 but their estates -were still, generally speak- 
 ing, in their possession ; and they retained, 
 though under oppression and poverty, the 
 influence of a national aristocracy, dimin- 
 ished, but not annihilated. In France, that 
 influence of resident proprietors had all 
 been transferred to other hands, tenacious 
 in holding what property they had acquir- 
 ed, and determined to make good the de- 
 fence of it against those who claimed a 
 prior right. 
 
 Lastly, the fears and conscious recollec- 
 tions of those who held the chief power in 
 France for the time, induced them to view 
 their own safety as deeply compromised by 
 any proposition of restoring the exiled royal 
 family. This present sitting and ruling 
 Convention had put to death Louis XVL, — 
 with what hope of safety could they install 
 his brother on the throne ? They had for- 
 mally ; and in full conclave, renounced be- 
 lief in the existence of a Deity — with what 
 consistence could they be accessory to re- 
 store a national church ? Some remained 
 republicans from their heart and upon con- 
 viction ; and a great many more of the dep- 
 uties could not abjure democracy, without 
 confessing at the same time, that all the 
 violent measures which they had carried 
 through for the support of that system, were 
 so many great and treasonable crimes. 
 
 These fears of a retributive reaction were 
 very generally felt in the Convention Tlie
 
 Chap. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 209 
 
 Thermidoriens, in particular, who had kill- 
 ed Robespierre, and now reigned in his 
 etead, had more substantial grounds of ap- 
 prehension from any counter-revolutionary 
 movement, than even the body of the Rep- 
 resentatives at large, many of whom had 
 been merely passive in scenes where Bar- 
 ras and Tallien had been active agents. 
 The timid party of The Plain might be 
 overawed by the returning Prince 5 and the 
 members of the Girondists, who could in- 
 deed scarce be said to exist as a party, 
 might be safely despised. But the Ther- 
 midoriens themselves stood in a different 
 predicament. They were of importance 
 enough to attract both detestation and jeal- 
 ousy ; they held power, which must be an 
 object of distrust to the restored Monarch ; 
 and they stood on precarious ground, be- 
 twixt the hatred of the moderate party, who 
 remembered them as colleagues of Robes- 
 pierre and Danton, and that of the Jacobins, 
 who saw in Tallien and Barras deserters of 
 that party, and the destroyers of the power 
 of the Sans Culottes. They had, there- 
 fore, just reason to fear, that, stripped of 
 the power which they at present possessed, 
 they might become the unpitied and unaid- 
 ed scape-goats, to expiate all the offences 
 of the Revolution. 
 
 Thus each favourable sentiment towards 
 the cause of the Bourbons was opposed, 
 
 I. By their unpopularity with the armies ; 
 
 II. By the apprehensions of the confusion 
 and distress which must arise from a gen- 
 eral change of proj)€rty ; and III. By the 
 conscious fears of those influential persons, 
 who conceived their own safety concerned 
 in sustaining the republican model. 
 
 Still the idea of monarchy was so gener- 
 ally received as the simplest and best mode 
 of once more re-establishing good order 
 and a fixed government, that some states- 
 men proposed to resume the form, but 
 change the dynasty. With this view, di- 
 vers persons were suggested by those, who 
 supposed that by passing over the legitimate 
 heir to the crown, the dangers annexed to 
 hie rights and claims might be avoided, and 
 the apprehended measures of resumption 
 and reaction might be guarded against. The 
 eon of the Duke of Orleans was named, but 
 the infamy of his father clung to him. In 
 another wild hypothesis, the Duke of York, 
 or the Duke of Brunswick, were suggested 
 as fit to be named constitutional Kings of 
 France. The Abbe Sieves himself is said 
 to have expressed himself in favour of the 
 prince last named,* 
 
 But without regarding the wishes or opin- 
 ions of the people without doors, the Con- 
 vention resolved to establish such a model 
 of government as should be most likely to 
 infuse into a republic something of the sta- 
 bility of a monarchical establishment ; and 
 thus at once repair former errors, and pre- 1 
 eerve an appearance of consistency in the j 
 eyes of Europe. 
 
 For this purpose eleven commissioners, 1 
 
 * The Memoirs publisheu under the nHiii'.- of 
 Fonche make this assertion. But although that 
 work shows gr?at intimacy with the secret hi-tury 1 
 of the limes, it is not to bo implicitly relied upon. , 
 
 chiefly selected amongst the former Giron- 
 dists, were appointed to draw up a new 
 constitution upon a new principle, wliich 
 was to receive anew the universal adhesion 
 of the French by acclamation and oath, and 
 to fall, in a short time, under the same neg- 
 lect which had attended every preceding 
 model. This, it was understood, was to be 
 so constructed, as to unite the consistency 
 of a monarchical government with the name 
 and forms of a democracy. 
 
 That the system now adopted by the 
 French commissioners might bear a form 
 corresponding to the destinies of the na- 
 tion, and flattering to its vanity, it was bor- 
 rowed from that of the Roman republic, aa 
 attempt to imitate which had already intro- 
 duced many of the blunders and manv of 
 the crimes of the Revolution. The execu- 
 tive power was lodged in a council of five 
 persons, termed Directors, to whom were 
 to be consigned the conduct of peace and 
 war, the execution of the laws, and the 
 general administration of the government. 
 They were permitted no share of the legis- 
 lative authority. 
 
 This arrangement was adopted to comply 
 with the jealousy of those, who, in the in- 
 dividual person of a single Director, hold- 
 ing a situation similar to that of the Stadt- 
 holder in Holland, or the Pres'dent of the 
 United States, saw something too closely 
 approaching to a monarchical government. 
 Indeed, it is said, Louvet warned them 
 against establishing such an office, by as- 
 suring them, that when they referred the 
 choice of the individual who was to hold it, 
 to the nation at large, they would see the 
 Bourbon heir elected. But the inconven- 
 ience of this pentarchy could not be dis- 
 guised ; and it seemed to follow as a neces- 
 sary consequence of such a numerous ex- 
 ecutive council, either that there would be 
 a schism, and a minority and majority es- 
 tablished in that pre-eminent body of the 
 state, where unity and vigour were chiefly 
 requisite, or else that some one or two of 
 the ablest and most crafty among the Di- 
 rectors would establish a supremacy over 
 the others, and use them less as their col- 
 leagues than their dependants. The le- 
 gislators, however, though they knew that 
 the whole Roman empire was found insufli- 
 cient to satiate the ambition of three men, 
 yet appeared to hope that the concord and 
 unanimity of their five Directors mieht con- 
 tinue unbroken, though they had but one 
 nation to govern ; and they decided accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 The executive power being thus provided 
 for, the Legislative Body was to consist 
 of two councils ; one of Elders, as it was 
 called, serving as a House of Lords ; an- 
 other of Youngers, which they termed, 
 from its number, the Council of Five Hun- 
 dred. Both were elective, and the differ- 
 ence of age was the only circumstance 
 which placed a distinction betwixt the two 
 bodies. The members of the Council of 
 Five Hundred were to be at least twenty- 
 five years old, a qualification which, after 
 the seventh year of the Republic, was to 
 rise to thirty years complete. In this as-
 
 210 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 eembly laws were to be first proposed ; and, 
 having received its approbation, they were 
 to be referred to the Council of Ancients. 
 The requisites to sit in the latter senate, 
 were the age of forty years complete, and 
 the being a married man or a widower. 
 Bachelors, though above that age, were 
 deemed unfit for legislation, perhaps from 
 want of domestic experience. 
 
 The Council of Ancients had the power 
 of rejecting the propositions laid before 
 them by the Council of Five Hundred, or, 
 by adopting and approving them, that of 
 ■passmg them into laws. These regulations 
 certainly gained one great point, in submit- 
 ting each proposed legislative enactment to 
 two separate bodies, and, of course, to ma- 
 ture and deliberate consideration. It is 
 true, that neither of the Councils had any 
 especial character, or separate interest, 
 which could enable or induce the An- 
 cients, as a body, to suggest to the Five 
 Hundred a different principle of considering 
 any proposed measure, from that which was 
 likely to occur to them in their own previ- 
 ous deliberation. No such varied views, 
 therefore, were to be expected, as must 
 Arise between assemblies composed of per- 
 sons who differ in rank or fortune, amd con- 
 sequently view the same question in vari- 
 ous and opposite lights. Still, delay and 
 reconsideration were attained, before the 
 irrevocable fiat was imposed upon any meas- 
 ure of consequence ; and so far much was 
 gained. An orator was supposed to answer 
 all objections to the system of the two 
 Councils thus constituted, when he de- 
 •cribed that of the Juniors as being the Im- 
 agination, that of the Ancients as being the 
 Judgment of the nation ; the one designed 
 to invent and suggest national measures, 
 the other to deliberate and decide upon 
 them. This was, though liable to many ob- 
 jections, an ingenious illustration indeed; 
 out an illustration is not an argument, 
 though often passing current as such. 
 
 On the whole, the form of the Constitu- 
 tion of the year 3, i. e. 1795, showed a 
 greater degree of practical efficacy, sense, 
 and consistency, than any of those previ- 
 ously suggested ; and in the introduction, 
 though there was the usual proclamation of 
 the nights of Man, his Duties to the laws 
 and to the social system were for the first 
 time enumerated in manly and forcible lan- 
 guage, intimating the desire of the framers 
 of these institutions to put a stop to the 
 continuation of revolutionary violence in 
 future. 
 
 But the Constitution, now promulgated, 
 had a blemish common to all its predeces- 
 sors ; — it was totally new, and unsanctioned 
 by the experience either of France or any 
 other country ; a mere e.xperiment in poli- 
 tics, the result of which could not be known 
 until it had been put in exercise, and which, 
 for many years at least, must be necessarily 
 less the object of respect than of criticism. 
 Wise legislators, even when lapse of time, 
 alteration of manners, or increased liberal- 
 ity of sentiment, require corresponding al- 
 terations in the institutions of their fathers, i 
 are careful, as far as possible, to preserv * 
 
 the ancient form and character of those 
 laws, into which they are endeavouring to 
 infuse principles and a spirit accommodated 
 to the altered exigencies and temper of the 
 age. There is an enthusiasm in patriotism 
 as well as in religion. We value institutions, 
 not only because they are ours, but because 
 they have been those of our fathers; and 
 if a new Constitution were to be presented 
 to us, although perhaps theoretically show- 
 ing more symmetry than that by which the 
 nation had been long governed, it would 
 be as difficult to transfer to it the allegiance 
 of the people, as it would be to substitute 
 the worship of a Madonna, the work of 
 modern art, for the devotion paid by the 
 natives of Saragossa to their ancient Palla- 
 dium, Our Lady of the Pillar. 
 
 But the Constitution of the year 3, with 
 all its defects, would have been willingly 
 received by the nation in general, as afford- 
 ing some security from the revolutionary 
 storm, had it not been for a selfish and 
 usurping device of the Thermidoriens to 
 mutilate and render it nugatory at the very 
 outset, by engrafting upon it the means of 
 continuing the exercise of their own arbi 
 trary authority. It must never be foryotten, 
 that these conquerors of Robespiert* nad 
 shared all the excesses of his party before 
 they became his personal enemies; ani 
 that when deprived of their official situa 
 tions and influence, which they were like. / 
 to be by a representative body freely an. 
 fairly elected, they were certain to be ex 
 posed to great individual danger. 
 
 Determined, therefore, to retain the pow 
 er in their own hands, the Thermidorienn 
 suffered, with an indifference amounting 
 almost to contempt, the Constitution to 
 pass through, and be approved of by the 
 Convention. But, under pretence that it 
 would be highly impolitic to deprive the 
 nation of the services of men accustomed 
 to public business, they procured two de- 
 crees to be passed ; the first ordaining the 
 electoral bodies of France to choose, aa 
 representatives to the two councils under 
 the new Constitution, at least two-thirda of 
 the members presently sitting in Conven- 
 tion ; and the second declaring, that in de- 
 fault of a return of two-thirds of the present 
 deputies, as prescribed, the Convention 
 themselves should fill up the vacancies out 
 of their own body ; in other worus, should 
 name a large proportion of themselves their 
 own successors in legislative power. 
 
 These decrees were sent down to the 
 Primary Assemblies of the people, and eve- 
 ry art was used to render them accepta- 
 ble. 
 
 But the nation, and particularly the city 
 of Paris, generally revolted at this stretch 
 of arbitrary authority. They recollected, 
 that all the members who had sat in the 
 first National Assembly, so remarkable for 
 talent, had been declared ineligible, on that 
 single account, for the second Legislative 
 Body ; and now, men so infinitely tiie infe- 
 riors of those who were the colleagues of 
 Mirabeau, Mounier, and other great names, 
 presumed not only to declare themselvee 
 >i)<rible by re-election, but dared to eetab-
 
 Cht^. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 211 
 
 liah two-thirds of their number as indispen- 
 sable ingredients of the Legislative Assem- 
 blies, which, according to tlie words alike 
 and spirit of the Constitution, ought to be 
 chosen by the free voice of the people. 
 The electors, and particularly those of the 
 sections of Paris, angrily demanded to know, 
 apon what public services the deputies of 
 the Convention founded their title to a 
 privilege so unjust and anomalous. Among 
 the more active part of them, to whom the 
 measure was chiefly to be ascribed, they 
 eaw but a few reformed Terrorists, who 
 ■wished to retain the power of tyranny, 
 though disposed to exercise it with some 
 degree of moderation, and the loss of whose 
 places might be possibly followed by that 
 of their heads ; in the others, they only be- 
 held a flock of timid and discountenanced 
 Helots, willing to purchase personal secu- 
 rity at the sacrifice of personal honour and 
 duty to the public ; while in the Convention 
 as a body, who pronounced so large a pro- 
 portion of their number as indispensable to 
 the service of the state, judging from their 
 conduct hitherto, they could but discover 
 an image composed partly of iron, partly of 
 clay, deluged with the blood of many thcu- 
 fiand victims — a pageant without a will of 
 its own, and which had been capable of giv- 
 ing its countenance to the worst of actions, 
 at the instigation of the worst of men — a 
 sort of Moloch, whose name had been used 
 by its priests to compel the most barbarous 
 Eacrifices. To sum up the whole, these ex- 
 perienced men of public business, without 
 whose intermediation it was pretended the 
 national affairs could not be carried on, 
 could only shelter themselves from the 
 charge of unbounded wickedness, by plead- 
 ing their unlimited cowardice, and by poor- 
 ly alleging that for two years they had sat, 
 voted, and delioerated, under a system of 
 compulsion and terror. So much meanness 
 rendered those who were degraded by it 
 unfit, not merely to rule, but to live ; and 
 yet two-thirds of their number were, ac- 
 cording to their own decrees, to be intrud- 
 ed on the nation as an indispensable portion 
 of its representatives. 
 
 Such was the language held in the assem- 
 blies of the sections of Paris, who were the 
 more irritated against the domineering and 
 engrossing spirit exhibited in these usurp- 
 ing enactments, because it was impossible 
 to forget that it was their interference, and 
 the protection afforded by their National 
 Guard, which had saved the Convention 
 from massacre on more occasions than 
 one. 
 
 In the meanwhile, reports continued to 
 be made from the Primary Assemblies, of 
 their adhesion to the constitution, in which 
 they were almost unanimous, and of their 
 sentiments concerning the two decrees, 
 authorising and commanding the re-elec- 
 tion of two-thirds of the Convention, on 
 which there existed a strong difference of 
 opinion. The Convention, determined, at 
 all rates, to carry through with a high hand 
 the iniquitous and arbitrary measure which 
 they proposed, failed not to make these re- 
 ports such as they desired them to be, and 
 
 announced that the two decrees had been 
 accepted by a majority of the Primary As- 
 semblies. The citizens of Paris challeng- 
 ed the accuracy of the returns — alleged 
 that the reports were falsified — demanded 
 a scrutiny, and openly bid defiance to the 
 Convention. Their power of meeting to- 
 gether in their sections, on account of the 
 appeal to the people, gave them an oppor- 
 tunity of feeling their own strength, and 
 encouraging each other by speeches and 
 applauses. They were farther embolden- 
 ed and animated by men of literary talent, 
 whose power was restored with the liberty 
 of the press. Finally, they declared their 
 sittings permanent, and that they had the 
 right to protect the liberties of France. 
 The greater part of the National Guards 
 were united on this occasion against the 
 existing government ; and nothing less wa» 
 talked of, than that they should avail them- 
 selves of their arms and numbers, march 
 down to the Tuilleries, and dictate law to 
 the Convention with their muskets, as the 
 revolutionary mob of the suburbs used to 
 do with their pikes. 
 
 The Convention, unpopular themselvea, 
 and embarked in an unpopular cause, began 
 to look anxiously around for assistance. 
 They chiefly relied on the aid of about five 
 thousand regular troops, who were assem- 
 bled in and around Paris. These declared 
 for government with the greater readiness 
 that the insurrection was of a character de 
 cidedly aristocratical, and that the French ar- 
 mies, as already repeatedly noticed, were at- 
 tached to the Republic. "But besides, these 
 professional troops entertained the usual 
 degree of contempt for the National Guards, 
 and on this account alone were quite ready 
 to correct the insolence of the pekins* or 
 muscadinSji who usurped the dress and 
 character of soldiers. Tne Convention had 
 also the assistance of several hundred artil- 
 lerymen, who, since the taking of the Bas- 
 tille, had been always zealous democrats. 
 Still apprehensive of the result, they added 
 to this force another of a more ominous 
 description. It was a body of volunteers, 
 consisting of about fifteen hundred men, 
 whom they chose to denominate the Sacred 
 Band, or the Patriots of 1789. They were 
 gleaned out of the suburbs, and from the 
 jails, the remnants of the insurrectional 
 battalions which had formed the body-guard 
 of Hebert and Robespierre, and had been 
 the instruments by which they executed 
 their atrocities. The Convention proclaim- 
 ed them men of the 10th of August — un- 
 doubtedly they were also men of the massa- 
 cres of September. It was conceived that 
 the beholding such a pack of bloodhounds, 
 ready to be let loose, might inspire horror 
 into the citizens of Pa»is, to whom their 
 very aspect brought so many fearful recol- 
 lections. It did so, but it also inspired 
 hatred; and the number and zeal of fhe cit- 
 izens, compensating for the fury of the 
 
 * Pekins, a word of contempt, by which the «ii- 
 diers distinguished those who did not belong to 
 their profession. 
 
 t Muscadins, fops — a phrase applied to tb* (Ml 
 ter clasi of Sanjs Cvlottei.
 
 212 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 {Chap. XX. 
 
 Terrorists, and for the superior discipline 
 of the regular troops to be employed against 
 them, promised an arduous and doubtful 
 conflict. 
 
 Much, it was obvious, must depend up- 
 ofU the courage and conduct of the leaders. 
 The sections employed, as their Com- 
 mander-in-chief, General Danican, an old 
 officer of no high reputation for liiilitary 
 skill, but otherwise a worthy and sincere 
 man. The Convention at first made choice 
 of Menou, and directed him, supported by 
 a strong military force, to march into the 
 section Le Pelletier, and disarm the Na- 
 tional Guards of that district. This sec- 
 tion is one of the most wealthy, and of 
 course most aristocratic, in Paris, being in- 
 habited by bankers, merchants, the weaJthi- 
 est class of tradesmen, and the better or- 
 ders in general. Its inhabitants had form- 
 erly composed the battalion of National 
 Guards des Filles Saint Thomas, the only 
 one which, taking part in the defence of 
 the Tuilleries, shared the fate of the Swiss 
 Guards upon the memorable 10th of Au- 
 gust. The section continued to entertain 
 sentiments of the same character, and 
 when Menou appeared at the head of his 
 forces, accompanied by La Porte, a mem- 
 ber of the Convention, he found the citi- 
 zens under arms, and exhibiting such a 
 ehow of resistance, as induced him, after a 
 parley, to retreat without venturing an at- 
 tack upon them. 
 
 Menou's indecision showed that he was 
 not a man suited to the times, and he was 
 suspended from his command by the Con- 
 tention, and placed under arrest. The 
 general management of affairs, and the di- 
 xection of the Conventional forces, was 
 then committed to Barras ; but the utmost 
 anxiety prevailed among the members of 
 the committees by whom government was 
 administered, to find a General of nerve 
 and decision enough to act under Barras, 
 in the actual command of the military force, 
 in a service so delicate, and times so men- 
 acing. It was then that a few words from 
 Barras, addressed to his colleagues, Carnot 
 and Tallien, decided the fate of Europe for 
 ■well nigh twenty years. " I have the man," 
 he said, " whom you want ; a little Corsi- 
 can officer, who will not stand upon cer- 
 emony." 
 
 The acquaintance of Barras and Buona- 
 parte had been, as we have already said, 
 formed at the siege of Toulon, and the for- 
 mer had not forgotten the inventive and deci- 
 sive genius of the young officer to whom the 
 conquest of that city was to be ascribed. On 
 the recommendation of Barras, Buonaparte 
 wag sent for. He had witnessed the retreat 
 of Menou, and explained with much sim- 
 plicity the causes of that check, and the 
 modes of resistance which ought to be 
 adopted in case of the apprehended attack. 
 His explanations gave satisfaction. Buona- 
 parte was placed at the head of the Conven- 
 tional forces, and took all the necessary 
 precautions to defend the same palace 
 which he had seen attacked and carried by 
 a body of insurgents on the 10th of August. 
 Buthe possessed far more formidable means 
 
 of defence than were in the power of the 
 unfortunate Louis. He had two hundred 
 pieces of cannon, which his higk military 
 skill enabled him to distribute to the ut- 
 most advantage. He had more than five 
 thousand regular forces, and about fifteen 
 hundred volunteers. He was thus enabled 
 to defend the whole circuit of the Tuille- 
 ries ; to establish posts in all the avenues 
 by which it could be approached ; to pos- 
 sess himself of the bridges, so as to prevent 
 co-operation between the sections which 
 lay on the opposite banks of the river ; and 
 finally, to establish a strong reserve in the 
 Place Louis Quinxe, or, as it was then call- 
 ed. Place de la Revolution. Buonaparte 
 had only a few hours to make all these 
 arrangements, for he was named in place 
 of Menou late on the night before the 
 conflict. 
 
 A merely civic army, having no cannon, 
 (for the field-pieces, of which each section 
 possessed two, had been almost all given 
 up to the Convention after the disarming 
 the suburb of Saint Antoine,) ought to have 
 respected so strong a position as the Tuille 
 ries, when so formidably defended. Their 
 policy should have been, as in the days of 
 Henry II., to have barricaded the streets at 
 every point, and cooped up the Convention- 
 al troops within the defensive position they 
 had assumed, till want of provisions obliged 
 them to sally at disadvantage, or to surren- 
 der. But a popular force is generally im- 
 patient of delay. The retreat of Menou 
 had given them spirit, and they apprehend- 
 ed, with some show of reason, that th€ 
 sections, if they did not unite their forces, 
 might be attacked and disarmed separately. 
 They therefore resolved to invest the 
 Convention in a hostile manner, require 
 of the members to recall the obnoxious 
 decrees, and allow the nation to make a 
 free and undictated election of its repre- 
 sentatives. 
 
 On the 13th Vendemaire, corresponding 
 to the 4th October, the civil aflfray, com- 
 monly called the Day of the Sections, took 
 place. The National Guards assembled to 
 the number of thirty thousand men and up- 
 wards, but having no artillery. They ad- 
 vanced by difierent avenues, in close col- 
 umns, but everywhere found the most for- 
 midable resistance. One large force occu- , 
 pied the quays on the left bank of the 
 Seine, threatening the palace from tha*. side 
 of the river. Another strong division ad- 
 vanced on the Tuilleries, through the street 
 of St. Honore, designing to debouche on the 
 palace, where the Convention was sitting, 
 by the Rue de I'Echelle. They did so, 
 without duly reflecting that they were flank- 
 ed on most points by strong posts in the 
 lanes and crossings, defended by artillery. 
 
 The contest began in the Rue St. Honore. 
 Buonaparte had established a strong post 
 with two guns at the Cul-de-Sac Dauphine, 
 opposite to the Church of St. Roche. He 
 permitted the imprudent Parisians to in- 
 volve their long and dense columns in the 
 narrow street without interruption, until 
 they established a body of grenadiers in the 
 front of the church, and opposite to the po
 
 Chap. XX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 213 
 
 Bition at the Cul-de-Sac. Each party, as 
 usual, throws on the other the blame of 
 commencing the civil contest for which 
 both were prepared. But all agree the fir- 
 ing commenced with musketry. It was 
 instantly followed by discharges of grape- 
 sliot and cannister, which, pointed as the 
 guns were, upon the thick columns of the 
 National Guards, arranged on the quays and 
 in the narrow streets, made an astounding 
 carnage. The National Guards offered a 
 brave resistance, and even attempted to 
 rush on the artillery, and carry the guns by 
 main force. But a measure which is des- 
 perate enough in the open field, becomes 
 impossible when the road to assault lies 
 through narrow streets, which are swept by 
 the cannon at every discharge. The citi- 
 zens were compelled to give way. By a 
 more judicious arrangement of their re- 
 spective forces different results might have 
 been hoped ; but how could Danican in any 
 circumstances have competed with Buona- 
 parte ? The affair, in which several hun- 
 dred men were killed and wounded, was 
 terminated as a general action in about an 
 hour ; and the victorious troops of the Con- 
 vention, marching into the different sec- 
 tions, completed the dispersion and disarm- 
 ing of their opponents, an operation which 
 lasted till late at night. 
 
 The Convention used this victory with 
 the moderation which recollection of the 
 Reign of Terror had inspired. Only two 
 persons suffered death for the Day of the 
 Sections. One of them. La Fond, had 
 been a Garde du Corps, was distinguished 
 for his intrepidity, and repeatedly rallied 
 the National Guard under the storm of 
 grape-shot. Several other persons having 
 ned, were in their absence capitally con- 
 demned, but were not strictly looked after ; 
 and deportation was th« punishment in- 
 flicted upon others. The accused were 
 indebted for this clemency chiefly to the 
 interference of those members of Conven- 
 tion, who, themselves exiled on the 3Ist 
 of May, had suffered persecution, and learn- 
 ed mercy. 
 
 The Convention showed themselves at 
 the same time liberal to their protectors. 
 General Berruyer, who commanded the vol- 
 unteers of 1789, and other general officers 
 employed on the Day of the Sections, were 
 loaded with praises and preferment. But a 
 separate triumph was destined to Buona- 
 parte, as the hero of the day. Five days 
 after the battle, Barras solicited the atten- 
 tion of the Convention to the young officer, 
 by whose prompt and skilful dispositions 
 the Tuilleries had been protected on the 
 13lh Vendemaire, and proposed that they 
 should approve of General Buonaparte's 
 appointment as second in command of the 
 Army of the Interior, Barras himself still 
 rem;iining commander-in-chief. The pro- 
 posal was adopted by acclamation. The 
 Convention retained their resentment 
 against Menou, whom they suspected of 
 treachery ; but Buonaparte interfering as a 
 mediator, they were content to look over 
 his offence. 
 
 Ai\er this decided triumph over their op- 
 
 ponents, the Convention ostensibly laid 
 down their authority, and retiring from the 
 scene in their present character, appeared 
 upon it anew in that of a Primary Assem- 
 bly, in order to make choice of such of 
 their members as, by virtue of the decrees 
 of two-thirds, as they were called, were 
 to remain on the stage, as members of the 
 Legislative Councils of Elders and Five 
 Hundred. 
 
 After this change of names and dresses, 
 resembling the shifts of a strolling company 
 of players, the two-thirds of the old Con- 
 vention, with one-third of members newly 
 elected, took upon them the administratioa 
 of the new constitution. The two re-elect- 
 ed thirds formed a large proportion of the 
 councils, and were, in some respects, much 
 like those unfortunate women, who, gather- 
 ed from jails and from the streets of the 
 metropolis, have been sometimes sent out 
 to foreign settlements; and, however pro- 
 fligate their former lives may have been, 
 often regain character, and become tolera- 
 ble members of society, in a change of 
 scene and situation. 
 
 The Directory consisted of Barras, Sieyes, 
 Reubel, Latourneurde la Manche, and Re- 
 veilliere Lepaux, to the exclusion of Tal- 
 lien, who was deeply offended. Four of 
 these Directors were reformed Jacobins, or 
 Thermidoriens ; the fifth, Reveilliere Le- 
 paux, was esteemed a Girondist. Sieyes, 
 whose taste was rather for speculating in 
 politics than acting in them, declined what 
 he considered a hazardous office, and was 
 replaced by Carnot. 
 
 The nature of the insurrection of the 
 Sections was not ostensibly royalist, but 
 several of its leaders were of that party in 
 secret, and, if successful, it would most 
 csrtainly have assumed that complexion. 
 Thus, the first step of Napoleon's rise 
 commenced by the destruction of the hopes 
 of the House of Bourbon, under the reviv- 
 ing influence of which, twenty years after- 
 wards, he himself was obliged to succumb. 
 But the long path which closed so darkly, 
 was now opening upon him in light and joy. 
 Buonaparte's high serwices, and the rank 
 which he had obtained, rendered him now 
 a young man of the first hope and expecta- 
 tion, mingling on terms of consideration 
 among the rulers of the state, instead of 
 being regarded as a neglected stranger, sup- 
 porting himself with difficulty, and haunt- 
 ing public offices and bureaux in vain, to 
 obtain some chance of prefermeiit, or even 
 employment. 
 
 From second in command, the new 
 General soon became General-in-chief of 
 the Army of the Interior, Barras having 
 found his duties as a Director were incom- 
 patible with those of military command. 
 He employed his genius, equally prompt 
 and profound, in improving the state of the 
 military forces ; and, in order to prevent 
 the recurrence of such insurrections aa 
 that of the 13th Vendemaire, or Day of the 
 Sections, and as the many others by which 
 it was preceded, he appointed and organized 
 a guard for the protection of the Represen- 
 tative Body.
 
 214 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XX. 
 
 As the dearth of bread, and other causes 
 of disaffection, continued to produce com- 
 motions in Paris, the General of the Inte- 
 rior was sometimes obliged to oppose them 
 with the military force. On one occasion, 
 it is said, that when Buonaparte was anx- 
 iously admonishing the multitude to dis- 
 perse, a very bulky woman exhorted them 
 to keep their ground. " Never mind these 
 coxcombs with the epaulettes," she said ; 
 " they do not care if we are all starved, so 
 they themselves feed and get fat." — " Look 
 at me, good woman," said Buonaparte, who 
 was then as thin as a shadow, " and tell me 
 which is the fatter of us two." This turn- 
 ed the laugh against the Amazon, and the 
 rabble dispersed in good-humour. If not 
 among the most distinguished of Napoleon's 
 victories, this is certainly worthy of record, 
 as achieved at the least cost. 
 
 Meantime circumstances, which we will 
 relate according to his own statement, in- 
 troduce Buonaparte to an acquaintance, 
 which was destined to have much influence 
 on his future fate. A fine boy, of ten or 
 twelve years old, presented himself at the 
 levee of the General of the Interior, with a 
 request of a nature unusually interesting. 
 He stated his name to be Eugene Beauhar- 
 nois, son of the ci-devant Vicomte de Beau- 
 harnois. who, adhering to the revolutionary 
 party, had been a general in the Republican 
 service upon the Rhine, and falling under 
 tlie canspjess suspicion of the Committee 
 of Public Safety, wa-s delivered to the Revo- 
 lutionary Tribunal, and fell by its sentence 
 just tour days before the overthrow of Ro- 
 bespierre. Eugene was come to request of 
 Buonaparte, as General of the Interior, that 
 his father's sword might be restored to him. 
 The prayer of the young supplicant was as 
 interesting as his manners were engaging, 
 and Napoleon felt so much interest in him, 
 that he was induced to cultivate the ac- 
 quaintance of Eugene's mother, afterwards 
 the Hmpress Josephine. 
 
 This lady was a Creolian, the daughter 
 of a planter in St. Domingo. Her name at 
 liiU length was Marie Joseph RoseTascher 
 1^e la Fagerie. She had suffered her share 
 of revolutionary miseries. After her hus- 
 band, General Beauharnois, had been de- 
 prived of his command, she was arrested as 
 a Huspected person, and detained in prison 
 ♦ill the general liberation, which succeeded 
 ;he revolution of 9th Thermidor. While 
 in confinement, Madame Beauharnois had 
 formed an intimacy with a companion in 
 distress, Madame Fontenai, now Madame 
 Tallien, from which she derived great ad- 
 Tantages after her friend's marriage. With 
 a remarkably graceful person, amiable man- 
 ners, and an inexhaustible fund of good-hu- 
 mour, Madame Beauharnois was formed to 
 be an ornament to society. Barras, the 
 Thermidorien hero, himself an cx-noblc, 
 was fond of society, desirous of enjoying it 
 on an agreeable scale, and of washing a\\ av 
 the dregs which Jacobinism had mingled 
 with all the dearest interests of life. He 
 loved show, too, and pleasure, and might 
 BOW indulge both without the risk of falling 
 •nder the suspicion of incivism; which, in 
 
 the reign of Terror, would have been incur* 
 red by an attempt to intermingle elegance 
 with the enjoyments of social intercourse. 
 At the apartments which he occupied, aa 
 one of the Directory, in the Luxemburg 
 Palace, he gave its free course to hie natu- 
 ral taste, and assembled an agreeable socie- 
 ty of both sexes. Madame Tallien and her 
 friend formed the soul of these assemblies, 
 and it was supposed that Barras was not in- 
 sensible to the charms of Madame Beau 
 harnois, — a rumour which was likely to 
 arise, whether with or without foundation. 
 
 When Madame Beauharnois and General 
 Buonaparte became intimate, the latter as- 
 sures us, and we see no reason to doubt 
 him. that although the lady was two or 
 three years older than himself,* yet being 
 still in the full bloom of beauty, and ex- 
 tremely agreeable in her manners, he was 
 induced, solely by her personal charms, to 
 make her an offer of his hand, heart, and 
 fortunes, — little supposing, of course, to 
 what a pitch the latter were to arise. 
 
 Although he himself is said to have been 
 a fatalist, believing in destiny and in the in- 
 fluence of his star, he knew nothing, proba- 
 bly, of the prediction of a negro sorceress, 
 who, while Marie Joseph was but a child, 
 prophesied she should rise to a dignity 
 greater than that of a queen, yet fall from it 
 before her death.t This was one of thoeo 
 vague auguries, delivered at random by 
 fools or impostors, which the caprice of 
 Fortune sometimes matches with a corres- 
 ponding and conforming event. But with- 
 out trusting to the African sibyl's prediction. 
 Buonaparte may have formed his match un- 
 der the auspices of ambition as well as love. 
 The marrying Madame Beauharnois was .1 
 mean of uniting his fortune with those of 
 Barras and Tallien, the first of whom gov- 
 erned France as one of the Directors •, and 
 the last, from talents and political connex- 
 ions, had scarcely inferior influence. He 
 had already deserved well of them for his 
 conduct on the Day of the Sections, but he 
 required their countenance to rise still high- 
 er ; and without derogating from the bride's 
 merits, we may suppose her influence in 
 their society corresponded with the views 
 of her lover. It is, however, certain, that 
 he always regarded her with peculiar af 
 fection ; that he relied on her fate, which 
 he considered as linked with and strength- 
 ening his own ; and reposed, besides, con- 
 siderable confidence in Josephine's tact and 
 
 * Buonaparte was then in his twenty-sixth year 
 Josephine gave herself ia the marriage contract for 
 twenty-eight. 
 
 t .'V laily of high rank, who happened to live for 
 some tijne in tlio same convenl nl Paris, wher« 
 Josephinf^ was also a pensioner or boarder, heard 
 her mention the prophecy, and told it herself to th« 
 author, juat about tlie time of the Italian expedi- 
 tien, when Buonapiirf was beginning to attrael 
 notice. Another clause is usually added to tlie 
 Iirediclion — that the party whom it concerned 
 shoulil die in an hospital, which was afterwards 
 explained as referring to Malmaison. This tho 
 author did not hear from the same authority. Thn 
 lady mentioned used to speak in the highest terms 
 of the simple manners and grsat kindness of kfe ' 
 dame Beauharoots.
 
 Chap. XXL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 215 
 
 address in political business. She had at 
 all times the art of mitigating his temper, 
 and turning aside the hasty determinations 
 of his angry moments, not by directly op- 
 posing, but by gradually parrying and dis- 
 arming them. It must be added to her 
 great praise, that she was always a willing, 
 and often a successful advocate, in the cause 
 of humanity. 
 
 They were married 9th March 1796 ; and 
 the dowry of the bride was the chief com- 
 mand of the Italian armies, a scene which 
 
 opened a full career to the ambition of tha 
 youthful General. Buonaparte remained 
 with his wife only three days after his mar- 
 riage, hastening to see his family, who were 
 still at Marseilles, and, having enjoyed the 
 pleasure of exhibiting himself as a favour- 
 ite of Fortune in the city which he had 
 lately left in the capacity of an indigent ad- 
 venturer, proceeded rapidly to commence 
 the career to which Fate called him, by 
 placing himself at the head of the Italian 
 army. 
 
 CHAP. XZI. 
 
 The Alps. — Feelings and Views of Buonaparte on being appointed to the Command 
 of the Army of Italy — General Account of his new Principles of Warfare — Moun- 
 tainous Countries peculiarly favourable to them. — Retrospect of Military Proceed- 
 ings since October VTio. — Hostility of the French Government to the Pope. — Massa- 
 cre of the French Envoy Basseville, at Rome. — Atistriayi Army under Beaulieu. — 
 Napoleon's Plan for entering Italy — Battle of Monte Notte, and Buonaparte's first 
 Victory — Again defeats the Austrians at Millesimo — and again under Colli — Takes 
 possession of Cherasco — King of Sardinia requests an Armistice, which leads to a 
 Peace concluded on very severe Terms. — Close of the Piedmontese Campaign. — Na- 
 poleon's Character at this period. 
 
 Napoleon has himself observed, that no 
 country in the world is more distinctly 
 marked out by its natural boundaries than 
 Italy. The Alps seem a barrier erected 
 by Nature herself, on which she has in- 
 scribed in gigantic characters, " Here let 
 Ambition be staid." Yet this titroendous 
 circuravallation of mountains, as it could 
 not prevent the ancient Romans from break- 
 in? out to desolate the w(5rid, so it has 
 jeen in like manner found, ever since the 
 days of Hannibal unequal to protect Italy 
 herself from invasion. The French nation, 
 in the times of which we treat, spoke in- 
 deed of the .\lps as a natural boundary, so 
 far as tr authorize them to claim all which 
 lay on the western side of these mountains, 
 as naturally pertaining to their dominions ; 
 but they never deigned to respect them as 
 such, when the question respected their in- 
 vading on their own part the territories of 
 other states, which lay on or beyond the 
 formidable frontier. They assumed the 
 law of natural limits as an unchallengeable 
 rule when it made in favour of France, but 
 never allowed it to be quoted against her 
 interest. 
 
 During the Revolutionary War, the gen- 
 eral fortune of battle had varied from time 
 to time in the neighbourhood of these 
 mighty bound.aries. The King of Sardinia 
 possessed almost all the fortresses which 
 command the passes on these mountains, 
 and had therefore been said to wear the 
 keys of the Alps at his girdle. He had in- 
 deed lost his Dukedom of Savoy, and the 
 County of Nice, in the last campaign; but 
 he still maintained in opposition to the 
 French a very considerable army, and was 
 •ipported by his powerful ally the Empe- 
 ror of Austria, always vigilant regarding 
 that rich and beautiful portion of his do- 
 miniona which lies in the north of Italy. 
 The frontiers of Piedmont were therefore 
 •orered bj a strong Austro-Sardiniaa army, 
 
 opposed to the French armies to which Na- 
 poleon had been just named Commander- 
 in-chief. A strong Neapolitan force wa» 
 also to be added, so that in general num- 
 bers their opponents were much superior 
 to the French ; but a greatpart of this force 
 was cooped up in garrisons which could not 
 be abandoned. 
 
 It may be imagined with what delight the 
 General, scarce aged twenty-six, advanced 
 to an independent field of glory and con- 
 quest, confident in his own powers, and in 
 the perfect knowledge of the country which 
 he had acquired, when, by his scientific 
 plans of the campaign, he had enabled 
 General Dumorbion to drive the Austriana 
 back, and obtain possession of the Col di 
 Tende, Saorgio, and the gorges of the high- 
 er Alps. Buonaparte's achievements had 
 hitherto been under the auspices of others. 
 He made the dispositions before Toulon, 
 but it was Dugommier who had the credit of 
 taking the place. Dumorbion, as we have 
 just said, obtained the merit of the advan- 
 tages in Piedmont. Even in the civil tur- 
 moil of 13th Vendemaire, his actual servi- 
 ces had been overshaded by the official dig- 
 nity of Barras, as Commander-in-chief. Bat 
 if he reaped honour in Italy, the success 
 would be exclusively his own ; and that 
 proud heart must have throbbed to meet 
 danger upon such terms ; that keen spirit 
 have toiled to discover the means of suc- 
 cess. 
 
 For victory, he relied chiefly upon a 8y»- 
 tem of tactics hitherto unpractised in war, 
 or at least upon any considerable oruniform 
 scale. It may notTse unnecessarj' to pause, 
 to take a general view of the principles 
 which he now called into action. 
 
 Nations in the savage state, being con- 
 stantly engaged in War, always form for 
 themselves some peculiar mode of fighting, 
 suited to the country they inhabit, and to 
 the mode ia which they are armed. The
 
 816 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXI 
 
 North-American Indian becomes formida- 
 ble as a rifleman or sharpshooter, lays am- 
 buscades in his pathless forests, and prac- 
 tises all the arts of irregular war. The Arab, 
 or Scythian, manoeuvres his clouds of cav- 
 alry, 80 as to envelope and destroy his en- 
 emy in his deserts by sudden onsets, rapid 
 retreats, and unexpected rallies ; desolat- 
 ing the country around, cutting off his an- 
 tagonist's supplies, and practising, in short, 
 the species of war proper to a people supe- 
 rior in light cavalry. 
 
 The first stage of civilization is less fa- 
 vourable to success in war. As a nation ad- 
 vances in the peaceful arts, and as the 
 character of the soldier begins to be less fa- 
 miliarly united with that of the citizen, 
 this system of natural tactics falls out of 
 practice; and when foreign invasion, or 
 civil broils, call the inhabitants to arms, 
 they have no idea save that of finding out 
 the enemy, rushing upon him, and commit- 
 ting the event to superior strength, bravery, 
 or numbers. An example may be seen in 
 the great civil war of England, where men 
 fought on both sides, in almost every coun- 
 ty of the kingdom, without any combina- 
 tion, or exact idea of uniting in mutual sup- 
 port, or manoeuvring so as to form their in- 
 sulated bands into an army of preponderat- 
 ing force. At least, what was attempted 
 for that purpose must have been on the rud- 
 est plan possible, where, even in actual 
 fight, that part of an army which obtained 
 any advantage, pursued it as far as they 
 could, instead of using their success for the 
 support of their companions ; so that the 
 main body was often defeated when a victo- 
 rious wing W81S in pursuit of those whom 
 their first onset had broken. 
 
 But as war becomes a profession, and a 
 subject of deep study, it is gradually dis- 
 covered, that the principles of tactics de- 
 pend upon mathematical and arithmetical 
 science ; and that the commander will be 
 victorious who can assemble the greatest 
 number of forces upon the same point at 
 the same moment, notwithstanding an infe- 
 riority of numbers to the enemy when the 
 general force is computed on both sides. 
 No man ever possessed in a greater degree 
 than Buonaparte, the power of calculation 
 and combination necessary for directing 
 such decisive manoeuvres. It constituted 
 indeed his secret — as it was for some time 
 called — and that secret consisted in aii im- 
 agination fertile in expedients which would 
 never have occurred to others ; clearness 
 and precision in forming his plans; a mode 
 of directing with certainty the s-^parate 
 moving columns which were to execute 
 them, by arranging so that each division 
 should arrive on the destined position at 
 the exact time when their service was ne- 
 cessary ; and above all, in the knowledge 
 which enabled such a master-spirit to 
 choose the most fitting subordinate imple- 
 ments, to attach them to his person, and, 
 by explaining to them so much of his plan 
 as it was necessary each should execute, 
 to secure the exertion c;' their utmost abil- 
 ity in carrying it into effect. 
 
 Thus, not only were his manoEuvres, 
 
 however daring, executed with a precision 
 which warlike operations had not attained 
 before his time ; but they were also per- 
 formed with a celerity which gave them 
 almost always the effect of surprise. Napo- 
 leon was like lightning in the eyes of his 
 enemies ; and when repeated experience 
 had taught them to expect this portentous 
 rapidity of movement, it sometimes induced 
 his opponents to wait, in a dubious and hes- 
 itating posture, for attacks, which, with less 
 apprehension of their antagonist, they 
 would have thought it more prudent to frus- 
 trate and to anticipate. 
 
 Great sacrifices were necessary to enable 
 the French troops to move with that de- 
 gree of celerity which Buonaparte's com- 
 binations required. He made no allowance 
 for impediments or unexpected obstacles : 
 the time which he had calculated for exe- 
 cution of manoeuvres prescribed, was on no 
 account to be exceeded — every sacrifice was 
 to be made of baggage, stragglers, even ar- 
 tillery, rather than the column should arrive 
 too late at the point of its destination. 
 Hence, all that had hitherto been consider- 
 ed as essential not only to the health, but 
 to the very existence of an army, was in a 
 great measure dispensed with in the I'rench 
 service ; and, for the first time, troops were 
 seen to take the field without tents, with- 
 out camp-equipage, without magazines of 
 provisions, without military hcpitals ; — the 
 soldiers eating as they could, sleeping 
 where they could, dying where they could ; 
 but still advancing, still combating, and 
 still victorious. 
 
 It is true, that the abandonment of every 
 object, save success in the field, augment- 
 ed frightfully all the usual liorrors of war. 
 The soldier, with arms in his hands, and 
 wanting bread, became a marauder in self- 
 defence ; and in supplying his wants by 
 rapine, did mischief to the inhabitants in 
 a degree infinitely beyond the benefit he 
 himself received ; for i may be said of 
 military requisition, as truly as of despot- 
 ism, that it resembles the proceedings of a 
 savage, who cuts down a tree to come at 
 the fruit. Still, though purchased at a high 
 rate, that advantage was gained by this rap- 
 id system of tactics, wliich in a slower 
 progress, during which the soldier was reg- 
 ularly maintained, and kept under the re- 
 straint of discipline, might have been ren- 
 dered doubtful. It wasted the army through 
 disease, fatigue, .and all the consequences 
 of want and tnil ; but still the victory was 
 attained, and that was enough to make the 
 survivors forget their hardsliip;;, and to 
 draw forth new recruits to replace the fall- 
 en. Patient of labours, light of lieart and 
 temper, and elated by success beyond all 
 painful recollections, the French soldiers 
 were the very men calculated to execute 
 this desperate species of service under a 
 chief, who, "their sagacity soon discovered, 
 was sure to Icid to victory all those, whu 
 could sustain the hardships by which it waa 
 to be won. 
 
 The character of the mountainous coun- 
 tries, among which he was for the first time 
 to exercise his system, was highly favours-
 
 Chap. XXI.-\ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 217 
 
 ble to Buonaparte's views. Presenting ma- 
 ny lines and defensible positions, it induced 
 the Austrian generals to become stationarj', 
 andoccupv a considerable extent of ground, 
 according to their old system of tactics. 
 But though abounding in such positions as 
 might at first sight seem absolutely impreg- 
 nable, and were too often trusted to as 
 such, the mountains also exhibited to the 
 sagacious eye of a great Captain, gorges, 
 defiles, and difficult and unsuspected points 
 of access, by which he could turn the posi- 
 tions that appeared in front so formidable ; 
 and, by threatening them on the flank and on 
 the rear, compel the enemy to a battle at 
 disadvantage, or to a retreat with loss. 
 
 The forces which Buonaparte had under 
 his command, were between fifty and sixty 
 thousand good troops, having, many of 
 them, been brought from the Spanish cam- 
 paign, in consequence of the peace with 
 that country ; but very indifferently provid- 
 ed with clothing, and suffering from the 
 hardships they had endured in those moun- 
 tainous, barren, and cold regions. The 
 cavalry, in particular, were in very poor 
 order ; but the nature of their new field of 
 action not admitting of their being much 
 employed, rendered this of less conse- 
 quence. The misery of the French army, 
 until these Alpine campaigns were victori- 
 ously closed by the armistice of Cberasco, 
 could, according to Buonaparte's authority,* 
 scarce bear description. The officers for 
 several years had received no more than 
 eight livres a month (twenty-pence sterling 
 a week) in name of pay, and staff-officers 
 had not amongst them a single horse. Ber- 
 thier preserved, as a curiosity, an order, 
 dated on the day of the victory of Albenga. 
 which munificently conferred a gratuity of 
 three Louis d'ors upon every general of di- 
 vision. t Among the generals to whom this 
 donation was rendered acceptable by their 
 wants, were, or might have been, many 
 whose names became afterwards the praise 
 and dread of war. Augereau. Massena, 
 Serrurier, Joubert, Lasnes, and Murat, all 
 generals of the first consideration, served 
 under Buonaparte in the Italian campaign. 
 
 The position of the French army had re- 
 peatedly varied since October 1795, after 
 the skirmish at Cairo. At that time the 
 extreme left of the line, whioh extended 
 from south to north, rested upon the Col 
 d' Argentine, and communicated with the 
 higher Alps — the centre was on the Col di 
 Tende and Mont Bertrand — the left occu- 
 pied the heights of Saint Bertrand. Saint 
 Jacques, and other ridges running in the 
 same direction, which terminated on the 
 Mediterranean shore, near Finale. 
 
 * Memoires Writes k St. Helene, sous la dictee 
 de I'Empereur, vol. ill. p 151. 
 
 t This piece of generosity reminds us of the lib- 
 erality of the kings of Brentford to their Knights- 
 bridge forces — 
 
 First King. Here, take five guineas to these war- 
 like men. 
 oecond King. And here, five more, which makc^ 
 
 the sum just ten. 
 Herald. We have not seen so much the Lord 
 knows when ! 
 Vol. I. K 
 
 The .\ustrians, strongly reinforced, at- 
 tacked this line, and carried the heights of 
 Mont Saint Jacques; and Kellermann, after 
 a vain attempt to regain that point of his 
 position, retreated to the line of defence 
 more westward, which rests on Borghetto. 
 Kellermann, an active and good brigade 
 officer, but without sufficient talent to act 
 as Commander-in-chief, was superseded, 
 and Scherer was placed in command of the 
 Army of Italy. He risked a battle with the 
 Austrians near Soano, in which the talents 
 of Massena and Augereau were conspicu- 
 ous ; and by the victory which ensued, the 
 French regained the line of Saint Jacques 
 and Finale, whiich Kellermann had been 
 forced to abandon ; so that, in a general 
 point of view, the relative position of the 
 two opposed armies was not very different 
 from that in which they had been left by 
 Buonaparte. 
 
 But though Scherer had been thus far 
 victorious, he was not the person to whom 
 the Directory desired to intrust the daring 
 plan of assuming the offensive on a grand 
 scale upon the Alpine frontier, and, by car- 
 rying their arms into Italy, compelling the 
 Austrians to defend themselves in that 
 quarter, and to diminish the gigantic efforts 
 which that power had hitherto continued 
 with varied success, but unabated vigour, 
 upon the Rhine. The rulers of France had 
 a farther object in this bold scheme. They 
 desired to intimidate, or annihilate and de- 
 throne the Pope. He was odious to them 
 as Head of the Church, because the attach- 
 ment of the French clergy to the Roman 
 See, and the points of conscience which 
 rested upon that dependence, had occasion- 
 ed the recusancy of the p/ieste, especially 
 of those who were most esteemed by the 
 people, to take the constitutional oath. To 
 the Pope, and his claims uf supremacy, 
 were therefore laid the charge of the great 
 civil war in La Vendee, and the general 
 disaffection of the Catholics in the south 
 of France. 
 
 But this was not the only cause of the 
 animosity entertained by the Directory 
 against the Head of the Catholic Church. 
 They had, three years before, sustained an 
 actual injury from the See of Rome, which 
 was yet unavenged. The people of Rome 
 were extremely provoked that the French- 
 residing there, and particularly the young 
 artists, had displayed the three-coloured 
 cockade, and were proposing to exhibit the 
 scutcheon containing the emblems of the 
 Republic over the door of the French con- 
 sul. The Pope, through his minister, had 
 intimated his desire that this should not be 
 attempted, as he had not acknowledged the 
 Republic as a legitimate government. The 
 French, however, pursued their purpose : 
 and the consequence was, that a popular 
 commotion arose, which the Papal troops 
 did not greatly exert themselves to sup- 
 press. The carriage of the French Envoy, 
 or Charge des Affaires, n.amed Basseville, 
 was attacked in the streets, and chased 
 home ; his house was broken into by the 
 mob. and he himself, unarmed and unre- 
 sisting, v.as cruelly -jssaseinated. The
 
 218 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON' BUOiNAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXI. 
 
 French government considered this very 
 naturally as a gross insult, and were the 
 more desirous of avenging it, that by doing 
 so tlicy would approach nearer to the digni- 
 fied conductof the Roman Fvepublic, which, 
 in good or evil, seems always to have been 
 their model. The affair happened in 1793, 
 but was not forgotten in 1796. 
 
 The original idea entertained by the 
 French government for prosecuting their 
 resentment, had been by a proposed landing 
 at Civita Vecchia with an army often thou- 
 sand men. marching to Rome, and exacting 
 from the Pontiff complete atonement for 
 the murder of Basseville. But as the 
 English fleet rode unopposed in the Medi- 
 terranean, it became a matter of very doubt- 
 ful success to transport such a body of 
 troops to Civita Vecchia by sea, not to 
 mention the chance that, even if safely 
 landed, they would have found themselves 
 in the centre of Italy, cut off from supplies 
 and succours, assaulted on all hands, and 
 most probably blockaded by the British 
 fleet. Buonaparte, who was consulted, rec- 
 ommended that the north of Italy should 
 be first conquered, in order that Rome 
 might be with safety approached and chas- 
 tised 5 and this scheme, though in appear- 
 ance scarce a less bold measure, was a 
 much safer one than the Directory had at 
 first inclined to, since Buonaparte would 
 only approach Rome in the event of his be- 
 ing able to preserve his communications 
 with Lombardy and Tuscany, which he 
 must conquer in the first place. 
 
 The plan of crossing the Alps, and march- 
 ing into Italy, suited in every respect the 
 ambitious and self-confident character of 
 the General to whom it was now intrusted. 
 It gave him a separate and independent au- 
 thority, and the power of acting on his own 
 judgment and responsibility ; for his coun- 
 tryman Salicetti, the deputy who accompa- 
 nied him as commissioner of the govern- 
 ment, was not probably much disposed to 
 intrude his opinions. He had been Buona- 
 parte's patron, and was still his friend. The 
 young General's mind was made up to the 
 alternative of conquest or ruin, as may be 
 judged from his words to a friend at taking 
 leave of him. " In three months," he said, 
 " I will be either at Milan or at Paris ;" in- 
 timating at once his desperate resolution to 
 succeed, and his sense that the disappoint- 
 ment of all his prospects must be the con- 
 sequence of a failure. 
 
 With the same view of animating his fol- 
 lowers to ambitious hopes, he addressed 
 the Army of Italy to the following purpose : 
 — '• Soldiers, you are hungry and naked— 
 The Republic owes you much, but she has 
 not the ineans to acquit herself of her debts. 
 The patience with which you support your 
 hardships among these barren rocks is ad- 
 mirable, but it cannot procure you glory. 
 1 am come to lead you into the most fertile 
 plains that the sun beholds— Rich provinc- 
 es, opulent towns, all shall be at your dis- 
 jjosal — SolAere, with such a prospect be- 
 fore you, can you fail in courage and con- 
 stancy ?" This was ehowing 5ie deer to 
 
 the hound when the leash is about to be 
 slipped. 
 
 The Austro-Sardinian army, to which 
 Buonaparte was opposed, was commanded 
 by Beaulieu, an Austrian general of great 
 experience and some talent, but no lesi 
 than seventy -five years old ; accustomed all 
 his life to the ancient rules of tactics, and 
 unlikely to suspect, anticipate, or frustrate, 
 those plans, formed by a genius so fertile aa 
 that of Napoleon. 
 
 Buonaparte's plan for entering Italy dif- 
 fered from that of former conquerors and 
 invaders, who had approached that fine 
 country by penetrating or surmounting at 
 some point or other her Alpine barriers. 
 This inventive warrior resolved to attain 
 the same object, by turning round the 
 southern extremity of the Alpine range, 
 keeping as CiOee as possible to the shores 
 of the Mediterranean, and passing through 
 the Genoese territory by the narrow pass 
 called the Boccheta, leading around the 
 extremity of the mountains, and betwixt 
 these and the sea. Thus he proposed to 
 penetrate into Italy by the lowest level 
 which the surface of the country presented, 
 which must be of course where the range 
 of the Alps unites with that of the Appe- 
 nines. The point of junction where these 
 two immense ranges of mountains touch 
 upon each other, is at the heights of Mount 
 Saint Jacques, above Genoa, where the 
 Alps, running north-westward, ascend to 
 Mont Blanc, their highest peak, and the 
 Appenines, running to the south-east, grad- 
 ually elevate themselves to Monte Velino 
 the tallest mountain of the range. 
 
 To attain his object of turning the Alps 
 in the manner proposed, it was necessary 
 that Buonaparte should totally change tho 
 situation ot his army ; those occupying a 
 defensive line, running north and south, be- 
 ing to assume an offensive position, extend- 
 ing east and west. Speaking of an army as 
 of a battalion, he was to form into column 
 upon the right of the line which he had 
 hitherto occupied. This was an extremely 
 delicate operation, to be undertaken in pres- 
 ence of an active enemy, his superior in 
 numbers ; nor was he permitted to execute 
 it uninterrupted. 
 
 No sooner did Beaulieu learn that th« 
 French general was concentrating his forc- 
 es, and about to change his position, than 
 he hastened to preserve Genoa, without 
 possession of which, or at least of the adja- 
 cent territory, Buonaparte's scheme of ad- 
 vance could scarce have been accomplish- 
 ed. The Austrian divided his army into 
 three bodies. Colli, at the head of a Sar- 
 dinian division, he stationed on the extreme 
 right at Ceva; his centre division, under 
 D'Argenteau, having its head at Sasiello, 
 had directions to march on a mountain call- 
 ed Monte Notte, with two villages of tlio 
 same name, near to which was a strong po- 
 sition at a place called Montelcgino, which 
 the French had occupied in order to cover 
 their flank during their march towards the 
 east. At the head of his left wing, Bean- 
 liea himself moved from Novi upon Voltri
 
 Chaf. XXL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 21i) 
 
 a small town within ten miles of Genoa, 
 for the protection of that ancient city, 
 whose independence and neutrality were 
 like to be held in little reverence. Thus 
 it appears, that while the French were en- 
 deavouring to penetrate into Italy by an 
 advance from Sardinia by the way of Genoa, 
 their line of march was threatened by three 
 armies of Austro-Sardinians, descending 
 from the skirts of the Alps, and menacing 
 to attack their flank. But, though a skilful 
 disposition, Beaulieu's had, from the very 
 mountainous character of the country, the 
 great disadvantage of wanting connexion 
 between the three separate divisions ; nei- 
 ther, if needful, could they be easily united 
 on any point desired, while the lower line, 
 on which the French moved, permitted 
 constant communication and co-operation. 
 
 On the 10th of April 1796, D'A'genteau, 
 with the central division of the Auslro- 
 Sardinian army, descended upon Monte 
 Notte, while Beaulieu on the left attacked 
 the Tan of the French array, which had 
 come as far as \'oltri. General Cervoni, 
 commanding the French division which 
 sustained the attack of Beaulieu, was com- 
 pelled to fall back on the main body of his 
 countrymen ; and had the assault of D'Ar- 
 genteau been equally animated, or equal- 
 .y successful, the fame of Buonaparte might 
 •lave been stifled in the birth. But Colo- 
 nel Rampon, a French oflicer, who com- 
 manded the redoubts near Montelegino, 
 stopped the progress of D'Argenteau by the 
 aiost determined resistance. At the head of 
 iiot more than fifteen hundred men, whom 
 'le inspired with his own courage, and 
 ^au3ed to swear to maintain their post or 
 die there, hr continued to defend the re- 
 doubts, during the whole of the llth. until 
 D'Argenteau, whose conduct was after- 
 wards greatly blamed for not making more 
 determined efforts to carry them, drew off 
 his forces for the evening, intending to re- 
 new the attack next morning. 
 
 But on the morning of the I2th, the Aus- 
 trian general found himself surrounded with 
 enemies. Cervoni, who retreated before 
 Beaulieu, had united himself with La Harpe, 
 and both advancing northward during the 
 night of the llth, established themselves in 
 the rear of the redoubts of Montelegino, 
 which Rainpon had so gallantly defended. 
 This was not all. The divisions of Ausre- 
 reau and Massena had marched, by differ- 
 ent routes, on the flank and on the rear of 
 D'Argenteau's column ; so that next morn- 
 ing, instead of renewing his attack on the 
 redoubts, the .Austrian general was obliged 
 to extricate himself by a disastrous retreat, 
 leaving behind him colours and cannon, a 
 thousand slain, and two thousand prisoners. 
 
 Such was the battle of Monte Notte, the 
 first of Buonaparte's victories ; eminently 
 displaying the truth and mathematical cer- 
 tainty of combination, which enabled him 
 on many more memorable occasions, even i 
 when his forces were inferior in numbers, I 
 and apparently disunited in position, sud- j 
 denly to concentrate them and defeat his | 
 enemy, by overpowering him on the very ; 
 point where he thought himself strongest. ' 
 
 He had accumulated a superior force on 
 the Austrian centre, and destroyed it, while 
 Colli, on the right, and Beaulieu himself, 
 on the left, each at the head of numerous 
 forces, did not even hear of the action till 
 it was fought and won. 
 
 In consequence of the success at Monte 
 Notte, and the close pursuit of the defeat- 
 ed Austrians, the French obtained posses- 
 sion of Cairo, which placed them on that 
 side of the Alps which slopes towards Lom- 
 bardy, and where the streams from these 
 mountains run to join the Po. 
 
 Beaulieu, had advanced to Voltri, while 
 the French withdrew to unite themselves 
 in the attack upon D'Argenteau. He had 
 now to retreat northward with all haste to 
 Dego, in the valley of the river Borraida, 
 in order to resume communication with the 
 right wing of his army, consisting cliiefly 
 of Sardinians, from which he was now 
 nearly separated by the defeat of the cen- 
 tre. General Colli, by a corresponding 
 movement on the left, occupied Millesimo. 
 a small town about nine miles from Dego, 
 with which he resumed and maintained 
 communication by a brigade stationed on 
 tlie heights of Biastro. From the strength 
 of this position, though his forces were 
 scarce sutficiently concentrated, Beaulieu 
 hoped to maintain his ground till he should 
 receive supplies from Lombardy, and recov- 
 er the consequences of the defeat at Mon- 
 te Notte. But the antagonist whom he 
 had in front had no purpose of permitting 
 him such respite. 
 
 Determined upon a general attack on al? 
 points of the Austrian position, the French 
 army advanced in three bodies upon a space 
 of four leagues in extent. Augereau, at 
 the head of the division which had not 
 fought at Monte Notte, advanced on the 
 left against Millesimo; the centre, under 
 Massena, directed themselves upon Dego, 
 by the vale of the Bormida; the right wing, 
 commanded by La Harpe, manoeuvred on 
 the right of all, for the purpose of turning 
 Beaulieu's left flank. Augereau was the 
 first who came in contact with the enemv. 
 He attacked General Colli on the 13th 
 April. His troops, emulous of the honour 
 acquired by their companions, behaved with 
 great bravery, rushed upon the outposts of 
 the Sardinian army at Millesimo, forced, 
 and retained possession of the gorge bv 
 which it was defended, and thus separated 
 from the Sardinian army a body of about 
 two thousand men, under the Austrian Gen- 
 eral Provera, who occupied a detached em- 
 inence called Cossaria, which covered the 
 extreme left of General CoUi's poei'.on. 
 But the Austrian showed the most obsti- 
 nate courage. Although surrounded by the 
 enemy, he threw himself into the niinous 
 castle of Cossaria, which crowned the emi 
 nence. and showed a disposition to main- 
 tain the place to the last ; the rather that, 
 as he could see from the firrets of his 
 stronghold the Sardinian troo;.«,from whom 
 he had been separated, prep tring to tight on 
 the ensuing day, he might reMonably hope 
 to be disengaged. 
 
 Buonaparte in person came up } and see*
 
 2:^0 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 IChap. XXJ 
 
 iiig tho iieccBsity of dislodging the enemy 
 Iroin this strong post, ordered three succes- 
 sive attacks to be made on the castle. Jou- 
 bert, at the head of one of the attacking 
 columns, had actually, with six or seven 
 others, made his way into the outworks, 
 when he was struck down by a wound in 
 tlie head. General Banal and Adjutant- 
 general Quenin fell, each at the head of the 
 column which he commanded ; and Buona- 
 parte was compelled to leave the obstinate 
 iPfovera in possession of the castle for the 
 night. The morning of the 14th brought a 
 different scene. Contenting himself with 
 blockading the castle of Cossaria, Buona- 
 parte now gave battle to Genera! CoHi, who 
 made every effort to relieve it. These at- 
 tempts weie all in vain. He was defeated 
 and cut off from Beaulieu ; he retired as 
 well as he could upon Ceva, leaving to his 
 fate the brave General Provera, who was 
 oompelled to surrender at discretion. 
 
 On the same day, Massena, with the cen- 
 tre, attacked the heights of Biastro, being 
 the point of communication betwixt Beau- 
 lieu and Colli, while La Harpe, having 
 crossed the Bormida, where the stream 
 came up to the soldiers' middle, attacked 
 in front and in flank the village of Dego, 
 where the Austrian commander-in-chief was 
 stationed. The first attack was completely 
 successful, — the heights of Biastro were 
 carried, and the Piedmontese routed. The 
 assault of Dego was not less so, although 
 after a harder struggle. Beaulieu was com- 
 pelled to retreat, and was entirely separat- 
 ed from the Sardinians, who had hitherto 
 acted in combination with him. The de- 
 fenders of Italy now retreated in different 
 directions, Colli moving westward towards 
 Ceva, while Beaulieu, closely pursued 
 through a difficult country, retired upon 
 D'Aqui. 
 
 .Even the morning after the victory, it 
 was nearly wrested out of the hands of the 
 conquerors. A fresh division of Austrians, 
 who had evacuated Voltri later than the 
 others, and were approaching to form a 
 junction with their general, found the ene- 
 my in possession of Beaulieu's position. 
 They arrived at Dego like men who had 
 been led astray, and were no doubt surpris- 
 ed at finding it in the hands of the French. 
 Yet they did not hesitate to assume the of- 
 feijgive, and by a biisk attack drove out the 
 enemy, and replaced the Austrian eagles 
 in the village. Great alarm was occasion- 
 ed by this sudden apparition ; for no one 
 among the French could conceive the 
 meaning of an alarm beginning on the op- 
 posite quarter to that on which the enemy 
 had retreated, and without its being an- 
 nounced from the out-posts towards D'A- 
 qui. 
 
 Buonaparte hastily marched on the vil- 
 lage. The Austrians repelled two attacks ; 
 at the third. General Lanusse, afterwards 
 killed in Egypt, put his hat upon the point 
 of his sword, and advancing to the charge, 
 penetrated into the place. Lannes also, 
 afterwards Duke of Montebello, distin- 
 guished himself on the same occasion by 
 courage ancl military skill, and was recom- 
 
 mended by Buonaparte to the Director/ 
 for promotion. In this battle of Dcgri, 
 more commonly called of JNIillesimo, the 
 -Vustro-.Sardinian army lost five or six thou- 
 sand men, thirty pieces of cannon, witli r\ 
 great quantity of baggage. Besides, the 
 .\ustrians were divided from the Sardiiii 
 aus ; and the two generals began to show, 
 not only that their forces were disunited, 
 but that they themselves were acting upon 
 separate motives ; the Sardinians desiring 
 to protect Turin, whereas the movements 
 of Beaulieu seemed still directed to pre- 
 vent the French from entering the Milanese 
 territory. 
 
 Leaving a sufficient force on the Bormi- 
 da to keep in check Beaulieu, Buonaparte 
 now turned his strength against Colli, who, 
 overpowered, and without hopes of suc- 
 cour, abandoned his line of defence near 
 Ceva, and retreated to the line of the Ta- 
 naro. 
 
 Napoleon in the mean time fixed his head- 
 quarters at Ceva, and enjoyed from the 
 heights of Montezemoto, the splendid view 
 of the fertile fields of Piedmont stretching 
 in boundless perspective beneath his feet, 
 watered by the Po, the Tanaro, and a thou- 
 sand other streams which descended from 
 the Alps. Before the eyes of the delighted 
 army of victors lay this rich expanse like a 
 promised land; behind them was the wil- 
 derness they had passed ; — not indeed a 
 desert of barren sand, similar to that in 
 which the Israelites wandered, but a huge 
 tract of rocks and inaccessible mountains, 
 crested with ice and snow, seeming by na- 
 ture designed as the barrier and rampart of 
 the blessed regions, which stretched east- 
 ward beneath them. We can sympathize 
 with the self-congratulation of the Gener- 
 al who had surmounted such tremendous 
 obstacles in a way so unusual. He said to 
 the officers around him, as they gazed upon 
 this magnificent scene, "Hannibal took the 
 Alps by storm. We have succeeded as well 
 by turning their flank." 
 
 The dispirited army of Colli was attack- 
 ed at Mondovi during his retreat, by two 
 corps of Buonaparte's army from two differ- 
 ent points, commanded by Massena and 
 Serrurier. The last general, the Sardinian 
 repulsed with loss ; but when he found 
 Massena, in the meantime, was turning the 
 left of his line, and that he was thus pressed 
 on both flanks, his situation became almost 
 desperate. The cavalry of the Piedmon- 
 tese made an effort to renew the combat. 
 For a time tliey overpowered and drove back 
 those of the French ; and General Stengel, 
 who commanded the latter, was slain in at- 
 tempting to get them into order. But the 
 desperate valour of Murat, unrivalled per- 
 haps in the heady charge of cavalry com- 
 bat, renewed the fortune of the field ; and 
 the horse, as well as the infantry of CoUi's 
 army, were compelled to a disastrous re- 
 treat. The defeat was decisive ; and the 
 Sardinians, after the loss of the best of 
 their troops, thoir cannon, baggage, and ap- 
 pointments, and beini; now totally divided 
 from their Austrian allies, and liable to be 
 overpowered by the united forces of tha
 
 Chap. XXI.-\ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 221 
 
 French arinv. had no longer hopes of effect- 
 iialiy covering Turin. Buonaparte, pur- 
 suing his victory, took possession of Che- 
 rasco, within ten leagues of the Piedmon- 
 tese capital. 
 
 Thus Fortune, in the course of a cam- 
 paign of scarce a month, placed her favour- 
 ite in full possession of tlie desired road to 
 Italy, by command of tne mountain-passes, 
 which had been invaded and conquered 
 with so much military skill. He had gained 
 three battles over forces far superior to his 
 own ; inflicted on the enemy a loss of t'.ven- 
 ty-five thousand men in killed, wounded, and 
 prisoners 5 taken eighty pieces of cannon, 
 and twenty-one stand of colours ; reduced 
 to inaction the Austrian army ; almost an- 
 nihilated that of Sardinia ; and stood in full 
 communication with France upon the east- 
 ern side of the Alps, with Italy lying open 
 before him, as if to invite his invasion. But 
 it was not even with such laurels, and witli 
 facilities which now presented themselves 
 for the accomplishment of new and more 
 important victories upon a larger scale, and 
 with more magnificent results, that the ca- 
 reer of Buonaparte's earliest campaign was 
 to be closed. The head of the royal house 
 of Savoy, if not one of the most powerful, 
 still one of the most distinguished in Eu- 
 rope, was to have the melancholy experi- 
 ence, that he had encountered with the Man 
 of Destiny, as he was afterwards proudly 
 called, who, for a time, had power, in the 
 emphatic phrase of Scripture, " to bind 
 kings with chains, and nobles with fetters 
 of iron." 
 
 The shattered relics of the Sardinian ar- 
 my had fallen back, or rather fled, to within 
 two leagues of Turin, without hope of be- 
 ing again able to make an effectual stand. 
 The Sovereign of Sardinia, Savoy, and 
 Piedmont, had no means of preserving his 
 capital, nay, his existence on the continent, 
 excepting by an almost total submission to 
 the will of the victor. Let it be remem- 
 bered, that Victor Araadeus the Third was 
 the descendant of a race of heroes, who, 
 from the peculiai" situation of tlieir territo- 
 ries, as constituting a neutral ground of 
 great strength betwixt France and the Ital- 
 ian possession:^ of Austria, had often been 
 called on to play a part in the general af- 
 fairs of Europe, of importance far superior 
 to that which their condition as a second- 
 rate power could otherwise have demand- 
 ed. In general, they had compensated their 
 inferiority of force by an ability and gallant- 
 ry which did them the highest credit, both 
 as generals and as politicians ; and now 
 Piedmont was at the feet, in her turn, of an 
 enemy weaker in numbers than her own. 
 Besides the reflections on the past fame of 
 his country, the present humiliating situa- 
 tion of the King was rendered more morti- 
 fying by the state of his family conne.tions. 
 Victor Amadeus was the father-in-law of 
 Monsieur (by right Louis XVIII.,) and of 
 the Comte d'Artois (the reigning King of 
 France.) He had received his sons-in-law 
 at his court at Turin, had afforded them an 
 (TOportunity of assembling around them 
 their forcee, consisting of the emigrant no- 
 
 blesse, and had strained all the power he 
 
 ; possessed, and in many instances success^ 
 
 I fully, to withstand both the artifices and the 
 
 arms of the t'rencli Republicans. And now, 
 
 so born, so connected, and with such prinei- 
 
 I pies, he was condemned to sue for peace on 
 
 j any terms which might be dictated, from 
 
 I a General of France aged twenty-six years, 
 
 who, a few months before, was desirous of 
 
 an appointment in the artillery service of 
 
 the Grand Seignor ! 
 
 An armistice was requested by the King 
 of Sardinia under these afflicting circum- 
 stances, but could only be purchased by 
 placing two of his strongest fortresses, — 
 those keys of the Alps, of which his ances- 
 tors had long been the keepers, — Coni and 
 Tortona, in the hands of the French, and 
 thus acknowledging that he surrendered at 
 discretion. The armistice was agreed on at 
 Cherasko, but commissioners were sent by 
 the King to Paris, to arrange with the Di- 
 rectory the final terms of peace. These 
 were such as victors give to the vanquished. 
 Besides the fortresses already surrender- 
 ed, the King of Sardinia was to place in the 
 hands of the French five others of the first 
 importance. The road from France to Italy 
 was to be at all times often to the French 
 armies : and indeed the king, by surrender 
 of the places mentioned, had lost the pow- 
 er of interrupting their progress. He was 
 to break off every species of alliance and 
 connexion with the combined powers at war 
 with France, and become bound not to en- 
 tertain at his court, or in his service, any 
 French emigrants whatsoever, or any of 
 their connexions ; nor was an exceptior 
 even made in favour of his ow^n two daugb 
 ters. In short, the surrender was absolu. 
 Victor Amadeus exhibited the utmost rr 
 luctance to subscribe t!iis treaty, and 
 not long survive it. His son succeeded in 
 name to the kingdom of Piedmont ; but the 
 fortresses and passes which had rendered 
 him a prince of some importance, were, ex- 
 cepting Turin, and one or two of minor 
 consequence, all surrendered into th', hands 
 of the French. 
 
 Viewing this treaty with Sardinia as the 
 close of the Piedmontese campaign, we 
 pause to consider the character which 
 Buonaparte displayed at that period. The 
 talents as a general which he had exhibited, 
 were of the very first order. There was no 
 disconnexion in his objects, they were all 
 attained by the very means he proposed, 
 and the success was improved to the ut- 
 most. A different conduct usually char- 
 acterizes those who stumble unexpectedly 
 on victory, either by good fortunie or by the 
 valour of their troops. When the favoura- 
 ble opportunity occurs to such leaders, 
 they are nearly as much embarrassed by it 
 as by a defeat. But Buonaparte who had 
 foreseen the result of each operation by his 
 sagacity, stood also prepared to make the 
 most of the advantages which might be de- 
 rived from it. 
 
 His style in addressing the Convention 
 was, at this period, more modest and sim- 
 ple, and therefore more impressive, than 
 the figurative and bombastic style which bo
 
 222 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xxn. 
 
 afterwards used in his bulletins. His self- 
 opinion, perhaps, was not risen so high as 
 to permit him to use the sesquipedalian 
 words ard violent metaphors, to which he 
 afterwaids seems to have given a prefer- 
 ence. We may remark also, that the young 
 victor was honourably anxious to secure for 
 such officers as distinguished themselves, 
 the preferment which their services entitled 
 them to. He urges the promotion of his 
 brethren in arms in almost every one of his 
 despatches, — a conduct not only just and 
 generous, but also highly politic. Were 
 his recommendations successful, their Gen- 
 eral had the gratitude due for the benefit ; 
 were they overlooked, thanks equally be- 
 longed to him for his good wishes, and the 
 resentment for the slight attached itself to 
 the government, who did not give effect to 
 them. 
 
 If Buonaparte spoke simply and modest- 
 ly on his own acnievements, the bombast 
 which he spared was liberally dealt out to 
 
 the Convention by an orator named Dauber- 
 mesnil, who invokes all bards, from Tyr- 
 taeus and Ossian down to the author of the 
 Marsellois hymn — all painters, from Apel- 
 les to David — all musicians, from Orpheus 
 to the author of the Chant du depart, to 
 sing, paint, and compose music, upon the 
 achievements of the General and Army of 
 Italy. 
 
 With better taste, a medal of Buonaparte 
 was struck in the character of the Conquer- 
 or of the battle of Monte Notte. The face 
 is extremely thin, with lank hair, a striking 
 contrast to the fleshy square countenance 
 exhibited on his later coins. On the re- 
 verse. Victory, bearing a palm branch, a 
 wreath of laurel, and a naked sword, is seen 
 flying over the Alps. This medal we no- 
 tice as the first of the splendid series which 
 records the victories and honours of Napo- 
 leon, and which was designed by Denon as 
 a tribute to the genius of his patron 
 
 CHAP. ZXZI. 
 
 Further progress of the French Army under Buonopiirte — He crosses the Po, at Plaeen- 
 za, on the 1th May. — Battle of Lodi takes place on the 10th, in which the French are 
 victorious. — Remarks on Napoleon's Tactics in this celebrated Action. — French take 
 possession of Cre.nona and Pizzighitone. — Milan deserted by the Archduke Ferdi- 
 nand and his Duchess. — Buonaparte enters Milan on the \-ith May — General situa- 
 tion of the Italian States at this period. — Xapoleon inflicts fines upon the neutral and 
 ■unoffending Slates of Parma and Modena, and extorts the surrender of some of their 
 finest Pictures. — Remarks upon this novel procedure. 
 
 The ardent disposition of Buonaparte did 
 not long permit him to rest after the advan- 
 tages which he had secured. He had gaz- 
 ed on Italy with an eagle's eye ; but it was 
 only for a moment, ere stooping on her with 
 the wing, and pouncing on her with the tal- 
 ons, of the king of birds. 
 
 A general with less extraordinary talent 
 would perhaps have thought it sufficient to 
 have obtained possession of Piedmont, rev- 
 olutionizing its government as the French 
 had done that of Holland, and would have 
 awaited fresh supplies and reinforcements 
 from France before advancing to farther and 
 more distant conquests, and leaving the 
 Alps under the dominion of a hostile, 
 though for the present a subdued and dis- 
 armed monarchy. But Buonaparte had 
 studied the campaign of Villars in these re- 
 gions, and was of opinion that it was b}' that 
 feneral's hesitation to advance boldly into 
 taly, after the victories which the Mar- 
 shal de Coigni had obtained at Parma and 
 Guastalla, that the enemy had been enabled 
 to assemble an accumulating force, before 
 which the French were compelled to re- 
 treat. He determined, therefore, to give 
 the Republic of Venice, the Grand Duke 
 of Tuscany, and other States in Italy, no 
 time to muster forces, and take a decided 
 part, as they were likely to do, to oppose a 
 French invasion. Their terror and sur- 
 prise could not fail to be increased by a 
 sudden irruption ; while months, weeks, 
 even days of consideration, might afford 
 tljose States, attached as the rulers must be 
 
 to their ancient oligarchical forms of gov- 
 ernment, time and composure to assume 
 arms to maintain them. A speedy resolu- 
 tion was the more necessary, as Austria, 
 alarmed for her Italian possessions, waa 
 about to make every effort for their defence. 
 Orders had already been sent by the Aulic 
 Council of War to detach an army of thirty 
 thousand men, under Wurmser, from the 
 Army of the Rhine to the frontiers of Italy. 
 These were to be strengthened by other re- 
 inforcements from the interior, and by such 
 forces as could be raised in the mountain- 
 ous district of the Tyrol, which furnishes 
 perhaps the most experienced and most 
 formidable sharp-shooters in the world. The 
 whole was to be united to the fragments of 
 Beaulieu's defeated troops. If suffered to 
 form a junction, and arrange their plans for 
 attack or defence, an army, of force so su- 
 perior to the French in numbers, veterans 
 in discipline, and commanded by a general 
 like Wurmser, was likely to prevent all the 
 advantages which the French might gain 
 by a sudden irruption, ere an opposition so 
 formidable was collected and organized. 
 But the daring scheme which Napoleon 
 contemplated, correspoTiding to the genius 
 of him who had formed it, required to be 
 executed v.ith caution, united with secrecy 
 and celerity. These were the more neces- 
 sary, as, although the thanks of the French 
 government had been voted to the Army of 
 Italy five times in the course of a month, 
 yet the Directory, alarmed at the niore 
 cloubtful state of hostilities upon the Rhine,
 
 Chap XXIL] 
 
 LIFE OF ^'APOLEO^i BUONAPARTE. 
 
 223 
 
 had turned their exertions chiefly in that ! defended by a formidable enemy in front, 
 direction ; and, trusting to the skill of their i Buonaparte's subtle genius haQ already 
 General, and the courage of his troops, had prepared the means for deceiving the old 
 not transmitted recruits and supplies upon ! Austrian respecting his intended opera- 
 the scale necessary for the great undertak- I tions. 
 
 ings which he meditated. But Italiam — | Valenza appeared to be the point of pas- 
 Ualiam t* — the idea of penetrating into a ' sage proposed by the French ; it is one of 
 country so guarded and defended by na- j those fortresses which cover the eastern 
 ture, as well as by military skill, the con- j frontier of Piedmont, and is situated upon 
 Bciousness of having surmounted obstacles j the river Po. During the conferences pro- 
 of a nature so extraordinary, and the hope ' vious to the armistice of the Cherasco, 
 that they were approaching the reward of | Buonaparte had thrown out hints as if he 
 so many labours — ajove all, their full con- i were particularly desirous to be possessed 
 fidence in a leader, who seemed to have of this place, and it was actually stipulated 
 bound Victory to his standard — made the ' in the terms of the treaty, that the French 
 BoldiersfoUow their general, witliout count- I should occupy it for the purpose of eflect- 
 ing their own deficiencies, or the enemy's I ing their passage over the river. Beauliea 
 numbers. ' | did not fail to learn what had passed, which 
 
 To encourage this ardour, Buonaparte cir- i coinciding with his own ideas of the rout 
 culated an address, in which, compliment- by which Buonaparte meant to advance up- 
 
 ing the army on the victories they had gain- 
 ed, he desired them at the same time to 
 consider nothing as won so long as the Aus- 
 trians held Milan, and while the ashes of 
 those who had conquered the Tarquins were 
 Boiled by the presence of the assassins of 
 Basseville. It would appear that classical 
 allusions are either familiar to the French 
 soldiers, or that, without being motQ learn- 
 ed than others of their rank, they are pleas- 
 ed with beingsupposed to understand them. 
 They probably considered the oratory of 
 their great leader as soldier-like words, and 
 words of exceeding good command. The 
 English soldier, addressed in such flights of 
 eloquence, would either have laughed at 
 them, or supposed that he had got a crazed 
 play-actor put over him, instead of a gene- 
 ral. But there is this peculiar trait in the 
 French character, that they are willing to 
 take everything of a complimentary kind in 
 
 on Milan, he hastened to concentrate hia 
 army on the opposite bank, at a place call- 
 ed Valeggio, about eighteen miles from Va- 
 lenza, the point near which he expected 
 the attempt to be made, and from which 
 he could move easily in any direction to- 
 wards the river, before the French could 
 send over any considerable force. Masae- 
 na also countenanced this report, and rivet- 
 ed the attention of the Austrians on \'^alen- 
 za, by pushing strong reconnoitring parties 
 from Alexandria in the direction of that for- 
 tress. Besides, Beaulieu had himself cross- 
 ed the Po at this place, and, like all men 
 of routine, (for such he was, though a brave 
 and approved soldier,) he was always apt 
 to suppose that the same reasons which di- 
 rected himself, must needs seem equally 
 convincing to others. In almost all deli- 
 cate affairs, persons of ordinary talents are 
 misled by their incapacity to comprehend, 
 
 the manner in which it seems to be meant. ] 'hat men of another disposition will be 
 
 They appear to have made that bargain with 
 themselves on many points, which the au- 
 dience usually do in a theatre, — to accept 
 of the appearance of things for the reality. 
 They never inquire whether a triumphal 
 arch is of stone or of wood ; whether a 
 Bcutcheon is of solid metal, or only gilt ; 
 or whether a speech, of which the tenden- 
 cy is flattering to their national vanity, con 
 
 likely to view circumstances, and act upon 
 principles, with an eye and opiiiio.1 very 
 difi'erent from their own. 
 
 But the reports which induced the Aus- 
 trian general to take the position at Valeg- 
 gio, arose out of a stratagem of war. It 
 was never Buonaparte's intention to cross 
 the Po at Valenza. The proposal was a 
 feint to draw Beaulieu's attention to that 
 
 tains genuine eloquence, or only tumid ex- ; point, while the French accomplished the 
 travagance. j desired passage at Placenza, nearly fifty 
 
 All thoughts were therefore turned to j miles lower down the river than Valeggio, 
 Italy. The fortress of Tortona was surren- "'here their subtle General had induced 
 dered to the French by the King of Sar- the Austrians to take up their line of de- 
 dinia; Buonaparte's head-quarters were I fence. Marching for this purpose with in- 
 fixed there. Massena concentrated another 1 credible celerity, Buonaparte, on the 7th 
 part of the army at Alexandria, menacing j of May, assembled his forces at Placenza, 
 Alilan and threatening, by the passaje of when their presence was least expected, 
 the Po, to invade the territories belonging and where there were none to defend the 
 to Austria, on the northern bank of that riv° | opposite bank, except two or three squad- 
 er. As Buonaparte himself observed, the rons of Austrians, stationed there merely 
 passage of a great river is one of the most ' *'''■ the purpose of reconnoitring. General 
 critical operations in modem war j and ! -^idreossi (for names distinguished during 
 Beaulieu had collected his forces to cover j these dreadful wars begin to rise on the 
 Milan, and prevent the French, if possible, narrative, as the stars glimmer out on the 
 from crossing the Po. But, in order to ; horizon) commanded an advanced guard of 
 avert the dangerous consequences of at- five hundred men. They had to pass in 
 tempting to force his passage on the river, ' the common ferry-boats, and the crossing 
 I required nearly half an hour ; so that the 
 
 * Italiam, Italiam ! primus conclama Achates : j difficulty, or rather impossibility, of achiev- 
 Italiamsocii, magno clamore, galutant. I ing the operation, had they been seriously
 
 224 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXU. 
 
 opposed, appears to demonstration. Colo- 
 nel Laiines threw himself ashore first with a 
 body of grenadiers, and speedily dispersed 
 the Austrian hussars, who attempted to re- 
 sist their landing. The vanguard having 
 thus opened the passage, the other divis- 
 ions of the array were enabled to cross 
 in succession, and in the course of two 
 days the whole were in tlie Milanese terri- 
 tory, and on the left bank of the Po. The 
 military manoeuvres, by means of which 
 Buonaparte achieved, without the loss of 
 a man, an operation of so much conse- 
 quence, and which, without such address 
 as he displayed, must have been attended 
 with great loss, and risk of failure, have 
 often been considered as among his most 
 masterly movements. 
 
 Beaulieu, informed too late of the real 
 plans of the French General, moved his ad- 
 vanced guard, composed of the division 
 of General Liptay, from Valeggio towards 
 the Po, in the direction of Placenza. But 
 here 2l?o the alert general of the French 
 had been too rapid in his movements for 
 tb<3 aged German. Buonaparte had no inten- 
 tion to v.-ait an attack from the enemy with 
 such a river as the Po in his rear, which he 
 had no means of recrossing if the day should 
 go against him; so that a defeat, or even a 
 material check, would have endangered the 
 total loss of his army. He was, therefore, 
 pushing forward in order to gain ground on 
 which to manoeuvre, and the advanced di- 
 visions of the two armies met at a village 
 called Fombio, not far from Casal, on the 
 8th of May. The Austrians threw them- 
 selves into the place, fortified and manned 
 the steeples, and whatever posts else could 
 be made effectual for defence, and reckon- 
 ed upon defending themselves there until 
 the main body of Beaulieu's army should 
 come up to support them. But they were 
 unable to sustain the vivacity of the French 
 onset, to which so many successive victo- 
 ries had now given a double impulse. The 
 village was carried at the bayonet's point ; 
 the Austrians lost their cannon, and left be- 
 hind one third of their men, in slain, 
 wounded, and prisoners. The wreck of 
 Liptay's division saved themselves by cross- 
 ing the Adda at Pizzighitone, while they 
 protected their retreat by a hasty defence 
 of that fortress. 
 
 Another body of Austrians having advanc- 
 ed from Casal, to support, it may be sup- 
 posed, the division of Liptay, occasioned 
 a great loss to the French army in the per- 
 son of a very promising officer. This was 
 General La Harpe, highly respected and 
 trusted by Buonaparte, and repeatedly men- 
 tioned in the campaigns of Piedmont. 
 Hearing the alarm given by the outposts. 
 ■when the Austrian patroles came in con- 
 tact with them. La Harpe rode out to satis- 
 fy himself concerning tlie nature and 
 Btrength of the attacking party. On his 
 -eturn to his own troops, they mistook him 
 and his attendants for the enemy, tired up- 
 on, and killed him. He was "a Swiss by 
 birth, and had been compelled to leave liis 
 country on account of his democratical 
 opinions 5 a grenadier, says Buonaparte, in 
 
 stature and in courage, but of a restless 
 disposition. The soldiers, with the super* 
 stition belonging to their profession, re- 
 marked, that during the battle of Fombio, 
 on the day before, he was less animated 
 than usual, as if an obscure sense of his 
 approaching fate already overwhelmed him. 
 
 The Austrian regiment of cavalry which 
 occasioned this loss, after some skirmish- 
 ing, was content to est ape to Lodi, a point 
 upon which Beaulieu was again collecting 
 his scattered forces, for the purpose of cov- 
 ering Milan, by protecting the line of the 
 Adda. 
 
 " The passage of the Po," said Buona- 
 parte, in his report to the Directory, " had 
 been expected to prove the most bold and 
 difficult manoeuvre of the campaign, nor 
 did we e.xpect to have an action of more 
 vivacity than that of Dego. But we have 
 now to recount the battle of Lodi." As 
 the conqueror deservedly congratulated 
 himself on this hard-won victory, and as it 
 has become in a manner especially con- 
 nected with his name and military charac- 
 ter, we must, according to our plan, be 
 somewhat minute in our details respect- 
 ing it. 
 
 The Adda, a large and deep river, though 
 fordable at some places and in some sea- 
 sons, crosses the valley of the Milanese, 
 rising and joining the Po at Pizzighitone; 
 so that, if the few places at which it can bo 
 crossed arc fortified or defended, it forms a 
 line covering all the Milanese territory to 
 the eastward, from any force approaching 
 from the direction of Piedmont. This line 
 Beaulieu proposed to make good against 
 the victor before whom he had so often re- 
 treated, and he conjectured (on this occa- 
 sion rightly) that, to prosecute his victory 
 by marching upon Milan, Buonaparte would 
 first desire to dislodge the covering army 
 from the line of Adda, as he could not saie- 
 ly advance to the capital of Lombardy, 
 leaving the enemy in possession of such 3 
 defensive line upon their flank. He z\ao 
 conjectured that this attempt would be 
 made at Lodi. 
 
 This is a large town, containing twelve 
 thousand inhabitants. It has old Gothic 
 walls but its chief defence consists in the 
 river Adda, which flows through it, and 
 is crossed by a wooden bridge about five 
 hundred feet in length. When Beaulieu, 
 after the affair of Fombio, evacuated Casal, 
 he retreated to this place with about ten 
 thousand men. The rest of his army was 
 directed upon Milan and Cassano, a town 
 situated, like Lodi, upon the Adda. 
 
 Buonaparte calculated that, if he could 
 accomplish the passage of the Adda at Lo- 
 di, he might overtake and disperse the re- 
 ni:'inder of Beaulieu's army, without allow. 
 iiiir the veteran time to concentrate them 
 for farther resistance in Milan, or even for 
 rallying under the walls of the strong for- 
 tress of Mantu;v. The judgment of the 
 French General was in war not more re- 
 markable for seizing the most advantageous 
 moment of attack, than for availing himself 
 to the very uttermost of victory when ob- 
 tained. The quick-sighted faculty and pow ^
 
 Chap. XXII.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 225 
 
 er of instant decision with which nature 
 had endowed him, had, it may be supposed, 
 provided beforehand for the consequences 
 of the victory ere it was yet won, and left 
 no room for doubt or hesitation when his 
 hopes had become certainties. We have 
 already remarked, that there have been 
 many commanders, who, after an acciden- 
 tal victory, are so much at a loss what is 
 next to be done, that while they are hesi- 
 tating, the golden moments pass away un- 
 improved j but Buonaparte knew as well 
 how to use, as how to obtain advantages. 
 
 Upon the 10th day of May, attended by 
 his best generals, and heading the choicest 
 of his troops. Napoleon pressed forward 
 towards Lodi. About a league from Casal, 
 he encountered the Austrian rear-guard, who 
 had been left, it would appear, at too great 
 a distance from their main body. The 
 French had no difficulty in driving these 
 troops before them into the town of Lodi, 
 which was but slightly defended by the 
 few soldiers whom Beaulieu had left on the 
 western or right side of the Adda. He had 
 also neglected to destroy the bridge, al- 
 though he ought rather to have supported a 
 defence on the right bank of the river, (for 
 which the town afforded many facilities,) 
 till the purpose of destruction was com- 
 
 Eleted, than have allowed it to exist. If 
 is rear-guard had been actually stationed 
 in Lodi, instead of being so far in the rear 
 of the main body, tliey might, by a protract- 
 ed resistance from the old walls and lious- 
 es, have given time foi this necessary act 
 of demolition. 
 
 But though the bridge was left standing, 
 it was swept by twenty or thirty Austrian 
 pieces of artillery, whose thunders menaced 
 death to any who should attempt that pass 
 of peril. The French, with great alertness, 
 got as many guns in position on the left 
 bank, and answered this tremendous fire 
 with equal spirit. During this cannon- 
 ade, Buonaparte threw himself personally 
 amongst the fire, in order to station two 
 guns loaded with grape-shot in such a po- 
 sition, as rendered it impossible for any one 
 to approach for the purpose of undermining 
 or destroying the bridge ; and then calmly 
 proceeded to make arrangements for a des- 
 perate attempt. 
 
 H>s cavalry was directed to cross, if pos- 
 sible, at a [ilace where the Adda was said to 
 be fordabJe, — a task which they accom- 
 plished with difficulty. Meantime Napo- 
 leon observed that the Austrian line of in- 
 fantry was thrown considerably behind the 
 batteries of artillery which they supported, 
 in order that they might have the advantage 
 of a bending slope of ground, which afford- 
 ed them shelter from the French fire. He, 
 tlierefore. drew up a close column of three 
 thousand gremdiers, protected from tlie 
 artillery of the Austrians by the walla and 
 houses of the town, and yet considerably 
 nearer to the enemy's line of guns on the 
 opposite side of the Adda than were their 
 own infantrj', which ought to Have protect- 
 ed them. The column of grenadiers, thus 
 •ecured, waited in comparative safety, until 
 toe appearance of the French cavalry, who 
 Vol. i K* 
 
 had crossed tlie ford, began to disquiet the 
 flank of the Austrians. This was the crit- 
 ical moment which Buonaparte expected. 
 A single word of command wheeled the 
 head of the column of grenadiers to the 
 left, and placed it on tlie perilous bridge. 
 The word was given to advance, and they 
 rushed on with loud sliouts of Vive la Re- 
 pnblique ! But their appearance upon the 
 bridge was the signal for a redoubled show- 
 er of grape-shot, while, from the windows 
 of the houses on the left side of the river, 
 the soldiers who occupied them poured 
 volley after volley of musketry on the thick 
 column, as it endeavoured to force its way 
 over the long bridge. At one time the 
 French grenadiers, unable to sustain this 
 dreadful storm, appeared for an instant to 
 hesitate. But Berthier, the chief of Buon- 
 aparte's staff, with Massena, L'Allemagne, 
 and Corvini, hurried to the head of the col- 
 umn, and by their presence and gallantry 
 renewed the resolution of the soldiers, who 
 now poured across the bridge. The Aus- 
 trians had but one resource left; to rush on 
 the French with the bayonet, and kill, or 
 drive back into the Adda, those who had 
 forced their passage, before they could de- 
 ploy into line, or receive support from 
 their comrades, who were still filing along 
 the bridge. But the opportunity was neg- 
 lected, either because the troops, who 
 should have executed the manoeuvre, had 
 beon, as we have already noticed, with- 
 drawn too far from the river; or because 
 the soldiery, as happens when they repose 
 too niuch confidence in a strong position, 
 became panic-struck when they saw it un- 
 expectedly carried. Or it may be, that 
 General Beaulieu, so old and so unfortu- 
 nate, had somewhat lost that energy and 
 presence of mind w-hich the critical mo- 
 ment demanded. Whatever was the cause, 
 the French rushed on the artillerymen, from 
 whose tire they had lately suffered so tre- 
 mendously, and, unsupported as they were,^ 
 had little difficulty in bayoneting them. 
 
 The Austrian army now completely gave 
 way, and lost in their retreat, annoyed as it 
 was by the French cavalry, upwards of 
 twenty guns, a thousand prisoners, and per- 
 haps two thousand more wounded and slai;;. 
 
 Such was the famous passage of the 
 Bridge of Lodi ; achieved with such skill 
 and gallantry, as gave the victor the same 
 character for fearless intrepidity, and prac- 
 tical talent in actual battle, which the for- 
 mer part of the campaign had gained him 
 as a most able tactician. 
 
 Yet this action, though successful, has 
 been severely criticised by those who de- 
 sire to derogate from Buonnparte's miJitiry 
 talents. It has been said, that he might 
 have passed over a body of infantry at tlie 
 same ford where the cavalry had crossed ; 
 and that thus, by manoeuvring on botli hides 
 of the river, he might have compelled tlw 
 Austrians to evacuate their position on tiic 
 left banjj of the Adda, without hazardiriL- ;>n 
 attack upon their front, which could rn^t 
 but cost the assailants very dearly. 
 
 Buonaparte Lad perhaps this objection in 
 his recollection when he states, that the
 
 226 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 column of grenadiers were so judiciously 
 sheltered from the fire until the moment 
 when their wheel to the left brought them 
 on the bridge, that they only lost two hun- 
 dred men during the storm of the passage. 
 We cannot but suppose, that this is a very 
 mitigated account of the actual loss of the 
 French army. So slight a loss is not to be 
 easily reconciled with the horrors of the 
 battle, as he himself detailed them in his 
 despatches ; nor with the conclusion, in 
 which he mentions, that of the sharp con- 
 tests which the Army of Italy had to sus- 
 tain during the campaign, none was to be 
 compared with that " terrible passage of 
 the Bridge of Lodi." 
 
 In fact, as we may take occasion to prove 
 hereafter, the Memoranda of the great Gen- 
 eral, dictated to his officers at Saint Hele- 
 na, have a little too much the character of 
 his original bulletins 5 and, while they show 
 a considerable disposition to exaggerate the 
 difficulties to be overcome, the fury of the 
 conflict, and the exertions of courage by 
 which the victory was attained, show a nat- 
 ural inconsistency, from the obvious wish 
 to diminish the loss which was its unavoid- 
 able price. 
 
 But admitting that the loss of the French, 
 had been greater on this occasion than their 
 General cared to recollect or acknowledge, 
 his military conduct seems not the less jus- 
 tifiable. 
 
 Buonaparte appears to have had two ob- 
 jects in view in this daring exploit. The 
 first was, to improve and increase the terror 
 into which his previous successes had 
 thrown the Austrians, and to impress on 
 them the conviction, that no position, how- 
 ever strong, was able to protect them 
 against the audacity and talent of the 
 French. This discouraging feeling, exem- 
 plified by so many defeats, and now by one 
 in circumstances where the Austrians ap- 
 peared to have every advantage, it was nat- 
 ural to suppose, would hurry Beaulieu's 
 retreat, induce him to renounce all subse- 
 quent attempts to cover Milan, and rather 
 to reunite the fragments of his army, par- 
 ticularly that part of Liptay's division, 
 which, after being defeated at Fombio, had 
 thrown themselves into Pizzighitonc. To 
 have manojuvrcd slowly and cautiously, 
 would not have struck that terror and con- 
 fusion which was inspired by the dosperaie 
 attack on the position at Lodi. In thin 
 point the victor perfectly succeeded ; Cm 
 Beaulieu, after his misadventure, drow off 
 without any farther attempt to protect tlie 
 ancient capital of Lomhardy, and thre.v 
 himself upon Mantun, with the intention 
 of csvering tlwt strong fortress, and at the 
 same time of sheltering under it tfio re- j 
 mains of his army, until he r-ould form a j 
 jtmction with the forces which Wur.nsor j 
 was briitging to his assistance from the 
 Rhina 
 
 Buonaparte himself hw pointed out a 
 second object, in wliirh ho w.i.s less euc- 
 C€68''ul. Ho had hoped the raprd si'rprite 
 of the Bridn;e of Lodi might enable hiin to 
 overtake or intercept the rest of Beaulieu's 
 •rmr, which, as we have said, had retrcitod 
 
 [Chap. *KXII. ' 
 
 by Cassano. He failed, indeed, in this ob- 
 ject 5 for these forces also made their way 
 into the Mantuan territory, and joined 
 Beaulieu, who, by crossing the classical 
 Mincio, placed another strong line of mili- 
 tary defence betwixt him and his victor. 
 But the prospect of intercepting and de- 
 stroying so large a force, was worth the 
 risk he encountered at Lodi, especially tak 
 ing into view the spirit which his army had 
 acquired from a long train of victory, to- 
 gether with the discouragement which had 
 crept into the Austrian ranks from a uniform 
 series of defeats. 
 
 It should also be remembered, in consid- 
 eringthe necessity of forcing the bridge of 
 Lodi, that the ford over the Adda was crosB' 
 ed with difficulty even by the cavalry, and 
 that when once separated by tlie river, the 
 communication between the main army and 
 the deiachment of infantry, (which his cen- 
 sors say Napoleon should have sent across 
 in the same manner, ) being in a great degree 
 interrupted, the latter might have been ex- 
 posed to losses, from which Buonaparte, 
 situated as he was on the right bank, could 
 have had no means of protecting them. 
 
 liCaving the discussion of what might 
 have been, to trace that which actually took 
 place, the French cavalry pursued the re- 
 treating Austrians as far as Cremona, of 
 which they took possession. Pizzighitone 
 was obliged to capitulate, the garrison being 
 cut off from all possibility of succour. 
 About five hundred prisoners surrendered 
 in that fortress ; the rest of Liptay's divis- 
 ion, and other Austrian corps, could no 
 otherwise escape, than by throwing them- 
 selves into the Venetian territory. 
 
 It was at this time that Buonaparte had 
 some conversation with an old Hungarian 
 officer made prisoner in one of the actions, 
 whom he met with at a bivouac by chance 
 and who did not know him. The veteran'^ 
 language was a curious commentary on the 
 whole campaign ; nay, upon Buonaparte's 
 general system of warfare, which appeared 
 so extraordinary to those who had so long 
 practised the art on more formal principles. 
 " Things are going on as ill and irregularly 
 as possible," said the old martinet. " The 
 French have got a young general, who 
 knows nothing of the regular rules of war ; 
 he is sometimes on our front, sometimes 
 on the flank, sometimes on the rear. There 
 is no supporting such a gross violation of 
 rules." This somewhat resembles the 
 charge which foreign tacticians have brought 
 a<^ainst the KngliKh, that they gained victo- 
 ries by continuing, wit'.i their insular igno- 
 r ince and obstinacy, to fight on. long after 
 the period when, if they had known the 
 rules of war, they ought to have considered 
 themselves as completely defeated. 
 
 A peculiar circumstance is worth men- 
 tioning. The French soldiers had a mods 
 at that time of amusing thomselves, by con- 
 ferrinjj an imaginary rank upon their gener- 
 als, when they had done some remarkable 
 exploit, yhey showed their sense of the 
 bravery displayed V>y Buonaparte at the Bat- 
 tle of Lodi, by creating him a corporal-, and 
 by this ohrase, of Uie Little Corporal, be
 
 Chap. XXII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 227 
 
 was distinguished in the intrigues formed 
 against him, as well as those which were 
 carried on in his favour 5 in the language 
 of George Cadoudal, who laid a scheme lor 
 assassinating him, and in the secret consul- 
 Ulion of the old soldiers and others, who 
 arranged his return from Elba. 
 
 We are now to turn for a lime from war 
 to its consequences, which possess an inter- 
 est of a nature different from the military 
 events we ha"e been detailing. The move- 
 ments which had taken place since the 
 King of Sardinia's defeat, had struck terror 
 into the government of Milan, and the 
 Archduke Ferdinand, by whom Austrian 
 Lombardy was governed. But while Beau- 
 lieu did his best to cover the capital by 
 force of arms, the measures resorted to by 
 the government were rather of a devotion- 
 al than warlike character. Processions 
 were made, relics exposed, and rites re- 
 sorted to, which the Catholic religion pre- 
 scribes as an appeal to Heaven in great na- 
 tional calamities. But the saints they in- 
 voked were deaf or impotent ; for the pas- 
 sage of the bridge of Lodi, and Beaulieu's 
 subsequent retreat to Mantua, left no possi- 
 bility of defending Milan. Tlie Archduke 
 and his Duchess immediately left Milan, 
 followed by a small retinue, and leaving 
 only a moderate force in the citadel, which 
 was not in a very defensible condition. 
 Their carriages passed through a large 
 crowd which filled the streets. As tliey 
 moved slowly along, the royal pair were 
 observed to shed natural tears, at leaving 
 the capital of these princely possessions of 
 their house. The people observed a pro- 
 found silence, only broken by low whispers. 
 They showed neither joy nor sorrow at the 
 event which was passing — all thoughts were 
 bent in anxious anticipation upon what was 
 to happen next. 
 
 When the Archduke had departed, the 
 restraint which his presence had imposed 
 from habit and sentiment, as much as from 
 fear of his authority , was of course removed, 
 and manv of the Milanese citizens began, 
 with real or affected zeal for republicanism, 
 to prepare themselves for the reception of 
 Uie French. The three-coloured cockade 
 was at first timidly assumed ; but the ex- 
 ample being shown, it seemed as if these 
 emblems had fallen like snow into the caps 
 and hate of the multitude. The imjjerial 
 arms were removed from the public build- 
 ings, and a placard was put on the palace of 
 the government v/itli an inscription — " This 
 house is to be let — apply for tlie keys to 
 the French Commissioner Salicelii."' The 
 nobles hastened to lay aside tlieir armorial 
 bearings, their servants' liveries, and other 
 badges of aristocracy. Meantime the ma- 
 gistrates caused order to be maintained in 
 the town, by regular patroles of the burgher 
 guard. A deputation of the principal in- 
 nahitants of Milan was sent to the victori- 
 ous Gsneral wilii offers of full submission, 
 since there was no longer room for resist- 
 ance, or for standing upon terms. 
 
 On the 14th of May. Buonaparte made 
 ibis public entry into Milan, under a trium- 
 phal arch prepared for the occasion, which 
 
 he traversed, surrounded by his guards, and 
 took up his residence in the arch-episcopal 
 palace. The same evening a splendid en- 
 tertainment was given, and the Tree of 
 Liberty, (of which the aristocrats observed, 
 that it was a bare pole without either leaves 
 or fruit, roots or branches,) was erected with 
 great form in the principal square. All this 
 aftectation of popular joy did not disarm the 
 purpose of the French General, to make Mi- 
 lan contribute to the relief of his army. He 
 imposed upon the place a requisition of 
 twenty millions of livres, but offered to ac- 
 cept of goods of any sort in kind, and at a 
 rateable valuation 5 for it may be easily sup- 
 posed that specie, the representative of val- 
 ue, must be scarce in a city circumstanced 
 as Milan was. The public funds of every 
 description, even those dedicated to the 
 support of hospitals, went into the French 
 military chest ; the church-plate was seized 
 as part of the requisition ; and, when all 
 this was done, the citizens were burthened 
 witli the charge of finding rations for fif- 
 teen thousand men daily, by which force 
 the citadel, with its Austrian garrison, was 
 instantly to be blockaded. 
 
 While Lombardy suffered much, the 
 neighbouring countries were not spared. 
 The reader must be aware, that for more 
 than a century Italy had been silently de- 
 clining into that state of inactivity which 
 succeeds great exertion, as a rapid and fu- 
 rious blaze sinks down into exhaustion and 
 ashes. The keen judgment of Napoleon 
 had seen, that the geographical shape oflt- 
 aly, though presenting in many respects 
 advantages for a great and commercial na- 
 tion, offered this main impediment to its 
 separate existence as one independent state, 
 that its length being too great in proportion 
 to its breadth, there was no point sufficient- 
 ly central to preserve the due influence of 
 a metropolis in relation to its extreme 
 northern and southern provinces ; and that 
 the inhabitants of Naples and Lombardy 
 being locally so far divided, and differing in 
 climate, habits, and the variety of temper 
 which climate and habits produce, could 
 hardly be united under the same govern- 
 ment. From these causes Italy was, after 
 tho demolition of the great Roman Empire, 
 early broken up into different subdivisions, 
 which, more civilized than the rest of Eu- 
 rope at the time, attracted in various de- 
 grees the attention of mankind ; and at 
 length, from the sacerdotal power of Rome, 
 the wealth and extensive commerce of Ve- 
 nice and Genoa, the taste and splendour of 
 Florence, and the ancient fame of the me- 
 tropolis of the world, became of importance 
 much over-proportioned to their actual ex- 
 tent of territory. But this time had pass- 
 ed away, and the Italian States, rich in re- 
 membrances, were now comparatively poor 
 in point of immediate consequence in the 
 scale of nations. They retained their oli- 
 garchical or monarchical forms and consti- 
 tutions, as in the more vigorous state of 
 their existence, but appeared to have los* 
 their energies both for good and evil. The 
 proud and jealous love which each Italirtn 
 used to beaj towards his own province was
 
 •228 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOJV BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXU. 
 
 much abated ; and the jealousy of the fac- 
 tions which divided most of their states, 
 and induced the citizens to hazard their 
 own death or exile in the most trifling party 
 quarrel, had subsided into that calm, selfish 
 indifference, which disregards public inter- 
 ests of all kinds. They were ill governed, 
 in so far as their rulers neglected all means 
 of benefiting the subjects or improving 
 the country ; and they were thus far well- 
 governed, that, softened by the civilization 
 of the times, and oerhaps by a tacit sense of 
 their own weakness, their rulers had ceas- 
 ed, in a great measure, to exercise with se- 
 verity the despotic powers with which they 
 were in many cases invested, though they 
 continued to be the cause of petty vexa- 
 tions, to which the natives had become 
 callous. The Vatican slept like a volcano, 
 which had exhausted its thunders ; and 
 V^enice, the most jealous and cruel of oli- 
 garchies, was now shutting her wearied 
 eyes, and closing her ears, against inform- 
 ers and spies of state. Tlie Italian States 
 stood, therefore, like a brotherhood of old 
 trees, decayed at heart and root, but still 
 making some show of branches and leaves, 
 until the French invasion rushed down, 
 like the whirlwind which lays them pros- 
 trate. 
 
 In the relations between France and Ita- 
 ly, it must be observed that tivo of the 
 most considerable of these States, Tusca- 
 ny and Venice, were actually in league 
 with the former country, having acknowl- 
 edged the republic, and done nothing to 
 deser\e the chastisement of her armies. 
 Others might be termed neutral, not having 
 perhaps deemed themselves of consequence 
 sufficient to take part in the quarrel of the 
 coalesced powers against France. The 
 Pope had given offence by the affair of 
 Basseville, and the encouragement which 
 his countenance afforded to the non-con- 
 forming clergy of France. But excepting 
 Naples and Austrian Lombardy, no State 
 in Italy could Le exactly said to be at open 
 war with the new republic. Buonaparte 
 w.as determined, however, that this should 
 make no difference in his mode of treating 
 them. 
 
 The first of these slumbering potentates 
 with whom he came in contact, was the 
 Duke of Parma. This petty sovereign, 
 even before Buonaparte entered Milan, 
 had deprecated the victor's wr.ith ; and al- 
 though neither an adherent of the coali- 
 tion, nor at war with France, he found him- 
 self obliged to purchase an armistice In- 
 heavy sacrifices. He paid a tribute of two 
 millions of livres, besides furnishing hors- 
 es and provisions to a large amount, and 
 agreeing to deliver up twenty of the finest 
 paintings in his cabinet, to be chosen by 
 the French General. 
 
 The next of these sufferers was the 
 Duke of Rlodena. This Prince w'as a man 
 of moderate abilities ; his business was 
 hoarding money, and his pleasure consist- 
 ed in nailing up, with his own princely 
 hands, the tapestry which ornamented 
 churches on days of high holiday ; from 
 Tv-riich he acquired the nickname of the 
 
 royal upholsterer. But his birth was illus- 
 trious as the descendant of that celebrat- 
 ed hero of Este, the patron of Tasso and 
 of Ariosto ; and his alliance was no less 
 splendid, having married the sister of the 
 unfortunate Marie Antoinette, and of Jo- 
 seph the Second : then his daughter waa 
 married to the Arch-Duke Ferdinand, the 
 Governor of Milan. Notwithstanding his 
 double connexion with the Imperial fami- 
 ly, the principality of Modem, was so smadi 
 that he might have been passed over as 
 scarce worthy of notice, but for the temp- 
 tation of his treasures, in the works of art, 
 as well as in specie. On the approach of 
 a column of the French army to Modena, 
 the Duke fled from his capital, but sent his 
 brother, the Chevalier d'Este, to capitulate 
 with Napoleon. 
 
 It might have been urged in his favour, 
 that he was no avowed partner in the coa- 
 lition ; but Buonaparte took for granted 
 his good will towards his brother-in-law the 
 Emperor of Austria, and esteemed it a 
 crime deserving atonement. Indeed it was 
 one which had not been proved by any open 
 action, but neither could it admit of being 
 disproved. The Duke was therefore oblig- 
 ed to purchase the privilege of neutrality, 
 and to expiate his supposed good inclina- 
 tion for the house of Austria. Five mil- 
 lions and a half of French livres, with 
 large contributions in provisions and accou- 
 trements, perhaps cost the Duke of Mode- 
 na more anxious thoughts than he had be- 
 stowed on the misfortunes of his imperial 
 relatives. 
 
 To levy on obnoxious states or princes 
 the means of paying or accommodating 
 troops, would have been only what has 
 been practised by victors in all ages. But 
 an exaction of a new kind was now for the 
 first time imposed on these Italian Princes. 
 The Duke of Modena, like the Duke of 
 Parma, was compelled to surrender twenty 
 of his choicest pictures, to be selected at 
 the choice of the French General, and the 
 persons of taste with whom he might ad- 
 vise. This was the first time that a de- 
 mand of this nature had been made in mod- 
 ern times in a public and avowed manner, 
 and we must pause to consider the motives 
 and justice of such a requisition. 
 
 Hitherto, works of art had been consid- 
 ered as sacred, even during the utmost ex- 
 tremities of war. They were judged to be 
 the property, not so much of the nation or 
 individuals who happened to possess them, 
 as of tlie civilized world in general, who 
 were supposed to have a common interest 
 in these productions, which, if exposed to 
 become the ordinary spoils of war, could 
 hardly escape damage or destruction. To 
 a strong example of forbearance, Frederick 
 of Prussia was a passionate admirer ot the 
 fine arts, and no scrupulous investigator of 
 the rights conferred by conquest, but rather 
 disposed to stretch them to the uttermost. 
 Yet when he obtained possession of Dres- 
 den under circumstances of high ircitatwn, 
 Frederick respected the valuable gallery, 
 cabinets, and museums of the capital of 
 Saxony, and preserved their contenMiumo-
 
 Chap. XXII] 
 
 late, as a species of property which could 
 not, and ought not, to fall withiu the rights 
 of a conqueror. He considered the Elect- 
 or as only the keeper of the gallery j and 
 regarded the articles which it contained as 
 belonging to the civilized world at large. 
 
 There are persons who demand the cause 
 of this distinction, and require to know why 
 works of art, the value of which is created 
 solely by the opinion of those who pretend 
 to understand them, and is therefore to be 
 regarded as merely imaginary, or, as it is 
 called by lawyers, a mere pretium affec- 
 Uonis, should be exempted from that mar- 
 tial law which disposes at pleasure of the 
 real property of the vanquished. 
 
 It might easily be shown in reply, that 
 the respect due to genius of the highest or- 
 der, attaches with a sort of religious zeal 
 to the objects of our admiration in the fine 
 arts, and renders it a species of sacrilege to 
 subject them to the chances of war. It has 
 besides already been hinted, that these chef- 
 d'oeuvres being readily liable to damage, 
 scarcely admitting of being repaired, and 
 absolutely incapable of being replaced, 
 their existence is hazarded by rendering 
 them the objects of removal, according to 
 the fluctuation of victory. 
 
 But it is surely sufficient to say, that 
 wherever the progress of civilization has 
 introduced rules to qualify and soften the 
 extremities of war, these should be strict- 
 ly adhered to. In the rudest ages of socie- 
 ty, man avails himself of the right of the 
 strongest in the fullest extent. The victor 
 of the Sandwich Islands devours his enemy 
 — the North American Indian tortures him 
 to death — almost all savage tribes render 
 their prisoners slaves, and sell them as such. 
 As society advances, these inhumanities 
 fall out of practice ; and it is unnecessary 
 to add, that, as the victorious general de- 
 serves honourable mention in history, who, 
 by his clemency, relaxes in any respect the 
 rigorous laws of conquest, so he must be 
 censured in proportion, whose conduct 
 tends to retrograde towards the brutal vio- 
 lence of primitive hostility. 
 
 Buonaparte cannot be exempted from this 
 censure. He, as the willing agent of the 
 Directory under whose commands he acted, 
 had resolved to disregard the neutrality 
 which had hitherto been considered as at- 
 taching to the productions of the fnie arts, 
 and, for the first time, had determined to view 
 them as the spoils of conquest. The mo- 
 tive is more easily discovered than justified. 
 
 In the reign of Terror and Equality, the 
 fine arts, with everything connected with 
 cultivated feelings, had been regarded as in- 
 consistent with the simplicity of the Re- 
 publican character ; and, like the success- 
 tul fanatics of England, and the first enthu- 
 siastic votaries of the Koran, the true Sans 
 Culottes were disposed to esteem a taste 
 which could not generally exist without a 
 previous superior education, as something 
 aristocratic, and alien from the imaginary 
 ■ tandard of equality, to which it was their 
 purpose to lower all the exertions of intel- 
 lect, as well as the possession of property. 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 229 
 
 Palaces were therefore destroyed, and 
 monuments broken to pieces. 
 
 But this brutal prejudice, with the other 
 attempts of these frantic democrats to 
 bring back the world to a state of barbarism, 
 equally in moral and in general feeling, was 
 discarded at the fall of die Jacobin authori- 
 ty. Those who succeeded to the govern- 
 ment, exerted themselves laudably in endea- 
 vouring rather to excite men's minds to a 
 love of those studies and tastes, which are 
 ever found to humanize and soften the gen 
 eral tone of society, and which teach hos 
 tile nations that they have points of friend- 
 ly union, even because they unite in ad- 
 miring the same masterpieces of art. A 
 Museum was formed at Paris, for the pur- 
 pose of collecting and exhibiting to puolic 
 admiration paintings and statues, and what- 
 ever was excellent in art, for the amuse- 
 nient of the citizens, whose chief scene of 
 pleasure hitherto had been a wild and ill- 
 regulated civic festival, to vary the usual 
 exhibition of the procession of a train of 
 victims moving towards the guillotine. The 
 substitution of such a better object of pop- 
 ular attention was honourable, virtuous, and 
 politic in itself, and speedily led the French 
 people, partly from taste, partly from na- 
 tional vanity, to attach consequence to the 
 fine arts and their productions. 
 
 Unfortunately there were no ordinary 
 measures by which the French, as purchas- 
 ers, could greatly augment the contents of 
 their Museum ; and more unfortunately for 
 other nations, and ultimately for them- 
 selves, they had the power and the will 
 to increase their possessions of this kind, 
 witliout research or expense, by means of 
 the irresistible progress of their arms. We 
 have no right to say that this peculiar spe- 
 cies of spoliation originated with Buona- 
 parte personally. He probably obeyed the 
 orders of the Directory ; and, besides, in- 
 stances might no doubt be found in the his- 
 tory of all nations, of interesting articles 
 of this nature having been transferred by the 
 chance of war from one country to another, 
 as in cases of plunder of an ordinary de- 
 scription, which, though seldom avowed 
 or defended, are not the less occasionally 
 practised. But Napoleon was unquestion- 
 ably the first and most active agent, who 
 made such exactions a matter of course, 
 and enforced tliem upon principle ; and that 
 he was heartily engaged in this scheme of 
 general plunder, is sufficiently proved from 
 his expressions to the Directory, upon 
 transmitting those paintings which the Duke 
 of Modena, the first sufferer on this sys- 
 tem, was compelled to surrender, and which 
 were transferred to Paris as the legitimate 
 spoils of war. 
 
 But before copying the terms in which 
 Napoleon announces the transmission of 
 masterpieces of art to the National Muse- 
 um, it ought to be remarked, that the cele- 
 brated Saint Jerome, by Correggio, which 
 he mentions with a sort of insulting tri- 
 umph, was accounted so valuable, that the 
 Duke of Modena offered two millions of 
 livrea as the ransom of that picture alon«
 
 230 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXII. 
 
 This large sum the French general, acting 
 on the principle which many in his situa- 
 tion were tempted to recognize, might have 
 aafely converted to his own use, under the 
 certainty that the appropriation, indispensa- 
 ble as his services were to the government, 
 would neither have been inquired into nor 
 censured. But avarice cannot be the com- 
 panion, far less the controller, of ambition. 
 The feelings of tlie young victor were of a 
 character too elevated to stoop to the ac- 
 quisition of wealth ; nor was his career, at 
 that or any other period, sullied by this par- 
 ticular and most degrading species of sel- 
 fishness. When his officers wouW have 
 persuaded him to accept the money, as 
 more useful for the army, he replied, tliat 
 the two millions of francs would soon be 
 epent, but the Correggio would remain an 
 ornament of the city of Paris for ages, and 
 inspire the production of future master- 
 pieces. 
 
 In his despatch to the Directory, of 17th 
 Floreal (8th of May,) Napoleon desires to 
 have some artists sent to him, who might 
 collect the monuments of art ; which shows 
 that the purpose of seizing upon them had 
 been already formed. In the letter which 
 accompanied the transmission of the pic- 
 tures, he has these remarkable expressions : 
 — " You will receive the articles of the 
 suspension of arms which I have granted to 
 the Duke of Parma. I will send you as 
 soon as possible the finest pictures of Cor- 
 reggio, amongst others a Saint Jerome, 
 which is said to be his masterpiece. I must 
 own that the saint takes an unlucky time to 
 visit Paris, but I hope you will grant him 
 the honours of the Museum." 
 
 The same system was followed at Milan, 
 where several of the most valuable articles 
 were taken from the Ambrosian collection. 
 The articles were received in the spirit 
 with which they were transmitted. The 
 most able critics were despatched to assist 
 the general in the selection of the monu- 
 ments of the fine arts to be transferred 
 to Paris, and the Secretary-general of the 
 Lyceum, confounding the possession of the 
 produittions of genius with the genius itself 
 which created them, congratulated his coun- 
 trymen on the noble dispositions which the 
 victors had evinced. " It is no longer 
 blood," said the orator, '' which the French 
 soldier thirsts for. He desires to lead no 
 slaves in triumph behind his chariot — it is 
 the glorious spoils of the arts and of indus- 
 try with which he longs to decorate his vic- 
 tories — he cherishes that devouring passion 
 of great souls, the love of glory, and the 
 enthusiasm for high talents, to which the 
 Greeks owed their astonishing successes. 
 It was the defence of thrir temples, their 
 monuments, their statues, their great art- 
 ists, that stimulated tlioir valour. It was 
 t'rom such motives they conquered at Sala- 
 mis and at Marathon. It is thus that our 
 armies advanr'^, escorted by the love of 
 arts, and followed by sweet peace, from 
 Com to Milan, and soon to proceed from 
 thence to the proud basilic of St. Peter's." 
 The reasoning of the Secretary of the Ly- 
 Mum is lost amidst his eloquence -, but the 
 
 speech, if it means anything, signifies, that 
 the seizing on those admired productions 
 placed the nation wliich acquired the forci- 
 ble possession of lliem, in the same condi- 
 tion as if she had produced the great men 
 by whom they were achieved ; — ^just as the 
 ancient Scythians believed they becamo 
 inspired with the talents and the virtues of 
 tliose whom they murdered. Or, according 
 to another interpretation, it may mean that 
 the French, who fought to deprive other 
 nations of their property, had as praisewor- 
 thy motives of action as the Greeks, who 
 made war in defence of that which was 
 their own. But however their conduct 
 might be regarded by themselves, it is very 
 certain that they did by no means resemble 
 those whose genius set the example of such 
 splendid success in the fine arts. On the 
 contrary, the classical prototype of Buona- 
 parte in this transaction, was the Roman 
 Consul Mummius, who violently plundered 
 Greece of tliose treasures of art, of which 
 he himself and his countrymen were insen- 
 sible to the real and proper value. 
 
 It is indeed little to the purpose, in a 
 moral point of view, whether the motive 
 for this species of rapine were or were not 
 genuine love of the art. The fingering 
 connoisseur who secretes a gem, cannot 
 plead in mitigation, that he stole it, not oa 
 account of the value of the "^tone, but for 
 the excellence of the engravmg; any more 
 than the devotee who stole a Bible could 
 shelter herself under a religious motive. 
 But, in truth, we do not believe that the 
 French or their general were actuated On 
 this occasion by the genuine love of art. 
 This taste leads men to entertain respect 
 for the objects which it admires ; and feel- 
 ing its genuine influence, a conqueror would 
 decline to give an example of a species of 
 rapine, which, depriving those objects of 
 admiration of the protection with which 
 the general sentiment of civilized nations 
 had hitherto invested them, must hold them 
 up, like other ordinary property, as a prey 
 to the strongest soldier. Again, we cannot 
 but be of opinion, that a genuine lover of 
 the arts would have hesitated to tear those 
 paintings from the churches or palaces, for 
 the decoration of which they had been ex- 
 pressly painted, and where they must al- 
 ways have been seen to the best effect, 
 whether from the physical advantages of 
 the light, size of apartment, and other suit- 
 able localities connected with their original 
 situation, or from the moral feelings which 
 connect the works themselves with the 
 place for which they were primarily design- 
 ed, and which they had occupied for ages. 
 The destruction of these mental connex- 
 ions, which give so mucli additional effect 
 to painting and statuary, merely to gratifj 
 the selfish love of appropriation, is like 
 taking a gem out of the setting, which in 
 many casee may considerably diminish it* 
 value. 
 
 ^Ve cannot, therefore, believe, that this 
 system of spoliation was dictated by any 
 sincere and manly love of the arts, though 
 this was so much talked of in France at the 
 timn^ It must, on thu contrary, bo aapribwd
 
 Chap. XXIII.} LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 231 
 
 to the art and ambition of the Directory who 
 ordered, and the General who obeyed ; both 
 of whom, being sensible that the national 
 vanity would be flattered by this species 
 of tribute, hastened to secure it an ample 
 gratification. Buonaparte, in particular, 
 was at least sufficiently aware, that, with 
 however little purity of taste the Parisians 
 might look upon these exquisite produc- 
 tions, they would be sufficiently alive to 
 the recollection, that, being deemed by all 
 civilized people the most admirable speci- 
 mens in the world, the valour of the French 
 armies, and the skill of their unrivalled 
 general, had sent them to adorn the me- 
 tropolis of France; and might hope, that 
 once brought to the prime city of the Great 
 Nation, such chef-d'oeuvres could not again 
 be subject to danger by transportation, but 
 must remain there, fixed as household gods, 
 for the admiration of posterity. So hoped, 
 as we have seen, the victor himself; and 
 doubtless with the proud anticipation, that 
 in future ages the recollection of himself, 
 and of , his deeds, must be inseparably con- 
 nected with the admiration which the Mu- 
 seum, ordained and enriched by him, was 
 calculated to produce. 
 
 But art and ambition are apt to estimate 
 the advantagesof a favourite measure some- 
 what too hastily. By this breach of the 
 
 law of nations, as hitherto acknowledged 
 and acted upon, the French degraded their 
 own character, and excited the strongest 
 prejudice against their rapacity among the 
 Italians, whose sense of injury was in pro- 
 portion to the value which they set upon 
 those splendid works, and to the dishonour 
 which they felt at being forcibly deprived 
 of them. Their lamentations were almost 
 like those of Micah the Ephraimite, when 
 robbed of " the graven image, and the Ter- 
 aphim, and the Ephod, and the molten im- 
 age," by the armed and overbearing Danites 
 — " Ye have taken away my gods that I 
 have made, and what have I more ?" 
 
 Again, by this unjust proceeding, Buona- 
 parte prepared for France and her capital 
 the severe moral lesson inflicted upon [her 
 by the allies in 1815. Victory has wings 
 as well as Riches ; and the abuse of con- 
 quest, as of wealth, becomes frequently the 
 source of bitter retribution. Had the paint- 
 ings of Correggio, and other great masters, 
 been left undisturbed in the custody of 
 their true owners, there could not have 
 been room, at an after period, when look- 
 ing around the Louvre, for the reflection, 
 " Here once were disposed the treasures 
 of art, which, won by violence, were lost 
 by defeat." 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 
 Directory propose to divide the Army of Italy betwixt Uuoaaparie and Kellerinann — 
 Buonaparte resigns, and the Directory give vp the point. — Itisurrer.tion against the 
 French at Pavia — crushed — and the Leaders shot — Also at the Imperial Fiefs and 
 Lugo, quelled and punished iii the same xoay. — Reflections. — Austrians defeated at 
 Borghetlo, and retreat behind the Adige. — Buonaparte narrowly escapes being made 
 Prisoner at Valeggio. — Mantua blockaded. — Verona occupied by the French. — King 
 of Naples secedes from Austria. — Armistice purchased by the Pope. — The Neutrality 
 of Tuscany violated, and Leghorn occupied by the French Troops. — Vieios of Buo- 
 naparte respecting the Revolutionizing of Italy — He temporizes. — Conduct of the Aus- 
 trian Government at this Crisis. — Beaulieu displaced, and succeeded by Wurmser.— 
 Buonaparte sits down before Mantua. 
 
 Occupying Milan, and conqueror in so 
 many battles, Buonaparte might be justly 
 considered as in absolute possession of 
 Lombardy, while the broken forces of Beau- 
 lieu had been compelled to retreat under 
 that sole remaining bulwark of the Austri- 
 an power, the strong fortress of Mantua, 
 where they might await such support as 
 should be detached to them throusrh the 
 Tyrol, but could undertake no offen-sive op- 
 erations. To secure his position, the Aus- 
 trian general had occupied the line formed 
 by the Mincio, his left flank resting upon 
 Mantua, his right upon Peschiera, a Vene- 
 tian city and fortress, but of which he had 
 taken possession, against the reclamation 
 of the Venetian government, wlio were de- 
 sirous of observing a neutrality between 
 such powerful belligerents, not perliaps al- 
 together aware how far the victor, in so 
 dreadful a strife, might be disposed to neg- 
 lect the general law of nations. The Aus- 
 trian defence on the right was prolonged l)y 
 the Lago di Guarda, a large laj^c out of 
 
 I wliich the Mincio flows, and which, running 
 1 thirty-five miles northward into the moun- 
 I tains of the Tyrol, maintained uninter- 
 rupted Beaulieu's communication with Ger- 
 many. 
 
 Buonaparte in the meantime permittea 
 his forces only the repose of four or fivo 
 days, ere he again summoned them to active 
 exertion. He called on them to visit the 
 Capitol, there to re-establish (he ought to 
 have said to carry away) the statues of the 
 great men of antiquity, and to change or 
 rather renovate the destinies of the finest 
 district of Europe. But while thus engag- 
 ed, he received orders frofn Paris respect- 
 ing his farther proceedings, which must 
 have served to convince him that all his 
 personal enemies, all who doubted and 
 feared him, were not to be found in tlw 
 Austrian ranks. 
 
 The Directory themselves had begun to 
 suspect the prudenceof snfTrring the whole 
 harvest of success which Italy afforded, to 
 be reaped by the adventurous and liaaghtj
 
 232 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXIII. 
 
 character who had first thrust in the sic- 
 kle. They perhaps felt already an instinc- 
 tive distrust of the waxing influence, whicli 
 was destined one day to overpower their 
 own. Under some sucli impression, they 
 resolved to divide the army of Italy betwixt 
 Buonaparte and Kellermaiin, directing the 
 former general to pass the Po, and advance 
 eouUiward on Rome and Naples, with twen- 
 ty thousand men; while Kellermann, with 
 tie other moiety of the Italian army, should 
 press the siege of Mantua, and make head 
 against the Austrians. 
 
 This was taking Buonaparte's victory out 
 of his grasp ; and he resented the proposal 
 accordingly, by transmitting his resigna- 
 tion, and declining to have any concern in 
 the loss of his army, and the fruits of his 
 conquests. He afRrmed, that Kellermann, 
 with an army reduced to twenty thousand 
 men, could not face Beaulieu, but wou'd 
 be speedily driven out of Lombardy ; and 
 that, in consequence, the army which ad- 
 vanced southward would be overwhelmed 
 and destroyed. One bad general, lie said, 
 was better than two good ones. The Direc- 
 tory must have perceived from such a re- 
 ply, the firm and inflexible nature of the 
 man they had made the leader of their ar- 
 mies, but they dared not, such was his rep- 
 utation, proceed in the plan they had form- 
 ed for the diminution of his power ; and 
 perhaps for the first time since the Revolu- 
 tion, the executive government of France 
 was compelled to give way to a successful 
 general, and adopt his views instead of their 
 own The campaign was left to his sole 
 management ; he obtained an ascendency 
 which he took admirable care not to relin- 
 quish, and it became the only task of the 
 Directory, so far as Italy was concerned, to 
 study phrases for intimating their approba- 
 tion of the young general's measures. 
 
 Whatever were the ultimate designs of 
 Buonaparte against Rome, he thought it 
 prudent to suspend them until he should be 
 free from all danger of the Austrians, by the 
 final defeat of Beaulieu. For this object, 
 he directed the divisions of his army to- 
 wards the right bank of the Mincio, with a 
 view of once more forcing Beaulieu's posi- 
 tion, after having taken precautions for 
 blockading the citadel of Milan, where the 
 Austrians still held out, and for guarding 
 Pavia and otlier points, which appeared ne- 
 cessary to secure his conquests. 
 
 Napoleon himself fixed his head-quarters 
 at Lodi, upon the 21tli of May. But he was 
 scarcely arrived there, when he received 
 the alarmint,' intelligence, that the city of 
 Pavia, with all the surrounding districts, 
 were in arms in his rear ; that the tocsin 
 was ringing in every village, and that news 
 were circulated that the Prince of Conde's 
 army, united with a strong Austrian force, 
 had descended from the Tyrol into Italy. I 
 Some commotions had shown themselves in 
 Milan, and the Austrian garrison there made 
 demonstrations towards favouring the in- 
 surrection in Pavia, where the insurgents 
 were completely successful, and had made I 
 prisoners a French corps of three hundred ' 
 men. 
 
 Buonaparte represents these disturban- 
 ces as ellected by .Vustrian agents; but he 
 had formerly assured us, that the Italians 
 took little interest in the fate of their Ger- 
 man masters. The truth is, that having en- 
 tered Italy with the most flattering assur- 
 ances of observing respect for public and 
 private property, the French had disgusted 
 the inhabitants, by e.xacting tlie contriba- 
 tions which they had imposed on the coun- 
 try with great severity. .As Catholics, the 
 Italians W'Cre also disgusted with the open 
 indignities thrown on the places and objects 
 of public worship, as well as on the persons 
 and character ol their priests.* 
 
 The nobles and the clergj- naturally saw 
 their ruin in the success of the French ; and 
 tlie lower classes joined them for the 
 time, from dislike to foreigners, love of na- 
 tional independence, resentment of the ex- 
 actions made, and the acts of sacrilege 
 committed by the ultramontane invaders. 
 .\bout thirty thousand insurgents were in 
 arms ; but having no regular forces on 
 whicli to rest as a rallying point, they were 
 ill calculated to endure the rapid assault of 
 the disciplined French. 
 
 Buonaparte, anxious to extinguish a 
 flame so formidable, instantly returned from 
 Lodi to Milan, at the head' of a strong di- 
 vision, took order for the safety of the cap- 
 ital of Lombardy, and moved next morning 
 towards Pavia. "tlie centre of the insurrec- 
 tion. The village of Benasco, which was 
 defended against Launes, w,as taken by 
 storm, the inhabitants put to the sword, and 
 the place plundered and burnt. Napoleon 
 himself arrived before Pavia, blew the gates 
 open with his cannon, dispersed with ease 
 the half-armed insurgents, and caused the 
 leaders of the insurrection to be put to 
 death, for having attempted to defend the 
 independence of their country. He then 
 seized on the persons of many inhabitants 
 and sent them to Paris as hostages for the 
 subjection of their fellow-citizens. 
 
 The French general published a procla- 
 mation in the Republican style, in which 
 he reproaches the insurgents for presuming 
 to use arms in defence of their country, 
 and menaces with fire and sword whatever 
 individuals should in future prosecute the 
 same daring course. He made his threat 
 good some weeks afterwards, when a sim- 
 ilar insurrection took place in those dis- 
 tricts called the Imperial fiefs, and still lat- 
 er, when an effort at resistance was attempt- 
 ed in the town of Lugo. On both occa- 
 sions, the leaders of the armed inhabitants 
 were tried by a military commission, con- 
 demned, and shot. On the last, indeed, to 
 revenge the defeat sustained by a squadron' 
 of French dragoons, Lugo was taken by 
 storm, pillaged, burnt, and the men put to 
 the sword; while some credit seems to b« 
 
 * It has been alleged, tliat in a farce exhibited 
 on tliu public stage by authority of Buonaparte, 
 the Pope \vri3 iiitroiUiced in his pontifical dreas. 
 This, which could not be looked on as less than 
 sacrilege by a Catholic population, docs not ac- 
 cord with the general conduct of Buonaparte See, 
 howover. Tableau ties premieres Ouerres d* 
 Buonaparte, Paris, 1815 par Lo Chevalier Mfr- 
 chaud do Villellc, p. 41.
 
 Chop. XXIIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 233 
 
 taken by Buonaparte in his despatches, for 
 the clemency of the French, which spared 
 the women and children. 
 
 It is impossible to read the account of 
 these severities, without contrasting them 
 with the opinions professed on other occa- 
 sions, both by the republican and imperial 
 governments of France. The first of these 
 exclaimed as at an unheard-of cruelty, 
 when the Duke of Brunswick, in his cele- 
 brated proclamation, threatened to treat as 
 a brigand every Frenchman, not being a 
 Boldier, whom he should find under s.rms, 
 and to destroy such villages as should offer 
 resistance to the invading army. The 
 French at that time considered with justice, 
 that, if there is one duty more holy than 
 another, it is that which calls on men to de- 
 fend their native country against invasion. 
 Napoleon, being emperor, was of the same 
 opinion in the years 1813 and ISM, when 
 the allies entered the French territories, 
 &od when, in various proclamations, he 
 called on the inhabitants to rise against the 
 invaders with the implements of their ordi- 
 nary labour when they had no better arms, 
 and " to shoot a foreigner as they would a 
 wolf." It would be difficult to reconcile 
 these invitations with the cruel vengeance 
 taken on the town of Lugo, for observing a 
 line of conduct which, in, similar circum- 
 etances, Buonaparte so keenly and earnest- 
 ly recommended to those whom fortune 
 had made his own subjects. 
 
 The brief insurrection of Pavia suppress- 
 ed by these severities, Buonaparte once 
 more turned his thoughts to the strong po- 
 eition of the Austrians, with the purpose 
 of reducing Beaulieu to a more decided 
 etate of disability, before he executed the 
 threatened vengeance of the Republic on 
 the Sovereign Pontiff. For this purpose he 
 advanced to Brescia, and manceuvred in 
 such a manner as induced Beaulieu. whom 
 repeated surprises of the same kind had not 
 put upon his guard, to believe, that either 
 the French general intended to attempt the 
 passiige of the Mincio at the small but 
 strong town of Peschiera, where that river 
 issues from the Lago di Guarda, or else 
 that, marching northward along the eastern 
 bank, he designed to come round the head 
 of the lake , and thus turn the right of the 
 Austrian position. While Beaulieu dispos- 
 ed his forces as expecting an attack on the 
 right of his line, Buonaparte, with his usu- 
 al celerity, proposed to attack him on the 
 centre, at Borghetto, a town situated on the 
 Mincio, and commanding a bridge over it, 
 about ten miles lower than Peschiera. 
 
 On the 30th May, the French general at- 
 tacked, with superior force, and repulsed 
 across the Mincio, an Austrian corps who 
 endeavoured to cover the town. The fugi- 
 tives endeavoured to demolish the bridge, 
 and did break down one of its arches. But 
 the French rushing forward with impetuosi- 
 ty, under cover of a heavy fire upon the 
 retreating Austrians, repaired the broken 
 arch so as to effect a passage, and the .Min- 
 eio, passed as the Po and the Adda had 
 been before, ceaised in its turn to be a pro- 
 tection to the army drawn up behind it. 
 
 Beaulieu, who had his head-quarters at 
 Valeggio, a village nearly opposite to Bor- 
 ghetto, hastened to retreat, and, evacuating 
 Peschiera, marched his dismayed forces be- 
 hind the Adigc, leaving five hundred pris- 
 onerSj with other trophies of victory, in the 
 hands of the French. Buonaparte had de- 
 signed that this day of success should have 
 been still more decisive, for he meditated 
 an attick upon Peschiera at the moment 
 when the passage at Borghetto was accom- 
 plished ; but ere Augereau, to whom this 
 manoeuvre was committed, had time to ap- 
 proach Peschiera, it was evacuated by the 
 Austrians, who were in full retreat by Cas- 
 tel >(Uovo, protected by their cavalry. 
 
 The left of the Austrian line, cut off 
 from the centre by the passage of the 
 French, had been stationed at Puzzuolo, 
 lower on the Mincio. When Sebottendorf, 
 who commanded the Imperial troops, sta^ 
 tioued on the left bank, heard the cannoo- 
 ade, he immediately ascended the river, to 
 assist his commander-in-chief to repel the 
 French, or to take them in flank if it wa* 
 already crossed. The retreat of Beauliea 
 made both purposes impossible ; and yet 
 this march of Sebottendorf had almost 
 produced a result of greater consequence 
 than would have been the most complete 
 victory. 
 
 The French division which first crossed 
 the !Mincio, had passed through Valeggio 
 without halting in pursuit of Beaulieu, by 
 whom the village had been just before aban- 
 doned. Buonaparte with a small retinue 
 remained in the place, and Massena's di- 
 vision were still on the right bank of the 
 Mincio, preparing their dinner. At this 
 moment the advanced guard of Sebotteii- 
 dorf, consisting of hulans and hus-^ars, push- 
 ed into the village of Valeggio. There 
 was but barely time to cry to arms, and, 
 shutting the gates of the inn, to emplo" the 
 general's small escort in its defence, while 
 Buonaparte, escaping by the garden, mount- 
 ed his horse, and galloped towards Masse- 
 na's division. The soldiers threw asid9 
 their cooker}', and marched instantly against 
 Sebottendorf, who, with much difficulty, 
 and not without loss, effected a retreat la 
 the same direction as his commander-ia- 
 chief Beaulieu. This personal risk indao- 
 ed Buonaparte to form what he called the 
 corps of guides, veterans of ten years' ser- 
 vice at least, who were perpetually near 
 his person, and like the Triarii of the Ro- 
 mans, were employed only when the most 
 desperate efforts of courage were necessa- 
 ry. Bessieres, afterwards Duke of Istria, 
 and Mareschal of France, was placed at the 
 head of tlils chosen i^ody, which gave rise 
 to the formation of the celebrated Imperial 
 Guards of Napoleon. 
 
 The passage of the Mincio obliged the 
 Austrians to retire within the frontier of 
 the Tyrol ; and they might have been con- 
 sidered as completely expelled from Italy, 
 had not Mantua and the citadel of Milan 
 still continued to display the Imperial ban- 
 ners. The castle of Milan was a place of 
 no extraordinary strength, the surrender of 
 I which might be calculated on so soon a»
 
 234 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. xxm. 
 
 the genera, fate of war had declared itself 
 against the present possessors. But Man- 
 tua was by nature one of those almost im- 
 pregnable fortresses, wliich may long, re- 
 lying on its own resources, defy any com- 
 pulsion but that of famine. 
 
 The town and fortress of Mantua are sit- 
 uated on a species of island, five or six 
 leagues square, called the Seraglio, formed 
 by three lakes which communicate with, 
 or rather are formed by, the Mincio. This 
 island has access to the land by five cause- 
 ways, the most important of which was in 
 1796 defended by a regular citadel, called, 
 from the vicinity of a ducal palace, La F'a- 
 vorita. Another was defended by an en- 
 trenched camp extending between the for- 
 tress and the lake. The third was protect- 
 ed by a hornwork. The remaining two 
 causeways were only defended by gates and 
 drawbridges. Mantua, low in situation, and 
 surrounded by water, in a warm climate, is 
 naturally unhealthy; but the air was likely 
 to be still m'"re destructive to a besieging 
 army, (whi< n necessarily lay in many re- 
 tpects mr e exposed to the elements, and 
 we e besides in greater numbers, and less 
 ha ituated to the air of the place,) than to 
 a ,arrison who had been seasoned to it, and 
 V ere well accommodated within the for- 
 iress. 
 
 To surprise a place so strong by a coup- 
 de-main was impossible, though Buona- 
 parte" represents his soldiers as murmuring 
 that such a desperate feat was not attempt- 
 ed. But he blockaded Mantua with a large 
 force, and proceeded to take such other 
 measures to improve his success, as might 
 pave the way to future victories. The 
 garrison was numerous, amounting to from 
 twelve to fourteen thousand men ; and the 
 deficiencies of the fortifications, which the 
 Austrians had neglected in over security, 
 we""", made up for by the natural strength 
 of the place. Yet of the five causeways, 
 Buonaparte made himself master of four ; 
 and thus the enemy lost possession of all 
 beyond the walls of the town and citadel, 
 and had only the means of attaining the 
 mainland through the citadel of La Favo- 
 rita. Lines of circumvallation were form- 
 ed, and SerruTier, was left in blockade of 
 the fortress, which the possession of four 
 of the accesses enabled him to accomplish 
 with a body of men inferior to the garrison. 
 To complete the blockade, it was neces- 
 sary to come to some arrangement with 
 the ancient republic of Venice. With this 
 venerable government Napoleon had the 
 power of working his own pleasure ; for 
 although the state might have raised a con- 
 siderable army to assist the Austrians, to 
 whom its senate, or aristocratic govern- 
 ment, certainly bore good-will, yet, having 
 been in amity with the French Republic, 
 they deemed the step too hazardous, and 
 vainly trusting that their neutrality would 
 be respected, they saw the Austrian power 
 completely broken for the time, before they 
 took any active measures either to stand in 
 their defence, or to deprecate the wrath of 
 the victor. But when the line of the Min- 
 cio was forced, and Buonaparte occupied 
 
 the Venetian territory ( o the left bank, 
 it was time to seek by concessions that de- 
 ference to the rights of an independent 
 country, which the once haughty aristocra- 
 cj' of Venice had lost a favourable oppor- 
 tunity of supporting by force. 
 
 There was one circumstance which ren« 
 dered their cause unfavourable. Louis 
 XVIIL, under the title of a private person, 
 the Comte de Lisle, had received tne hos- 
 pitality of the republic, and was permitted 
 to remain at Verona, living in strict seclu- 
 sion. The permission to entertain this dis- 
 tinguished exile, the Venetian government 
 had almost mendicated from the French 
 revolutionary rulers, in a manner which we 
 would term mean, were it not for the good- 
 ness of the intention, which leads us to re- 
 gard the conduct of the ancient mistress of 
 the Adriatic with pity rather than contempt. 
 But when the screen of the Austrian force 
 no longer existed between the invading ar- 
 mies of France and the Venetian territories 
 — when the final subjugation of the north 
 of Italy was resolved on — the Directory per 
 remptorily demanded, and the senate of 
 Venice were obliged to grant, an order, re- 
 moving the Comte de Lisle from the boun- 
 daries of the republic. 
 
 The illustrious exile protested against 
 this breach of hospitality, and demanded, 
 before parting, that his name, which had 
 been placed on the golden book of the re- 
 public, should be erased, and that the ar- 
 mour presented by Henry IV. to Venice, 
 should be restored to his descendant. Both 
 demands were evaded, as might have been 
 expected in the circumstances, and the fu 
 ture monarch of France left Verona on the 
 21st of April 1796, for the army of the Prince 
 of Conde, in whose ranks he proposed to 
 place himself, without the purpose of as- 
 suming any command, but only that of fight- 
 ing as a volunteer in the character of the 
 first gentleman of France. Other less dis- 
 tinguished emigrants, to the number of 
 several hundreds, who had found an asylum 
 in Italy, were, by the successes atLodi and 
 Borghetto, compelled to fly to other coun- 
 tries. 
 
 Buonaparte, immediately after the battle 
 of Borghetto, and the passage of the Mincio, 
 occupied the town of Verona, and did not 
 fail to intimate to its magistrates, that if the 
 Pretender, as he termed him, to the throne 
 of France, had not left Verona before his 
 arrival, he would have burnt to the ground 
 a town which, acknowledging him as King 
 of France, assumed, in doing so, the air of 
 being itself the capital of that republic. 
 This might, no doubt, sound gallant in Pa- 
 ris ; but Buonaparte knew well that Louis 
 of France was not received in the Venetian 
 territory as the successor to his brother's 
 throne, but only with the hospitality due 
 to an unfortunate prince, who, suiting hia 
 claim and title to his situation, was content 
 to shelter his head, as a private man might 
 have done, from the evils which seemed to 
 pursue him. 
 
 The neutrality of Venice was, however, 
 for the time admitted, though not entirely 
 from respect for the law of nations j for
 
 Chap. XXIII] LIFE OF NAPOLEO^ BUONAPARTE. 
 
 235 
 
 Buonaparte is at some pains to justify bim- 
 Belf for not having seized without ceremony 
 on the territories and resources of that re- 
 public, although a neutral power as far as 
 her utmost exertions could preserve neu- 
 trality. He contented himself for the time 
 with occupying Verona, and other depend- 
 encies of Venice upon the line of the 
 Adige. " You are too weak," he said to the 
 Proveditore Fescarelli, " to pretend to en- 
 force neutrality with a few hundred Sclavo- 
 nians on two such nations as France and 
 Austria. The Austrians have not respected 
 your territory where it suited their purpose, 
 and I must, in requital, occupy such part as 
 falls within the line of the Adige." 
 
 But he considered that the Venetian ter- 
 ritories to the westward should in policy be 
 allowed to retain the character of neutral 
 ground, which The Government, as that of 
 Venice was emphatically called, would not, 
 for their own sakes, permit them to lose ; 
 while otherwise, if occupied by the French 
 aa conquerors, these timid neutrals might 
 upon any reverse have resumed the charac- 
 ter of fierce opponents. And, at all events, 
 in order to secure a territory as a conquest, 
 which, if respected as neutral, would secure 
 itself, there would have been a necessity 
 for dividing the French forces, which it was 
 Buonaparte's wish to concentrate. From 
 interested motives, therefore, if not from 
 respect to justice, Buonaparte deferred seiz- 
 ing the territory of Venice when within his 
 grasp, conscious that the total defeat of the 
 Austrians in Italy would, when accomplish- 
 ed, leave the prey as attainable, and more 
 defenceless than ever. Having disposed 
 his army in its position, and prepared some 
 of its divisions for the service which they 
 were to perform as moveable columns, he 
 returned to Milan to reap the harvest of his 
 successes. 
 
 The first of these consisted in the defec- 
 tion of the King of Naples from the cause 
 of Austria, to which, from family conne.xion, 
 he had yet remained attached, though of 
 late with less deep devotion. His cavalry 
 had behaved better during the engage-ments 
 on the Mincio, than has been of late the cus- 
 tom with Neapolitan troops, and had suffer- 
 ed accordingly. The King, discouraged 
 with the loss, solicited an armistice, which 
 he easily obtained ; for his dominions being 
 situated at the lower extremity of Italy, and 
 bis force extending to sixty thousand men 
 at least, it was of importance to secure the 
 neutrality of a power who might be danger- 
 ous, and who was not, as matters stood, un- 
 der the immediate control of the French. 
 A Neapolitan ambassador was sent to Paris 
 to conclude a final peace ; in the mean- 
 while, the soldiers of tjje King of the Two 
 Sicilies were withdrawn from the army of 
 Beaulieu, and returned to their own coun- 
 try. The dispositions of the Court of Na- 
 ples continued, nevertheless, to vacillate, 
 as opportunity of advantage, joined with 
 the hatred of the Queen, (sister of Marie 
 Antoinette.) or the fear of the French mili- 
 tary superiority seemed to predominate. 
 
 The storm now thickened round the devot- 
 ed head of the Pope. Ferraraand Bologna, 
 
 the territories of which belonged to the Ho- 
 ly See, were occupied by the French troops. 
 In the latter place, four hundred of the Papal 
 troops were made prisoners, with a cardinad 
 who acted as their officer. The latter was 
 dismissed on his parole. But when sum- 
 moned to return to the French head-quar- 
 ters, his Eminence declined to obey, and 
 amused the Republican officers a good deal, 
 by alleging that the Pope had dispensed 
 with his engagement. Afterwards, howev- 
 er, there were officers of no mean rank in 
 the French service, who could contrive to 
 extricate themselves from the engagement 
 of a parole, without troubling the Pope for 
 his interference on the occasion. Influ- 
 enced by the approaching danger, the Court 
 of Rome sent Azara, the Spanish minister, 
 with full power to treat for an armistice. 
 It was a remarkable part of Buonaparte'a 
 character, that he knew as well when to 
 forbear as when to strike. Rome, it was 
 true, was an enemy whom France, or at 
 least its present rulers, both hated and de- 
 spised, but the moment was then inoppor- 
 tune for the prosecution of their resent- 
 ment. To have detached a sufficient force 
 in that direction, would have weakened the 
 French army in the nortli of Italy, where 
 fresh bodies of German troops were already 
 arriving, and might have been attended wita 
 great ultimate risk, since there was a possi- 
 bility that the English might have trans- 
 ported to Italy the forces which they wera 
 about to withdraw from Corsica, amounting 
 to six thousand men. But though these 
 considerations recommended to Napoleon 
 a negotiation with the Pope, his Holiness 
 was compelled to purchase the armistice 
 at a severe rate. Twenty-one millions of 
 francs, in actual specie, with large contri- 
 butions in forage and military stores, the 
 cession of Ancona, Bologna, and Ferrara, 
 not forgetting one hundred of the finest 
 pictures, statues, and similar objects of art, 
 to be selected according to the choice of 
 the committee of artists who attended the 
 French army, were the price of a respite 
 which was not of long duration. It waa 
 particularly stipulated, with Republican os- 
 tentation, that the busts of the elder and 
 younger Brutus were to be among the num- 
 ber of ceded articles ; and it was in thia 
 manner that Buonaparte made good his 
 vaunt of establishing in the Roman capitol 
 the statues of the illustrious and classical 
 dead. 
 
 The Arch-Duke of Tuscany was next to 
 undergo the republican discipline. It ia 
 true, that prince had given no offence to 
 the French Republic ; on the contrary, he 
 had claims of merit with them, from having 
 been the very first power in Europe who 
 acknowledged them as a legal government, 
 and having ever since been in strict amity 
 with them. It seemed also, that while jus- 
 tice required he should be spared, the 
 interest of tlve French themselves did not 
 oppose the conclusion. His country could 
 have no influence on the fate of the im- 
 pending war, being situated on the western 
 side of the Appenines. In these circum- 
 stances, to have seized on his museum
 
 236 
 
 LIFE OF JSAPOLEOiV BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXIIL 
 
 however tempting, or made requisitions on 
 his territories, would have appeared unjust 
 towards the earliest ally of the Frencli Ko- 
 public ; so Buonaparte contented himself 
 with seizing on the Grand Duke's sea-port 
 of Leghorn, confiscating the English goods 
 which his subjects had imported, and cn- 
 lirely ruining the once flourishing coni- 
 n>erce of the Dukedom. It was a principal 
 object with the French to seize the British 
 merchant vessels, who, confiding in tlie re- 
 Epect due to a neutral power, were lying 
 in great numbers in the harbour; but the 
 English merchantmen had such early in- 
 telligence as enEibled them to set sail for 
 Corsica, although a very great quantity of 
 valuable goods fell into the possession of 
 the French. 
 
 While the French general was thus vio- 
 lating the neutrality of the Grand Duke, 
 occupying by surprise his valuable seaport, 
 and destroying the commerce of his state, 
 the unhappy prince was compelled to re- 
 ceive him at Florence, with all the respect 
 due to a valued friend, and profess the ut- 
 most obligation to him for his lenity, while 
 Manfredini, the Tuscan minister, endeav- 
 oured to throw a veil of decency over the 
 transactions at Leghorn, by allowing that 
 the English were more masters in that port 
 than was the Grand Duke himself. Buon- 
 ^arte disdained to have recourse to any 
 paltry apologies. " The French flag," he 
 eaid, " has been insulted in Leghorn — You 
 are not strong enough to cause it to be re- 
 spected. The Directory has commanded me 
 to occupy the place." Shortly after, Buona- 
 parte, during an entertainment given to him 
 oy the Grand Duke at Florence, receiv- 
 ed intelligence that the citadel of Milan 
 l)ad at length surrendered. He rubbed his 
 bands with self-congratulation, and turning 
 to the Grand Duke, observed, " that the 
 Emperor, his brother, had now lost his last 
 possession in Lombardy." 
 
 When we read of the exactions and in- 
 dignities to which the strong reduce the 
 weak, it is impossible not to remember the 
 simile cf Napoleon himself, who compared 
 the alliance of France and an inferior state, 
 to a giant embracing a dwarf. " The poor 
 dwarf," he added, " may probably be suffo- 
 cated in the arms of his friend; but the 
 giant does not mean it, and cannot help it." 
 
 While Buonaparte made truce with sev- 
 eral of the old states in Italy, or rather ad- 
 journed their destruction in consideration 
 of large contributions, he was far from los- 
 ing sight of the main object of the French 
 Directory, which was to cause the adjacent 
 governments to be revolutionized and new- 
 modelled on a republican form, correspond- 
 ing to that of the Great Nation herself. 
 
 This scheme was, in every respect, an 
 exceedingly artful one. In every state 
 which the French migbt overrun or con- 
 quer, there must occur, as we have already 
 repeatedly noticed, men fitted to form the 
 members of revolutionary government, and 
 who, from their previous situation and hab- 
 its, must necessarily be found eager to do 
 so. Such men are sure to be supported by 
 the rabble of large towns, who are attract- 
 
 ed by the prospect of plunder, and by the 
 splendid promises of liberty, which they 
 always understand as promising the equali- 
 zation of property. Thus provided with 
 materials for their edifice, the bayonets of 
 the French army were of strength sufficient 
 to prevent the task from being interrupted, 
 and the French Republic had soon to greet 
 sister states, under the government oilmen 
 who lield their offices by the pleasure of 
 France, and who were obliged, therefore, to 
 comply with all her requisitions, however 
 unreasonable. 
 
 This arrangement afforded the French 
 government an opportunity of deriving ev- 
 ery advantage from the subordinate repub- 
 lics, which could possibly be drained out of 
 them, without at the same time incurring 
 the odium of making the exactions in their 
 own name. It is a custom in some coun- 
 tries, when a cow who has lost her calf will 
 not yield her milk freely, to place be- 
 fore the refractory animal the skin of her 
 young one stuffed, so as to have some re- 
 semblance to life. The cow is deceived 
 by this imposture, and yields to be milked 
 upon seeing this representative of her oflT- 
 spring. In like manner, the show of in- 
 dependence assigned to the Batavian, and 
 other associated republics, enabled France 
 to drain these countries of supplies, which, 
 while they had the appearance of being 
 given to the governments of those who 
 granted the supplies, passed, in fact, into 
 the hands of their engrossing ally. Buon- 
 aparte was sufficiently aware that it was ex- 
 pected from him to extend the same system 
 to Italy, and to accelerate, in the conquer- 
 ed countries of that fertile land, this spe- 
 cies of political regeneration ; but it would 
 appear that, upon the whole, he thoughtthe 
 soil scarcely prepared for a republican har- 
 vest. He mentions, no doubt, that the na- 
 tives of Bologna and Reggio, and other 
 districts, were impatient to unite with the 
 French as allies, and intimate friends ; but 
 even these expressions are so limited as to 
 make it plain that the feelings of the Ital- 
 ians in general were not as yet favourable 
 to that revolution which the Directory de- 
 sired, and which he endeavoured to for- 
 ward. 
 
 He had, indeed, in all his proclamationa, 
 declared to the inhabitants of the invaded 
 countries, that his war was not waged with 
 them but with their governments, and had 
 published the strictest orders for the disci- 
 pline to be observed by his followers. But 
 though this saved the inhabitants from im- 
 mediate violence at the hand of the French 
 soldiery, it did not diminish the weight of 
 the requisitions with which the country at 
 large was burthened, and to which poor and 
 rich had to contribute their share. They 
 were pillaged with regularity, and by or- 
 der, but they were not the less pillaged; 
 and Buonaparte himself has informed us 
 that the necessity of maintaining the French 
 army at their expense very much retarded 
 the march of French principles in Italy. 
 " You cannot," he says, with much truth, 
 " at the same moment strip a people of 
 tlieir substance, and persuade them while
 
 Chap. XXin.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 237 
 
 doing so, that you are their friend and ben- 
 efactor." 
 
 He mentions also, in the Saint Helena 
 manuscripts, the regret expressed by the 
 ■wise and philosophical part of the commu- 
 nity, that the revolution of Rome, the source 
 and director of superstitious opinions, had 
 not been commenced; but frankly admits 
 that the time was not come for going to 
 each extremities, and that he was content- 
 ed with plundering the Roman See of its 
 money and valuables, waiting uatil the fit 
 moment should arrive of totally destroying 
 that ancient hierarchy. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that Buona- 
 parte could bring the Directory to under- 
 stand and relish these temporising meas- 
 ures. They had formed a false idea of the 
 country, and of the slate and temper of the 
 people, and were desirous at once to revo- 
 lutionize Rome, Naples, and Tuscany. 
 
 Napoleon, more prudently, left these ex- 
 tensive regions under the direction of their 
 old and feeble governments, whom he com- 
 pelled in the interim to supply him with 
 money and contributions, in exchange for a 
 protracted existence, which he intended to 
 destroy so soon as the fit opportunity should 
 offer itself What may be tliought of this 
 policy in diplomacy, we pretend not to say ; 
 but in private life it would be justly brand- 
 ed as altogether infamous. In point of mo- 
 rality, it resembles the conduct of a robber, 
 who, having exacted the surrender of the 
 traveller's property, as a ransom for his 
 life, concludes his violence by murder. It 
 is alleged, and we have little doubt with 
 truth, that the Pope was equally insincere, 
 and straggled only, by immediate submis- 
 sion, to prepare for the hour, when the 
 Austrians should strengthen their power in 
 Italv. But it is the duty of the historifin 
 loudly to proclaim, that the bad faith of one 
 party in a treaty forms no excuse for that 
 of the other ; and that national contracts 
 ought to be, especially on the stronger side, 
 as pure in their intent, and executed as 
 rigidly, as if those with whom they were 
 contracted were held to be equally sincere 
 in their proposition. If the more powerful 
 party judge otherwise, the means are in 
 their hand to continue the war ; and they 
 ought to encounter their more feeble ene- 
 my by detection, and punishment of his 
 fraud, not by anticipating the same dcceit- 
 ^ful course whicli their opponent has resort- 
 ed to in the consciousness of his weakness, 
 — like a hare which doubles before the 
 hounds when she has no other hope of es- 
 cape. It will be well with the world, 
 when falsehood and finesse are as thorough- 
 ly exploded in international communica- 
 tion, as they are among individuals in all 
 civilized countries. 
 
 But though those states, whose sove- 
 reigns could afford to pay for forbearance, 
 were suffered for a time to remain under 
 their ancient governments, it mi^t have 
 "been thought tliat Lombardy, from which the 
 Austrians had been almost totally driven, 
 and where, of course, there was no one to 
 compound with on the part of the old gov- 
 ernment, would have been made an excep- 
 
 tion. Accordingly, the French faction in 
 these districts, with all the numerous class 
 who were awakened by the hope of nation- 
 al independence, expected impatiently th« 
 declaration of their freedom from the Aus- 
 trian yoke, and their erection, under the 
 protection of France, into a republic on th« 
 same model with that of the Great Nation. 
 But although Buonaparte encouraged men 
 who held these opinions, and writers who 
 supported tliem, he had two weighty reasons 
 for procrastinating on this point. First, if 
 France manumitted Lombardy, and convert- 
 ed her from a conquered province into an 
 ally, she must in consistency have abstain- 
 ed from demanding of the liberated country 
 those supplies, by which Buonaparte's army 
 was entirely paid and supported. Agam, if 
 this difficulty could be got over, there re- 
 mained the secret purpose of the Directory 
 to be considered. They had determined, 
 when they should make peace with the Em- 
 peror of Austria, to exact the cession of 
 Belgium and the territory of Luxembourg, 
 as provinces lying convenient to France, 
 and had resolved, that under certain cir- 
 cumstances, they would even give up Lom- 
 bardy again to his dominion, rather than not 
 obtain these more desirable objects. To 
 erect a new republic in the country which 
 thej' were prepared to restore to its former 
 sovereign, would have been to throw a bar 
 in the way of their own negotiation. Buon- 
 aparte had therefore the difficult task of at 
 once encouraging, on the part of the repub- 
 licans of Lombardy, the principles which 
 induced them to demand a separate govern- 
 ment, and of soothing them to expect with 
 patience events, which he was secretly con- 
 scious might possibly never come to pass. 
 The final issue shall be told elsewhere. It 
 may be just necessary to observe, that the 
 conduct of the French towards the republi- 
 cans whom they had formed no pre-deter- 
 mination to support, was as uncandid as to- 
 wards the ancient governments whom they 
 treated with. They sold to the latter false 
 hopes of security, and encouraged the for- 
 mer to express sentiments and opinions, 
 which must have exposed them to ruin, in 
 case of the restoration of Lombardy to its 
 old rulers, an event which the Directory all 
 along contemplated in secret. Such is, in 
 almost all cases, the risk incurred by a do- 
 mestic faction, who trust to carry their pe- 
 culiar objects in the bosom of their own 
 country by means of a foreign nation. Their 
 too powerful auxiliaries are ever ready to 
 sacrifice them to their own views of emolu- 
 ment. 
 
 Having noticed the effect of Buonaparte's 
 short but brilliant campaign on other states, 
 we must observe the effects which his vic- 
 tories produced on Austria herself. These 
 were entirely consistent with her national 
 character. The same tardiness which has 
 long made the government of Austria slow 
 in availing themselves of advantageous. cir- 
 cumstances, cautious in their plans, and un- 
 willing to adopt, or indeed to study to com- 
 prehend, a new system of tactics, even af- 
 ter having repeatedly experienced its terrible 
 efficacies, ia combined with the better qjial-
 
 238 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. {Chap. XXIIL 
 
 ities of firm determination, resolute endur- 
 ance, and unquenchable spirit. The Aus- 
 trian slowness and obstinacy, which have 
 aometimes threatened them with ruin, have, 
 on the other hand, often been compensated 
 by their firm perseverance and courage in 
 adversity. 
 
 Upon the present occasion, Austria show- 
 ed ample demonstration of the various 
 qualities we have ascribed to her. The 
 rapid and successive victories of Buona- 
 parte, appeared to her only the rash flight 
 of an eaglet, whose juvenile audacity had 
 over-estimated the strength of his pinion. 
 The Imperial Council resolved to sustain 
 their diminished force in Italy, with such 
 reinforcements as might enable them to re- 
 assume the complete superiority over tlie 
 French, though at the risk of weakening 
 their armies on the Rhine. Fortune in that 
 quarter, though of a various complexion, 
 had been on the whole more advantageous 
 to the Austrians than elsewhere, and seem- 
 ed to authorize tlie detaching considerable 
 reinforcements from the eastern frontier, 
 on which they had been partially victori- 
 ous, to Italy, where, since Buonaparte had 
 descended from the Alps, they had been 
 uniformly unfortunate. 
 
 Beaulieu, aged and unlucky, was no long- 
 ef considered as a fit opponent to his inven- 
 tive, young, and active adversary. He was 
 as full of displeasure, it is said, against the 
 Aulic Council, for the associates whom 
 they had assigned him, as they could be 
 with him for his bad success.* He was re- 
 
 * The following letter appears in the journals 
 (w an intercepted despatch from Beaulieu to the 
 Aulic Council of War. It is perhaps suppositious, 
 but seciTii? worthy of preservation a^f expressing tlie 
 irritated feelings with which the veteran general 
 was certainly affected, whether he wrote the letter 
 in question or not. It will bo recollected, that 
 D'Argcnteau, of whom he complains, was the 
 Cfluse of his original misfortunes at Monte Notto. 
 See p. yiy. " I asked you for a General, and you 
 have sent me Argenteau. — I am quite aware that 
 he is a groat lord, and that he is to be created 
 Field-marshal of the Empire, to atone for my hav- 
 ing placed him under arrest. — I apprize you that I 
 have no more than tnenty thousand men remain- 
 ing, and that the French are sixty thousand strong. 
 I apprize you farther, that I will retreat to-mor- 
 row — ne.Tt day — :he day after that — and every day 
 — «V0B t» Siberia itself, if they pursue rae so far. 
 
 called, therefore, in tliat species of disgrace 
 wliich misfortune never fails to infer, and 
 tlie command of his remaining forces, now 
 drawn back and secured within the passes 
 of the Tyrol, was provisionally assigned to 
 the veteran Melas. 
 
 Meanwhile VVurmser, accounted one of the 
 best of the Austrian generals, was ordered to 
 place himself at the head of thirty thousand 
 men from the imperial forces on the Rhine, 
 and, traversing the Tyrol, and collecting 
 what recruits he could in that warlike dis- 
 trict, to assume the command of the Aus- 
 trian army, which, expelled from Italy, now 
 lay upon its frontiers, and might be suppos- 
 ed eager to resume their national suprema- 
 cy in the fertile climates out of which they 
 had been so lately driven. 
 
 Aware of the storm which was gathering, 
 Buonaparte made every possible effort to 
 carry Mantua before arrival of the formida- 
 ble Austrian army, whose first operation 
 would doubtless be to raise the siege of 
 that important place. .\ scheme to take 
 tlie city and castle by surprise, by a detach- 
 ment which should pass to the Seraglio, or 
 islet on which Mantua is situated, by night 
 and in boats, having totally failed, Buona- 
 parte was compelled to open trenches, and 
 proceed, as by regular siege. The Austrian 
 general. Canto D'Irles, when summoned to 
 surrender it, replied that his orders were to 
 defend the place to extremity. Napoleon, 
 on his side, assembled all the battering ord- 
 nance which could be collected from the 
 walls of the neighbouring cities and fortress- 
 es, and the attack and defence commenced 
 in tlie most vigorous manner on both sides ; 
 the French making every eflbrt to reduce 
 the city before Wurmser should open liia 
 campaign, the governor determined to pro- 
 tract his resistance, if possible, until he 
 was relieved by the advance of that gener- 
 al. But although red-hot balls were ex- 
 pended in profusion, and several desperate 
 and bloody assaults and sallies took place, 
 many more battles were to be fought, and 
 much more blood expended, before Buona- 
 parte was fated to succeed in this impor- 
 tant object. 
 
 My age gives me right to speak out the truth. 
 Hasten to make peace on any conditions whatso- 
 ever."— Jfonifeur, 1796. Jfo 969
 
 Chap. XXIV^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 239 
 
 CHAP. XZIV. 
 
 Campaign on the Rhine. — General Plan. — Wartenslebtn and the Archduke Charlei re- 
 tire be/ore Jourdan and Moreau. — The Archduke forms a junction with Wartentle- 
 ben, and defeats Jourdan, who retires — Moreau, also, makes his celebrated Retreat 
 through the Black Forest. — Buonaparte raises the siege of Mantua, and defeats th* 
 Axistrians at Salo and Lonato. — Misbehaviour of the French General, Valette, at 
 Castiglione. — Lonato taken, with the French Artillery, on 3d August. — Retaken by 
 Massena and Augereau. — Singular escape of Buonaparte from being captured at Lo- 
 nato. — Wumiser defeated between Lonato and Castiglione, and retreats on Trent and 
 Roveredo. — Buonaparte resiitnes his position before Mantua. — Effects of the French 
 Victories on the different Italian States. — Inflexibility of Austria. — H^urmser recruit- 
 ed. — Battle of Roveredo. — French victorious, and Massena occupies Trent. — Buona- 
 parte defeats Wurmser at Primolano — and at Bassano, 8th September. — Wurmaer 
 flies to Vicenza. — Battle of Areola. — Wurmser finally shut up within the walls of 
 Mantua. 
 
 The reader must, of course, be aware, that 
 Italy, through whicli we are following the 
 victorious career of Napoleon, was not the 
 only scene of war between Austria, but tliat 
 a field of equally strenuous and much more 
 doubtful contest was opened upon the 
 Rhine, where the high military talents of the 
 Archduke Charles were opposed to those of 
 Moreau and Jourdan, the French generals. 
 
 The plan which the Directory had adopt- 
 ed for the campaign of 1796 was of a gi- 
 trantic cliaracter, and menaced Austria, 
 their mo?t powerful enemy upon the con- 
 tinent, with nothing short of total destruc- 
 tion. It was worthy of the genius of Car- 
 not. by whom it was formed, and of Napo- 
 leon and Moreau, by whom it had been re- 
 vised and approved. Under sanction of 
 this general plan, Buonaparte regulated 
 the Italian campaign in which he had prov- 
 ed so successful ; and it had been schemed, 
 that to allow Austria no breathing space, 
 Moreau, with the army of the Sarabre and 
 Meuse, should press forward on the eastern 
 frontier of Germany, supported on the left 
 by Jourdan, at the head of the army of the 
 Rhine, and that both generals should con- 
 tinue t» advance, until Moreau should be 
 in a position to communicate witli Buona- 
 pau-te througli the Tyrol. When this junc- 
 tion of the whole forces of France, in the 
 centre of the .-Xustrian dominions, was ac- 
 complished, it was Carnofs ultimate plan 
 that they should advance upon \'ienna, and 
 dictate peace to tlic Emperor under the 
 walls of his capital. 
 
 Of this great project, the part entrusted 
 to Buonaparte was completely executed, 
 and for some time tlie fortune of war seem- 
 ed equally auspicious to France upon the 
 Rhine as, in Italy. Moreau and Jourdan 
 crosK'.d that great national boundary at 
 Neuwied and Kelil, and moved eastward 
 through (iermany, forming a connected 
 front of more than sixty leagues in breadth, 
 nntil Moreau had actually crossed the riv- 
 er Leek, and was almost touching with his 
 right flnnk the passes of the Tyrol, through 
 which he was, according to the plan of the 
 campaign, to have communicated with 
 Buonaparte. 
 
 During this advance of two hostile ar- 
 mies, amounting eac!» to seventy-five thou- 
 und men, which filled all Germany with 
 
 consternation, the Austrian leader, War- 
 tensleben was driven from position to po- 
 sition by Jourdan, while the Archduke 
 Charles was equally unable to maintain his 
 ground before Moreau. The Imperial 
 generals were reduced to this extremity 
 by the loss of the army, consisting of from 
 thirty to thirty-five thousand men, who had 
 been detached under Wurmser to support 
 the remains of Beaulieu's forces, and rein- 
 state the Austrian affairs in Italy, and who 
 were now on their march through the Ty 
 rol for that purpose. But the Archduke 
 was an excellent and enterprising officer, 
 and at this important period he saved the 
 empire of Austria by a bold and decided 
 mancBuvre. Leaving a large part of his ar- 
 my to make head against INIoreau, or at least 
 to keep him in check, the Archduke moved 
 to the right with the rest, so as to form 
 a junction with Wartensleben, and over- 
 whelm Jourdan with a local superiority of 
 numbers, being the very principle on which 
 the French themselves achieved so many 
 victories. Jourdan was totally defeated, 
 and compelled to make a hasty and disor- 
 derly retreat, which was rendered disas- 
 trous by the insurrection of the German 
 peasantry around his fugitive army. Mo- 
 reau, also unable to maintain himself in the 
 heart of Germany, when Jourdan, with the 
 army which covered his left flank, was de- 
 feated, was likewise under the necessity of 
 retiring, but conducted his retrograde move- 
 ment with such dexterity, that his retreat 
 through the Black Forest, where the Aub- 
 trians hoped to cut him off, has been al- 
 ways judged worthy to be compared to a 
 great victory. Such were the proceedings 
 on the Rhine, and in the interior of Germa- 
 ny, which must be kept in view as influenc- 
 ing, at first by the expected success of Mo- 
 reau and Jourdan, and afterwards by their 
 actual failure, the movements of the Ital- 
 ian army. 
 As the divisions of Wurmaer's army be- 
 1 gan to arrive on the Tyrolese district of 
 Trent, where the Austrian general had fixed 
 his head-quarters, Buonaparte became ur- 
 gent, cither that reinforcements should 
 be despatched to him from France, or that 
 the armies on the Rhine should mtike such 
 a movement in advance towards the point 
 where Ihey might co-operite with him, aa
 
 240 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 had been agreed upon at arranging the origi- 
 nal plan of the campaign. But he obtained 
 no succours ; and though the campaign on 
 the Rhine commenced, as ws have seen, in 
 the month of June, yet that period was too 
 late to afford any diversion in favour of Na- 
 poleon, Wurmser and his whole reinforce- 
 ments being already either by that time ar- 
 rived, or on the point of arriving, at the 
 place where they were to commence opera- 
 tions against the French army of Italy. 
 
 The thunder-cloud which had been so 
 long blackening on the mountains of the 
 Tyrol, seemed now about to discharge its 
 fury. Wurmser, having under his com- 
 mand perhaps eighty thousand men, was 
 about to march from Trent against the 
 French, whose forces, amounting to scarce 
 half so many, were partly engaged in the 
 siege of Mantua, and partly dispersed in 
 tlie towns and villages on the Adige and 
 Chiese, for covering the division of Serru- 
 rier, which carried on the siege. The Aus- 
 trian veteran, confident in his numbers, was 
 only anxious so to regulate his advance, as 
 to derive the most conclusive consequen- 
 ces from the victory which he doubted not 
 to obtain. With an imprudence which the 
 misfortunes of Beaulieu ought to have warn- 
 ed him against, he endeavoured to occupy 
 with the divisions of his army so large an 
 extent of country, as rendered it very diffi- 
 cult for them to maintain their communica- 
 tions with each other. This was particu- 
 larly the case with his left wing under 
 Quasdoniowich, the Prince of Reuss, and 
 General Ocskay, viho were detached down 
 fhe valley of the river Chiese, with orders 
 to direct their march on Brescia. This 
 division was destined to occupy Brescia, 
 and cut off the retreat of the French in the 
 direction of Milan. The left wing of 
 Wurmser's army, under Melas, was to de- 
 scend the Adige by both banks at once, and 
 raanosuvre on Verona, while the centre, 
 commanded by the Austrian Field-marshal 
 in person, was to march southward by the 
 left bank of the Lago di Guarda, take pos- 
 &o«sion of Peschiera, which the French Oc- 
 cupied, and, descending the Mincio, re- 
 lieve the siege of Mantua. There was 
 this radical error in the Austrian plan, that, 
 by sending Quasdonowich's division by the 
 valley of Chiese, Wurmser placed the 
 broad lake of (Juarda, occupied by a French 
 flotilla, between his right wing and the rest 
 of his army, and of course made it impos- 
 Bible for the centre and left to support 
 Quasdonowich, or even to have intelligence 
 of his motions or his fate. 
 
 The active invention of Buonaparte, sure 
 as he was to be seconrlod by the zeal and 
 rapidity of the French army, speedily de- 
 vised the means to draw advantage from 
 this dislocation of the Austrian forces. 
 He resolved not to await the arrival of 
 Wurraser and Melas, but, concentrating his 
 whole strength, to march into the valley of 
 Chiese, and avail himself of the local su- 
 periority thus obtained, to attack and over- 
 power the Austrian division left under 
 Quasdonowich, who was advancing on Bres- 
 cia, down the eastern side of the lake. For 
 
 tliis purpose one great sacrifice was necea 
 sary. The plan inevitably involved the 
 raising of the siege of Mantua. Napoleon 
 did not hesitate to relinquish this great ob- 
 ject at whatever loss, as it was bis uniform 
 system to sacrifice all secondary views, 
 and to incur all lesser hazards, to secure 
 what he considered as the main object of 
 the campaign. Serrurier, who commanded 
 the blockading army, was hastily ordered 
 to destroy as much as possible of the can- 
 non and stores which had been collected 
 v,-ith so much pains for the prosecution of 
 the siege. An hundred guns were abandon- 
 ed in the trenches, and Wurmser, on ar- 
 riving at iSIantua, found that Buonaparte 
 had retired v.ith a precipitation resembling 
 that of fear. 
 
 On the night of the 31st July this opera- 
 tion took place, and, leaving the division 
 of Augereau at Borghetto, and that of Mas- 
 sena at Peschiera, to protect, while it was 
 possible, the line of the Mincio, Buona- 
 parte rushed, at the head of an army which 
 his combinations had rendered superior, 
 upon the right wing of the Austrians. which 
 had already directed its march to Lonato, 
 near the bottom of the Lago di Guarda, in 
 order to approach the Mincio, and resume 
 its communication with Wurmser. But 
 Buonaparte, placed by the celerity of iiis 
 movements between the two hostile armies, 
 defeated one division of the Austrian right 
 at Salo, upon tlie lake, and another at Lo- 
 nato. At the same time, Augereau and 
 Massena, leavingjust enough of men at their 
 posts of Borghetto and Peschiera to main- 
 tain a respectable defence against Wurm- 
 ser, made a forced march to Brescia, which 
 was occupied by another division of t!ie 
 Austrian right wing. But that body , finding it- 
 self insulated, and conceiving that the whole 
 French army was debouching on them from 
 different points, was already in full retreat 
 towards the Tyrol, t'rom which it had .ad- 
 vanced with the expectation of turning 
 Buonaparte's flank, and destroying his re- 
 treat upon Milan. Some French troops 
 were left to accelerate their flight, and pre- 
 vent their again making head, while Mas- 
 sena and Augereau, rapidly countermarch- 
 ing, returned to the banks of the Mincio to 
 support their respective rear-guards, which 
 they had left at Borglietto and Peschiera, on 
 the line of that river. 
 
 They received intelligence, however, 
 which induced then* to halt upon this 
 counter-march. Both rear-guards had been 
 compelled to retire from the line of the 
 Mincio, of which river the .\ustrians had 
 forced the passage. The rear-guard of 
 Massena, under CIcneral'i'igeon, had fallen 
 back in good order, so as to occupy Lona* 
 to ; tliat of Augereau fled with precipitation 
 and confusion, and failed to make a stand 
 at Castiglione, wliich was occupied a l)}^ 
 Austrians, who entrenclied thcmseUea 
 there. Valctte, the general who commimd 
 ed this body, was derived of his commi»- 
 sion in presence of his troops for misbe- 
 haviour, an example which the gallantry of 
 the French generals rendered extremely 
 infrequent in their service.
 
 Chap. XXI V.'\ LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 241 
 
 Wurmscr became now seriously anxious 
 about the fate of his right wing, and de- 
 termined to force a communication with 
 Quasdonowich at all risks. But he could 
 only attain the valley of Chiese, and the 
 right bank of the Lago di Guarda, by h#eak- 
 ing a passage through the divisions of Mas- 
 sena and Augereau. On the 3d of August, 
 at break of day, two divisions of Austrians, 
 who had crossed the Mincio in pursuit of 
 Pigeon and Valette, now directed them- 
 selves, with the most determined resolution, 
 on the French troops, in order to clear the 
 way between the commander-in-chief and 
 his right wing. 
 
 The late rear-guard of Massena, which, 
 by his counter-march, had now become his 
 advanced-guard, was defeated, and Lonato, 
 the place which they occupied, was taken 
 by the Austrians, with the French artillery, 
 and the general officer who commanded 
 them. But the Austrian general, thus far 
 successful, fell into the great error of ex- 
 tending his line too much towards the right, 
 in order, doubtless, if possible, to turn the 
 French position on their left flank, thereby 
 the sooner to open .a communication with 
 his own troops on the right bank of the La- 
 go di Guarda, to force which had been his 
 principal object in the attack. But in tlius 
 inanoeuvring he weakened his centre, an 
 error of which Massena instantly availed 
 himself. He formed two strong columns 
 luider Augereau, with which he redeemed 
 the victory, by breaking through and divid- 
 ing the Austrian line, and retakin;j Lonato at 
 the point of the bayonet. The manoeuTre is 
 indeed a simple one, and the same by which, 
 ten years afterwards. Buonaparte gained the 
 battle of Austerlitz ; but it requires the ut- 
 most promptitude and presence of mind to 
 seize the exact moment for executing such 
 a daring measure to advantage. If it is but 
 partially successful, and the enemy retains 
 steadiness, it is very perilous ; since the 
 attacking column, instead of flanking the 
 broken divisions of the opposite line, may 
 be itself flanked by decided officers and de- 
 termined troops, and thus experience the 
 disaster which it was their object to occa- 
 fion to the enemy. On the present occa- 
 sion, the attack on the centre completely 
 succeeded. The Austrians, finding their 
 line cut asunder, and their flanks pressed 
 by the victorious columns of the French, 
 fell into total disorder. Some, who were 
 farthest to the right, pushed forward, in 
 hopes to unite themselves to Quasdono- 
 wich, and what they might find remaining 
 of the original right wing ; but these were 
 attacked in front by General Soret, who 
 had been active in defeating Quasdonowich 
 upon the 30th July, and were at the same 
 time pursued by another detachment of 
 the French, which had broken through their 
 centre. 
 
 Such wcj the fate rf the Austrian right at 
 the battle of Lonato, while that of the left 
 was no less unfavourable. They were at- 
 tacked by .\ugereau with the utmost brave- 
 ry, and driven from Castiglione, of which 
 they had become masters by the bad con- 
 4uct of Valette. Augereau achieved this 
 Vol. L L 
 
 important result at the price of many brave 
 men's lives; but it was always remembered 
 as an essential service by Buonaparte, wh» 
 afterwards, when such dignities came in 
 use, bestowed on .\ugcreau the title of 
 Duke of Castiglione. After their defeat, 
 there can be nothing imagined more con 
 fused or calamitous than the condition of 
 the Austrian divisions, who, having attack- 
 ed, without resting on each other, foun 
 themselves opposed and finally overwhelm- 
 ed by an enemy who appeared to possess 
 ubiquity, simply from his activity and pow- 
 er of combining his forces. 
 
 A remarkable instance of their lamenta- 
 ble state of disorder and confusion, resem- 
 bling in its consequences more than one 
 example of the same sort, occurred at Lona- 
 to. It might, with any briskness of intelli- 
 gence, or firmness of resolution, have prov- 
 ed a decisive advantage to their arms ; it 
 was, in its result, a humiliating illustration, 
 how completely the succession of bad for- 
 tune had broken the spirit of the Austrian 
 soldiers. The reader can hardly have for- 
 gotten the incident at the battle of Millesi- 
 mo, when an Austrian column which had 
 been led astray, retook, as if it were by 
 chance, the important village of Dego ;* or 
 the more recent instance, svhen a body of 
 Beaulieu's advanced-guard, alike unv.i!- 
 tingly, had nearly made Buonaparte prison- 
 er in his quarters. t The present danger 
 arose from the same cause, the confusion 
 and want of combination of the enemy : 
 and now, as in the former perilous occur- 
 rences, the very same circumstances which 
 brought on the danger, served to ward 
 it oflf. 
 
 A body of four or five thousand Austri- 
 ans, partly composed of those who had been 
 cut off" at the battle of Lonato, partly nj' 
 stragglers from Quasdonowich, received 
 information from the peasantry, that the 
 French troops, having departed in every 
 direction to improve their success, had on- 
 ly left a garrison of twelve hundred men in 
 the town of Lonato. The commander of 
 the division resolved instantly to take p<'-- 
 session of the town, and thus to open \,'\^ 
 march to the Mincio, to join Wurmser. 
 Now, it happened that Buonaparte himself, 
 coming from Castiglione with only his pt it)" 
 for protection, had just entered Lonato. 
 He was surprised when an Austrian ofnc.-i- 
 was brought before him blindfolded, a.* i-< 
 the custom on such occasions, who sum- 
 moned the French commandant of Lonato 
 to surrender to a superior force of .\u8tri- 
 ans, who, he stated, were already forming 
 columns of attack to carry the place by ir- 
 resistible force of numbers. Buonaparte, 
 with admirable presence of mind, collect- 
 ed his numerous staff around him. cauaerl 
 the officer's eyes to be unbandaged, that hf- 
 might see in whose presence he stood, and 
 upbraided him with the insolence of which 
 he had been guilty, in bringing a summoN-» 
 of surrender to the French commander-in- 
 chief in the middle of his army. The cred- 
 ulous officer, recognizing the presence of 
 
 *Seeinge320, 
 
 tSe« pa^e 'iSi.
 
 •2^2 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BLOXAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 Buonaparte, and believing it impossible i 
 taut he could be there, without at least a [ 
 strong division of his army, stammered out j 
 an apology, and returned to persuade liis i 
 dispirited commander to surrender himself, | 
 mid the four thousand men and upwards 
 whom he commanded, to the comparatively 
 small force which occupied Lonato. They 
 grounded their arms accordingly, to one- 
 fourth of their number, and missed an in- 
 viting and easy opportunity of carrying 
 Buonaparte prisoner to Wurmser's head- 
 quarters. 
 
 The Austrian general himself, whose 
 splendid array was thus destroyed in detail, 
 had been hitherto employed in revictual- 
 ling Mantua, and throwing in supplies of 
 every kind; besides which, a large portion 
 of his army had been detached in the vain 
 pursuit of Serrurier, and the troops lately 
 engaged in the siege, who had retreated 
 towards Marcaria. When Wurmser learn- 
 ed the disasters of his right wing, and the 
 destruction of the troops despatched to 
 form a communication with it, he sent to 
 recall the division which we have mention- 
 ed, and advanced against the French posi- 
 tion between Lonato and Castiglione, with 
 an army still numerous, notwithstanding 
 the reverses which it had sustained. But 
 Buonaparte had not left the interval unim- 
 proved. He had recalled Serrurier from 
 iMjrcaria, to assail the left wing and the 
 flank of the Austrian Field-marshal. The 
 opening of Serrurier's fire was a signal for 
 a general attack on all points of Wurmser's 
 line. He was defeated, and nearly made 
 prisoner ; and it was not till after suffering 
 great losses in the retreat and pursuit, that 
 he gained with difficulty Trent and Rove- 
 redo, the positions adjacent to the Tyrol, 
 from which he had so lately sallied with 
 such confidence of victory. He had lost 
 perhaps one half of his fine army, and the 
 only consolation which remained was, that 
 he had thrown supplies into the fortress of 
 Mantua. His troops also no longer had the 
 misculine confidence which is necessary 
 to success in war. They were no longer 
 proud of themselves and of their command- 
 eers ; and those, especially, who had sus- 
 tained so many losses under Beaulieu, 
 could hardly be brought to do their duty, 
 iu circumstances where it seemed that 
 Destiny itself was fighting against them. 
 
 The Austrians are supposed to have lost 
 nearly forty thousand men in these disas- 
 trous battles. The French must have at 
 least suffered the loss of one fourtii of the 
 number, though Buonaparte confesses only 
 to seven thousand men; and their army, 
 ilesperately fatigued by so many marches, 
 fiuci) constant fighting, and the hardships 
 of a campaign, where even the general for 
 seven days never laid aside his clothes, or 
 look any regular repose, required some 
 time to recover their physical strength. 
 
 Meantime, Napoleon resumed his posi- 
 tion before Mantua; but the wnnt of bat- 
 tering cannon, and the commencement of 
 the unhealthy heats of Autumn, amid lakes 
 and itiundations, besides the great chance 
 «i^ a second attack on the part of Wurmser 
 
 induced hiin to limit his measures to a sim 
 pie blockade, whicli, however, was so strict 
 as to retain the garrison within the walls of 
 the place, and cut them oft' even from the 
 islet called the Seraglio. 
 
 The events of this hurried campaign 
 threw light on the feelings of the different 
 states of Italy Lombardy in general re- 
 mained quiet, and the citizens of Milan 
 seemed so well affiected to the French, 
 that Buonaparte, after the victory of Cas- 
 tiglione, returned them his thanks in name 
 of the Republic. But at Pavia, and else- 
 where, a very opposite disposition was 
 evinced ; and at Ferrara, the Cardinal Mat- 
 tel, Archbishop of that town, made some 
 progress in exciting an insurrection. His 
 apology, when introduced to Buonaparte's 
 presence to answer for his conduct, consist- 
 ed in uttering the single word, Peccavi ! 
 and Napoleon, soothed by his submission, 
 imposed no punishment on him for his of- 
 fence, but, on the contrary, used his me- 
 diation in some negotiations with the court 
 of Rome. Yet though the Bishop of Fer- 
 rara, overawed and despised, was permitted 
 to escape, the conduct of his superior, the 
 Pope, who had shown vacillation in bis 
 purposes of submission when he heard of 
 the temporary raising of the siege of Man- 
 tua, was carefully noted and remembered 
 for animadversion, when a suitable moment 
 should occur. 
 
 Nothing is more remarkable, during these 
 campaigns, than the inflexibility of Austria, 
 which, reduced to the extremity of dis- 
 tress by the advance of Moreau and Jour- 
 dan into her territories, stood nevertheless 
 on the defensive at every point, and by ex- 
 traordinary exertions again recruited Wurm- 
 ser with fresh troops, to the amount of twen- 
 ty thousand men ; which reinforcement ena- 
 bled that general, though under no more 
 propitious star, again to resume the offien- 
 sive. by advancing from the Tyrol. Wurm- 
 ser, with less confidence than before, hop- 
 ed to relieve the siege of Mantua a second 
 time, and at a less desperate cost, by mov- 
 ing from Trent towards Mantua, through 
 the defiles formed by the river Brenta. 
 This manoeuvre lie proposed to execute with 
 thirty thousand men, while he left twenty 
 thousand, under General Davidowich, in a 
 strong position at or near Roveredo. for the 
 purpose of covering the Tyrol ; an invasion 
 of which district, on the part of the French, 
 must have added much to the general panic 
 whicli already astounded Germany, from 
 the apprehended advance of Moreau and 
 Jourdan from the banks of the Rhine. 
 
 Buonaparte penetrated the design of the 
 veteran general, and suff'ered him without 
 disturbance to march towards Bassano, up- 
 on the Brenta. in order to occupy the line 
 of operations on which he intended to ma- 
 noeuvre, with the secret intention that he 
 would himself assume the off'ensive, and 
 overwhelm Davidowich as soon as the dis- 
 tance betwixt them precluded a communi- 
 cation betwixt that general and Wurmser. 
 He left General Kilmaine, an officer ot 
 Irish extraction in whom he reposed confi- 
 dence, with about three thousand men, to 
 
 '^
 
 aiap.XXIV.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 243 
 
 cover tlie siege of Mantua, by posting him- 
 self under tlie walls of Verona, while, con- 
 centrating a strong body of forces. Napole- 
 on marched upon the town of Roveredo, 
 situated in the valley of the Adige, and 
 having in its rear the strong position of Gal- 
 liano. The town is situated on the high 
 road to Trent, and Davidowich lay there 
 with twenty-five thousand Austrians, in- 
 tended to protect the Tyrol, while Wurm- 
 ser moved down the Brenta, which runs in 
 the same direction with the Adige, but at 
 about thirty miles' distance, so that no 
 communication for mutual support could 
 take place between Wurmser and his lieu- 
 tenant-general. It was upon Davidowich 
 that Buonaparte first meant to pour his 
 thunder. 
 
 The battle of Roveredo, fought upon the 
 fourth of September, was one of that great 
 general's splendid days. Before he could 
 approach the town, one of his divisions 
 had to force the strongly entrenched camp 
 of Mori, where the enemy made a despe- 
 rate defence. Another attacked the .\us- 
 rians on the opposite bank of the Adige, 
 (for the action took place on both sides of 
 the river,) until the enemy at length re- 
 treated, still fighting desperately. Napo- 
 leon sent his orders to General Dubois, to 
 charge with the first regiment of hussars — 
 he did so, and broke the enemy, but fell 
 mortilly wounded with three balls. '• I 
 die," he said, " for the Republic — bring me 
 but tidings that the victory is certain." 
 
 The retreating enemy were driven through 
 the town of Roveredo, without having it in 
 their power to make a stand. The extreme 
 strength of the position of Galliano seemed 
 to afford them rallying ground. The Adige 
 IS there bordered by precipitous mountains, 
 approaching so near its course, as only to 
 leave a pass of forty toises breadth between 
 the river and the precipice, which opening 
 was defended by a village, a castle, and a 
 strong defensive wall resting upon the rock, 
 all well garnished with artillery. The 
 French, in their enthusiasm of victory, could 
 not be stopped even by these obstacles. 
 
 were amused with an assault upon the 
 bridge. Thus he drove them from their po- 
 sition, which, being the entrance of one of 
 the chief defiles of the Tyrol, it was of im- 
 portance to secure, and it was occupied ac- 
 cordingly by Vaubois with his victorious 
 division. 
 
 Buonaparte, in consequence of his pres- 
 ent condition, became desirous to concili- 
 ate the martial inhabitants of the Tyrol, and 
 published a proclamation, in which he ex- 
 horted them to lay down their arms, and re- 
 turn to their homes ; assuring them of pro- 
 tection against military violence, and la- 
 bouring to convince them, that they had 
 themselves no interest in the war, which he 
 waged against the Emperor and his govern- 
 ment, but not against his subjects. That 
 his conduct might appear to be of a piece 
 with his reasoning, Napoleon issued an 
 edict, disuniting the principality of Trent 
 from the German empire, and annexing it 
 in point of sovereignity to the French Re- 
 public, while he intrusted, or seemed to i.a- 
 trust, the inhabitants themselves, with the 
 power of administering their own laws and 
 government. 
 
 Bounties which depended on the gift of 
 an armed enemy, appeared very suspicious 
 to the Tyro!ese, who were aware that in 
 fact the order of a French officer would be 
 more effectual law, whenever that nation 
 had the power, than that of any administra- 
 tor of civil affairs whom they might them- 
 selves be permitted to choose. .\s for the 
 proclamation, the French general might aa 
 well have wasted his eloquence on the rocks 
 of the country. The Tyrol, one of thu 
 earliest possessions of the House of Aus- 
 tria, had been uniformly governed by those 
 princes w-ith strict respect to the privileges 
 of the inhabitants, who were possessed al- 
 ready of complete personal freedom. Se- 
 cured in all the immunities which were 
 necessary for their comfort, these sagacious 
 peasants saw nothing to expect from the 
 hand of a stranger general, excepting what 
 Buonaparte himself has termed, those vex- 
 ations necessarily annexed to a country 
 
 Eight pieces of light artillery were brought which becomes the seat of war, and which 
 
 forward, under cover of which the infantry 
 charged and carried this strong position ; so 
 little do natural advantages avail when the 
 minds of the assailants are influenced with 
 an opinion that they are irresistible, and 
 those of the defenders are depressed by a 
 uniform and uninterrupted course of defeat. 
 Six or seven thousand prisoners, and fifteen 
 pieces of cannon captured, were the fruits 
 of this splendid victory ; and Massena the 
 
 in more full detail, include v.'hatevcr the 
 avarice of ti;e general, the necessities of 
 tlie soldiers, not to mention the more vio- 
 lent outrage of marauders and plunderers, 
 may choose to exact from the inhabitant?. 
 But, besides this prudent calculation of 
 consequences, the Tyrolese felt the gener- 
 ous spirit of national independence, and re- 
 solved that their mountains should not be 
 dishonoured by the march of an armed ene- 
 
 next morning took possession of Trent in i my, if the unerring rifle-guns of their chil- 
 the Tyiol, so long the strong-hold where j dren were able to protect their native soil 
 Wurmser had maintained his head-quarters, from such indipiity. Every mode of re- 
 The wrecks of Davidowich's army fled I sistance was prepared ; and it was then that 
 deeper into the Tyrol, and took up their I those piles of rocks, stones, and trunks of 
 position Lt Lavisa, a small village on a riv- j trees, were collected on the verije of the 
 er of a similar name, about three leagues to j precipices which line the valley of the Inn, 
 the northward of Trent, and situated in the and other passes of the Tvrcl.' but which 
 
 principal road which communicates with 
 Brixen and Inspruck. Buonaparte instant- 
 ly pursued them with a division of his army, 
 commanded by Vaubois, and passed the La- tions of the valiant Hoffer ajOil his ftom- 
 vis^l with his cavalry, while the enemy I panions in arms. 
 
 remained in grim repose till rolled down, to 
 the utter annihilation of the French and 
 Bavarian invaders in 1809. under the direo-
 
 t>44 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXI V. 
 
 More successful with the swonl than the 
 [>in, B'loiiaparte had no sooner disposed of 
 -Oavidowich and his army, than lie began 
 ;i!s operations against Wurmser liiinself, 
 who had by this time learned the total de- 
 feat of his subordinate division, and that 
 lii(- French were possessed of Trent. The 
 Austrian Field-marshal immediately con- 
 cieved that the French general, in conse- 
 • (uence of his successes, would be dispos- 
 «'d to leave Italy behind, and advance to In- 
 spruck, in order to communicate with the 
 miuies of Moreau and Jourdan, which were 
 Tiow on the full advance into Germany. 
 Instead, therefore, of renouncing his own 
 H<;heme of relieving Mantua, Wurmser 
 thought the time favourable for carrying it 
 into execution ; and in place of falling back 
 wiih his anny on Friuli, and thus keeping 
 open his communication with Vienna, he 
 committed the great error of involving him- 
 self still deeper in the Italian passes to the 
 isouthward, by an attempt, with a diminished 
 force, to execute a purpose, which he had 
 been unable to accomplish when his army 
 was double the strength of the French. 
 Witli this ill-chosen plan, he detached Me- 
 ■/.aros with a division of his forces, to ma- 
 jMiiuvre on Verona, where, as we have seen, 
 iJuoiiaparte had stationed Kilmaine, to cov- 
 f.T the siege, or rather the blockade, of 
 Mantua. Mezaros departed accordingly, 
 ;uid leaving Wurmser at Bassano on the 
 Hrenta, marched south-westward towards 
 the collateral valley of the Adige, and at- 
 tacked Kilmaine, who, by drawing his men 
 under cover of the fortifications of Verona, 
 made a resolute defence. The Austrian 
 general, finding it impossible to carry the 
 p^ace by a coup-de-main, was meditating to 
 <:ross the Adige, when he was recalled by 
 the most urgent commands to rejoin Wurm- 
 ser with all possible despatch. 
 
 Vs soon as Buonaparte learned this new 
 separation of Wurmser from a large division 
 of his army, he anticipated the possibility 
 of defeating the Field-marshal himself, 
 driving him from his position at Bassano, 
 and of consequence, cutting off at his leis- 
 ure tlie division of Mezaros, which had ad- 
 vanced so far to the southward as effectu- 
 ■i.liy to compromise its safety. 
 
 To execute this plan required the utmost 
 r:ii)idity of movement ; for, should Wurmser 
 I'varn that Buonaparte was advancing to- 
 wards Bassano, in time to recall Mezaros, 
 hf might present a front too numerous to 
 W attac<ted with hope of success. There 
 ;«•(• twenty leagues' distance betwixt Trent 
 and Bassano, and that ground was to be 
 traversed by means of very difficult roads, 
 ill the space of two days at farthest. But it 
 w!is in such circumstances that the genius 
 of Napoleon tri\mpheJ, through the entlni- 
 sia.stic power whicli he possessed over tlic 
 soldiery, and by wl-.ich he could urge them 
 «" tlie most incredible exertions. He left 
 Trent on the 6tli September at break of 
 day, and reached, in the course of the evon- 
 inij, Borgo di Val Lpgano, a march of ten 
 l-'rench leagues. A similar forced march of 
 five leagues and upwards, brought him up 
 
 with Wurmscr's advanced-guard, whicli 
 was strongly posted at Priniolano. 
 
 The eHect of the surprise, and the im- 
 jfetuosity of tlie French attack, surmounted 
 all the advantages of position. The Aus- 
 trian double lines were penetrated by a 
 charge of three French columns — the cav- 
 alry occupied the high road, and cut off the 
 enemy's retreat on Bassano — in a word. 
 Wurmser's vanguard was totally destroyed, 
 and more than four thousand men laid down 
 their arms. From Primolano the French, 
 dislodging whatever enemies they encoun- 
 tered, advanced to Cismone, a village, 
 wliere a river of the same name unites with 
 the Brenta. There they halted, exhausted 
 with fatigue ; and on that evening no senti- 
 nel in the army endured more privations 
 than Napoleon himself, who took up his 
 quarters for the night without either staft'- 
 officers or baggage, and w^as glad to accept 
 a share of a private soldier's ration of 
 bread, of which the poor fellow lived to 
 remmd his general when he was become 
 Emperor. 
 
 Cismone is only about four leagues from 
 Bassano, and Wurmser heard with alarm, 
 that the French leader, whom he conceived 
 to be already deeply engaged in the Tyro- 
 lese passes, had destroyed his vanguard, 
 and was menacing his own position. It was 
 under this alarm that he despatched ex- 
 presses, as already mentioned, to recall 
 Mezaros and his division. But it was too 
 late ; for that general was under the walls 
 of Verona, nigh fifteen leagues from Wurm- 
 ser's position, on the night of the 7th Sep- 
 tember, when the French army was at 
 Cismone, within a third part of that dis- 
 tance. The utmost exertions of Mezaros 
 could only bring his division as far as 
 Montebello, upon the 8th September, when 
 the battle of Bassano seemed to decide 
 the fate of his unfortunate commaiider-in- 
 chief. 
 
 This victory was as decisive as any which 
 Buonaparte had hitherto obtained. The 
 village of Salagna was first carried by main 
 force, and then the French army, continu- 
 ing to descend the defiles of the Brenta. 
 attacked Wurmser's main body, which still 
 lay under his own command in the town of 
 Bassano. Augereau penetrated into the 
 town upon the right, Massena upon the left. 
 They bore down all opposition, and seized 
 the cannon by which the bridge was dcfend- 
 I ed. in spite of the efforts of the Austrian 
 grenadiers, charged with the duty of protect- 
 ing Wurmser and his staff, who were now 
 I in absolute flight. 
 
 [ The Field-marshal himself, with the mil- 
 ! itary chest of his army, nearly fell into the 
 hands of the French ; and though he es- 
 I cai)ed for the time, it was after an almost 
 I general dispersion of hi* troops. Six thou- 
 1 sand Austrians surrendered to Buonaparte : 
 I Quasdonowich, with three or four thousand 
 men, effected a retreat to the northeast, 
 j and gained Friuli ; while Wurmser himself, 
 I finding it inipo.ssible to escape otherwise, 
 I fled to Vicenza in the opposite direction, 
 I and there united the scattered forces which
 
 Chap. XXIV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 245 
 
 ■till followed him, with the division of 
 Mezaros. When this junction was ac- 
 complished, the aged Marshal had still the 
 oommand of about sixteen thousand men, 
 out of sixty thousand, with whom he had, 
 acarce a week before, commenced the cam- 
 paign. The material part of his army, guns, 
 wagons, and bagga^'e, was all lost — his re- 
 treat upon the hereditary states of Austria 
 was entirely cut off — the flower of his army 
 was destroyed — courage and confidence 
 were gone — theie seemed no remedy but 
 that he should lay down his anus to tlie 
 youtliful conqueror by wliose forces he was 
 now surrounded on all sides, without, as it 
 appeared, any possibility of extricating him- 
 Belf. But Fate itself seemed to take some 
 tardy compassion on this venerable and gal- 
 lant veteran, -and not only adjourned his 
 filial fall, but even granted him leave to 
 gather some brief-dated laurels, as the 
 priests of old were wont to garland their 
 victims before the final sacrifice. 
 
 Surrounded by dangers, and cut off from 
 any other retreat, Wurraser formed the 
 gallant determination to throw himself and 
 his remaining forces into Mantua, and 
 share the fate of the beleagured fortress 
 which he had vainly striven to relieve. But 
 to execute this purpose it was necessary to 
 cross the Adige, nor was it eisy to say how 
 this was to be accomplished. Verona, one 
 point of passage, was defended by Kilmaine, 
 who had already repulsed Mezaros. Leg- 
 nago, where there was a bridge, was also 
 garrisoned by the French ; and Wurmser 
 had lost his bridge of pontoons at the battle 
 of Bassano. At the village of Albarado, 
 however, there was an established ferry, 
 totally insufficient for passing over so con- 
 siderable a force with the necessary de- 
 spatch, but which Wurmser used for the 
 purpose of sending across two squadrons 
 of cavalry, in order to reconnoitre the 
 blockade of Mantua, and the facilities which 
 might present themselves for accomplish- 
 ing a retreat on that fortress. This precau- 
 tion proved for the time the salvation of 
 Wurmser, and what remained of his army. 
 
 Fortune, which has such influence in 
 warlike affairs, had so ordered it, that Kil- 
 maine, apprehending that Wurmser would 
 attempt to force a passage at Verona, and i 
 desirous to improve his means of resistance | 
 against so great a force, had sent orders that | 
 the garrison of four hundred men who guard- j 
 ed the bridge at Legnago should join him at 
 Verona, and that an equal number should 
 be detached from the blockade of Mantua, 
 to supply their place on the Lower Adige. 
 The former part oi his command had been 
 obeyed, and the garrison of Legnago were 
 on their march for V^erona. But the relief 
 which was designed to occupy their post, 
 though on their way to Legnago, had not 
 yet arrived. The Austrian cavalry, who 
 had passed over at .\lbarado, encountering 
 this body on its march from the vicinity of 
 Mantua, attacked them with spirit, and sa- 
 bred a good many. The commander of the 
 Prench battalion, confounded at this ap- 
 pearance, concluded that the whole Aus- 
 trian army had gained the right bank of the 
 
 Adige, and that he should necessarily be 
 cut off if he prosecuted his march to Leg- 
 nago. Thus the passage at that place was 
 left altogether undefended ; and Wurmser, 
 apprised of this unhoped-for chaince of es- 
 cape, occupied the village, and took pos- 
 session of the bridge. 
 
 Buonaparte, in the meantime, having 
 moved from Bassano to Areola in pursuit 
 of the defeated enemy, learned at the lat- 
 ter place that Wurraser still lingered at 
 Legnago, periiaps to grant his troops some 
 indispensable repose, perhaps to watch 
 whether it might be even yet possible to 
 give the slip to the French divisions by 
 which he was surrounded, and by a rapid 
 march back upon Padua, to regain his com- 
 munication with the .\ustrian territories, 
 instead of inclosing himself in Mantua. 
 Buonaparte hastened to avail himself of 
 these moments of indecision. Augereau 
 was ordered to march upon Legnago by the 
 road from Padua, so as to cut off any possi- 
 bility of Wurmser's retreat in that direc- 
 tion ; while Massena's division was thrown 
 across the Adige by a ferry at Ronco, to 
 strengthen General Kilmaine, who had al- 
 ready occupied the line of a small river 
 called the Molinella, which intersects the 
 country between Lftgnago and Mantua. If 
 this position could be made good, it was 
 concluded that the Austrian general, una- 
 ble to reach Mantua, or to maintain himself 
 at Legnago, must even yet surrender him- 
 self and his army. 
 
 On the 12th September, Wurmser began 
 his march. He was first opposed at Corea, 
 where Murat and Pigeon had united their 
 forces. But Wurmser made his disposi- 
 tions, and attacked with a fury which swept 
 out of the way both the cavalry and infantry 
 of the enemy, and obtained possession oi' 
 the village. In the heat of the skirmish, 
 and just when the French were giving way, 
 Buonaparte himself entered Corea, with 
 the purpose of personally superintending 
 the dispositions made for intercepting the 
 retreat of Wurmser, when, but for the 
 speed of his horse, he had nearly fallen as a 
 prisoner into the Lands of the general whjse 
 destruction he was labouring to insure. 
 Wurmser arrived on the spot a few minutes 
 afterwards, and gave orders for a pursuit in 
 every direction ; commamding. however, 
 that the French general should, if possible, 
 be taken alive — a conjunction of circum- 
 stances worthy of remark, since it author- 
 ised the Austrian general for the moment 
 to pronounce on the fate of him, who, be- 
 fore and after, was the master of his des- 
 tiny. 
 
 Having again missed this great prize, 
 Wurmser continued his march all night, 
 and turning aside from the great road, where 
 the blockading army had taken measures to 
 intercept him, he surprised a small bridi^e 
 over the Molinella, at a village called Villa 
 Impenta, by which he eluded encountering 
 the forces of Kilmaine. A body of French 
 horse, sent to impede his progress, was cut 
 to pieces by the .\ustrian cavalry. On the 
 1-kh, Wurmser obtained a similar succes.*? 
 at Castel-Dui, where his cuirassiers de-
 
 246 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXV. 
 
 stroyed a body of French infantry ; and 
 having now forced himself -nto a communi- 
 cation with Mantua, he encamped between 
 the suburb of Saint George and the citadel, 
 and endeavoured to keep open the com- 
 munication with the country, for the pur- 
 pose of obtaining a supply of forage and 
 provisions. 
 
 But it was not Buonaparte's intention to 
 leave him undisturbed in so commodious a 
 position. Having receivetl the surrender 
 of an .\ustrian corps which was left in Porto 
 Legnago, and gleaned up such other rem- 
 nants of Wurmser's army as could not ac- 
 company iheir general in his rapid march 
 to Mantua, he resolved once more to force 
 his way into the isles of the Seraglio, upon 
 which Mantua is built, and confine the be- 
 sieged within the walls of their garrison. 
 On the 15th, after a very severe and bloody 
 action, the French obtained possession of 
 the suburb of Saint George, and the cita- 
 del termed La Favorita, and a long series 
 of severe sallies and attacks took place, 
 which, although gallantly fought by the 
 Austrian?, generally tended to their disad- 
 vantage, so that they were finally again 
 blockaded within the walls of the city and 
 castle . 
 
 The woes of war now appeared among 
 them in a different and even more hideous 
 form than when inflicted with the sword 
 alone. When Wurmser threw himself in- 
 
 to Mantua, the garrison might amount to 
 twenty-six thousand men ; yet ere October 
 was far advanced, there were little above 
 the half of the number fit for service. 
 There were nearly nine thousaud sick in 
 the hospitals, — mfectious diseases, priva- 
 tions of every kind, and the unhealthy air 
 of the lakes and marshes with which they 
 were surrounded, had cut off tlie remainder 
 The French also had lost great numbers j 
 but the conquerors could reckon up their 
 victories, and forget the price at which 
 they had been purchased. 
 
 It was a proud vaunt, and a cure in itself 
 for many losses, that the minister of War 
 had aright to make the following speech to 
 the Directory, at the formal introduction of 
 Marmont. then aid-dc-camp of Buonapsu-te, 
 and commissioned to present on his part 
 the colours and standards taken from the 
 enemy ; — '• In the course of a single cam- 
 paign," he truly said, " Italy had been en- 
 tirely conquered — three large armies had 
 been entirely destroyed — more than fifly 
 stand of colours had been taken by the vic- 
 tors — forty thousand Austrians had laid 
 down their arms — and, what was not the 
 least surprising part of the whole, these 
 deeds had been accomplished by an army 
 of only thirty thousand Frenchmen, com- 
 manded by a general scarce twenty-six years 
 old." 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 Corsica reunited mitk France. — Critical situation of Buonaparte in Italy at this peri- 
 od. — The Atistrian General Alvinzi placed at the head of a new army. — Various 
 Contests, attended with no decisive result. — Want of concert among the Austriar^ 
 Generals. — French Army begin to murmur. — First Battle of Areola. — Napoleon in 
 personal danger. — No decisive result. — Second Battle of Areola — The French victo- 
 rious. — Fresh want of concert among the Austrian Generals. — General views of 
 Military and Political Affairs, after the conclusion of the fourth Italian Campaign. 
 — Aicstria Commences a fifth Campaign — but has not profited by experience. — Battle 
 qf Rivoli, and victory of the French. — Further successfid at La Favorita. — French 
 regain their lost ground in Italy. — Surreiider of Mantua — Instances of Napoleon's 
 Generosity. 
 
 About this period the re-union of Corsi- 
 ca with France took place. Buonaparte con- 
 tributed to this change in the political re- 
 lations of his native country indirectly, in 
 part by the high pride which his country- 
 men must have originally taken in his 
 splendid career ; and he did so more im- 
 mediately, by seizing the town and port of 
 Leghorn, and assisting those Corsicans, 
 who had been exiled by the English party, 
 to return to their native island. He inti- 
 mated the event to the Directory, and slat- 
 ed that he had appointed Gentili, tjie prin- 
 cipal partizan of the French, to govern the 
 island provisionally; and that the Com- 
 micfsioner .Salicetti was to set sail for the 
 purpose of making other necessary arranpe- 
 ments. The communication is coldly made, 
 nor docs Buonaparte's love of his birth- 
 place induce him to expatiate upon its im- 
 portance, although the Directory aflcrwards 
 made the acquisition of that island a great 
 theme of exultation. But his destines had 
 
 called him to too high an elevation to per- 
 mit his distinguishing the obscure islet 
 which he had arisen from originally. He 
 was like the young lion, who, while he is 
 scattering the herds and destroying the 
 hunters, thinks little of the forest-cave in 
 which he first saw the light.* 
 
 * We have .saiil (p. 200) tliat Buonaparte never 
 disLingiiished his native country after hia high 
 e.valtation, and did not of course possess the affec- 
 tion of the inhabitants in a strong degree. But 
 in his Memoirs while at St. Helena, he gives a 
 sketch of the geographical description and history 
 of Corsica, and suggests several plans for civiliza- 
 tion of his countrymen, — one of which, the depriv- 
 ing them of the arms which they constantly wear, / 
 miglit be prudent were it practicable, hut certainly 
 would be highly unpalatable. There is an odd ob- 
 servation, " that the Crown of Corsica must on th« 
 temporary annexation of the island to Great Brit- 
 ain, have been surprised at finding Itself apper- 
 taining to the successor of Fingal." Not more 
 we should think than the diadem of France, and 
 the Iron Crown of Italy, may have marvelled at 
 n>eotin2 on the brow of aCorsican soldier of fortum.
 
 Chap. XXV.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 247 
 
 Indeed Buonaparte's situation, however 
 brilliant, was at the same time critical, and 
 required his undivided thoughts. Mantua 
 ■till held out, and was likely to do so. 
 Wurmser had caused aoout three-fourths 
 of the horses belonging to his cavalry to be 
 killed and salted for the use of the garri- 
 son, and thus made a large addition, such 
 as it was, to the prov;:.ljns of the place. 
 His character for courage and determina- 
 tion was completely established; and being 
 now engaged in defending a fortress by or- 
 dinary rules of art, which he perfectly un- 
 derstood, he was in no danger of being over- 
 reached and out-manceuvred by the new 
 system of tactics, which occasioned his 
 misfortunes in the open field. 
 
 While, therefore, the last pledge of Aus- 
 tria's dominions in Italy was confided to 
 Buch safe custody, the Emperor and his 
 ministers were eagerly engaged in making 
 a new effort to recover their Italian terri- 
 tories. The defeat of Jourdan, and the 
 retreat of Moreau before the Archduke 
 Charles, had given the Imperialists some 
 breathing time, and enabled them by exten- 
 sive levies in the warlike province of lUy- 
 ria, as well as draughts from the army of 
 the Rhine, to take the field with a new ar- 
 my, for the recovery of the Italian provin- 
 ces, and the relief of Mantua. By orders 
 of the Aulic Council, two armies were as- 
 sembled on the Italian frontier ; one at 
 Friuli, which was partly composed of that 
 portion of the army of Wurmser, which, 
 cut off froji their main body at the battle 
 of Bassaiu), had effected, under Quasdono- 
 wich, a retreat in that direction ; the other 
 was to be formed on the Tyrol. They 
 were to operate in conjunction, and both 
 were placed under the command of Mar- 
 shal Alvinzi, an officer of high reputation, 
 which was then thought merited. 
 
 Thus, for the fourth time, Buonaparte 
 was to contest the same objects on the 
 same ground, with new forces belonging to 
 the same enemy. He had, indeed, himself 
 received from France reinforcements to the 
 number of twelve battalions, from those 
 troops which had been formerly employed 
 in La Vendee. The army in general, since 
 victory had placed the resources of the rich 
 country which they occupied at the com- 
 mand of their leader, had been well sup- 
 plied with clothes, food, and provisions, 
 and were devotedly attached to the chief 
 who had conducted them from starving on 
 the barreaAlps into this land of plenty, and 
 had directed their military efforts with such 
 skill, that they could scarce ever be said 
 to have failed of success in whatever they 
 undertook under his direction. 
 
 Napoleon had also on his side the good 
 wishes, if not of the Italians in general, of 
 a considerable party, especially in Lombar- 
 dy, and friends and enemies w^ere alike im- 
 pressed with belief in his predestined suc- 
 cess. During the former attempts of Wurm- 
 ser, a contrary opinion had prevailed, and 
 the news that the Austrians were in mo- 
 tion, had given birth to insurrections against 
 the F'rench in many places, and to the 
 publication of sentiments unfavourable to 
 
 them almost everywhere. But now, when 
 all predicted the certain success of Na- 
 poleon, the friends of Austria remained 
 quiet, and the numerous party who desire 
 in such cases to keep on the winning side, 
 added weight to the actual friends of France, 
 by expressing their opinions in her favour. 
 It seems, however, that Victory, as if dis- 
 pleased that mortals shruld presume to 
 calculate the motives of so fickle a deity, 
 was, on this occasion, disposed to be more 
 coy than formerly even to her greatest fa- 
 vourite, and to oblige him to toil harder 
 than he had done even when the odds were 
 more against him. 
 
 Davidow'ch commanded the body of the 
 Austrians which was in the Tyrol, and 
 whicli included the fine militia of that mar- 
 tial province. There was little difficulty in 
 prevailing on them to advance into Italy, 
 convinced as they were that there was 
 small security for their national indepen- 
 dence while the French remained in pos- 
 session of Lombardy. Buonaparte, on the 
 other hand, had placed Vaubois in the pass- 
 es upon the river Lavisa, above Trent, to 
 cover that new possession of the French 
 Republic, and check the advance of Davi- 
 dowich. It was the plan of Alvinzi, to de- 
 scend from Friuli, and approach Vicenza, 
 to which place he expected Davidowich 
 might penetrate by a corresponding move- 
 ment down the Adige. Having thus brought 
 his united army into activity, his design was 
 to advance on Mantua, the constant object 
 of blooay contention. He commenced hi.-? 
 march in the beginning of October 1796. 
 
 As soon as Buonaparte heard that Alvinai 
 was in motion, he sent orders to Vaubois 
 to attack Davidowich, and to Massena to 
 advance to Bassano upon the Brenta, and 
 make head against the Austrian commander- 
 in-chief. Both measures failed in effect. 
 
 Vaubois indeed made his attack, but so 
 unsuccessfully, that after two days" fight- 
 ing he was compelled to retreat before the 
 Austrians, to evacuate the city of Trent, 
 and to retreat upon Galliano, already men- 
 tioned as a very strong position, in the pre- 
 vious account of the battle of Roveredo.* 
 A great part of his opponents being Tyrol- 
 ese, and admirably calculated for mountain 
 warfare, they forced Vaubois from a situa- 
 tion which was almost impregnable ; and 
 their army, descending the Adige upon the 
 right bank, appeared to manteuvre with the 
 purpose of marching on Montebaldo and 
 ' Rivoli. and thus opening the communica- 
 I tion with Alvinzi. 
 
 I On the other hand, though Massena had 
 I sustained no loss, for he avoided an engage- 
 ment, the approach of Alvinzi, with a supe- 
 rior army, compelled him to evacuate Bas- 
 sano, and to leave the enemy in undisputed 
 possession of the valley of the Brenta. 
 Buonaparte, therefore, himself, saw the ne- 
 cessity of advancing with Augereau's divis- 
 ion, determined to give battle to .Mvinzi, 
 and force him back on the Piave before the 
 arrival of Davidowich. But he experienced 
 unusual resistance ; and it is amid com-
 
 248 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 plaints of the weather, of misadventures and 
 jniscarriages of different sorts, that he faint- 
 ly claims the name of a victory for his first 
 encounter with Alvinzi. It is clear that he 
 had made a desperate attempt to drive the 
 Austrian general from Bassano — that he 
 had not succeeded ; but, on the contrary, 
 was unde" the necessity of retreating to 
 \'icenza. It is further manifest, that Buon- 
 aparte was sensible this retreat did not ac- 
 cord well with his claim of victory ; and he 
 says, with a consciousness which is amus- 
 ing, that the inhabitants of Vicenza were 
 surprised to see the French army retire 
 through their town, as they had been wit- 
 nesses of their victory on tlie preceding 
 day. No doubt there was room for aston- 
 ishment, if the Vicenzans had been as com- 
 pletely convinced of the fact as Buonaparte 
 represents them. The truth was, Buona- 
 parte was sensible that Vaubois, being in 
 complete retreat, w as exposed to be cut off 
 unless he was supported, and he hasted to 
 prevent so great a loss, by meeting and re- 
 inforcing him. His own retrograde move- 
 ment, however, which extended as far as 
 Verona, left the whole country betwixt the 
 Brenta and Adige open to the Austrians j 
 nor does there nccar, to those who read the 
 account of the caupr.ign, any good reason 
 why Davidowich and Alvinzi, having no 
 body of French to interrupt their communi- 
 cation, should not instantly have adjusted 
 their operations on a common basis. But 
 it was the bane of the Austrian tactics, 
 through the whole war, to neglect that con- 
 nexion, and co-operation betwi.\t their sep- 
 arate divisions, which is essential to secure 
 the general result of a campaign. Above 
 all, as Buonaparte himself remarked of 
 them, their leaders were not sufficiently 
 acquainted with the value of time in mili- 
 tary movements. 
 
 Napoleon having retreated to Verona, 
 where he could at pleasure assume the of- 
 fensive by means of the bridge, or place 
 the Adige between himself and the enemy, 
 visited, in the first place, the positions of 
 Rivoli and Corona, where were stationed 
 the troops which had been defeated by Da- 
 vidowich. 
 
 They appeared before him with dejected 
 countenances, and Napoleon upbraided 
 them with their indifferont behaviour. 
 " You have displeased me," he said ; — 
 "You have shown neither discipline, nor 
 constancy, nor bravery. You have sutTered 
 yourselves to be driven from positions 
 wher« a handful of brave men might have 
 arrested the progress of a large army. You 
 are no longer French soldiers. — Let it be 
 written on their colours — ' They are not of 
 the Army of Italy.' " Tears, and groans of 
 sorrow and shame, answered this harangue 
 — the rules of discipline could not stilio 
 their sense of mortification, and several of 
 the grenadiers, who had deserved and wore 
 marks of distinction, called out from the 
 ranks — " General, we have been misrepre- 
 sented — Place us in the advance, and you 
 may then judge whether we do not belniiir 
 to the Army of Italy." Buonaparte having 
 
 [Chap. XXV. 
 
 produced the necessary effect, spoke to 
 them in a more concili.itory tone ; and the 
 regiments who had undergone so severe a 
 rebuke, redeemed their character in the 
 subsequent part of the campaign. 
 
 While Napoleon was indefatigable in 
 concentrating his troops on the right bank 
 of the Adige, and inspiring them with his 
 own spirit of enterprise, Alvinzi had taken 
 his position on the left bank, nearly oppo- 
 site to Verona. His army occupied a range 
 of heights called Caldicro, on the left of 
 which, and somewhat in the rear, is the 
 little village of Areola, situated amon^ 
 marshes, which extend around the foot of 
 that eminence. Here the Austrian gener- 
 al had stationed himself, with a view, it 
 may be supposed, to wait until Davidowich 
 and his division should descend the right 
 bank of the Adige, disquiet the French 
 leader's position on that river, and give Al- 
 vinzi himself the opportunity of forcing a 
 passage. 
 
 Buonaparte, with his usual rapidity of re- 
 solution, resolved to drive the Austrian 
 from his position on Caldiero, before the 
 arrival of Davidowich. But neither on this 
 occasion was fortune propitious to him. A. 
 strong French division, under Massena, at- 
 tacked the heights amid a storm of rain ; 
 but their most strenuous exertions proved 
 completely unsuccessful, and left to the 
 general only his usual mode of concealinga 
 check, by railing at the elements. 
 
 The situation of the French became 
 critical, and, what was worse, the soldiers 
 perceived it; and complained that they 
 had to sustain the whole burden of the war, 
 had to encounter army after army, and must 
 succumb at last under the renewed and 
 unwearied efforts of Austria. Buonaparte 
 parried these natural feelings as well as he 
 could, promising that their conquest of Ita- 
 ly should be speedily sealed by the defeat 
 of this Alvinzi ; and he applied his whole 
 genius to discover the means of bringing 
 the war to an effective struggle, in which 
 he confided that, in spite of numbers, hia 
 own talents, and the enterprising charactw 
 of an army so often victorious, might assure 
 him a favourable result. But it was no 
 easy way to discover a mode of attacking, 
 with even plausible hopes of success. If 
 he advanced northward on the right bainkto 
 seek out and destroy Davidowich, he must 
 weaken his line on the Adige, by the troops 
 withdrawn to effect that purpose ; and dur- 
 ing his absence, Alvinzi, would probably 
 force the passage of the river at some point, 
 and thus have it in his power to relieve 
 Mantua. The heights of Caldiero, occupi- 
 ed by the Austrian main-body, and lying in 
 his front, had, by dire experiment, been 
 proved impregnable. 
 
 In these doubtful circumstances the bold 
 scheme occurred to the French general, 
 that the position of Caldiero, though it could 
 not be stormed, might be turned, and that 
 by possessing himself of the village of Ar- 
 eola, which lies to the left, and in the rear 
 of Caldiero, the .Vustrians might be com- 
 pelled to fight to disadvantage. But the
 
 Chap. XXV.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 24i) 
 
 idea of attacking Areola was one which 
 would scarce have occurred to any general 
 save Buonaparte. 
 
 Areola is situated upon a small stream 
 called the Alpon, which, as already hinted, 
 finds its way into the Adige, through a wil- 
 derness of marshes, intersected with ditch- 
 es, aud traversed by dikes in various direc- 
 tions. In case of an unsuccessful attack, 
 the assailants were like to be totally cut off 
 in the swamps. Then to debouche from 
 Verona, and move in the direction of Areo- 
 la, would have put Alvinzi and his whole 
 army on their guard. Secrecy and celerity 
 are the soul of enterprise. All these diffi- 
 culties gave way before Napoleon's genius. 
 
 Verona, it must be remembered, is on the 
 left bank of the Adige — on the same with 
 the point which was the object of Buona- 
 parte's attack. At night-fall, the whole 
 forces at \"erona were under arms ; and 
 leaving fifteen hundred men under Kilmaine 
 to defend the place from any assault, with 
 strict orders to secure the gates, and pre- 
 vent all communication of his nocturnal ex- 
 pedition to the enemy. Buonaparte com- 
 menced his march at tirst to the rear, in the 
 direction of Peschiera ; which seemed to 
 imply that his resolution was at length ta- 
 ken to resign the hopes of gaining ^lantua, 
 and perhaps to abandon Italy. The silence 
 with which the march was conducted, the 
 absence of all the usual rumours which us- 
 ed in the French army to pr;2cede a battle, 
 and the discouraging situation of affairs, ap- 
 peared to presage the same issue. But af- 
 ter the troops had marched a little way in 
 this 'direction, the heads of columns were 
 wheeled to the left, out of the line of re- 
 treat, and descended the Adige as fir as 
 Ronco, which they reached before day. 
 Here a bridge had been prepared, by which 
 they passed over the river, and were placed 
 on the same bank with Areola, the object 
 of their attack, and lower than the heights 
 of Caldiero. 
 
 There were three causeways by which 
 the marsh of Areola is traversed — each was 
 occupied by a French column. The cen- 
 tral column moved on the causeway which 
 led to the village so named. The dikes 
 and causeways were not defended, but Ar- 
 eola and its bridge were protected by two 
 battalions of Croats with two pieces of 
 cannon, which were placed in a position to 
 enfilade the causeway. These received 
 the French column with so heavy a fire on 
 its flank, that it fell back in disorder. Au- 
 gereau rushed forward upon the bridge with 
 his chosen grenadiers ; but enveloped as 
 they were in a destructive fire, they were 
 driven back on the main body. 
 
 Alvinzi, who conceived it only an affair 
 of light troops, sent, however, forces into 
 the marsh by means of the dikes which 
 traversed them, to drive out the French. 
 These were checked by finding that they 
 were to oppose strong columns of infantry, 
 yet the battle continued with unabated viij- 
 our. It w:iii essential to Buonaparte's plan 
 that Areola should be carried ; but the fire 
 continued tremendous. At length, to ani- 
 mate his soldiers to a final exertion, he 
 Voj, I, • LS 
 
 caught a stand of colours, rushed on tlie 
 bridge, and planted them there with his 
 own hand. A fresh body of .\ustrians ar- 
 rived at that moment, and the fire on flank 
 blazed more destructively than ever. The 
 rear of the French column fell back ; the 
 leading files, finding themselves unsup- 
 ported, gave way, but, still careful of their 
 general, bore him back in their arms through 
 the dead and dying, the fire and the smoke. 
 In the confusion he was at length pushed 
 into the marsh. The Austrians were al- 
 ready bet\vixt him and his own troops, and 
 he must have perished or been taken had 
 not the grenadiers perceived his danger. 
 The cry instantly arose, — "Forward — ^for- 
 ward — save the general I" Their love to 
 Buonaparte's person did more than even 
 his commands and example had been able 
 to accomplish. They returned to the charge, 
 and at length pushed the Austrians out of 
 the village ; but not till the appearance of 
 a French corps under General Guieux had 
 turned the position, and he had thrown him- 
 self in the rear of it. These succours had 
 passed at the ferry of Alborado, and the 
 French remained in possession of the long- 
 contested village. It was at the moment a 
 place of the greatest importance ; for the 
 possession of it would have enabled Buona- 
 parte, had the Austrians remained in their 
 position, to operate on their communica- 
 tions with the Brenta, interpose between 
 Alvinzi and his reserves, and destroy his 
 park of artillery. But the risk was avoid- 
 ed by the timely caution of the Austrian 
 Field-marshal. 
 
 .\lvinzi was no sooner aware that a great 
 division of the French army was in his rear, 
 than, without allowing them time for far- 
 tlier operations, he instantly broke up his po- 
 sition on Caldiero, and evacuated these 
 heights by a steady and orderly retreat. 
 Buonaparte had the mortification to see the 
 .\ustrians effect this manoeuvre by crossing 
 a bridge in their rear over the Alpon, and 
 which could he have occupied, as was his 
 purpose, he might have rendered their re- 
 treat impossible, or at least disastrous. As 
 matters stood, however, the village of Ar- 
 eola came to lose its consequence as a po- 
 sition, since, after .\lvinzi'B retreat, it was 
 no longer in the rear, but in the front of the 
 enemy. 
 
 Buonaparte remembered he had enemies 
 on th'.' right as well as on the left of the 
 Adige ; and that Davidowich might be 
 once more routing Vaubois, while he was 
 too far advanced to afford him assistance. 
 He therefore evacuated Areola, and the 
 village of Porcil, situated near it, and re- 
 treating to Ronco, recrossed the river, leav- 
 ing only two demi-brigades in advance uji- 
 on the left bank. 
 
 The first battle of Areola, famous for the 
 obstinacy with which it was disputed, and 
 the number of brave officers and men who 
 fell, was thus attended with no decisivf r< - 
 suit. But it had checked the inclinniirvf, 
 of .\lvinzi to advance on Verona — it Mid 
 delayed all communication betwixt his ar- 
 my and that of the Tyrol — above all, it had 
 renewed the j^ustrians' apprehensions of
 
 250 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXV. 
 
 the skill of Buonaparte and the bravery of 
 his troops, and restored to the French sol- 
 diery the usual confidence of their national 
 character. 
 
 Buonaparte remained stationary at Ron- 
 co until next morning at five o'clock, by 
 which time he received intelligence that 
 Davidowich had lain quiet in his former 
 position ; that he had no cause to be alarm- 
 ed for Vaubois' safety, and might therefore 
 operate in security against Alvinzi. This 
 was rendered the more easy, (16th Novem- 
 ber.) as the Austrian general, not aware of 
 Buonaparte's having halted his army at 
 Ronco, imagined he was on his march to 
 concentrate his forces near Alantua, and 
 hastened therefore to overwhelm the rear- 
 guard, whom he expected to find at the 
 ferry. Buonaparte spared them the trouble 
 of a close advance to the Adige. He again 
 crossed to the left side, and again advanced 
 his columns upon the dikes and causeways 
 which traversed the marshes of Areola. 
 On such ground, where it was impossible 
 to assign to the columns more breadth than 
 the causeways could accommodate, the vic- 
 torious soldiers of France had great advan- 
 tage over the recent levies of Austria ; for 
 though the latter might be superior in num- 
 ber, on the whole, success must in such a 
 case depend on the personal superiority of 
 the front or leading files only. The French, 
 therefore, had the first advantage, and drove 
 back the Austrians upon the village of Ar- 
 eola ; but here, as on the former day, Al- 
 vinzi constituted his principal point of de- 
 fence, and maintained it with the utmost 
 obstinacy. 
 
 After having repeatedly failed when at- 
 tacking in front a post so difficult of approach, 
 Nopoleon endeavoured to turn the position 
 by crossing the little river Alpon, near its 
 union with the Adige. He attempted to 
 effect a passage by means of fascines, but 
 unsuccessfully ; and the night approached 
 without anything effectual being decided. 
 Both parties drew off", the French to Ron- 
 co, where they re-crossed the Adige ; the 
 Austrians to a position behind the well-con- 
 tested village of Areola. 
 
 The battle of the 16th November was 
 thus far favourable to the French, that they 
 had driven back the Austrians, and made 
 many prisoners in the commencement of 
 the day ; but they had also lost many men ; 
 and Napoleon, if he had gained ground in 
 the day, was fain to return to his position at 
 night, lest Davidowich, by the defeat of 
 Vaubois, might either relieve Mantua, or 
 move on Verona. The 17th was to be a 
 day more decisive. 
 
 The field of battle, and the preliminary 
 jnanoEuvres, were much the same as on the 
 preceding day ; but those of the French 
 were nearly disconcerted by the sinking of 
 one of the boats which constituted their 
 bridge over the .\dige. The Austrians in- 
 stantly advanced on the demi-bri^ade which 
 liad been stationed on the left bank to de- 
 fend the bridge. But the French, having 
 repaired the damage, advanced in their 
 turn, and compelled the .\ustrians to retreat 
 W)oa the marsh. Massena directed liig at- 
 
 tack on Porcil — General Robert pressed 
 forwards on Areola. But it was at the point 
 where he wished to cross the .\lpon that 
 Buonaparte chiefly desired to attain a decid- 
 ed superiority ; and in order to win it, he 
 added stratagem to audacity. Observing 
 one of his columns repulsed, and retreat- 
 ing along the causeway, he placed the 32d 
 regiment in ambuscade in a thicket of wil- 
 lows which bordered the rivulet, and sa- 
 luting the pursuing enemy with a close, 
 heavy, and unexpected fire, instantly rush- 
 ed to close with the bayonet, and attacking 
 the flank of a column of nearly three thou- 
 sand Croats, forced them into the marsh, 
 where most of them perished. 
 
 It was now that, after a calculation of the 
 losses sustained by the enemy. Napoleon 
 conceived their numerical superiority so 
 far diminished, and their spirit so much 
 broken, that he need no longer confine his 
 operations to the dikes, but meet his enemy 
 on the firm plain which extended beyond the 
 Alpon. He passed the brook by means of 
 a temporary bridge which had been prepar- 
 ed during night ; and the battle raged as 
 fiercely on the dry level, as it had done on 
 the dikes and amongst the marshes. 
 
 The Austrians fought with resolution, 
 the rather that their left, though stationed 
 on dry ground, was secured by a marsh 
 which Buonaparte had no means of turning. 
 But though this was the case, Napoleon 
 contrived to gain his point by impressing on 
 the enemy an idea that he had actually ac- 
 complished that which he had no means of 
 doing. This he effected by sending a dar- 
 ing officer, with about thirty of the guides, 
 (his own body-guards they may be called,) 
 with four trumpets ; and directing these 
 determined cavaliers to charge, and the 
 trumpets to sound, as if a large body of 
 horse had crossed the marsh. Augereau 
 attacked the Austrian left at the same mo- 
 ment; and a fresh body of troops advanc- 
 ing from Legnago, compelled them to re- 
 treat, but not to fly. 
 
 Alvinzi was now compelled to give way, 
 and commence his retreat on Montebello. 
 He disposed seven thousand men in echel- 
 lons to cover this movement, which was ac- 
 complished without very much loss ; but his 
 ranks had been much thinned by the slaugh- 
 ter of tlie three battles of Areola. Eight 
 thousand men has been stated as the amount 
 of his losses. The French, who made so 
 many and so sanguinary assaults upon the 
 villages, must also have suff'ered a great 
 deal. Buonaparte acknowledges this in en- 
 ergetic terms. '•'Never," he writes to Car- 
 not, " was field of battle so disputed. I 
 have almost no generals remaining — I can 
 assure you that the victory could not have 
 been gained at a cheaper expense. The 
 enemy were numerous, and desperately re- 
 solute." The truth is. that Buonaparte's 
 mode of striking terror by these bloody and 
 desperate charges in front upon strong posi- 
 tions, was a blemish in his system. They 
 cost many men, and were not uniformly suc- 
 cessful. That of Areola was found a vain 
 waste of blood, till science was employed 
 instead of main force, when the positioa
 
 Chap. XXV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 251 
 
 was turned by Guieux on the first day ; on 
 the third, by the troops who crossed the 
 Alpon. 
 
 The tardy conduct of Davidowich, during 
 'Jiese three undecided days of slaughterous 
 struggle, is worthy of notice and censure. 
 It would appear that from the 10th Novem- 
 ber that general had it in his power to at- 
 tack the division which he had hitherto 
 driven before him, and that he had delayed 
 doing 80 till the 16ih ; and on the I8th, just 
 the day after Alvinzi had made his retreat, 
 he approached Verona on the right bank. 
 Had these movements taken phce before 
 Alvinzi's defeat, or even during any of the 
 three days preceding, when the French 
 were engaged before Areola, the conse- 
 quences must have been very serious. Find- 
 ing, however, that Alvinzi had retreated, 
 Davidowich followed the same course, and 
 withdrew into the mountains, not much an- 
 noyed by the French, who respected the 
 character of his army, which had been re- 
 peatedly victorious, and felt the weakness 
 incident to their own late losses. 
 
 Another incidental circumstance tends 
 equally strongly to mark the want of con- 
 cert and communication among the Aus- 
 trian generals. Wurmser, who had re- 
 mained quiet in Mantua during all the time 
 when .\lvinzi and Davidowich were in the 
 neighbourhood, made a vigorous sally on 
 the 23d November ; when his doing so was 
 of little consequence, since he could not 
 be supported. 
 
 Thus ended the fourth campaign under- 
 taken for the Austrian possessions in Italy. 
 The consequences were not so decidedly in 
 Buonaparte's favour as those of the three 
 former. Mantua, it is true, had received 
 no relief; and so far the principal object of 
 the Austrians had miscarried. But Wurm- 
 eer was of a temper to continue the defence 
 till the last moment, and had already pro- 
 vided for a longer defence than the French 
 counted upon, by curtailing the rations of 
 the garrison. The armies of P'riuli and the 
 Tyrol had also, since the last campaign, re- 
 tained possession of Bassano and Trent, 
 and removed the French from the moun- 
 tains through which access is gained to the 
 Austrian hereditary dominions. Neither 
 had Alvinzi suffered any such heavy defeat 
 as his predecessors Beaulieu or Wurmser ; 
 while Davidowich, on the contrary, was uni- 
 formly successful, had he known how to 
 avail himself of his victories. Still the 
 Austrians were not likely, till reinforced 
 again, to interrupt Buonaparte's quiet pos- 
 session of Lombardy. 
 
 During two months following the battle 
 of Areola and the retreat of the Austrians, 
 the war which had bf>en so vigorously main- 
 tained in Italy experienced a short suspen- 
 sion, and the attention of Buonaparte was 
 turned towards civil matters — the arrange- 
 ment of the French interests with the vari- 
 ous powers of Italy, and with the congress 
 of Lombardy, as well as the erection of the 
 districts of Bologna. Ferrara, Repgio, and 
 Modena, into what was called the Transpa- 
 dane Republic. These we shall notice 
 •Jiewherc, as it is not advisable tg interrupt 
 
 the course of our military annals, until we 
 have recounted the last struggle of the Aus- 
 trians for the relief of Mantua. 
 
 It must be in the first place observed, 
 that, whether from jealousy or from want 
 of means, supplies and recruits were very 
 slowly transmitted from France to their 
 Italian army. About seven thousand men, 
 who were actually sent to join Buonaparte, 
 scarcely repaired the losses which he had 
 sustained in the late bloody campaigns. At 
 the same time the treaty with the Pope 
 being broken off, the supreme Pontiff threat- 
 ened to march a considerable army towards 
 Lombardy. Buonaparte endeavoured to sup- 
 ply the want of reinforcements by raising a 
 defensive legion among the Lombards, to 
 which he united many Poles. This body 
 was not fit to be brought into line against 
 the Austrians, but was more than sufficient 
 to hold at bay the troops of the Papal See, 
 who have never enjoyed of late years a high 
 degree of military reputation. 
 
 Meantime Austria, who seemed to cling 
 to Italy with the tenacity of a dying grasp, 
 again, and now for the fifth time, recruited 
 her armies on the frontier, and placing Al- 
 vinzi once more at the head of sixty thou- 
 sand men, commanded him to resume the 
 oflensive against the French in Italy. The 
 spirit of the country had been roused in- 
 stead of discouraged by the late defeats. 
 The volunteer corps, consisting of persons 
 of respectability and consideration, took the 
 field, for the redemption, if their blood 
 could purchase it, of the national honour. 
 Vienna furnished four battalions, which 
 were presented by the Empress with a ban- 
 ner, that she had wrought for them with her 
 own hands. The Tyrolese also thronged 
 once more to their sovereign's standard, 
 undismayed by a proclamation made by 
 Buonaparte after the retreat from Areola, 
 and which paid homage, though a painful 
 one, to these brave marksmen. " Whatev- 
 er Tyrolese," said this atrocious document, 
 " is taken with arms in his hand, shall be 
 put to instant death."' Alvinzi sent abroad 
 a counter proclamation, " that for every 
 Tyrolese put to death as threatened, he 
 would hang up a French officer." Buona- 
 parte again replied, " that if the Austria.", 
 general should use the retaliation he threat- 
 ened, he would execute in his turn officer 
 for officer out of his prisoners, commencing 
 with Alvinzi's own nephew, who was in his 
 power." A little calmness on either side 
 brought them to reflect on the cruelty of 
 aggravating the laws of war, which are 
 already too severe ; so that the system of 
 military execution was renounced on both 
 sides. 
 
 But notwithstanding this display of zeal 
 and loyalty on the part of the Austrian na- 
 tion, its councils do not appear to have de- 
 rived wisdom from experience. The losses 
 sustained by Wurmser and by Alvinzi, pro- 
 ceeded in a great measure from the radical 
 I error of having divided their forces, and com- 
 j menced the campaign on a double line of op- 
 eration, which could not, or at least were not 
 made to, correspond and communicate with 
 each other. Yet they commenced thi? cam.-.
 
 252 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXV. 
 
 paipn on the same unhappy principles. One 
 army descending from the Tyrol upon 
 JVIontebaldo, the other was to march down 
 by the Brenta on the Paduan territory, and 
 then to operate on the lower Adige, the line 
 of which, of course, they were expected to 
 force, for the purpose of relieving Mantua. 
 The Aulic Council ordered that these two 
 armies were to direct their course so as to 
 meet, if possible, upon the beleaguered 
 fortress. Should they succeed in raising 
 the siege, there was little doubt that the 
 French must be driven out of Italy ; but 
 even were the scheme only partially suc- 
 cessful, still it might allow VVurmser with 
 his cavalry to escape from that besieged 
 city, and retreat into the Romagna, where 
 it was designed that he should, with the 
 assistance of his staff and officers, organize 
 and assume the command of the Papal ar- 
 my. In the meantime, an intelligent agent 
 was sent to communicate if possible with 
 Wurmser. 
 
 This man fell into the hands of the be- 
 siegers. It was in vain that he swallowed 
 his despatches, which were inclosed in a 
 ball of wax ; means were found to make 
 the stomach render up its trust, and the 
 document which the wax enclosed was 
 found to be a letter, 'signed by the Empe- 
 ror's own hand, directing Wurmser to enter 
 mto no capitulation, but to hold out as long 
 as possible in expectation of relief, and if 
 compelled to leave Mantua, to accept of no 
 conditions, but to cut his way into the 
 Romagna, and take upon himself the com- 
 mand of the Papal army. Thus Buonaparte 
 became acquainted with the storm which 
 was approaching, and which was not long 
 of breaking. 
 
 Alvinzi, who commanded the principal 
 army, advanced from Bassano to Roveredo 
 upon the Adige. Provera, distinguished 
 for his gallant defence of Cossaria during 
 the action of Millesimo,* commanded the 
 divisions which were to act upon the lower 
 Adige. He marched as far as Bevi I'Acqua, 
 while his advanced guard, under Prince 
 Hohenzollern, compelled a body of French 
 to cross the right bank of the Adige. 
 
 Buonaparte, uncertain which of these at- 
 tacks he was to consider as the main one, 
 concentrated his army at Verona, which had 
 oeen so important a place during all these 
 campaigns as a central point, from which 
 he might at pleasure march either up the 
 Adige against Alvinzi, or descend the river 
 to resist the attempts of Provera. He trust- 
 ed that Joubert, whom he had placed in 
 defence of Corona, a little town which had 
 been strongly fortified for the purpose, might 
 be able to make a gooa temporary defence. 
 He despatched troops for Jouberfs support 
 to Castel Nuovo, but hesitated to direct his 
 principal force in that direction until ten 
 in the evening of 13th January, wlien he re- 
 ceived information that .loubert had been 
 attacked at La Corona by an immense bodv, 
 which he had resisted with difficulty during 
 the day, and was now about to retreat, in 
 order to secure the important eminence at 
 
 * See page 219. 
 
 Rivoli, which was the key of his whole 
 position. 
 
 Judging from this account that the prin- 
 cipal danger occurred on the upper part of 
 the Adige, Buonaparte left only Augereau'a 
 division to dispute with Provera the pas- 
 sage of that river on the lowest part of ita 
 course. He was especially desirous to se- 
 cure the elevated and commanding position 
 of Rivoli, before the enemy had time to re- 
 ceive his cavalry and cannon, as he hoped 
 to bring on an engagement ere he was unit- 
 ed with those important parts of his army. 
 By forced marches Napoleon arrived at Ri- 
 voli at two in the morning of the I4th, and 
 from that elevated situation, by the assist- 
 ance of a clear moonlight, he was able to 
 discover, that the bivouac of the enemy was 
 divided into five distinct and separate bod- 
 ies, from which he inferred that their attack 
 the next day would be made in the same 
 number of columns. 
 
 The distance at which the bivouacs were 
 stationed from the position of Joubert, made 
 it evident to Napoleon that they did not 
 mean to make their attack before ten in 
 the morning, meaning probably to wait for 
 their infantry and artillery. Joubert was 
 at this time in the act of evacuating the po- 
 sition which he only occupied by a rear- 
 guard. Buonaparte commanded him in- 
 stantly to counter-march and resume pos- 
 session of the important eminence of 
 Rivoli. 
 
 A few Croats had already advanced so 
 near the French line as to discover that 
 Joubert's light troops had abandoned the 
 chapel of Saint Marc, of which they took 
 possession. It was retaken by the French, 
 and the struggle to recover and maintain it 
 brought on a severe action, first with the 
 regiment to which the detachment of Croats 
 belonged, and afterwards with the whole 
 Austrian column which lay nearest to that 
 point, and which was commanded by Ocs- 
 kay. The latter was repulsed, but the col- 
 umn of Kobler pressed forward to support 
 them, and having gained the summit, at- 
 tacked two regiments of the French who 
 were stationed there, each protected by a 
 battery of cannon. Notwithstanding this 
 advantage, one of the regiments gave way, 
 and Buonaparte himself galloped to bring 
 up reinforcements. The nearest French 
 were those of Massena's division, which, 
 tired with the preceding night's march, had 
 lain down to take some rest. They started 
 up, however, at the command of Napoleon, 
 and suddenly arriving on the field, in half 
 an hour the column of Kobler was beaten 
 and driven back. That of Liptay advanced 
 in turn ; and Quasdonowich, observing that 
 Joubert, in prosecuting his success over 
 the division of Ocskay, had pushed forward 
 and abandoned the chapel of Saint Marc, 
 detached three battalions to ascend the hill, 
 and occupy that post. While the Austrians 
 scaled, on one side, the hill on which the 
 chapel is situated, fhree battalions of FrenclJ 
 infantry, who had been counter-marched by 
 Joubert to prevent Quasdonowich's purpose, 
 struggled up the steep ascent on another 
 point. The activity of the French brought
 
 Chap. XXV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 2o3 
 
 Ihera first to the summit, and having then 
 the advantage of the ground, it was no dif- 
 fictlt matter for them to force the advanc- 
 ing Austrians headlong down the hill which 
 they were er>deavouring to climb. Mean- 
 time, the French batteries thundered on 
 the broken columns of the enemy— their cav- 
 alry made repeated charges, and the whole 
 Austrians who had been engaged fell into 
 inextricable disorder. The columns which 
 had advanced were irretrievably defeated ; 
 those who remained were in such a condi- 
 tion, that to attack would have been mad- 
 ness. 
 
 Amid this confusion the division of Lu- 
 signan, which was the most remote of the 
 Austrian columns, being intrusted with the 
 charge of the artillery and baggage of the 
 army, had, after depositing these according 
 to order, mounted the heights of Rivoli, 
 and assumed a position in rear of the French. 
 Had this column attained the same ground 
 while the engagement continued in front, 
 the"e can be no doubt that it would have 
 been decisive against Napoleon. Even 
 as it was, their appearance in the rear 
 would have startled troops, however brave, 
 who had less confidence in their gener- 
 al ; but those of Buonaparte only exclaim- 
 ed, "There arrive farther supplies to our 
 market," in full reliance that their com- 
 mander could not be out-manoeuvred. The 
 Austrian division, on the other hand, arriv- 
 ing after the battle was lost, being without 
 artillery or cavalry, and having been oblig- 
 ed to leave a proportion of their numbers 
 to keep a check upon a French brigade, felt 
 that, instead of being in a position to cut 
 off the French, by attacking their rear 
 while their front was engaged, they them- 
 selves were cut off by the intervention of 
 the victorious French betwixt them and 
 their defeated army. Lusignan's division 
 ■was placed under a heavy fire of the artil- 
 lery in reserve, and was soon obliged to lay 
 down its arms. So critical are the events 
 of war, that, a military movement, which, 
 executed at .one particular period of time, 
 would have insured victory, is not unlikely, 
 from the loss of a brief interval, to occasion 
 only more general calamity.* The Austri- 
 ans, on this, as on some other occasions, 
 verified too much Napoleon's allegation, , 
 that they did not sufficiently consider the I 
 value of time in military affairs. 
 
 The field of Rivoli was one of the most 
 desperate that Buonaparte ever won, and I 
 was gained entirely by superior military I 
 skill, and not by the overbearing system of | 
 mere force of numbers, to which he has i 
 been accused of being partial. He himself i 
 had his horse repeatedly wounded in the I 
 
 * It is represented in some military accounts, I 
 hat the division which appeared in the rear of thi- ' 
 French belonged to tlio army of Provera, ami had 
 been delac'ieii by him on crossing the Adijje, as i 
 mentioned below But Napoleon'* f-aiiit Helena | 
 manuscripts prove the contrary. Provera oiilv 
 crossed on the 14th January, and it was on the ' 
 morning of the same day that \iipolcon hail scon ' 
 the five divisions of Aivinzi, that of Lusignan ' 
 which aAerwards appeared in the rear of his ar- 
 my heing one, lying around Joiibcrt's ixisitiuncf 
 Kivoli. 
 
 course of the action, and exerted to the ut- 
 most his personal influence to bring up the 
 troops into action where their presence was 
 most required. 
 
 Alvinzi'a error, which was a very gross 
 one, consisted in supposing that no more 
 than Joubert's inconsiderable force was sta- 
 tioned at Rivoli, and in preparing, there- 
 fore, to destroy him at his leisure ; whea 
 his acquaintance with the French celerity 
 of movement ought to have prepared him 
 for the possibility of Buonaparte's night- 
 march, by which, bringing up the chosen 
 strength of his army into the position where 
 the enemy only expected to find a feeble 
 force, he was enabled to resist and defeat 
 a much superior army, brought to the field 
 upon different points, without any just cal- 
 culations on the means of resistance which 
 were to be opposed ; without the necessa- 
 ry assistance of cavalry and artillery ; and, 
 above all, without a preconcerted plan of 
 co-operation and mutual support. The 
 excellence of Napoleon's manoeuvres was 
 well supported by the devotion of his gen- 
 erals, and the courage of his soldiers. Mas- 
 senna, in particular, so well seconded his 
 general, that afterwards, when Napole- 
 on as Emperor conferred on him the title 
 of duke, he assigned him his designation 
 from the battle of Rivoli. 
 
 Almost before this important and deci- 
 sive victory was absolutely gained, news ar- 
 rived which required the presence of Buon- 
 aparte elsewhere. On the very same day 
 of the battle, Provera, whom we left ma- 
 noeuvring on the Lovk-er Adige, threw a 
 bridge of pontoons over that river, where 
 the French were not prepared to oppose 
 hi.s passage, and pushed forward to Mantua, 
 the relief of which fortress he had by strat- 
 agem nearly achieved. A regiment of his 
 cavalry, wearing white cloaks, and resem- 
 bling in that particular the first regiment of 
 French hussars, presented themselves be- 
 fore the suburb of Saint George, then only 
 covered by a mere line of circumvallation. 
 The barricades were about to be opened 
 without suspicion, when it occurred to a sa- 
 gacious old French sergeant, who was be- 
 yond the walls gathering wood, that the 
 dress of this regiment of white-cloaks was 
 fresher than that of the French corps, call- 
 ed Bertini's. for whom they were mistaken. 
 He communicated his suspicions to a drum- 
 mer wlio was near him ; they gained the 
 suburb, and cried to arms, and the guns of 
 tlie defences were opened on the hostile 
 cavalry whoni they were about to have ad- 
 mitted in the guise of friends. 
 
 About the time that this incident took 
 place, Buonaparte himself arrived at Rover- 
 bella, within twelve miles of Mantua, to 
 which he had marched with incredible 
 iles])atch from the field of battle at Rivoli, 
 leaving to Massena, Murat, and Joubert, the 
 task of completing his victory, by the close 
 pursuit of Aivinzi and his scattered forces. 
 
 In the rneaiiwliiie, Provera communicat- 
 ed with ttie garrison of Mantua across the 
 lake, lad concerted the measures for its 
 relief Willi W'urmser. On the 16th of Jan- 
 tiarv, being the morning after the battle of
 
 254 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXV. 
 
 Rivoli, and the unsuccessful attempt to sur- 
 prise the suburb of Saint George, the garri- 
 fon of Mantua sallied from the place in 
 strength, and took post at the causeway of 
 La Favorita, being the only one which is 
 defended by an inclosed citadel, or inde- 
 pendent fortress. Napoleon, returning at 
 the head of his victorious forces, surround- 
 ed and attacked with fury the troops of 
 Provera, while the blockading army com- 
 pelled the garrison at the bayonet's point to 
 re-enter the besieged city of Mantua. Pro- 
 vera, who had in vain, though with much 
 decision and gallantry, attempted the relief 
 of Mantua, which his Imperial master had 
 BO much at heart, was compelled to lay 
 down his arms with a division of about five 
 thousand men, whom he had still united un- 
 der his person. The detached corps which 
 he had left to protect his bridge, and other 
 passes in his rear, sustained a similar fate. 
 Thus, one division of the army, which had 
 commenced the campaign of January only 
 on the 7th of that month, were the prison- 
 ers of the destined conqueror before ten 
 days had elapsed. The larger army, com- 
 manded by Alvinzi, had no better fortune. 
 They were close pursued from the bloody 
 field of Rivoli, and never were permitted 
 to draw breath or to recover their disorder. 
 Large bodies were intercepted and com- 
 pelled to surrender, a practice now so fre- 
 quent among the Austrian troops, that it 
 ceased to be shameful. 
 
 Nevertheless, one example is so peculiar 
 as to deserve commemoration, as a striking 
 example of the utter consternation and dis- 
 persion of the Austrians after this dreadful 
 defeat, and of the confident and audacious 
 promptitude which the French officers de- 
 rived from their unvaried success. Rene, a 
 young officer, was in possession of the vil- 
 lage called Garda, on the lake of the same 
 name, and, in visiting his advanced posts, 
 he perceived some Austrians approaching, 
 whom he caused his escort to surround and 
 make prisoners. Advancing to the front to 
 reconnoitre, he found himself close to the 
 head of an imperial column of eighteen 
 hundred men, which a turning in the road 
 had concealed till he was within twenty 
 yards of them. "Down with your arms '■' 
 said the Austrian commandant ; to which 
 Rene answered with the most ready bold- 
 ness, '•' Do you lay down your arms ! I 
 have destroyed your advanced guard, as wit- 
 ness these prisoners — ground your arms, or 
 no quarter.'' And the French soldiers catch- 
 ing the hint of their leader, joined in the 
 cry of '• Ground your arms." The .\ustri- 
 an officer hesitated, and proposed to enter 
 into capitulation ; the Frenchman would 
 admit of no terms but instant and immedi- 
 ate surrender. The dispirited imperialist 
 yielded up his sword, and commanded his 
 eoldiers to imitate his example. But the 
 Austrian soldiers began to suspect the 
 truth ; they became refractory, and refused 
 to obey their leader, whom Reni.- addressed 
 with the utmost apparent composure. '•' You 
 <ire an officer, sir, and a man of honour—you 
 know the rules of war — you have surrender- 
 fid— you are therefore my prisoner, but I 
 
 rely on your parole— Here, 1 return your 
 sword — compel your men to submission, 
 otherwise I direct against you the division 
 of si.x thousand men who are under my 
 command.''" The Austrian was utterly con- 
 founded, betwixt the appeal to his honour 
 and the threat of a charge from six thou- 
 sand men. He assured Rene he might re- 
 ly on his punctilious compliance with the 
 parole he had given him ; and speaking in, 
 German to his soldiers, persuaded them to 
 lay down their arms, ? submission which 
 he had soon afterward the satisfaction to 
 see had been made to one twelfth part of 
 their number. 
 
 Amid such extraordinary success, the 
 ground which the French had lost in Italy 
 was speedily resumed. Trent and Bassano 
 were again occupied by the French. They 
 regained all the positions and strong-holds 
 which tliey had possessed on the frontiers 
 of Italy before Alvinzi's first descent, and 
 might perhaps have penetrated deeper in- 
 to the mountainous frontier of Germany, 
 but for the snow which choked up the 
 passes. 
 
 One c'owning consequence of the victo- 
 ries of Rivoli and of La Favorita, was the 
 surrender of Mantua itself, that prize which 
 had cost so much blood, and had been de- 
 fended v/ith such obstinacy. 
 
 For several days after the decisive ac- 
 tions which left him without a shadow of 
 hope or relief, Wurmser continued the de- 
 fence of the place in a sullen yet honoura- 
 ble despair, natural to the feelings of a gal- 
 lant veteran, who, to the last, hesitated be- 
 tween the desire to resist, and the sense 
 that, his moans of subsistence being almost 
 totally expended, resistance was absolutely 
 hopeless. At length he sent his aid-de- 
 camp, Klenau {.ifterwards a name of celeb- 
 rity,) to the head-quarters of Serrurier, who 
 commanded the blockade, to treat of a sur- 
 render. Klenau used the customary lan- 
 guage on such occasions. He expatiated 
 on the means which he said Mantua still 
 possessed of holding out, but said that as 
 Wurmser doubted whether the place could 
 be relieved in time, he would regulate hia 
 conduct as to immediate submission, or far- 
 ther defence, according to the conditions 
 of surrender to which the French generals 
 were willing to admit him. 
 
 A French officer of distinction was pres- 
 ent, muffled in his cloak, and remaining 
 apart from the two officers, but within hear- 
 ing of what had passed. When their dis- 
 cussion was finished, this unknown person 
 stepped forward, and taking a pen, wrote 
 down the conditions of surrender to which 
 Wurmser was to be admitted — conditions 
 more honourable and favourable by far than 
 what his extremity could have exacted. 
 " These," said the unknown officer to Kle- 
 nau, "are the terms which Wurmser may 
 accept at present, and which will be equal- 
 ly tendered to him at any period when he 
 finds farther resistance impossible. We 
 are aware that he is too much a man of 
 honour to give up the fortress and city, so 
 long and honourably defended, while the 
 means gf resistance remain in his power.
 
 Chap. XX VI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 251 
 
 If he delays accepting the conditions for 
 a week, for a month, for two months, 
 tliey shall be equally his when he choos- 
 es to accept them. To-morrow I pass the 
 Po, and march upon Rome." Klenau, per- 
 ceiving that he spoke to the French com- 
 mander-in-chief, frankly admitted that the 
 garrison could not longer delay surrender, 
 having scarce three days' provisions uncon- 
 Bumed. 
 
 This trait of generosity towards a gallant 
 but unfortunate enemy, was highly honour- 
 able to Buonaparte. The taste which dic- 
 tated the stage-effect of the cloak may in- 
 deed be questioned ; but the real current 
 of his feeling towards the venerable object 
 of his respect, and at the same time com- 
 passion, is ascertained otherwise. He wrote 
 to the Directory on the subject, that he 
 had afforded to Wurmser such conditions 
 of surrender as became the generosity of 
 the French nation towards an enemy, who, 
 having lost his army by misfortune, was so 
 little desirous to secure his personal safety, 
 that he threw himself into Mantua, cutting 
 his way tlirough the blockading army ; thus 
 voluntarily undertaking the privations of 
 a siege, which his gallantry protracted un- 
 til almost the last morsel of provisions was 
 exhausted. 
 
 But the young victor paid still a more 
 delicate and noble-minded compliment, in 
 declining to be personally present when the 
 veteran Wurmser had the mortification to 
 Burrender his sword, with his garrison of 
 twenty thousand men, ten thousand of 
 ■whom were fit for service. This self-de- 
 nial did Napoleon as much credit nearly as 
 his victory, and must not be omitted in a 
 narrative, which, often called to stigmatise 
 his ambition and its consequences, should 
 not be the less ready to observe marks of 
 
 dignified and honourable feeling. The his- 
 tory of this remarkable man more frequent- 
 ly reminds us of the romantic and improb- 
 able victories imputed to the heroes of the 
 romantic ages, than of the spirit of chivalry 
 attributed to them ; but in this instance Na- 
 poleon's conduct towards Wurmser may be 
 justly compared to that of the Black Prince 
 to his royal prisoner. King John of France. 
 
 Serrurier, who had conducted the leaguer, 
 had the honour to receive the surrender of 
 Wurmser, after the siege of Mantua had 
 continued for six months, during which the 
 garrison is said by Napoleon to have lost 
 twenty-seven thousand men by disease, 
 and in the various, numerous and bloody 
 I sallies which took place. This decisive 
 event put an end to the war in Italy. The 
 contest with Austria was hereafter to be 
 waged on the hereditary dominions of that 
 haughty power. 
 
 The French, possessed of this grand ob- 
 ject of their wishes, were not long in dis- 
 playing their national characteristics. Their 
 military and prescient sagacity were evinc- 
 ed in employing one of the most celebrated 
 of their engineers, to improve and bring 
 nearly to perfection ihe defence of a city 
 which may be termed the citadel of Italy. 
 They set afoot, besides, civic feasts and cer- 
 emonies, and among others, one in honour 
 of Virgil, who, being the panegyrist of an 
 emperor, was inditferently selected as the 
 presiding genius of an infant republic. 
 Their cupidity was evinced by their artists' 
 exercising their ingenuity in devising means 
 to cut from the wall and carry off the fresco 
 paintings, by Titian, of the wars between 
 the Gods and the Giants, at all risks of de- 
 stroying what could never be replaced. 
 Luckily the attempt was found totally unad 
 visable. 
 
 CHAP. KXVl. 
 
 Situation and Views of Buonaparte at this period of the Campaign. — His politic Con- 
 duct towards the Italians — Popularity. — Severe terms of Peace proposed to the Pope — 
 rejected. — Napoleon differs from the Directory, and Negotiations are renewed — but 
 again rejected. — The Pope raises his army to W.OOO Men — Napoleon invades the Pa- 
 pal Territories. — The Papal Troops defeated near Imola — arid at Ancona— which is 
 Captured — Loretto taken. — Clemency of Buonaparte to the French recusant Clergy. — 
 Peace of Tolenlino. — Napoleons Letter to the Pope. — San Marino. — View of the 
 situation of the different Italian States — Rome — Naples — Tuscany — Venice. 
 
 The eyes of all Europe were now riveted 
 on Napoleon Buonaparte, whose rise had 
 been so sudden that he was become the ter- 
 ror of empires and the founder of states ; 
 the conqueror of the best generals and most 
 disciplined troops in Europe, within a few 
 months after he had been a mere soldier of 
 fortune, seeking rather for subsistence than 
 expecting honourable distinction. Such 
 sudden elevations have occasionally hap- 
 pened amid semi-barbarous nations, wh<'re 
 great popular insurrections, desolating and 
 decisive revolutions, are common occur- 
 rences, but were hitherto unheard of in civ- 
 ilized Europe. The pre-eminence which 
 he had suddenly obtained had, besides, been 
 subjected to -so many trials, as to alford ev- 
 
 ery proof of its permanence, Napoleoii 
 
 stood aloft like a cliff on which successive 
 
 tempests had expended their rage in vain. 
 
 The means which raised him were equally 
 
 competent ti) make good his greatness. He 
 
 had infused into the armies which he com- 
 
 [ manded the firmest reliance on his genius, 
 
 and the greatest love for his person ; so that 
 
 lie could always find agents ready to exe- 
 
 I cute his most difficult commands. He had 
 
 I even inspired them with a portion of his 
 
 own indefatigable exertion and coinmand- 
 
 I ing intelligence. The maxim which he in- 
 
 j culcated upon them when practising those 
 
 ; long ami severe marches which formed one 
 
 ' essential part of his system, was, " I would 
 
 rather gain victory at the expense of your
 
 256 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 le^ than at the price of your blood." The 
 French, under his training, seemed to be- 
 come the very men he wanted, and to for- 
 get, in the excitation of war and the hope 
 of victory, even the feelings of weariness 
 and exhaustion. The following description 
 of the French soldier by Napoleon himself 
 occurs in his despatches to the Directory 
 during his first campaign in Italy : — 
 
 " Were I to name all those who have 
 been distinguished by acts of personal brave- 
 ry, I must send the muster-roll of all the 
 grenadiers and carabiniers of the advanced- 
 guard. They jest with danger and laugh at 
 death ; and if anything can equal their in- 
 trepidity, it is the gaiety with which, singing 
 alternately songs of love and patriotism, they 
 accomplish the most severe forced marches. 
 When they arrive at their bivouac, it is not 
 to take their repose, as might be expected, 
 but to tell each his story of the battle of the 
 day, and produce his plan for that of to-mor- 
 row ; and many of them think with great 
 correctness on military subjects. The oth- 
 er day I was inspecting a demi-brigade, and 
 as it filed past me, a common chasseur ap- 
 proached my horse, and said, ' (ieneral, you 
 ought to do so and so.' — ' Hold your peace, 
 you rogue !' I replied. He disappeared im- 
 mediately, nor have I since been able to 
 find him out. Bat the manoeuvre which he 
 recommended was the very same which I 
 had privately resolved to carry into exe- 
 cution." 
 
 To command this active, intelligent, and 
 intrepid soldiery, Buonaparte possessed of- 
 ficers entirely worthy of the charge ; men 
 young, or at least not advanced in years, to 
 whose ambition the Revolution, and the 
 wars which it had brought on, had opened 
 an unlimited career, and whose genius was 
 inspired by the plans of their leader, and 
 the success which attended them. Buona- 
 parte, who had his eye on every man, never 
 neglected to distribute rewards and punish- 
 ments, praise and censure, with a liberal 
 hand, or omitted to press for what latterly 
 was rarely if ever denied to him — the pro- 
 motion of such officers as particularly dis- 
 tinguished themselves. He willingly as- 
 sumed the task of soothing the feelings of 
 those whose relations had fallen under his 
 banners. His letter of consolation to Gen- 
 eral Clarke upon the death of young Cl.arke 
 his nephew, who fell at Areola, is affecting, 
 as showing that amid all his victories he 
 felt himself the object of reproach and crit- 
 icism.* His keen sensitiveness to the at- 
 
 * Letter from Napoleon to General Clarke, 2.5 
 Brumaire, 5th year of tlie Republic. — " Your 
 nephew has been slain on the field of battle at 
 Areola. The )ouii<j man had been familiar with 
 arms — had led on columns, and would Iiave been 
 one day an excellent officer. He has died with 
 glory in the face of the enemy. He did not suffer 
 for an instant. What man would not envy such 
 a death .' — Who is he that would not aci^ept as a 
 favourable condition the choice of thug escaping 
 from the vicissitudes of a contemptible world.' — 
 Who is there among us who has not a Inindred 
 times regretted that he has not lH?pn thus with- 
 drawn from the powerful effects of calumny, nf en- 
 vy, and of all the odious passions w liich seem the 
 almost exclusive Uiructurs uf the conduct of inaii- 
 
 ' tacks of the public press attended him 
 1 through life, and, like the slave in the tri- 
 umphal car, seemed to remind him that he 
 j was still a mortal man. 
 I It should farther be remarked, that Napo- 
 leon withstood, instantly and boldly, all the 
 numerous attempts made by commissaries, 
 ;ind that description of persons to encroach 
 upon the fund destined for the use of the 
 army. Much of his public, and more of 
 his private correspondence, is tilled with 
 complaints against tliese agents, although 
 he must have known that, in attacking them, 
 he disobliged men of highest influence, 
 who liad frequently some secret interest in 
 their wealth. But his military fame made 
 his services indispensable, and permitted 
 him to set at defiance the enmity of such 
 persons, who are generally as timid as they 
 are sordid. Buonaparte's former patron, 
 Barras, was supposed to be accessible to 
 this species of corruption. 
 
 Towards the general officers there took 
 place a gradual change of deportment, as 
 the commander-in-chief began to feel grad- 
 ually, more and more, the increasing sense 
 of his own personal importance. We have 
 been informed by an officer of the highest 
 rank, that, during the earlier campaigns. 
 Napoleon used to rejoice with, and em-- 
 brace them as associates, nearly on the 
 same footing, engaged in the same tasks. 
 After a period, his language and carriage 
 became those of a frank soldier, who, sen- 
 sible of the merit of his subordinate assist- 
 ants, yet makes them sensible, by his man- 
 ner, that he is their cominander-in-cliief. 
 When his infant fortunes began to come of 
 age, his deportment to his generals was 
 tinctured with that lofty courtesy which 
 princes use towards their subjects, and 
 which plainly intimated, that he held them 
 as subjects in the wau", not as brethren.* 
 
 Napoleon's conduct towards the Italians 
 individually was, in most instances, in the 
 highest degree prudent and political, while, 
 at the same time, it coincided, as true pol- 
 icy usually does, with the rules of justice 
 and moderation, and served in a great meas- 
 ure to counterbalance the odium which he 
 incurred by despoiling Italy of the works of 
 art, and even by his infringements on the 
 religious system of the Catholics. 
 
 On the latter subject, the general became 
 particularly cautious, and his dislike or 
 contempt of the Church of Rome was no 
 longer shown in that gross species of satire 
 which he had at first given loose to. On 
 the contrary, it was veiled under philosoph- 
 ical indifference ; and, while relieving the 
 
 kind ?" — This letter, remarkable in many respects, 
 will remind the English reader of Cato's exclama- 
 tion over the body of his son — 
 
 " Who would not be this youth .'" 
 
 * Count Tjas Cases mentions an incident of the 
 same kind. An officer, who had known Buona- 
 parte familiarly before Toulon, was, when he ob- 
 tained the command of the Army of Italy, about 
 to rush into the arms of his old comrade. But the 
 look and manner of the general made it evident 
 there was an end to their intimacy, and that th» 
 intercourse between them bad changed its charac- 
 ter with liis friend's promotion.
 
 Chap. XXVI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 257 
 
 clergj' of their worldly possessions, Napo- 
 leon took care to avoid the error of the 
 Jacobins ; never proposing their tenets as 
 an object of persecution, but protecting 
 their persons, and declaring himself a de- 
 cided friend to general toleration on all 
 points of conscience. 
 
 In point of politics, as well as religion, 
 the opinions of Buonaparte appeared to 
 have experienced a great change. It may 
 be doubted, indeed, if he ever in his heart 
 adopted those of the outrageous Jacobins 5 
 but he must doubtless have professed them, 
 whether sincerely or not, when he first ob- 
 tained promotion under the influence of the 
 younger Robespierre, Salicetti, and Barras, 
 who, afterwards a Thermidorien, was a Sans 
 Culotte during the siege of Toulon.'* Buo- 
 naparte's clear and sound good sense speed- 
 ily made him sensible, that such a violence 
 on the established rules of reason and mo- 
 rality, as an attempt to make the brutal 
 force of the multitude the forcible control- 
 ler of those possessed of the wisdom, prop- 
 erty, and education of a country, is too un- 
 natural to remain long, or to become the 
 basis of a well-regulated state. Being at 
 present a Republican of the Thermidorien 
 party, Buonaparte, even though he made 
 use of the established phrases Liberty and 
 Equality, acknowledged no dignity superi- 
 or than Citizen, and Thee'd and Thou'd 
 whomsoever he addressed, was permitted 
 to mix many grains of liberality with those 
 democratic forms. Indeed, the republican 
 creed of the day began to resemble the 
 leathern apron of the brazier who founded a 
 dynasty in the East — his descendants contin- 
 ued tn display it as their banner, but en- 
 riched it so much with gems and embroide- 
 ry, that there was little of the original stuff 
 to be discovered. 
 
 Jacobinism, for example, being founded 
 on the pvinciple of assimilating the nation- 
 al character to the gross ignorance of the 
 lower classes, was the natural enemy of 
 the fine arts and of literature, whose pro- 
 ductions the Sans Culottes could not com- 
 prehend, and which they destroyed for the 
 same enlightened reasons that Jack Cade's 
 followers hanged the clerk of Chatham, 
 with his pen and inkhorn about his neck. 
 Buonaparte, on the contrary, saw that 
 knowledge, of whatsoever kind, was power ; 
 and therefore he distinguished himself hon- 
 ourably amidst his victories, by seeking the 
 
 * Even when before Toulon, he was not liclil by 
 clear-sighted persons to be a very orthoilox Jaco- 
 bin. General Uartau-x, the stupid Sans Culotte 
 under wlioni he first served, was talking of the 
 young commandant of artillery with applause, 
 when his wife, who was somewhat first in com- 
 munil at home, advised him not to reckon too much 
 on that young man, " who had too mnr.h sense to 
 !>e long a Sans Culotte." — "Sense.' Female-eiti- 
 /.en Cartaux,"said her offended husband, " do yon 
 :nke lis for fools.'" — "By no means," answered 
 I lie lady ; " but his .sense is not of the same kind 
 with yours." — Las Cases' Journal, vol. I. p. 144. 
 Ciilbm-n'.i Translatinn. — In the same work we 
 read an .I'lmission of Napoleon, that his hrother 
 Ijiicien was a much more violent Jacobin than 
 himself, and that somn papers published as his, 
 with the siL'iiature, Hriitus Hiionapartc, ought in* 
 fact to be ascribed to Lucieii. 
 
 ! conversation of men distinguished for litera- 
 j ry attainments, and displaying an interest 
 in the antiquities and curiosities of the 
 I towns which he visited, that could not but 
 seem flattering to the inhabitants. In a 
 letter addressed publicly to Oriani, a cele- 
 brated astronomer, he assures him that all 
 men of genius, all who had distinguished 
 themselves in the republic of letters, were 
 to be accounted natives of France, whatev- 
 er might be the actual place of their birth. 
 " Hitherto," he said, " the learned in Italy 
 did not enjoy the consideration to which 
 they were entitled — they lived retired in 
 their laboratories and libraries, too happy 
 if they could escape the notice, and con- 
 sequently the persecution, of kings and 
 priests. It is now no longer thus — there is 
 no longerreligious inquisition, nor despotic 
 power. Thought is free in Italy. I invite 
 the literary and scientific persons to consult 
 together, and propose to me their ideas on 
 the subject of giving new vigour and life 
 to the fine arts and sciences. All who de- 
 sire to visit France will be received with 
 distinction by the government. The peo- 
 ple of France have more pride in enrolling 
 among their citizens a skilful mathemati- 
 cian, a painter of reputation, a distinguish- 
 ed man in any class of literature, than in 
 adding to their territories a large and weal- 
 thy city. I request, sir, that you will nrike 
 my sentiments known to the most distin- 
 guished literary persons in the state of Mi- 
 lan." To the municipality of Pavia he wrote, 
 desiring that the professors of their cele- 
 brated university should resume their course 
 of instruction under the security of his pro- 
 tection, and inviting them to point out to him 
 such measures as might occur, for giving a 
 more brilliant existence to their ancient 
 seminaries. 
 
 The interest which he thus took in the 
 literature and literary institutions of Italy, 
 was shown by admitting men of science or 
 letters freely to his person. Their com- 
 munication was the more flattering, that be- 
 ing himself of Italian descent, and familiar 
 with the beautiful language of the country 
 from his infancy, his conversation with men 
 of literary eminence was easily conducted. 
 It may be mentioned episodically, that Na- 
 poleon found a remnant of his family in It- 
 aly, in the person of the Abbe Gregorio 
 Buonaparte, the only remaining branch of 
 that Florentine family, of whom the Cor- 
 sican line were cadets. He resided at San 
 Miniato, of which he was canon, and was 
 an old man, and said to be wealthy. The 
 relationship was eagerly acknowledged, 
 i and the general with his whole staff, dined 
 I with the Canon (iregorio. The whole 
 I mind of the old priest was wrapt up in a 
 i project of obtaining the honours of regular 
 ' canonization for one of the family called 
 I Bonaveiitura, who had been a capuchin in 
 j the 17th century, and was said to have died 
 in the odour of sanctity, though his right 
 ( to divine honours had never been acknowl- 
 j edged. It must have been ludicrous enough 
 I to have heard the old man insist upon a to- 
 pic so uninteresting to Napoleon, and press 
 the French republican general to use hia
 
 258 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 interest with the Pope. There can be lit- 
 tle doubt that the Holy Father, to have es- 
 caped other demands, would have canoniz- 
 ed a whole French regiment of Carmagnols, 
 and ranked them with the old militia of the 
 calendar, the Theban Legion. But Napo- 
 leon wassensible that any request on such a 
 subject coming from him would be only lu- 
 dicrous.* 
 
 The progress which Buonaparte made 
 personally in the favour of the Italians, was, 
 doubtless, a great assistance to the propa- 
 gation of the new doctrines which were con- 
 nected with the French Revolution, and 
 was much aided by the trust which he 
 seemed desirous to repose in the natives 
 of the country. He retained, no doubt, in 
 his own hands, the ultimate decision of ev- 
 erything of consequence ; but in matters 
 of ordinary importance, he permitted and 
 encouraged the Italians to act for them- 
 selves, in a manner they had not been ac- 
 customed to under their German masters. 
 The internal government of their towns 
 wais entrusted to provisional governors, 
 chosen without respect to rant, and the 
 maintenance of police was committed to 
 the armed burghers, or national guards. 
 Conscious of the importance annexed to 
 these privileges, they already became im- 
 patient for national liberty. Napoleon 
 could hardly rein back the intense ardour 
 of the large party among the Lombards who 
 desired an immediate declaration of inde- 
 pendence, and he had no other expedient 
 left than to amuse them with procrastinat- 
 ing excuses, which enhanced their desire 
 of such an event, while they delayed its 
 gratification. Other towns of Italy, — for it 
 was among the citizens of the towns that 
 these sentiments were chiefly cultivated, — 
 began to evince the same wish to new-mod- 
 el their governments on the revolutionary 
 system 5 and this ardour was chiefly shown 
 on the southern side of the Po. 
 
 It must be remembered, that Napoleon 
 had engaged in treaty with the Duke of 
 Modena, and had agreed to guarantee 
 his principality, on payment of immense 
 contributions in money and stores, besides 
 the surrender of the most valuable treas- 
 ures of his museum. In consequence, the 
 Duke of Modena was permitted to govern 
 hia states by a regency, he himself fixing 
 his residence in Venice. But his two prin- 
 cipal towns, Reggio and Modena, especially 
 the former, became desirous of shaking off 
 his government. Anticipating in doing so 
 the approbation of the French general and 
 government, the citizens of Reggio rose in 
 insurrection, expelled from their town a 
 body of the ducal troops, and planted the 
 
 * Las Cases says, that afterwards the Pope 
 himself touched on the same topic, and was dis- 
 posed to see the immediate guidance and protec- 
 tion afforded by the consanguinean Saint Bonaven- 
 tnra in tlie great deeds wrought by his relation. 
 It was said of the church-endowing saint, David 
 King of Scotland, that he was a sore saint for the 
 Crown ; certainly Saint Bonaventura must have 
 been a sore saint for the Papal See. The old Ab- 
 be left Napoleon his fortune, which he conferred 
 •n some public institution. 
 
 tree of liberty, resolved, as they said, to 
 constitute themselves a free state, under 
 the protection of the French Republic. 
 The Ducal regency, with a view of protect- 
 ing Modena from a similar attempt, mount- 
 ed cannon on their ramparts, and took other 
 defensive measures. 
 
 Buonaparte affected to consider these 
 preparations as designed against the French ; 
 and marching a body of troops, took pos- 
 session of the city without resistance, de- 
 prived the Duke of all the advantages 
 which he had purchased by the mediation of 
 the celebrated Saint Jerome, and declared 
 the town under protection of France. Bo- 
 logna and Ferrara, legations belonging to 
 the Papal See, had been already occupied 
 by French troops, and placed under the 
 management of a committee of their citi- 
 zens. They were now encouraged to coa- 
 lesce with Reggio and Modena. A con- 
 gress of an hundred delegates from the 
 four districts was summoned, to effect the 
 formation of a government which should 
 extend over them all. The Congress met 
 accordingly, engaged their constituents ia 
 a perpetual union, under title of the Cispa- 
 dane Republic, from their situation on 
 the right of the river Po ; thus assuming 
 the character of independence, while in 
 fact they remained under the authority of 
 Buonaparte, like clay in the hands of the 
 potter, who may ultimately model it into 
 any shape he has a mind. In the meantime, 
 he was careful to remind them, that the lib- 
 erty which it was desirable to establish, 
 ought to be consistent with due subjection 
 to the laws. "Never forget," he said, in 
 reply to their address announcing their 
 new form of government, " that laws are 
 mere nullities without the force necessary 
 to support them. Attend to your military 
 organization, which you have the means of 
 placing on a respectable footing — you will 
 be more fortunate than the people of France, 
 for you will arrive at liberty without pass- 
 ing through the ordeal of revolution." 
 
 This was not the language of a Jacobin ; 
 and it fortifies the belief, that even now, 
 while adhering ostensibly to the Republican 
 system, Buonaparte anticipated considera- 
 ble changes in that of France. 
 
 Meanwhile the Lombards became impa- 
 tient at seeing their neighbours outstrip 
 them in the path of revolution, and of 
 nominal independence. The municipality 
 of Milan proceeded to destroy all titles of 
 honour, as a badge of feudal dependence, 
 and became so impatient, that Buonaparte 
 was obliged to pacify them by a solemn as- 
 surance that they should speedily enjoy the 
 benefits of a republican constitution ; and 
 to tranquillize their irritation, placed them 
 under the government of a provisional 
 council, selected from all classes, labour- 
 ers included. 
 
 This measure made it manifest, that the 
 motives which had induced the delay of 
 the French government to recognize the in- 
 dependence (as they termed it) of Lombar- 
 dy, were now of less force ; and in a short 
 time, the provisional council of Milan, af- 
 ter some modest doubts on their own pow-
 
 Chap. XXVI.] LIFE OF N.\POLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 259 
 
 ere, revolutionized their country, and as- ; grant, if he meant in future to lay claim to 
 Bumed the title of the Transpadane Repub- j any authority under that once venerable ti- 
 lic, which they afterwards laid aside, when ! tie. The Sovereign Pontiff was required 
 
 on their union with the Cispadane, both 
 wen united under the name of the Cisal- 
 pine Commonwealth. This decisive step 
 was adopted 3d January 1797. Decrees of 
 a popular character had preceded the decla- 
 ration of independence, but an air of mode- 
 
 to recall all the briefs which he had issued 
 against France since 1789, to sanction the 
 constitutional oath which released the 
 French clergy from the dominion of the 
 Holy See, and to ratify the confiscation 
 of the church-lands. Treasures might be 
 
 ration was observed in the revolution itself, expended, secular dignities resigned, and 
 The nobles, deprived of their feudal rights provinces ceded; but it was clear that the 
 
 and titular dignities, were subjected to no 
 incapacities ; the reformation of the church 
 was touched upon gently, and without indi- 
 cating any design of its destruction. In these 
 particulars, the Italian commonwealths stop- 
 ped short of their Gallic prototype. 
 
 If Buonaparte may be justly charged with 
 want of faith, in destroying the authority 
 of the Duke of Modena, after having ac- 
 cepted of a price for granting him peace 
 and protection, we cannot object to him the 
 eame charge for acceding to the Transpa- 
 dane Republic, in so far as it detached the 
 legations of Ferrara and Bologna from the 
 Roman See. These had been in a great 
 measure reserved for the disposal of the 
 French, as circumstances should dictate, 
 when a final treaty should take place be- 
 twixt the Republic and the Sovereign Pon- 
 tiff. But many circumstances had retard- 
 ed this pacification, and seemed at length 
 likely to break it off without hope of re- 
 newal. 
 
 If Buonaparte is correct in his statement, 
 which we see no reason to doubt, the delay 
 of a pacification with the Roman See was 
 chiefly the fault of the Directory, whose 
 avaricious and engrossing spirit was at this 
 period its most distinguishing characteris- 
 tic. An armistice, purchased by treasure, 
 by contributions, by pictures and statues, 
 and by the cession of the two legations of 
 Bologna and Ferrara, having he'iti mediat- 
 ed for his Holiness by the Spar.ish ambas- 
 sador Azara, the Pope sent two plenipo- 
 tentiaries to Paris to treat of a definitive 
 peace. But the conditions proposed were 
 60 severe, that however desperate his con- 
 dition, the Pope found them totally inad- 
 missible. His Holiness was required to 
 pay a large contribution in grain for ten 
 years, a regular tribute of six millions of 
 Roman crowns for six years, to cede to 
 France in perpetuity the ports of Ancona 
 and Civita Vecchia, and to declare the in- 
 dependence of Ferrara, Bologna, and Ra- 
 venna. To add insult to oppression, the 
 total cession of the Clementine Museum 
 
 Sovereign Pontiff could not do what was 
 expressly contrary to the doctrines of the 
 church which he represented. There 
 were but few clergymen in France who had 
 hesitated to prove their devotion to the 
 church of Rome, by submitting to expul* 
 sion, rather than take the constitutional 
 oath. It was now for the Head of the 
 Church to show in his own person a simi- 
 lar disinterested devotion to her interests. 
 
 Accordingly, the College of Cardinals 
 having rejected the proposals of France, as 
 containing articles contrary to conscience, 
 the Pope declared his determination to 
 abide by the utmost extremit}', rather than 
 accede to conditions destructive, degrad- 
 ing, and, in his opinion, impious. The Di- 
 rectory instantly determined on the total 
 ruin of the Pope, and of his power, both 
 spiritual and temporal. 
 
 Napoleon dissented from the opinion of 
 the government. In point of moral effect, 
 a reconciliation with the Pope would have 
 been of great advantage to France, and have 
 tended to reunite her with other Catholic 
 nations, and diminish the horror with which 
 she was regarded as sacrilegious and athe- 
 istical. Even the army of the Holy See 
 was not altogether to be despised, in case 
 of any reverse taking place in the war 
 with the Austrians. Under these consid- 
 erations, he prevailed on the Directory to 
 renew the negotiations at Florence. But 
 the French commissioners, having present- 
 ed as preliminaries sixty indispensable con- 
 ditions, containing the same articles which 
 had been already rejected, as contrary to the 
 conscience of the Pontiff, the conferences 
 broke up; and the Pope, in despair, resolv- 
 ed to make common cause with the House 
 of Austria, and have recourse to the secu- 
 lar force, which the Roman See had dis- 
 used for so many years. 
 
 It was a case of dire necessity ; but the 
 arming of the Pope's government, whose 
 military force had been long the subject of 
 ridicule,* against the victorious conqueror 
 of five Austrian armies, reminds us of Pri- 
 
 was required, and it was stipulated that j am, when, in extremity of years and despair, 
 France should have under management of i he buckled on his rusty armour, to oppose 
 her minister at Rome, a separate tribunal age and decrepitude to the youthful strength 
 for judging her subjects, and a separate 1 of Pyrrhus.f Yet the measures of Sextus 
 theatre for their amusement. Lastly, tlie ] indicated considerable energy. He brought 
 secular sovereignty of the dominions of the back to Rome an instalment of sixteen mil- 
 church was to be executed by a senate and 
 a popular body. 
 
 These demands might have been com- 
 plied with, although they went the length 
 of entirely stripping his Holiness of the 
 character of a secular prince. But there 
 were others made on him, in capacity of 
 head of the church which he could not 
 
 * VoUaire, in some of his romances, I Tms the 
 Pope an olj gentleman having a guard of one hun- 
 dred men, who mount guard with umbrellas, and 
 who make war on nobody. 
 
 t .A.rma diu senior desueta, trement jbua jbvo 
 
 Circumuat nequicquara humeris, et inutile fer- 
 rum 
 
 Cingjtur ^neid. Lib. II,
 
 260 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 lions of stipulated tribute, which was on the 
 road to Buonaparte's military chest — took 
 every measure to increase his army, and by 
 the voluntary exertions of the noble fami- 
 lies of Rome, he actually raised it to forty 
 thousand men, and placed at its head the 
 same General Colli, who had comnianded 
 with credit the troops of Sardinia during the 
 campaign on the Alps. The utmost pains 
 were taken by the clergy, both regular and 
 secular, to give the expected war the char- 
 acter of a crusade, and to excite the fierce 
 spirit of those peasantry who inhabit the 
 Appenines, and were doubly disposed to be 
 hostile to the French, as foreigners and as 
 heretics. The Pope endeavoured also to 
 form a close alliance with the King of the 
 two Sicilies, who promised in secret to 
 cover Rome with an army of thirty thou- 
 sand men. Little reliance was indeed to 
 be placed in the good faith of the court of 
 Naples ; but the Pope was compared, by 
 the French envoy, to a man who, in the act 
 of falling, would grasp for support at a hook 
 of red-hot iron. 
 
 While the Court of Rome showed this 
 hostile disposition, Napoleon reproached 
 the French government for having broke off 
 the negotiation, which they ought to have 
 protracted till the event of Alvinzi's march 
 into lialy was known ; at all events, until 
 their general had obtained possession of the 
 sixteen millions, so much wanted to pay 
 his forces. In reply to his remonstrances, 
 he received permission to renew the ne- 
 
 fotiations upon modified terms. But the 
 'ope had gone too far to recede. Even 
 the French victory of Areola, and the in- 
 stant threats of Buonaparte to march against 
 him at the head of a flying column, were 
 unable to move his resolution. " Let the 
 French general march upon Rome," said 
 the Papal minister ; " the Pope, if neces- 
 Bary, will quit his capital. The farther the 
 li'rench are drawn from the Adige, the near- 
 er they are to their ultimate destruction." 
 Napoleon was sensible, on receiving a hos- 
 tile answer, that the Pope still relied on 
 the last preparations which were made for 
 the relief of Mantua, and it was not safe to 
 attempt his chastisement until Alvinzi and 
 Provera should be disposed of. But the 
 decisive battles of Rivoli and La Favorita 
 having ruined these armies. Napoleon was 
 at leisurii to execute his purpose of crush- 
 'ng the power, such as it was, of the Holy 
 See. For this purpose he despatched Vic- 
 tor with a French division of four thousand 
 men, and an Italian army of nearly the 
 same force, supplied by Lombardy and by 
 the Transpadane republic, to invade the 
 territories of the Church on the eastern 
 side of Italy, by the route of Imola. 
 
 Meantime, the utmost exertions had been 
 made by the clergy of Romagna, to raise 
 the peasants in a mass, and a great many 
 obeyed the sound of the tocsin. But an 
 insurrectionary force is more calculated 
 to embarrass the movements of a regular 
 army, by alarms on their flanks and rear, 
 by cutting off" their communications, and 
 destroying their supplies, defending passes. 
 
 and skirmishing in advantageous positions, 
 than by opposing them in the open field. 
 The Papal army, consisting of about seven 
 or eight thousand men, were encamped on 
 the river Senio, which runs on tl.e south- 
 ward of the town of Imola, to dispute the 
 passage. The banks were defended with 
 cannon; but the river being unusually low, 
 the French crossed about a league and a 
 half higher up than the position of the Ro- 
 man army, which, taken in the rear, fled 
 in every direction, after a short resistance. 
 A few hundreds were killed, among whom 
 were several monks, who, holding the cru- 
 cifix in their hand, had placed themselve8 
 in the ranks to encourage the soldiers. 
 Faenza held out, and was taken by storm ; 
 but the soldiers were withheld from pillage 
 by the generosity, or prudence of Napoleon, 
 and he dismissed the prisoners of war to 
 carry into the interior of the country the 
 news of their own defeat, of the irresistible 
 superiority of the French army, and of the 
 clemency of their general. 
 
 Next day, three thousand of the Papal 
 troops, occupying an advantageous position 
 in front of Ancona, and commanded by 
 Colli, were made prisoners without firing a 
 shot; and Ancona was taken after slight 
 resistance, though a place of some strength. 
 A curious piece of priestcraft had been 
 played off in this town, to encourage the 
 people to resistance. A miraculous image 
 was seen to shed tears, and the French 
 artists could not discover the mode in 
 which the trick was managed until the im- 
 age was brought to head quarters, when a 
 glass shrine, by which the illusion was 
 managed, was removed. The Madonna was 
 sent back to the church v/hich owned her, 
 but apparently had become reconciled to 
 the foreign visitors, and dried her tears in 
 consequence of her interview with Buona- 
 parte. 
 
 On the 10th of February, the French, 
 moving with great celerity, entered Loret- 
 to, where the celebrated Santa Casa is the 
 subject of the Catholic's devotional tri- 
 umph, or secret scorn, according as his 
 faith or his doubts predominate. The 
 wealth which this celebrated shrine is once 
 supposed to have possessed by gifts of the 
 faithful, had been removed by Colli — if, 
 indeed, it had not been transported to 
 Rome long before the period of which we 
 treat ; yet, precious metal and gems to the 
 amount of a million of livres, fell into the 
 possession of the French, whose capture 
 was also enriched by the holy image of Our 
 Lady of Loretto, with the sacred porringer, 
 and a bed-gown of dark-coloured camlet, 
 warranted to have belonged to the Blessed 
 Virgin. The image, said to have been of 
 celestial workmanship, was sent to Paris, 
 but was restored to the Pope in 1802. We 
 are not informed that any of the treasures 
 were given back along with the Madonna, 
 to whom they had been devoted. 
 
 As the French army advanced upon the 
 Roman territory, there was a menace of the 
 interference of the King of Naples, worthy 
 to be mentioned, both as expressing lh»
 
 Chap. XXVI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 36 
 
 character of that court, and showing Napo- 
 leon's readiness in anticipating and defeat- 
 ing the arts of indirect diplomacy. 
 
 The Prince of Belnionte-Pignatelli, who 
 attended Buonaparte's head-quarters, in the 
 capacity perhaps of an observer, as much 
 as of ambassador for Naples, came to the 
 French general in secrecy, to show him, 
 under strict confidence, a letter of the 
 Queen of the Two Sicilies, proposing to 
 march an army of thirty thousand men to- 
 wards Rome. " Your confidence shall be 
 repaid," said Buonaparte, who at once saw 
 through the spirit ol the communication — 
 " You shall know what 1 have long since 
 settled to do in case of such an event tak- 
 ing place." He called for the port-folio 
 containing the papers respecting Naples, 
 and presented to the disconcerted Prince 
 the copy of a despatch written in Novem- 
 ber preceding, which contained this pas- 
 sage : — " The approach of Alvinzi would 
 not prevent my sending six thousand men 
 to chastise the court of Rome ; but as the 
 Neapolitan army might march to their as- 
 sistance, I will postpone this movement 
 till after the surrender of Mantua ; in which 
 case, if the King of Naples should interfere 
 I shall be able to spare twenty-five thou- 
 sand men to march against his capital, and 
 drive liim over to Sicily." Prince Pigna- 
 tclli was quite satisfied with the result of 
 this mutual confidence, and there was no 
 more said of Neapolitan armed interfer- 
 ence. 
 
 From Ancona the division commanded 
 by Victor turned westward to Foligno, to 
 unite itself with another column of French 
 which penetrated into the territories of the 
 church by Perugia, which they easily ac- 
 complished. Resistance seemed now una- 
 vailing. The Pope in vain solicited his 
 subjects to rise agamst the second Alaric, 
 who wa? approaching the Holy City. They 
 remained deaf to his exhortations, though 
 made in the names of the Blessed Virgin, 
 and of the Apostles Peter and Paul, who 
 had of old been the visible protectors of 
 the met-'oiiolis of the Christian world in a 
 similar emergency. All was dismay and 
 confusion in the i)atriniony of .Saint Peter's, 
 wliich was now the sole territory remain- 
 in;; in possession of his representative. 
 
 Bill there was an unhappy class of per- 
 f;on«. who had found shelter in Rome, rath- 
 er tliau disown whose allegiance they had 
 left their homes, and resigned their means 
 of living. These were the recusant P'rench 
 clergy, who had refused to take the con- 
 stitutional oath, and who now, recollecting 
 the scenes which they witnessed in F'rance. 
 expected little else, than that, on the ap- 
 proach of the Republican troops, they 
 would, like the Israelitish captain, be slain 
 between the horns of the very altar at 
 which thjy had taken refuge. It is said that 
 one of their number, frantic at thoughts of 
 the fate which be supposed awaited them, 
 presented himself to Buonaparte, announc- 
 ed his name and condition, and prayed to 
 be led to instant death. Napoleon took the 
 opportunity to show once more that he was 
 acting on principles different from the bru- 
 
 tal and persecuting spirit of Jacobinism 
 He issued a proclamation, in which, pre- 
 mising that the recusant priests, though 
 banished from the French territory, were 
 not prohibited from residing in countries 
 which might be conquered by the French 
 arms, he declares himself satisfied with 
 their conduct. The proclamation goes on 
 to prohibit, under the most severe penalty, 
 the French soldiery, and all other persons, 
 from doing any injury to these unfortunate 
 exiles. The convents are directed to afford 
 them lodging, nourishment, and fifteen 
 French livres (twelve shillings and six- 
 pence British) monthly to each individual, 
 for which the priest was to compensate by 
 saying masses ad valorem; — thus assigning 
 the Italian convents payment for their hos- 
 pitality, Ih the same coin with which they 
 themselves requit the laity. 
 
 Perhaps this liberality might have some 
 weight with the Pope in inducing him to 
 throw himself upon the mercy of France, 
 as had been recommended to him by Buo- 
 naparte ia a confidential communication 
 through the superior of the monastic order 
 of Camalduli, and more openly in a letter 
 addressed to Cardinal Mattel. The King 
 of Naples made no movement to his assist- 
 ance. In fine, after hesitating what course 
 to take, and having had at one time his 
 equipage ready harnessed to leave Rome 
 and tly to Naples, the Pontiff judged resist- 
 ance and flight alike unavailing, and chose 
 the humiliating alternative of entire submis- 
 sion to the will of the conqueror. 
 
 It was the object of tlie Directory entire 
 ly to destroy the secular authority of the 
 Pope, and to deprive him of all his tempo- 
 ralities. But Buonaparte foresaw, that 
 whether the Roman territories were united 
 with the new Cispadane Republic, or form- 
 ed into a separate state, it would alike bring 
 on prematurely a renewal of the war with 
 Naples, ere the north of Italy was yet suf- 
 ficiently secure to admit the marching a 
 French force into the southern extremities 
 of the Italian peninsula, exposed to de- 
 scents of the English, and insurrections in 
 the rear. These Napoleon foresaw would 
 be the more dangerous and difficult to sub- 
 due, that though he might strip the Pope 
 of his temporalities, he could not deprive 
 him of the supremacy assigned him in spi- 
 ritual matters by each Catholic ; which, on 
 the contrary, was, according to the pro- 
 gress of human feeling, likely to be the 
 more widely felt and recognized in favour 
 of a wanderer and a sufferer ior what would 
 be accounted conscience-sake, than of one 
 who, submitting to circumstances, retained 
 as much of the goods of this world as the 
 clemency of his conqueror would permit. 
 
 Influenced by these considerations, Buo- 
 naparte admitted the Pope to a treaty which 
 terminated in the peace of Tolentino, by 
 which Sextus purchased such a politicjJ 
 existence as was left to him, at the highest 
 rate which he had the least chance of dis- 
 charging. Napoleon mentions, as a curious 
 instance of the crafty and unscrupuloua 
 character of the Neapolitans, that the same 
 Pignatelli, whom wc have already commem
 
 262 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. IChap. XXVI. 
 
 orated, attached himself closely to the 
 plenipotentiaries during the whole treaty of 
 Tolentino ; and in his ardour to discover 
 whether there existed any secret article be- 
 twixt the Pope and Buonaparte which might 
 compromise the interests of his master, 
 was repeatedly discovered listening at the 
 door of the apartment in which the discus- 
 sions were carried on. 
 
 The articles which the Pope was obliged 
 to accept at Tolentino, included the ces- 
 Bion of Avignon and its territories, the ap- 
 propriation of which, by France, had never 
 yet been recognized ; the resigning the le- 
 gations of Bologna, Ferrara, and Romagna ; 
 the occupation of Ancona, the only port 
 excepting Venice which Italy has in the 
 Adriatic ; the payment of 30 millions of 
 livres, in specie or in valuable effects ; the 
 complete execution of the article in the 
 armistice of Bologna respectmg the deliv- 
 ery of paintings, manuscripts, and objects 
 of art; and several other stipulations of 
 similar severity. 
 
 Buonaparte informs us, that it was a prin- 
 cipal object in this treaty to compel the 
 abolition of the Inquisition, from which he 
 had only departed in consequence of re- 
 ceiving information, that it had ceased to 
 be used as a religious tribunal, and subsist- 
 ed only as a court of police. The con- 
 science of the Pope seemed also so tender- 
 ly affected by the proposal, that he thought 
 it safe to desist from it. 
 
 The same despatch, in which Buonaparte 
 informs the Directory, that his committee 
 of artist collectors " had made a good har- 
 vest of paintings in the Papal dominions, 
 and which, witli the objects of art ceded 
 by the Pope, included almost all that was 
 curious and valuable, excepting some few 
 objects at Turin and Naples," conveyed to 
 them a document of a very different kind. 
 This was a respectful and almost reveren- 
 tial letter from Napoleon to the Pope, re- 
 commending to his Holiness to distrust 
 such persons as might excite him to doubt 
 tlie good intentions of France, assuring him 
 that he would always find the Republic 
 most sincere and faithful, and expressing 
 in his own name the perfect esteem and 
 veneration which he entertained for the 
 person of his Holiness, and the extreme 
 desire which, he had to afford him proofs 
 to that effect. 
 
 This letter furnished much amusement 
 at the time, and seemed far less to intimate 
 the sentiments of a Sans Culotte general, 
 than those of a civilized highwayman of 
 the old school of Macheath, who never dis- 
 missed the travellers whom he had plun- 
 dered, without his sincere good wishes for 
 the happy prosecution of their journey. 
 
 A more pleasing view of Buonaparte's 
 character was exliibited about this time, in 
 his conduct towards the little interesting 
 Republic of San Marino. That state, which 
 only acknowledges the Pope as a protector, 
 not as a sovereign, had maintained for very 
 many years an independence, which con- 
 querors had spared either in contempt or in 
 respect. It consists of a single mountain 
 and a single town^ and boasts about seven 
 
 thousand inhabitants, governed by their 
 ov.n laws. Citizen Monge, the chief of 
 the committee of collecting-artists, was 
 sent deputy to San Marino to knit the bands 
 of amity between the two Republics, — 
 which might well resemble a union between 
 Liliput and Brobdignag. There were no 
 pictures in tlie little Republic, or they 
 might have been a temptation to the citi- 
 zen collector. The people of San Marino 
 conducted themselves with much sagacity ; 
 and altliough more complimentary to Buon- 
 aparte than Diogenes to Alexander the 
 Great, when he came to visit the philoso- 
 pher in his tub, they showed the same judg- 
 ment in eschewing too much courtesy. They 
 respectfully declined an accession of terri- 
 tory, which could but have involved them 
 in subsequent quarrels with the sovereign 
 from whom it was to be wrested, and only 
 accepted as an honorary gift the present 
 of four field-pieces, being a train of artillery 
 upon the scale of tiieir military force, and 
 of which, it is to be hoped, tlie Captain 
 Regents of the little contented state will 
 never have any occasion to make use. 
 
 Rome might, for the present at least, be 
 considered as completely subjugated. Na- 
 ples was at peace, if the signature of a trea- 
 ty can create peace. At any rate, so dis- 
 tant from Rome, and so controlled by the 
 defeat of the Papal arms — by the fear that 
 the English fleet might be driven from the 
 Mediterranean — and by their distance froni 
 the scene of action — The King of the two 
 Sicilies, or rather his wife, the high-spirit- 
 ed daughter of Maria Theresa, dared not 
 offer the least interference with the pur- 
 poses of the French General. Tuscany 
 had apparently consented to owe her polit- 
 ical existence to any degree of clemency or 
 contempt which Buonaparte might extend 
 to her 5 and entertaining hopes of some 
 convention betwixt the French and English, 
 by which the Grand Duke's port of Leg- 
 horn might be restored to him, remained 
 passive as the dead. The republic of Ve- 
 nice alone, feeling still the stimulus arising 
 from her ancient importance, and yet pain- 
 fully conscious of her present want of pow- 
 er, strained every exertion to place herself 
 in a respectable attitude. That city of lof- 
 ty remembrances, the Tyre of the middle 
 ages, whose traders were princes, and her 
 merchants the honourable of the earth, fall- 
 en as she was from her former greatness, 
 still presented some appearance of vigour. 
 Her oligarchical government, so long 
 known and so dreaded, for jealous precau- 
 tions, political sagacity, the impenetrabili- 
 ty of their plans, and the inflexibility of 
 their rigour, still preserved the attitude of 
 independence, and endeavoured, by raising 
 additional regiments of Sclavonians, disci- 
 plining their peasantry, who were of a very 
 martial character, and forming military 
 magazines of considerable extent, to main- 
 tain such an aspect, as might make their 
 friendship to be courted, and their enmity 
 to be feared. It was already evident that 
 the Austrians, notwithstanding all their re- 
 cent defeats, were again about to make 
 head on their Italo-German frontier ; and
 
 Chap. XXVII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPAFvTE. 
 
 France, in opposing them, could not be 
 indifferent to the neutrality of Venice, upon 
 whose territories, to all appearance, Buon- 
 aparte must have rested the flank of his 
 operations, in case of his advancing towards 
 Friuli. So circumstanced, and when it 
 was recollected that the mistress of the 
 Adriatic liad still fifty thousand men at her 
 command, and those of a fierce and cour- 
 ageous description, chiefly consisting of 
 Sclavonians, Venice, even yet, was an en- 
 emy not to be lightly provoked. But the 
 inhabitants were not unanimous, especially 
 those of the Terra Firma, or mainland, who, 
 not being enrolled in the golden book of 
 the insular nobility of Venice, were dis- 
 contented, and availed themselves of the 
 encouragement and assistance of the new- 
 created republics on the Po to throw off" 
 their allegiance. Brescia and Bergamo, in 
 particular, were clamorous for independ- 
 ence. 
 
 Napoleon saw, in this state of dissen- 
 sion, the means of playing an adroit game, 
 and while, on the one hand, he endeavour- 
 ed to restrain, till a more favourable oppor- 
 tunity, the ardour of the patriots, he at- 
 tempted, on the other, to convince the Sen- 
 ate that they had no safe policy but in em- 
 bracing at once the alliance of France, 
 offensive and defensive, and joining their 
 forces to those of the army with which he 
 
 was about to move against the Austrians 
 He offered, on these conditions, to guaran 
 tee the possessions of the Republic; even 
 without exacting any modification of their 
 oligarchical constitution. But Venice de- 
 clared for an impartial neutrality. It had 
 been, they said, their ancient and sage poli- 
 cy, nor would they now depart from it. 
 " Remain then neuter," said Napoleon ; 
 " I consent to it. I march upon Vienna, 
 yet will leave enough of French troops in 
 Italy to control your republic. — But dis- 
 miss these new levies ; and remark, that if, 
 while I am in Germany, my communica- 
 tions shall be interrupted, my detachments 
 cut off, or my convoys intercepted in the 
 Venetian territory, the date of your repub- 
 lic is terminated. She will have brought 
 on herself annihilation.'' 
 
 Lest these threats should be forgotten 
 while he was at a distance, he took the best 
 precautions in his power by garrisoning ad- 
 vantageous points on the line of the Adige ; 
 and trusting partly to this defence, partly 
 to the insurgents of Bergamo and Brescia, 
 who for their own sakes would oppose any 
 invasion of the mainland by their Venetian 
 masters, whose yoke they had cast aside. 
 Napoleon again unfurled his banners, and 
 marched to new triumphs over yet untried 
 opponents. 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 Archduke Charles — Compared to Napoleon — Fettered by the Aulic Council. — Napole- 
 on, by a stratagem, passes the Tagliamento, and compels the Archduke to retreat. — 
 Gradisca carried by storm. — Chiusa- Veneta taken by Massena, with the loss of 5000 
 Atistrians. Baggage. Cannon, &,c. — The Sea-ports of Trieste and Fiume occupied 
 by the French. — Venice breaks the Neutrality, and commences Hostilities by a massa- 
 cre of 100 Frenchmen at Verona. — Terrified on learning that an Armistice had taken 
 place betwixt France and Austria — Circumstances loliich led to this. — The Archduke 
 retreats by hasty marches on Vienna — His prospects of success in defending it — The 
 Government and People irresolute, and the Treaty of Leoben signed — Venice now 
 makes the most humiliating submissions. — Napoleon's Speech to the Venetian Envoys 
 — He declares War against Venice, and evades obeying the orders of the Directory to 
 spare it. — The Great Council, on 3]st May, concede everything to Buonaparte, and 
 disperse in terror. — Terms granted by the French General. 
 
 and Jourdan. But there were two particu- 
 lars in which the Austrian Prince fell far 
 short of Napoleon, — first, in that ready, de- 
 cided, and vigorous confidence, which seiz- 
 es the favourable instant for the execution 
 of plans resolved upon, — and secondly, in 
 having the disadvantage to be subjected, 
 notwithstanding his high rank, to the inter- 
 ference of the Aulic Council ; who, sitting 
 at Vienna, and ignorant of the changes and 
 vicissitudes of the campaign, were yet, by 
 the ancient and jealous laws of the Austri- 
 an empire, entitled to control his opinion, 
 and prescribe beforehand the motions of 
 the armies, while the generals intrusted 
 with the execution of their schemes, had 
 often no choice left but that of adherence 
 to their instructions, however emerging 
 circumstances might require a deviation. 
 
 But although the encounter betwixt thes» 
 two distinguished young generals be highly 
 interesting, our space will not permit us tg 
 
 The victories of the Archduke Charles of 
 Austria on the Rhine, and his high credit 
 with the soldiers, seemed to point him out 
 as the commander falling most naturally to 
 be employed against the young general of 
 the French republic, who, like a gifted hero 
 of romance, had borne down successively 
 all opponents who had presented them- 
 selves in the field. The opinions of Eu- 
 rope were susppndcd concerning the prob- 
 able issue of the contest. Both generals 
 were young, ambitious, enthusiastic in the 
 military profession, and warmly beloved by 
 their soldiers. The exploits of both had 
 filled the trumpet of Fame 5 and although 
 Buonap.arte's success had been less uninter- 
 rupted, yet it could not be denied, that if 
 the .\rchduke's plans were not equally bril- 
 liant and original with those of his great ad- 
 versary, they were just and sound, and had 
 been attended repeatedly with great results, 
 and by the defeat of such men as Moreau
 
 264 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XX VII. 
 
 detail the campaigns of Austria at the same 
 length as tliose of Italy. The latter form- 
 ed the commencement of Buonaparte's 
 military career, and at no subsequent peri- 
 od of his life did he achieve the same won- 
 drous victories against such an immense 
 odds, or with such comparatively inade- 
 quate means. It was also necessary, in 
 the out set of his military history, to show 
 in minute detail the character of his tac- 
 tics, and illustrate that spirit of energetic 
 concentration, which, neglecting the ex- 
 tremities of an extended line of operations, 
 combined his wliole strength, like a bold 
 and skilful fencer, for one thrust at a vital 
 part, which, if successful, must needs be 
 fatal. The astonishing rapidity of his 
 movements, the audacious viv.icity of his 
 attack, having been so often described in 
 individual cases, may now he passed over 
 with general allusions ; nor will we embar- 
 rass ourselves and our readers with minute 
 details of positions, or encumber our pa- 
 ges with the names of obscure villages, 
 unless when there is some battle calling 
 for a particular narrative, either from its 
 importance or its singularity. 
 
 By the direction of the Aulic Council, 
 the Archduke Cliarles had taken up his po- 
 sition at Friuli, where it had been settled 
 that the sixth Austrian army, designed to 
 act against Buonaparte for the defence of 
 the Italo-German frontier, should be assem- 
 bled. This position was strangely prefer- 
 red tf) the Tyrol, wliere the Archduke 
 could have formed a junction ten days soon- 
 er witli an additional force of forty thou- 
 sand men from tlie army of the Rhine, 
 marching to reinforce his own troops, — men 
 accustomed to fight and conquer under 
 their leader's eye ; wltilst those with whom 
 he occupied Friuli, and, the line of the 
 Piave, belonged to the liapless Imperial 
 forces, which, under Bcaulieu, Wurmser, 
 and Alvinzi, had never encountered Buo- 
 naparte without incurring some notable 
 defeat. 
 
 While the Archduke was yet expecting 
 those reinforcements which v,'ere to form the 
 strength of his army, his active adversary was 
 strergthened by more than twc nty thousand 
 men, sent from the i'rench armies on the 
 Rhine, and which gave him at tlie moment 
 a numerical superiority over the Austrian 
 general. Instead, then-fore, of waiting, as 
 on former occasions, until the Imperialists 
 should commence the war by descending 
 into Italy, Napoleon resolved to anticipate 
 the march of the succours expectcil by the 
 Archduke, drive him from his position on 
 the Italian frontiers, and follow him into 
 Germany, even up to the walls of \' ienna. 
 No scheme appeared too bold for the gen- 
 eral's imagination to form, or his genius to 
 render practicable ; and his soldiers, v.-ith 
 the view before them of plunging into the 
 midst of an immense empire, and jilaring 
 chains of mountain.^ betwixt them and ev- 
 ery possibility of reinforcement or commu- 
 nication, were so confident in the talents 
 of their leader, as to fiillDW him imder the 
 most undoubting expectation of victory. 
 The Directory had iuduced Buonaparte to 
 
 expect a co-operation by a similar adrance 
 on the part of the armies of the Rhine, 
 as had been attempted in the former cam- 
 paign. 
 
 Buonaparte took the field in the begin 
 ning of March, advancing from Bassano. 
 The Auslriaiis had an army of observation 
 under Lusignan on the banks of the Piave. 
 but their principal force was stationed upon 
 the Tagliamento, a river whose course is 
 nearly thirty miles more to the eastward, 
 though collateral with the Piave. The plains 
 on the Tagliamento aft'orded facilities to the 
 Arcliduke to employ the noble cavalry who 
 have always been the boast of the Austrian 
 army ; and to dislodge him from the strong 
 and mountainous country which he occu- 
 pied, and which covered the road that pen- 
 etr.ates between the mountains and the 
 Adriatic, and forms the mode of communi- 
 cation in tiiat quarter betwixt Vienna and 
 Italy, through Carinthia, it was not only 
 necessary that he should be pressed in 
 front, a service which Buonaparte took up- 
 on himself, but also that a French division, 
 occupying the mountains on tlie Prince's 
 right, should precipitate his retreat by main- 
 taining the perpetual threat of turning him 
 on that wing. With this view, Massena 
 had Buonaparte's orders, which he execut- 
 ed with equal skill and gallantry. He 
 crossed the Piave about the eleventh March, 
 and ascending that river, directed his 
 course into the mountains towards Belluno, 
 driving before him Lusignan's little corps 
 of observation, and finally compelling his 
 rear-guard, to the number of five hundred 
 men, to surrender. 
 
 The Archduke Charles, in the meantime, 
 continued to maintain his position on the 
 Tagliamento, and the French approached 
 the right bank, with N.ipoleon at their 
 head, dete^-mined apparently to force a pas- 
 sage. Artillery and sharpshooters were 
 disposed in such a manner as to render this 
 a very hazardous attempt, while two beau- 
 tiful lines of cavalry were drawn up, pre- 
 pared to charge any troops who might make 
 their way to the left bank, while they were 
 yet in the confusion of landing. 
 
 A very simple str.atagem disconcerted 
 this fair display of resistance. After a dis- 
 t.ant cannonade, and some skirmishing, the 
 French army drew off, as if despairing to 
 force their passage, moved to the rear, .and 
 took up apparently their bivouac for the 
 night. The Archduke was deceived. He 
 imagined that the French, who had march- 
 ed all the preceding night, were fatigued, 
 and he also withdrew from the bank of the 
 river to his camp. But two hours after- 
 wards, when all seemed profoundly quiet, 
 the French army suddenly got under arms, 
 and, forming in two lines, marched rapidly 
 to the side of the river, ere the astonished 
 Austrians were able to make the same dis- 
 positions as formerly for defence. Arrived 
 on the margin, the first line instantly broke 
 up into columns, which throwing them- 
 selves boldly into the stream, protected on 
 the flanks by the cavalry, passed througii 
 and attained the opposite bank. They were 
 repeatedly charged by the Austrian cavalry
 
 Chap. XXVII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 26^ 
 
 but it was too late — they had gotten their 
 footing, and kept it. The Archduke at- 
 tempted to turn their flank, but was pre- 
 vented by the second line of the French, 
 and by their reserve of cavalry. He was 
 compelled to retreat, leaving prisoners and 
 cannon in the hands of the enemy. Such 
 was the first disastrous meeting between 
 the Archduke Charlea and his future rel- 
 ative. 
 
 The Austrian Prince had the farther mis- 
 fortune to learn, that Massena had, at the 
 first sound of the cannonade, pushed across 
 the Tagliafliento, higher up than his line of 
 defence, and destroying what troops he 
 fotind before him, had occupied the passes 
 of the Julian Alps at the sources of that 
 river, and thus interposed himself between 
 the Imperial right wing and the nearest 
 communication with Vienna. Sensible of 
 the importance of this obstacle, the Arch- 
 duke hastened, if possible, to remove it. 
 He brought up a fine column of grenadiers 
 from the Pihine, which had just arrived at 
 Klagenfurt, in his rear, and joining them to 
 other troops, attacked Massena with the 
 utmost fury, venturing his own person like 
 a private soldier, and once or twice nar- 
 rowly escaping being made prisoner. It 
 was in vain — all in vain. He charged suc- 
 cessively and repeatedly, even with the re- 
 serve of the grenadiers, but no exertion 
 could change the fortune of the day. 
 
 Still the Archduke hoped to derive assist- 
 ance from the natural or artificial defences of 
 the strong country through which he was thus 
 retreating, and in doing so was involuntari- 
 ly introducing Buonaparte, after he should 
 have surmounted the border frontier, in- 
 to the most fertile provinces of his broth- 
 er's empire. The Lisonzo, usually a deep 
 and furious torrent, closed in by a chain of 
 impassable mountains, seemed to oppose 
 an insurmountable barrier to his daring pur- 
 Kuers. But nature, as well as events, fought 
 against the Austrians. The stream, reduc- 
 ed by frost, was fordable in several places. 
 The river thus passed, the town of Gradis- 
 ca, which had been covered with field-works 
 to protect the line of the Lisonzo, was sur- 
 prised and carried bv storm, and its garrison 
 of two thousand five hundred men made 
 prisoners, by the divisions of Bernadotte 
 and Serrurier. 
 
 Pushed in every direction, the Austrians 
 sustained every day additional and more se- 
 vere losses. The strong fort of Chiusa-Vene- 
 ta was occupied by Massena, who continued 
 his active and indefatigable operations on 
 the right of the retreating army. This suc- 
 cess caused the Cnvelopement, and disper- 
 Bion or surrender, of a whole division of 
 Austrians, five thousand of whom remained 
 prisoners, while their baggage, cannon, col- 
 ours, and al'. that constituted them an army, 
 fell into the hands of the French. Four 
 generals were made prisoners on this occa- 
 sion ; and many of the mountaineers of 
 Carnioia and Croatia, who had joined the 
 Austrian army from their natural love of 
 war, seeing that success appeared to have 
 ahaadoned the Imperial cause, became de- 
 
 voi. I. M 
 
 spondent, broke up their corps, and retired 
 as stragglers to their villages. 
 
 Buonaparte availed himself of their loss 
 of courage, and had recourse to proclama- 
 tions, a species of arms which he valued 
 himself as much upon using to advantage, 
 as he did upon his military fame. He as- 
 sured them that the French did not come 
 into their country to innovate on their 
 rights, religious customs, and manners. 
 He e.xhorted them not to meddle in a war 
 with which they had no concern, but en- 
 couraged them to afford assistance and fur- 
 nish supplies to the French army, in pay- 
 ment of which he proposed to assign the 
 public taxes which they had been in the 
 habit of paying to the Emperor. His pro- 
 posal seems to have reconciled the Carin- 
 thians to the presence of the French, or, 
 more properly speaking, they submitted to 
 the military exactions which they had no 
 means of resisting. In the meanwhile, the 
 French took possession of Trieste and 
 Fiume, the only posts belonging to Aus- 
 tria, where they seized much English mer- 
 chandise, which was always a welcome 
 prize, and of the quicksilver mines ot Idria, 
 where they found a valuable deposit of that 
 mineral. 
 
 Napoleon repaired the fortifications ol' 
 Klagenfurt, and converted it into a respect- 
 able place of arms, where he established 
 his head-quarters. In a space of scarce 
 twenty days, he had defeated the Austrians 
 in ten combats, in the course of which 
 Prince Charles had lost at least one-fourth 
 of his army. The French had suririounted 
 the southern chain of the Julian Alps : the 
 northern line could, it was supposed, offer 
 no obstacle sufficient to stop their irresisti- 
 ble general : and the Archduke, the pride 
 and hope of the Austrian armies, had re- 
 tired behind the river Meuhr, and seemed 
 to be totally without the means of covering 
 Vienna. 
 
 There were, however, circumstances less 
 favourable to the French, which require to 
 be stated. When the campaign commenc- 
 ed, the French general Joubert was posted 
 with his division in the gorge of the Tyrol 
 above Trent, upon the same river Levisa, 
 the line of svhich had been lost and won 
 during tho preceding winter. He was op- 
 posed by the .\ustrian generals Kerpen and 
 Laudon, who, besides some regular regi- 
 ments, had collected around tiiem a number 
 of the Tyrolese militia, who .among their 
 own mountains were al least equally formi- 
 dable. They remained watching each otb> 
 er during the earlier part of the campaign; 
 but the gaining of the battle of the Tagfia- 
 ineiito was the signal for .loujert to com- 
 mence the offensive. His <'irections were 
 to push his way through the Tyrol to Bnien, 
 at which place Napoleon expected heroight 
 huar news of the advance of the French 
 armies from the Rhine, toco-operate in the 
 inarch upon Vienna. But the Directnnr, 
 fearing perhaps to trust nearly the ■whol* 
 force of the Republic in the hands of awn- 
 eral so successful and so ambitioas a* US' 
 poleon.had not fulfilled their prom iiw in
 
 266 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEO.N BL'ONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVII. 
 
 this respect. The army of Moreau had not 
 M vet crossed the Rhine. 
 
 Joubert, thus disappointed of his promis- 
 ed object, began to find himself in an em- 
 barrassing situation. The whole country 
 •was in insurrection around him, and a re- 
 treat in the line by which he had advanced, 
 might have exposed him to great loss, if not 
 to destruction. He determined, therefore, 
 to elude the enemy, and, by descending the 
 river Drave, to achieve a junction with his 
 commander-in-chief Napoleon. He ac- 
 complished his difficult march by breaking 
 down the bridges behind him, and thus ar- 
 resting the progress of the enemy ; but it 
 ■was with difficulty, and not witliout loss, 
 that he effected his proposed union, and 
 his retreat from the Tyrol gave infinite 
 spirits not only to the martial Tyrolese, but 
 to all the favourers of Austria in the north 
 of Italy. The Austrian general Laudon 
 eallied'from the Tyrol at the head of a 
 considerable force, and compelled the slen- 
 der body of French under Balland, to shut 
 themselves up in garrisons ; and their op- 
 ponents were for the moment again lords 
 of a part of Lombardy. They also re-occu- 
 pied Trieste and Fiume, which Buonaparte 
 had not been able sufficiently to garrison ; 
 80 that the rear of the French army seemed 
 to be endangered. 
 
 The Venetians, at this crisis, fatally for 
 ♦heir ancient republic, if indeed its doom 
 .:ad not, as is most likely, been long before 
 '. ealed, received with eager ears the ac- 
 rjounts, exaggerated as they were by rumour, 
 -hat the French were driven from the Ty- 
 ol, and the Austrians about to descend the 
 Adige, and resume their ancient empire in 
 Italy. The senate were aware that neither 
 their government nor their persons were 
 icceptable to the French General, and that 
 they had offended him irreconcilably by de- 
 clining the intimate alliance and contribu- 
 tion of troops which he had demanded. He 
 had parted from them with such menaces 
 as were not easily to be misunderstood. 
 Tiiey believed, if his vengeance might not 
 be instant, it was 'only the more sure ; and 
 conceiving him now deeply engaged in 
 (iennany, and surrounded by the Austrian 
 levies en masse from the warlike countries 
 of Hungary and Croatia, they imagined'that 
 throwing their own weight into the scale 
 at so opportune a moment, must weigh it 
 down for ever. To chastise their insurgent 
 subjects of Bergamo and Brescia, was an 
 additional temptation. 
 
 Their mode of making war savoured of 
 the ancient vindictive temper ascribed to 
 their countrymen. An insurrection was se- 
 cretly organized through all the territories 
 ■which Venice still possessed on the main- 
 land, and broke out like the celebrated Si- 
 cilian vespers, in blood and massacre. In 
 Verona they assassinated more than a hun- 
 dred Frenchmen, many of them sick soldiers 
 in the hospitals, — an abominable crueltv, 
 which could not fail to bring a curse on 
 their undertaking. Fioravante, a Venetian 
 general, marched at the head of a body of 
 Sclavonians to besiege the forts of Verona, 
 .nto which the remaining French had in»de 
 
 their retreat, and where they defended 
 themselves. Laudon made his appearance 
 with his Austrians and Tyrolese, and it 
 seemed as if the fortunes of Buonaparte had 
 at length found a check. 
 
 But the awakening from this pleasing 
 dream was equally sudden and oreadful. 
 News arrived that preliminaries of peace 
 had been agreed upon, and an armistice 
 signed between France and Austria. Lau- 
 don, therefore, and the auxiliaries on whom 
 the Venetians had so much relied, retired 
 from Verona. The Lombards sent an army 
 to the assistance of the French. The Scla- 
 vonians, under Fioravante, after fighting 
 vigorously, were compelled to surrender. 
 The insurgent towns of Vicenza, Treviso, 
 and Padua, were again occupied by the Re- 
 publicans. Rumour proclaimed the terri- 
 ble return of Napoleon and his army, and 
 the ill-advi?"'? afuiale of Venice were lost 
 in stupor, and ^-^^cv-t; ,z:^ eense lefl to de- 
 cide betwixt unreserved snI;a»ission and 
 hopeless defence. 
 
 It was one of the most artful rules in 
 Buonaparte's policy, that when he had his 
 enemy at decided advantage, by some point 
 having been attained which seemed to give 
 a complete turn to the campaign in his fa- 
 vour, he seldom failed to offer peace, and 
 peace upon conditions much more favoura- 
 ble than perhaps the opposite party ex- 
 pected. By doing this, he secured such 
 immediate and undisputed fruits of his vic- 
 tory, as the treaty of peace contained ; and 
 he was sure of means to prosecute farther 
 advantages at some future opportunity. He 
 obtained, moreover, the character of gen- 
 erosity ; and, in the present instance, he 
 avoided the great danger of urging to bay so 
 formidable a power as Austria, whose de- 
 spair might be capable of the most formida- 
 ble efforts. 
 
 With this purpose, and assuming for the 
 first time that disregard for the usual cer- 
 emonial of courts, and etiquette of politics, 
 which he afterwards seemed to have pleas- 
 ure in displaying, he wrote a letter in per- 
 son to the Archduke Charles on the subject 
 of peace. 
 
 This composition affects that abrupt la- 
 conic severity of style, which cuts short 
 argument, by laying down general maxims 
 of philosophy of a trite character, and 
 breaks through the usual laboured periphras- 
 tic introductions with which ordinary poli- 
 ticians preface their proposals, when desir- 
 ous of entering upon a treaty. " It is the 
 part of a brave soldier," he said, "to make 
 war, but to wish for peace. The present 
 strife has lasted six years. Have we not 
 yet slain enough of men, and sufficiently 
 outraged humanity ? Peace is demanded on 
 all sides. Europe at large has laid dowu 
 tlie arms assumed against the French Re 
 public. Your nation remains alone in hos- 
 tility, and yet blood flows faster than ever. 
 This sixth campaign has commenced under 
 ominous circumstances. End how it will, 
 some thousands of men more will be slain 
 on either side ; and at length, after all, we 
 must come to an agreement, for everything 
 must have an end at last, even the angr^
 
 Chap. XXVn.} LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 267 
 
 passions of men. The Executive Directo- 
 ry made known to the Emperor their de- 
 sire to put a period to the war which deso- 
 lates botli countries, but the intervention 
 of the Court of London opposed it. Is 
 there then no means of coming to an un- 
 derstanding, and must we continue to cut 
 each other's throats for the interests or pas- 
 sions of a nation, herself a stranger to the 
 miseries of war ? You, the General-in- 
 chief, who approach by birth so near to the 
 crown, and are above all those petty pas- 
 sions which agitate ministers, and the mem- 
 bers of government, will you resolve to be 
 the benefactor of mankind, and the true sa- 
 viour of Germany ? Do not suppose that I 
 mean by that expression to intimate, that it 
 is impossible for you to defend yourself by 
 force of arms; but under the supposition, 
 that fortune vvere to become favourable to 
 you, Germany would be equally exposed to 
 ravage. With respect to my own feelings, 
 General, if this proposition should be the 
 means of saving one single man's life, I 
 should prefer a civic crown so merited, to 
 the melancholy glory attending military 
 success." 
 
 The whole tone of the letter is ingenious- 
 ly calculated to give the proposition the 
 character of moderation, and at the same 
 time to avoid the appearance of too ready 
 an advance towards his object. The Arch- 
 duke, after a space of two days, returned 
 this brief answer, in which he stripped Buo- 
 naparte's proposal of its gilding, and treat- 
 ed it upon the fooling of an ordinary propo- 
 sal for a treaty of peace, made by a party, 
 who tinds it convenient for his interest : — 
 •* Unquestionably, sir, in making war, and 
 in following the road prescribed by honour 
 and duty, I desire as much as you the at- 
 tainment of peace for the happiness of the 
 people, and of humanity. Considering, 
 however, that in the situation which I hold, 
 it is no part of my business to inquire into 
 and determine the quarrel of the bellige- 
 rent powers ; and that I am not furnished on 
 the part of the Emperor with any plenipo- 
 tentiary powers for treating, you will ex- 
 cuse me, General, if I do not enter into ne- 
 gotiation with you touching a matter of the 
 highest importance, but which does not lie 
 within my department. Whatever shall 
 happen, either respecting the future chan- 
 ces of the war, or the prospect of peace, I 
 request you to be equally convinced of my 
 distinguished esteem." 
 
 The Archduke would willingly have made 
 some advantage of this proposal, by obtain- 
 ing an armistice of five hours, sufficient to 
 enable him to form a junction with the 
 corps of Kerpen, which, having left the Ty- 
 rol to come to the assistance of the com- 
 mander-in-chief, was now witiiin a short dis- 
 tance. But Buonaparte took care not to 
 permit himself to be hampered by any such 
 ill-timed engagement, and after some sharp 
 fighting, in which the French as usual were 
 successful, he was able to interpose such 
 a force as to prevent the junction taking 
 place. 
 
 Two encounters followed at Neumark 
 and at Unznjark — both gave rise \o fresh 
 
 disasters, and the continued retreat of the 
 Archduke Charles and the Imperial army. 
 The French General then pressed forward 
 on the road to Vienna, thrtough mountain- 
 passes and defiles, which could not have 
 been opened otherwise than by turning 
 them on the flank. But these natural fast- 
 nesses were no longer defences. Juden- 
 burg, the capital of Upper Styria, was aban- 
 doned to the French without a blow, and 
 shortly after Buonaparte entered Gratz, the 
 principal town of Lower Styria, with the 
 same facility. 
 
 The Archduke now totally changed his 
 plan of warfare. He no longer disputed 
 the ground foot by foot, but began to re- 
 treat by hasty marches towards Vienna, de- . 
 termined to collect the last and utmost 
 strength which the extensive states of the 
 Emperor could supply, and fight for the ex- 
 istence, it might be, of his brother's throne, 
 under the walls of his capital. However 
 perilous this resolution might appear, it was 
 worthy of the high-spirited prince by whom 
 it was adopted; and there were reason.s. 
 perhaps, besides those arising from soldier- 
 ly pride and princely dignity, which seem- 
 ed to recommend it. 
 
 The army with which the enterprising 
 French general was now about to debouchc 
 from the mountains, and enter the very cen- 
 tre of Germany, had suffered considerably 
 since the commencement of the campaign, 
 not only by the sword, but by severity of 
 weather, and the excessive fatigue which 
 they endured in executing the rapid marcli- 
 es, by which their leader succeeded in sf^ 
 curing victory ; and the French armies or 
 the Rhine had not, as the plan of the cam 
 paign dictated, made any movement in ad 
 Vance corresponding with the march of 
 Buonaparte. 
 
 Nor, in the country which they were 
 about to enter with diminished forces, 
 could Buonaparte trust to the influence of 
 the same moral feeling in the people invad- 
 ed, which had paved the way to so many 
 victories on the Rhine. The citizens of 
 Austria, though living under a despotic gov- 
 ernment, are little sensible of its severities, 
 and are sincerely attached, to the Emperor, 
 whobe personal habits incline him to live 
 with his people without much form, and 
 mix in public amusements, or appear in the 
 public walks, like a fatlier in the midst of 
 his family. The nobility were as ready as 
 in former times to bring out their vassals, 
 and a general knowledge of discipline is 
 familiar to the German peasant as a pa.t of 
 his education. Hungary pos!«Pssed still the 
 high-spirited race of barons and cavaliers, 
 who, in their great convocation in 1740, rose 
 at once, and drawing their sabres, joined in 
 the celebrated exclamation. •' Aloriamur 
 pro rege nostra, Maria Teresa !'' The Tyrol 
 was in possession of its own warlike inhab- 
 itants, all in arms, and so far successful, a» 
 to have driven Joubert out of Ihcir moun- 
 tains. Trieste and F'iume were retaken in 
 the rear of the French army. Buonaparte 
 had no line of communication Mhen sep;^- 
 rated from Italy, and no means of obtaining 
 supplieSj but from a country which would
 
 26S 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVII. 
 
 probably be soon in insurrection in his rear, 
 ris well as on his flanks. A battle lost, when 
 there was neither support, reserve, nor place 
 of arms nearer than Klagenfurt, would have 
 been annihilation. To add to these con- 
 siderations, it was now known that the V"e- 
 netiaii Republic h.id assumed a formidable 
 and hostile aspect in Italy; by which, join- 
 ed to a natural explosion of feeling, reli- 
 gious and national, the French cause was 
 considerably endangered in that country. 
 There were so many favourers of the old 
 system, together with the general influence 
 of the Catholic clergy, that it seemed not 
 unlikely this insurrection might spread fast 
 and far. Italy, in that case, would have 
 been no effectual place of refuge to Buona- 
 parte or his army. The .Archduke enumer- 
 ated all these advantages to the cabinet of 
 Vienna, and e.xhorted tliem to stand the last 
 cast of the bloody die. 
 
 But the terror, grief, and confusion, nat- 
 ural in a great metropolis, whose peace for 
 the first time for so many years was alarm- 
 ed with the approach of the unconquered 
 and apparently fated general, who, having 
 defeated and destroyed five of their choic- 
 est armies, was now driving under its walls 
 the remnants of the last, though command- 
 ed by that prince whom they regarded as 
 the hope and flower of Austrian warfare, 
 opposed this daring resolution. The alarm 
 was general, beginning with the court it- 
 self; and the most valuable property and 
 treasure were packed up to be carried into 
 Hungary, where the Royal Family deter- 
 mined to take refuge. It is worthy of 
 mention, that among the fugitives of the 
 Imperial House, was the Arch-Duchess 
 Maria Louisa, then between five and si.x 
 years old, whom our imagination may con- 
 ceive agitated by every species of childish 
 terror derived from the approach of the vic- 
 torious general, on whom she was, at a fu- 
 ture and similar crisis, destined to bestow 
 her hand. 
 
 The cries of the wealthy burghers were 
 of course for peace. The enemy were 
 within fourteen or fifteen days' march of 
 their walls ; nor had the city (perhaps for- 
 tunately) any fortifications, which in the 
 modern state of war could have made it de- 
 fensible even for a day. They were, more- 
 over, sec*>nded by a party in the cabinet; 
 and, in short, whether it chanced for good 
 or for evil, the selfish principle of those 
 who had much to lose, and were timid 
 in proportion, predominated against that, 
 which desired at all risks the continuance 
 of a determined and obstinate defence. It 
 T'iquired luanv lessons to convince both 
 hovereign and: people, that it is better to 
 put all on the hazard — better even to lose 
 hH, than tfk sanction the being pillaged at 
 'lilFerent times, and by degrees, under pre- 
 teti'ie of friendship and amity. A bow 
 which is forcibly strained back will regain 
 its natural position ; but if supple enough 
 to yield of itself to the counter direction, 
 it will never recover its elasticity. 
 
 The affairs, however, of the Austrians 
 were in such a condition, that it could hard- 
 ly be said whether the party who declared 
 
 for peace, to obtain some respite from the 
 distresses of the country, or those who 
 wished to continue war with the chances 
 of success which we have indicated, advis- 
 ed the least embarrassing course. The 
 Court of Vienna finally adopted the alterna- 
 tive of treaty, and that of Lcoben was set 
 on foot. 
 
 General Beilegarde and Mcrfield, on the 
 part of the Emperor, presented them- 
 selves at the head-quarters of Buonaparte, 
 13th April 1797, and announced tlie desire 
 of their sovereign for peace. Buonaparte 
 granted a suspension of arms, to endure 
 for five days only; which was afterwards 
 extended, when the probability of the de- 
 finitive treaty of peace was evident. 
 
 It is aftirmed, that in the whole discus- 
 sions respecting this most important ar- 
 mistice, JJapoleon — as a conqueror whose 
 victories had been in a certain degree his 
 own, whose army had been supported and 
 paid from the resources of the country 
 which he conquered, who had received 
 reinforcements from France only late and 
 reluctantly, and who had recruited his army 
 by new levies among the republicanized 
 Italians — maintained an appearance of in- 
 dependence of the government of France. 
 He had, even at this period, assumed a free- 
 dom of thought and action, the tenth part 
 of the suspicion attached to which would 
 have cost the most popular general his 
 head in the times of D.inton and Robes- 
 pierre. But, though acquired slowly, and 
 in counteraction to the once overpowering, 
 and still powerful, democratic influence, 
 the authority of Buonaparte was great ; and 
 indeed, the power which a conquering gen- 
 eral attains, by means of his successes, in 
 the bosom of his soldiers, becomes soon 
 formidable to any species of government, 
 where the soldier is not intimately interest- 
 ed in the liberties of the subject. 
 
 Yet it must not be supposed that Napole- 
 on exhibited publicly any of that spirit of 
 independence which the Directory appear to 
 have dreaded, and which, according to the 
 opinion which he himself intimates, seems 
 to have delayed the promised co-operation, 
 which was to be afforded by the eastern 
 armies on the banks of the Rhine. Far 
 from testifying such a feeling, his assertion 
 of the rights of the Republic was decidedly 
 striking, of which the following is a remark- 
 able instance. The Austrian commission- 
 er, in hopes to gain some credit for the ad- 
 mission, had stated in the preliminary ar- 
 ticles of the convention, as a concession 
 of consequence, that his Imperial Majesty 
 acknowledged the French government in 
 its present stale. " Strike out that con- 
 dition,'' said Buonaparte, sternly; "the 
 French Republic is like the sun in heaven. 
 The misfortune lies with those who are bo 
 blind as to be ignorant of the existence of 
 either." It was gallaiitly spoken ; but how 
 strange to reflect, that the same individual, 
 in three or four years afterwards, was able 
 to place an extinguisher on one of those 
 suns, without even an eclipse being the 
 consequence.* 
 
 * Buonaparte first meutions tbi* circuuutaac*
 
 Chap.XXVIL] LIFE OF IVAPOLEO.V BUONAPARTE. 
 
 269 
 
 It is remarkable also, that while assert- 
 ing to foreigners this supreme dignity of 
 the French Republic, Buonaparte should 
 have departed so far from the respect he 
 owed its rulers. The preliminaries of peace 
 were proposed for sisnature on the 18th 
 April. But General Clarke, to whom the 
 Directory had committed full powers to act 
 in the matter, was suU at Turin. He was 
 understood to be the full conlidant of his 
 inaaters, and to iiave instructions to watch 
 the motions of Buonaparte, nay to place 
 him under arrest, should he see cause to 
 doubt his fealty to the I'rencii government. 
 Napoleon, nevertheless, did not hesitate to 
 tender his individual signature and warranty, 
 and these were readily admitted by the Aus- 
 trian plenipotentiaries : — an ominous sign 
 of the declension of the powers of the Di- 
 rectory, considering that a military gener- 
 al, without the supp'^rt even of the com- 
 missioners from the government, or pro- 
 consuis, as they were called, was regarded 
 as sutRcient to ratify a treaty of such con- 
 sequence. No doubt seems to have been 
 entertained that he had the power to per- 
 form what he had guaranteed ; and the part 
 which he acted was the more remarkable, 
 considering the high commis.sion of General 
 Clarke. 
 
 The articles in the treaty of Leoben re- 
 mained long secret ; the cause of which ap- 
 pears to have been, that the high contract- 
 ing parties were not willing comparisons 
 should be made between the preliminaries 
 as they were originally settled, and the 
 etrange and violent altercations which oc- 
 curred ill the definitive treaty of Campo 
 Formio. These two treaties of pacification 
 differed, the one from the other, in relation 
 to the degree and manner how a meditated 
 partition of the territory of Venice, of the 
 Cisalpine republic, and other smaller pow- 
 ers, was to be accomplished, for the mutu- 
 al benefit of France and Austria. It is mel- 
 ancholy to observe, but it is nevertheless an 
 important truth, that there is no moment 
 during which independent states of the sec- 
 ond class have more occasion to be alarm- 
 ed for their security, than when more pow- 
 erful nations m their vicinity are about to 
 conclude peace. It is so easy to accom- 
 modate these differences of the strong at the 
 expense of such weaker states, as, if they 
 are injured, have neither the power of mak- 
 ing their complaints heard, nor of defend- 
 ing themselves by force, that, in the iron 
 age in which it has been our fate to live, 
 the injustice of such an arrangement has 
 never been considered as offering any coun- 
 terpoise to its great convenience, whatever 
 the law of nations might teach to the con- 
 trary. 
 
 It is unnecessary to enter upon the sub- 
 ject of the preliminaries of Leoben, un- 
 til we notice the treaty of Campo Formio, 
 under which they were finally modified, 
 and by which they were adjusted and con- 
 trolled. It may be, however, the moment 
 
 u having taken place at Leoben, afterwards at 
 the definitive treaty of Campo Formio. The ct- 
 fcct ig the same, wherever tlie words were spoken. 
 
 to state, that Buonaparte was considerably 
 blamed, by the Directory and oth©re, for 
 stopjiing short in the career of conquest, 
 and allowing the House of Austria terms 
 which left her still formidable to France, 
 when, said the censors, it would have cost 
 him but anotiier victory to blot the most 
 constant and powerful enemy of the French 
 Republic out of the map of Europe; oral 
 least to confine her to her hereditary stale 
 in Germany. To such criticism he replied, 
 in a despatch to the Directory from Leo- 
 ben, during the progress of the treaty ; 
 " If at the commencement of these Italian 
 campaigns I had made a point of going to 
 Tumi, I should never have parsed the Po — 
 had 1 insisted prematurely on advancing to 
 Rome, I could never have secured Milan — 
 and now had I made an indispensable ob- 
 ject of reaching Vienna, I might have de- 
 stroyed the Republic." 
 
 Such was his able and judicious defence 
 of a conduct, which, by stopping short of 
 some ultimate ande-^ctreme point apparently 
 within his grasp, extracted every advantage 
 from fear which despair perhaps might not 
 have yielded him, if the enemy had been 
 driven to extremity. And it is remarkable, 
 that the catastrophe of Napoleon himself 
 was a corollary of the doctrine which he 
 now laid down ; for, had he not insisted up- 
 on penetrating to Moscow, there is no judg- 
 ing how much longer he might have held 
 the empiie of France. 
 
 The contents of the treaty of Leoben. so 
 far as they were announced to the repre- 
 sentatives of the French nation by the Di 
 rectory, only made known as part of the 
 preliminaries, that the cession of tiie 
 Belgic provinces, and of such a boundary 
 as France might choose to demand upon 
 the Rhine, had been admitted by Austria; 
 and that she had consented to recognise a 
 single Republic in Italy, to be composed oat 
 of those which had been provisionally es- 
 tablished. But shortly afterwards it trans- 
 pired, that Mantua, the subject of so much 
 and such bloody contest, and the very cita- 
 del of Italy, as had appeared from the events 
 of these sanguinary campaigns, was to be 
 resigned to .\ustria, from whose tenacioi» 
 grasp it had been wrenched with so much 
 difficulty. This measure was unpopular; 
 and it will be found that Buonaparte had the 
 ingenuity, in the definitive treaty of peace, 
 to substitute an indemnification, which he 
 ought not to have given, and which was 
 certainly the last which the Austrians 
 should have accepted. 
 
 It was now the time for Venice to trem- 
 ble. She had declared against the French 
 in their absence ; her vindictive population 
 had murdered many of them ; the resent- 
 ment of the French soldiers was excited to 
 the utmost, and the Venetians had no right 
 to reckon upon the forbearance of their 
 general. The treaty of Leoben left the 
 Senate of that ancient state absolutely with- 
 out support ; nay, as they afterwards learn- 
 ed, Austria, after pleading their cause for a 
 certain time, had ended by stipulating for a 
 share of their spoils, which had been .as- 
 signed to her by a secret article of the
 
 270 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chop. XX VU. 
 
 treaty. The doom of the oligarchy was 
 prononnced ere Buonaparte had yet travers- 
 ed the Noric and Julian Alps, for the pur- 
 pose of enforcing it. By a letter to the 
 Doge, dated from the capital of Upper Sty- 
 ria, Napoleon, bitterly upbraiding the sen- 
 ate for requiting his generosity with treach- 
 ery and ingratitude, demanded that they 
 should return by his aid-de-camp who bore 
 the letter, their instant choice betwi.^t war 
 and peace, and allowing them only four- 
 and-twenty hours to disperse their insur- 
 gent peasantry, and submit to his clemency. 
 Junot, introduced into the senate, made 
 the threats of his master ring in the as- 
 tounded ears of the members, and by the 
 blunt and rough manner of a soldier, who 
 had risen from the ranks, added to the dis- 
 may of the trembling nobles. The senate 
 returned a humble apology to Buonaparte, 
 and despatched agents to deprecate his 
 wrath. These envoys were doomed to ex- 
 perience one of those scenes of violence, 
 which were in some degree natural to this 
 extraordinary man, but to which in certain 
 cases he seems to have designedly given 
 way, in order to strike consternation into 
 those whom he addressed. '' Are the pris- 
 oners at liberty ?" he said, with a stern 
 voice, and without replying to the humble 
 greetings of the terrified envoys. They 
 answered with hesitation, that they had lib- 
 erated the French, the Polish, and the Bres- 
 cians, who had been made captive in the 
 insurrectionary war. " I will have them 
 all — all !" exclaimed Buonaparte — " all who 
 are in prison on account of their political 
 sentiments. I will go myself to destroy 
 your dungeons on the Bridge of Tears — 
 opinions shall be free — I will have no In- 
 quisition. If all the prisoners are not set 
 at instant liberty, the English envoy dis- 
 missed, the people disarmd, I declare in- 
 stant war. I might have gone to Vienna if 
 I had listed — I have concluded a peace with 
 the Emperor — I have eighty thousand men, 
 twenty gun-boats — I will hear of no Inqui- 
 sition, and no Senate either — I will dictate 
 the law to you — I will prove an Aitila to 
 Venice. If you cannot disarm your popu- 
 lation, I will do it in your stead — your gov- 
 ernment is antiquated — it must crumble to 
 pieces." 
 
 While Buonaparte, in these disjointed 
 yet significant threats, stood before the dep- 
 uties like the Argantes of Italy's heroic 
 poet, and gave them the choice of peace 
 and war with the air of a superior being, 
 capable at once to dictate their fate, he 
 had not yet heard of the massacre of Vero- 
 na, or of the batteries of a Venetian fort on 
 the Lido having fired upon a French vessel, 
 who had run into the port to escape the 
 pursuit of two armed Austrian ships. The 
 vessel vva!5 alleged to have been sunk, and 
 the mnsttr and some of the crew to have 
 been killed. The news of these fresh ag- 
 gressions did not fail to aggravate his indig- 
 nation to tlve highest pitch. The terrified 
 deputies ventured to touch with delicacy 
 on the subject of pecuniary atonement. 
 Buonaparte's answer was worthy of a Ro- 
 man. •' If you could proffer me," he said. 
 
 " the treasures of Peru— if you could strew 
 tlie whole district with gold, it could not 
 atone for the French blood which has beea 
 treacherously spilt." 
 
 Accordingly, on the 3d of May, Buona- 
 parte declared war against Venice, and or- 
 dered the French minister to leave the 
 city ; the French troops, and those of the 
 new Italian republics, were at the same 
 time commanded to advance, and to de- 
 stroy in their progress, wherever they 
 found it displayed, the winged Lion of 
 Saint Marc, the ancient emblem of Vene- 
 tian sovereignty. The declaration is dated 
 at Pal ma Nova. 
 
 It had been already acted upon by the 
 French who were on the Venetian frontier, 
 and by La Hotze, a remarkable charocter, 
 who was then at the head of the army of 
 the Italian republics of the new model, and 
 the forces of the towns of Brescia and Ber- 
 gamo, which aspired to the same indepen- 
 dence. This commander was of Swiss ex- 
 traction ; an excellent young officer, and 
 at that time enamoured of liberty on the 
 French system, though he afterwards savir 
 so much reason to change his opinions that 
 he lost his life, as we may have occasion 
 to mention, fighting under the Austrian ban- 
 ners. 
 
 The terrified Senate of Venice proved 
 unworthy descendants of the Zenos, Dan- 
 dolos, and Morosinis, as the defenders of 
 Christendom, and the proud opposers of 
 Papal oppression. The best resource they 
 could imagine to themselves, was to em- 
 ploy at Paris those golden means of inter- 
 cession which Buonaparte had so sturdily 
 rejected. Napoleon assures us that they 
 found favour by means of these weighty ar- 
 guments. The Directory, moved, we are 
 informed, by the motives of ten millions 
 of French francs, transmitted from Venice 
 in bills of exchange, sent to the General of 
 Italy orders to spare the ancient senate and 
 aristocracy. But the account of the trans- 
 action, with the manner in which the re- 
 mittances were distributed, fell into the 
 hands of Napoleon, by despatches inter- 
 cepted at Milan. The members of the 
 French Government, whom these docu- 
 ments would have convicted of peculation 
 and bribery, were compelled to be silent; 
 and Buonaparte, availing himself of some 
 chicanery as to certain le^l solemnities, 
 took it on him totally to disregard the or- 
 ders he had received. 
 
 The Senate of Venice, rather stupified 
 than stimulated by the excess of their dan- 
 ger, were holding on the 30th April a sort 
 of privy council in the apartments of the 
 Doge, when a letter from the commandant 
 of their flotilla informed them, that the 
 French were erecting fortifications on the 
 low grounds contiguous to the lagoons or 
 shallow cliaiinels which divide from the 
 main land and from each other the little 
 isles on which the amphibious Mistress of 
 the Adriatic holds her foundation ; and pro- 
 posing, in the blunt style of a gallant sailor 
 to baiter them to pieces about their eaK 
 before the works could be completed. In- 
 dfied. nothing would have been more easy
 
 Chap. XXVII.} LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 271 
 
 than to defend the lagoons against an ene- ] 
 my, who, notwithstanding ?<apoleon's bra- | 
 vado, had not even a single boat. But the ! 
 proposal, had it been made to an abbess I 
 and a convent of nuns, could scarce have I 
 appeared more extraordinary than it did to j 
 these degenerate nobles. Yet the sense of ] 
 ehame prevailed; and though trembling for | 
 the consequences of the order which they I 
 issued, the Senate directed that the admiral 
 should proceed to action. Immediately af- 
 ter the order was received, their delibera- 
 tions were interrupted by the thunder of 
 the cannon on either side — the N'enetian 
 gun-boats pouring their fire on the van of 
 the French army, which had begun to ar- 
 rive at Fusina. 
 
 To interrupt these ominous sounds, two 
 plenipotentiaries were despatched to make 
 intercession with the French general ; and, 
 to prevent delay, the Doge himself under- 
 took to report the result. 
 
 The Grand Council was convoked on the 
 1st May, when the Doge, pale in counte- 
 nance, and disconcerted in demeanour, 
 proposed, as the only means of safety, the 
 admission of some democratic modifica- 
 tions into their forms, under the direction 
 of General Buonaparte ; or, in other words, 
 to lay their institutions at the leet of the 
 conqueror, to be 're-modelled at his pleas- 
 ure. Of six hundred and ninety patricians, 
 only twenty-one dissented from a vote 
 -which inferred the absolute surrender of 
 their constitution. The conditions to be 
 agreed on were indeed declared subject to 
 the revision of the Council ; but this, in 
 the circumstances, could only be consider- 
 ed as a clause intended to save appearances. 
 The surrender must have been regarded as 
 unconditional and total. 
 
 Amidst the dejection and confusion 
 which possessed the government, some 
 able intriguer (the secretary, it was sait\ 
 of the French ambassador at Venice, 
 whose frincipal had been recalled) con- 
 trived to induce the Venetian government 
 to commit an act of absolute suicide, so as 
 to spare Buonaparte the trouble and small 
 degree of scandal which might attach to 
 totally destroying the existence of the Re- 
 pnblic. 
 
 On the 9th of May, as the committee of 
 the Great Council were in close delibera- 
 tion with the Doge, two strangers intruded 
 upon those councils, which heretofore — 
 Buch was the jealous severity of the oligar- 
 chy — were like those of supernaturad be- 
 ings, those who looked on them died. But 
 now, affliction, confusion, and fear, had 
 withdrawn the guards from these secret and 
 mysterious chambers, and laid open to the 
 intrusion of strangers those stern haunts 
 of a auspicious oligarchy, where, in other 
 days, an official or lictor of the govern- 
 ment might have been punished with death 
 even for too loud a foot-fall, far more for 
 the fatal crime of having heard more than 
 was designed to come to his knowledge. 
 All this was now ended ; and without check 
 01 rebuke the two strangers were permitted 
 to communicate with the Senate by writing. 
 Their advice, which had the terms of a 
 
 command, was, to anticipate the intended 
 reforms of the French — to dissolve the 
 present government — throw open their pris- 
 ons — disband their Sclavonian soldiers — 
 plant the tree of liberty on the Place of 
 Saint Marc, and to take other populy 
 measures of the same nature, the least o^ 
 which, proposed but a few months before 
 would have been a signal of death to the 
 individual wiio had dared to hint at it. 
 
 An English satirist has told us a story of 
 a man persuaded by an eloquent friend to 
 hang himself in order to preserve his life.* 
 The story of the fall of Venice vindicates 
 the boldness of the satire. It does not 
 appear that Buonaparte could have gone 
 farther, nay it seems unlikely he would 
 have gone so far, as was now recom- 
 mended. 
 
 As the friendly advisers had hinted 
 that the utmost speed was necessary, the 
 committee scarce interposed an interval of 
 three days, between receiving the advice 
 and recommending it to the Great Council ; 
 and began in the meanwhile to anticipate 
 the destruction of their government and 
 surrender of their city, by dismantling 
 their fleet and disbanding their soldiers. 
 
 At length the Great Council assembled 
 on the 31st May. The Doge had com- 
 menced a pathetic discourse on the extrem- 
 ities to which the country was reduced, 
 when an irregular discharge of fire-arms 
 took place under the very windows of the 
 Council-house. All started up in confu 
 ion. Some supposed the Sclavonians were 
 plundering the citizens ; some that the 
 lower orders had risen on the nobility ; oth- 
 ers, that the French had entered Venice, 
 and were proceeding to sack and pillage it. 
 The terrified and timid counsellors did not 
 wait to inquire what was the real cause of 
 the disturbance, but hurried forward, like 
 sheep, in the path which had been indicat- 
 ed to them. They hastened to despoil their 
 ancient government of all authority, to sign 
 in a manner its sentence of civil death — 
 added every thing which could render the 
 sacrifice more agreeable to Buonaparte — 
 and separated in confusion, but under the 
 impression that they had taken the best 
 measure in their power for quelling the tu- 
 mult, by meeting the wishes of the predom- 
 inant party. But this was by no means the 
 case. On the contrary, they had the mis- 
 fortune to find that the insurrection, of 
 which the firing was the signal, was direct- 
 ed not against the aristocrats, but against 
 those who proposed the surrender of the na- 
 tional independence, .\rmed bands shout- 
 ed, " Long live Saint Marc, and perish for- 
 eign domination '." Others indeed there 
 were, who displayed in opposition three- 
 coloured banners, with the war-cry of 
 " Liberty for ever!" The disbanded and 
 mutinous soldiers mixed among the hostile 
 groups, and threatened the town with fiir 
 and pillage. 
 
 Amid this horrible confusion, and while 
 the parties were firing on each other, a p»o- 
 visional government was hastily named. 
 
 * Dr, .\rbuthnot, in the History of John Bull.
 
 272 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXVUl. 
 
 Boata were dispatched to bring three thou- 
 sand French soldiers into the city. These 
 took possession of the Place of Saint Marc, 
 while some of the inhabitants shouted; but 
 the greater part, who were probably not the 
 less sensible of the execrable tyranny of 
 the old aristocracy, saw it fall in mournful 
 ailence, because there fell, along with the 
 ancient institutions of their country, how- 
 ever little some of these were to be regret- 
 ted, the honour and independence of the 
 state itself. 
 
 The terms wljich the French granted, or 
 rather imposed, appeared sufficiently mod- 
 erate, so far as they were made public. 
 They announced that the foreign troops 
 would remain so long, and no longer, than 
 might be necessary to protect the peace of 
 Venice — they undertook to guarantee the 
 public debt, and the payment of the pen- 
 sions allowed to the impoverished gentry. 
 They required, indeed, the continuance of 
 the prosecution against the commander of 
 that fort of Luco who had fired on the 
 French vessel ; but all other offenders were 
 pardoned, and Buonapai-te afterwards suf- 
 fered even this affair to pass into oblivion ; 
 which excited doubt whether the transac- 
 tion had ever been so serious as had been 
 alleged. 
 
 Five secret and less palatable article* 
 attended these avowed conditions. One 
 provided for the various exchanges of ter- 
 ritory which had been already settled at 
 the Venetian expense betwixt Austria anu 
 France. The second and third stipulated 
 the payment of three millions of francs 
 in specie, and as many in naval stores. 
 Another prescribed the cession of three 
 ships of wair, and of two frigates, armed 
 and equipped. A fifth ratified the exaction, 
 in the usual style of French cupidity, of 
 twenty pictures and five hundred manu- 
 scripts. 
 
 It will be seen hereafter what advanta- 
 ges the Venetians purchased by all these 
 unconscionable conditions. At the moment, 
 they understood that the stipulations were 
 to imply a guarantee of the independent 
 existence of their country as a democrati- 
 cal state. In the meanwhile, the necessi- 
 ty for raising the supolies to gratify the ra- 
 pacity of the French, obliged the provision- 
 al government to have recourse to forced 
 loans ; and in this manner they inhospita- 
 bly plundered the Duke of Modena (who 
 had fled to Venice for refuge when Buona- 
 parte first entered Lombardy) of his re- 
 maining treasure, amounting to one hun- 
 dred and ninety thousand sequins. 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. 
 
 Napoleon's amatory Correspondence with Josephine. — His Court at Montebello. — Ne- 
 gotiations and Pleasure mingled there. — Genoa. — Revolutionary spirit of the Geno- 
 ese. They rise in Insurrection, but are quelled by the Govej-nment. and the French 
 
 plundered and imprisoned. — Buonaparte interferes, and appoints the outlinet of a 
 new Government. — Sardinia. — Naples. — The Cispadane, Transpadane, and Emilian 
 Republics, united under the name of the Cisalpine Republic. — The Valteline. — The 
 Grisons. — The Valteliru united to Lombardy. — Great improvement of Italy, and the 
 Italian Character, from these changes. — Difficulties in the way of Pacification betvoixt 
 Prance and Austria. — The Directory and Napoleon take different views. — Treaty of 
 Campo Formio. — Buonaparte takes leave of the Army of Italy, to act as French Plen- 
 ipotentiary at Rastadt. • 
 
 a temperament as fiery in love as in war. 
 The language of the conqueror, who v.ra» 
 disposing of states at his pleasure, and de- 
 feating the most celebrated commanders of 
 the time, is as enthusiastic as that of an 
 Arcadian. We cannot suppress the truth, 
 that {in passages which we certainly shall 
 
 euul in which you reign ! Ah ! my adorable wife, 
 I know not what fate awaits me, but if it keep me 
 much longer from you it will be in!<upportable, — 
 my courage will not go so far. There was a time 
 when I was proud of my courage ; and sometimss, 
 when contemplating on the ills that man could do 
 me, on the fate whirh destiny could reserve for me, 
 I fixed my eyes steadfastly on the most unheard-of 
 misfortunes without a frown, without alarm j — 
 but now the idea that my Josephine may be ui>- 
 well, the idea that she may be ill, and, above all, 
 the cruel, the fatal thought, that .«he may love me 
 less, withers ray soul, stii; s my blood, renders me 
 sad, cast down, and leaves me not even the cour- 
 age of fury and despair. Formerly I used ofloo 
 to say to myself, men could not hurt him who 
 could die without regret ; but, now, to die without 
 being loved by thee, to die without that certainty, 
 is the torment of hell ; it is the lively and striking 
 image of absolute annihilation — I feel »« if I wer« 
 stifled. My inconipar.tblc companion, thou wIkUK 
 
 When peace returns, it brings back the 
 domestic affections, and affords the means 
 of indulging them. Buonaparte v.as yet a 
 bridegroom, though he had now been two 
 years married, tind upwards. A part of his 
 correspondence v/ith his bride has been 
 preserved,* and gives a curious picture of 
 
 * It is published in a Tour through the Nether- 
 lands, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Savoy, and 
 France, in the years 1821-2, by Charles Tennant, 
 Esq Longman & Co. London, 2 v*ls. 8vo. Au- 
 tographs of the etters are given, and there seems 
 lio reason to doubt their authenticity. The fol- 
 lowing may serve as a specimen, and will perhaps 
 confirm the opinion of a great lawyer, that love- 
 letters seem the most unutterable nonsense in the 
 world to all but the person who writes, and the 
 party who receives them : — 
 
 " By v.hat art is it that you have been able to 
 captivate all my faculties, and to concentrate in 
 yourself my moral existence.' It is a magic, my 
 sweet lov«, which will finish only with my life. 
 To live for Josephine — there is the history of my 
 Ufe. I am trying to reach you, — I am dying to be 
 near you Fool that I am, I do not perceive that 
 I increa«e the distance between us. What lands, 
 what countries separate us ! What a time before 
 yon read these weak exorcssions of a troubled
 
 Chap. XXVm.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 273 
 
 not quote) it carries a tone of indelicacy, 
 which, notwithstanding the intimacy of the 
 married state, an English husband would 
 not use, nor an English wife coTisider as 
 the becoming expression of connubial af- 
 fection. There seems no doubt, however, 
 that the attachment which these letters in- 
 dicate was perfectly sincere, and on one 
 occasion at least, it was chivalrously ex- 
 pressed : — " Wurmser shall buy dearly the 
 tears which he makes you shed !'' 
 
 It appears from this correspondence that 
 Josephine had rejoined her husband under 
 the guardianship of Junot. when he returned 
 from Paris, after having executed his mis- 
 eion of delivering to the Directory, and 
 representatives of the French people, the 
 banners and colours taken from Beaulieu. 
 In December 1796, Josephine was at Genoa, 
 where she was received with studied mag- 
 nificence, by those in that ancient state who 
 adhered to the French interest, and where, 
 to the scandal of the rigid Catholics, the 
 company continued assembled, at a ball 
 given by Monsieur de Scrva, till a late hour 
 on Friday morning, despite the presence of 
 a senator having in his pocket, bat not ven- 
 turing to enforce, a decree of the senate for 
 the better observation of the fast day upon 
 tlie occasion. These, however, were prob- 
 ably only occasional visits ; but after the 
 signature of the treaty of Leoben, and dur- 
 ing the various negotiations which took 
 place before it was finally adjusted, as rat- 
 ified at Campo Formio, Josephine lived in 
 domestic society with her husband, at the 
 beautiful seat, or rather palace, of Monte- 
 bello. 
 
 This villa, celebrated from the impor- 
 tant negotiations of which it was the scene, 
 is situated a few leagues from Milan, on a 
 gently sloping hill, which commands an 
 extensive prospect over the fertile plains 
 of Lombardy. The ladies of the highest 
 rank, as well as those celebrated for beauty 
 and accomplishments, — all, in short, who 
 could add charms to society, — were daily 
 paying thei"- homage to Josephine, who rp- 
 ceived them with a felicity of address which 
 seemed as if she had been born for exer- 
 cising the high courtesies that devolved 
 upon the wife of so distinguished a person 
 as Napoleon, 
 
 Negotiations proceeded amid gaiety and 
 
 ftite has destined tc make along with rae the pain- 
 ful journey of life, the day on which I shall cea^i^ 
 to possess thy heart will bo the day on which 
 panhed nature will be to liie without warmth or 
 vegetation 
 
 " I stop, my sweet love, my soul is sad — my body 
 is fatigued — my head is giddy — men disgust me — I 
 ought to hate them — they separate me from my 
 be loved 
 
 " I am at Port Maurice, near Oneillc ; to-nmr- 
 row I shall be at Albenga ; the two armie< are in 
 motion — We are endeavouring to deceive each 
 oth«r — Victory to the most skilful I lam pretty 
 well satisfied with Beaulieu — If lie alarm me much 
 be is a better man than his predecessor. I shall 
 beat him I hope in good style. Do nut be uneasy 
 — love me as your eye;; — hut that i^! not enough — 
 as yourself, more than yours/.lf, than your thouglit, 
 your mind, your sight, your all.-^woct love, 
 forgive me, — I am sinking. Nature is weak for 
 bin who feels strongly, for liim whim Viiu love t" 
 
 Vot-. I . M u; 
 
 pleasure. The various ministers and en- 
 I voys of Austria, of the Pope, of the Kings 
 of Naples and Sardinia, of the Duke of 
 I Parma, of the Swiss Cantons, of several of 
 i the Princes of Germany, — the throng of 
 , generals, of persons in authority, of de^iu- 
 i ties of towns, — with the daily arrivals and 
 1 despatch of numerous couriers, the bustle 
 ; of important business, mingled with fetes 
 I and entertainments, with balls and with 
 hunting parties, — gave the picture of a 
 splendid court, and the assemblage was 
 called accordingly, by the Italians, the 
 Court of Montebeilo. It was such in point 
 ! of importance ; for the deliberations agitit- 
 j ed there were to regulate the political re- 
 lations of Germany, and decide the fate of 
 I the King of Sardinia, of Switzerland, of Ve 
 nice, of Genoa ; all destined to hear from 
 the voice of Napoleon, the terras on which 
 their national existence was to be prolong- 
 ed or terminated. 
 
 Montebeilo was not less the abode of 
 pleasure. The sovereigns of this diplomat- 
 ic and military court made excursions to 
 the Lago Maggiore, to Lago di Como, to the 
 Borromean islands, and occupied at pleas- 
 ure the villas which surround those deli 
 cious regions. Every town, every village, 
 desired to distinguish itself by some pecul- 
 iar mark of homage and respect to him, 
 whom they then named the Liberator of 
 Italy. These expressions are in a great 
 measwre those of Napoleon himself, who 
 seems to have looked back on this period 
 of his life with warmer recollections of 
 pleasurable enjoyment than he had experi- 
 enced on any other occasion. 
 
 It was probably the happiest time of hi^ 
 life. Honour, beyond that of a crowned 
 head, was his own, and had the full relish 
 of novelty to a mind which two or three 
 years before was pining in obscurity. Pow- 
 er was his, and he had not experienced its 
 cares and risks 5 high hopes were formed of 
 him by all around, and he had not yet dis- 
 appointed them. He was in the flower of 
 youth, and married to the woman o*" his 
 heart. Above all, he had the glow of Hope, 
 which was marshalling him even to more 
 exalted dominion ; and he had not yet be- 
 come av. are that possession brings satiety ; 
 and that all earthly desires and wishes ter- 
 minate, when fully attained, in vanity ;ind 
 vexation of spirit. 
 
 The various objects which occupitd 
 Buonaparte's mind during this busy yrt 
 pleasing interval, were the affaurs of Genoa, 
 of Sardinia, of Naples, of the Cisalpine 
 Republic, of the Orisons, and lastly, and by 
 far the most important of them, the defini- 
 tive treaty with Austria, which involved the 
 annihilation of Venice as an independent 
 state. 
 
 Genoa, the proud rival of Venice, had 
 never attained the same permanent impor- 
 tance with that sister republic ; but her n"- 
 bitity,who still administered her gove.Ti- 
 I menl according to the model assigned them 
 : by Andrfw Doria, preserved more national 
 , spirit, and a more warlike disposition. The 
 1 neighbourhood of France, and the prev:i- 
 ' icnce of her opinions, had stirred up omony
 
 274 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE [Chap. XXVIU. 
 
 the citizens of the middling class a party, 
 taking the name of Morandists, from a club 
 so termed, whose object it was to break 
 down the oligarchy, and revolutionize the 
 government. The nobles were naturally 
 opposed to this, and a large body of the 
 popnlace, much employed by them, and 
 strict catholics, were ready to second them 
 in their defence. 
 
 The establishment of two Italian democ- 
 racies upon the Po, made the Genoese rev- 
 olutionists conceive the time was arrived 
 when their own state ought to pass through 
 a similar ordeal of regeneration. They 
 mustered their strength, and petitioned the 
 Doge for the abolition of the government 
 as it existed, and the adoption of a demo- 
 cratic model. The Doge condescended so 
 far to their demand, as to name a commit- 
 tee of nine persons, five of them of plebe- 
 ian birth, to consider and report on the 
 means of infusing a more popular spirit in- 
 to the constitution. 
 
 The three chief Inquisitors of State, or 
 Censors, as the actual rulers of the oligar- 
 chy were entitled, opposed the spirit of re- 
 ligious enthusiasm to that of democratic 
 zeal. They employed the pulpit and the 
 confessional as the means of warning good 
 Catholics against the change demanded by 
 the Morandists — they exposed the Holy Sa- 
 crament, and made processions and public 
 prayers, as if threatened with a descent of 
 the Algerines. 
 
 Meanwhile the Morandists took up arms, 
 displayed the French colours, and conceiv- 
 ing their enterprise was on the point of 
 success, seized the gate of the arsenal and 
 that of the harbour. But their triumph was 
 short. Ten thousand armed labourers start- 
 ed as from out of the earth, under the com- 
 mand of their syndics, or municipal offi- 
 cers, with cries of " Viva Maria !" and 
 declared for the aristocracy. The insur- 
 gents, totally defeated, were compelled to 
 shut themselves up in their houses, where 
 they were assailed by the stronger party, 
 and finally routed. The French residing 
 in Genoa were maltreated by the prevailing 
 party, their houses pillaged, and they them- 
 selves dragged to prison. 
 
 The last circumstance gave Buonaparte 
 an ostensible right to interfere, which he 
 would probably have done even had no 
 such violence been committed. He sent 
 his aid-de-camp La Vallette to Genoa, with 
 the threat of instantly moving against the 
 city a division of his army, unless the pris- 
 oners were set at liberty, the aristocratic 
 party disarmed, and such alterations, or 
 rather such a complete change of govern- 
 ment adopted, as should be agreeable to 
 the French commander-in-chief. Against 
 this there was no appeal. The Inquisitors 
 were laid under arrest, for having defended 
 with the assistance of their fellow-citizens, 
 the existing institutions of the state : and 
 the Doge, with two other magistrates of the 
 first rank, went to learn at Montebello, the 
 head-quarters of Napoleon, what was to be 
 the future fate of the city, proudly called 
 of Palaces. They received the outlines of 
 eoch a democracy as Napoleon conceived 
 
 suitable for them ; and he appears to have 
 been unusually favourable to the state, 
 which, according to the French affectation 
 of doing everything upon a classical model, 
 now underwent revolutionary baptism, and 
 was called the Ligurian Republic. It was 
 stipulated, that the French who had suffer- 
 ed should be indemnified ; but no contri- 
 butions were exacted for the use of the 
 French army, nor did the collections and 
 cabinets of Genoa pay any tribute to the 
 Parisian Museum. 
 
 Shortly after, the democratic party hav- 
 ing gone so far as to exclude the nobles 
 from the government, and from all offices 
 of trust, called down by doing so a severe 
 admonition from Buonaparte. He charged 
 them not to offend the prejudices, or insult 
 the feelings of the more scrupulous Catho- 
 lics, declaring farther, that to exclude those 
 of noble birth from public functions, is a 
 revolting piece of injustice, and, in fact, aa 
 criminal as the worst of the errors of the 
 patricians. Buonaparte says he felt a par- 
 tiality for Genoa ; and the comparative lib- 
 erality with which he treated the state on 
 this occasion, furnishes a good proof that 
 he did so. 
 
 The King of Sardinia had been prostrat- 
 ed at the feet of France by the armistice of 
 Cherasco, which concluded Napoleon's first 
 campaign ; and that sagacious leader had 
 been long desirous that the Director/ 
 should raise the royal supplicant (for he 
 could be termed little else) into some sem- 
 blance of regal dignity, so as to make his 
 power available as an ally. Nay, General 
 Clarke had, 5th April 1797, subscribed, 
 with the representative of his Sardinian 
 Majesty, a treaty offensive and defensive, 
 by which Napoleon expected to add to the 
 arniy under his command four thousand 
 Sardinian or Piedmontese infantry, and five 
 hundred cavalry ; and he reckoned much 
 on this contingent, in case of the war being 
 renewed with Austria. But the Directory 
 shifted and evaded his solicitations, and 
 declined confirming this treaty, probably 
 because they considered the army under 
 his command as already sufficiently strong, 
 being, as the soldiers were, so devoted to 
 their leader. At length, however, the trea- 
 ty was ratified, but too late to serve Buona- 
 parte's object. 
 
 Naples, whose conduct had been vacillat- 
 ing and insincere, as events seemed to 
 promise victory or threaten defeat to the 
 French general, experienced, notwithstand- 
 ing, when he was in the height of triumph, 
 the benefit of his powerful intercession 
 with the government, and retained the full 
 advantage secured to her by the treaty of 
 Paris of 10th October 179G. 
 
 A most important subject of considera- 
 tion remained after the pacification of Italy, 
 respecting the mode in which the new re 
 publics were to be governed, and the ex- 
 tent of territory which should be assigned 
 to them. On this subject there had been 
 long discussions ; and as there was much 
 animosity and ancient grudge betwixt some 
 of the Italian cities and provinces, it was 
 no very easy matter to convince them, that
 
 Chap. XXVIII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 275 
 
 their true interest lay in as many of them 
 being united under one energetic and active 
 government, as should render them a pow- 
 er of some importance, instead of being di- 
 vided as heretofore into petty states, which 
 could not offer effectual resistance eyen to 
 invasion on the part of a power of the sec- 
 ond class, much more if attacked by France 
 Or Austria. 
 
 The formation of a compact and inde- 
 pendent state in the north of Italy, was 
 what Napoleon had much at heart. But 
 the Cispadane and Transpadane Republics 
 were alike averse to a union, and that of 
 Romagna had declined on its part a junc- 
 tion with the Cispadane commonwealth, 
 and set up for a puny and feeble indepen- 
 dence, under the title of the Emilian 
 Republic. Buonaparte was enabled to 
 overcome these grudgings and heart-burn- 
 ings by pointing out to them the General 
 Republic, which it was now his system t» 
 create, as being destined to form the ker- 
 nel of a state, which should be enlarged 
 from time to time as opportunities offered, 
 until it should include aJl Italy under one 
 single government. This flattering pros- 
 pect, in assigning to Italy, though at some 
 distant date, the probability of forming one 
 great country, united in itself, and inde- 
 
 Cendent of the rest of Europe, instead of 
 eing, as now, parcelled out into petty 
 states, naturally overcame all the local dis- 
 likes and predilections which might have 
 prevented the union of the Cispadane, 
 Transpadane, and Emilian Republics into 
 one, and that important measure was re- 
 solved upon accordingly. 
 
 The Cisalpine Republic was the name fix- 
 ed upon, to designate the united common- 
 wealth. The French would more willingly 
 have named it, with respect to Paris, the 
 Transalpine Republic ; but that would have 
 been innovating upon the ancient title 
 which Rome has to be the central point, 
 with reference to which all other parts of 
 Italy assume their local description. It 
 would have destroyed all classical propriety, 
 and have confused historical recollections, 
 if, what had hitherto been called the Ultra- 
 montane side of the Alps, had, to gratify 
 Parisian vanity, been termed the Hither 
 side of the same chain of mountains. 
 
 The constitution assigned to the Cisal- 
 pine Republic, was the same which the 
 French had last of all adopted, in what 
 they called the year five, having a Directo- 
 ry of executive administrators, and two 
 Councils. They were installed upon the 
 30th of June 1797. Four members of the 
 Directory were named by Buonaparte, and 
 tlie addition of a fifth was promised with all 
 convenient speed. On the 14th of July 
 following; a review was made of thirty 
 thousand national guards. The fortresses 
 of Lombardy, and the other districts, were 
 delivered up to the local authorities, and 
 the French army, retiring from the territo- 
 ries of the new republic, took up canton- 
 ments in the Venetian states. Proclama- 
 tion had already been made, that the states 
 belonging to the Cisalpine Republic having 
 been acquired by France by the right of con- 
 
 quest, she had used her privilege to form 
 them into their present free and independ- 
 ent government, which, already recognized 
 by the Emperor and the Directory, could 
 not fail to be acknowledged within a short 
 time by all the other powers of Europe. 
 
 Buonaparte soon after showed that he 
 was serious in his design of enlarging the 
 Cisalpine Republic, as opportunity could be 
 made to serve. There are three valleys, 
 termed the Valteline districts, which run 
 down from the Swiss mountains towards 
 the Lake of Como. The natives of the 
 Valteline are about one hundred and sixty 
 thousand souls. They speak Italian, and 
 are chiefly of the Catholic persuasion. 
 These valleys were at this period the sub- 
 jects of the Swiss Cantons, called the Ori- 
 sons, not being a part of their league, or en- 
 joying any of their privileges, but standing 
 towards the Swiss community, generally 
 and individually, in the rank of vassals to 
 sovereigns. This situation of thraldom and 
 dependence was hard to endure, and dishon- 
 ourable in itself J and we cannot be surpris- 
 ed that, when the nations around them were 
 called upon to enjoy liberty and indepen- 
 dence, the inhabitants of the Valteline 
 should have driven their Swiss garrisons out 
 of their valleys, adopted the symbol of Ital- 
 ian freedom, and cairried their complaints 
 against the oppression of their German and 
 Protestant masters to the feet of Buonaparte. 
 
 The inhabitants of the Valteline unques- 
 tionably had a right to assert their natural 
 liberty, which is incapable of suffering pre- 
 scription ; but it is not equally clear how 
 the French could, according to the law of 
 nations, claim any title to interfere between 
 them and the Grisons, with whom, as well 
 as with the whole Swiss UnioB, they were 
 in profound peace. This scruple seems to 
 have struck Buonaparte's own mind. He 
 pretended, however, to assume that the 
 Milanese government had a right to inter- 
 fere, and his mediation was so far recognis- 
 ed, that the Grisons pleaded before him in 
 answer to their contumacious vassals. Buo- 
 naparte gave his opinion, by advising the 
 canton of the Grisons, which consists of 
 three leagues, to admit their Valteline sub- 
 jects to a share of their franchises, in the 
 character of a fourth association. The mod- 
 eration of the proposal may be admitted to 
 excuse the irregularity of the interference. 
 
 The representatives of the Grey League 
 were, notwithstanding, profoundly hurt at a 
 proposal which went to make their vassals 
 their brother freemen, and to establish the 
 equality of the Italian serf, who drank of 
 the Adda, with the free-born Switzer, who 
 quaffed the waters of the Rhine. As they 
 turned a deaf ear to his proposal, deserted 
 his tribunal, and endeavoured to find sup- 
 port at Bern, Paris, Vienna, and elsewhere, 
 Napoleon resolved to proceed against them 
 in default of appearance ; and declaring, that 
 as the Grisons had failed to appear before 
 him, or to comply with his injunctions, by 
 admitting the people of the Valteline to be 
 parties to their league, he therefore adjudg- 
 ed the state, or district, of the Valteline, in 
 time coming, to belong to and be pvt ef
 
 27« 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. IChap. XXVm. 
 
 the Cisalpine republic. The Grisons in 
 ▼ain humbled themselves when it was too 
 late, and protested their readiness to plead 
 before a mediator too powerful to be de- 
 clined under any ground known in law ; and 
 the Valteline territory was adjudged inalien- 
 ably annexed to, and united with Lombar- 
 Ay, of which, doubtless, it forms, from man- 
 ners and contiguity, a natural portion. 
 
 The existence of a state having free in- 
 stitutions, however imperfect, seemed to 
 vrork an almost instant amelioration on the 
 character of the people of the north of Ita- 
 ly. The effeminacy and trifling habits which 
 resigned all the period of youth to intrigue 
 and amusement, began to give place to firm- 
 -er and more manly vi^-tues — to the desire 
 of honourable minds to distinguish them- 
 selves in arts and arms. Buonaparte had 
 himself said, that twenty years would be 
 necessary to work a radical change on the 
 national character of the Italians ; but even 
 already those seeds were sown, among a 
 people hitherto frivolous because excluded 
 from public business, and timorous because 
 they were not permitted the use of arms, 
 -which afterwards made the Italians of the 
 north equal the French themselves in brav- 
 ing the terrors of war, besides producing 
 several civil characters of eminence. 
 
 Amid those subordinate discussions, as 
 they might be termed, in comparison to the 
 negotiations betwixt Austria and France, 
 these two high contracting parties found 
 great difficulty in agreeing as to the pacific 
 superstructure which they should build up- 
 on the foundation which had been laid by 
 tiie preliminaries exchanged at Leoben. 
 Nay, it seemed as if some of the principal 
 stipulations, which had been there agreed 
 upon as the corner-stones of their treaty, 
 were even already beginning to be un- 
 settled. 
 
 It will be remembered, that, in exchange 
 for the cession of Flanders, and of all the 
 countries on the left side of the Rhine, in- 
 cluding the strong city of Mayence, which 
 she was to yield up to France in perpetui- 
 ty, Austria stipulated an indemnification on 
 tome other frontier. The original project 
 bore, that the Lombardic Republic, sirce 
 termed the Cisalpine, should have all the 
 territories extending from Piedmont, east- 
 ward to the river Oglio. Those to the 
 eastward of that river were to be ceded to 
 Austria, as an equivalent for the cession of 
 Belgium, and the left bank of the Rhine. 
 The Oglio, rising in the Alps, descends 
 through the fertile districts of Brescia and 
 Cremasco, and falls into the Po near Borgo- 
 forte, inclosing Mantua on its left bank, 
 which strong fortress, the citadel of Italy, 
 was, by this .lUocation, to be restored to 
 Austria. There were farther compensations 
 assigned to the Emperor, by the prelimina- 
 ries of Leoben. Venice was to be depriv- 
 ed of her territories on the mainland, which 
 were to be confiscated to augment the in- 
 demnity destined for tlie empire ; and this, 
 although Venice, as far as Buonaparte yet 
 knew, had been faithful to the neutrality she 
 had adopted. To redeem this piece of in- 
 justice, another wMto be perpetrated. The 
 
 state of Venice was to receive the legation* 
 of Bologna, Ferrara, and Romagna, in lieil 
 of the dominions which she was to cede to 
 Austria; and these legations, it must not 
 be forgotten, were the principal materials 
 of the Transpadane Republic, founded by 
 Buonaparte himself. These, however, with 
 their population, which he had led to hop« 
 for a free popular government, he was now 
 about to turn over to the dominion of Ve- 
 nice, the most jealous oligarchy in the 
 world, which was not likely to forgive those 
 who had been forward in expressing a de- 
 sire of freedom. This was the first concoc- 
 tion of the treaty of Leoben, from which 
 it appears that the negotiators of the two 
 great powers regarded the secondary and 
 weaker states, whether ancient or of mod- 
 ern erection, merely as make-weights, to be 
 thrown into either scale, as might be neces- 
 sary to adjust the balance. 
 
 It is true the infant Cispadane Republic 
 escaped the fate to which its patron and 
 founder was about to resign it ; for, after 
 this arrangement bad been provisionally 
 adjusted, news came of the insurrection of 
 Venice, the attack upon the French through 
 her whole territory, and the massacre at 
 Verona. This aggression placed the an- 
 cient Republic, so far as France was con- 
 cerned, in the light of a hostile power, and 
 entitled Buonaparte to deal with her as a 
 conquered one, perhaps to divide, or alto- 
 gether to annihilate her. But on the other 
 hand, he had received their submission, rat- 
 ified the establishment of their new popu- 
 lar constitution, and possessed himself of 
 the city, under pretence of assigning it a 
 free government, according to the general 
 hope which he had held out to Italy at 
 large. The right of conquest was limited 
 by the terms on which surrender had been 
 accepted. Austria on the other hand, was 
 the more deeply bound to have protected 
 the ancient republic, for it was in her cause 
 that Venice so rashly assumed arms ; but 
 such is the gratitude of nations, such the 
 faith of politicians, that she appears from 
 the beginning, to have had no scruple in 
 profiting by the spoils of an ally, who had 
 received a death-wound in her cause. 
 
 By the time the negotiators met for final- 
 ly discussing the preliminaries, the Directo- 
 ry of France, either to thwart Buonaparte, 
 v/hose superiority became too visible, or 
 because tney actually entertained the fears 
 they expressed, were determined that Man- 
 tua, which had been taken with such diffi- 
 culty, should remain the bulwark of the 
 Cisalpine Republic, instead of returning to 
 be once more that of the Austrian territo- 
 ries in Italy. The Imperial plenipotentia- 
 ries insisted, on the other hand, that Man- 
 tua was absolutely necessary to the safety 
 of their Italian possessions, and became 
 more so from the peculiar character of 
 their new neighbour, the Cisalpine Repub- 
 lic, whose example was likely to be so per- 
 ilous to the adjacent dependencies of aa 
 ancient monarchy. To get over this diffi- 
 culty, the French general proposed that 
 the remaining dominions of Venice should 
 be also divided betwixt Austria and Frans*
 
 Chap. XXVIII] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 277 
 
 the latter obtaining possession of the Alba- 
 nian territories and the Ionian islands be- 
 longing to the republic, of which the high 
 contracting powers signed Ithe death-war- 
 rant ; while Istria, Dalmatia, \'enice her- 
 self, and all her other dominions, should 
 be appTopriated to Austria. The latter 
 power, through her minister, consented to 
 this arrangement with as little scruple, as 
 to the former appropriation of her forlorn 
 ally's possessions on the Terra Firma. 
 
 But as fast as obstacles were removed 
 on one side, they appeared to start up on 
 another, and a sort of pause ensued in the 
 deliberations, which neither party seemed 
 to wish to push to a close. In fact, both 
 Napoleon, plenipotentiary for France, and 
 Count Cobentzel, a man of great diplomat- 
 ic skill and address, who took the principal 
 manaigement on the part of Austria, were 
 sufficiently aware that the French govern- 
 ment, long disunited, was in the act of 
 approaching to a crisis. This accordingly 
 took place, under circumstances to be here- 
 after noticed, on 18th Fructidor, creating 
 by a new revolutionary movement, a total 
 change of administration. When this rev- 
 olution was accomplished, the Directory, 
 who accomplished it, feeling themselves 
 more strong, appeared to lay aside the idea 
 of peace, and showed a strong disposition 
 to push their advantages to the utmost. 
 
 Buonaparte was opposed to this. He 
 knew that if war was resumed, the difficul- 
 ties of the campaign would be thrown on 
 Lim, and the blame also, if the results were 
 not happy. He was determined, therefore, 
 in virtue of his full powers, to bring the 
 matter to a conclusion, whether the Direc- 
 tory would or not. For this purpose he 
 confronted Cobentzel, who still saw his 
 game in gaining delay, with the sternness 
 of a military envoy. On the 16th October, 
 the conferences were renewed upon the 
 former grounds, and Cobentzel went over 
 the whole subject of the indemnifications, 
 insisting that Mantua, and the line of the 
 Adige, should be granted to the Emperor, 
 threatening to bring down the Russians in 
 case the war should be renewed, and insin- 
 uating that Buonaparte sacrificed the desire 
 of peace to his military fame, and desired 
 a renewal of the war. Napoleon, with stern 
 but restrained indignation, took from a 
 bracket an ornamental piece of china, on 
 which Cobentzel set some value, as being a 
 present from the Empress Catharine. "The 
 truce,'' he said,'" is then ended, and war 
 declared. But beware — I will break your 
 empire into as many fragments as that pot- 
 sherd." He dashed the piece of china 
 against the hearth, and withdrew abruptly. 
 Again we are reminded of the .\rgantes of 
 Tasso.* 
 
 The Austrian plenipotentiarip.-: no long- 
 er hesitated to submit to all Napoleon's de- 
 mands, rather than again sec him com- 
 mence his tremendous career of irresistible 
 
 *8piegd quel crudo il «pno,e'l manto scoiise, 
 Ed a. guerta mortal, di33e, vi 9(ido , 
 E'l disse in atto si feroce ed empio 
 Om parve aprir di Giano il chiusolcmpio. 
 
 La OerusaltmjHC Lilim' ** - CaiUa II. 
 
 j invasion. The treaty of Campo Formio 
 I therefore was signed ; not the less prompt- 
 ' ly. perhaps, that the affairs at Paris appear- 
 ed so doubtful as to invite an ambitious and 
 aspiring man like Napoleon to approach the 
 scene where honours and power were dia- 
 tributed, and where jarring factions seemed 
 to await the influence of a character so dis- 
 tinguished and so determined. 
 
 The fate of Venice, more from her an- 
 cient history than either the vaiue of her 
 institutions, which were execrable, or the 
 importance of her late existence, still dwells 
 somewhat on the memory. The ancient 
 republic fell •' as a fool dieth." The aris- 
 tocrats cursed the selfishness of Austria, by 
 whom they were swallowed up, though 
 they had perilled themselves in her cause. 
 The republicans hastened to escape from 
 Austrian domination, grinding their teeth 
 with rage, and cursing no less the egotistic 
 policy of the French, who, making a con- 
 venient pretext of their interest, had pre- 
 tended to assign them a free constitution, 
 and then resigned them to become the vas- 
 sals of a despotic government. 
 
 The French secretary of legation, who 
 had played a remarkably active part during 
 the Revolution, hazarded a remonstrance to 
 Buonaparte on the surrender of Venice to 
 .\ustria, instead of its being formed into a 
 free democracy, or united with the Cis- 
 alpine republic. Buonaparte laughed to 
 scorn a man, whose views were still fixed 
 on diffusing and propagating the principles 
 of Jacobinism. " I have received your let- 
 ter," was the stern and contemptuous re- 
 ply, '•■ and cannot comprehend it. The Re- 
 public of France is not bound by any treaty, 
 to sacrifice its interests and advantages to 
 the Committee of Public Safety in Venice, 
 or to any other class of individuals. France 
 does not make war in behalf and for the 
 benefit of others.* I know it costs nothing 
 for a few chattering declaimers, whom I 
 might better describe as madmen, to talk 
 of an universal republic — I wish they would 
 tr}- a winter campaign. The Venetian Re- 
 public exists no longer. Effeminate, cor- 
 rupted, treacherous, and hypocritical, the 
 \'enetians are unfit for liberty. If she has 
 the spirit to appreciate, or courage to assert 
 it, the time is not unfavourable — let her 
 stand up for it.'' Thus, with insult added 
 to misery, and great contempt thrown by 
 Napoleon on the friends of liberty all over 
 the world, the fate of Venice was closed. 
 The most remarkable incident of the final 
 transfer to the Austrians was, that the aged 
 Doge Marini dropt down senseless as he 
 was about to take the oath of allegiance to 
 the Imperial commissioner, and died short- 
 ly after. 
 
 Napoleon Buonaparte had now finished 
 for the present his career of destiny in It- 
 
 * The language of inju.nice is alike in similar 
 instances. When Edward I., in the course of 
 over-running Scotland, was reminded of the claira» 
 of the candidate for the throne, in whose cause he 
 had pretended to take arms, he answered ia the 
 very wordg of Buonaparte, — " Have we nothinf 
 else to do but to conquer kiojfdonu for otber peo
 
 278 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chtq). XXIX. 
 
 aly, which country first saw his rising tal- 
 ents, and was always a subject of peculiar 
 interest to him. He took an affecting leave 
 of the soldiers, who could scarce hope ever 
 to see him replaced by a general of merits 
 BO transcendant, and made a moderate and 
 judicious address to the Cisalpine Repub- 
 lic. Finally, he departed, to return through 
 Switzerland to Rastadt, where a congress 
 was sitting for the settlement and pacifica- 
 tion of the German empire, and where he 
 was to act as a plenipotentiary on the part 
 of France. 
 
 On the journey he was observed to be 
 moody and deeply contemplative. The se- 
 paration -from a hundred thousand men 
 whom he might call his own, and the un- 
 
 certainty of the future destinies to which 
 he might be summoned, are enough to ac- 
 count for this, without supposing, as some 
 have done, that he already had distinctly 
 formed any of those projects of ambition 
 which Time opened to him. Doubtless, 
 however, his ardent ambition showed hira 
 remote and undefined visions of greatness. 
 He could not but be sensible that he re- 
 turned to the capital of P'rance in a situa- 
 tion which scarce admitted of any medioc- 
 rity. He must either be raised to a yet 
 more distinguished height, or altogether 
 broken down, levelled with the mass of 
 subjects, and consigned to comparative ob- 
 scurity. Thfere was no middle station for 
 the Conqueror and Liberator of Italy 
 
 CHAP. XXIZ. 
 
 Retrospect. — The Directory — they become unpopular. — Causes of their unpopularity — 
 Also at enmity among themselves. — State of public feeling in France — In point of 
 numbers, favourable to the Bourbons ; but the Army and monied Interest against them. 
 — Pichegru, head of the Royalists, appointed President of the Council of Five Hun- 
 dred. — Barbe Marbois, another Royalist, President of the Council of Ancients. — 
 Directory throw themselves upon the succour of Hoche and Buonaparte. — Buona- 
 parte' s personal Politics discussed. — Pichegru's Correspondence with the Bourbons — 
 Known to Buonaparte — He despatches Augereau to Paris. — Directory arrest their 
 principal Opponents in the Coimcils on the ISth Fructidor, and banish them to Guia- 
 na. — Narrow and impolitic Conduct of the Directory to Buonaparte. — Projected In- 
 vasion of England. 
 
 While the Conqueror of Italy was pursu- 
 ing his victories beyond the Alps, the 
 French Directory, in whose name he achiev- 
 ed them, had become, to the conviction of 
 all men, as unlikely to produce the benefits 
 of a settled government, as any of their 
 predecessors vested with the supreme rule. 
 It is with politics as with mechanics, in- 
 genuity is not always combined with utility, 
 borne one observed to the late celebrated 
 Mr. Watt, that it was wonderful for what a 
 number of useless inventions, illustrated by 
 the most ingenious and apparently satisfac- 
 tory models, patents were yearly issued ; 
 he replied, that he had often looked at them 
 with interest, and had found several, the 
 idea of which had occurred to himself in 
 the course of his early studies. " But," 
 said he, with his natural masculine sagaci- 
 ty, " it is one thing to make an ingenious 
 model, and another to contrive an engine 
 which shall work its task. Most of these 
 pretty toys, when they are applied to prac- 
 tical purposes, are found deficient in some 
 point of strength, or correctness of me- 
 chanism, which destroys all chance of their 
 ever becoming long or generally useful." 
 Some such imperfection seems to have at- 
 tended the works of those speculative po- 
 liticians who framed the various ephemeral 
 constitutions of France. However well 
 they looked upon paper, and however rea- 
 eonable they sounded to the ear, no one 
 ever thought of them as laws which requir- 
 ed veneration and obedience. Did a con- 
 stitutional rule preclude a favourite meas- 
 ure, to break it down, or leap over it, was 
 the French statesman's unhesitating prac- 
 l»ce. A ruje was always devised applicable 
 
 to circumstances ; and before that, the the- 
 ory of the constitution was uniformly made 
 to give way. 
 
 The constitution of the year Three was 
 not more permanent than those by which it 
 had been preceded. For some time, the 
 Directory, which contained men of consid- 
 erable talent, conducted themselves with 
 great prudence. The difficulty and danger 
 of their situation served to prevent their 
 separating, as the weight put above an arch 
 keeps the stones in their places. Their 
 exertions in the attempt to redeem the fi- 
 nances, support the war, and re-establish 
 the tranquillity of the country, were at- 
 tended at first with success. The national 
 factions also sunk before them for a season. 
 They had defeated the aristocratic citizens 
 of Paris on the 13th Venderaaire ; and when 
 the original revolutionists, or democrats, 
 attempted a conspiracy, under the conduct 
 of Gracchus Baboeuf, their endeavour to se- 
 duce the troops totally failed, and their 
 lives paid the forfeit of their rash attempt 
 to bring back the reign of Terror. Thus, 
 the Directory, or Executive power, under 
 the constitution of the year Three, were 
 for a season triumphant over the internal 
 factions, and, belonging to neither, were in 
 a situation to command both. 
 
 But they had few who were really, and 
 on principle, attached to their government, 
 and most endured it only as something bet- 
 ter than a new revolutionary movement, and 
 otherwise in no respect eligible. To have 
 rendered their authority permanent, the Di- 
 rectory must have had great unanimity in 
 their own body, and also brilliant success 
 abroad, and they enjoved neither one nor
 
 Chap. XXIX] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 279 
 
 the other. The very concoction of their 
 body included the principles of disunion. 
 They were a 3ort of five kings, retiring 
 from office by rotation, inhabiting each his 
 separate class of apartments in the Luxem- 
 bourg palace, having each his different es- 
 taDlishments, classes of clients, circles of 
 courtiers, flatterers, and instruments. The 
 republican simplicity, of late so essential 
 to a patriot, was laid aside entirely. New 
 costumes of the most splendid kind were 
 devised for the different office-bearers of 
 the state. This change took its rise from 
 the weakness and vanity of Barras, who 
 loved show, and used to go a-hunting with 
 all the formal attendance of a prince. But 
 it was an indulgence of luxury, which gave 
 scandal to both the great parties in the 
 state ; — the Pvepublicans, who held it alto- 
 gether in contempt; and the Royalists, who 
 considered it as an usurpation of the royal 
 dress and appendages. 
 
 The finances became continually more 
 and more a subject of uneasiness. In the 
 days of Terror money was easily raised, be- 
 cause it was demanded under pain of death, 
 and assignats were raised to par by guillo- 
 tining those who sold or bought them at less 
 than their full value ; but the powerful ar- 
 gument of violence and compulsion being 
 removed, the paper money fell into a ruin- 
 ous discount, till its depression threatened, 
 unless remedied, altogether to stop the 
 course of public business. It perhaps arose 
 from the difficulty of raising supplies, that 
 the Directory assumed towards other coun- 
 tries a greedy, grasping, and rapacious char- 
 acter, which threw disgrace at once upon 
 the individuals who indulged it, and the 
 state whom they represented. They load- 
 ed with exactions the trade of the Batavian 
 republic, whose freedom they had pretend- 
 ed to recognize, and treated with most 
 haughty superiority the ambassadors of 
 independent states. Some of these high 
 officers, and Barras in particular, were sup- 
 
 Eosed accessible to gross corruption, and 
 elieved to hold communication with those 
 agents and stock-brokers, who raised money 
 by jobbing in the public funds — a more de- 
 servedly unpopular accusation than which 
 can hardly be brought against a minister. 
 It was indeed a great error in the constitu- 
 tion, that though one hundred thousand li- 
 vres were yearly allowed to each Director 
 while in office, yet he had no subsequent 
 provision after he had retired from his frac- 
 tional share of sovereignty. This penury 
 on the part of the public, opened a way to 
 temptation, though of a kind to which mean 
 minds only are obnoxious; and such men 
 as Barras were tempted to make provision 
 for futurity, by availing themselves of pres- 
 ent opportunity. 
 
 Their five majesties (Sires) of the Luxem- 
 bourg, as people called them in ridicule, 
 had also their own individual partialities 
 and favourite objects, which led them in 
 turn to teaze the French people with un- 
 necessary legislation. I,a Reveillere-Le- 
 paux was that inconsistent yet not uncom- 
 mon character, an intolerant philosopher 
 ud an enthusiastic deist. He established a 
 
 priesthood, and hymns and ceremonies for 
 deism ; and, taking up the hopeful project 
 of substituting a deistical worship for tho 
 Christian faith, just where Robespierre had 
 laid it down, he harassed the nation with 
 laws to oblige them to observe the decades 
 of their new calendar as holidays, and to 
 work at their ordinary trades on the Chris- 
 tian Sabbath. At La Reveillere's theory 
 freethinkers laughed, and religious men 
 shuddered ; but all were equally annoyed 
 by the legislative measures adopted on a 
 subject so ridiculous as this new ritual of 
 heathenism. Another cause of vexation 
 was the philosophical arrangement of 
 weights and measures upon a new principle, 
 which had in the meantime the inconven- 
 ience of introducing doubt and uncertainty 
 into all the arrangements of internal com- 
 merce, and deranging entirely such as 
 France continued to hold with countries 
 who were only acquainted with the ordina- 
 ry standard. 
 
 It might have been thought that the 
 distinguished success of the French arms 
 under the auspices of the Directory would 
 have dazzled the eyes of the French, at- 
 tached as they have always been to mili- 
 tary glory, and blinded them to other less 
 agreeable measures of their government. 
 But the public were well aware, that the 
 most brilliant share of these laurels had 
 been reaped by Buonaparte on his own ac- 
 count ; that he had received but slender re- 
 inforcements from France (the magnitude 
 of his achievements considered) ; and that 
 in regard to the instructions of government, 
 much of his success was owing to his de- 
 parture from them, and following his own 
 course. It was also whispered, that he 
 was an object of suspicion to the Directors, 
 and on his part undervalued their talents, 
 and despised their persons. On the Rhine, 
 again, though nothing could have been 
 more distinguished than the behaviour of 
 the Republican armies, yet their successes 
 had been chequered with many reverses, 
 and, contrasted with the Italian campaigns, 
 lost their impression on the imagination. 
 
 While they were thus becoming unpopu- 
 lar in the public opinion, the Directory had 
 the great misfortune to be at enmity among 
 themselves. From the time that Letour- 
 neur retired from office in terms of the con- 
 stitution, and Barthelemy was elected in 
 his stead, there was a majority and an op- 
 position in the Directory, the former con- 
 sisting of Barras, Rewbel, and La Reveil- 
 lere — the latter, of Carnot and Barthelemy. 
 Of the two last, Carnot (who had been, it 
 may be remembered, a member of the 
 Committee of Public Safety under Robes- 
 pierre) was a determined Republican, and 
 Barthelemy a Royalist; — so strangely do 
 revolutionary changes, like the eddies and 
 currents of a swollen river, bring together 
 and sweep down side by side in the same 
 direction, objects the most different and 
 opposed. Barthelemy of course dissented 
 from the majority of the Directors, because 
 secretly and warmly he desired the restora- 
 tion of the Bourbons, an event which must 
 have been fraught with danger to hi*
 
 280 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 colleagues, all of whom had voted for the 
 death of Louis XVI. Carnot also differed 
 from the majority, certainly with no sucli 
 wiah or view ; but, his temper being as 
 overbearing as his genius was extensive, ho 
 was impatient of opposition, especially in 
 cases where he knew he was acting wisely. 
 He advised strongly, for example, the rati- 
 fication of the articles of Leoben, instead 
 of placing all which France had acquired, 
 and all which she might lose, on the last 
 fatal cast with an enemy, strong in his very 
 despair, and who might raise large armies, 
 while that of Buonaparte could neither be 
 reinforced nor supported in case of a re- 
 verse. Barras' anger on the occasion was 
 ■o great, that he told Carnot at the council- 
 board, it was to him they owed that infa- 
 mous treaty of Leoben. 
 
 While the Directory were thus disunited 
 «mong themselves, the nation showed their 
 dissatisfaction openly, and particularly in the 
 two bodies of representatives. The major- 
 ity indeed of the Council of Elders adhered 
 to the Directory, many of that body belong- 
 ing to the old republican partizans. But in 
 the more popularly composed Council of 
 Five Hundred, the opposition to the gov- 
 ernment possessed a great majority, all 
 of whom were decidedly against the Direc- 
 tory, and most of them impressed with the 
 wish of restoring, upon terms previously 
 to be adjusted, the ancient race of legiti- 
 mate monarchs. This body of persons so 
 thinking, was much increased by the num- 
 ber of emigrants, who obtained, on various 
 grounds, permission to return to their native 
 country after the fall of Robespierre. The 
 forms of civil life began now to be univer- 
 sally renewed ; and, as had been the case 
 in France at all times, excepting during the 
 bloody reign of Terror, women of rank, 
 beauty, talent, and accomplishments, began 
 again'to resume their places in society, and 
 their saloons or boudoirs were often the 
 scene of deep political discourse, of a sort 
 which in Britain is generally confined to 
 the cabinet, library, or dining-parlour. The 
 wishes of many, or most of these coteries, 
 were in favour of royalty ; the same feel- 
 ings were entertained by the many thou- 
 eands who saw no possible chance of set- 
 tling the nation on any other model ; and 
 there is little doubt, that had France been 
 permitted at that moment an uninfluenced 
 choice, the Bourbon family would have 
 been recalled to the throne by the great 
 majority of the French people. 
 
 But for reasons mentioned elsewhere, 
 the military were the decided opponents of 
 the Bourbons, and the purchasers of nation- 
 al domains, through every successive sale 
 which might have taken place, were deeply 
 interested against their restoration, IN um- 
 bers might be on the side of the Royalists ; 
 but physical force, and the influence of 
 wealth and of the monied interest, were 
 decidedly against them. 
 
 Pichegru might now be regarded as chief 
 of the Royal party. He was an able and 
 successful general, to whom France owed 
 the conquest of Holland. Like La Fayette 
 and Dumouricz, he had been disgusted 
 
 with the conduct of the R.evolution ; and 
 like the last of the two generals named, 
 had opened a communication with '(he 
 Bourbons. He was accused of having Buf- 
 fered his army to be betrayed in a defeat 
 by Clairfait, and the government, in 1796, 
 removed him from the command of the ar- 
 my of the Sambre and Meuse, offering him 
 in exchange the situation of ambassador to 
 Sweden. He declined this species of hon- 
 ourable exile, and, retiring to Franche 
 Compte, continued his correspondence 
 with the Imperial generals. The Royalists 
 expected much from the countenance of a 
 military man of a nar.ie so imposing ; but 
 we have seen more than once in the course 
 of tliese Memoirs, that a general without 
 an army is like a hilt without the blade 
 whixh it should wield and direct. 
 
 An opportunity, however, offered Piche- 
 gru the means of serving his party in a citil 
 capacity, and that a most important one. 
 The elections of May 1797, made to re- 
 place that proportion of the councils which 
 retired by r Hation, terminated generally in 
 favour of the Royalists, and served plainly 
 to show on which side the balance of pop- 
 ular feeling now leaned. Pichegru, who 
 had been returned as one of the deputies, 
 was chosen by acclamation President of the 
 Council of Five Hundred, and Barbe Mar- 
 bois, another Royalist, was elected to the 
 same oflice by the Council of Ancients, 
 while, as we have already said, Barthele- 
 my, likewise friendly to monarchy, was in- 
 troduced into tlie Directory. 
 
 These elections were evil signs for the 
 Directory, who did not tail soon to be at- 
 tacked on every side, and upbraided with 
 the continuance of the war and the finan- 
 cial distresses. Various journals were at 
 the disposal of the party opposed to the 
 majority of the Directors, and hostilities 
 were commenced between the parties, 
 both in the assemblies, where the Royalista 
 had the advantage, and in the public papers, 
 where they were also favourably listened 
 to. The French are of an impatient tem- 
 per, and could not be long brought to carry 
 on their warfare within the limits assigned 
 by the constitution. Each party, without 
 much regard to the state of the law, looked 
 about for the means of physical force with 
 which they might arm themselves. The 
 Directory, (that is, the majority of that 
 body,) sensible of their unpopularity, and 
 the predominance of the opposite party, 
 which seemed for a time to have succeed- 
 ed to the boldness and audacity of the Rev- 
 olutionary class, hiid, in their agony of ex- 
 tremity, recourse to the army, and threw 
 themselves upon the succour of Hoche and 
 of Buonaparte. 
 
 We have elsewhere said, that Buonaparte 
 at this period was esteemed a steady re- 
 publican. Pichegru believed him to be 
 such when he dissuaded the Royalists from 
 any .attempt to gain over the General of Ita- 
 ly ; and as he had known him at school at 
 Brienne, declared him of too stubborn a 
 character to afford the least hope of suc- 
 cess. Augereau w.as of the same opinion, 
 and mistook his man so much, that when
 
 Cnap. XXIX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 281 
 
 Madame de Stael asked whether Buona- 
 parte was not inclined to make himself 
 King of Lombard}', he replied with great 
 Fimplicity, " that he was a young man of 
 too elevated a character.'' Perhaps Buon- 
 aparte himself felt the same for a moment, 
 when, in a despatch to the Directory, he 
 requests their leave to withdraw from the 
 active service of the Republic, as one who 
 had acquired more glory than was consist- 
 ent with happiness. " Calumny/' he said, 
 " may torment herself in vain with ascrib- 
 ing to me treacherous designs. My civil, 
 like my military career, shall be conform- 
 ing to republican principles."* 
 
 The public papers also, those we mean 
 on the side of the Directory, fell into a 
 sort of rapture on the classical republican 
 feelings by which Buonaparte was actuated, 
 which they said rendered the hope of his 
 return a pleasure pure and unmixed, and 
 precluded the possibility of treachery or en- 
 grossing ideas on his side. "The Ibctious 
 of every class," they said, " cannot have an 
 enemy more steady, or the government a 
 friend more faithful, than he who, invested 
 with the military power of which he has 
 made so glorious a use, sighs only to resign 
 a situation so brilliant, prefers happiness to 
 glory, and now that the Republic is graced 
 with triumph and peace, desires for himself 
 only a simple and retired life." 
 
 But though such were the ideas then en- 
 tertained of Buonaparte's truly republican 
 character, framed, doubtless, on the model 
 of Cincinnatus in his classical simplicity, 
 we may be permitted to look a little closer 
 into the ultimate views of him, who was 
 admitted by his enemies and friends, avouch- 
 ed by himself, and sanctioned by the jour- 
 nals, as a pure and disinterested republican ; 
 and we think the following changes may be 
 traced. 
 
 Whether Buonaparte was ever at heart a 
 real Jacobin even for the moment, may be 
 greatly doubted, whatever mask his situa- 
 tion obliged him to wear. He himself al- 
 ways repelled the charge as an aspersion. 
 His engagement in the affair of the Sections 
 probably determined his opinions as Re- 
 publican, or rather Thermidorien, at the 
 time, as became him by whom the Repub- 
 lican armyliad been led and commanded 
 on that day. Besides, at the head of an 
 army zealously republican, even his power 
 over their minds required to be strengtiien- 
 ed, for some time at least, by an apparent 
 correspondence in political sentiments be- 
 twixt the troops and the general. But in 
 the practical doctrines of government which 
 he recommended to the Italian Republics, 
 his ideas were studiously moderate, and he 
 expressed the strongest fear of, and aver- 
 eion to, revolutionary doctrines. He rec- 
 ommended the granting equal rights and 
 equal privileges to the nobles, as well as to 
 the indignant vassals and plebeians who 
 had risen against them. In a word, he ad- 
 Tocated a free set of institutions, without 
 the intermediate purgatory of a revolution. 
 
 * Moniteur 1797, No. 224. 
 
 He was therefore, at this period, far from 
 being a Jacobin. 
 
 But though Buonaparte's wishes virere 
 thus wisely moderated by practical views 
 he was not the less likely to be sensible 
 that he was the object of fear, of hatred, 
 and of course of satire and misrepresenta- 
 tion, to that side of the opposed parties in 
 FraJice which favoured royalty. Unhappily 
 for himself, he was peculiarly accessible to 
 every wound of this nature, and, anxiously 
 jealous of his fame, suffered as much under 
 the puny attacks of the journalists, as a no- 
 ble steer or a gallant horse does amid his 
 rich pasture, under the persecutions of in- 
 sects, which, in comparison to himself, are 
 not only impotent, but nearly invisible. In 
 several letters to the Directory, he exhibits 
 feelings of this nature which would have 
 been more gracefully concealed, and evinc- 
 es an irritability against the opposition 
 prints, which we think likely to have in- 
 creased the zeal with which he came for- 
 v.ard on the Republican side at this impor- 
 tant crisis. 
 
 .\nother circumstance, which, without 
 determining Buonaparte's conduct, may 
 have operated in increasing his good will 
 to the cause which he embraced, was his 
 having obtained the clew of Pichegru'a 
 correspondence with the House of Bourbon. 
 To have concealed this, would have made 
 but a second-rate merit with the exiled fam- 
 ily, whose first thanks must have been due 
 to the partisan whom he protected. This 
 was no part for Buonaparte to play ; not 
 that we have a right to say he would have 
 accepted the chief character had it been 
 offered to him, but his ambition could never 
 have stooped to any inferior place in the 
 drama. In all probability, his ideas fluc- 
 tuated betwixt the example of Cromwell 
 and of Washington — to be the actual lib- 
 erator, or the absolute governor of his 
 country. 
 
 His particular information respecting 
 Pichegru's secret negotiations, was derived 
 from an incident at the capture of Venice. 
 
 Wlien the degenerate Venetians, more 
 under the impulse of vague terror thaa 
 from any distinct plan, adopted in haste and 
 tumult the measure of totally surrendering 
 their constitution and rights, to be new- 
 modelled by the French general after his 
 pleasure, they were guilty of a gross and 
 aggravated breach of hospitality, in seizing 
 the person and papers of the Corapte d'En- 
 traigues,* agent, or envoy, of the exiled 
 
 * Tills gentleman was one of the second eraigr& 
 tion, who left France during Robespierre's ascen- 
 dency, lie was employed as a political agent by 
 the Court of Russia, after the affair of Venice, 
 which proves that he was not at least convicted of 
 treachery to the Bourbon princes. In July 1812, 
 he was assassinated at his villa at Hackney, near 
 London, by an Italian domestic, who, having nnir- 
 dered both the Count and Countess, shot himself 
 through the head, leaving no clew to discover the 
 motive of his villainy. It was remarked that tb» 
 villain used Count d'Entraigues' own pistols and 
 dagger, which, apprehensive of danger as a polit- 
 ical intriguer, he had always ready prepared ia 
 his apartment.
 
 282 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 Bourbons, who was then residing under 
 their protection. The envoy himself, as 
 Buonaparte alleges, was not peculiarly 
 faithful to his trust ; but, besides his infor- 
 mation, his portfolio contained many proofs 
 of Pichegru's correspondence with the al- 
 lied generals, and with the Bourbons, which 
 placed his secret absolutely in the power of 
 the General of Italy, and might help to con- 
 firm the line of conduct which he had al- 
 ready meditated to adopt. 
 
 Possessed of these documents, and sure 
 that, in addressing a French army of the 
 day, he would swim with the tide if he es- 
 poused the side of republicanism, Buona- 
 parte harangued his troops on the auiniver- 
 sary of the taking of the Bastile, in a man- 
 ner calculated to awaken their ancient dem- 
 ocratic enthusiasm. " Soldiers, this is the 
 14th July ! You see before you the names 
 of your companions in arms, dead in the 
 field of honour for the liberty of their coun- 
 try. They have set you an example, that 
 vou owe your lives to thirty millions of 
 t"renchmen, and to the national name, which 
 has received new splendour from your vic- 
 tories. Soldiers, I am aware you are deep- 
 ly affected by the dangers which threaten 
 the country. But she can be subjected to 
 none which are real. The same men who 
 made France triumph over united Europe, 
 still live — Mountains separate us from 
 France, but you would traverse them with 
 the speed of eagles, were it necessary, to 
 maintain the constitution, defend liberty, 
 protect the government and the Republi- 
 cans. Soldiers, the government watches 
 over the laws as a sacred deposit committed 
 to them. The Royalists shall no longer 
 show themselves but what they shall cease 
 to exist. Be without uneasiness, and let us 
 swear by the manes of those heroes who 
 have died by our sides for liberty — let us 
 swear, too, on our standards — War to the 
 enemies of the Republic, and of the Con- 
 stitution of the year Three \" 
 
 It is needless to remark, that, under the 
 British constitution, or any other existing 
 on fixed principles, the haranguing an arm- 
 ed body of soldiers, with the purpose of 
 inducing them to interfere by force in 
 any constitutional question, would be in 
 one point of view mutiny, in another high 
 treason. 
 
 The hint so distinctly given by the gen- 
 eral, was immediately adopted by the 
 troops. Deep called to deep, and each di- 
 vision of the army, whatever its denomina- 
 tion, poured forth its menaces of military 
 lorce and compulsion against the opposition 
 party in the Councils, who held opinions 
 different from those of their military chief, 
 but which they had, at least hitherto, only 
 expressed and supported by those means of 
 resistance which the constitution placed in 
 their power. In other words, the soldiers' 
 idea of a republic was, that the sword was 
 to decide the constitutional debates, which 
 give so much trouble to ministers in a mix- 
 ed or settled government. The Pretorian 
 bands, the Strelitzes, the Janissaries, have 
 all in their turn entertained this primitive 
 and simple idea of reforming abuses in a 
 
 state, and changing, by the application of 
 military force, an unpopular dynasty, or an 
 obnoxious ministry. 
 
 It was not by distant menaces alone that 
 Buonaparte served the Directory at this 
 imoortant crisis. He despatched Augereau 
 to I'aris, ostensibly for the purpose of pre- 
 senting the standards taken at Mantua, but 
 in reality to command the armed force 
 which the majority of the Directory had 
 determined to employ against their aissen- 
 tient colleagues, and the opponents of their 
 measures in the national councils. Auge- 
 reau was a blunt, bold, stupid soldier, a de- 
 voted Jacobin, whose principles were suffi- 
 ciently well known to warrant his standing 
 upon no constitutional delicacies. But in 
 case the Directory failed, Buonaparte kept 
 himself in readiness to march instantly to 
 Lyons at the head of fifteen thousand men. 
 There rallying the Republicans, and all who 
 were attached to the Revolution, he would, 
 according to his own well-chosen expres- 
 sion, like Caesar, have crossed the Rubicon 
 at the head of the popular pau-ty — and end- 
 ed, doubtless, like Cssar, by himself usurp- 
 ing the supreme command, which he pre- 
 tended to assert in behalf of the people. 
 
 But Buonaparte's presence was not so 
 essentially necessary to the support of the 
 Directory as he might have expected, or aa 
 he perhaps hoped. They had military aid 
 nearer at hand. Disregarding a fundamen- 
 tal law of the Constitution, which declared 
 that armed troops should not be brought 
 within a certain distance of the Legislative 
 Bodies, they moved towards Paris a part of 
 GeneraJ Hoche's army. The majority of 
 the Councils becoming alarmed, prepared 
 means of defence by summoning the Na- 
 tional Guards to arms. But Augereau al- 
 lowed them no time. He marched to their 
 place of meeting, at the head of a consider- 
 able armed force. The guards stationed 
 for their protection, surprised or faithless, 
 offered no resistance ; and, proceeding as 
 men possessed of the superior strength, 
 the Directory treated their political oppo- 
 nents as state prisoners, arrested Barthele- 
 my (Carnot having fled to Geneva,) and 
 made prisoners, in the Hall of the Assem- 
 bly and elsewhere, Willot, President of the 
 Council of Ancients, Pichegru, President 
 of that of the Five Hundred, and above one 
 hundred and fifty deputies, journalists, and 
 other public characters. As an excuse for 
 these arbitrary and illegal proceedings, the 
 Directory made public the intercepted cor- 
 respondence of Pichegru ; although few of 
 the others involved in the same accusation 
 were in the secret of the Royalist conspira- 
 cy. Indeed, though all who desired an ab- 
 solute repose from the revolutionarj' alter- 
 cations which tore the country to pieces, 
 began to look that way, he must have been 
 a violent partisan of royalty indeed, that 
 could have approved of the conduct of a 
 general, who, like Pichegru, commanding 
 an army, had made it his business to sacri- 
 fice his troops to the sword of the enemy, 
 by disappointing and deranging those plans 
 which it was his duty to have carried into
 
 Chap. XXIX] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 283 
 
 Few would at first believe Pichegru's 
 breach of faitli ; but it was suddenly con- 
 firmed by a proclamation of Moreau, who, 
 in the course of the war, had intercepted 
 a baggage wagon belonging to the Austrian 
 general Klinglin, and became possessed of 
 the whole secret correspondence, which, 
 nevertheless, he had never mentioned, un- 
 til it came out by the seizure of the Compte 
 D'Entraigues' portfolio. Then, indeed, 
 tearing perhaps the consequences of hav- 
 ing been so long silent, Moreau published 
 ■what he knew. Regnier had observed the 
 same suspicious silence ; which seems to 
 infer, that if these generals did not precise- 
 ly favour the royal cause, they were not 
 disposed to be active in detecting the con- 
 spiracies formed in its behalf. 
 
 The Directory made a tyrannical use of 
 the power which they obtained by their vic- 
 tory of the 18th Fructidor, as this epoch 
 was called. They spilt, indeed, no blood, 
 but otherwise their measures against the 
 defeated party were of the most illegal and 
 oppressive character. A law, passed in 
 the heat of animosity, condemned two di- 
 rectors, fifty deputies, and an hundred and 
 forty-eight individuals of different classes 
 (most of whom were persons of some char- 
 acter and influence,) to be transported to 
 the scorching and unhealthy deserts of 
 Guiana, which, to many, was a sentence of 
 lingering but certain death. They were 
 barbarously treated, both on the passage to 
 that dreadful place, and after they arrived 
 there. It was a singular part of their fate, 
 that they found several of the fiercest of 
 their ancient enemies, the Jacobins, still 
 cursing God and defying man, in the same 
 land of wretchedness and exile. 
 
 Besides these severities, various elec- 
 tions were arbitrarily dissolved, and other 
 strong measures of public safety, as they 
 •were called, adopted, to render the power 
 of the Directory more indisputable. Dur- 
 ing this whole revolution, the lower por- 
 tion of the population, which used to be so 
 much agitated upon like occasions, remain- 
 ed perfectly quiet ; the struggle lay exclu- 
 sively between the middle classes, who in- 
 clined to a government on the basis of roy- 
 alty, and the Directory, who, without hav- 
 ing any very tangible class of political prin- 
 ciples, had become possessed of the su- 
 preme power, desired to retain it, and made 
 their point good by the assistance of the 
 military. 
 
 Buonaparte was much disappointed at 
 the result of the 18th Fructidor, chiefly be- 
 cause, if less decisive, it would have added ! 
 more to his consequence, and have given 
 him an opportunity of crossing, as he term- 
 ed it, the Rubicon. As it was, the majority 
 of the Directors, — three men of no particu- 
 lar talent, undistinguished alike bv birth, 
 by services to their country, or even bv ac- 
 cidental popularity, and cait, as it were by 
 chance, upon supreme power. — remained 
 by the issue of the struggle still the mas- 
 ters of the bold and ambitious conqueror, 
 who probably already felt his own vocation 
 to be for command rather than obedience. 
 
 Napoleon appears by his .Memoirs to have 
 
 regretted the violence with which the vic- 
 torious Directors prosecuted their personal 
 revenge, which involved many for whom 
 he had respect. He declares his own idea 
 of punishment would have gone no farther 
 than imprisoning some of the most danger- 
 ous conspirators, and placing others onder 
 the watchful superintendence of the police. 
 He must have taken some painful interest 
 in the fate of Carnot in particular, whom he 
 seems to have regarded as one of his most 
 effective patrons." Indeed, it is said that 
 he was so much displeased with the Direc- 
 tory even prior to the 18th Fructidor, that 
 he refused to remit a sum of money with 
 which he had promised to aid them for the 
 purpose of forwarding that event. Barras' 
 secretary was sent to task him with this 
 contumacy; which he did so unceremoni- 
 ously, that the general, unused to contra- 
 diction, was about to order this agent to be 
 shot ; but, on consideration, put him off 
 with some insignificant reply. 
 
 It followed, from the doubtful terms ou 
 which Buonaparte stood with the Directo- 
 ry, that they must have viewed his return 
 to Paris with some apprehension, when 
 they considered the impression likely to be 
 made on any capital, but especially on that 
 of Paris, by the appearance there of odc 
 who seemed to be the chosen favourite of 
 Fortune, and to deserve her favours by the 
 use which he made of them. The medi- 
 ocrity of such men as Barras never gives 
 them so much embarrassment, as when, be- 
 ing raised to an elevation above their desert, 
 they find themselves placed in comparison 
 with one to whom nature has given the tal- 
 ents which their situation requires in them- 
 selves. The higher their condition, their 
 demeanour is the more awkward ; for the 
 factitious advantages which they possess 
 cannot raise them to the natural dignity of 
 character, unless in the sense in which a 
 dwarf, by the assistance of crutches, may 
 be said to be as tall as a giant. The Di- 
 rectory had already found Buonaparte, on 
 several occasions, a spirit of the sort which 
 would not be commanded. Undoubtedly 
 they would have been well pleased had it 
 been possible to have found him employ- 
 ment at a distance ; but as that seemed dif- 
 ficult, they were obliged to look round for 
 the means of employing him at home, or 
 abide the tremendous risk of his finding oc- 
 cupation for himself. 
 
 It is surprising that it did not occur to 
 the Directory to make at least the attempt 
 of conciliating Buonaparte, by providing 
 for his future fortune largely and liberally, 
 at the espence of the public. He deserv- 
 ed that attention to his private affairs, for 
 he had himself entirely neglected them. 
 While he drew from the dominions which 
 he conquered or overawed in Italy, im- 
 mense sums in behalf of the French na- 
 
 *In Carnot's Memoirs, the merit of discovering 
 Buonaparte's talents and taking care of his promo- 
 tion, is attributed to Carnot, rather than to Bar- 
 ras. However this may be, it is certain that Na- 
 poleon acknowledged great obligations to Carnot, 
 and protested to him perpetual gratitude. — See 
 Moniteur, I'an 5, No. 140.
 
 384 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 tion, which he applied in part to the sup- 
 port of the army, and in part remitted to 
 the Directory, he kept no accounts, nor 
 vere any demanded of him ; but accord- 
 ing to his own account, he transmitted fifty 
 millions of francs to Paris, and had not re- 
 maining of his own funds, when he return- 
 ed from Italy, more than three hundred 
 thousand. 
 
 It is no doubt true, that, to raise these 
 sums, Buonaparte had pillaged the old 
 states, thus selling to tlie newly-formed 
 commonwealths their liberty and equality 
 at a very handsome rate and probably 
 leaving them in very little danger of cor- 
 ruption from that wealth which is said to 
 be the bane of republican virtue. But on 
 the other hand, it must be acknowledged, 
 that if the French general plundered the 
 Italians as Cortez did the Mexicans, he did 
 not reserve any considerable share of tbfe 
 spoil Tor his own use, though the opportu- 
 nity was often in his power. 
 
 The commissary Salicetti, his country- 
 man, recommeaded a less scrupulous line 
 of conduct. Soon after the first successes 
 in Italy, he acquainted Napoleon that the 
 Chevalier d'Este, the Duke of Modena's 
 brother and envoy, had four millions of 
 francs, in gold, contained in four chests, 
 prepared for his acceptance. " The Direc- 
 tory and the Legislative Bodies will nev- 
 er," he said, " acknowledge your services — 
 your circumstances require the money, and 
 the Duke will gain a protector." 
 
 " I thank you," said Buonaparte ; " but I 
 will not for four millions place myself in 
 the power of the Duke of Modena." 
 
 The Venetians, in the last agony of their 
 terrors, offered the French general a pres- 
 ent of seven millions, which was refused 
 ia the same manner. Austria also had 
 mtde her proffers ; and they were nothing 
 less than a principality in the empire, to 
 bo established in Napoleon's favour, consist- 
 ing of two hundred and fifty thousand in- 
 habitants at least, a provision which would 
 have put him out of danger of suffering by 
 the proverbial ingratitude of a republic. 
 TTic general transmitted his thanks to the 
 Emperor for this proof of the interest which 
 he took in his fortune, but added, he could 
 accept of no wealth or preferment which 
 did not proceed from the French people, 
 and that he should be always satisfied with 
 the amount of revenue which they might 
 be disposed to afford him. 
 
 But, howe-ver free from the wish to ob- 
 tain wealth by any indirect means. Napole- 
 on appears to have expected, that in return 
 for public services of such unusual magni- 
 tude, some provision ought to have been 
 made for him. An attempt was made to 
 procure a public grant of the domain of 
 Chambord and a lar e hotel in Paris as an 
 
 acknowledgment of the national gratitude 
 for his brilliant successes 3 but the Directo- 
 ry thwarted the proposal. 
 
 The proposition respecting Chambord 
 was not the only one of the kind. Mali 
 bran, a member of the Council of Fire 
 Hundred, made a motion that Buonaparte 
 should be endowed with a revenue at the 
 public charge, of fifty thousand livres annu- 
 ally, with a reversion to his wife of one half 
 of that sum. It may be supposed that this 
 motion had not been sufficiently consider 
 ed and preconcerted, since it was very in- 
 differently received, and was evaded by the 
 swaggering declaration of a member, that 
 such glorious deeds could not be rewarded 
 by gold. So that the Assembly adopted 
 the reasonable principle, that because the 
 debt of gratitude was too great to be paid 
 in money, therefore he to whom it was due 
 was to be suffered to remain in compara- 
 tive indigence — an economical mode of 
 calculation, and not unlike that high-sound- 
 ing doctrine of the civil law, which states, 
 that a free man being seized on, and forci- 
 bly sold for a slave, shall obtain ao dama- 
 ges on that account, because the liberty of 
 a citizen is too transcendently valuable to 
 be put to estimation. 
 
 Whatever might be the motives of the 
 Directory ; whether they hoped that pover- 
 ty might depress Buonaparte's ambition, 
 render him more dependant on the govern- 
 ment, and oblige him to remain in a pri- 
 vate condition for want of means to put 
 himself at the head of a party ; or whether 
 they acted with the indistinct and confused 
 motives of little minds, who wish to injure 
 those whom they fear, their conduct was 
 alike ungracious and impolitic. They ought 
 to have calculated, that a generous mind 
 would have been attached by benefits, and 
 that a selfish one might have been deterred 
 from more doubtful and ambitious projects, 
 by a prospect of sure and direct advantage ; 
 but that marked ill-will and distrust must 
 in every case render him dangerous, who 
 has the power to be so. 
 
 Their plan, instead of resting on an at- 
 tempt to conciliate the ambitious conquer- 
 or, and soothe him to the repose of a tran- 
 quil indulgence of independence and ease, 
 seems to have been that of devising for 
 him new labours, like the wife of Eurys- 
 theus for the juvenile Hercules. If he 
 succeeded, they may have privately count- 
 ed upon securing the advantages for them- 
 selves ; if he failed, they were rid of a 
 troublesome rival in the race of power and 
 popularity. It was with these views that 
 they proposed to Napoleon to crown his 
 military glories, by assuming the command 
 of the preparations made for the conquest 
 of England.
 
 Chap. XXX.\ 
 
 LIFE OF iSTAPOLEON BUOXAPARTE, 
 
 285 
 
 CHAP. ZZX. 
 
 View of the respective Situations of Great Britain and France, at the Period of Napo- 
 leon's return from Italy. — Negotiations at Lisle — Broken off, and Lord Malmesbury 
 ordered to quit the Republic. — Army of England decreed, and Buonaparte named to the 
 Command — He takes tip his Residence in Paris — Description of hii personal Charac- 
 ter and Manners. — Madame de Stael. — Public Honours paid to Napoleon. — Project of 
 Invasion terminated, and the real views of the Directory discovered to be the Expedi- 
 tion to Egypt. — Armies of Italy and the Rhiiic compared and contrasted. — Napoleon'a 
 Views and Notions in heading the Egyptian Expedition — those of the Directory re- 
 garding it — Its actual Impolicy. — Curious Statement regarding Buonaparte, previous 
 to his Departure, given by Miot. — The Armament sails from Toxdon, on With May 
 1798. — Napoleon occupies Malta, without resistarice, on \Oih June — Proceeds on hi* 
 course, and, escaping the British Squadron, lands at Alexandria on the 1st Jidy. — 
 Description of the various (lasses of Nations tcho inhabit Egypt: — 1. The Fellah* 
 and Bedouins — 2. The Cophts — 3. The Mamelukes. — Napoleon issues a. Proclama- 
 tion from Alexandria, against the Mamelukes — Marches against them on the 1th July. 
 — Mameluke mode of fighting. — Discontent and disappointment of the French Troop* 
 and their Commanders — Arrive at Cairo. — Battle of the Pyramids on the "IstofJuly, 
 in which the Mamelukes icere completely defeated and dispersed. — Cairo surrender*. 
 
 It might have been thought, such was the 
 success of the French arms on the land, and 
 of the British upon the sea, that the war 
 must now be near its natural and unavoida- 
 ble termination, like a lire when there no 
 longer remain any combustibles to be de- 
 voured. Wherever water could bear them, 
 tlie Britisli vessels of war had swept the 
 e^iM of the enemy. The greater part of the 
 foriML,'!) colonies belonging to France and 
 her allies, among whom she now numbered 
 Holland and Spain, were in the possession 
 of the English, nor had France a chance 
 of recovering them. On the contrary, not 
 a musket was seen pointed against France 
 on the continent ; so that it seemed as if 
 tlie great rival nations, fighting with differ- 
 ent weapons and on different elements, 
 must be length give up a contest, in which 
 it was almost impossible to come to a deci- 
 ifive struggle. , 
 
 An attempt accordingly was made, by the 
 negotiation of Lisle, to bring to a period 
 the war which appeared now to subsist en- 
 tirely without an object. Lord Malmesbu- 
 ry, on tliat occasion, gave in, on the part of 
 Britain, an offer to surrender all the con- 
 quests she had made from France and her 
 allies ; on condition of the cession of Trin- 
 idad, on the part of Spain, and of the Cape 
 of Good Hope, Cochin, and Ceylon, on the 
 
 ?iarl of Holland, with some stipulations in 
 avnur of the prince of Orange, ami his ad- 
 herents in the IVetlierlands. The French 
 commissioners, m reply, declared, that 
 their instructions required that the English 
 should make a complete ecssinn of their 
 conquests, without any equivalent whatso- 
 ever ; and they insisted, as indispensable 
 preliminaries, that the King of Great Brit- 
 ain should lay aside his titular designation 
 of King uf France — that the Toulon fleet 
 should be restored — and that the English 
 »hould renounce their right to certain mort- 
 gages over the Netherlands, for money lent 
 to the Emperor. Lord Malmesbury, of 
 course, rejected a sweeping set of proposi- 
 tions, which decided every question against 
 England before the negotiation commenc- 
 ed, and solicited the French to offer some 
 
 modified form of treaty. The 18th Fructi- 
 dor, however, had in the interim taken 
 place, and the Republican party, being in 
 possession of complete authority, broke off 
 the negotiation, if it could be called sucn, 
 abruptly, and ordered the English ambassa- 
 dor out of the dominions of the Republic 
 with very little ceremony. It was now 
 proclaimed generally, that the e.xistence of 
 the English Carthage in the neighbourhood 
 of the French Rome was altogether inad- 
 missible ; that England must be subdued 
 once more, as in the times of William the 
 Conqueror ; and the hopes of a complete 
 and final victory over their natural rival and 
 enemy, as the two nations are but overapt 
 to esteem each other, presented so flatter- 
 ing a prospect, that there was scarce a par- 
 ty in France, not even amongst the Royal- 
 ists, which did not enter on what was ex- 
 pected to prove the decisive contest, with 
 the revival of all those feelings of bitter an- 
 imosity that had distinguished past ages. 
 
 Towards the end of October 1797, the 
 Directory announced that there should be 
 instantly assembled on the shores of the 
 ocean an army, to be called the Army of 
 England, and that the Citizen-General 
 Buonaparte was named to the command. 
 The intelligence was received in every 
 part of I'rance with all the triumph whicn 
 attends the anticipation of certain victory. 
 ' The address of the Directory numbered all 
 the conquests which France had won, and 
 the efforts she had made, and prepared the 
 French nation to expect the fruit of so ma- 
 ny victories and sacrifices when they had 
 punished England for her perfidy and mar- 
 itime tyranny. •' It is at London where ths 
 misfortunes of all Europe are forged and 
 [ manufactured — It is in London that they 
 I must be terminated.' In a solemn meeting 
 ' held by the Directory, for the purpose of 
 : receiving the treaty of peace with Austria, 
 ! which was presented to them by Berthier 
 and Monge on the part of Buonaparte, the 
 I latter who had been one of the commit 
 I sioners for pillaging Italy of her pictures 
 I and statues, and who looked, doubtless, to 
 ' » new harvest of rarities in England, •••
 
 286 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXX. 
 
 cepted, on the part of the army and gener- 
 al, the task imposed by the French rulers. 
 " The government of England and the 
 French Republic cannot both continue to 
 exist — you have given the word which shall 
 fall — already our victorious troops brandish 
 their arms, and Scipio is at their head." 
 
 While this farce, for such it proved, was 
 acting in Paris, the Chief of the intended 
 enterprise arrived there, and took up his 
 abode in the same modest house which he 
 had occupied before becoming the conquer- 
 or of palaces. The community of Paris, 
 with much elegance, paid their successful 
 general the compliment of changing the 
 name of the street from Rue Chantereine 
 to Rue des Victoires. 
 
 In a metropolis where all is welcome that 
 can vary the tedium of ordinary life, the ar- 
 rival of any remarkable person is a species 
 of holiday ; but such an eminent character 
 as Buonaparte — the conqueror — the sage — 
 the politician — the undaunted braver of ev- 
 ery difficulty — the invincible victor in every 
 battle — who had carried the banners of the 
 Republic from Genoa till their approach 
 scared the Pontiff in Rome, and the Empe- 
 ror in Vienna, was no every-day wonder. 
 His youth, too, added to the marvel, and 
 still more the claim of general superiority 
 over the society in which he mingled, 
 though consisting of the most distinguished 
 persons in France ; a superiority cloaking 
 itself with a species of reserve, which in- 
 ferred, " You may look upou me, but you 
 cannot penetrate or see through me." Na- 
 poleon's general manner in society, during 
 this part of his life, has been described by 
 an observer of first-rate power ; according 
 to whom he was one for whom the admira- 
 tion which could not be refused to him, was 
 always mingled with a portion of fear. He 
 was different in his manner from other men 
 and neither pleased nor angry, kind nor se- 
 vere, after the common fashion of humanity. 
 He appeared to live for the execution of 
 his own plans, and to consider others only 
 in so far as they were connected with, and 
 could advance or oppose them. He esti- 
 mated his fellow-mortals no otherwise than 
 as they could be useful to his views ; and 
 with a precision of intelligence which 
 neemed intuitive from its rapidity, he pen- 
 etrated the sentiments of those whom it was 
 worth his while to study. Buonaparte did 
 not then possess the ordinary tone of light 
 conversation in society 5 probably his mind 
 was too much burthened or too proud to 
 stoop to adopt that mode of pleasing, and 
 there was a stiffness and reserve of manner, 
 which was perhaps adopted for the purpose 
 of keeping people at a distance. His look 
 had the same character. When he thought 
 himself closely observed, he had the power 
 of discharging from his countenance all ex- 
 pression save that of a vague and indefinite 
 smile, and presenting to the curious inves- 
 tigator the fixed eyes and rigid features of a 
 bust of marble. 
 
 When he talked with the purpose of 
 pleasing. Buonaparte often told anecdotes 
 of his life in a very pleasing manner ; when 
 Btleut, he had eomething disdainful in the 
 
 expression of his face ; when disposed to be 
 quite at ease, he was, in Madame de Stael'a 
 opinion, rather vulgar. His natural tone of 
 feeling seemed to be a sense of internal su- 
 periority, and of secret contempt for the 
 world in which he lived, the men with 
 whom he acted, and even the very objects 
 which he pursued. His character and man- 
 ners were upon the whole strongly calculat- 
 ed to attract the attention of the French na- 
 tion, and to excite a perpetual interest ev- 
 en from the very mystery which attached to 
 him, as well as from tjie splendour of his 
 triumphs. The supreme power was resid- 
 ing in the Luxembourg ostensibly; but Pa- 
 ris was aware, that the means which had 
 raised, and which must support and extend 
 that power, were to be found in the humble 
 mansion of the newly-christened Rue des 
 Victoires. 
 
 Some of these features are perhaps harsh- 
 ly designed, as being drawn recentibtia 
 odiis. The disagreement between Buona- 
 aparte and Madame de Stiel, from whom 
 we have chiefly described them, is well 
 known. It originated about this time, when, 
 as a first-rate woman of talent, she was nat- 
 urally desirous to attract the notice of the 
 Victor of Victors. They appear to have 
 misunderstood each other; for the ladv, 
 who ought certainly to know best, has in- 
 formed us, " that far from feeling her fear 
 of Buonaparte removed by repeated meet- 
 ings, it seemed to increase, and his best ex- 
 ertions to please could not overcome her 
 invincible aversion for what she found in his 
 character." His ironical contempt of ex- 
 cellence of every kind, operated like the 
 sword in romance, which froze while it 
 wounded. Buonaparte seems never to have 
 suspected the secret and mys'/^rious terror 
 with which he impressed the ingenious au- 
 thor of Corinne ; on the contrarv, Las Ca- 
 sas tells us that she combined all her ef- 
 forts, and all her means, to make an impress- 
 ion on the general. She wrote to him when 
 distant, and, as the Count ungallantly ex- 
 presses it, tormented him when present. In 
 truth, to use an established French phrase, 
 they stood in a false position with respect 
 to each other. Madame de Stael might be 
 pardoned for thinking that it would be dif- 
 ficult to resist her wit and her talent, xvhen 
 exerted with the purpose of pleasing; but 
 Buonaparte was disposed to repel, rather 
 than encourage the advances of one whose 
 views were so shrewd, and her observation 
 so keen, while her sex permitted her to 
 push her inquiries farther than one man 
 might have dared to do in conversing with 
 another. She certainly did desire to look 
 into him " with considerate eyes." and on 
 one occasion put his abilities to the proof, 
 by asking him rather abruptly, in the middle 
 of a brilliant party at Talleyrand's, '• Whom 
 he esteemed the greatest woman in the 
 world, alive or dead .'"—•• Her, madam, that 
 has borne the most children."' answered 
 Buonaparte, with much appearance of sim- 
 plicity. Disconcerted by the replv, she ob- 
 served, that he was reported not to be a 
 sreat admirer of the fair sex. " I am very 
 »oud of my wife, madam," he replied, witn
 
 Chap. XXX.] LIFE OF NAPOLKO.N BUONAPARTE. 
 
 287 
 
 one of those brief and yet piquant observa- 
 tions, which adjourned a debate as prompt- 
 ly as one of his characteristic manoEuvres 
 would have ended a battle. From this pe- 
 riod there was enmity between Buonaparte 
 and Madame de Stael ; and at different 
 times he treated her with a harshness which 
 had some appearance of actual personal dis- 
 like, though perhaps rather directed against 
 the female politician than the woman of 
 literature. After his fall, Madame de Stael 
 relented in her resentment to him ; and we 
 remember her, during the campaign of 1814, 
 presaging in society how the walls of 
 Troyes were to see a second invasion and 
 defeat of the Huns, as had taken place in 
 the days of Attalia, while the French Em- 
 peror was to enact the second Theodorick. 
 
 In the meantime, while popular feeling 
 and the approbation of distinguished genius 
 were thus seeking to pay court to the youth- 
 ful conqueror, the Directory found them- 
 selves obliged to render to him that sem- 
 blance of homage which could not have 
 been withheld without giving much offence 
 to general opinion, and injuring those who 
 omitted to pay it, much more than him who 
 was entitled by the unanimous voice to re- 
 ceive it. On the 10th of December, the 
 Directory received Buonaparte in public, 
 with honours which the Republican gov- 
 ernment had not yet conferred on any sub- 
 ject, and which must have seemed incon- 
 gruous to those who had any recollection of 
 the liberty and equality, once so emphatic- 
 ally pronounced to be the talisman of French 
 prosperity. The ceremony took place in 
 the great court of the Luxembourg pal- 
 ace, where the Directory, surrounded by all 
 that was officially important or distinguish- 
 ed by talent, received from Buonaparte's 
 hand the confirmed treaty of Campo For- 
 mio. The delivery of this document was 
 accompanied by a speech from Buonaparte, 
 in which he told the Directory, that, in or- 
 der to establish a constitution founded on 
 reason, it was necessary tliat eighteen cen- 
 turies of prejudices should be conquered — 
 "The constitution of the year three, and 
 you, have triumphed over all these obsta- 
 cles." The triumph lasted exactly until 
 the year eight, when the orator himself 
 overthrew the constitution, destroyed the 
 power of the rulers who had overcome the 
 prejudices of eighteen centuries, and reign- 
 ed in their stead. 
 
 The French, who had banished religion 
 from their thouglits. and from their sys- 
 tem of domestic policy, yet usually pre- 
 served some perverted ceremony connect- 
 ed with It, on public solemnities. They 
 had discused the exercises of devotion, 
 and expressly disowned the existence of an 
 object of worship ; yet they could not do 
 without altars, and iiymns, and rites, upon 
 such occasions as the present. The Gen- 
 eral, conducted by Barras. the President of 
 the Directory, approached an erection, 
 termed the .\ltar of the Country, where 
 tbey went through various appropriate cer- 
 pinnnie?, and at length dismissed a numer- 
 ous a.xsembly, much edified with what they 
 h«J ioen. The two Councils, or Represen- 
 
 tative Bodies, also gave a splendid banquet 
 in honour of Buonaparte. And what he ap- 
 peared to receive with more particular sat- 
 isfaction than these marks of distinction, 
 the Institute admitted him a member of ita 
 body in the room of his friend Carnot (who 
 was actually a fugitive, and believed at the 
 time to be dead,) while the poet Chenier 
 promulgated his praises, and foretold hia 
 liiture triumphs, and his approaching con- 
 quest of England. 
 
 There is nothing less philosophical than 
 to attach ridicule to the customs of other 
 nations, merely because they differ from 
 those of our own ; yet it marks the differ- 
 ence between England and her continental 
 neighbour, that the two Houses of Parlia- 
 ment never thought of giving a dinner to 
 Marlborough, nor did the Royal Society 
 choose his successor in the path of victory 
 a member by acclamation ; although the 
 British nation in either case acquitted them- 
 selves of the debt of gratitude which they 
 owed their illustrious generals, in the hum- 
 bler and more vulgar mode of conferring on 
 both large and princely domains. 
 
 Meantime the threat of invasion was 
 maintained with unabated earnestness. But 
 it made no impression on the British, or 
 rather it stimulated men of all ranks to bu- 
 ry temporary and party dissensions about 
 politics, and bend themselves, with the 
 whole energy of their national character, to 
 confront and resist the preparations made 
 against them. Their determination was 
 animated by recollections of their own tra- 
 ditional gallantry, which had so often in- 
 flicted the deepest wounds upon France, 
 and was not now likely to give up to any- 
 thing short of the most dire necessity. The 
 benefits were then seen of a free constitu- 
 tion, which permits the venom of party- 
 spirit to evaporate in open debate. Those 
 who had differed on the question of peace 
 or war, were unanimous in that of national 
 defence, and resistance to the common en- 
 emy ; and those who appeared in the vul- 
 gar eve engaged in unappeasable conten- 
 tion, were the most eager to unite them- 
 selves together for these purposes, as men 
 employed in fencing would throw down the 
 foils and draw their united swords, if dis- 
 turbed by the approach of robbers. 
 
 Buonaparte in the meanwhile made a 
 complete survev of the coast of the British 
 channel, pausing at each remarkable point, 
 and making those remarks and calculations 
 which induced him to adopt at an after pe- 
 riod the renewal of the project for a de- 
 scent upon England. The result of his ob- 
 servations decided his opinion, that in the 
 present case the undertaking ought to be 
 abandoned. The immense preparations 
 and violent threats of invasion were carried 
 into no more serious effect t!ian the land- 
 ing of about twelve or fourteen liundred 
 P'renchmen. under a General Tate, at Fish- 
 guard, in South Wales. They were with- 
 out artillery, and behaved rather like men 
 whom a shipwreck had cast on a hostile 
 sliore, than like an invading enemy, as they 
 gave themselves ap as prisoners without 
 CTen a show of defence to Lo"d Cawdor,
 
 288 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 who had marched against them at the head 
 of a body of the Welsh militia, hastily 
 drawn together on the alarm. The meas- 
 ure was probably only to be considered as 
 experimental, and as such must have been 
 regarded as an entire failure. 
 
 The demonstrations of invasion, howev- 
 er, were ostensibly continued, and every- 
 thing seemed arranged on either side for a 
 desperate collision betwixt the two most 
 powerful nations in Europe. But the pro- 
 ceedings of politicians resemble those of 
 the Indian traders called Banians, who 
 seem engaged in talking about ordinary 
 and trifling affairs, while, with their hands 
 concealed beneath a shawl that is spread 
 between them, they are secretly debating 
 and adjusting, by signs, bargains of the ut- 
 most importance. While all France and 
 England had their eyes fi.xed on the fleets 
 and armies destined against the latter coun- 
 try, the Directory and their general had no 
 intention of using these preparations, ex- 
 cept as a blind to cover their real object, 
 which was the celebrated expedition to 
 Egypt. 
 
 While yet in Italy, Buonaparte had sug- 
 gested to the Directory (13th September 
 1797) the advantage which might be deriv- 
 ed from seizing upon Malta, which he rep- 
 resented as an easy prize. The knights, he 
 said, were odious to the Maltese inhabitants, 
 and were almost starving; to augment 
 which state of distress, and increase that 
 incapacity of defence, he had already con- 
 fiscated their Italian property. He then 
 proceeded to intimate, that being possessed 
 of Corfu and Malta, it was natural to take 
 possession of Egypt. Twenty-five thou- 
 sand men, with eisjlitorten ships of the 
 line, would be sufficient for the expedition 
 which he suggested might depart from the 
 coasts of Italy. 
 
 Talleyrand, then minister for foreign af- 
 fairs, (in his answer of 23d September,) 
 saw the utmost advantage in the design up- 
 on Egypt, which, as a colony, would attract 
 the commerce of India to Europe, in pref- 
 erence to the circuitous route by the Cape 
 of Good Hope. This correspondence proves 
 that even before Buonaparte left Italy, he 
 had conceived the idea of the Egyptian ex- 
 pedition, though probably only as one of the 
 vast and vague schemes of ambition which 
 success in so many perilous enterprises had 
 tended to foster. There was something of 
 wild grandeur in the idea, calculated to 
 please an ambitious imagination. He was 
 to be placed far l>eyiu\(l the reach of any 
 command superior to his own, and left at 
 his own discretion to the extending con- 
 quests, and perhrqjs founding au empire, in 
 a country lonir considered as the cradle of 
 knowledge, and celebrated in sacred and 
 profane history as having been the scene 
 of ancient oventr- and distant revolutions, 
 which, through the remoteness of ages, 
 possess a gloomy and mysterious effect on 
 the fancy. The lirst specimens of early 
 art also were to be found amon;.' the gigan- 
 tic ruins of Egypt, and its time-defying 
 tnonuments of antiquity. This had its ef- 
 fect upon Buonaparte, who affected eo par- 
 
 ticularly the species of fame which attaches 
 to tlie ])rotector and extender of science, 
 philosophy, and the fine arts. On this sub- 
 ject he had a ready and willing counsellor 
 at hand. Monge, the artist and virtuoso, 
 was Buonaparte's confidant on this occa- 
 sion, and there is no doubt encouraged him 
 to an undertaking which promised a rich 
 harvest to the antiquarian, among the ruins 
 of temples and palaces, hitherto imperfect- 
 ly examined. 
 
 But although the subject was mentioned 
 betwixt the Directory and their ministers 
 and Buonaparte, yet before adopting the 
 course which the project opened, the gen- 
 eral was probably determined to see the is- 
 sue of the revolution of the 18th Fructidor; 
 doubting, not unreasonably, whether the 
 conquerors in that struggle could so far 
 avail themselves of the victory which they 
 had obtained over the majority of the Na- 
 tional Representatives, as to consolidate 
 and establish on a firm foundation their 
 own authority. He knew the Directory 
 themselves were popular witli none. The 
 numerous party, who were now inclined to 
 a monarchical government, regarded them 
 with horror. The army, though supporting 
 them rather than coalesce with the Royal- 
 ists, despised and disliked them ; the vio- 
 lent Republicans remembered their active 
 share in Robespierre's downfall, and the 
 condemnations which followed ttie detect- 
 ed conspiracy of Babreuf, and were in no 
 respect better disposed to their domination. 
 Thus despised by the army, dreaded by the 
 Royalists, and detested by the Republicans, 
 the Directorial government a[)peared to re- 
 main standing, only because the factions to 
 whom it was unacceptable were afraid of 
 each Other's attaining a superiority in the 
 struggle, which must attend its downfall. 
 
 This crisis of public affairs was a tempt- 
 ing opportunity for such a character as 
 Buonaparte, whose almost incredible suc- 
 cesses, unvaried by a single reverse which 
 deserved that name, naturally fixed the 
 eyes of the multitude, and indeed of the 
 nation at large, upon him, as upon one who 
 seemed destined to play the most distin- 
 guished part in any of those new changes, 
 which the mutable state of the French gov- 
 ernment seemed rapidly preparing. 
 
 The people, naturally partial to a victor, 
 followed him everywhere with acclama- 
 tions, and his soldiers, in their camp-songs, 
 spoke of pulling the attorneys out of the 
 seat of government, and installing their vic- 
 torious general. Even already, ^or the first 
 time since the commencement of the Revo- 
 lution, the French, losing their recent habits 
 of thinking and speaking of the nation as a 
 body, began to interest themseives in Na- 
 poleon as an individual ; and that exclusive 
 esteem of his person had already taken root 
 in the public mind, which afterwards form- 
 ed the foundation of his throne. 
 
 Yet, in spite of these promising appeau-- 
 ances. Napoleon, cautious as well as enter- 
 prising, saw that the time was not arrived 
 when he could, without great risk, attempt 
 to possess himself of the supreme govern- 
 ment ib France. The aoldier* of Italy
 
 ■ Chap. XXX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 289 
 
 ■were indeed at his devotion, but there was 
 another great and rival army belonging to 
 the Republic, that of the Rhine, which had 
 never been under his command, never had 
 partaken his triumphs, and which naturally 
 looked rather to .Moreau than to Buonaparte 
 as their general and hero. 
 
 Madame de Stael describes the soldiers 
 from these two armies, as resembling each 
 other in nothing save the valour which was 
 common to both. The troops of the Rhine, 
 returning from hard-fought fields, which, if 
 followed by victory, had afforded but little 
 plunder, ejiibited still the severe simplici- 
 ty which had been affected under the re- 
 Eablican model ; whereas the army of Italy 
 ad reaped richer spoils than barren laurels 
 alone, and made a display of wealth and 
 enjoyment which showed they had not neg- 
 lected their own interest while advancing 
 the banners of France. 
 
 It was not likely, while such an army as 
 that of the Rhine existed, opposed by rival- 
 ry and the jealousy of fame to the troops 
 of Buonaparte, that the latter should have 
 succeeded in placing himself at the head 
 of affairs. Besides, the forces on which he 
 could depend were distant. Fortune had 
 not afforded him the necessary pretext for 
 crossing, as he termed it, the Rubicon, and 
 bringing twenty thousand men to Lyons. 
 Moreau, Jourdan, Kleber, had all high rep- 
 utations, scarce inferior to his own; and 
 the troops who had served under them 
 were disposed to elevate them even to an 
 equality with the Conqueror of Italy. 
 Buonaparte also knew that his popularity, 
 though great, was not universal. He was 
 disliked by the middle classes, from rec- 
 ollection of his commanding during the af- 
 fair of the Sections of Paris ; and many of 
 the Republicans exclaimed against him for 
 his surrendering Venice to the Austrians. 
 In a word, he was loo much elbowed and 
 incommoded by others to permit his taking 
 with full vigour the perilous spring neces- 
 sary to place him in the seat of supreme 
 authority, though there were not wanting 
 those who would fain have persuaded him 
 to venture on a course so daring. To such 
 counsellors lie answered, that " the fruit 
 vfas not ripe." — a hint which implied that 
 appetite was not wanting, though prudence 
 forbade the banquet. 
 
 Laying aside, therefore, the character of 
 General of the Army of England, and ad- 
 journing to a future day the conquest of 
 that hostile island ; silencing at the same 
 time the internal wishes and the exterior 
 temptations which urged him to seize the 
 supreme power, which seemed escaping 
 from those who held it. Napoleon turned 
 his eyes and thought* eastward, and medi- | 
 tated in the distant countries of the rising I 
 sun, a scene worthy his talents, his military I 
 skill, and his ambition. | 
 
 The Directory, on the other hand, eager 
 to rid themselves of his perilous vicinity, i 
 hastened to accomplish the means of his ' 
 expedition to Egypt, upon a scale far more I 
 formidable than any which had yet sailed i 
 from modern Europe, for the invasion and ' 
 subjection of distant and peaceful realms ' 
 Vofc. f. N 
 
 I It was soon whispered abroad that the 
 ' invasion of England was to be postponed, 
 ; until the Conqueror of Italy, having attain- 
 ed a great and national object, by the suc- 
 cess of a secret expedition fitted out on a 
 scale of stupendous magnitude, should be 
 at leisure to resume the conquest of Brit- 
 ain. 
 
 But Buonaparte did not limit his views 
 to those of armed conquest; he meant that 
 these should be softened by mingling with 
 them schemes of a literary and scientific 
 character, as if he had desired, as some one 
 said, that Minerva should march at the head 
 of his expedition, holding in one hand her 
 dreadful lance, and vnth the other introduc- 
 ing the sciences and the muses. The vari- 
 ous treasures of art which had been trans 
 ferred to the capital by the influence of his 
 arms, gave the general of the Italian army 
 a right to such distinctions as the French 
 men of literature could confer ; and he was 
 himself possessed of deep scientific knowl- 
 edge as a mathematician. He became ap- 
 parently much attached to learned pursuits, 
 and wore the uniform of the Institute on all 
 occasions when he was out of military cos- 
 tume. This affectation of uniting the en- 
 couragement of letters and science with 
 his military tactics, led to a new and pe- 
 culiar branch of the intended expedition. 
 
 The public observed with astonishment 
 a detachment of no less than one hundred 
 men, who had cultivated the arts and sci- 
 ences, or, to use the French phrase, savants, 
 selected for the purpose of joining this mys- 
 terious expedition, of which the object still 
 remained a secret; while all classes of 
 people asked each other what new quarter 
 of the world France had determined to col- 
 onize, since she seemed preparing at once 
 to subdue it by her arms, and to enrich it 
 with the treasures of her science and litera- 
 ture. This singular department of the ex- 
 pedition, the first of the kind which ever 
 accompanied an invading army, was liber- 
 ally supplied with books, philosophical in- 
 struments, and all means of prosecuting 
 the several departments of knowledge. 
 
 Buonaparte did not, however, trust to the 
 superiority of science to ensure the con- 
 quest of Egypt. He was fully provided with 
 more effectual means. The land forces be- 
 longing to the expedition were of the most 
 formidable description. Twenty-five thou- 
 sand men, chiefly veterans selected from 
 his own It.alian army, had in their list of 
 generals subordinate to Buonaparte the 
 names of KJeber, Dessaix, Berthier. Reg- 
 nier, Murat, Lannes, Andreossi. Menou, 
 Belliard, and others well known in the rev- 
 olution.iry wars. Four hundred transports 
 were assembled for the conveyance of the 
 troops. Thirteen ships of the line, and four 
 frigates, commanded by Admiral Brueyes, 
 an experienced and gallant officer, formed 
 the escort of the expedition ; a finer and 
 more formidable one than which never sail- 
 ed on so bold an adventure. 
 
 We have already tou-ched upon the secret 
 objects of this armament. The Directory 
 were desirous to be rid of Buonaparte, who 
 might become a dangerous competitor in
 
 290 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 the present unsettled state of the Frencli 
 f^overnnient. Buonaparte, on his side, ac- 
 <:e])ted the command, because it opened a 
 scene ot' conquest wortliy of his ambition. 
 A separate and uncontrolled command over 
 so gallant an army seemed to promise him 
 the conquest and the sovereignty, not of 
 Egypt only, but of Syria, Turkey, perhaps 
 Constantinople, the Queen of the East ; 
 and he himself afterwards more than hinted, 
 that but for controlling circumstances, he 
 would have bent his whole mind to the es- 
 tablishment of an oriental dynasty, and left 
 France to her own destinies. When a sub- 
 altern officer of artillery, he had nourished 
 the hope of being King of Jerusalem. In 
 his present situation of dignity and strength, 
 the sovereignty of an Emperor of the uni- 
 versal East, or of a Caliph of Egypt at the 
 » least, was a more commensurate object of 
 ambition. 
 
 The private motives of the government 
 and of the general are therefore easily esti- 
 mated. But it is not so easy to justify the 
 Egyptian expedition upon any views of 
 sound national policy. On the contrary, the 
 object to be gained by so much risk, and at 
 the same time by an act of aggression upon 
 the Ottoman Forte, the ancient ally of 
 France, to whom Egypt belonged, was of 
 very doubtful utility. The immense fertil- 
 ity of the alluvial provinces irrigated by the 
 Nile, no doubt renders their sovereignty a 
 matter of great consequence to the Turkish 
 empire, which, from the oppressed state of 
 their agriculture everywhere, and from the 
 rocky and barren character of their Grecian 
 provinces, are not in a condition to supply 
 the capital with grain, did they not draw it 
 from that never-failing land. But France 
 herself, fully supplied from her own re- 
 sources, had no occasion to send her best 
 general, and hazard her veteran army, for 
 the purpose of seizing a distant province, 
 merely to facilitate her means of feeding 
 her population. To erect that large country 
 into a French colony, would have required 
 a drain of population, of expense, and of 
 supplies of all sorts, which France, just re- 
 covering from the convulsion of her revolu- 
 tion, was by no means fit to encounter. The 
 climate, too, is insalubrious to strangers, 
 and must have been a constant cause of 
 loss, until, in process of time, the colo- 
 nists had become habituated to its peculiar- 
 ities. It is farther to be considered, that 
 the most perfect and absolute success in 
 the undertaking, must have ended, not in 
 giving a province to the French Republic, 
 but a separate and independent kingdom to 
 her victorious and ambitious general. Buo- 
 naparte had paid but slight attention to the 
 commands of the Directory when in Italy. 
 Had he realized his proposed conquests in 
 the east, they would have been sent over 
 the Mediterranean altogether in vain. 
 
 Lastly, the state of war with England sub- 
 jected this attempt to add Egypt to the 
 French dominions, to the risk of defeat, 
 either by the naval strength of Britain inter- 
 posing between France and her new pos- 
 sessions, or by her land forces from India 
 and Europe, making a combined attack 
 
 upon the French army which occupied 
 Egypt ; both which events actually came 
 to pass. 
 
 It is true, that, so far from dreading the 
 English forces which were likely to be em- 
 ployed against them, the French regarded 
 as a recommendation to the conquest of 
 Egypt, that it was to be the first step to the 
 destruction of the British power in India ; 
 and Napoleon continued to the last to con- 
 sider the conquest of Egypt as the forerun- 
 ner of that of universal Asia. His eye, 
 which, like that of the eagle, saw far and 
 wide, overlooking, however, obstacles 
 which distance rendered diminutive, be- 
 held little more necessary than the toilsome 
 marches of a few weeks, to achieve the 
 conquests of Alexander the Great. He had 
 already counted the steps by which he was 
 to ascend to Oriental monarchy, and has 
 laid before the world a singular reverie on 
 the probabilities of success. " If Saint 
 John d'Acre had yielded to the French 
 arms," said he, " a great revolution would 
 have been accomplished in the East 5 the 
 general-in-chief would have founded an 
 empire there, and the destinies of France 
 would have undergone different combina- 
 tions from those to which they were sub- 
 jected." 
 
 In this declaration we recognize one of 
 the peculiarities of Buonaparte's disposi- 
 tion, which refused to allow of any difficul- 
 ties or dangers save those, of which, having 
 actually happened, the existence could not 
 be disputed. The small British force be- 
 fore Acre was sufficient to destroy his 
 whole plans of conquest ; but how man} 
 other means of destruction might Provi- 
 dence have employed for the same pur- 
 pose ! The plague — the desert — mutiny 
 among his soldiers — courage and enterprise, 
 inspired by favourable circumstances into 
 the tribes by whom his progress was oppos- 
 ed — the computation of these, and other 
 chances, ought to have taught him to ac- 
 knowledge, that he had not been discomfit- 
 ed by the only hazard which could have 
 disconcerted his enterprise ; but that, had 
 such been the will of God, the sands of 
 Syria might have proved as fatal as the 
 snows of Russia, and the scimitars of the 
 Turks as the lances of the Cossacks. In 
 words, a march from Egypt to India is easi- 
 ly described, and still moi;e easily measured 
 off" with compasses upon the map of the 
 world. But in practice, and with an army 
 opposed as the French would probably have 
 been at every step, if it had been only from 
 motives of religious antipathy, when the 
 French general arrived at the skirts of Brit- 
 ish India, with forces thus diminished, he 
 would have had in front the whole British 
 army, commanded by generals accustomed 
 to make war upon a scale almost as enlarg- 
 ed as he himself practised, and accustomed 
 to victories not less decisive. 
 
 We should fall into the same error 
 which we censure, did we anticipate what 
 might have been the result of such a meet- 
 ing. Even while we claim the probability 
 of advantage for the army most numerous, 
 and best provided with guns and stores, we
 
 Chap. XXX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 291 
 
 allow the strife must have been dreadful 
 and dubious. But if Napoleon really 
 thought he had only to show himself in In- 
 dia, to ensure the destruction of the Brit- 
 ish empire there, he had not calculated the 
 opposing strength with the caution to have 
 been expected from so great a general. 
 He has been represented, indeed, as boast- 
 ing of the additions which he would have 
 made to his army, by the co-operation of 
 natives trained after the French discipline. 
 But can it be supposed that these hasty le- 
 vies could be brought into such complete 
 order as to face the native troops of Brit- 
 ish India, so long and sojustly distinguish- 
 ed for approaching Europeans in courage 
 and discipline, and excelling them perhaps 
 in temperance and subordination ? 
 
 In a word, the Eg}'plian expedition, un- 
 less considered with reference to the pri- 
 vate views of the Directory, and of their 
 general, must have been regai-ded from the 
 beginning, as promising no results in the 
 slightest degree worthy of the great risk 
 incurred, by draining France of the flower 
 of her army. 
 
 Meanwhile, the moment of departure ap- 
 proached. The blockading squadron, com- 
 manded by Nelson, was blown off the coast 
 by a gale of wind, and so much damaged 
 that they were obliged to run down to Sar- 
 dinia. The first and most obvious obstacle 
 to the expedition was thus removed. The 
 various squadrons from Genoa, Civita Vec- 
 chia, and Bastia, set sail and united with 
 that which already lay at Toulon. 
 
 Yet it is said, though upon slender au- 
 thority, that even at this latest moment 
 Buonaparte showed some inclination to 
 abandon the command of so doubtful and 
 almost desperate an expedition, and wished 
 10 take the advantage of a recent dispute 
 between France and Austria, to remain in 
 Europe. The misunderstanding arose from 
 the conduct of Bernadotte, ambassador for 
 the Republic at Vienna, who incautiously 
 displayed the national colours before his 
 hotel, in consequence of which a popular 
 tumult arose, and the ambassador was in- 
 sulted. In their first alarm, lest this inci- 
 dent should occasion a renewal of the war, 
 the Directory hastily determined to suspend 
 Buonaparte's departure, and despatch him 
 to Rastadt, where the congress was still sit- 
 ting, with full powers to adjust the differ- 
 ence. Buonaparte accepted the commis- 
 eon, and while he affected to deplore the 
 delay or miscarriage of " the greatest enter- 
 prise which he had ever meditated," wrote 
 in secret to Count Cobentzel, now minister 
 of foreign affairs at Vienna, inviting him to 
 a conference at Rastadt, and hinting at po- 
 litical changes, by which the difficulties at- 
 tending the execution of the treaty of Cam- 
 po Formio might be taken away. The ten- 
 or of this letter having become known to 
 the Directory, and it appearing to them that 
 Buonaparte designed to make that mission a 
 pretext for interesting Cobentzel in some 
 change of government in France, in which 
 he deemed it advisable to obtain the con- 
 currence of Austria, they instantly resolv- 
 ed, it is said, to compel nin) to set sail on 
 
 the expedition to Egypt. Barras, cnarged 
 with the commission of notifying to the 
 general this second alteration of his desti- 
 nation, had an interview with Buonaparte 
 in private, and at his own house. The mien 
 of the Director was clouded, and, contrary 
 to his custom, he scarcely spoke to Madame 
 Buonaparte. When he retired, Buona- 
 parte shut himself up in his own apartment 
 for a short time, then gave directions for 
 his instant departure from Paris for Toulon. 
 Tliese particulars are given as certain by 
 Miot ;* but he alleges no authority for 
 this piece of secret history. There seems, 
 however, little doubt, that the command of 
 the Egyptian expedition was bestowed on 
 Buonaparte by the Directory as a species 
 of ostracism, or honourable banishment 
 from France. 
 
 At the moment of departure, Buonaparte 
 made one of those singular harangues, 
 which evince such a mixture of talent and 
 energy with bad taste and bombast. He 
 promised to introduce those who had war- 
 red on the mountains and in the plains, to 
 maritime combat ; and to a great part of 
 the expedition he kept his word too truly, 
 as Aboukir could witness. He reminded 
 them that the Romans combated Carthage 
 by sea as well as land — he proposed to con- 
 duct them, in the name of the Goddess of 
 Liberty, to the most distant regions and 
 oceans, and he concluded by promising to 
 each individual of his army seven acres of 
 land. Whether this distribution of proper- 
 ty was to take place on the banks of the 
 Nile, of the Bosphorus, or the Ganges, the 
 soldiers had not the most distant guess, and 
 the commander-in-chief himself would have 
 had difficulty in informing them. 
 
 On the 19th of May 1793, this magnifi- 
 cent armament set sail from Toulon, illu- 
 minated by a splendid sun-rise, one of those 
 which were afterwards popularly termed 
 the suns of Napoleon. The liue'-of-battle 
 ships extended for a league, and the semi- 
 circle formed by the convoy was at least 
 six leagues in extent. They were joined 
 on the 8th June, as they swept along the 
 Mediterranean, by a large fleet of trans- 
 ports, having on board the division of Gen- 
 eral Dessaix. 
 
 The 10th June brought the armament be- 
 fore Malta, once the citadel of Christen- 
 dom, and garrisoned by those intrepid 
 knights, who, half warriors and half priests, 
 opposed the infidels with the enthusiasm 
 at once of religion and of chivalry. But 
 those by whom the Order was now maintain- 
 ed were disunited among themselves, lazy 
 and debauched voluptuaries, who consum- 
 ed the revenues destined to fit out expedi- 
 tions against the Turks in cruises for plea- 
 sure, not war, and giving balls and enter- 
 tainments in the seaports of Italy. Buona- 
 parte treated these degenerate knights with 
 a want of ceremony, which, however little 
 it accorded with the extreme strength «f 
 their island, and with the glorious defence 
 which it had formerly made against the in- 
 
 * Memoires pour servir h I'HIstoirB ileu Expedi- 
 tions eu Egypt et en Syrie. lalroduction, p. x»
 
 292 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOiN BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 fidcls, was perfectly suited to their present 
 condition. Secure of a party among the 
 French knights, with whom he liad been 
 tampering, he landed troops, and took pos- 
 session of these almost impregnable for- 
 tresses with so little opposition, that Caffa- 
 relli said to Napoleon, as they passed 
 through the most formidable defences, — " It 
 is well, general, that there was some one 
 within to open the gates to us. We should 
 have had more trouble in entering, if the 
 place had been altogether empty." 
 
 A sufficient garrison was established in 
 Malta, destined by Buonaparte to be an in- 
 termediate station between France and 
 Egypt; and on the 19th, the daring general 
 resumed his expedition. On the coast of 
 Candia, while the savants were gazing on 
 the rocks where Jupiter, it is said, was nur- 
 tured, and speculating concerning the exist- 
 ence of some vestiges of the celebrated 
 Labyrinth, Buonaparte learned that a new 
 enemy, of a different description from the 
 Knights of Saint John, were in his im- 
 mediate vicinity. This was the English 
 squadron. 
 
 Nelson, to the end as unconquerable on 
 his own element as Buonaparte had hither- 
 to shown himself upon shore, was now in 
 full and anxious pursuit of his renowned 
 contemporary. Reinforced by a squadron 
 of ten ships of the line, a meeting with 
 Napoleon was the utmost wish of his heart, 
 and was echoed back by the meanest sailor 
 on board his numerous fleet. The French 
 had been heard of at Malta, but as the Brit- 
 ish Admiral was about to proceed thither, 
 he received news of their departure ; and 
 concluding that Egypt must be unquestion- 
 ably the object of their expedition, he 
 made sail for Egypt. It singularly happen- 
 ed, that although Nelson anticipated the 
 arrival of the French at Alexandria, and 
 accordingly directed his course thither, yet, 
 keeping a more direct path than Brueyee, 
 Avhen he arrived there on the 28th June, 
 he heard nothing of the enemy, who, in 
 the meanwhile, were proceeding to the very 
 same port. The English admiral set sail, 
 therefore, for Rhodes and Syracuse ; and 
 thus were the two large and hostile fleets 
 traversing the same narrow sea, without 
 •being able to attain any certain tidings of 
 each other's movements. This was in part 
 owing to the ' English Admiral havii^ no 
 frigates with him, which might have been 
 detached to cruise for intelligence ; partly 
 to a continuance of thick misty weather, 
 vvhich at once concealed the French fleet 
 from their adversaries, and, obliging them 
 to keep clo§e together, diminished the 
 chance of discovery, which might otherwise 
 have taken place by the occupation of a 
 larger space. On the 26th, according to 
 Denon, Nelson's fleet was actually seen by 
 the French standing to the westward, al- 
 though the haze prevented the English 
 from observing their enemy, whose squad- 
 ron held an opposite direction. 
 
 Escaped from the risk of an encounter 
 so perilous, Buonaparte's greatest danger 
 seemed to be over on the 29th June, when 
 the French fleet came in sight of Alexandria, 
 
 and saw before them the city of the Plolomies 
 and of Cleopatra, with its double harbour, its 
 Pharos and its ancient and gigantic monu- 
 ments of grandeur. Yet at this critical mo- 
 ment, and while Buonaparte contemplated 
 his meditated conquest, a signal announced 
 the appearance of a strange sail, which was 
 construed to be an English frigate, the pre- 
 cursor of the British fleet, " What !" said 
 Napoleon, '• I ask but six hours — and, For- 
 tune, wilt thou abandon me ?" The fickle 
 goddess was then and for many a succeeding 
 year, true to her votary. The vessel prov- 
 ed friendly. 
 
 The disembarkation of the French army 
 took place about a league and a half from 
 Alexandria, at an anchorage called Mara- 
 bout. It was not accomplished without los- 
 ing boats and men on the surf, though such 
 risks were encountered with great joy by the 
 troops, who had been so long confined on 
 shipboard. As soon as five or six thousand 
 men were landed, Buonaparte marched to- 
 wards Alexandria, when the Turks, incens- 
 ed at this hostile invasion on the part of a 
 nation with whom they were at profound 
 peace, shut the gates, and manned the walls 
 against their reception. But the walls were 
 ruinous, and presented breaches in many 
 places, and the chief weapons of resistance 
 were musketry and stones. The Conquer- 
 ors of Italy forced their passage over such 
 obstacles, but not easily or with impunity. 
 Two hundred French were killed. There 
 was severe military execution done upcm the 
 garrison, and the town was abandoned to 
 plunder for three hours ; which has been 
 justly stigmatized as an act of unnecessary 
 cruelty, perpetrated only to strike terror, 
 and extend the fame of the victorious 
 French general. But it was Napoleon's ob- 
 ject to impress the highest idea of his pow- 
 er upon the various classes of natives, who, 
 differing widely from each other in manners 
 and condition, inhabit Egypt as their com- 
 mon home. 
 
 These classes are, 1st, the Arab race, 
 divided into Fellahs and Bedouins, the most 
 numerous and least esteemed of the popu- 
 lation. The Bedouins, retaining the man- 
 ners of Arabia Proper, rove through the 
 Desert, and subsist by means of their flocks 
 and herds. The Fellahs cultivate the earth, 
 and are the ordinary peasants of the country. 
 
 The class next above the Arabs in consid- 
 eration are the Cophts, supposed to be de- 
 scended from the pristine Egyptians. They 
 profess Christianity, are timid and unwar 
 like, but artful and supple. They are em 
 ployed in the revenue, and in almost all 
 civil offices, and transact the commerce and 
 the business of the country. 
 
 The third class in elevation were the 
 formidable Mamelukes, who held both 
 Cophts and Arabs ill profound subjection. 
 These are, or we may say were, a corps of 
 professed soldiers, having no trade except- 
 ing war. In this they resemble the Janissa- 
 ries, tlie Strelitzes, the Praetorian Bands, or 
 similar military bodies, which, constituting 
 a standing army under a despotic govern- 
 ment, are alternately the protectors and the 
 terror of the sovereigpn who' is their nomi-
 
 Cl«p. xxx.^ 
 
 LIFE OF jNAPOLEON PUONAPARTE. 
 
 29a 
 
 nal commander. But the peculiar feature 
 of the constitution of the Mauielulves, 
 was, that their corps was recruited only by 
 the adoption of foreign slaves, particularly 
 Georgians and Circassians. These were 
 purchased when children by the several 
 Beys, or Mameluke leaders, who, twenty- 
 four in number, occupied, each, one of the 
 twenty-four departments into which they 
 had divided Egypt. 'I'he youtiiful slave, 
 purchased with a heedful reference to his 
 strength and personal appearance, was care- 
 fully trained to arms in the family of his 
 master. When created a Aiamelukc, he 
 was received into the troop of the Bey, and 
 rendered capable of succeeding to him at 
 his death ; for these chiefs despised the or- 
 dinary conne-xions of blood, and their au- 
 thority was, upon military principles, trans- 
 ferred at their death to him smongst the 
 band who was accounted the best soldier. 
 They fought always on horseback 5 and in 
 their peculiar mode of warfare, they might 
 be termed, individually considered, the fin- 
 est cavalry in the world. Completely arm- 
 ed, and unboundedly confident m their own 
 prowess, they were intrepid, skilful, and 
 formidable in battle ; but with their military 
 bravery began and ended the catalogue of 
 their virtues. Their vices were, unpitying 
 cruelty, habitual oppression, and the unlim- 
 ited exercise of the most gross and disgust- 
 ing sensuality. Such were the actual lords 
 of Egypt. 
 
 Yet the right of sovereignty did not rest 
 with the Beys, but with the Pacha, or Lieu- 
 tenant, — a great officer despatched from the 
 Porte to represent the Grand Seignior in 
 Egypt, where it was his duty to collect the 
 tribute in money and grain, which Constan- 
 tinople expected from that rich province, 
 with the additional object of squeezing out 
 of the country as much more as he could by 
 any means secure, for the filling of his own 
 coffers. The Pacha maintained his author- 
 ity sometimes by the assistance of Turkish 
 troops, sometimes by exciting the jealousy 
 of one Bey against another. Thus this fer- 
 tile country was subjected to the oppression 
 of twenty-four praetors, who, whether they 
 agreed among tnemselves, or with the Pa- 
 cha, or declared war against the represen- 
 tative of the Sultan, and against each other, 
 were alike the terror and the scourge of the 
 unhappy Arabs and Cophts, the right of op- 
 pressing whom by every species of exaction, 
 these haughty slaves regarded as their no- 
 blest and most undeniable privilege. 
 
 From the moment that Buonaparte con- 
 ceived the idea of invading Egypt, the de- 
 struction of the power of the Mamelukes 
 must have been determined upon as his 
 first object ; and he had no sooner taken Al- 
 exandria than he announced his purpose. 
 He sent forth a proclamation, in which he 
 professed his respecl for God, the Proph- 
 et, and the Koran ; his friendship for the 
 Sublime Porte, of which he affirmed the 
 French to be the faithful allies ; and his de- 
 termination to make war upon the Mame- 
 lukes. He commanded that the prayers 
 should be continued in the mosques as us- 
 ml, with some slight modifications, and 
 
 that all true Moslems should exclaim, 
 " Cilory to the Sultan, and to the French 
 army, his allies 1 — Accursed be the Mame- 
 lukes, and good fortune to the land of 
 Egypt !'' 
 
 Upon the 7th July the army marched 
 from .\le.\andria against the Mamelukes. 
 Their course was up the Nile, and a small 
 flotilla of gun-boats ascended the river to 
 protect their right flank, while the infantry 
 traversed a desert of burning sands, at a 
 distance from the stream, and without a 
 drop of water to relieve their tormenting 
 thirst. The army of Italy, accustomed to 
 the enjoyments of that delicious country, 
 were astonished at the desolation they saw 
 around them. '' Is this," they said, " the 
 country in which we are to receive our 
 farms of seven acres each ? The General 
 might have allowed us to take as much as 
 we chose — no one would have abused the 
 privilege." Their officers, too, expressed 
 horror and disgust ; and even generals of 
 such celebrity as Murat and Lannes threw 
 their hats on the sand, and trod on their 
 cockades. It required all Buonaparte's au- 
 thority to maintain order, so much were 
 the French disgusted with the commence- 
 ment of the expedition. 
 
 To add to their embarrassment, the ene- 
 my began to appear around them. Mame- 
 lukes and Arabs, concealed behind the hil- 
 locks of sand, interrupted their march at 
 every opportunity, and woo to the soldier 
 who straggled from the ranks, were it but 
 fifty yards. Some of these horsemen were 
 sure to dash at him, slay him on the spot, 
 and make off before a musket could be dis- 
 charged at them. At length, however, the 
 audacity of these incursions was checked 
 by a skirmish of some little importance'', 
 near a place called Chehrheis, in which the 
 French asserted their military superiority. 
 
 An encounter also took place on the riv- 
 er, between the French flotilla and a num- 
 ber of armed vessels belonging to the Mam- 
 elukes. Victory first inclined to the latter, 
 but at length determined in favour of the 
 French, who took, however, only a single 
 galliot. 
 
 Meanwhile, the French were obliged to 
 march with the utmost precaution. The 
 whole plain was now covered with Mame- 
 lukes, mounted on the finest Arabian horses, 
 and armed with pistols, carabines, and blun- 
 derbusses, of the best English workman- 
 ship — their plumed turbans waving in the 
 air, and their rich dresses and arms glitter- 
 ing in the sun. Entertaining a high cen- 
 tempt for the French force, as consisting 
 almost entirely of infantry, this splendid 
 barbaric chivalry watched every opportunity 
 for charging them, nor did a single straggler 
 escape the unrelenting edge of their sabres. 
 Their charge was almost as swift as the 
 wind, and as their severe bits enabled them 
 to halt, or wheel their horses at full gallon, 
 their retreat was as rapid as their advance. 
 Even the practised veterans of Italy were 
 at first embarrassed by this new mode of 
 fighting, and lost several men 5 especially 
 when fiitigue caused any one to fall out of 
 the ranks, in which case his fate became
 
 294 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 certain. But they were soon reconciled to 
 fighting the Mamelukes, when they dis- 
 covered that each of these horsemon carried 
 about him his fortune, and that it not un- 
 commonly amounted to considerable sums 
 in gold. 
 
 During these alarms, the French love of 
 the ludicrous was not abated by the fatigues 
 or dangers of the journey. The savants 
 had been supplied witli asses, the beasts of 
 burden easiest attained in Egypt, to trans- 
 port their persons and philosophical appa- 
 ratus. The General had given orders to 
 attend to their personal safety, which were 
 of course obeyed. But as these civilians 
 had little importance in the eyes of the 
 military, loud shouts of laughter used to 
 burst from the ranks, while Terming to re- 
 ceive the Mamelukes, as the general of 
 division called out, with military precision, 
 " Let the asses and the savants enter within 
 the square." The soldiers also amused 
 themselves by calhng the asses demi-sa- 
 vants. In times of discontent, these unlucky 
 servants of science had their full share of 
 the soldiers' reproaches, who imagined, 
 that this unpopular expedition had been 
 undertaken to gratify their passion for re- 
 searches, in which the military took very 
 slender interest. 
 
 Under such circumstances, it may be 
 doubted whethei even the literati them- 
 selves were greatly delighted, when, after 
 seven days of such marches as we have 
 described, they arrived indeed within six 
 leagues of Cairo, and beheld at a distance 
 the celebrated Pyramids, but learned at the 
 same time, that Murad Bey, with twenty- 
 two of his brethren, at the head of their 
 Mamelukes, had formed an entrenched 
 camp at a place called Embabeh, with the 
 purpose of covering Cairo, and giving bat- 
 tle to the French. On the 21st of July, as 
 the French continued to advance, they saw 
 their enemy in the field, and in full force. 
 A splendid line of cavalry, under Murad and 
 the other Beys, displayed the whole strength 
 of the Mamelukes. "Their right rested on 
 the imperfectly entrenched camp, in which 
 lay twenty thousand infantry, defended by 
 forty pieces of cannon. But the infantry 
 were an undisciplined rabble ; the guns, 
 wanting carriages, were mounted on clumsy 
 wooden frames; and the fortifications of 
 the camp were but commenced, and pre- 
 sented no formidable opposition. Buona- 
 parte made his dispositions. He extendec 
 his line to the right, in such a manner as to 
 keep out of gun-shot of the entrenched 
 camp, and have only to encounter the line 
 of cavalry. 
 
 Murad Bey saw this movement, and, 
 fully aware of its consequence, prepared to 
 charge with his magnificent body of horse, 
 declaring he would cut the French up like 
 gourds. Buonaparte, as he directed the 
 infantry to form squares to receive them, 
 called out to his men, " From yonder Pyra- 
 mids twenty centuries behold your actions." 
 The Mamelukes advanced with the utmost 
 speed, and corresponding fury, and charged 
 with horrible yells. They disordered one 
 of the French squares of infantry, which 
 
 would have been sabred in an instant, but 
 that the mass of this fiery militia was a lit- 
 tle behind the advanced guard. The French 
 had a moment to restore order, and used it. 
 The combat then in some degree resembled 
 that which, nearly twenty years afterwards, 
 took place at Waterloo ; the hostile cavalry 
 furiously charging the squares of infantry, 
 and trying, by the most undaunted efforts 
 of courage, to break in upon them at every 
 practicable point, while a tremendous fire 
 of musketry, grape-shot, and shells, cross- 
 ing in various directions, repaid their au- 
 dacity. Nothing in war was ever seen more 
 desperate than the exertions of the Mame- 
 lukes. Failing to force their horses through 
 the French squares, individuals were seen 
 to wheel them round and rein them back 
 on the ranks, that they might disorder them 
 bv kicking. As they became frantic with 
 diespair, they hurled at the immovable 
 phalanxes, which they could not break, their 
 pistols, their poniards, and their carabines. 
 Those who fell wounded to the ground, 
 dragged themselves on, to cut at the legs 
 of the French with their crooked sabres. 
 But their efforts were all in vain. 
 
 The Mamelukes, after the most courage- 
 ous efforts to accomplish their purpose, 
 were finally beaten off with great slaughter ; 
 and as they could not form or act in squad- 
 ron, their retreat became a confused flight. 
 The greater part attempted to return to 
 their camp, from that sort of instinct, as 
 Napoleon termed it, which leads fugitives 
 to retire in the same direction in which 
 they had advanced. By taking this route 
 they placed themselves betwixt the French 
 and" the Nile ; and the sustained and in- 
 supportable fire of the former soon obliged 
 them to plunge into the river, in hopes to 
 escape by swimming to the opposite bank — 
 a desperate effort, in which few succeeded. 
 Their infantry at the same time evacuated 
 their camp without a show of resistance, 
 precipitated themselves into the boats, and 
 endeavoured to cross the Nile. Very many 
 of these also were destroyed. The French 
 soldiers long afterwards occupied them- 
 selves in fishing for the drowned Mame- 
 lukes, and failed not to find money and 
 valuables upon all whom they could re- 
 cover. Murad Bey, with a part of his best 
 Mamelukes, escaped the slaughter by a 
 mere regular movement to the left, and re- 
 treated by Gizeh into Upper Egypt. 
 
 Thus were in a great measure destroyed 
 the finest cavalry, considered as individual 
 horsemen, that were ever known to exist. 
 " Could I have united the Mameluke horse 
 to the French infantry," said Buonaparte, 
 " I would have reckoned myself master of 
 the world." The destruction of a body 
 hitherto regarded as invincible, struck ter- 
 ror, not thr'ough Egypt only, but far into 
 Africa and Asia, wherever the Moslem re- 
 ligion prevailed ; and the rolling fire of 
 musketry by which the victory was achiev- 
 ed, procured for Buonaparte the oriental 
 appellation, of Sultan Kebir, or King of 
 Fire. 
 
 .\fter this combat, which, to render it 
 more striking to the Parisians, Buonaparta
 
 Chap. XXXI.] LIFE OF N.\POLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 29.- 
 
 tenned the " Battle of the Pyramids," Cairo 
 surrendered without resistance. The shat- 
 tered remains of the Mamelukes who had 
 Bwam the iS'ile and united under Ibrahim 
 Bey, were compelled to retreat into Syria. 
 A party of three hundred French cavalry 
 ventured to attack them at Salahieh, but 
 ■were severely handled by Ibrahim Bey and 
 bis followers, who, having cut many of them 
 
 to pieces, pursued their retreat without 
 farther interruption. Lower Egypt was 
 completely in the hands of the F'rench, and 
 thus far the expedition of Buonaparte had 
 been perfectly successful. But it was not 
 the will of Heaven, that even the most for- 
 tunate of men should escape reverses, and 
 a severe one awaited Napoleon. 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. 
 
 French Naval Squadron. — Conjiicting Statements of Buonaparte and Admiral Ganthe- 
 aume in regard to it. — Battlk of Abol'kik on \st Aiigust 1793. — Aumber and Posi- 
 tion of the Enemy, and of the English — Particulars of the Action. — The French Ad- 
 miral, Brueyes, killed, ajid his ship, L' Orient . bloicn up. — The Victory complete, two 
 only of the French Fleet, and two Frigates, escaping on the morning of the 2d. — Ef- 
 fects of this disaster on the French Army. — Means by which Napoleori proposed to 
 establish himself in Egypt. — His Administra'Aon in many respects useful and praise- 
 worthy— in others, his Conduct impolitic and absurd. — He desires to be regarded an 
 Envoy of the Deity, but xcithoul tuccess.—His endeavours equally unsuccessful to 
 propitiate the Porte. — The Fort of El Arish falls into his hands. — Massacre of Jaffa 
 — Admitted by Buonaparte himself— His arguments xnits defence — Replies to them — 
 General Conclusions. — Plague breaks out in the Frenth Army. — Napoleon's humanity 
 and courage upon this occasion. — Proceeds against Acre to attack Djezzar Pacha. — 
 Sir Sidney Smith — His character — Captures a French Convoy, and throics himself 
 into Acre. — French arrive before Acre ov. \~ith March 1799, and effect a breach on the 
 2Sth, but are driven back. — Assaulted by an Army of Moslems of various Xations as- 
 sem led without the Walls of Acre, whom Vmy defeat and disperse. — Interesting par- 
 ticulars of the Siege. — Personal misunderstanding and hostility beticixt Napoleon 
 and Sir Sidney Smith — explained arid accounted for. — Buonaparte is finally compel- 
 led to raise the Siege and retreat. 
 
 When Buonaparte and his army were safe- 
 ly landed in Egypt, policy seemed to de- 
 mand that the naval squadron, by which 
 they had been escorted, should have been 
 sent back to France as soon as possible. 
 The French leader accordingly repeatedly 
 asserts, that he had positively commanded 
 Admiral Brueyes, an excellent officer, for 
 whom he himself entertained particular 
 respect,* either to carry his squadron of 
 men-of-war into the harbour of Alexandria, 
 or, that being found impossible, instantly to 
 set sail for Corfu. The harbour, by report 
 of the Turkish pilots, was greatly too shal- 
 low to admit without danger vessels of such 
 a. deep draught of water; and it scarce can 
 be questioned that Admiral Brueyes would 
 have embraced the alternative of setting 
 sail for Corfu, had such been in reality per- 
 mitted by his orders. But the assertion 
 of Buonaparte is pointedly contradicted by 
 the report ef Vice-.\dmiral Gantheaume, 
 who was himself in the battle of Aboukir, 
 escaped from the slaughter with difficulty, 
 and was intrusted by Buonaparte with 
 drawing up the account of the disaster, 
 which he transmitted to the minister of war. 
 " Perhaps it may be said," so the despatch 
 bears, " that it would have been advisable 
 to have quitted the coast as soon as the 
 
 * In a letter published in the Moniteur, No. 90, 
 I'an 6, Buonaparte expresses the highest sense of 
 Admiral Brueyes' firmness and talent, as well as 
 of the high order in which he kept the squadron 
 luxier bii command ; and concludes by saying, he 
 had bejtowed on him, in the name of the Directo- 
 ry, a spy-glaaa of tha barf coogtruction which Ita- 
 ly afforded. 
 
 disembarkation had taken place. Bat con- 
 sidering the orders qf the commander-in- 
 chief, and the incalculable force afforded to 
 the land-army by the presence of the squad- 
 ron, the admiral thought it was his duty not 
 to quit these seas." 
 
 Looking at the matter more closely — con- 
 sidering the probability of Nelson's return, 
 and the consequent danger of the fleet — 
 considering, too, the especial interest which 
 naval and military officers attach each to 
 their peculiar service, and the relative dis- 
 regard with which they contemplate the 
 other, we can see several .sasons why Buo- 
 naparte might have wished, even at some 
 risk, to detain the fleet on the coast of 
 Egypt, but not one which could induce 
 Brueyes to continue there, not only with- 
 out the consent of the commander-in-chief, 
 but, as Napoleon afterwards alleged, against 
 his express orders. It is one of the cases 
 in which no degree of liberality can enable 
 us to receive the testimony of Buonaparte, 
 contradicted at once by circumstances, and 
 by the positive testimony of Gantheaume. 
 
 We now approach one of the most bril- 
 liant actions of the English navy, achieved 
 by the Admiral whose exploits so indisput- 
 ably asserted the right of Britain to the do- 
 minion of the ocean. Our limits require 
 that we should state but briefly a tale, at 
 which every heart in our islands will long 
 glow ; and we are the more willingly con- 
 cise that our readers possess it at length in 
 one of the best-written popular histories in 
 the English language.* 
 
 • Mr. Southey's " Life of Admiral Nelson ;" in
 
 296 
 
 Although unable to enter the harbour of 
 Alexandria, the French admiral believed his 
 equadron safely moored in the celebrated 
 Bay of Aboukir. They formed a compact 
 line of battle, of a semi-circular form, an- 
 chored so close to the shoal-water and surf, 
 tliat it was thought impossible to get be- 
 tween them and the land ; and they con- 
 cluded, therefore, that tliey could be brought 
 to action on the starboard side only. On 
 the 1st August the British fleet appeared; 
 and Nelson had no sooner reconnoitred the 
 French position than he resolved to force it 
 at every risk. Where the French ships 
 could ride, he argued with instantaneous 
 decision, there must be room for English 
 vessels to anchor between them and the 
 shore. He made signal for the attack ac- 
 cordingly. As the vessels approached the 
 French anchorage, they received a heavy 
 and raking fire, to which they could make 
 no return ; but they kept their bows to the 
 enemy, and continued to near their line. 
 The squadrons were nearly of the same nu- 
 merical strength. The French had thirteen 
 ships of the line and four frigates. The 
 English, tliirteen ships of the line, and one 
 50 gun ship. But the French had three 80 
 gun ships, and L 'Orient, a superb vessel of 
 120 guns. All the British were seventy- 
 fours. The van of the English fleet, six in 
 number, rounded successively the French 
 line, and dropping anchor betwixt them and 
 the shore, opened a tremendous fire. Nel- 
 son himself, and his other vessels, ranged 
 along the same French ships on the outer 
 Bide, and thus placed them betwixt two 
 fires ; while the rest of the French line re- 
 mained for a time unable to take a share in 
 the combat. The battle commenced with 
 the utmost fury, and lasted till, the sun hav- 
 ing set, and the night fallen, there was no 
 light by which the combat could be contin- 
 ued, save the flashes of the continuous 
 broadsides. Already, however, some of the 
 French vessels were taken, and the victors, 
 advancing onwards, assailed those which 
 had not yet been engaged. 
 
 Meantime a bi jad and dreadful light was 
 thrown on the scene of action, by the break- 
 ing out of a conflagration on board tlie 
 French admirad's flag-ship, L'Orient. Bru- 
 cyes himself had by this time fallen by a 
 cannon-shot. The flames soon mastered 
 tie immense vessel, where the carnage was 
 EO terrible as to prevent all attempts to ex- 
 tinguish them; and the L'Orient remained 
 blazing like a volcano in the middle of the 
 combat, rendering for a time the dreadful 
 fcpectacle visible. 
 
 At length, and while the battle continued 
 as furious as ever, the burning vessel blew 
 up with so tremendous an explosion, tliat 
 for a while it silenced the fire on both sides, 
 and made an aw.ul pause in the midst of 
 what had been but lately so horrible a tu- 
 mult. The cannonade was at first slowly 
 and partially resumed, but ere midnight it 
 raged with all its original fury. In the morn- 
 
 whichone of the most distinguished men of genius 
 and learning which our ago has produced, ha^ re- 
 corded the actions of the greatest naval hero that 
 ever existed. 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. {Chap. XXXI i 
 
 ing the only two French ships who bad 
 their colours flying, cut their cables and put 
 to sea, accompanied by two frigates ; being 
 all that remained undestroyed and uncap- 
 tured, of the gallant navy that so lately es- 
 corted Buonaparte and his fortunes in tri- 
 umph across the Mediterranean. 
 
 Such was the victory of Aboukir, for 
 which he who achieved it felt that word 
 was inadequate. He called it a conquest. 
 The advantages of the day, great as they 
 were, might have been pushed much far- 
 ther, if Nelson had been possessed of frig- 
 ates and small craft. The store-ships and 
 transports in the harbour of Alexandria 
 would then have been infallibly destroyed. 
 As it was,' the results were of the utmost 
 importance, and the destinies of the French 
 army were altered in proportion. They had 
 no longer any means of communicating with 
 the mother-country, but became the inhab- 
 itants of an insulated province, obliged to 
 rely exclusively on the resources which 
 they had brought with them, joined to those 
 which Egypt might afford. 
 
 Buonaparte, however surprised by this 
 reverse, exhibited great equanimity. Three 
 thousand French seamen, the remainder 
 of nearly six thousand engaged in that 
 dreadful battle, were sent ashore by cartel, 
 and formed a valuable addition to his forc- 
 es. Nelson, more grieved almost at being 
 frustrated of his complete purpose, than re- 
 joiced at his victory, left the coast after es- 
 tablishing a blockade on the port of Alex- 
 andria. 
 
 We are now to trace the means by which 
 Napoleon proposed to establish and con- 
 solidate his government in Egypt; and in 
 these we can recognize much that was 
 good and excellent, mixed with such ir- 
 regularity of imagination, as vindicates 
 the term of Jupiter Scapin, by which the 
 Abbe de Pradt distinguished this extraor- 
 dinary man. 
 
 His first care was to gather up the reins 
 of government, such as they were, which 
 had dropt from the hands of the defeated 
 Beys. With two classes of the Egyptian 
 nation it w.is easy to establish his authority. 
 The Fellahs, or peasantry, sure to be 
 squeezed to the last penny by one party or 
 other, willingly submitted to the invaders 
 as the strongest, and the most able to pro- 
 tect them. The Cophts, or men of busi- 
 ness, were equally ready to serve the party 
 which was in possession of the country. So 
 that the French became the masters of 
 both, as a natural consequence of the power 
 which they had obtained. 
 
 But the Turks were to be attached to 
 the conqueror by other means, since their 
 haughty national character, and the intoler- 
 ance of the Mahommedan religion, rendered 
 thera alike inaccessible to profit, the hope 
 of which swayed the Cophts, and to fear, 
 which wan the prevailing argument with 
 the Fellahs. To gratify their vanity, and 
 soothe their prejudices, seemed the only 
 mode by which Napoleon could insinuate 
 himself into the favour of this part of the 
 population. With this view, Buonaparte 
 was far from assuming a title of conquest in
 
 f Chap. XXXI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 297 
 
 Egypt, though he left few of its rights unex- 
 ercised. On the contrary, he wisely con- 
 tinued to admit the Pacha to that ostensible 
 share of authority which was yielded to him 
 by the Beys, and spoke with as much seem- 
 ing respect of the Sublime Porte, as if it 
 had been his intention ever again to permit 
 their having any effective power in Egyjit. 
 Their Imaums, or priests ; their Ulemats, 
 or men of law; their Cadis, or judges; 
 their Sheiks, or chiefs ; their Janissaries, 
 or privileged soldiers, were all treated by 
 Napoleon with a certain degree of attention, 
 and the Sultan Kebir, as they called him, 
 affected to govern, like the Grand Seignior, 
 by the intervention of a Divan. 
 
 This general council consisted of about 
 forty Sheiks, or Moslems of distinction by 
 birth or office, who held their regular meet- 
 ings at Cairo, and from which body ema- 
 nated the authority of provincial divans, es- 
 tablished in the various departments of 
 Egypt. Napoleon affected to consult the 
 superior council, and act in many cases ac- 
 cording to their report of the law of the 
 Prophet. On one occasion, he gave them 
 a moral lesson which it would be great in- 
 justice to suppress. A tribe of roving .\rabs 
 nad slain a peasant, and Buonaparte had 
 given directions to search out and punish 
 the murderers. One of his Oriental coun- 
 sellors laughed at the zeal which the Gen- 
 eral manifested on so slight a cause. 
 
 " What have you to do with the death of 
 this Fellah, Sultan Kebir?" said he ironic- 
 ally ; " was he your kinsman ?" 
 
 " He was more," said Napoleon ; " He was 
 one for whose safety I am accountable to 
 God, who placed him under my govern- 
 ment." 
 
 " He speaks like an inspired person I'" 
 exclaimed the Sheiks ; who can admire the 
 beauty of a just sentiment, though incapa- 
 ble, from the scope they allow their pas- 
 sions, to act up to the precepts of moral 
 rectitude. 
 
 Thus far the conduct of Buonaparte was 
 admirable. He protected the people who 
 were placed under his power, he respected 
 their religious opinions, he administered 
 justice to them according to their own laws, 
 until they should be supplied with abetter 
 system of legislation. Unquestionably, his 
 good administration did not amend the rad- 
 ical deficiency of his title ; it w;is still 
 chargeable against him, tiiat he had invad- 
 ed the dominions of the most ancient ally 
 of France, at a time when tliere was the 
 most profound peace between the coun- 
 tries. Yet in delivering Egypt from the 
 tyrannical sway of the Mamelukes, and ad- 
 ministering the government of the country 
 with wisdom and comparative humanity, the 
 mode in which he used the pov.er which he 
 had acquired, miglit be admitted in some 
 measure to atone for liis usurpation. Not 
 contented with directing his soldiers to 
 hold in respect the religious observances 
 of the country, he showed equal justice and 
 policy in collecting and protecting the scat- 
 tered remains of the great caravan of the 
 Mecca pilgrimage, which had been plun- 
 dered by the Mamelukes on their retreat. 
 Vot, I. N 2 
 
 So satisfactory was his conduct to the Mos- 
 lem divmes, that he contrived to obtain 
 from the clergy of the Mosque an opinion, 
 declaring that it was lawful to pa^ tribute 
 to the French, though such a doctrme is di- 
 ametrically inconsistent with the Koran. 
 Thus far Napoleon's measures had proved 
 rational and successful. But with this laud- 
 able course of conduct was mixed a species 
 of artifice, which, while we are compelled 
 to term it impious, has in it, at the same 
 time, something ludicrous, and almost 
 childish. 
 
 Buonaparte entertained the strange idea 
 of persuading the Moslems that he himself 
 pertained in some sort to their religion, be- 
 ing an envoy of the Deity, sent on earth, 
 not to take away, but to confirm and com- 
 plete, the doctrines of the Koran, and the 
 mission of Mahomet. He used, in execut- 
 ing this purpose, the inflated language of 
 the East, the more easily that it corres- 
 ponded, in its allegorical and amplified 
 style, with his own natural tone of compo- 
 sition; and he hesitated not to join in the 
 external ceremonial of the Mahommedan re- 
 ligion, that his actions might seem to con- 
 firm his words. The French general cele- 
 brated the feast of the Prophet as it recur- 
 red, with some .Sheik of eminencCj and 
 joined in the litanies and worship enjoined 
 by the Koran. He affected, too, the lan- 
 guage of an inspired follower of the faith of 
 ^lecca, of which the following is a curious 
 example. 
 
 On entering the sepulchral chamber in 
 the pyramid of Cheops, " Glory be to .\l- 
 lah," said Buonaparte, " there is no God 
 but God, and Mahommed is his prophet." 
 A confession of faith which is in itself a 
 declaration of Islamism. 
 
 " Thou hast spoken like the most learned 
 of the prophets," said the Mufti, who ac- 
 companied him. 
 
 " I can command a car of fire to descend 
 from heaven," continued the French gene- 
 ral, " and I can guide and direct its course 
 upon earth." 
 
 '■' Thou art the great chief to whom Ma- 
 hommed gives power and victory," said the 
 Mufti. 
 
 Napoleon closed the conversation with 
 this not very pertinent oriental proverb, 
 " The bread which the wicked seizes upon 
 by force, shall be turned to dust in his 
 mouth." 
 
 Though the Mufti played his part in the 
 above scene with becoming gravity, Buona- 
 parte over-estimated his own theatrical 
 powers, and did too little justice to the 
 shrewdness of the Turks, if he supposed 
 them really edified by his pretended pros- 
 elytism. With them as with us, a renegade 
 from the religious faith in which he was 
 brought up, is like a deserter from the 
 standard of his countrj' ; and though the 
 1 services of either may be accepted and us- 
 1 ed, they remain objects of disregard and 
 i contempt, as well with those to whoso ser- 
 vice they have deserted, as with the party 
 I whom they have abandoned. 
 ' The Turks and Arabs of Cairo soon afler- 
 i wards showed Buonaparte, by a general and
 
 298 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXI. 
 
 unexpected insurrection in which many 
 Frenchmen were slain, how little they 
 were moved by his pretended attachment 
 to their faith, and how cordially they consid- 
 ered him as their enemy. Yet, when the 
 insurgents had been quelled by force, and 
 the blood of five thousand Moslems had 
 atoned for that of three hundred French- 
 men, Napoleon, in an address to the inhab- 
 itants of Cairo, new-modelling the general 
 council, or divan, held still the same lan- 
 guage as before of himself and his destinies. 
 ■'■ Sheriffs," he said, " Ulemats, Orators of 
 the Mosque, teach the people that those 
 who become my enemies shall have no 
 refuge either in this world or the ne.\t. Is 
 there any one blind enough not to see that 
 I am the agent of Destiny, or incredulous 
 enough to call in question the power of 
 Destiny over human affairs ? Make the 
 j.eople understand that since the world was 
 a world, it was ordained, that having de- 
 stroyed the enemies of Islamism, and broken 
 down the Cross,* I should come from the 
 distant parts of the West to accomplish the 
 task designed for me — show them, that in 
 more than twenty passages of the Koran 
 my coming is foretold. I could demand a 
 reckoning from each of you for the most 
 secret thoughts of his soul, since to me ev- 
 erything is known ; but the day will come 
 when all shall know from whom I have my 
 commission, and that human efforts cannot 
 prevail against me." 
 
 It is plain from this strange proclamation, 
 that Buonaparte was willing to be worship- 
 ped as a superior being, as soon as altars 
 could be built, and worshippers collected 
 together. But the Turks and Arabs were 
 wiser than the Persians in the case of 
 young Ammon. The Sheik of Alexandria, 
 who affected much devotion to Buona- 
 parte's person, came roundly to the point 
 with him. He remarked the French ob- 
 served no religious worship. " Why not, 
 therefore," he said, "declare yourself Mos- 
 lem at once, and remove the only obstacle 
 betwixt you and the throne of the East ?" 
 Buonaparte objected the prohibition of 
 wine, and the external rite which Mahom- 
 med adopted from the Jewish religion. 
 The officious Sheik proposed to call a 
 Council of the Moslem sages, and procure 
 for the new proselytes some relaxation of 
 these fundamental laws of the Prophet's 
 faith. According to this hopeful plan the 
 Moslems must have ceased to be such in 
 two principal articles of their ritual, in or- 
 der to induce the French to become a kind 
 of imperfect renegades, rejectins^, in the 
 prohibition of wine, the only peculiar guard 
 which Maliommed assigned to the moral 
 virtue of his followers, while they embrac- 
 ed the degrading doctrine of fatality, the 
 licentious practice of polygamy, and the 
 absurd chimeras of the Koran. 
 
 .Napoleon appears to have believed the 
 Sheik serious, which is very doubtful, and 
 to hdve contemplated with eager ambition 
 
 * AHudin; to the capture of the isiland of .Malta, 
 and subjection of the Pope, on which lie was wont 
 to found as services tendered to the religion of Ma- 
 liommed 
 
 the extent of views which his conversion to 
 Islamism appeared to open. His own belief 
 in predestination recommended the creed 
 of Mahommed, and for the Prophet of Mec- 
 ca himself he had a high respect, as one of 
 those who had wrought a great and endur- 
 ing change on the face of the world. Per- 
 haps he envied the power which Mahom- 
 med possessed, of ruling over men's souls 
 as well as their bodies, and might thence 
 have been led into the idea of playing a 
 part, to which time and circumstances, the 
 character of his army and his own, were 
 alike opposed. No man ever succeeded in 
 imposing himself on the public 4s a super- 
 natural personage, who was not to a certain 
 degree the dupe of his own imposture; and 
 Napoleon's calculating and reflecting mind 
 was totally devoid of the enthusiasm which 
 enables a man to cheat himself into at least 
 a partial belief of the deceit which he 
 would impose on others. The French sol- 
 diers, on the other hand, bred in scorn of 
 religion of every description, would have 
 seen nothing but ridicule in the pretensions 
 of their leader to a supernatural mission; 
 and in playing the character which Alexan- 
 der ventured to personate, Buonaparte 
 would have found in his own army many a 
 Clitus, who would have considered his pre- 
 tensions as being only ludicrous. He him- 
 self, indeed, expressed himself satisfied 
 that his authority over his soldiers was so 
 absolute, that it would have cost but giving 
 it out in the order of the day to have made 
 them all become Mahommedans ; but, at 
 the same time, he has acquainted us, that 
 the French troops were at times so much 
 discontented with their condition in Egypt, 
 that they formed schemes of seizing on 
 their standards, and returning to France by 
 force. What reply, it may be reasonably 
 asked, were they likely to make to a propo- 
 sal, which would have deprived them of 
 their European and French character, and 
 levelled them with Africans and Asiatics, 
 whose persons they despised, and whose 
 country they desired to leave ? It is prob- 
 able, that reflections on the probable conse- 
 quences prevented his going farther than 
 the vague pretensions which he announced 
 in his proclamations, and in his language 
 to the Sheiks. He had gone far enough, 
 however, to show, that the considerations 
 of conscience would have been no hin- 
 drance ; and that, notwithstanding the 
 strength of his understanding, common 
 sense had less influence than might have 
 been expected, in checking his assertion of 
 claims so ludicrous as well as so profane. 
 Indeed, his disputes with the Ottoman 
 Porte speedily assumed a character, which 
 his taking the turban and professing him- 
 self a Moslem in all the forms could not 
 have altered to his advantage. 
 
 It had been promised to Buonaparte that 
 the abilities of Talleyrand, as Minister of 
 Foreign Afl'airs, should be employed to rec- 
 oncile the Grand Seignior and his council- 
 lors to the occupation of Egypt. But the 
 efforts of that able negotiator had totally 
 failed in a case so evidently hopeless ; and if 
 Talleyrand had even proceeded to Constan-
 
 Chap. XXXI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 399 
 
 tinople, as Napoleon alleged the Directory 
 had promised, it could only have been to be 
 confined in the Seven Towers. The Porte 
 had long since declared, that any attack 
 upon Egypt, the road to the holy cities of 
 Mecca and Medina, would be considered 
 as a declaration of war, whatsoever pre- 
 texts might be alleged. They regarded, 
 therefore, Buonaparte's invasioif as an in- 
 jury equally unprovoked and unjustifiable. 
 They declared war against France, called 
 upon every follower of the Prophet to take 
 the part of his vicegerent upon earth, col- 
 lected forces, and threatened an immediate 
 expedition, for the purpose of expelling the 
 inndels from Egypt. The success of the 
 British at Aboukir increased their confi- 
 dence. Nelson was loaded with every mark 
 of honour which the Sultan could bestow, 
 and the most active preparations were made 
 to act against Buonaparte, equally consid- 
 ered as enemy to the Porte, whether he 
 professed himself Christian, infidel, or ren- 
 egade. 
 
 Meantime that adventurous and active 
 chief was busied in augmenting his means 
 of defence or conquest, and in acquiring 
 the information necessary to protect what 
 he had gained, and to extend his dominions. 
 For the former purpose, corps were raised 
 from among the Egj'ptians, and some were 
 mounted upon dromedaries, the better to 
 encounter the perils of the desert. For the 
 latter, Buonaparte undertook a journey to 
 the Isthmus of Suez, the well-known inter- 
 val which connects Asia witli Africa. He 
 subscribed the charter, or protection, grant- 
 ed to the Maronite Monks of Sinai, with 
 the greater pleasure, that the signature of 
 Mahommed had already sanctioned that an- 
 cient document. He visited the celebrated 
 fountains of Moses, and, misled by a guide, 
 had nearly been drowned in the advancing 
 tides of the Red Sea. This, he observes, 
 would have furnished a test to ail the 
 preachers in Europe. But the same Deity, 
 who rendered that gulf fatal to Pharaoh, 
 had reserved for one, who equally defied 
 and diso\vned his power, the rocks of an 
 island in the midst of the Atlantic. 
 
 Whea Napoleon was engaged in this ex- 
 pedition, or speedily on his return, lie 
 learned that two Turkish armies had as- 
 sembled, — one at Rhodes, and the other in 
 Syria, with the purpose of recovering Eg)'pt. 
 The daring genius, which always desired to 
 anticipate the attempts of the enemy, de- 
 termined him to march with a strong force 
 for the occupation of Syria, and thus at 
 once to alarm the Turks by the progress 
 which he expected to make in that prov- 
 ince, and to avoid being attacked in Egypt 
 by two Turkish armies at the same time. 
 His commencement was as successful as 
 his enterprise was daring. .\ body of Mam- 
 elukes was dispersed by a night attack. 
 The fort of El Arish, considered as one of 
 the keys of Egypt, fell easily into his hands. 
 Finally, at the head of about ten thousand 
 men, he traversed the desert, so famous in 
 biblical history, which separates Africa 
 from Asia, and entered Palestine without 
 much loss, bqt not without experiencing 
 
 the privations lo which the wanderers in 
 those sandy wastes have been uniformly 
 subjected. While his soldiers looked with 
 fear on the howling wilderness which they 
 saw around, there was something in the ex- 
 tent and loneliness of the scene that cor- 
 responded with the swelling soul of Napo- 
 leon, and accommodated itself to his ideas 
 of immense and boundless space. He was 
 pleased with the flattery, which derived his 
 Christian name from two Greek words, sig- 
 nifying the Lion of the Desert. 
 
 Upon his entering the Holy Land, Buo- 
 naparte again drove before him a body of 
 Mamelukes, belonging to those who, after 
 the battles of the Pyramids and of Salahieh, 
 had retreated into Syria; and his army oc- 
 cupied without resistance Gaza, anciently a 
 city of the Philistines, in which they found 
 supplies of provisions. Jaffa, a celebrated 
 city during the time of the Crusades, was 
 the next object of attack. It was bravely 
 assaulted and fiercely defended. But the 
 French valour and discipline prevailed — the 
 place was carried by storm — three thousand 
 Turks were put to the sword, and the town 
 was abandoned to the license of the sol- 
 diery, which, by Buonaparte's own admis- 
 sion, never assumed a >-hape more fright- 
 ful." Such, it may be said, is the stern 
 rule of war; and if so, most of our readers 
 will acquiesce in the natural exclamation of 
 the Mareschal de Montluc, " Certes, we sol- 
 diers stand in more need of the Divine mer- 
 cy than other men, seeing that our profes- 
 sion compels us to command and to witness 
 deeds of such cruelty." It was not, how- 
 ever, to the ordinary horrors attending the 
 storm of a town, that the charge against 
 Buonaparte is on this occasion limited. He 
 is accused of having been guilty of an ac- 
 tion of great injustice, as well as of espe- 
 cial barbarity. Concerning this we shall 
 endeavour to state, stripped of colouring 
 and exaggeration, first the charge, and then 
 the reply, by Napoleon liimself. 
 
 After the breach had been stormed, a 
 large part of the garrison, estimated by 
 Buonaparte himself at twelve hundred men, 
 which Miot raises to betwixt two and three 
 thousand, and others exaggerate still more, 
 remained on the defensive, and held out in 
 the mosques, and a sort of citadel to which 
 they had retreated, till, at length, despairini; 
 of succour, they surrendered their arms, 
 and were in appearance admitted to quar- 
 ter. Of this body, the Egyptians were 
 carefully separated from the Turks, Mau- 
 grabins, and Arnaouts ; and while the first 
 were restored to liberty, and sent back to 
 their country, these last were placed under 
 a strong guard. Provisions were distribut- 
 ed to them, and they were permitted to go 
 by detachments in quest of water. Accor- 
 ding to all appearance, they were consider- 
 ed and treated as prisoners of war. This 
 was on the 7th of March. On the 9th, two 
 days afterwards, this body of prisoners were 
 marched out of Jaffa, in the centre of a 
 large square battalion, commanded byGen- 
 
 *Sce his despatch to the Directory, on the 
 Syrian campaign.
 
 300 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXI. 
 
 eral Bon. Miot assures us that he himself 
 mounted hie horse, accompanied the mel- 
 ancholy column, and witnessed the event. 
 The Turks foresaw their fate, but used nei- 
 ther entreaties nor complaints to avert it. 
 They marched on, silent and composed. 
 Some of them, of higher rank, seemed to 
 exhort the others to submit, like servants 
 of the Prophet, to the decree which, accor- 
 ding to their belief, was written on their 
 forehead. They were escorted to the sand- 
 hills to the south-east of Jaffa, divided 
 there into small bodies, and put to death by 
 musketry. The execution lasted a consid- 
 erable time, and the wounded, as in the 
 fusillades of the.Revolution, were despatch- 
 ed with the bayonet. Their bodies were 
 heaped together, and formed a pyramid 
 which is still visible, consisting now of hu- 
 man bones as originally of bloody corpses. 
 
 The cruelty of this execution occasioned 
 the fact itself to be doubted, though com- 
 ing wth strong evidence, and never denied 
 by the French themselves. Napoleon, how- 
 ever, frankly admitted the truth of the 
 statement both to Lord Ebrington and to 
 Dr. O'Meara. Well might the author of 
 this crrelty ivrite to the Directory, that the 
 storm of Jaffa was marked by horrors which 
 he had never elsewhere witnessed. Buo- 
 naparte's defence was, that the massacre 
 was justified by the laws of war — that the 
 head of his messenger had been cut off by 
 the governor of Jaffa, when sent to summon 
 him to surrender — that these Turks were a 
 part of the garrison of El Arish, who had 
 engaged not to serve against the French, 
 and were found immediately afterwards de- 
 fending Jaffa, in breach of the terms of their 
 capitulation. They had incurred the doom 
 of death, therefore, by the rules of war — 
 Wellington, he said, would have in his 
 place acted in the same manner. 
 
 To this plea the following obvious an- 
 swers apply. If the Turkish governor had 
 behaved like* a barbarian, for which his 
 country, and the religion which Napoleon 
 meditated to embrace, might be some ex- 
 cuse, the French general had avenged him- 
 self by the storm and plunder of the town, 
 with which his revenge ought in all reason 
 to have been satisfied. If some of these 
 unhappy Turks had broken their faith to 
 Buonaparte, and were found again in the 
 ranks which they had sworn to abandon, it 
 could not, according to the most severe con- 
 struction of the rules of war, authorize the 
 dreadful retaliation of indiscriminate massa- 
 cre upon a multitude of prisoners, withwit 
 inquiring whether they had been all equally 
 guilty. Lastly, and admitting them all to 
 stand in the same degree of criminality, 
 although their breach of faith might have 
 entitled Buonaparte to refuse these men 
 quarter while they had arms in their hands, 
 that right was ended when the French gen- 
 eral received their submission, and when 
 they had given up the means of defence, on 
 condition of safety for life at least. 
 
 This bloody deed must always remain a 
 deep stain on the character of Napoleon. 
 "Yet we do not view it as the indulgence of 
 an innate love of cruelty -, for nothing in 
 
 Buonaparte's history shows the existence 
 of that vice, and there are many things 
 which intimate his disposition to have been 
 naturally humane. But he was ambitious, 
 aimed at immense and gigantic undertak- 
 ings, and easily learned to overlook the 
 waste of human life, which the execution 
 of his projects necessarily involved. He 
 seems to have argued, not on the character 
 of the action, but solely on the effect which 
 it was to produce upon his own combina- 
 tions. His army was small j and it was his 
 business to strike terror into his numerous 
 enemies, and the measure to be adopted 
 seemed capable of making a deep impres- 
 sion on all who should hear of it. Besides, 
 these men, if dismissed, would immediate- 
 ly rejoin his enemies. He had experienced 
 their courage, and to disarm them would 
 have been almost an unavailing precaution, 
 where their national weapon, the sabre, was 
 so easily attained. To detain them prison- 
 ers would have required a stronger force 
 than Napoleon could afford, would have 
 added difficulty and delay to the movement 
 of his troops, and tended to exhaust his 
 supplies. That sort of necessity, therefore, 
 which men fancy to themselves when they 
 are unwilling to forego a favourite object 
 for the sake of obeying a moral precept — 
 that necessity which might be more prop- 
 erly termed a temptation difficult to be re- 
 sisted — that necessity which has been call- 
 ed the tyrant's plea, was the cause of the 
 massacre at Jaffa, and must remain its sole 
 apology. 
 
 It might almost seem that Heaven set its 
 vindictive brand upon this deed of butche- 
 ry, for about the time it was committed the 
 plague broke out in the army. Buonaparte, 
 with a moral courage deserving as much 
 praise as his late cruelty deserved reproba- 
 tion, went into the hospitals in person, and 
 while exposing himself, without hesitation, 
 to the infection, diminished the terror of 
 the disease in the opinion of the soldiers 
 generally, and even of the patients them- 
 selves, who were thus enabled to keep up 
 their spirits, and gained by doing so the fair- 
 est chance of recovery. 
 
 Meanwhile, determined to prosecute the 
 conquest of Syria, Buonaparte resSlved to 
 advance to Saint Jean d'Acre, so celebrat- 
 ed in the wars of Palestine. The Turkish 
 Pacha, or governor of Syria, who, like oth- 
 ers in his situation, accounted himself al- 
 most an independent sovereign, was Achmet, 
 who, by his unrelentmg cruelties and exe- 
 cutions, had procured the terrible distinc- 
 tion of Djezzar, or the Butcher. Buona- 
 parte addressed this formidable chief in two 
 letters, offering his alliance, and threatening 
 him with his vengeance if it should be re- 
 jected. To neither did the Pacha return 
 any answer — in the second instance he put 
 to death the messenger. The French gen- 
 eral advanced against Acre, vowing re- 
 venge. There were, however, obstacles to 
 the success of his enterprise, on which he 
 had not calculated. 
 
 The Pacha had communicated the ap- 
 proach of Napoleon to Sir Sidney Smith, 
 to whom had been committed the charge
 
 Chap. XXXI] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 301 
 
 of assisting the Turks in their proposed ex- 
 pedition to Egypt, and who, for that pur- 
 pose, was cruising in the Levant. He has- 
 tened to sail for Acre with the Tigre and 
 Theseus, ships of the line, and arriving there 
 two days ere the French made their appear- 
 ance, contributed greatly to place the town, 
 the fortifications of which were on the old 
 Gothic plan, in a respectable state of de- 
 fence. 
 
 Sir Sidney Smith, who so highly distin- 
 cuished himself on this occasion, had been 
 lone celebrated for the most intrepid cour- 
 age, and spirit of enterprise. His character 
 was. besides marked by those traits of enthu- 
 6iasin at which cold and vulgar minds are apt 
 to sneer, because incapable of understand- 
 ing them ; yet without which great and hon- 
 ourable actions have rarely been achieved. 
 He had also a talent, uncommon among the 
 English, that of acting easily with foreign, 
 and especially with barbarous troops, and 
 understanding how to make their efforts 
 availing for the service of the common 
 cause, though exerted in a manner different 
 from those of civilized nations. This brave 
 officer having been frequently intrusted 
 with the charge of alarming the French 
 coast, had been taken on one occasion, and, 
 contrary to tlie law of nations, and out of a 
 mean spirit of revenge, was imprisoned in 
 the Temple, from which he was deliver- 
 ed by a daring stratagem, effected by the 
 French royalist party. He had not been 
 many hours at Acre, when Providence af- 
 forded him a distinguishing mark of favour. 
 The Theseus, which had been detached to 
 intercept any French vessels that might be 
 attending on Buonaparte's march, detected 
 a small flotilla stealing under Mount Car- 
 mel, and had the good fortune to make 
 prize of seven out of nine of them. They 
 were a convoy from Damietta, bound for 
 Acre, having on board heavy cannon, plat- 
 forms, ammunition, and other necessary ar- 
 ticles. These cannon and military stores, 
 destined to form the siege of Acre, became 
 eminently useful in its defence, and the 
 consequence of their capture was eventual- 
 ly decisive of the struggle. General Phi- 
 lippeaux, a French royalist, and officer of 
 engineers, immediately applied himself to 
 place the cannon thus acquired, to the 
 amount of betwixt thirty and forty, upon 
 the walls which they had been intended to 
 destroy. This officer, who had been Buona- 
 parte's school-fellow, and the principal agent 
 in delivering Sir Sidney Smith from prison, 
 possessed rare talents in his profession. 
 Thus stringely met under the walls of Acre, 
 an English officer, late a prisoner in the 
 Temple at Paris, and a French colonel of 
 engineers, with the late general of the .\r- 
 my of Italy, the ancient companion of Phi- 
 lippeaux,* and about to become almost the 
 personal enemy of Smith. 
 
 On the 17th March, the French came in 
 sight of .\cre. which is built on a peninsula 
 advancing into the sea. and so convenient- 
 
 * Pbilippeaux died during the siege, of a fever 
 brought on by fatigue. Buonaparte spoke of hira 
 with more respect than he usually showed to those 
 who had been successful in opposing him. One 
 
 ly situated that vessels can lie near the 
 shore, and annoy with their fire whatever 
 advances to assault the fortifications. Not- 
 withstanding the presence of two British 
 ships of war, and the disappointment con- 
 cerning his battering cannon, which were 
 now pointed against him from the ramparts, 
 Buonaparte, with a characteristic persever- 
 ance which on such an occasion was push- 
 ed into obstinacy, refused to abandon his 
 purpose, and proceeded to open trenches, 
 although the guns which he had to place in 
 them were only twelve pounders. The 
 point of attack was a large tower which 
 predominated over the rest of the fortifi- 
 cations. A mine at the §ame time was run 
 under the extreme defences. 
 
 By the 28th March a breach was effected, 
 the mine was sprung, and the French pro- 
 ceeded to the assault upon that day. They 
 advanced at the charging step under a mur- 
 derous fire from the walls, bat had the mor- 
 tification to find a deep ditch betwixt them 
 and the tower. They crossed it, neverthe- 
 less, by help of the scaling-ladders which 
 they carried with them, and forced their 
 way as far as the tower, from which it is 
 said that the defenders, impressed by the 
 fate of Jaffa, were beginning to fly. They 
 were checked by the example of Djezzar 
 himself, who firr-d his own pistols at the 
 French, and upbraided the Moslems who 
 were retreating from the walls. The de- 
 fences were again manned ; the French, 
 unable to support the renewed fire, were 
 checked and forced back ; and the Turks 
 falling upon them in their retreat with sa- 
 bre in hand, killed a number of their best 
 men, and Mailly, who commanded the par- 
 ty. Sorties were made from the place to 
 destroy the French works ; and although 
 the cries with which the Turks carry on 
 their military manceuvres gave the alarm to 
 the enemy, yet, assisted by a detachment 
 of British seamen, they did the French 
 considerable damage, reconnoitred the 
 mine which they were forming anew, and 
 obtained the knowledge of its direction ne- 
 cessary to prepare a counter mine. 
 
 While the strife was thus fiercely main- 
 tained on both sides, with mutual loss and 
 increased animosity, the besiegers were 
 threatened with other dangers. An army 
 of Moslem troops of various nations, but all 
 actuated by the same religious zeal, had 
 formed themselves in the mountains of Sa- 
 maria, and uniting with them the warlike 
 inhabitants of that country, now called 
 Naplous, formed the plan of attacking the 
 French army lying before Acre on one side, 
 while Djezzar and his allies should assail 
 them upon the other. Kleber, with his di- 
 vision, was despatched by Buonaparte to 
 disperse this assemblage. But though he 
 obtained considerable advantages over de- 
 tached parties of the Syrian army, their 
 strength was sodisproportioned, that at last, 
 while he held a position near Mount Ta- 
 bor, with two or three thousand men. he 
 
 reason might be, that the merit given to Fhilip- 
 p<,'aux was in some degree sulj.iiracteii from Sir 
 Sidney Smith. The former was a Frenchman, and 
 dead — the latter ahve, and an Englishroaa.
 
 302 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXI. 
 
 was surrounded by about ten times his own 
 number. But his general-in-chief was hast- 
 ening to his assistance. Buonaparte left 
 two divisions to keep the trenches before 
 Acre, and penetrated into the country in 
 Uiree columns. Murat, at the head of a 
 fourth, occupied the pass called Jacob's 
 Bridge. The attack, made on various 
 points, was everywhere successful. The 
 camp of the Syrian army was taken j their 
 defeat, almost their dispersion, was accom- 
 plished, while their scattered remains rted 
 to Damascus. Buonaparte returned, crown- 
 ed with laurels, to the siege of Acre. 
 
 Here, too, the arrival of thirty heavy 
 pieces of cannon from Jaffa seemed to 
 promise that success, which the French 
 had as yet been unable to attain. It was 
 about this time that, walking on the Mount 
 which still retains the name of Richard 
 CcBur de Lion, Buonaparte expressed him- 
 self to Murat in these terms, as he pointed 
 to St. Jean D'Acre : — '• The fate of the East 
 depends upon yonder petty town. Its con- 
 quest will ensure the main object of my e.t- 
 pedition, and Damascus will be the first 
 fruit of it.'"^ Thus it would seem, that 
 while engaged in the enterprise, Buonaparte 
 held the same language, which he did many 
 years after its failure when at St. Helena. 
 
 Repeated and desperate assaults proved, 
 that the consequence which he attached to 
 taking Acre was as great as his words ex- 
 pressed. The assailants suffered severely 
 on these occasions, for they were e.xposed 
 to the fire of two ravelins, or external forti- 
 fications, which had been constructed un- 
 der Philippeaux's directions, and at the 
 same time enfiladed by the fire of the Brit- 
 ish shipping. At length, employing to the 
 uttermost the heavy artillery now in his 
 possession, Buonaparte, in spite of a bloody 
 and obstinate opposition, forced his way to 
 the disputed tower, and made a lodgment 
 on the second story. It afforded, however, 
 no access to the town ; and the troops re- 
 mained there as in a cul de sac, the lodg- 
 ment being covered from the English and 
 Turkish fire by a work constructed partly 
 of packs of cotton, partly of the dead bod- 
 ies of the slain, built up along with them. 
 
 .\t this critical moment, a fleet, bearing 
 reinforcements long hoped for and much 
 needed, appeared in view of the garrison. 
 They contained Turkish troops under the 
 command of Hassan Bey. Yet near as 
 they were, the danger was imminent that 
 Acre might be taken ere they could land. 
 To prevent such a misfortune. Sir Sidney 
 Smith in person proceeded to the disputed 
 tower, at the head of a body of British 
 seamen, armed with pises. They united 
 themselves to a corps of Brave Turks, who 
 defended the breach rather with heavy 
 Btones than with other weapons. The heap 
 of ruins which divided the contending par- 
 ties served as a breast-work to both. The 
 muzzles of the muskets touched each oth- 
 er, and the spear-keads of the standards 
 were locked together. At this moment one 
 
 * Related by Miot, as communicated to him by 
 Murat. 
 
 of tlie Turkish regiments of Hassan's ar- 
 my, which had by this time landed, made 
 a sortie upon the French ; and though they 
 were driven back, yet the diversion occa- 
 sioned the besiegers to be forced from 
 their lodgment. 
 
 Abandoning the ill-omened tower, which 
 had cost the besiegers so many men, Buon- 
 aparte now turned his efforts towards a 
 considerable breach that had been effected 
 in the curtain, and which promised a more 
 easy entrance. It proved, indeed, but too 
 easy ; for Djezzar Pacha opposed to the as- 
 sault on this occasion a new mode of tac- 
 tics. Confiding in his superior numbers, 
 he suffered the French, who were com- 
 manded by the intrepid General Lannes, to 
 surmount the breach without opposition, by 
 which they penetrated into the body of the 
 place. They had no sooner entered, than 
 a numerous body of Turks, mingled among 
 them with loud shouts ; and ere they had 
 time or room to avail themselves of their 
 discipline, brought them into that state of 
 close fighting, where strength and agility 
 are superior to every other acquirement. 
 The Turks, wielding the sabre in one hand, 
 and the poniard in the other, cut to pieces 
 almost all the French who had entered. 
 General Rambaud lay a headless corpse in 
 the breach — Lannes was with difficulty 
 brought off, severely wounded. The Turks 
 gave no quarter ; and instantly cutting the 
 heads off of those whom they slew, car- 
 ried them to the Pacha, who sat in public 
 distributing money to those who brought 
 him these bloody trophies, which now lay 
 piled in heaps around him. This was the 
 sixth assault upon these tottering and blood- 
 stained ramparts. '• Victory," said Napole- 
 on, " is to the most persevering :'' and con- 
 trary to the advice of Kleber, he resolved 
 upon another and yet more desperate attack. 
 On the 21st May the final effort was made. 
 The attack of the morning failed, and Colo- 
 nel Veneux renewed it at midday. " Be 
 assured," said he to Buonaparte, " Acre 
 shall be yours to-night, or Veneux will die 
 on the breach." He kept his word at the 
 cost of his life. Bon was also slain, whose 
 division had been the executioners of the 
 garrison of Jaffa. The French now retreat- 
 ed, dispirited, and despairing of success. 
 The contest had been carried on at half a 
 musket shot distance ; and the bodies of 
 the dead lying around, putrified under the 
 burning sun, and spread disease among the 
 survivors. An attempt was made to estab- 
 lish a suspension of arms for removing this 
 horrible annoyance. Miot says that the 
 Pacha returned no answer to the proposal 
 of the French. According to Sir Sidney 
 Smith's official reports, the armistice for 
 this humane purpose was actually agreed 
 on, but broken off by the French firing upon 
 those who were engaged in the melancholy 
 office, and then rushing on to make their 
 last unsuccessful charge and assault upon 
 the breach. This would have been a crime 
 so useless, and would have tended so much 
 to the inconvenience of the French them- 
 selvt^s, that we cannot help suspecting 
 3ome misunderstanding had occurred, anq
 
 Chap. XXXL] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 303 
 
 that the interruption was under a wrong 
 conception of the purpose of the working 
 party. 
 
 This is the more probable, as Sir Sidney 
 Smith, who reports the circumstance, was 
 not at this time disposed to put the best 
 construction on any action of Buonaparte's, 
 who, on the other hand, regarded the Brit- 
 ish seaonan with peculiar dislike, and even 
 malignity. The cause of personal quarrel 
 betwixt them was rather singular. 
 
 Buonaparte had addressed the subjects 
 of Achmet Djezzar's pachalik, in terms in- 
 viting them to revolt, and join the French ; 
 yet was much offended when, imitating his 
 own policy, the Pacha and Sir Sidney 
 Smith caused letters to be sent into his 
 camp before Acre, urging his soldiers to 
 mutiny and desertion. Sir Sidney also 
 published a proclamation to the Druses, 
 and other inhabitants of the country, call- 
 ing on them to trust the faith of a Christ- 
 ian knight, rather than that of an unprin- 
 cipled renegado. Nettled at these insults, 
 Buonaparte declared that the English com- 
 modore was mad ; and, according to his 
 account, Sir Sidney replied by sending him 
 a challenge. The French general scorn- 
 fully refused this invitation, unless the 
 challenger would bring Marlborough to 
 meet him, but offered to send one of his 
 grenadiers to indulge the Englishman's de- 
 sire of single combat. The good taste of 
 the challenge may be doubted, if indeed 
 such was ever sent ; but the scorn of the 
 reply ought to have been mitigated, con- 
 Biaering it was addressed to one, in conse- 
 quence of whose dauntless and determined 
 oppositit-n Buonaparte's favourite object 
 had failed, and who was presently to com- 
 pel him for the first time to an inglorious 
 retreat. 
 
 Another calumny, circulated by Buona- 
 parte against the English commodore, was, 
 that Sir Sidney Smith had endeavoured to ex- 
 pose his French prisoners to the infection of 
 the plague, by placing them in vessels where 
 that dreadful contagion prevailed. This 
 charge had no other foundation, than in Buo- 
 naparte's wish, by spreading such a scan- 
 dal, to break off all communication between 
 the commodore and the discontented of his 
 own army, .\fterthe heat excited by their 
 angry collision had long subsided, it is 
 amusing to find Napoleon, when in the isl- 
 and of Saint Helena, declaring, that his 
 opinion of Sir Sidney Smith was altered for 
 the better, since he had become acquainted 
 with the rest of his countrymen, and that 
 he now considered him as a worthy sort of 
 man — for an Englishman. 
 
 The siege of Acre had now continued six- 
 ^days since the opening of the trenches. 
 The besiegers had marched no less than 
 eight times to the assault, while eleven des- i 
 perate sallies were evidence of tlie obstina- j 
 cy of the defence. Several of the best • 
 French generals were killed ; among the ! 
 rest Caffarelli.* for whom Buonaparte had ' 
 
 •CafTarelli was shot in the tibow, and died of i 
 tlje amputation of the limb. He liad before lost a ; 
 
 particular esteem ; and the army was great- 
 ly reduced by the sword and the plague, 
 which raged at once among their devoted 
 bands. Retreat became inevitable. Yet 
 Buonaparte endeavoured to give it such a 
 colouring as might make the measure seem 
 voluntary. Sometimes he announced that 
 his purpose of going to Acre was sufficient- 
 ly accomplished when he had battered down 
 the palace of the Pacha; at other times he 
 affirmed he had left the whole town a heap 
 of ruins ; and finally, he informed the Di- 
 rectory that he could easily have taken the 
 place, but the plague being raging within 
 its walls, and it being impossible to prevent 
 the troops from seizing on infected clothes 
 for part of their booty, he had rather decline 
 the capture of Acre, than run the risk of in- 
 troducing this horrid malady among his sol- 
 diers. What his real feelings must have 
 been, while covering his chagrin with such 
 flimsy pretexts, may be conjectured from 
 the following frank avowal to his attendants 
 in Saint Helena. Speaking of the depend- 
 ence of the most important affairs on the 
 the most trivial, lie remarks, that the mis- 
 take of the captain of a frigate, who bore 
 away, instead of forcing his passage to the 
 place of his destination, had prevented the 
 face of the world from being totally chang- 
 ed. " Acre," he said, " would otherwise 
 have been taken — the French army would 
 have flown to Damascus and Aleppo — in a 
 twinkling of an eye they would have been 
 on the Euphrates — the Syrian Christians 
 would have joined us — the Druses, the Ar- 
 menians would have united v/ith us." — 
 Some one replied, " we might have been 
 reinforced to the number of a hundred thou- 
 sand men." — '• Say six hundred thousand." 
 said the Emperor; '• who can calculate the 
 amount ? I would have reached Constanti- 
 nople and the Indies — I would have changed 
 the face of the world."* 
 
 leg, wliicli induced the French soldiers, who dis- 
 liked him as one of the principal contrivers of the 
 Egyptian expedition, to say, when they saw him 
 hobble past, " He, at least, need care little about 
 the matter — he is sure to have ane foot in France." 
 He had some days delirium before he died ; hut 
 Count Las Cases reports, that whenever Buona- 
 parte was announced, his presence — nay, his name 
 alone — seemed to cure the wanderings of the pa- 
 tient's spirit, and that this phenomenon was re- 
 newed so often as the General made him a visit. 
 
 * Las Cases' Journal de la Vie Priv(;e, &c. de 
 Napoleon, torn. I. partie seconde, p. 384. The ei- 
 travagance of Napoleon's plan unavoidably re- 
 minds us of the vanity of human wishes. The 
 cause to which he ascribes it is the viistake of a 
 captain of a frigate, who, instead of forcing hii 
 way to Acre, against the opposition of two ships 
 of the line, was unfortunately taken by them. Thi« 
 is a mode of reasoning which Na"'oleon was very 
 ready to adopt. The miscarriage of his plans waa 
 seldom imputed by him to the successful wisdom 
 or valour of an enemy, but to som<^ accidental cir- 
 cumstance, or blunder, which deranged the scheme 
 which mu=t otherwise have been infallible. Some 
 of his best generals were of a ditferent opinion, and 
 considered the rashness of the attack upon Acre, 
 as involving the certainty of failure. Kleber is 
 reported to have said, that the Turks defonded 
 themselves with the skill of Christians, and that 
 the French attacked like Turks,
 
 304 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXII. 
 
 CHAP. ZXXII. 
 
 Discussion concerning the alleged Poisoning of (he Sick in the Hospitals at Jaffa. — 
 Napoleon acquitted of the Charge. — French Army re-enter Cairo on the llth June. — 
 Retrospect of what had taken place in Upper and Lower Egypt during his Absence. 
 — Incursion of Mur ad Bey. — 18.000 Turks occupy Aboukir — Attacked and defeated 
 by Buonaparte — This Victory terminates Napoleon's Career in Egypt. — Views of kin 
 Situation there after that Battle. — Admiral Ganlheaume receives Orders to make rea- 
 dy for Sea — On the 'iSd August, Napoleon embarks for France, leaving Kleber and 
 Menou first and second in Command of the Army — Arrives in Ajaccio, in Corsica, 
 on the 30th September, and lands at Frejus, in France, on the 9th October. 
 
 The retreat from before Acre was conduct- 
 ed with equal skill and secrecy, though 
 Buonaparte was compelled to leave behind 
 his heavy cannon, which he either buried 
 Or threw into the sea. But by a rumour 
 which long prevailed in the French army, 
 he was alleged to have taken a far more ex- 
 traordinary measure of preparation for re- 
 treat, by destroying with opium the sick in 
 the hospitals, who could not march along 
 with the army. 
 
 This transaction is said to have taken 
 place under the following circumstances. 
 The siege of Acre being raised on the 20th 
 of May 1799, the French army retreated to 
 Jaffa, where their military hospitals had 
 been established during the siege. Upon 
 the 27th, Buonaparte was under the neces- 
 sity of continuing his retreat, and in the 
 meantime such of the patients as were con- 
 valescent were sent forward on the road to 
 Egypt, under the necessary precautions for 
 their safety. There remained an indefinite 
 number, reaching at the greatest computa- 
 tion to betwixt twenty and thirty, but stated 
 by Buonaparte himself to be only seven, 
 whose condition was desperate. Their dis- 
 ease was the plague, and to carry them on- 
 ward, seemed to threaten the army with in- 
 fection ; while to leave them behind, was 
 abandoning them to the cruelty of the 
 Turks, by whom all stragglers and prisoners 
 were cruelly murdered, often with protract- 
 ed torture. It was on this occasion that 
 Buonaparte submitted to Desgenettes, chief 
 of the medical staff, the propriety of ending 
 the victims' misery by a dose of opium. 
 The physician answered, with the heroism 
 belonging to his profession, that his art 
 taught him how to cure men, not how to kill 
 them. 
 
 The proposal was agreeable to Buona- 
 parte's principles, who, advocating the le- 
 gality of suicide, naturally might believe, 
 that if a man has a right to relieve himself 
 of intolerable evils by depriving himself of 
 life, a general or a monarch may deal forth 
 that measure to his soldiers or subjects, 
 which he would think it advisable to act 
 upon in his own case. It was consistent, 
 also, with his character, rather to look at 
 results than at the measures which were to 
 produce them, and to consider in many ca- 
 ses the end as an excuse for the means. •' I 
 would have desired such a relief for myself 
 in the same circumstances," he said to Mr. 
 Warden. To O'Meara he affirmed, "that 
 he would have taken such a step even with 
 respect to his own son." The fallacy of 
 
 this reasoning is demonstrable ; but Buona- 
 parte was saved from acting on it by the re- 
 sistance of Desgenettes. A rear-guard was 
 left to protect these unhappy men ; and the 
 English found some of them alive, who, if 
 Desgenettes had been more compliant, 
 would have been poisoned by their physi- 
 cian. If Buonaparte was guilty of entertaining 
 such a purpose, whether entertained from 
 indifference to human life, or from wild and 
 misdirected ideas of humanity, he met an 
 appropriate punishment in the general be- 
 lief which long subsisted, that the deed had 
 been actually carried into execution, not in 
 the persons of a few expiring wretches only, 
 but upon several hundred men. Miot says 
 the report was current in the French army, 
 —Sir Robert Wilson found it credited among 
 their officers, wlien tiiey became the Eng- 
 lish prisoners, — and Count Las Cases ad- 
 mits it was generally believed by the sol- 
 diers. But though popular credulity eager- 
 ly receives whatever stories are marked by 
 the horrible and wonderful, history, on the 
 contrary, demands direct evidence, and the 
 existence of powerful motives, for whatev- 
 er is beyond the ordinary bounds of credi- 
 bility. The poisoning of five or six hundred 
 men is neither easily managed nor easily 
 concealed; and why should the French 
 leader have had recourse to it, since, like 
 many a retreating general before him, he 
 had only to leave the patients for whom he 
 had not the means of transportation ? To 
 poison the sick and helpless, must have de- 
 stroyed his interest with the remainder of 
 his soldiers ; whereas, to have left them to 
 their fate, was a matter too customary, and 
 too much considered as a point of necessi- 
 ty, to create any discontent* among those 
 
 * Miot gives a melancholy, but too true a pic- 
 ture, of thu indifference with which soldiers, when 
 on a retreat, regard the sufferings of those whose 
 •strength does not enable them to keep up with the 
 march. He describes a man, affected by the fear 
 of being left to the cruelties of the Turks, snatch- 
 ing up his knapsack, and staggering after the col- 
 umn to which he belonged, while his gl&zed eye, 
 uncertain motion, and stumbling pace, excited the 
 fear of some, and the ridicule of others. "His 
 account is made up," said one of his comrades, aa 
 he reeled about amongst them like a drunkard. 
 " He will not make a long march of it," said an- 
 other. And when, after more than one fall he at 
 length became unable to rise, the observation, that 
 " he had taken up his quarters," was all the moaa 
 which it was thought necessary to make. It is in 
 these cases, as Miot justly observes, that indiffer- 
 ence and selfishness become universal ; and he that 
 would t)e comfortable must manage to rely on his 
 own exertions, and, above all, to remain in good 
 health.
 
 Chap. XXXII] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 305 
 
 whose interest, as well as that of their gen- 
 eral, consisted in moving on as fast as pos- 
 sible. Again, had such a horrible expedi- 
 ent been had recourse to, it coulJ not have 
 escaped the knowledge of Sir Sidney .Smith, 
 who would not have failed to give the hor- 
 rid fact publicity, were it only to retaliate 
 upon Buonaparte for the scandalous accusa- 
 tions which he had circulated against the 
 English. But though he mentions various 
 complaints which the prisoners made 
 against their general, and though he states 
 himself to have found seven men alive in 
 the hospitals at Jaffa, (being apparently the 
 very persons whom it had been proposed to 
 despatch by opium,) he says not a word of 
 what he would doubtless have told not un- 
 willingly, had there been ground for believ- 
 ing it. Neither, among the numerous per- 
 sons to whom the truth must be known, has 
 any one come forward since Buonaparte's 
 fall, who could give the least evidence to 
 authenticate the report otherwise than as 
 a rumour, that had sprung out of the unjus- 
 tifiable proposal which had indeed been 
 made by Buonaparte to Desgcuettes, but 
 never acted upon. The same patient and 
 impcu-tial investigati'in. therefore, which 
 compels us to record that the massacre of 
 the Turkish prisoners in cold blood is fully 
 proved, induces us to declare, that the poi- 
 soning of the sick at Jaffa has been affirmed 
 without sufficient evidence. 
 
 Buonaparte continued his retreat from 
 Syria, annoyed by the natives, who harass- 
 ed his march, and retaliating the injuries 
 which he received, by plundering and burn- 
 ing the villages which lay in the course of 
 his march. He left Jaffa'on the 28th May, 
 and upon the 1-lth June re-entered Cairo, 
 with a reputation not so much increased by 
 the victory at Mount Tabor, as diminished 
 and sullied for the time by the retreat from 
 Acre. 
 
 Lower Egypt, during the absence of Buo- 
 naparte, had remained undisturbed, unless 
 by partial insurrections. In one of these 
 an impostor personated that mysterious in- 
 dividual, the Imaum Mohadi, of whom the 
 Orientals believe that he is not dead, but is 
 destined to return and combat Antichrist, 
 before the consummation of all things takes 
 place. This pretender to supernatural pow- 
 er, as well as others who placed themselves 
 at the head of insurrections without such 
 high pretensions, was completely defeated; 
 and the French showed the greatest sever- 
 ity in punishing their followers, and the 
 country which had furnished them with 
 partisans. 
 
 In Upper Egypt there had been more ob- 
 stinate contention. Murad Bey, already 
 mentioned as the ablest chief of the Mame- 
 lukes, had maintained himself in that coun- 
 try with a degree of boldness and sagacity, 
 which gave the French much trouble. His 
 fine force of cavalry enabled him to advance 
 or retreat at pleasure, and his perfect ac- 
 quaintance with the country added much 
 to his advantage. 
 
 Dessaix, sent against Murad after the bat- 
 tle of the Pyramids, had again defeated the 
 Mameluke chief at Sedinan, where was 
 
 once more made evident the superiority of 
 European discipline over the valour of the 
 irregular cavalry of the East. Still tlie de- 
 struction of the enterprising Bey was far 
 from complete. Reinforced by a body of 
 cavalry, Dessaix, in the month of Decern 
 ber 1798, again attacked him, and, after a 
 number of encounters, terminating general- 
 ly to the advantage of the French, the re- 
 maining Mamelukes, with their allies the 
 Arabs, were at length compelled to take 
 shelter in the Desert. Egypt seemed en- 
 tirely at the command of the French ; and 
 Cosseir, a sea-port on the Red Sea. had 
 been taken possession of by a flotilla, fitted 
 out to command that gulf. 
 
 Three or four weeks after Buonaparte's 
 return from Syria, this flattering state of 
 tranquillity seemed on the point of being 
 disturbed. Murad Bey, re-entering Upper 
 Egypt with his Mamelukes and allies, de- 
 scended the Nile in two bodies, one occu- 
 pying each bank of the river. Ibrahim Bey, 
 formerly his partner in the government of 
 Egypt, made a corresponding movement 
 towards the frontiers of Syria, as if to com- 
 municate with the right-hand division of 
 Murad's army. La Grange was despatched 
 against the Mamelukes who occupied the 
 right bank, while Murat marched against 
 those who, under the Bey himself, were 
 descending the Nile. The French were 
 entertained at the idea of the two Murats, 
 as they termed them, from the similarity 
 of their names, meeting and encountering 
 each other ; but the Mameluke Murad re- 
 treated before Le Beau Sabreur — the hand- 
 some swordsman — of the French army. 
 
 Meantime the cause of this incursion 
 was explained by the appearance of a Turk- 
 ish fleet off Alexandria, who disembarked 
 eighteen thousand men at Aboukir, This 
 Turkish army possessed themselves of the 
 fort, and proceeded to fortify themselves, 
 expecting the arrival of the Mamelukes, 
 according to the plan which had previous 
 ly been adjusted for expelling the French 
 from Egypt. This news reached Buona- 
 parte near the Pyramids, to which he had 
 advanced, in order to ensure the destruc- 
 tion of Murad Bey. The arrival of the 
 Turks instantly recalled him to Alexandria, 
 whence he marched to Aboukir to repel 
 the invaders. He joined his army, which 
 had assembled from all points within a short 
 distance of the Turkish camp, and was em- 
 fdoyed late in the night making prepara- 
 tions for the battle on the next morning. 
 Murat was alone with Buonaparte, when 
 the last suddenly made the oracular decla- 
 ration, " Go how It will, this battle will de- 
 cide the fate of the world." 
 
 " The fate of this army, at least," replied 
 Murat, who did not comprehend Buona- 
 parte's secret meaning. " But the Turks 
 are without horse, and if ever infantry were 
 charged to the teeth by cavalry, they shall 
 be so charged to-morrow by mine." 
 
 Napoleon's meaning, however, referred 
 not to Egypt alone, but to Europe ; to which 
 he probably already meditated .an unexpect- 
 ed return, which must have been prevented 
 had he not succeeded in obtaining the most
 
 306 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XXXII. 
 
 complete triumph over the Turks. The 
 leaving his Egyptian army, a dubious step 
 at best, would have been altogether inde- 
 fensible had there remained an enemy in 
 their front. 
 
 Next morning, being the 25th July, Buo- 
 naparte commenced an attack on the ad- 
 vanced posts of the enemy, and succeeded 
 in driving them in upon the rasin body, 
 which was commanded by Seid Mustapha 
 Pacha. In their first attack, the French 
 were eminently successful, and pursued 
 the fugitive Turks to their entrenchments, 
 doing great execution. But when the bat- 
 teries opened upon them from the trenches, 
 while they were at the same time exposed 
 to the fire from the gun-boats in the bay, 
 their impetuosity was checked, and the 
 Turks sallying out upon them with their 
 muskets slung at their backs, made such 
 havoc among the French with their sabres, 
 poniards, and pistols, as compelled them to 
 retreat in their turn. The advantage was 
 lost by the eagerness of the barbarians to 
 possess themselves of the heads of their 
 fallen enemies, for which they receive a 
 certain reward. They threw themselves 
 confusedly out of the entrenchments to ob- 
 tain these bloody testimonials, and were in 
 considerable disorder, when the French 
 Buddenly rallied, charged them with great 
 fury, drove them back into the works, and 
 scaled the ramparts along with them. 
 
 Murat had made good his promise of the 
 preceding evening, and had been ever in 
 the front of the battle. When the French 
 had surmounted the entrenchments, he 
 formed a column which reversed the posi- 
 tion of the Turks, and pressing them with 
 the bayonet, threw them into utter and in- 
 extricable confusion. Fired upon and at- 
 tacked on every point, they became, instead 
 of an army, a confused rabble, who, in the 
 impetuosity of animal terror, threw them- 
 selves by hundreds and by thousands into 
 the sea, which at once seemed covered with 
 turbans. It was no longer a battle, but a 
 massacre ; and it was only when wearied 
 with slaughter that quarter was given to 
 about six thousand men — the rest of the 
 Turkish army, originally consisting of eigh- 
 teen thousand, perished on the field or in 
 the waves. Mustapha Pacha was taken, 
 and carried in triumph before Buonaparte. 
 The haughty Turk had not lost his pride 
 with his fortunes. " I will take care to 
 inform the Sultan," said the victor, mean- 
 ing to be courteous, " of the courage you 
 displayed in this battle, though it has been 
 your mishap to lose it." 
 
 " Thou may'st save thyself the trouble," 
 answered the prisoner haughtily ; " my mas- 
 ter knows me better than thou canst." 
 
 Buonaparte returned in triumph to Cairo 
 on the 9th August ; having, however, as he 
 continued to represent himself friendly to 
 the Porte, previously set on foot a negotia- 
 tion for liberation of the Turkish prison- 
 ers. 
 
 This splendid and most decisive victory 
 of Aboukir concluded Napoleon's career in 
 the East. It was imperiously necessary, 
 ere he could have ventured to quit the com- 
 
 mand of his army, with the hope of pre- 
 serving his credit with the public ; and it 
 enabled him to plead that he left Egypt for 
 the time in absolute security. 
 
 His military views had indeed been uni- 
 formly successful ; and Egypt was under 
 the dominion of France as completely as 
 the sword could subject it. For two yeara 
 afterwards, like the strong man in the para- 
 ble, they kept the house which they had 
 won, until there came in a stronger, by 
 whom they were finally and forcibly ex- 
 pelled. 
 
 But though the victory over the Turks 
 afforded the French for the time undisturb- 
 ed possession of Egypt, the situation of 
 Buonaparte no longer permitted him those 
 brilliant and immense prospects, in which 
 his imagination loved to luxuriate. Hia 
 troops were considerably weakened, and 
 the miscarriage at Acre dwelt on the recol- 
 lection of the su'Vivors. The march upoa 
 Constantinople was now an impossibility, 
 that to India an empty dream. To estab- 
 lish a French colony in Egypt, of which 
 Buonaparte sometimes talked, and to re- 
 store the Indian traffic to the shores of the 
 Red Sea, thus sapping the sources of British 
 prosperity in India, was a work for the time 
 of peace, when the necessary communica- 
 tion was not impeded by the naval superiori- 
 ty of England. The French General had es- 
 tablished, indeed, a Chamber of Commerce ; 
 but what commerce could take place from 
 a closely blockaded harbour 1 Indeed, even 
 in a more propitious season, the establish- 
 ment of a pacific colony was no task for 
 the ardent and warlike Napoleon, who, al- 
 though his active spirit was prompt in strik- 
 ing out commercial schemes, was not pos- 
 sessed of the patience or steadiness neces- 
 sary to carry them to success. It follows, 
 that if he remained in Egypt, his residence 
 there must have resembled the situation of 
 a governor in a large city, threatened in- 
 deed, but as yet in no danger of being be- 
 sieged, where the only fame which can be 
 acquired is that due to prudent and patient 
 vigilance. This would be a post which no 
 young or ambitious soldier would covet, 
 providing he had the choice of being engag- 
 ed in more active service. On the other 
 hand, from events which we shall endeav- 
 our to trace in the next chapter, there 
 opened a scene of ambition in France, } 
 which permitted an almost boundless extent 
 of hopes and wishes. Thus Napoleon had 
 the choice either of becoming a candidate 
 for one of the greatest prizes which the 
 world afforded— the supreme authority in 
 that fine country — or of remaining the gov- 
 ernor of a defensive army in Egypt, wait- 
 ing the arrival of some new invaders — Eng- 
 lish, Russians, or Turks, to dispute his con- 
 quest with him. Had he chosen this latter 
 line of conduct, he might have soon found 
 himself the vassal of Moreau, or some other 
 military adventurer, (perhaps from his own 
 Italian army,) who, venturing on the course 
 from which he had himself withdrawn, had 
 attained to the government of France, and 
 might soon have been issuing orders from 
 the Luxembourg or the Tuilleries to Gen-
 
 Chap. XXXII] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 307 
 
 «!ral Buonaparte, in the style of a sovereign 
 to his subject. 
 
 There remained to be separated those 
 strong ties, which were formed betwixt 
 Napoleon and the army which he had so 
 often led to victory, and who unquestiona- 
 bly thought he had cast his lot to live or 
 die with them. But undoubtedly he might 
 palliate his departure by the consideration, 
 that he left them victorious over their 
 boastful enemy, and without the chance of 
 being speedily summoned to the field ; and 
 we can see no reason for supposing, as has 
 been alleged, that anything like fear had 
 an influence in inducing Napoleon's deser- 
 tion, as it has been termed, of his army. 
 We cannot, indeed, give him credit for the 
 absolute and pure desire of serving and sav- 
 ing France, which is claimed by his more 
 devoted adherents, as the sole motive of 
 his return to Europe ; but we h.ive no doubt 
 that some feelings of this kind — to which, 
 as we are powerful in deceiving ourselves, 
 be himself might afford more weight than 
 they deserved— mingled with his more self- 
 ish hopes, and that he took this important 
 step with the desire of serving his country, 
 as well as of advancing his own interest. 
 Nor should it be forgotten, that the wel- 
 fare even of the Eg}r'ptian army, as well as 
 his own ambitious views, required that he 
 should try his fortune at Paris. If he did 
 not personally exert himself there, it seem- 
 ed highly probable some revolution might 
 take place, in which one of the consequen- 
 ces might be, that the victors of Egypt, de- 
 serted by their countrymen, should be com- 
 pelled to lay down their arms. 
 
 The Circumstances in which Buonaparte's 
 resolution is said to have originated, as re- 
 lated by himself, were singularly fortuitous. 
 Some intercourse took place with the Turk- 
 ish fleet, in consequence of his sending 
 the wounded Turks on board, and Sir Sidney 
 Smith, by way of taunting the French gen- 
 eral with the successes of the Russians in 
 Italy, sent him a set of newspapers contain- 
 ing an account of Suwarrow's victories, and 
 a deplorable view of the French affairs on 
 the continent. If we may trust other au- 
 thorities, however, to be quoted in their 
 proper place, he already knew the state of 
 affairs, both in Italy and France, by his 
 own secret correspondence with Paris, in- 
 forming him not only of the military re- 
 verses which the armies of the latter coun- 
 try had sustained, but of the state of par- 
 ties, and of the public mind, — intelligence 
 of greater utility and accuracy than could 
 have been communicated by the English 
 newspapers. 
 
 Howsoever his information was derived, 
 Buonaparte lost no time in acting upon it, 
 with all the secrecy which a matter of such 
 importance required. Admiral Ganthe- 
 aume, who had been with the army ever 
 since the destruction of the fleet, received 
 the General's orders to make ready for sea, 
 with all possible despatch, two frigates 
 then lying in the harbour of Alexandria. 
 
 Meantime, determined to preserve his 
 credit with the Institute, and to bring evi- 
 dence of what he had done for the cause 
 
 of science, Buonaparte commanded Mon- 
 ge, who is said to have suggested the expe- 
 dition, and the accomplished Denon, who 
 became its historian, with Berthollet, to 
 prepare to accompany him to Alexandria. 
 Of military chiefs, he selected the gener- 
 als Berthier, Murat, Lannes, Maxmont, 
 Dessaix, Andreossi, and Bessieres, the best 
 and most attached of his ofiicers. He left 
 Cairo as soon as he heard the frigates were 
 ready and the sea open, making a visit to 
 the Delta the pretext of his tour. Kleber 
 and Menou, whom he meant to leave first 
 and second in command, were appointed to 
 meet him at Alexandria, But he had an in- 
 terview with the latter only. 
 
 Kleber, an excellent soldier, and a man 
 of considerable parts, was much displeased 
 at the hasty and disordered manner in which 
 the command of an important province, and 
 a diminiihed army, were thrust upon him, 
 and remonstrated, in a letter to the Direc- 
 tory, upon the several points of the public 
 service, which, by his conduct on this oc- 
 casion, Buonaparte had neglected or en- 
 dan<rered. Napoleon afterwards laboured 
 hard to answer the accusations which these 
 remonstrances implied, and to prove, that, 
 in leaving the Egyptian army, he had no in- 
 tention of abandoning it ; on the contrary, 
 that he intended either to return in person, 
 or to send powerful succours. He blamed 
 Gantheaume, at a later period, for not hav- 
 ing made his way from Toulon to Alexan- 
 dria, with reinforcements and supplies. 
 But Buonaparte, slow to see what contra- 
 dicted a favourite project, could never be 
 made to believe, unless when in the very 
 act of experiencing it, that the superiority 
 of the British naval power depends upoa 
 circumstances totally different from those 
 which can be removed by equal courage, or 
 even equal skill, on the part of the French 
 naval officers, and that until it be removed, 
 it will be at great hazard that France shall 
 ever attempt to retain a province so distant 
 as Egypt. 
 
 Napoleon left behind him a short procla- 
 mation, apprising the army that news of 
 importance from France had recalled him 
 to Europe, but that they should soon hear 
 tidings of him. He exhorted them in the 
 meantime to have confidence in their new 
 commander, who possessed, he said, hia 
 good opinion, and that of the government, 
 and in these terms he bade them farewell. 
 Two frigates. La Muiron. and La Carere, 
 being ready for sea, the General embarked 
 from an unfrequented part of the beach on 
 the 23d August, Menou, who had met him 
 there, came to Denon and others, who had 
 attended the rendezvous without knowing 
 exactly its purpose, as they were gazing in 
 surprise at the unusual sight of two French 
 frigates ready to put to sea, and informed 
 them with agitation that Buonaparte waited 
 for them. They followed as in a dream; 
 but Denon had already secured that mass 
 of measurements, drawings, manuscripts, 
 and objects of antiquarian and scientific cu- 
 riosity, which afterwards enabled him to 
 complete the splendid work, which now 
 contains the only permanent or useful fruita
 
 308 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [CAap. XXXUI. 
 
 of the memorable expedition to Egypt. 
 
 Ere the frigates were far from land, they 
 were reconnoitred by an English corvette, 
 a circumstance which seemed of evil au- 
 gury. Buonaparte assured his companions, 
 by his usual allusions to his own. destiny. 
 " We will arrive safe,'' he said; " Fortune 
 will never abandon us — we will arrive safe 
 in despite of the enemy." 
 
 To avoid the English cruisers, the ves- 
 sels coasted the shores of Africa, and the 
 wind was so contrary, that they made but 
 an hundred leagues in twenty days. During 
 this time Buonaparte studied alternately 
 the Bible and the Koran, more solicitous, 
 it seemed, about the history of the coun- 
 tries which he had left behind, than the 
 part which he was to play in that to which 
 he was hastening. At length they ventured 
 to stand northward, and on the 30th Sep- 
 tember, they entered by singular chance, 
 the port of Ajaecio in Corsica, and Buona- 
 parte found himself near his native city.* 
 On the 7th October, they again put to sea, 
 but, upon approaching the French coast, 
 they found themselves in the neighbourhood 
 of a squadron of English men-of-war. The 
 admiral would have tacked about, to return 
 
 * The natives came off in numbera to see their 
 illustrioua countryman, but a3 he does not appear 
 to have landed, his transient presence in the har- 
 bour formed no exception to what is said iu p. 200, 
 offals not revisiting his own country. 
 
 to Corsica. " To do so," said Buonaparte, 
 " would be to take the road to England — I 
 am seeking that to France." He probably 
 meant that the manoeuvre would attract the 
 attention of the English. They kept on 
 their course ; but the peril of being captur- 
 ed seemed so imminent, that, though still 
 several leagues from the shore, Gantheaume 
 proposed to man his long-boat, in order 
 that the General might attempt his escape 
 in her. Buonaparte observed, that that 
 measure might be deferred till the case 
 was more desperate. 
 
 At length, they passed, unsuspected and 
 unquestioned, through the hostile squadron, 
 and on the 9th October, at ten in the morn- 
 ing, he on whose fate the world so long 
 seemed to depend, landed at St. Rapheau, 
 near Frejus. He had departed at the head 
 of a powerful fleet, and a victorious army, 
 on an expedition designed to alter the des- 
 tinies of the most ancient nations of the 
 world. The result had been far from com- 
 mensurate to the means employed — The 
 fleet had perished — the army was blockaded 
 in a distant province, when their arms were 
 most necessary at home. He returned 
 clandestinely, and almost alone ; yet Provi- 
 dence designed that, in this apparently de- 
 serted condition, he should be the instru- 
 ment of more extensive and more aston- 
 ishing changes, than the efforts of tne 
 greatest conquerors had ever before been 
 able to effect upon the civilized world. 
 
 CBAF. XXZIII. 
 
 Retrospect of Public Events since the departure of Napoleon for E^ypt. — Invasion and 
 Conquest of Switzerland. — Seizure of Turhi. — Expulsion of the Pope. — 77ie Nea- 
 politans declare War against France — are Defeated — and the French enter Naples. — 
 Disgraceful Avarice exhibited by the Directory — particularly in their Negoiiationa 
 with the United States of America — Are unsuccessful, and their shame made public. 
 — Rttssia comes forward in the general Cause — Her Strength and Resources. — 
 Reverses of the French in Italy, and on the Rhine. — Insurrections in Belgium and 
 Holland against the French. — Anglo-Russian Expedition sent to Holland. — The 
 Chouans again in the fuld. — Cheat and universal Unpopularity of the Directory. — 
 State of Parties in France. — Law of Hostages. — Abbe Sieyes becomes one of the Di- 
 rectory — His Character and Genius. — Description of the Constitution proposed by 
 him for the Year Three. — Ducos, Gohier. and Moulins, aho introduced into the Direc- 
 tory. — Family of Napoleon strive to keep him in the Recollection of the People. 
 — Favourable Change in the French Affairs. — Holland evacuated by the Anglo- 
 Rzissian Army. — Korsakow defeated by Masstna — and Suwarrow retreats before 
 Lecourbe. 
 
 Whem Napoleon accepted what was to be 
 considered as a doom of honourable ban- 
 ishment, in the command of the Egyptian 
 Cipedition, he answered to those friends 
 who advised him rather to stay and assert 
 a pre-eminent station in the government at 
 home, "that the fruit was not ripe." The 
 seventeen months, or thereabouts, of his 
 absence, had done much to complete the 
 maturity which was formerly imperfect. 
 The French government had ceased to be 
 invariably victorious, and at times had suf- 
 fered internal changes, which, instead of 
 restoring the national confidence, had only 
 induced a general expectation of some far- 
 ther &nd decisive revolution, that should 
 
 for ever overthrow the Directorial system. 
 When Buonaparte sailed for Egypt, he 
 left France at peace with Austria, and 
 those negotiations proceeding at Radstadt, 
 which no one then doubted would settle on 
 a pacific footing the affairs of Germany. 
 England alone remained hostile to France ; 
 but the former being victorious on the sea, 
 and the latter upon the land, it seemed aa 
 if the war must languish and die of itself un- 
 less there had been a third element, of 
 which the rivals might have disputed the 
 possession. But though the interests of 
 France, as well as of humanity, peremptori- 
 ly demanded peace, her rulers, feeling that 
 her own tottering condition would be ren-
 
 Chap. XXXIII] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAP.\RTE. 
 
 309 
 
 dcred still more precarious by the disband- 
 ing their numerousarmies, resolved to con- 
 tinue the war in a new quarter. 
 
 Under the most flimsy and injurious pre- 
 texts, they attacked the neutral states of 
 Switzerland, so eminent for their modera- 
 tion ; and the French troops, levied in the 
 name of Freedom, were sent to assail that 
 country which had been so long her moun- 
 tain fortress. The ancient valour of the 
 Switzers was unable to defend them 
 against the new discoveries in the art of 
 war, by which the strongest defiles can be 
 turned, and therefore rendered indefensible. 
 They fought with their ancient courage, 
 particularly the natives of the mountain 
 cantons, and only gave way before numbers 
 and discipline. But these gallant moun- 
 taineers sacrificed more than thrice their 
 own amount, ere they fell in their ranks, as 
 became the countrymen of William Tell. 
 The French affected to give the Swiss a 
 constitution on the model of their own, but 
 this was a mere farce. The arsenals, for- 
 tresses, and treasures of the cantons, were 
 seized without scruple or apology, and the 
 Swiss were treated in all respects like a 
 conquered nation. The fate of this ancient 
 and unoffending people excited deep and 
 general fear and detestation, and tended 
 more perhaps than any other event, to raise 
 the animosity of Europe in general against 
 France, as a country which had now plain- 
 ly shown, that her ambition could be bound- 
 ed by no consideration of justice or inter- 
 national law. 
 
 The King of Sardinia, who had first ac- 
 knowledged the superiority of Buonaparte, 
 and purchased his existence as a continent- 
 al sovereign, by surrendering all his fortres- 
 ses to France, and permitting her troops to 
 march through his country as their own, had 
 surely some claim to forbearance ; but now 
 without even a pretext for such violence, 
 the French seized upon Turin, the capital 
 of this their vassal monarch, and upon all 
 his continental dominions, sending him and 
 his family to the island of Sardinia. 
 
 .\nother victim there was of the French 
 grasping ambition, in whose fate the Catho- 
 lic world was deeply interested. We have 
 seen already, that Buonaparte, though he 
 despoiled the Pope of power and treasure, 
 judged it more prudent to permit him to 
 subsist as a petty prince, than by depriving 
 him of all temporal authority, to drive him 
 to desperation, and oblige him to use 
 against the Republic those spiritual weap- 
 ons, to which the public opinion of Catho- 
 lic countries still assigned strength. But 
 the Directory were of a different opinion ; 
 and though the Pope had submitted pas- 
 sively to every demand which had been 
 made by the French ambassador, however 
 inconsistent with the treaty of Tolentino, 
 the Directory, with the usual policy of 
 their nation, privately encouraged a party in 
 Rome which desired a revolution. These 
 conspirators arose in arms, and. when dis- 
 persed by the guards, fled towards the ho- 
 tel of Joseph Buonaparte, then the ambassa- 
 dor of the French to th« Pope. In the 
 : cuffle which ensued, the ambassador was 
 
 insulted, his life endangered, and General 
 Duphot actually killed by his side. This 
 outrage of course sealed the fall of the 
 Pope, which had probably long been deter- 
 mined on. Expelled from his dominions, 
 the aged Pius VI. retired to Sienna, more 
 the object of respect and veneration in his 
 condition of a dethroned exile, than whea 
 holding the semblance of authority by per- 
 mission of France. In place of the Pon- 
 tiff's government arose the shadow of a 
 mighty name. The Roman Republic. But 
 the Gauls were in possession of the Capi- 
 tol, nor did the ancient recollections, con- 
 nected vnth the title of the new common- 
 wealth, procure for the Romans more inde- 
 pendent authority than was possessed by 
 any of the other ephemera] republican gov- 
 ernments. 
 
 In the fall of the Pope, and the occupa- 
 tion of the Roman territories by a French 
 army, the King of Naples saw the nation 
 whom he feared and hated, and by whom 
 he knew he was considered as a desirable 
 subject of plunder, approach his frontiers, 
 and become his neighbours. War he per- 
 ceived was unavoidable ; acid he formed the 
 resolution to be the first in declaring it. 
 The victory of Nelson, and the interest 
 which that distinguished here acquired at 
 v.hat might be called a female court, with 
 the laurels of the Nile fresh upon his brow, 
 confirmed the Neapolitan government in 
 the resolution. Mack, an Austrian gener- 
 al, who had got the reputation of a great 
 tactician and a gallant soldier, was sent by 
 the Emperor to discipline and command 
 the Neapolitan army. Nelson's falcon eye 
 measured the man's worth at once. '• Gen- 
 eral Mack,'' said he, " cannot move with- 
 out five carriages — I have formed my opin- 
 ion — I heartily pray I may be mistaken.'' 
 He was not mistaken. The Neapolitan 
 army marched toPiome, was encountered 
 by the French, fought just long enough to 
 lose about forty men, then fled, abandoning 
 guns, baggage, arms, and everj'thing be- 
 sides. "' The Neapolitan officers did not 
 lose much honour," said Nelson, " for God 
 knows they had little to lose — but they lost 
 what they had." The prescient eye, which 
 was as accurate by land as by sea, had also 
 foreseen the instant advance of the French 
 to Naples. It took place accordingly, but 
 not unresisted. The naked rabble, called 
 Lazzaroni, showed the most desperate cour- 
 age. They attacked the French ere they 
 came to the city ; and notwithstanding a 
 murderous defeat, they held out Naples for 
 two days with their irregular musketry only, 
 against regular forces amply supplied with 
 artillery. What can we say of a country, 
 where the rabble are courageous and the 
 soldiers cowards ? what, unless that thfe 
 higher classes, from whom the officers are 
 chosen, must be the parties to be censur- 
 ed. 
 
 The royal family fled to Sicily ; and in 
 Naples a new classical-sounding govern- 
 ment was created at the command of the 
 French general, — The Parthenopean Re- 
 public. The French were now possessed 
 of all Italy, excepting Tuscany, and that
 
 310 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXJU. 
 
 was exempted from their authority in name 
 only, and not in effect. 
 
 The French people, notwithstanding the 
 success of these several undertakings, were 
 not deceived or flattered by them in a de- 
 gree equal to what probably their rulers ex- 
 pected. Their vanity was alarmed at the 
 meanness of the motives which the Direct- 
 ory exhibited on almost every occasion. 
 Even the dazzling pride of conquest was 
 sullied by the mercenary views with which 
 war was undertaken. On one occasion the 
 •veil was raised, and all Frenchmen who had 
 feelings of decency, not to say of probity or 
 honour, remaining, must have held them- 
 Belves disgraced by the venal character of 
 their government. 
 
 Some disputes existing between France 
 and the United States of America, com- 
 missioners were sent by the latter country 
 to Paris, to endeavour to restore a good un- 
 derstanding. They were not publicly ac- 
 knowledged by France in the character of 
 ambassadors ; but were distinctly given to 
 understand, that they could only be permit- 
 ted to treat, on condition that the States of 
 America should lend to the Republic the 
 sum of a million sterling; to which was ad- 
 ded, the unblushing demand of fifty thou- 
 sand pounds, as a douceur, for the private 
 pocket of the Directors. The astonishment 
 iif the envoys was extreme at this curious 
 diplomatic proposal, and they could hardly 
 credit their ears when they heard it repeat- 
 <'dly and grossly urged. " The essential 
 part of the treaty," said one of the French 
 a;Tents, " is, il faut de I'argent — il faut 
 beaucoup d^argent ;" and to render the mat- 
 ter palatable, he told the Americans of oth- 
 er countries which had paid large sums to 
 obtain peace, and reminded them of the ir- 
 resistible power of France. The Transat- 
 lantic republicans, unmoved by these argu- 
 ments, stoutly answered, "That it belong- 
 ed only to petty states to purchase inde- 
 pendence by payment of tribute — that 
 America was willing and able to protect 
 herself by arms, and would not purchase 
 with money what she possessed by her 
 powerful means of self-defence." They 
 added, " that they had no power whatever 
 to enter into any engagements concerning 
 a loan.'' 
 
 The agents of France lowered their tone 
 60 far as to say, that if the commissioners 
 would pay something in the way of fees, 
 they might be permitted to remain in Paris, 
 whilst one of their number returned to 
 America to obtain instructions from their 
 government; but not even to that modifi- 
 cation of bribery would the Americans lis- 
 ten. They would not, according to the 
 expression used in incendiary letters, " put 
 five pounds in a certain place."' The treaty 
 became public, to the scandal alike of 
 France and of Europe, which joined in re- 
 garding a government that made war on 
 such base principles, as standing, in com- 
 parison to those who warred in the spirit 
 of conquest, in the relation of footpaas to 
 highwaymen. The only attempt made by 
 Talleyrand towards explanation of this sin- 
 gular trajisaction, was a shuffling denial of 
 
 the fact, which he strengthened by an in- 
 sinuation, that the statement of the Ameri- 
 can envoys was a weak invention, suggested 
 to them by the English. 
 
 Not to multiply instances, the rapacit> 
 and domineering insolence with which the 
 Directory conducted themselves towards 
 tjie new republics, who were at every mo- 
 ment made sensible of their total depend- 
 ence on the Great Nation — the merciless 
 exactions which they imposed, together 
 with the rapacious peculations of many of 
 their generals and agents, made them lose 
 interest almost as fast as they could acquire 
 territory. Their fair pretexts of extending 
 freedom, and the benefits of a liberal gov- 
 ernment, to states which had been oppress- 
 ed by the old feudal institutions, were now 
 valued at no more than their worth ; and it 
 was seen, that the only equality which re- 
 publican France extended to the conquered 
 countries, was to render all classes alike 
 degraded and impoverished. Thus, the suc- 
 cesses which we have hastily enumerated 
 rather endangered than strengthened the 
 empire of France, as they rendered her 
 ambition the object of fear and suspicion to 
 all Europe. The Catholic nations beheld, 
 the degradation of the supreme Pontiff with 
 abhorrence — every king in Europe feared 
 a similar fate with the sovereigns of Sardi- 
 nia and Naples — and, after the fate of Swit- 
 zerland, no people could rely upon a peace- 
 ful, unoffending, and strictly neutral char- 
 acter, as ground sufficient to exempt them 
 from French aggression. Thus a general 
 dread and dislike prepared for a new coali- 
 tion against France, in which Russia, for 
 the first time, was to become an active co- 
 operator. 
 
 The troops of this powerful empire were 
 eminently qualified for encountering with 
 tlie French; for, added to their hardihood, 
 courage, and discipline, they had a national 
 character — a distinction less known to the 
 Germans, whose subdivision into different 
 states, often at war with each other, has in 
 some degree diminished their natural spirit 
 of patriotism. Accustomed also to warfare 
 on a great scale, and to encounter such an 
 enemy as the Turk, the Russians, while 
 they understood the modern system of tac- 
 tics, were less servilely bigoted to it than 
 the Austrians. Their ideas more readily 
 went back to the natural and primitive char- 
 acter of war, and they were better prepared 
 either to depart from strict technical rules 
 themselves, or to see them departed from, 
 and calculate the results. These new ene- 
 mies of France, moreover, were full of con- 
 fidence in their own character, and un- 
 checked in their military enthusiasm by the 
 frequent recollections of defeat, which 
 clouded the spirit of the Austrians. Above 
 all, the Russians had the advantage of being 
 commanded by Suwarrow, one of the most 
 extraordinary men of his time, who, pos- 
 sessed of the most profound military sagaci- 
 ty, assumed the external appearance of fa- 
 natical enthusiasm, as in society he often 
 concealed his perfect knowledge of good 
 breeding under the show of extrava'^ant buf- 
 foonery. These peculiarities, which would
 
 Chop. XXXin.] LIFE OV NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 311 
 
 not have succeeded with a French or Eng- 
 lish army, gained for him an unbounded 
 confidence among his countrymen, who 
 considered his eccentric conduct, followed, 
 as it almost always was, by brilliant suc- 
 cess, as the result of something which ap- 
 proached to inspiration. 
 
 The united forces of Austria and Russia, 
 chiefly under the command of this singular 
 character, succeeded, in a long train of 
 bloody battles, to retake and re-occupy 
 those States in the north of Italy, which 
 had been conquered in Buonaparte's first 
 campaigns. It was in vain that Macdonald, 
 whose name stood as high among the Re- 
 publican generals, as his character for hon- 
 our and rectitude among French statesmen, 
 marched from Naples, traversing the whole 
 length of Italy, to arrest the victorious prog- 
 ress of the allies. After a train of stubborn 
 fighting, it was only by displaying great 
 military talent that he could extricate the 
 remains of his army. At length the deci- 
 sive and desperate battle of Novi seemed 
 to exclude the French from the possession 
 of those fair Italian provinces, which had 
 been acquired by such expense of life. 
 
 On the Rhine, though her defeats were 
 not of such a decided character, France al- 
 so lost reputation and territory. Jourdan 
 proved no match for the Archduke Charles, 
 who, having no longer Buonaparte to en- 
 counter, assorted his former superiority 
 over inferior French generals. His Royal 
 Highness finally compelled the French to 
 recross the Rhine, while the Austrian gen- 
 erals Bellegarde and Hotze, supported by a 
 Russian division under Korsakow, advanc- 
 ed to the line of the Limmat, near Zurich, 
 and waited the junction of Suwarrow to 
 occupy Switzerland, and even to menace 
 France, who, in a great measure despoiled 
 of her foreign conquests, had now reason 
 to apprehend the invasion of her own ter- 
 ritory. 
 
 In the Netherlands, the French interest 
 seemed equally insecure. Insurrections 
 had already taken place in what they called 
 Belgium, and it seemed that the natives of 
 these populous districts desired but oppor- 
 tunity and encouragement for a general re- 
 volt. Holland, through all its provinces, 
 was equally disafl'ected ; and the reports 
 from that country encouraged England to 
 send to the coast an expedition, consisting 
 of British and Russian forces, to which two 
 divisions of the Dutch fleet delivered up 
 their vessels, hoisting at the same time the 
 colours of the Stadtholder. Here was an- 
 other risk of an imminent and pressing de- 
 scription, which menaced Franca and its 
 Directorial government. 
 
 It remains to be added to the tale of these 
 foreign calamities, that the Chouans, or 
 Royalists nf Bretagne, were again in the 
 field with a number of bands, amounting, it 
 is said, to forty thousand men in all. They 
 had gained several successes, and, though 
 falling short of the chivalrous spirit of the 
 Vendeans. and having no general equal in 
 talents to Charette, were nevertheless suf- 
 ficiently brave and well commanded, to be- 
 come extremely formidable, and threaten a 
 
 renewal of all the evils which had been oc- 
 casioned by the former civil war. 
 
 Amidst these lowering appearances, the 
 dislike and disrespect with which the Di- 
 rectors were regarded, occasioned their be- 
 ing loaded with every species of accusatioa 
 by the public. It was not forgotten that it 
 was the jealousy of Barras, Reubel, and the 
 other Directors, which had banished from 
 France the most successful of her generals, 
 at the head of a gallant army, who were 
 now needed to defend the provinces which 
 their valour had gained. The battle of 
 Aboukir, while it annihilated their fleet, had 
 insulated the land forces, who, now cut off 
 from all communication with their mother 
 country, and shut up in an insalubrious pro- 
 vince, daily wasted in encounters with the 
 barbarous tribes that valour, and those lives, 
 which, hazarded on the frontiers of France, 
 might have restored victory to their stand- 
 ards. 
 
 To these upbraiding complaints, and gen- 
 eral accusations of incapacity, as well as 
 of peculation, the Directors had little to 
 answer. What was a still greater deficien- 
 cy, they had no party to appeal to, by whom 
 their cause, right or wrong, might have 
 been advocated with the stanch adherence 
 of partisans. They had undergone, as we 
 shall presently show, various changes in 
 their own body, but without any alteration 
 in their principles of administration, which 
 still rested on the principle of Bascule, or 
 see-saw,* as it is called in English ; the at- 
 tempt, in short, to govern two contending 
 factions in the state, by balancing the one 
 against the other, without adhering to ei- 
 ther. In consequence of this mean and 
 temporizing policy, which is always that of 
 weak minds, the measures of the govern- 
 ment were considered, not with reference 
 to the general welfare of the state, but as 
 they should have effect upon one or other 
 of the parties by which it was divided. It 
 followed also, that having no certain path 
 and plan, but regulating their movements 
 upon the wish to maintain an equality be- 
 tween the factions, in order that they might 
 preserve their .authority over both, the Di- 
 rectors had no personal followers or sup- 
 porters, save that most sordid class, who 
 regulate their politics on their interest, and 
 who, though faithful adherents of every ^set- 
 tled administration, perceive, by instinctive 
 sagacity, the moment that their patrons are 
 about to lose their offices, and desert their 
 cause on such occasions with all conven- 
 ient speed. 
 
 Yet the Directors, had they been men of 
 talent, "ntegrity, and character — above all, 
 had they been united among themselves, 
 and agreed on one steady course of policy, 
 might have governed France with little dif- 
 ficulty. The great body of the nation were 
 exhausted by the previous fury of the revo- 
 
 * The term, it is scarcely necessary to say, is 
 derived from t!io childish amusement, where two 
 hoys swins at the opposite ends of a plank, mov- 
 ing up and down, in what Dr. Johnson calls " a 
 reciprocating motion," while a third urchiii, 
 placed on the centre of motion, regulates their 
 movements.
 
 312 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIII. 
 
 lutionary movements, had supped full with 
 politics, and were much disposed to sit 
 dov/n contented under any government 
 ■which promised protection for life and prop- 
 erty. Even the factions had lost their ener- 
 gy. Those who inclined to a monarchical 
 form, were many of them become indiffer- 
 ent by whom the sceptre was wielded, pro- 
 viding that species of government, suppos- 
 ed by them most suitable to the habits and 
 character of the French, should be again 
 adopted. Many who were of this opinion 
 saw great objection to the restoration of the 
 Bourbons, for fear that along with their right 
 might revive all those oppressive feudal 
 claims which the Revolution had swept 
 away, as well as the pretensions of the em- 
 igrants to resume their prop>crty. Those 
 who entertained such sentiments were call- 
 ed Moderes. The ancient blood-red Jaco- 
 bins could hardly be said to exist. The na- 
 tion had had a surfeit of blood, and all par- 
 ties looked back with disgust on the days 
 of Robespierre. But there existed a kind 
 of white Jacobins ; men who were desirous 
 to retain a large proportion of democratical 
 principle in the constitution, either that 
 they might not renounce the classical name 
 of a Republic, or because they confided in 
 their own talents, to "wield at will the 
 fierce democracy ;" or because they really 
 believed that a potent infusion of such a 
 spirit in the forms of government, was ne- 
 cessary forthe jsreservation of liberty. This 
 party was greatly inferior in numbers to the 
 others; and they had lost their authority 
 over the populace, by means of which they 
 iiad achieved such changes during the early 
 periods of the Revolution. But they were 
 bold, enterprising, active ; and their chiefs, 
 assuming at first the name of the Pantheon, 
 afterwards of the Manege Club, formed a 
 party in the state, which, from the charac- 
 ter of the leaders, gave great subject of jeal- 
 ousy to the Directory. 
 
 The rapacity and insolent bearing of the 
 French government having, as we have 
 seen, provoked a new war with Austria and 
 Russia, the means to which the Directors 
 had recourse for maintaining it were aforced 
 loan imposed on the wealthy, which gave 
 alarm to property, and a conscription of 
 two hundred thousand men, which was alike 
 distressing to poor and rich. Both neasures 
 had been submitted to during the Reign of 
 Terror ; but then a murmur cost the com- 
 plainer his head. The Directory had no 
 such summary mode of settling grievances. 
 These two last inflictions greatly inflamed 
 the public discontent. To meet the gener- 
 al tendency to insurrection, they had re- 
 course to a measure equally harsh and un- 
 popular. It was called the Law of Hosta- 
 ges, by which the unoffending relatives of 
 emigrants, or royalists, supposed to be in 
 arms, were thrown into prison, and render- 
 ed responsible for the acts of their conne.\- 
 ions. This unjust law filled the prisons 
 with women, old men, and children, — vic- 
 tims of a government which, because it was 
 not strong enough to subdue insurrection 
 by direct force, visited the consequences 
 
 of its own weakness on age, childhood, and 
 helpless females. 
 
 Meantime the dissensions among the Di- 
 rectors themselves, which continued to in- 
 crease, led to various changes within their 
 own body. When Buonaparte left Europe, 
 the Directory consisted of Barras, Reubel, 
 Treilbard, Merlin, Reveilliere-Lepaux. The 
 opposition attacked them with so much fury 
 in the Legislative Assemblies, Boulay dela 
 Meurthe, Lucien Buonaparte, Francois, and 
 otlier men of talent leading the way, that at 
 length the Directors appear to have become 
 afraid of being made personally responsible 
 by impeachment for the peculations of their 
 agents, as well as for the result of the inso- 
 lences by wliich they had exasperated the 
 friends and allies of France. Reubel, he 
 whose character for talent and integrity 
 stood most fair with the public, was re 
 moved from office by the lot which au- 
 nounco'l him as the Director who was to 
 retire. It has been said some art was used 
 to guide fortune on this occasion. His name 
 in the list was succeeded by one celebrated 
 in the Revolution ; that of the .\bbe Sieyes. 
 
 This remarkable statesman had acquired 
 a high reputation, not only by the acutenesa 
 of his metaphysical talent, but by a species 
 of mystery in which he involved himself 
 and his opinions. He was certainly pos- 
 sessed of great knowledge and experience 
 in the affairs of France, was an adept in the 
 composition of new constitutions of all 
 kinds, and had got a high cliaractcr, as pos- 
 sessed of secets peculiarly his own, for 
 conducting ti.e vessel of the State amidst 
 the storms of Revolution. The Abbe in 
 fact managed his political reputation as a 
 prudent trader does his stock-, and by shun- 
 ning to venture on anything which could in 
 any great degree peril his credit, he extend- 
 ed it in the public opinion, perhaps much 
 farther than his parts justified. A temper 
 less daring in action than bold in metaphys- 
 ical speculation, and a considerable regard 
 for his o^vn personal safety, accorded well 
 with his affected air of mystery and reserve. 
 In the National Assembly he had made a 
 great impression, by his pamphlet explain- 
 ing the nature of the Third Estate ; and he 
 had the principal part ia procuring the un- 
 ion of the three separate Estates into the 
 National Assembly. A flaming patriot in 
 1792-3, he voted for the death of the unfor- 
 tunate Louis ; and, as was reported, with 
 brutal levity, using the celebrated expres- 
 sion, " Mori sans phrase." He was no less 
 distinguished for bringing forward the im- 
 portant measure for dividing France into de- 
 partments, and thus blending together and 
 confounding all the ancient distinctions of 
 I provinces. After thjs period he became 
 pjissive, and w,is little heard of during the 
 Reign of Terror ; for he followed the max- 
 im of Pyilia<roras, and worshipped the Echo 
 (only found in secret and solitary places,) 
 when he heard the tempest blow hard. 
 
 After the revolution of 9th Thermidor, 
 Sieyes came in with the moderate party, 
 and had the merit to propose the recall of 
 the members who had been forcibly ex
 
 t -•/«/. XXXllL] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 3i;i 
 
 pellcd by the Jacobin faction on the fall of 
 the Girondists. He was one of the com- 
 iuittee of eleven, to whom was committed 
 the charge of forming the new constitution, 
 afterwards called that of the year Three. 
 This great metaphysical philosopher and 
 politician showed little desire to share with 
 any colleagues the toil and honour of a task 
 to which he esteemed himself exclusively 
 competent ; and he produced, accordingly, 
 a model entirely of his own composition, 
 very ingenious, and evincing a wonderfully 
 intimate acquaintance with political doc- 
 trines, together with a multitude of nice 
 balances, capacities, and disqualifications, 
 EC constituted as to be checks on each oth- 
 er. .\s strongly characteristic of the genius 
 of the man,jve shall here give an account 
 of his great work. 
 
 His plan provided that the constitution, 
 with its powers of judicature and of admin- 
 istration, should emanate from the people; 
 but lest, like that unnatural parent tne sow, 
 the people should devour their own nine 
 farrow, tlie functionaries thus invested with 
 power were to be placed, when created, 
 out of the reach of the parents who had 
 given them birth. The mode in which it 
 was proposed to effect this, was both singu- 
 lar and ingenious. The office-bearers were 
 thus to be selected out of three orders of 
 the sUnte. forming a triple hierarchy. L 
 The citizens of each commune were to 
 name one-tenth of their number, to be call- 
 ed the Communal Notables. From these 
 were to be selected the magistrates of the 
 Commune, and the justices of peace. 2. The 
 Communal Notables were again to choose 
 a tenth part of their number, who were call- 
 ed the Departmental Notables. The pre- 
 fects, judges, and provincial administra- 
 tors, were selected from this second body. 
 3. The Departmental Notables, in like man- 
 ner, were to elect a tenth of their number, 
 computed to amount to about six thousand 
 persons ; and form this highest class of cit- 
 izens were to be filled the most dignified 
 and important situations in the state, — the 
 ministers and members of government, the 
 legislature, the senate or grand jury, the 
 princfpaj judges, ambassadors, and the like. 
 By this system it will be perceived, that 
 instead of equality, three ranks of privileged 
 citizens were to be established, from whose 
 ranks alone certain offices could be filled. 
 But this species of nobility, or, as it was 
 called. Notability, was dependant not on 
 birth, but on the choice of the people, from 
 whom, though more or less directly, all 
 officers without exception received their 
 commissions. The elections were to take 
 place every five years. 
 
 To represent the national dignity, power, 
 and glory, there was to be an officer called 
 the Grand Elector, who was to have guards, 
 a revenue, and all the external appendages 
 of royalty ; all acts of government, laws, 
 and judicial proceedings, were to run in his 
 name. This species of Roi faineant was to 
 possess no part of the royal authority, ex- 
 cept the right of naming two Consuls, one 
 for peace, and the other for war ; and the 
 farther right of selecting, from lists of can- 
 VOL. I. 
 
 didates to be supplied by the three ranks of 
 the hierarchy, tne individuals who were to 
 fill official situations as they should become 
 vacant. But having exercised this privi- 
 lege, the Grand Elector, or Proclaimer Gen- 
 eral, was functus officio, and had no active 
 duties to perform, or power to exercise. 
 The two Consuls, altogether uncontrolled 
 by him or each other, were to act each in 
 their own exclusive department of peace or 
 war ; and the other functionaries were alike 
 independent of the Grand Proclaimer, or 
 Elector, so soon as he had appointed them. 
 He was to resemble no sovereign ever 
 heard of but the Queen Bee, who has noth- 
 ing to do but to repose in idleness and lux- 
 ury, and give being to the active insects by 
 whose industry the business of the hive is 
 carried on. 
 
 The government being thus provided for, 
 the Abbe Sieyes's system of legislature was 
 something like that of France in the time 
 of the Parliament. There was to be a Legis- 
 lative Body of two hundred and fifty depu- 
 ties ; but they were to form rather a tribunal 
 of judges, than a popular and deliberative 
 assembly. Two other bodies, a Council of 
 State on the part of the government, and a 
 Tribunate of one hundred deputies, on the 
 part of the people, were to propose and dis- 
 cuss measures in presence of this Legisla 
 tive Council, who then proceeded to adopt 
 or reject them upon scrutiny and by vote, 
 but without any oral delivery of opinions. 
 The Tribunate was invested with the riglit 
 of guarding the freedom of the subject, and 
 denouncing to the Convocative Senate such 
 misconduct of office-bearers, or ill-chosen 
 measures, or ill-advised laws, as should ap- 
 pear to them worthy of reprobation. 
 
 But, above all. Abbe Sieyes piqued him- 
 self upon the device of what he termed a 
 Conservative Senate, which, possessing in 
 itself no power of action or legislation of 
 any kind, was to have in charge the preser- 
 vation of the constitution. To this senate 
 was given the singular power, of calling in 
 to become a member of their own body, 
 and reducing of course to their own state 
 of incapacity, any individual occupying an- 
 other situation in the constitution, whose 
 talents, ambition, or popularity, should ren- 
 der him a subject of jealousy. Even the 
 Grand Elector himself was liable to this 
 fate of absorption, as it was called, although 
 he held his crown of Cocaign in the com- 
 mon case for life. Any exertion on hi» 
 part of what might seem to the senate an 
 act of arbitrary authority, entitled them to 
 adopt him a member of their own body. 
 He was thus removed from his palace, 
 guards, and income, and made for ever in- 
 capable of any other office than that of a 
 senator. This high point of policy was car- 
 rying the system of checks and balances as 
 far as it could well go. 
 ! The first glance of this curious mode) 
 '. must have convinced a practical politician 
 ' that it was greatly too complicated and 
 i technical to be carried into effect. The 
 i utility of laws consists in their being of a 
 character which compels the respect and 
 , obedience of those to whom they relate.
 
 314 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLLON BUO.XAr.VRTt:. [Chap. XXXHI. 
 
 The very delicacy of such an ingenious ', adherent of the Ilour.e of Bourbon, stood, 
 scheme rendered it incapable of obtaining nevertheless, at the lu-ad of the Moderes, 
 general regard, since it was too refined to and taxed his sag;acity for means of ensur- 
 
 Be understood save by profound philoso- 
 phers. To the rest of the nation it must 
 have been like a watch to a savage, who, 
 beiiig commanded to regulate his time oy , 
 it, will probably prefer to make the ma- 
 chine correspond with his inclinations, by 
 
 their victory. The Moderns possessed 
 a majority in the Council of the Ancients ; 
 but the Society of the Manege, Republi- 
 cans if not Jacobins, had obtained at the 
 last election, a great superiority of numbers 
 in the Council of Five Hundred. They 
 
 putting backward and forward the index at were sure to be decided in opposition to 
 
 pleasure. A man of ordinary talent and 
 honest disposition might have been dis- 
 qualified for public life by chis doctrine 
 of absorption, just as a man ignorant of 
 swimming would perish if flung into a lake. 
 But a stout swimmer would easily gain the 
 shore, and an individual like Buonaparte 
 would set at defiance the new species of 
 ostracism, and decline to be neutralized by 
 the absorption of the senile, .\bove all, 
 the plan of the Abbe destroyed the true 
 principle of national representation, by in- 
 troducing a metaph3'sicai election of mem- 
 bers of legislation, instead of one immedi- 
 ately derived from the direct vote of the 
 people themselves. In the Abbe's alem- 
 bic, the real and invaluable principle of 
 popular representation wa? subtilized into 
 smoke. 
 
 For these, or other reasons, the commis- 
 sioners of the year Three did not approve 
 
 any change of the constitution of the year 
 Three ; and such being the case, those 'who 
 plotted the new revolution, could not at- 
 tempt it without some external support. To 
 call upon the people was no longer the or- 
 der of the day. Indeed, it may be suppos- 
 ed that the ancient revolutionary columns 
 would rather have risen against Sieyes, and 
 in behalf of the Society of the Manege. 
 The proposers of a new change had access, 
 however, to the army, and to that they de- 
 termined to appeal" The assistance of 
 some military chief of the first reputation 
 was necessary. Sieyes cast his eyes upon 
 Joubert, an officer of high reputation, and 
 one of the most distinguished amongst 
 Buonaparte's generals. He was named by 
 the Directors to the command of the De- 
 partment of Paris, but shortly after was 
 sent to Italy, with hopes that, acquiring a 
 new fund of glory by checking the progress 
 
 of the plan proposed by Sieyes; and, equal- of Suwarrow, he might be yet more fitted 
 ly dissatisfied with the constitution which to fill the public eye, and influence the 
 liiey adopted, he withdrew himself from general mind, in the crisis when Sieyea 
 
 their deliberations, and accepted the situa- 
 tion of Ambassador to Prussia, where he 
 discharged with great ability the task of a 
 diplomatist. 
 
 In 1799, Sieyes returned from Berlin to 
 Paris, full of hope to establish his own fa- 
 vourite model on the ruins of the Directori- 
 al Constitution, and as a preliminary, obtain- 
 ed, as we have said, Reubel's seat in the 
 Directory. Merlin and Lepaux, menaced 
 with impeachments, were iflduced to send 
 in their resignation. Treilhard had been 
 previously displaced, on pretest of an infor- 
 mality iti the choice. Instead of them 
 were' introduced into the Directory Roger 
 Duces, a Modere, or rather a Royalist, with 
 Oohier and Moulins, men of talents too or 
 
 looked for his assistance. Joubert lost his 
 life, however, at the great battle of Novi, 
 fought betwi.Kt him and Suwarrow; and so 
 opportunely did his dehth make room fo;- 
 the pretensions of Buonaparte, that it has 
 been rumoured, certainly without the least 
 probability, that he did not fall by the fire 
 of the Austrians, but by that of assassins 
 hired by the family of Napoleon, to tako 
 out of the way a powerful competitor of 
 their brother.' This would have been a 
 gratuitous crime, since they could neither 
 reckon with certainty on the arrival of 
 Buonaparte, nor upon his being adopted by 
 Sieyes in place of Joubert. 
 
 Meanwhile the family of Napoleon omit- 
 ted no mode of keeping his merits in pub 
 
 dinary to throw any opposition in the path lie remembrance. Reports from time to 
 of Sieves. Barras, by his expenses and his time appeared in the papers to this purpose, 
 luxurious mode of life, his connexion with j as when, to give him consequence doubt- 
 stock-jobbers, and encouragement of pecu- { less, they pretended that the tower guns of 
 lation, was too much in danger of impeach- | London were fired, and public rejoicings 
 iiient, to permit him to play a manly part, made, upon a report that Napoleon had 
 He truckled to circumstances, and allied j been assassinated. Madame Buonaparte, 
 Liiiiself with, or rather subjected himself i in tlie meanwhile, lived at great expense. 
 ■to Sieyes, who saw the time approaching j and with much elegance, collecting around 
 when tlie constitution of the year Three ' her whosoever was remarkable for talent 
 must fall, and hoped to establish his own and accomplishment, and many of the wo- 
 rejrcted model in its stead. But the revo- 1 men of Paris who were best accustomed to 
 
 iwtion which he meditated could only be 
 f.nouted by force. 
 
 T!ie change in the Directory had destroy- 
 (• : tiio government by bascule, or balance, 
 :.'!■! rhat intermediate and trimming influ- 
 
 :o brin<r removed, the two parties of the 
 
 the management of Political intrigue. Lu- 
 cien Buonaparte distinguished himself as an 
 orator in the Council of Five Hundred, and 
 although lie had hitherto affected republi- 
 can zeal, he now opposed, with much abili- 
 tv, the reviving influence of the democrats. 
 
 Moderes and the Republicans stood full op- Joseph Buonaparte, also, a man of talent. 
 ji')se« to each other, and ready to try tlieir and of an excellent character, though much 
 «;trengt!i in a severe struggle. Sieyes, | aspersed afterwards in consequence of the 
 tijj'igh no Rojajist^ or at least certain! v "o part in Spain assigned him by his brother,
 
 a.iip. XXXHI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 315 
 
 lived liospitably, saw much company, and 
 uaiiitaiiied an ascendence in Parisian soci- 
 ety. We cannot doubt that these near rel- 
 atives of Buonaparte found means of com- 
 municating to him the state of affairs in 
 Paris, and the opening which it afforded 
 for the exercise of his distinguished talents. 
 The communication betwist Toulon and 
 Alexandria was, indeed, interrupted, but 
 not aJtogether broken off, and we have no 
 doubt that the struggle of parties in the in- 
 terior, as well as the great disasters on 
 the frontier, had their full influence in de- 
 termining Buonaparte to his sudden return. 
 Miot, though in no very positive strain, has 
 named a Greek called Bambuki, as the 
 bearer of a letter from Joseph to his broth- 
 er, conveying this important intelligence. 
 The private Memoirs of Fouche pretend 
 that that minister purchased the secret of 
 Napoleon's return being expected, from Jo- 
 sephine herself, for the sum of a thousand 
 louis, and that the landing at Frejus was no 
 surprise to him. Both these pieces of pri- 
 \-ate history may be safely doubted ; but it 
 would be difficult to convince us that Buon- 
 aparte took the step of quitting Egypt on 
 the vague intelligence afforded by the jour- 
 nals, and without confidential communica- 
 tion with his own family. 
 
 To return to the state of the French 
 government. The death of Joubert not 
 only disconcerted the schemes of Sieves, 
 but exposed him and his party to retalia- 
 tion. Bernadotte was minister of war, and 
 he, with Jourdan and Augereau, were all 
 warm in the cause of Republicanism. Any 
 of these distinguished generals was capa- 
 ble of leading the military force to compel 
 Kuch an alteration in the constitution as 
 plight suit the purpose of their party, and 
 thus reversing the project of Sieyes, who, 
 without Joubert, was like the head without 
 the arm that should execute. Already, 
 Jourdan had made in the Council of Five 
 Hundred a speech on the dangers of the 
 country, which, in point of vehemence, 
 might have been pronounced in the ancient 
 hall of the Jacobins. He in plain terms 
 threatened the Moderea with such a gener- 
 al insurrection as had taken place in the 
 year 1792, and proposed to declare the 
 country in danger. He was answered by | 
 
 Lucien Buonaparte, Chenier, and Boulay, 
 who had great difficulty to parry the impet- 
 uosity with which the motion was urged 
 forward. Though they succeeded in elud- 
 ing the danger, it was still far from being 
 over, and the democrats would probably 
 have dared some desperate movement, if 
 any additional reverse had been sustained 
 on the frontier. 
 
 But as if the calamities of France, whicJi 
 of late had followed each other in quick suc- 
 cession, had attained their height of tide, 
 the affairs of that country began all of a 
 sudden to assume a more favourable aspect. 
 The success of General Brune in Holland 
 against the Anglo-Russian army, had oblig- 
 ed the invaders of Holland to retreat, and 
 enter into a convention for evacuation of 
 the country on which they had made their 
 descent. A dispute, or misunderstanding, 
 having occurred between the Emperors of 
 Austria and Russia, the Archduke Charles, 
 in order, it was alleged, to repel an incur- 
 sion of the French into the countries on 
 the Maine, withdrew a great part of his ar- 
 my from the line of the Limmat, which 
 was taken up by the Russiajis under Korsa- 
 kow. Massena took the advantage of this 
 imprudent step, crossed the Limmat, sur- 
 prised the Russians, and defeated Korsa- 
 kow, whilst the formidable Suwarrow, who 
 had already advanced to communicate wiili 
 that general, found his right flank uncover- 
 ed by his defeat, and had the greatest diffi- 
 culty in executing a retrograde movement 
 before General Lecourbe. 
 
 The news of these successes induced th«- 
 Republicans to defer their attack upon tho 
 moderate party ; and on so nice a point do 
 the greatest events hang, that had a longer 
 period intervened between these victorie." 
 and the arrival of Buonaparte, it is most 
 probable that he would have found the sit- 
 uation of military chief of the approaching 
 revolution, which became vacant on the 
 death of Joubert, filled up by some one of 
 those generals, of whom success had ex- 
 tended the fame. But he landed at the 
 happy crisis, when the presence of a chief 
 of first-rate talents was indispensable, and 
 when no favourite name had yet been found, 
 to fill the public voice with half such loud 
 acclaim as his own.
 
 :;!G 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. IChap. XXXIV 
 
 CHAP. ZXXIV. 
 
 (jeneral rejoicing on the return o/ Buonaparte — He, meanwhile, secludes himself in 
 Retirement and Literature. — Advances made to him on all sides. — Napoleon coalesces 
 with the Abbe Sieyes. — Revolution of the ISth Brumaire — Particulars of that evejit. 
 — Clashing Views of the Councils of Ancients, and the Five Hundred. — Barras and 
 his Colleagues resign, leaving the whole Power in the hands of Napoleon. — Proceed- 
 ings of the Councils on the ISth — and I9th. — Sittings removed from Paris to St. 
 Cloud — Buonaparte visits both on the latter Day. — Violent Commotion in the Coun- 
 cil of Five Hundred — Napoleon received with great hostility, menaced and assaulted, 
 and finally extricated by his Grenadiers, breathless and exhausted. — Lucien Buoria- 
 parte, the President, retires from the Hall with a similar Escort — Declares the Coun- 
 cil of Five Hundred dissolved — They are then dispersed by Military Force. — Various 
 Rumours stated and discussed. — Both Councils adjourn to the I9th February 1800, af- 
 ter appointing a Provisional Consular Government, of Buonaparte, Sieyes, and Ducos. 
 
 Buonaparte had caused himself to be 
 preceded by an account of his campaigns 
 in Africa and Asia, in which the splendid 
 victory over the Turks at Aboukir enabled 
 him to gloss over his bad success in Syria, 
 the total loss of his fleet, and the dang3r 
 of iVIalta, which was closely besieged by the 
 English. Still, however, these despatches 
 could never have led any one to expect the 
 sudden return of a general engaged on a 
 foreign service of the utmost importance, 
 who, without having a better reason to al- 
 lege, than his own opinion that his talents 
 were more essential to his country in France 
 than in Egypt, left his army to its fate, and 
 came, without either order or permission 
 from his government, to volunteer his ser- 
 vices where they were not expected, or 
 perhaps wished for. Another in the same 
 circurastanc«s, or perhaps the same gene- 
 ral at another period of the Revolution, 
 would have been received by the public 
 with alienated favour, and by the govern- 
 ment with severe inquiry, if not with denun- 
 ciation. 
 
 On the contrary, such was the general 
 reliance on the talents of Buonaparte, that, 
 delighted to see him arrive, no one thought 
 of asking wherefore, or by whose authority 
 he had returned. He was received like a 
 victorious monarch re-entering his domin- 
 ions at his own time ana pleasure. Bells 
 were everywhere rung, illuminations made, 
 a delirium of joy agitated tha public mind, 
 .ind the messenger who carried the news of 
 his disembarkation to Paris, was received 
 as if he had brought news of a battle gained. 
 
 The hall of the Council of Five Hun- 
 dred re-echoed with cries of victory, 
 while the orator, announcing the victories 
 of Brune over the English, and Massena 
 over the Russians, dwelt upon the simple 
 fact of Buonaparte's return, as of interest 
 equal to all these successes. He was heard 
 with shouts of " Long live the Republic !"' 
 which, as the event proved, w^as an excla- 
 mation but very indifferently adapted to the 
 occasion. 
 
 Josephine, and Joseph Buonaparte, ap- 
 prised by the government of the arrival of 
 JVapoleon, hastened to meet him on the 
 road ; and his progress towards Paris was 
 everywhere attended by the same general 
 acclamations which had received him at 
 landing. 
 
 The members of government, it must be 
 supposed, felt alarm and anxiety, which 
 they endeavoured to conceal, under the 
 appearance of sharing in the general joy. 
 The arrival of a person so influential by his 
 fame, so decided in his character, engaged 
 with no faction, and pledged to no political 
 system, was likely to give victory to one or 
 the other party who were contending for 
 superiority, as he should himself determine. 
 The eyes of all men were upon Napoleon, 
 while his reserved and retired mode of life 
 prevented any accurate anticipation being 
 formed of the part which he was likely to 
 take in the approaching convulsions of the 
 state. While both parties might hope for 
 his participation and succour, neither ven- 
 tured to call into question his purpose, or 
 the authority by which he had left his army 
 in Egypt, and appeared thus unexpectedly 
 in the capital. On the contrary, they court- 
 ed him on either hand as the arbiter, whose 
 decision was likely to have most influence 
 on the state of the nation. 
 
 Napoleon, meanwhile, seemed to give his 
 exclusive attention to literature, and, hav- 
 ing exchanged the usual visits of form with 
 the ministers of the Republic, he was more 
 frequently to be found at the Institute, or 
 discussing with the traveller Volney, and 
 other men of letters, the information which 
 he had acquired in Egypt on science and 
 antiquities, than in the haunts of politi- 
 cians, or the society of the leaders of either 
 party in the state. Neither was he to be 
 seen at the places of popular resort — he 
 went into no general company, seldom at- 
 tended the theatres, and, when he did, took 
 his seat in a private box. 
 
 A public entertainment was given in 
 honour of the General in the church of St. 
 Sulpice, which was attended by both the 
 Legislative Bodies. Moreau shared the 
 same honour, perhaps on that account not 
 the more agreeable to Buonaparte. Jour- 
 dan and Augereau did not appear — a cloud 
 seemed to hang over the festival — Napole- 
 on only presented himself for a very short 
 time, and the whole was over in the course 
 of an hour. 
 
 To the military, his conduct seemed 
 equally reserved — he held no levees, and 
 attended no reviews. While all ranks con- 
 tended in offering their tributes of applause, 
 he turned in silence from receiving them.
 
 Okp. XXXI v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 317 
 
 In all this there was deep policy. No 
 one knew better how much popular ap- 
 
 Elause depends on the gloss of novelty, and 
 ow great is the difference in public esti- 
 mation; betwixt him who appears to hunt 
 and court acclamations, and the wiser and 
 more dignified favourite of the multitude, 
 whose popularity follows after him and 
 seeks him out, instead of being the object 
 of his pursuit and ambition. Yet under this 
 still and apparently indifferent demeanour. 
 Napoleon was in secret employed in col- 
 lecting all the information necessary con- 
 cerning the purposes and the powers of the 
 various parties in the state ; and as each 
 was eager to obtain his countenance, he 
 had no difficulty in obtaining full explana- 
 tion on these points. 
 
 The violent Republicans, who possessed 
 the majority in the Council of Five Hun- 
 dred, made advances to him ; and the Gen- 
 erals Jourdan, Augereau, and Bernadotte, 
 offered to place him at the head of tliat 
 party, provided he would maintain the dem- 
 ocratical constitution of the year Three. 
 In uniting with this active and violent par- 
 ty, Buonaparte saw every chance of instant 
 and immediate success; but, by succeeding 
 in the outset, he would probably have mar- 
 red the farther projects of ambition which 
 he already nourished. Military leaders, 
 such as Jourdan and Bernadotte, at the head 
 of a party so furious as the Republicans, 
 could not have been thrown aside without 
 both danger and difficulty ; and it being un- 
 questionably the ultimate intention of Buon. 
 aparte to usurp the supreme power, it was 
 most natural for him to seek adherents 
 among those, who, though differing con- 
 cerning the kind of government which 
 should be finally established, concurred in 
 desiring a change from the republican 
 model. 
 
 Barras, too, endeavoured to sound the 
 purposes of the General of the Army of 
 Egypt. He hinted to him a plan of placing 
 at the head of the Directory Hedouville, 
 a man of ordinary talent, then general of 
 what was still termed the Army of Eng- 
 land, of retiring himself from power, and 
 of conferrmg on Napoleon the general com- 
 mand of the Republican forces on the fron- 
 tiers, which he vainly supposed preferment 
 cufficientto gratify his ambition. Buonaparte 
 would not listen to a hint which went to re- 
 move him from the capital, and the supreme 
 administration of affairs — he knew also that 
 Barras's character was contemptible, and 
 his resources diminished — that his subse- 
 quent conduct had cancelled the merit 
 which he had acquired by the overthrow of 
 Robespierre, and that to' unite with him in 
 .iny degree would be to adopt, in the pub- 
 lic opinion, the very worst and most un- 
 popular portion of the Directorial Govern- 
 ment. He rejected the alliance of Barras, 
 therefore, even when, abandoning his own 
 plan, the Director offered to concur in any 
 which Napoleon might dictate. 
 
 A union with Sieyes, and the party whom 
 he influenced, promised greater advantages. 
 Under this speculative politician were unit- 
 ed for the time all who, though differing in 
 
 other points, joined in desiring a final 
 change from a revolutionary to a moderate 
 and efficient government, bearing something 
 of a monarchical character. Their number 
 rendered this party powerful. In the Di- 
 rectory it was espoused by Sieyes and Du- 
 cos ; it possessed a large majority in the 
 Council of Ancients, and a respectable mi- 
 nority in that of the Five Hundred. The 
 greater part of the middling classes through- 
 out France, embraced with more or less 
 zeal the principles of moderation ; and 
 agreed, that an executive government of 
 some strength, was necessary to save them 
 from the evils of combined revolutionary 
 movements. Though the power of the mod- 
 erates was great, yet their subsequent ob- 
 jects, in case of success, were various. Thus 
 Buonaparte saw himself encouraged to hope 
 for victory over the existing government 
 and the Republicans, by the united strength 
 of the Moderates of every class, whilst their 
 difference in opinion concerning the ulti- 
 mate measures to be adopted, afforded him 
 the best opportunity of advancing, during 
 the competition, his own pretensions to the 
 larger sliare of the spoil. 
 
 Napoleon communicated accordingly 
 with Sieyes, upon the understanding that 
 he was to be raised to the principal admin- 
 istration of affairs ; that the constitution of 
 the year Three, which he himself had once 
 pronounced •' the masterpiece of legisla- 
 tion, which had abolished the errors of 
 eighteen centuries," was entirely to be 
 done away ; and that a constitution was to 
 be adopted iu its stead, of which he knew 
 nothing more, than that it was ready drawn 
 up, and lay in the portfolio of Sieyes. Xc 
 doubt, the General mentally reserved the 
 right of altering and adjusting it as should 
 best suit his own views, — a right which he 
 failed not to exercise to a serious extent. 
 When these great preliminaries had been 
 adjusted, it was agreed that it should be ex- 
 ecuted between the 15th and 20th Bru- 
 maire. 
 
 In the interim, several men of influence 
 of both councils were admitted into the se- 
 cret. Talleyrand, who had been deprived 
 of office by the influence of the Republi- 
 cans, brought his talents to the aid of Buon- 
 aparte. Fouche, according to Napoleon, 
 was not consulted — the Memoirs which 
 bear his name aver the contrary — it ia cer- 
 tain, that in his important capacity of min- 
 ister of police, he acted in Buonaparte's 
 favour during the Revolution. Some lead- 
 ing members of both legislative bodies were 
 cautiously intrusted with what was going 
 forward, and others were generally advised 
 to hold themselves in readiness for a great 
 movement. 
 
 A sufficient military force was next to be 
 provided ; and this was not difficult, for the 
 reputation of Buonaparte ensured the con- 
 spirators unlitnited influence among the sol- 
 diery. Three regiments of dragoons were 
 enthusiastically petitioning the honour of be- 
 ing reviewed by Napoleon. The adherence 
 of these troops might be counted upon 
 The officers of the garrison of Paris were 
 desirous to pay their respects to him 3 so
 
 318 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XX XIV 
 
 were the forty adjutants of the National 
 Guard, whom he himself had appointed 
 when general of the troops in the interior. 
 Many other officers, as well reduced as 
 nolding commissions, desired to see the 
 celebrated General, that they might ex- 
 press their devotion to his person, and ad- 
 nerence to his fortunes. All these intro- 
 ductions had been artfully postponed. 
 
 Two men of more renowned name, Mo- 
 reau and Macdonald, had made tenders of 
 service to Buonaparte. These both favour- 
 ed the moderate party, and had no suspi- 
 cion of the ultimate design of Napoleon, or 
 the final result of his undertaking. 
 
 A final resolution on 15th Brumaire de- 
 termined the 18th (9th November) for the 
 great attempt — an interval was necessary, 
 but the risk of discovery and anticipation 
 made it desirable that it should be as short 
 as possible. The secret was well kept ; yet 
 being unavoidably intrusted to many per- 
 sons, some floating and vague rumours did 
 get abroad, and gave an alarm to the parties 
 concerned. 
 
 Meanwhile, all the generals and officers 
 whom we have named, were invited to re- 
 pair to Napoleon's house at six o'clock on 
 the morning of the 18th Brumaire, and the 
 three regiments of cavalry already mention- 
 ed were appointed to be ready and mounted 
 in the Champs Elysees, to receive the 
 honour of being reviewed by Buonaparte, 
 according to their petition. As an excuse 
 for assigning so unusual an hour of rendez- 
 vous, it was said that the General was oblig- 
 ed to set out upon a journey. Many offi- 
 cers, however, understood or guessed what 
 was to be done, and came armed with pis- 
 tols as well as with swords. Some were 
 without such information or presentiment. 
 Le Febvre, the commandant of the guard 
 of the Representative Bodies, supposed to 
 be devoted to the Directory, had only re- 
 ceived an invitation to attend this military 
 assembly on the preceding midnight. Ber- 
 nadotte, unacquainted with the project, and 
 attached to the Republican faction, was, 
 however, brought to Buonaparte's house by 
 his brother Joseph. 
 
 The surprise of some, and the anxious 
 curiosity of all, may be supposed, when 
 they found a military levee so numerous 
 and so brilliant assembled at a house inca- 
 pable of containi-ng half of them. Buona- 
 parte was obliged to receive them in the 
 open air. Leaving them thus assembled, 
 and waiting their cue to enter on the stage, 
 I let us trace the political manoeuvres from 
 ' which the military were to take the signal 
 for action. 
 
 Early as Buonaparte's levee had taken 
 place, the Council of Ancients, secretly and 
 nastily assembled, had met still earlier. 
 The ears of all were filled by a report, gen- 
 erally circulated, that the Republican party 
 had formed a daring plan for giving a new 
 popular impulse to the government. It was 
 eaid, that the resolution was taken at the 
 Hotel de Salm, amongst the party who still 
 adopted the principles of the old .Jacobins, 
 ■to connect the two Representative Bodies 
 into one National Assembly, and invest the 
 
 powers of government in a Committee of 
 Public Safety, after the model of what was 
 called the Reign of Terror. Circulated 
 hastily, and witli such addition to the tale 
 as rumours speedily acquire, the mind of 
 the Council of Ancients was agitated with, 
 much fear and anxiety. Comudet, Lebrun, 
 and Fargues, made glowing speeches to the 
 Assembly, in which the terror that their 
 language inspired was rendered greater by 
 the mysterious and indefinite manner in 
 which they expressed themselves. They 
 spoke of personal danger — of being over- 
 awed in their deliberations — of the fall of 
 liberty, and of the approaching destruction 
 of the Republic. " You have but an instant 
 to save France," said Comudet ; " permit it 
 to pass away, and the country will be a mere 
 carcase, disputed by the vultures, whose 
 prey it must become." Though the charge 
 of conspiracy was not distinctly defined, 
 tlie measures recommended to defeat it 
 were sufficiently decisive. 
 
 By the 102d, 103d, and 104th articles of 
 the Constitution, it was provided that the 
 Council of Ancients might, if they saw it 
 expedient, alter the place where the Legis- 
 lative Bodies met, and convoke them else- 
 where ; a provision designed doubtless to 
 prevent the exercise of that compulsion, 
 which the Parisians had at one time assum- 
 ed over the National Assembly and Con- 
 vention. This power the Council of An- 
 cients now exercised. By one edict the 
 sittings of the two councils were removed 
 to St. Cloud J by another, the Council dele- 
 gated to General Buonaparte full fwwer to 
 see this measure carried into effect, and 
 vested him for that purpose with the mili- 
 tary command of the department. A state 
 messenger was sent to communicate to the 
 General these important measures, and re- 
 quire his presence in the Council of Au- 
 cients ; and this was the crisis which he 
 had so anxiously expected. 
 
 A few words determined the numerous 
 body of officers, by whom the messenger 
 found him surrounded, to concur with 
 him without scruple. Even General Le 
 Febvre, who commanded the guard of the 
 Legislative Bodies, declared his adhesion 
 to Buonaparte. 
 
 The Directory had not even yet taken the 
 alarm. Two of them, indeed, Sieyes and 
 Duces, being in the secret of the conspira- 
 cy, were already at the Tuilleries, to sec- 
 ond the movement which was preparing. 
 It is said that Barras had seen them pass in 
 the morning, and as they were both mount- 
 ed, had been much amused with the awk- 
 ward horsemanship of Sieyes. He little 
 guessed on what expedition he was bound. 
 
 When Buonaparte sallied forth on horse 
 back, and at the head of such a gallant 
 cavalcade of officers, his first movement 
 was to assume the command of the three 
 regiments of cavalry, already drawn up in 
 the Champs Elysees, and to lead them to 
 the Tuilleries, where the Council of An 
 cients expected him. He entered theii 
 Hall, surrounded by his military staff, and 
 by those other generals, whose name car 
 ried the memory of so many victoriet,
 
 Chap XXXIV.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON RLONAPARTE. 
 
 319 
 
 " You are the wisdom of the nation," he 
 B&id to the Council. " 1 come, surround- 
 ed by the generals of the Republic, to 
 Dromise you their support. I name Le 
 Febvre my lieutenant. Let us not lose 
 time looking for precedents. Nothing in 
 history ever resembled the end of the 
 eighteenth century— nothing in the eight- 
 eenth century resenfbled this moment. 
 Your wisdom has devised the necessary 
 measure, our arms shall put it into exe- 
 cution." He announced to the milita- 
 ry the will of the Council, and the com- 
 mand with whicli they had intrusted him ; 
 and it was received with loud shouts. 
 
 In the meanwhile the three Directors, 
 Barras, Cohier, and ISIoulins, who were 
 not in the secret of the morning, began too 
 late to take the alarm. Moulins proposed 
 to send a battalion to surround the house 
 of Buonaparte, and make prisoner the Gen- 
 eral, and whomsoever else they found there. 
 But they had no longer the least influence 
 over the soldiery, and had the mortifica- 
 tion to see their own personal guard, when 
 summoned by an aid-de-camp of Buona- 
 parte, march away to join the forces wliich 
 ne commanded, and leave them defenceless. 
 
 Barras sent his secretary, Bottot, to e.x- 
 postulatc with Buonaparte. The General 
 received him with great haughtiness, and 
 publicly, before a large group of officers 
 and soldiers, upbraided him with the re- 
 verses of the country ; not in the tone of 
 an ordinary citizen, possessing but his own 
 individual interest in the fate of a great na- 
 tion, but like a prince, who, returning from 
 a distant expedition, finds that in his ab- 
 eence his deputies have abused their trust, 
 and misruled his dominions. " What have 
 you done," he said, "for that fine France, 
 which I left you in such a brilliant condi- 
 tion? 1 left you peace, I have found war — 
 I left you the wealth of Italy, I have found 
 taxation and misery. Where are the hun- 
 dred thousand Frenchmen whom I have 
 known ?— all of them my companions in 
 glory ?— They are dead." It was plain, 
 that e^en now, when his enterprise was 
 but commenced, Buonaparte had already 
 assumed that tone, which seemed to ac- 
 count every one answerable to him for de- 
 ficiences in the public service, and he him- 
 eelf responsible to no one. 
 
 Barras, overwhelmed and stunned, and 
 afraid, perhaps, of impeachment for his al- 
 leged peculations, belied the courage which 
 he was once supposed to possess, and sub- 
 mitted, in the most abject terms, to the will 
 of the victor. He sent in his resignation. 
 in which he states, " that the weal of the 
 Republic, and his zeal for liberty alone, 
 could have ever induced him to undertake 
 the burden of a public office ; and that, 
 seeing the destinies of the Republic were 
 now in the custody of her youthful and in- 
 vincible General, he gladly resigned his 
 authority.' He left Paris for his country 
 seat, accompanied \)y a guard of cavalry, 
 which Buonaparte ordered to attend him, 
 as much perhaps to watch his motions as 
 to do him honour, though the last was the 
 osteosiblc reason. His colleagues Gohicr 
 
 and Moulins, also resigned their office ; 
 Sieyes and Ducos had already set the exam- 
 ple ; and tlius, the whole Constitutional 
 Excoiitive Council was dissolved, while the 
 real power was vested in Buonaparte's sin- 
 gle person. Cambaceres, minister of jus- 
 tice, Fouche, minister of police, with all 
 the rest of the administration, acknowl- 
 edged his authority accordingly ; and he 
 was thus placed in full possession as well of 
 the civil as of the military power. 
 
 Tiie Council of P'ive Hundred, or rather 
 the Republican majority of that body, 
 sliovved a more stubborn temper; and if, 
 instead of resigning, Barras, Gohier, and 
 Moulins, had united themselves to its lead- 
 ers, they might perhaps have given trouble 
 to Buonaparte, successful as he had hither- 
 to been. 
 
 This hostile Council only met at ten o'- 
 clock on that memorable day when they re- 
 ceived, to their surprise, the message, inti- 
 mating that the Council of Ancients had 
 changed the place of meeting from Paris 
 to St. Cloud ; and thus removed their de- 
 b.itcs from the neighbourhood of the popu- 
 lace, over whom the old Jacobinical prin- 
 ciples might have retained influence. The 
 laws as tJiey stood afforded the young Coun- 
 cil no means of evading compliance, ai:d 
 they accordingly adjourned to meet the 
 next day at St. Cloud, with unabated reso- 
 lution to maintain the democratical part 
 of the constitution. They separated amid 
 shouts of " Long live the Republic and the 
 Constitution !" which were echoed by the 
 galleries. The trir.oteitses,* and other more 
 zealous attendants on their debates, re- 
 solved to transfer themselves to St. Cloud 
 also, and appeared there in considerable 
 numbers on the ensuing day, when it was 
 evident the enterprise of Sieyes and of 
 Buonaparte must be either perfected or 
 abandoned. 
 
 The contending parties held counsel all 
 the evening, and deep into the night, to 
 prepare for the final contest on the morrow. 
 Sieyes advised that forty leaders of the op- 
 position should be arrested ; but Buona- 
 parte esteemed himself strong enough to 
 obtain a decisive victory, without resorting 
 to any such obnoxious violence. They ad- 
 justed their plan of operations in both Coun- 
 cils, and agreed that the government to be 
 established should be provisionally intrust- 
 ed to three Consuls, Buonaparte, Sieyes, 
 and Ducos. Proper arrangements were 
 made of the armed force at St. Cloud ; and 
 the command was confided to the zeal and 
 fidelity of Murat. Buonaparte used some 
 interest to prevent Bernadotte, Jourdan, and 
 Augereau, from attending at St. Cloud the 
 next day, as he did not expect them to take 
 his part in the approaching crisis. The 
 last of these seemed rather hurt at the want 
 
 * The women of lower rank wlio attended tha 
 debates of the Council, plying the task of knitting 
 while they listened to politics, were so denominat- 
 ed. They were always zealous democrats, and 
 might claim in one sense Sliakspearc's descrip- 
 tion of ,1. 
 " The free maids, who weave their thread with 
 %nes."
 
 320 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIV 
 
 of confidence which this caution implied, 
 and said, " What, general ! dare you not 
 trust your own little Augereau ?" He went 
 to St. Cloud accordingly. 
 
 Some preparations were necessary to put 
 the palace of St. Cloud in order to receive 
 the two Councils ; the Orangerie being as- 
 signed to the Council of Five Hundred ; 
 the Gallery of Mars to that of the An- 
 cients. 
 
 In the Council of Ancients, the Moderes, 
 having the majority, were prepared to car- 
 ry forward and complete their measures for 
 a change of government and constitution. 
 But the minority, having rallied after the 
 surprise of the preceding day, were neitlier 
 silent nor passive. The Commission of In- 
 spectors, whose duty it was to convene tiie 
 Council, were inculpated severely for hav- 
 ing omitted to give information to sev- 
 eral leading members of the minority, of 
 the extraordinary convocation which took 
 place at such an unwonted hour on the 
 morning preceding. The propriety, nay 
 the legality, of the transference of the 
 Legislative Bodies to St. Cloud, was also 
 challenged. A sharp debate took place, 
 which was terminated by the appearance of 
 Napoleon, who entered the hall, and har- 
 angued the members by permission of the 
 president. " Citizens," said he, " you are 
 placed upon a volcano. Let me tell you 
 the truth with the frankness of a soldier. 
 Citizens, I was remaining tranquil with my 
 family, when the commands of the Council 
 of Ancients called me to arms. I collect- 
 ed my brave military companions, and 
 brought forward the arms of the country in 
 obedience to you who are the head. We 
 are rewarded with calumny — they compare 
 me to Cromwell — to Caesar. Had I desir- 
 ed to usurp the supreme authority, 1 have 
 had opportunities to do so before now. But 
 I swear to you the country has not a more 
 disinterested patriot. We are surrounded 
 by dangers and by civil war. Let us not 
 hazard the loss of those advantages for 
 which we have made such sacrifices — Lib- 
 erty and Equality." 
 
 "And the Constitution!" exclaimed Lin- 
 glet, a democratic member, interrupting a 
 speech which seemed to be designedly 
 vague and ine.tplicit. 
 
 "The Constitution!" answered Buona- 
 parte, giving way to a more natural expres- 
 sion of his feelings, and avowing his object 
 more clearly than he had yet dared to do — 
 •' It was violated on the 13th Fructidor — 
 violated on the 22d Floreal — violated on the 
 30th Prairial. All parties have invoked it 
 — all have disregarded it in turn. It can be 
 no longer a means of safety to any one, since 
 it obtains the respect of no one. Since we 
 cannot preserve the Constitution, let us at 
 least save Liberty and Equality, the founda- 
 tions on which it is erected." He went on 
 in the same strain to assure them, that for 
 the safety of the Republic he relied onlv on 
 the wisdom and power of the Council of 
 Ancients, since in the Council of Five 
 Hundred were found those men who desir- 
 ed to bring back the Convention, with its 
 revolutionary committees, its scaffolds, its 
 
 popular insurrections. " But I," he said, 
 '' will save you from such horrors — I and 
 my brave comrades at arms, whose swords 
 and caps I see at the door of the hall ; and 
 if any hired orator shall talk of outlawry, I 
 will appeal to the valour of my comrades, 
 with whom I have fought and conquered for 
 liberty." 
 
 The Assembly invited the Genrral to 
 detail the particulars of the conspiracy to 
 which he had alluded, but he confined him- 
 self to a reference to the testimony of 
 Sieves and Ducos ; and again reiterating 
 that the Constitution could not save the 
 country, and inviting the Council of An- 
 cients to adopt some course which might en- 
 able them to do so, he left them, amid cries 
 of Vive Buonaparte !" loudly echoed by the 
 military in the court-yard, to try the effect 
 of his eloquence on the more unmanagea- 
 ble Council of Five Hundred. 
 
 The deputies of the younger Council 
 having found the place designed for their 
 meeting filled with workmen, were for some 
 time in a situation which seemed to resem- 
 ble the predicament of the National As- 
 sembly at Versailles, when they took refuge 
 in a tennis-court. The recollection was of 
 such a nature as inflamed and animated their 
 resolution, and they entered the Orangerie, 
 when at length admitted, in no good hu- 
 mour with the Council of Ancients, or with 
 Buonaparte. Proposals of accommodation 
 had been circulated among them ineffectu- 
 ally. They would have admitted Buona- 
 parte into the Directory, but refused to con- 
 sent to any radical change in the constitu- 
 tion of the year Three. 
 
 The debate of the day, remarkable as the 
 last in which the Republican party enjoyed 
 the full freedom of speech in France, was 
 opened on 19th Brumaire, at two o'clock, 
 Lucien Buonaparte being president. Gau- 
 din, a member of the moderate party, began 
 by moving, that a committee of seven mem- 
 bers should be formed, to report upon the 
 state of the Republic ; and that measures 
 should be taken for opening a correspond- 
 ence with the Council of Ancients. He was 
 interrupted by exclamations and clamour 
 on the part of the majority. 
 
 '• The Constitution ! The Constitution or 
 Death !" was echoed and re-echoed on eve» 
 ry side. " Bayonets frighten us not," said 
 Delbrel ; " we are freemen." 
 
 '•Down with the dictatorship — no Dicta- 
 tors !" cried other members. 
 
 Lucien in vain endeavoured to restore 
 order. Gaudin was dragged from the tri- 
 bune ; the voice of other Moderates was 
 overpowered by clamour — never had the 
 party of democracy shown itself fiercer or 
 more tenacious than when about to receive 
 the death-blow. 
 
 "■ Let us swear to preserve the Constitu- 
 tion of the year Three !" exclaimed Del- 
 brel ; and the applause which followed the 
 proposition was so general, that it silenced 
 all resistance. Even the members of the 
 moderate party — nay, even Lucien Buona- 
 parte himself — were compelled to take the 
 oath of fidelity to the Constitution, which 
 he and they were leagued to destroy.
 
 Chap. XXXIV.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 321 
 
 " The oath you have just taken," said Bi- | dottc, who were ready to act on the pop.i- 
 <Tonrtet '• will occupy a place in the annals lar side, had the soldiers shown the lea-t 
 of history beside the celebrated vow taken hesitation in yielding obedience to Buona- 
 in the tennis-court. The one was the foun- ] parte, perceived no opening of which to 
 dation of liberty, the other shall consolidate avail themselves. 
 
 the structure." In the midst of this ftr 
 mentation, the letter containing the resigna 
 tion of Barras was read, and received with 
 marks of contempt, as the act of a soldier 
 deserting his post in the time of danger. 
 The moderate party seemed silenced, over- 
 powered, and on the point of coalescing 
 with the great majority of the Council, 
 when the clash of arms was heard at the 
 entrance of the apartment. All eyes were 
 turned to that quarter. Bayonets, drawn 
 fiabres, the plumed hats of general officers 
 and aids-de-camp, and the caps of grena- 
 diers, were visible without, while Napoleon 
 entered the Orangerie, attended by four 
 grenadiers belonging to the constitutional 
 guard of the Councils. The soldiers re- 
 mained at the bottom of the hall, while he 
 advanced, with a measured step and uncov- 
 ered, about one-third up the room. 
 
 He was received with loud murmurs. 
 •' What I drawn weapons, armed men, sol- 
 diers in the sanctuary of the laws !"' exclaim- 
 ed the members, whose courage seemed to 
 rise against the display of force with which 
 they were menaced. All the deputies arose, 
 some rushed on Buonaparte, and seized him 
 Dy the collar ; others called out — ■' Outlaw- 
 ry — outlawry — let him be proclaimed a trai- 
 tor !" It is said that Arena, a native of 
 Corsica like himself, aimed a dagger at his 
 breast, which was only averted by the in- 
 terposition of one of the grenadiers. The 
 fact seems extremely doubtful, though it is 
 certain that Buonaparte was seized by tv,-o 
 or three members, while others exclaimed, 
 " Was it for this you gained so many 
 victories V and loaded him with reproach- 
 es. At this crisis a party of grenadiers 
 rushed into the hall with drawn swords, and 
 extricating Buonaparte from the deputies, 
 bore him off in their arras breathless with 
 the scuffle. 
 
 It was probably at this crisis that Auge- 
 reau's faith in his ancient general's fortune 
 began to totter, and his revolutionary prin- 
 ciples to gain an ascendance over his mili- 
 tary devotion. " A fine situation you have 
 brought yourself into," he said to Buona- 
 parte, who answered sternly, '" Augereau, 
 things were worse at Areola — Take my ad- 
 vice — remain quiet, in a short time all this 
 will change." Augereau, whose active as- 
 sistance and co-operation might have been 
 at this critical period of the greatest conse- 
 quence to the Council, took tlie hint, and 
 continued passive.* Jourdan and Berna- 
 
 *The Moniteur is anxious to exculpate Auee- 
 Ma.u from having taken any part in favour of tlie 
 routed party on the 19th Brumairc. That officpi , 
 it says, did not join in the general oath of fidelity 
 to the Constitution of the year Three. The same 
 official paper adds, that on the evening of the 19th, 
 being invited by some of the leading persons of the 
 democratic faction, to take the military command 
 of their partisans, he had asked them bv way of 
 reply, " Whether they supposed he wou?d tarnish 
 the reputation he had acquired in the army, by 
 Uking command of wretches )ike them .'" .'\iige- 
 VOL. I, 0% 
 
 The Council remained in the highest 
 state of commotion, the general voice ac- 
 cusing Buonaparte of having usurped the 
 supreme authority, calling for a sentence 
 of outlawi-v, or demanding that he should 
 be brought to the bar. " Can you ask me to 
 put the outlawry of my own brother to the 
 vote ?" said Lucien. But this appeal to 
 his personal situation and feelings made no 
 impression upon the Assembly, who con- 
 tinued clamorously to demand the question. 
 At length Lucien flung on the desk his hat, 
 scarf, and other parts of his official dress. 
 " Let me be rather heard," he said, " as 
 the advocate of him whom you falsely and 
 rashly accuse." But this request only ad- 
 ded to the tumult. At this moment a small 
 body of grenadiers, sent by Napoleon to his 
 brother's assistance, marched into the hall. 
 They were at first received with ap- 
 plause*; for the Council, accustomed to see 
 the triumph of democratical opinions among 
 the military, did not doubt that they were 
 deserting their general to range themselves 
 on the side of the deputies. Their appear- 
 ance was but momentary — they instantly 
 left the hall, carrying Lucien in the centre 
 of the detachment. 
 
 Matters were now come to extremity ou 
 either side. The Council, thrown into the 
 greatest disorder by these repeated military 
 incursions, remained in violent agitation, fu- 
 rious against Buonaparte, but without the 
 calmness necessary to adopt decisive mea- 
 sures. 
 
 Meantime the sight of Napoleon, almost 
 breathless, and bearing marks of personal 
 violence, excited to the highest the indig- 
 nation of the military. lu broken words 
 he told them, that when he wished to show 
 them the road to lead the country to victo- 
 ry and fame, " they had answered him with 
 dangers." 
 
 Cries of resentment arose from the sol- 
 diery, augmented when the party sent to 
 extricate the President broug;ht him to the 
 ranks as to a sanctuary. Lucien, who sec- 
 onded his brother admirably, or rather who 
 led the way in this perilous adventure, 
 mounted on horseback instantly, and called 
 out, in a voice naturally deep and sonorous, 
 " General, and you, soldiers ! The Presi- 
 dent of the Council of Five Hundred pro- 
 claims to you, that factious men, witli 
 drawn daggers, have interrupted the delib- 
 erations of the Assembly — He authorizes 
 you to employ force against these disturt>- 
 era— The Assembly of Five Hundred is dis- 
 solved!" 
 Murat, deputed by Buonaparte to execute 
 
 reau, it may be rwnembered, was the general who 
 wa^ sent by Buonaparte to Paris to act as military 
 chief on the part of the Directory, in the revolution 
 of the 18ih Fructidor, in which the soldiery had 
 willingly followed him. Buonaparte was probably 
 well pleased to keep a man of his military reputa- 
 tion anil resolved character out of the combat if 
 possible
 
 322 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIV. 
 
 the commands of Lucien, entered the | numbers who witnessed the scene no proof 
 Orangerie with drums beating, at the head i was ever appealed to, save the real evi- 
 
 of a detachment with fixed bayonets. He 
 summoned the deputies to disperse on their 
 peril, while an officer of the constitutional 
 guard called out, he could be no longer an- 
 swerable for their safety. Cries of fear be- 
 came now mingled with vociferations of 
 rage, execrations of abhorrence, and shouts 
 of Vive la Republique. An officer then 
 mounted the President's seat, and summon- 
 ed the representatives to retire. " The 
 General," said he, " has given orders." 
 
 Some of the deputies and spectators be- 
 gan now to leave the hall ; the greater part 
 continued firm, and sustained the shouts 
 by which they reprobated this military in- 
 trusion. The drums at length struck up, 
 and. drowned further remonstrance. 
 
 "Forward, grenadiers," said the officer 
 who commanded the party. They levelled 
 their muskets, and advanced as if to the 
 charge. The deputies seem hitherto to 
 have retained a lingering hope that their 
 persons would be regarded as inviolable. 
 They now fled on all sides, most of them 
 jumping from the windows of the Orange- 
 rie, and leaving behind them their official 
 caps, scarfe, and gowns. In a very few 
 .minutes the apartments were entirely clear ; 
 anj thus, furnishing, at its conclusion, a 
 striking parallel to the scene which ended 
 ■the Long Parliament of Charles the First's 
 time, terminated the last democratical as- 
 sembly of France. 
 
 Buonaparte affirms, that one of the gen- 
 eral officers in his suite offered to take the 
 command of fifty men, and place them in 
 ambush to fire on the deputies in their 
 flight, which he wisely declined as a use- 
 less and gratuitous cruelty. 
 
 The result of these violent and extraor- 
 dinary measures was intimated to the Coun- 
 cil of Ancients ; the immediate cause of 
 the expulsion of the Five Hundred being re- 
 ferred to the alleged violence on the person 
 of Buonaparte, which was said by one mem- 
 ber to have been committed by Arena, 
 while another exaggerated the charge, by 
 asserting that it-was offered in consequence 
 of Buonaparte's having made disclosure of 
 some mal-practices of the Corsican deputy 
 while in Italy. The Moniteur soon after 
 improved this story of Arena and his sin- 
 gle poniard, into a party consisting of Are- 
 na, Marquezzi, and other deputies, armed 
 with pistols and daggers. At other times, 
 Buonaparte was said to have been wounded, 
 which certainly was not the case. The ef- 
 fect of the example of Brutus upon a repub- 
 lican, and an Italian to boot, might render 
 _^the conduct ascribed to Arena credible 
 "enough j but the existence of a party armed 
 with pocket-pistols and daggers, for the 
 purpose of opposing regular troops, is too 
 ridiculous to be believed. Arena published 
 ft denial of the attempt ; and among the 
 
 dence of a dagger found on the floor, and 
 the torn sleeve of a grenadier's coat, cir- 
 cumstances which might be accounted for 
 many ways. But having served at the time 
 as a popular apology for the strong meas- 
 ures which had been adopted, the rumour 
 was not allowed to fall asleep. Thom6, 
 the grenadier, was declared to have merit- 
 ed well of his country by the Legislative 
 Body, entertained at dinner by the General, 
 and rewarded^ with a salute and a valuable 
 jewel by Josephine. Other reports were 
 put in circulation concerning the violent 
 purposes of the Jacobins. It was said the 
 ancient revolutionist, Santerrc, was setting 
 a popular movement on foot, in the Faux- 
 bourg Saint Antoine, and that Buonaparte, 
 through the Ex-Director Moulins, had cau- 
 tioned him against proceeding in his pur- 
 pose, declaring, that if he did, he would 
 have him shot by martial law. 
 
 But the truth is, that although there can 
 be no doubt that the popular party enter- 
 tained a full purpose of revolutionizing the 
 government anew, and restoring its repub- 
 lican character, yet they were anticipated 
 and surprised by the movement of the 18th 
 and i9th Brumaire, which could not, there- 
 fore, in strict language, be justified as a de- 
 fensive measure. Its excuse must rest on 
 the proposition which seems undoubted, 
 that affairs were come to such extremity 
 that a contest was unavoidable, and that 
 therefore it was necessary for the mode- 
 rate party to take the advantage of the first 
 blow, though they exposed themselves in 
 doing so to the reproach of being called the 
 aggressors in the contest. 
 
 The Council of Ancients had expressed 
 some alarm and anxiety about the employ- 
 ment of military force against the other 
 branch of the constitutional representation. 
 But Lucien Buonaparte, having succeeded 
 in rallying around him about a hundred of 
 the Council of the Juniors, assumed the 
 character and office of that Legislative 
 Body, now effectually purged of all the dis- 
 sidents, and, as President of the Five Hun- 
 dred, gave to the Council of Ancients such 
 an explanation, as they, nothing loath to 
 be convinced, admitted to be satisfactory. 
 Botli Councils then adjourned till the 19th 
 February 1800, after each had devolved 
 their powers upon a committee of twenty- 
 five persons, who were instructed to pre- 
 pare a civil code against the meeting of 
 the Legislative Bodies. A provisional con- 
 sular government was appointed, consisting 
 of Buonaparte, Sieves, and Roger Ducos. 
 
 The victory, therefore, of the 18th and 
 19th Brumaire, was, by dint of sword and 
 bayonet, completely secured. It remained 
 for the conquerors to consider the usM 
 which were to be made of it.
 
 Ch'.ip. A'A'AT.l LIFE OF IS■APOLEO^■ BUO>\\PARTE. 
 
 :3-23 
 
 CHAP. XXZV. 
 
 Effects of the Victory of the ISth and I9th Bntmaire.— Clemency of the New Con- 
 sulate. — Beneficial change in the Finances.— Law of Hostages repealed.— Religion.-t 
 
 pointmen't oftlie Abbe Sieyes 
 stitution — Adopted in part — but rejected m essentials. — A neio one adopted, monarch- 
 ical in everything but form. — Sieyes retires from public life on a pension. — General 
 view of the new Consular form of Government. — Despotic power of the First Consul — 
 Reflections upon Buonaparte's Conduct upon this occasion. 
 
 The victory obtained over the Directory 
 and the democrats, upon the 18th and I'Jth 
 Brumaire, was generally acceptable to the 
 French nation. The feverish desire of lib- 
 erty, which had been the characteristic of 
 all descriptions of persons in the year 1792, 
 was quenched by the bloodshed during the 
 Reign of Terror"; and even just and liberal 
 ideas of freedom had so far fallen into dis- 
 repute, from their resemblance to those 
 which had been used as a pretext for the 
 disgusting cruelties perpetrated at that ter- 
 rible period, that they excited from associ- 
 ation a kind of loathing as well as dread. 
 The great mass of the nation sought no lon- 
 ger guarantees for metaphysical rights, but, 
 broken down by suffering, desired repose, 
 and were willing to submit to any govern- 
 ment which promised to secure to them the 
 ordinary benefits of civilization. 
 
 Buonaparte and Sieves, — for, though only 
 during a brief space, they may still be regard- 
 ed as joint authorities,— were enabled to prof- 
 it by this general acquiescence, in many im- 
 portant particulars. It put it in their power 
 to dispense with the necessity of pursuing 
 and crushing their scattered adversaries ; 
 and the French saw a revolution effected in 
 their system, and that by military force, in 
 which not a drop of blood was spilt. Yet, 
 as had been the termination of most recent 
 revolutions, lists of proscriptions were pre- 
 pared ; and without previous trial or legal 
 sentence, fifty-nine of those who had chiefly 
 opposed the new Consulate on the 18th and 
 19th Brumaire were condemned to deporta- 
 tion by the sole^a< of the Consuls. Sieyes 
 is said to have suggested this unjust and ar- 
 bitrary measure, which, bearing a colour of 
 revenge and persecution, was highly un- 
 popular. It was not carried into execution. 
 Exceptions were at first made in favour of 
 such of the condemned persons as showed 
 themselves disposed to be tractable ; and at 
 length the sentence was altogether dispens- 
 ed with, and the more obnoxious partisans 
 of democracy were only placed under the 
 superintendence of the police. This con- 
 duct showed at once conscious strength, 
 and a spirit of clemency, than which no at- 
 tributes can contribute more to the popu- 
 larity of a new government ; since the spirit 
 of the opposition, deprived of hope of suc- 
 cess, and yet not urged on by despair of i 
 personal safety, gradually becomes disposed 
 to sink into acquiescence. The democrats, 
 or, as tliey were now termed, the anarch- 
 Mt8, became intimidated, or cooled in their 
 real ; and only a few of the more enthusi- 
 
 astic continued yet to avow those princi- 
 ples, to breathe the leastdoubt of which had 
 been, within but a few months, a crime 
 worthy of death. 
 
 Other and most important decrees were 
 adopted by the Consuls, tending to lighten 
 the burdens which their predecessors had 
 imposed on the nation, and which had ren- 
 dered their government so unpopular. Two 
 of the most oppressive measures of the Di- 
 rectors were repealed without delay. 
 
 The first referred to the finances, which 
 were found in a state of ruinous exhaustion, 
 and were only maintained by a system of 
 compulsory and progressive loans, according 
 to r.ites of assessment on the property of 
 the citizens. The new minister offinance, 
 Gaudin, would not even go to bed, or sleep 
 a single night, until he had produced a sub- 
 stitute for this ruinous resource, for whiclj 
 he levied an additional rise of twenty-five 
 per cent, on all contributions, direct and in- 
 direct, which produced a large sum. He 
 carried order and regularity into all the de- 
 partments of finance, improved the col- 
 lection and income of the funds of the Re- 
 public, and inspired so much confidence by 
 the moderation and success of his meas- 
 ures, that credit began to revive, and sev- 
 eral loans were attained on easy terms. 
 
 The repeal of the law of hostages was a 
 j measure equally popular. This cruel and 
 unreasonable enactment, which rendered 
 j the aged and weak, unprotected females, 
 ! and helpless children of emigrants, or arm- 
 ed royalists, responsible for the actions of 
 their relatives, was immediately mitigated. 
 Couriers were despatched to open the pris- 
 , ons ; and this act of justice and humanity 
 ; was hailed as a pledge of returning mode- 
 ration and liberality. 
 
 Important measures were also taken for 
 tranquillizing the religious discord by whicli 
 the country had been so long agitated. 
 Buonaparte, who had lately professed him- 
 self more than half persuaded of the trntli 
 of Mahommed's mission, became now — 
 such was the decree of Providence — the 
 means of restoring to France the free exer- 
 cise of the Christian faith. The raummerv 
 of Keveilliere Lepaux's heathenism was by 
 general consent abandoned. The churches 
 were restored to public worship ; pensions 
 were allowed to such religious persons us 
 took an oath of fidelity to the government ; 
 and more than twenty thousand'clergymeii, 
 with whom the prisons had been filled, in 
 consequence of intolerant laws, were set at 
 liberty upon taking the same vow. Public
 
 324 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 ICItap. XXXV. 
 
 and domestic rites of worship in every form 
 were tolerated and protected ; and the law 
 of the decades, or Theophilanthropic festi- 
 rals, was abolished. Even the earthly rel- 
 ics of Pope Pius VL, who had died at Va- 
 lence, and in exile, were not neglected, but 
 received, singular to relate, the rites of sep- 
 ulture with the solemnity due to his high 
 office, by command of Buonaparte, who had 
 first shaken the Papal authority ; and in do- 
 ing so, as he boasted in his Egyptian proc- 
 lamations, had destroyed the emblem of 
 OJiristian worship. 
 
 'The part taken by Cambaceres, the Min- 
 ister of Justice, in the revolution of Bru- 
 maire, had been agreeable to Buonaparte ; 
 and his moderation now aided him in the 
 lenient measures which he had determined 
 to adopt. He was a good lawyer, and a 
 man of sense and information, and under 
 his administration means were taken to re- 
 lax the oppressive severity of the laws 
 against the emigrants. Nine of them, no- 
 blemen of the most ancient families in 
 France, had been thrown on the coast near 
 Calais by shipwreck, and the Directors had 
 meditated bringing to trial those whom the 
 winds and waves had spared, as falling 
 under the class of emigrants returned to 
 France without permission, against whom 
 the laws denounced the penalty of death. 
 Buonaparte more liberally considered their 
 being found within the prohibited territory, 
 as an act, not of volition, but of inevitable 
 necessity, and they were dismissed accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 From the same spirit of politic clemency, 
 La Fayette, Latour Maubourg, and others, 
 who, although revolutionists, had been ex- 
 pelled from France for not carrying their 
 principles of freedom sufficiently high and 
 far, were permitted to return to their na- 
 tive country. 
 
 It may be easily believed that the military 
 department of the state underwent a com- 
 plete reform under the authority of Buona- 
 parte. Dubois de Crance, the Minister at 
 War under the Directors, was replaced by 
 Berthier ; and Napoleon gives a strange 
 picture of the incapacity of the former 
 functionary. He declares he could not fur- 
 nish a single report of the state of the ar- 
 my — that he had obtained no regular returns 
 of the effective strength of the different 
 regiments — that many corps had been form- 
 ed in the departments, whose very exist- 
 ence was unknown to the minister at war ; 
 and finally, that when pressed for reports 
 of the pay, of the victualling, and of tlie 
 clothing of the troops, he had replied, that 
 the war department neither paid, clothed, 
 nor victualled them. This may be exag- 
 gerated, for Napoleon disliked Dubois de 
 Craned as his personal opponent ; but the 
 improvident and corrupt cliaracter of the 
 directorial government renders the charge 
 very probable. By tJie exertions of Ber- 
 thier, accustomed to Buonaparte's mode of 
 arrangements, the war department soon 
 miopted a very different face of activity. 
 
 The same department received yet addi- 
 tional vigour when the Consuls called to be 
 Its head the celebrated Carnot. who had re- 
 
 turned from exile, in consequence of the 
 fall of the Directors. He remained in of- 
 fice biit a short time, for, being a democrat 
 in principle, he disapproved of the persona) 
 elevation of Buonaparte ; but during the 
 
 Eeriod that he continued in administration, 
 is services in restoring order in the milita- 
 ry department, and combining the plane of 
 the campaign with Moreau and Buonaparte, 
 were of the highest importance. 
 
 Napoleon showed no less talent in clos- 
 ing the wounds of internal war, than in hia 
 other arrangements. The Chouans, under 
 various chiefs, had disturbed the western 
 provinces ; but the despair of pardon, which 
 drove so many malcontents to their stand- 
 ard, began to subside, and the liberal and 
 accommodating measures adopted by the 
 new Consular government, induced most 
 to make peace with Buonaparte. This 
 they did the more readily, that many of 
 them believed the Chief Consul intended 
 by degrees, and when the opportunity of- 
 fered, to accomplish the restoration of the 
 Bourbons. Many of the chiefs of the 
 Chouans submitted to him, and afterwards 
 supported his government. Chatillon, Su- 
 zannet, D'Autichamp, nobles and chiefs of 
 the Royalist army, submitted at Montlu- 
 con, and their reconciliation with the gov- 
 ernment, being admitted on liberal terms, 
 was sincerely observed by them. Bernier, 
 rector of St. Lo, who had great influence 
 in La Vendee, also made his peace, and was 
 afterwards made Bishop of Orleans by 
 Buonaparte, and employed in negotiating 
 the Concordat with the Pope. 
 
 Count Louis de Frotte, an enterprising 
 and high-spirited young nobleman, refused 
 for a long time to enter into terms with 
 Buonaparte ; so did another chief of the 
 Chouans, called George Cadoudal, a peasant 
 of the district of Morbihan, raised to the 
 command of his countrymen, because, with 
 great strength and dauntless courage, he 
 combined the qualities of enterprise and 
 sagacity. Frotte was betrayed and made 
 prisoner in the house of Guidal, command- 
 ant at Alenjon, who had pretended friend- 
 ship to him, and had promised to negotiate 
 a favourable treaty on his behalf. He and 
 eight or nine of his officers were tried by a 
 military commission, and condemned to be 
 shot. They marched hand in hand to the 
 place of execution, remained to the last in 
 the same attitude, expressive of their par- 
 taking the same sentiments of devotion to 
 the cause in which they suffered, and died 
 with the utmost courage. George Cadou- 
 dal left alone, became unable to support 
 the civil war, and laid down his arms for a 
 time. Buonaparte, whose policy it was to 
 unite in the new order of things as many 
 and as various characters as possible, not 
 regarding what parts they had formerly play- 
 ed, provided they now attached themselves 
 to his person, took great pains to gain over 
 a man so resolute as this daring Breton. 
 He had a personal interview with him, 
 which he says George Codoudal solicited ; 
 yet why he should have done so it is hard 
 to guess, unless it were to learn whether 
 Buonaparte had any ultimate purpose of
 
 Chap. XXXV.] LIFE OF NAPOLEOjS BUONAPARTE. 
 
 325 
 
 serving the Bourbon interest. He certain- 
 ly did not request the favour in order to 
 drive any bargain for himself, since Buona- 
 parte frankly admits, that all his promises 
 and arguments failed to make any impres- 
 sion upon him ; and that he parted with 
 George, professing still to entertain opin- 
 ions for which he had fought so often and 
 60 desperately. In another instance which 
 happened at this period, Buonaparte boasts 
 of having vindicated the insulted rights of 
 nations. The Senate of Hamburgh had de- 
 livered up to England Napper Tandy, Black- 
 well, and other Irishmen, concerned in the 
 rebellion which had lately wasted Ireland. 
 Buonaparte took this up in a threatening 
 tone, and expounded to their trembling 
 envoy the rights of a neutral territory, in 
 language, upon which the subsequent trage- 
 dy of the Duke d'Enghien formed a singu- 
 lar commentary. 
 
 While Buonaparte was thus busied in 
 adopting measures for composing internal 
 discord, and renewing the wasted resour- 
 ces' of the country, those discussions were 
 at the same time privately carrying forward, 
 which were to determine by whom and in 
 what way it should be governed. There is 
 little doubt, that when Sieyes undertook the 
 revolution of Brumaire, he would have de- 
 Bired for his military assistant a very differ- 
 ent character from Buonaparte. Some gen- 
 eral would have best suited him who pos- 
 sessed no knowledge beyond that of his pro- 
 fession, and whose ambition would have 
 been contented to accept such share of 
 power as corresponded to his limited views 
 and capacity. The wily priest, however, 
 eaw, that no other coadjutor save Buona- 
 parte could have availed him, after the re- 
 turn of the latter from Egypt, and was not 
 long of experiencing that Napoleon would 
 not be satisfied with anything short of the 
 lion's share of the spoil. 
 
 At the very first meeting of the Consuls, 
 the defection of Roger Ducos to the side 
 of Buonaparte convinced Sieyes, that he 
 would be unable to support those preten- 
 Eions to the first place in the government, 
 to which his friends had expected to see 
 him elevated. He had reckoned on Ducos's 
 vote for giving him the situation of First 
 Consul ; but Ducos saw better where the 
 force and talent of the Consulate must be 
 considered as reposed. " General," said he 
 to Napoleon, at the first meeting of the Con- 
 eular body, " the presidency belongs to you 
 as a matter of right." Buonaparte took 
 the chair accordingly as a thing of course. 
 In the course of the deliberations, Sieyes 
 had hoped to find that the General's opin- 
 ions and interference would have been lim- 
 ited to military affairs ; whereas, on the 
 contrary, he heard him express distinctly, 
 and support firmly, propositions on policy 
 and finance, religion and jurisprudence. He 
 showed, in short, so little occasion for an 
 independent coadjutor, that Sieyes appears 
 from this, the very first interview, to have 
 given up all hopes of establishing a sepa- 
 rate interest of his own, and to have seen 
 that the Revolution was from that moment 
 ^nded. On his return home^ he said to 
 
 those statesmen with whom he had consult- 
 ed and acted preceding the 18th Brumaire, 
 as Talleyrand, Boulay, Roederer, Chabanis, 
 &c. — "Gentlemen, you have a Master — 
 give yourself no farther concern about the 
 affairs of the state — Buonaparte can and 
 will manage them all^t his own pleasure." 
 
 This declaration must have announced to 
 those who heard it, that the direct and im- 
 mediate advantages proposed by the revo- 
 lution were lost ; that the government no 
 longer rested on the popular basis, but that, 
 in a mOTch greater degree than could have 
 been said to have been the case during the 
 reign of the Bourbons, the whole measurea 
 of state must in future rest upon the arbi- 
 trary pleasure of one man. 
 
 It was in the meantime necessary that 
 some form of government should be estab- 
 lished without delay, were it only to pre- 
 vent the meeting of the two Councils, who 
 must have resumed their authority, unless 
 sujjerseded by a new constitution previous 
 to the 19th February 1800, to which day 
 they had been prorogued. As a previous 
 measure, the oath taken by official persons 
 was altered from a direct acknowledgment 
 of the constitution of the year Three, so as 
 to express a more general profession of ad- 
 herence to the cause of the French nation. 
 How to salve the wounded consciences of 
 those wlio had previously taken the oath in 
 its primitive form, no care was used, nor 
 does any appear to have been thouglit ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 The three Consuls, and the Legislative 
 Committees formed themselves into a gen- 
 eral Committee, for the purpose of organiz- 
 ing a constitution ; and Sieyes was invited 
 to submit to them that model, on tlie pre- 
 par-i.tion of which he used to pique himself, 
 and had been accustomed to receive the 
 flattery of his friends. He appears to have 
 obeyed the call slowly, and to have produc- 
 ed his plan partially, and by fragments ; 
 probably because he was aware, that the 
 offspring of his talents would never be ac- 
 cepted in its entire form, but must necessa- 
 rily undergo such mutilations as might fit 
 it for the purposes and to the pleasure of 
 the Dictator, wiiose supremacy he had been 
 compelled to announce to his party. 
 
 On being pressed by his colleagues in the 
 committee, the metaphysical politicican at 
 length produced his full plan of the hie- 
 rarchical representation, whose authority 
 was to emanate from the choice of the peo- 
 ple and of a Conservative Senate, which 
 was at once to protect the laws of the com- 
 monwealth and absorb, as it was termed, 
 all furious and over-ambitious spirits, by call- 
 ing them, when they distinguished them- 
 selves by any irregular exertion of power, 
 to share the comforts and incapacities of 
 their own body, as they say spirits of old 
 were conjured down, and obliged to abide 
 in the Red Sea. He then brought forward 
 his idea of a Legislative Body, which was 
 to vote and decide, but without debate; 
 and his Tribunate designed to plead for, or to 
 impeach the measures of government. These 
 general outlines were approved, as beine 
 judged likely to preserve more stability and
 
 32G 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX V 
 
 permanence than had been found to apper- 
 tain to the constitutions, which, since 1792, 
 had in such quick succession been adopted 
 and abandoned. 
 
 But the idea which Sieyes entertained of 
 lodging the executive government in a Grand 
 Elector, who was to be the very model of a 
 King of Lubberland, was the ruin of his plan. 
 It was in vain, that in hopes of luring Buo- 
 naparte to accept of this office, he had, while 
 depriving it of all real power, attached to 
 it a large revenue, guards, honours, and 
 rank. The heaping with such distinctions 
 an official person, wlio had no other duty 
 tlian to name two Consuls, who were to 
 carry on the civil and military business of 
 the state without his concurrence or author- 
 ity, was introducing into a modern state the 
 evils of a worn-out Asiatic empire, where 
 the Sultan, or Mogul, or whatever he is 
 called, lies in his Haram in obscure luxury, 
 while the state affairs are conducted exclu- 
 eively by his Viziers, or Lieutenants. 
 
 Buonaparte exclaimed against the whole 
 concoction. — " Who," said he, " would 
 accept an office, of which the only duties 
 were to fatten like a pig upon so many mil- 
 lions yearly ? Or what man of spirit would 
 consent to name ministers, over whom, 
 being named, he was not to exercise the 
 slightest authority ? — And your two Con- 
 suls for war and peace, the one surrounded 
 with judges, churchmen, and civilians, — 
 the other with military men and diplomatists, 
 — on what footing of intercourse can they 
 be said to stand respecting each other ? — 
 the one demanding money and recruits, the 
 other refusing the supplies 1 A govern- 
 ment involving such a total separation of 
 offices necessarily connected, would be 
 heterogeneous, — the shadow of a state, but 
 without the efficient authority which should 
 belong to one." 
 
 Sieyes did not possess powers of persua- 
 sion or promptness of speech in addition to 
 his other talents. He was silenced and in- 
 timidated, and saw his favourite Elector- 
 General, with his two Consuls, or rather 
 Viziers, rejected, without making much ef- 
 fort in their defence. 
 
 Still the system which was actually 
 adopted, bore, in point of form, some faint 
 resemblance to the model of Sieyes. Three 
 Consuls were appointed ; the first to hold 
 the sole power of nominating to public of- 
 fices, and right of determining on public 
 measures ; the other two were to be his in- 
 dispensable counsellors. The first of these 
 offices was designed to bring back the con- 
 stitution of France to a monarchical sys- 
 tem, while the second and third were added 
 merely to conciliate the Republicans, who 
 were not yet prepared for a retrograde 
 movement. 
 
 The office of one of these supplementary 
 Consuls was offered to Sieyes, but he de- 
 clined to accept of it, and expressed his 
 wish to retire from public life. His disap- 
 pointment was probably considerable, at 
 finding himself acting but a second-rate 
 part, after the success of the conspiracy 
 which he had himself schemed ; but his 
 pride was not eo great as to decline a 
 
 pecuniary compensation. Buonaparte be- 
 I stowed on him by far tlie greater part of the 
 private treasure amassed by the ex-direcl- 
 ors. It was said to amount to six iiundred 
 thousand francs, which Sieyes called une. 
 poire pour la soif ; in English, a morsel to 
 stay the stomach. He was endowed also 
 with the fine domain and estate of Crosne : 
 and to render the gift more acceptable, and 
 save liis delicacy, a decree was issued, 
 compelling him to accept of this manifest- 
 ation of national gratitude. The office of a 
 senator gave him dignity ; and the yearly 
 appointment of twenty-five thousand francs 
 annexed to it, added to the ease of his sit- 
 uation. In sliort, this celebrated metaphy- 
 sician disappeared as a political person, and 
 became, to use his own expression, absorb- 
 ed in the pursuit of epicurean indulgences, 
 which he covered with a veil of mystery. 
 There is no doubt that by thus showing the 
 greedy and mercenary turn of his nature, 
 Sieyes, notwithstanding his abilities, lost 
 in a great measure the esteem and rever- 
 ence of his countrymen ; and this was a 
 consequence not probably unforeseen by 
 Buonaparte, when he loaded him with 
 wealth. 
 
 To return to the new constitution. Ev- 
 ery species of power and faculty was heap- 
 ed upon tlie Chief Consul, with a liberality 
 which looked as if France, to atone for her 
 long jealousy of those who had been the 
 administrators of her executive power, was 
 now determined to remove at once every'' 
 obstacle which nii<jht stand in the way of 
 Buonaparte to arbitrary power. He possess- 
 ed the sole riglit of nominating counsellors 
 of state, ministers, ambassadors, officers, 
 civil and military, and almost all function- 
 aries whatsoever. He was to propose all 
 new laws, and take all measures for internal 
 and external defence of the state. He 
 commanded all the forces, of whatever de- 
 scription, superintended all the national re- 
 lations at home and abroad, and coined the 
 public money. In these high duties he had 
 the advice of his brother Consuls, and also 
 of a Council of State. But he was recog- 
 nized to be independent of them all. The 
 Consuls were to be elected for the space of 
 ten years, and to be re-eligible. 
 
 The Abbe Sieyes's plan of dividing the 
 people into three classes, which should 
 each of them declare a certain number of 
 persons eligible to certain gradations of the 
 state, was ostensibly adopted. The lists 
 of these eligible individuals were to be ad- 
 dressed by the various electoral classes to 
 the Conservative Senate, which also was 
 borrowed from the Abbe's model. This 
 body, the highest and most august in the 
 state, were to hold their places for life, and 
 had a considerable pension attached to them. 
 Their number was not to exceed eighty, 
 and they were to have the power of sup- 
 plying vacancies in their own body, by 
 choosing the future senator from a list of 
 three persons ; one of them proposed by 
 the Chief Consul, one by the Legislative 
 Body, and one by the Tribunate. Senators 
 became for ever incapable of any other 
 public duty. Their duty was to receiva
 
 Chap. XXXV.^ LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 the national lists of persons eligible for of- 
 ficial situations, and to annul such laws or 
 measures as should be denounced to their 
 body, aa unconstitutional or impolitic, 
 either by the Government or the Tribu- 
 nate. The sittings of the Senate were not 
 public. 
 
 The New Constitution of France also 
 adopted the Legislative Body and the Tri- 
 bunate proposed by the Abbe Sieyes. The 
 duty of the Legislative Body was to take 
 into consideration such laws as should be 
 approved by the Tribunate, and pass or re- 
 fuse them by vote, but without any debate, 
 or even any expression of their opinion. 
 
 The Tribunate, on the contrary, was a 
 deliberative body, to whom the Chief Con- 
 sul, and bis Council of State, with whom 
 alone lay the initiative' privilege, were to 
 propose such laws as appeared to them de- 
 sirable. These, when discussed by the 
 Tribunate and approved of by the silent 
 assent of the Legislative Body, passed into 
 decrees, and became binding upon the com- 
 munity. The Legislative Body heard the 
 report of the Tribunate, as expressed by a 
 deputation from that body ; and by their 
 votes alone, but without any debate or de- 
 livery of opinion, refused or confirmed the 
 proposal. Some of the more important 
 acts of government, such as the proclama- 
 tion of peace or war, could only take place 
 on the motion of the Chief Consul to the 
 Tribunate, upon their recommending the 
 measure to the Legislative Body ; and fi- 
 nally, upon the Legislative Commissions 
 affirming the proposal. But the power of 
 the Chief Consul was not much checked by 
 this restriction ; for the discussion on such 
 subjects was only to take place on his own 
 requisition, and always in secret commit- 
 tee ; so that the greatest hindrance of des- 
 potism, the weight of public opinion form- 
 ed upon public debate, was totally wanting. 
 A very slight glance at this Consular form 
 of government is sufficient to show, that 
 Buonaparte selected exactly as much of the 
 ingenious constitution of Sieyes as was ap- 
 plicable to his own object of acquiring su- 
 preme and despotic authority, while he got 
 rid of all, the Tribunate alone excepted, 
 which contained, directly or indirectly, any 
 check or balance affecting the executive 
 power. The substitution of lists of eligible 
 persons or candidates, to be made up by 
 the people, instead of the popular election 
 of actual representatives, converted into a 
 nvetaphyeical and abstract idea the real 
 safeguard of liberty. It may be true, that 
 the authority of an official person, selected 
 from the national lists, might be said ori- 
 ginally to emanate from the people ; be- 
 cause, unless his name had received their 
 sanction, he could not have been eligible. 
 But the difference is inexpressibly great, 
 between the power of naming a single di- 
 rect representative, and that of naming a 
 thousand persons, any of whom may be ca- 
 pable of being created a representative ; 
 and the popular interference in the state, 
 which had hitherto comprehended the for- 
 mer privilege, was now restrained to the 
 latter and more insignificant one. This ' 
 
 327 
 
 was the main error in Sieyes's system, and 
 the most fatal blow to liberty, whose con- 
 stitutional safety can hardly exist, except- 
 ing in union with a direct and unfettered 
 national representation, chosen by the peo- 
 ple themselves. 
 
 .Ml the other balances and checks which 
 the Abbe had designed to substitute instead 
 of that which arises from popular election, 
 had been broken and cast away ; while the 
 fragments of the scheme that remained 
 were carefully adjusted, so as to form the 
 steps by which Buonaparte was to ascend to 
 an unlimited and despotic throne. Sieyes 
 had proposed that his Elector General 
 should be merely a graceful termination tf> 
 his edifice, like a gilded vane on the top of 
 a steeple — a sovereign without power — a 
 Rot faineant, with two Consuls to act aa 
 joint Maires des palais. Buonaparte, on 
 the contrary, gave the whole executive 
 power in the state, together with the exclu- 
 sive right of proposing all new laws, to the 
 Chief Consul, and made the others mere ap- 
 pendages, to be thrown aside at pleasure. 
 
 Neither were the other constitutional au 
 thorities c.ilculated to offer effectual resist- 
 ance to the engrossing authority of this all- 
 powerful officer. All these bodies were, 
 in fact, mere pensioners. The .Senate, 
 which met in secret, and the Legislative 
 Body, whose lips were padlocked, were 
 alike removed from influencing public opin- 
 ion, and being influenced by it. The Tri- 
 bunate, indeed, consisting of a hundred per- 
 sons, retained in some sort the right of de- 
 bate, and of being publicly heard. But the 
 members of the Tribunate were selected 
 by the .Senate, not by the people, whom, 
 except in metaphysical mockery, it could 
 not be said to represent, any more than a 
 bottle of distilled liquor can be said to rep- 
 resent the sheaf of grain which it was ori- 
 ginally drawn from. What chance was 
 there that, in a hundred men so chosen, 
 there should be courage and independence 
 enougli found to oppose that primary pow- 
 er, by which, like a steam-engine, the 
 whole constitution was put in motion ? 
 .Such tribunes were also in danger of recol- 
 lecting, that they only held their office for 
 four years, and that the .Senators had their 
 offices for life ; while a transition from the 
 one state to the other was in general 
 thought desirable, and could only be gained 
 by implicit obedience during the candi- 
 date's probation in the Tribunate. Yet, 
 slender as was the power of this Tribunate 
 body, Buonaparte showed some jealousy 
 even of this slight appearance of freedom ; 
 although, justly considered, the Senate, the 
 Conservative Body, and the Tribunate, 
 were but three different pipes, which sepa- 
 rately or altogether, uttered sound at the 
 pleasure of him who presided at the instru- 
 ment. 
 
 The spirit of France must have been 
 much broken when this arbitrary system 
 was adopted without debate or contradic- 
 tion ; and when we remember the earlier 
 period of 1789, it is wonderful to consider 
 how, in the space often years, the race of 
 men, whose love of liberty carried them to
 
 328 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXV. 
 
 Buch extravagauces, seems to have become 
 exhausted. Personal safetj was now a prin- 
 cipal object with most. They saw no al- 
 ternative between absolute submission to a 
 military chief of talent and power, and the 
 return to anarchy and new revolutionary ex- 
 cesses. 
 
 During the sitting of Buonaparte's Legis- 
 lative Committee, Madame de Stael ex- 
 pressed, to a representative of the people, 
 her alarms on the subject of liberty. " Oh, 
 madam," he replied, " we are arrived at an 
 extremity in which we must not trouble 
 ourselves about saving the principles of the 
 Revolution, but only the lives of the men 
 by whom the Revolution was effected." 
 
 Yet more than one exertion is said to 
 have been made in the Committee, to ob- 
 tain some modification of the supreme pow- 
 er of the Chief Consul, or at least some 
 remedy in case of its being abused. Seve- 
 ral members of the Committee which ad- 
 justed the new constitution, made, it is 
 said, an effort to persuade Buonaparte, 
 that, in taking possession of the office of 
 supreme magistrate, without any prelimina- 
 ry election, he would evince an ambition 
 which might prejudice him with the people ; 
 and, entreating him to be satisfied with the 
 office of generalissimo of the armies, with 
 full right of treating with foreign powers, 
 invited him to set off to the frontier and re- 
 eume his train of victories. " I will remain 
 at Paris," said Buonaparte, biting his nails 
 to the quick, as was his custom when agi-- 
 tated — " I will remain at Paris — I am Chief 
 Consul." 
 
 Chenier hinted at adopting the doctrine 
 of absorption, but was instantly interrupt- 
 ed—" I will have no such mummery," said 
 Buonaparte ; blood to the knees rather."* 
 These expressions may be exaggerated, but 
 it is certain that whenever there was an at- 
 tempt to control his wishes, or restrict his 
 power, such a discontented remark as inti- 
 mated " that he would meddle no more in 
 the business," was sufficient to overpower 
 the opposition. The Committee saw no 
 option betwixt submitting to the authority 
 of this inflexible chief, or encountering the 
 horrors of a bloody civil war. Thus were 
 lost at once the fruits of the virtues, the 
 crimes, the blood, the treasure, the mass 
 of human misery, which, flowing from the 
 Revolution, had agitated France for ten 
 years ; and thus, having sacrificed almost 
 all that men hold dear, the rights of human- 
 ity themselves included, in order to obtain 
 national liberty, her inhabitants, without 
 having enjoyed rational freedom, or tlie ad- 
 vantages which it insures, for a single day, 
 returned to be the vassals of a despotic gov- 
 ernment, administered by a chief whose 
 right was only in his sword. A few reflec- 
 tions ou what might or ought to have been 
 Buonaparte's conduct in this crisis, natural- 
 ly arise out of the subject. 
 
 We are not to expect, in the course of 
 ordinary life, moral any more than physical 
 miracles. There have lived men of a spirit 
 80 noble, that, in serving their country, they 
 
 * Memoires de Fouche, vol. I. p. 104. 
 
 had no other object beyond the merit of 
 having done so ; but such men belong to a 
 less corrupted age than ours, and have been 
 trained in the principles of disinterested 
 patriotism, which did not belong to France, 
 perhaps not to Europe, in the eighteenth 
 century. We may, therefore, take it for 
 granted, that Buonaparte was desirous, in 
 some sliape or other, to find his own inter- 
 est in the service of his country, that bis 
 motives were a mixture of patriotism and 
 the desire of self-advancement; and it re- 
 mains to consider in what manner both ob- 
 jects were to be best obtained. 
 
 The first alternative was the there-estab- 
 lishment of the Republic, upon some better 
 and less perishable model than those which 
 had been successively adopted and aban- 
 doned by the French, in the several phases 
 of tiie Revolution. But Buonaparte had al- 
 ready determined against this plan of gov- 
 ernment, and seemed unalterably convinc- 
 ed that the various misfortunes and failures 
 which had been sustained in the attempt to 
 convert France into a republic, afforded ir- 
 refragable evidence that her natural and 
 proper constitutional government must be 
 monarchical. This important point settled, 
 it remained, 1st, To select the person in 
 whose hand the kingly power was to be in- 
 trusted. 2dly, To consider in what degree 
 the monarchical principle should be min- 
 gled with, and qualified by, securities for the 
 freedom of the people, and checks against 
 the encroachments of the prince. 
 
 Having broken explicitly with the Repub- 
 licans, Buonaparte had it in his power, 
 doubtless, to have united with those w)io, 
 desired the restoration of the Bourbons, who 
 at this moment, formed a large proportion 
 of the better classes in France. The name 
 of the old dynasty must have brought with 
 it great advantages. Their restoration would 
 have at once restored peace to Europe, and 
 in a great measure reconciled the strife of 
 parties in France. There was no doubt of 
 the possibility of the counter-revolution ; 
 for what was done in 1814 might have been 
 still more easily done in 1799. Old ideas 
 would have returned with ancient names, 
 and at the same time security might have 
 been given, that the restored monarch 
 should be placed within such legal restraints 
 as were necessary for the protection of the 
 freedom of the subject. The principal pow- 
 ers of Europe, if required, would have glad- 
 ly guaranteed to the French people any 
 class of institutions which might have been 
 thought adequate to this purpose. 
 
 But, besides that such a course cut off 
 Buonaparte from any higher reward of his 
 services, than were connected with the 
 rank of a subject, the same objections to 
 the restoration of the Bourbon family stiU 
 prevailed, which we have before noticed. 
 The extreme confusion likely to be occa- 
 sioned by the conflicting claims of the re- 
 stored emigrants, who had left France with 
 all the feelings and prejudices peculiar to 
 their birth and quality, and those of the 
 numerous soldiers and statesmen, who had 
 arisen to eminence during the revolution, 
 and whose pretensions to rank and office
 
 Chap XXXV.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 329 
 
 would be urged witli jealous vehemence 
 against those who had shared the fortunes of 
 the exiled monarch, was a powerful objection 
 to the restoration. The question concerning 
 the national domains, remained as embar- 
 rassing as before ; for while the sales which 
 had been made of that property could scarce 
 be cancelled without a severe shock to na- 
 tional credit, the restored Bourbons could 
 not, on the other hand, fail to insist upon an 
 indemnification to the spirituality, who had 
 been stripped of their property for adher- 
 ence to their religious vows, and to the no- 
 oles, whose estates had been forfeited for 
 their adherence to the throne. It might al- 
 so have been found, that, among the army, 
 a prejudice against the Bourbons had sur- 
 vived their predilection for the Republic, 
 and that although the French soldiers might 
 Bee with pleasure a crown placed on the 
 brow of their favourite general, they might 
 be unwilling to endure the restoration of 
 the ancient race, against whom they had 
 long borne arms. 
 
 All these objections against attempting 
 to recall the ancient dynaisty,have weight in 
 themselves, and may readily have appeared 
 insuperable to Buonaparte ; especially con- 
 sidering the conclusion to be, that if the 
 Bourbons were found ineligible, the crown 
 of France — with a more extended empire, 
 and more unlimited powers — was in that 
 case to rest with Buonaparte himself. There 
 is no doubt that, in preferring the title of 
 the Bourbons, founded on right, to his own, 
 which rested on force and opportunity alone, 
 Buonaparte would have acted a much more 
 noble, generous, and disinterested part, than 
 in availing himself of circumstances to es- 
 tablish his own power-, nay, that, philoso- 
 phically speaking, such a choice might have 
 been wiser and happier. But in the ordina- 
 ry mode of viewing and acting in this world, 
 tne temptation was immense ; and Buona- 
 parte was in some measure unfettered by the 
 circumstances which might have withheld 
 some of his contemporaries from snatch- 
 ing at the crown that seemed to await his 
 grasp. Whatever were the rights of the 
 Bourbons, abstractedly considered, they 
 were not of a kind to force themselves im- 
 mediately upon the conscience of Buona- 
 parte. He had not entered public life, was 
 indeed a mere boy, when the general voice of 
 France, or that which appeared such, drove 
 the ancient race from the throne ; he had 
 acted during all his life hitherto in the ser- 
 vice of the French government de facto ; 
 and it was hard to require of him, now of 
 a sudden, to sacrifice the greatest stake 
 which a man ever played for, to the abstract 
 right of the king dt jure. Candour will 
 therefore allow, that though some spirits, of 
 aheroie character, might, in his place, have 
 acted otherwise, yet the conduct of Buona- 
 parte, in availing himself, for his own advan- 
 tage, of the height which he had attained by 
 his own talents, was too natural a course of 
 action to be loaded with censure by any one, 
 who, if he takes the trouble to consider the 
 extent of the temptation, must acknowledge 
 in his heart the difficulty of resisting it. 
 
 But though we may acknowledge many 
 
 excuses for the ambition which induced 
 Buonaparte to assume the principal share of 
 the new government, and although we were 
 even to allow to his admirers that he be- 
 came First Consul purely because his doing 
 so was necessary to the welfare of France, 
 our candour can carry us no farther. We 
 cannot for an instant sanction the monstrous 
 accumulation of authority which engrossed 
 into his own hands all the powers of the 
 state, and deprived the French people, from 
 that period, of the least pretence to liberty, 
 or power of protecting themselves from tyr- 
 anny. It is in vain to urge, that they had 
 not yet learned to make a proper use of the 
 invaluable privileges of which he deprived 
 them — equally in vain to say, that they con- 
 sented to resign what it was not in their 
 power to defend. It is a poor apology for 
 theft that the person plundered knew not 
 the value of the gem taken from him ; a 
 worse excuse for robbery, that the party rob- 
 bed was disarmed and prostrate, and submit- 
 ted without resistance, where to resist would 
 have been to die. In choosing to be the 
 head of a well-regulated and limited monar- 
 chy, Buonaparte would have consulted even 
 his own interest better, than by preferring, as 
 he did, to become the sole animating spirit 
 of a monstrous despotism. The comma- 
 nication of common privileges, while they 
 united discordant factions, would have fixed 
 the attention of all on the head of the gov- 
 ernment, as their mutual benefactor. The 
 constitutional rights which he had reserved 
 for the crown would have been respected, 
 when it was remembered that the freedom 
 of the people had been put in a rational 
 form, and its privileges rendered available 
 by his liberality. 
 
 Such checks upon his power would have 
 been as beneficial to himself as to his sub- 
 jects. If, in the course of his reign, he had 
 met constitutional opposition to the then 
 immense projects of conquest, which cost 
 so much blood and devastation, to that op- 
 position he would have been as much in- 
 debted, as a person subject to fits of lunacy 
 is to the bonds by which, when under the 
 influence of his malady, he is restrained 
 from doing mischief. Buonaparte's active 
 spirit, withheld from warlike pursuits, would 
 have been exercised by the internal im- 
 provement of his kingdom. The mode in 
 which he used his power would have gilded 
 over, as in many other cases, the imperfect 
 nature of his title, and if he was not, in ev- 
 ery sense, the legitimate heir of the mon- 
 archy, he might have been one of the most 
 meritorious princes that ever ascended the 
 throne. Had he permitted the existence of 
 a pow9r expr*»ssive of the national opinion 
 to exist, co-equal with and restrictive of his 
 own, there would have been no occupation 
 of Spain, no war with Russia, no impe- 
 rial decrees against British commerce. — 
 The people who first felt the pressure of 
 these violent and ruinous measures, would 
 have declined to submit to them in the out- 
 set. The ultimate consequence — the over- 
 throw, namely, of Napoleon himself, would 
 not have taken place, and he might, for 
 aught we can see^ have died on the throne
 
 330 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. IChap. XXXVI. 
 
 of France, and bequeathed it to his posteri- 
 ty, leaving a reputation wiiich could only 
 be surpassed in lustre by that.of an individ- 
 ual wiio should render similar advantages 
 to his country, yet decline the gratification, 
 in any degree, of his personal ambition. 
 
 In short, it must always be written down, 
 as Buonaparte's error as well as guilt, tliat 
 misusing the power which the 18th Bru- 
 
 maire threw into his hands, he totally de- 
 stroyed tiie liberty of France, or, we would 
 say, more properly, the chance which that 
 country had of :ittaining a free, and, at the 
 same time, a settled government. He might 
 have been a patriot prince, he chose to be 
 an usurping despot — he might have played 
 the part of Washington, he preferred that 
 of Cromwell. • 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. 
 
 Proceedings of Buonaparte in order to consolidate his Power — His great success — 
 Causes that led to it. — Cambaceres and Lebnin chosen Second and Third Consuls. — 
 Talleyrand appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs, and Fouche Minister of Police — 
 Their Characters. — Other Ministers nominated. — Various Changes made, in order to 
 mark the Commencement of a neto Era. — Napoleon addresses a Letter personally to 
 the King of England — Answered by Lord Grenville. — Negotiation for Peace, that 
 followed, speedily broken off. — Campaigns in Italy, and on the Rhine — Successes of 
 Moreau — Censured by Napoleon for Over-caution. — The Charge considered. — The 
 Chief Consul resolves to bring back, in Person, V^ictory to the French Standards in 
 Italy — His Measures for that Purpose. 
 
 The structure of government which Buon- 
 aparte had selected out of the broken out- 
 lines of the plan of Sieyes, being not only 
 monarchical but despotic, it remained that 
 its offices should be tilled v.ith persons fa- 
 vourable to the new order of things ; and to 
 this the attention of Buonaparte was espe- 
 cially turned. In order to secure the se- 
 lection of the official individuals to himself, 
 he eluded entirely the principle by which 
 Sieyes had proposed to elaborate his nation- 
 al representatives out of the various signed 
 lists of eligibility, to be made up by the 
 three classes into which his hierarchy di- 
 vided the French people. Without waiting 
 for these lists of eligible persons, or taking 
 any other rule- but his own pleasure, and 
 that of his councillors, the two new Con- 
 suls, Buonaparte named sixty senators ; the 
 senators named an hundred tribunes, and 
 three hundred legislators 5 and thus the 
 whole bodies of the state were filled up, 
 by a choice emanating from the executive 
 government, instead of being vested, more 
 or less directly, in the people. 
 
 In availing himself of the privileges 
 which he had usurped, the First Consul as 
 we must now call him, showed a modera- 
 tion as artful as it was conciliatory. His 
 object was to avoid the odium of appearing 
 to hold his rank by his military character 
 only. He desired, on the contrary, to as- 
 semble round him a party, in which the 
 predominant character of individuals, what- 
 ever it had hitherto been, was to be merg- 
 ed in that of the new system ; as the stat- 
 uary throws into the furnace broken frag- 
 ments of bronze of every various descrip- 
 tion, without regarding their immediate ap- 
 pearance or form, his purpose being to 
 unite them by fusion, and bestow upon 
 the mass the new shape which his art des- 
 tines it to present. 
 
 With these views. Napoleon said to 
 Sieyes, who reprobated the admission of 
 Foucli6 into office and power, " We are 
 creating a new era. Of the past, we must 
 forget the bad, and only remember the 
 
 good. Time, habits of business, and expe- 
 rience, have formed many able men, and 
 modified many characters." These words 
 may be regarded as the key-note of his 
 whole system. Buonaparte did not care 
 what men had been formerly, so that they 
 were now disposed to become that which 
 was suitable for his interest, and for which 
 he was willing to reward them liberally. 
 The former conduct of persons of talent, 
 whether in politics or morality, was of no 
 consequence, providing they were willing, 
 now, faithfully to further and adhere to the 
 new order of things. This prospect of im- 
 munity for the past and reward for the fu- 
 ture, was singularly well calculated to act 
 upon the public mind, desirous as it was 
 of repose, and upon that of individiials, 
 agitated by so many hopes and fears as the 
 Revolution had set afloat. The Cons dar 
 government seemed a general place of 
 refuge and sanctuary to persons of a' . va- 
 rious opinions, and in all various p: idica- 
 ments. It was only required of them, in 
 return for the safety which it afforded, that 
 they should pay homage to the presiding 
 deity. 
 
 So artfully was the system of Buona- 
 parte contrived, that each of the numer- 
 ous classes of Frenchmen found something 
 in it congenial to his habits, his feelings, 
 or his circumstances, providing only ne 
 was willing to sacrifice to it the essential 
 part of his political principles. To the 
 Royalist it restored monarchical forms, a 
 court and a sovereign — but he must ac- 
 knowledge that sovereign in Buonaparte. 
 To the churchman, it opened the gates 
 of the temples, removed the tyranny of 
 the persecuting philosophers — promised in 
 course of time a national cliurch — but by 
 the altar must be placed the image of Buo- 
 naparte. The Jacobin, dyed double red in 
 murder and massacre, was welcome to safe- 
 ty and security from the aristocratic ven- 
 geance which he had so lately dreaded. 
 The regicide was guaranteed against the 
 return of the Bourbons — they who had
 
 Chap. XXXVl.-] LTFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 331 
 
 profited by the Revolution as purchasers of 
 national domains, were insured a jainst 
 their being resumed. But it was under the 
 implied condition, that not a word was to I 
 be mentioned by those ci-devant demo- } 
 crats, of liberty or equality : the princi- j 
 pies for which forfeitures had been made, ! 
 and revolutionary tribunals erected, were | 
 henceforth never to be named. To all 
 these parties, as to others, Buonaparte held 
 out the same hopes under the same condi- 
 tions. — " All these things will I give you, ' 
 if you will kneel down and worship me." | 
 Shortly afterwards, he was enabled to place 
 before those to whom the choice was sub- 
 mitted, the original temptation in its full 
 extent — a display of the kingdoms of the 
 earth, over which he otiered to extend the 
 empire of France, providing always he wa? 
 himself acknowledged as the object of 
 general obedience, and almost adoration. 
 
 The system of Buonaparte, as it combin- 
 ed great art with apparent generosity and 
 liberality, proved eminently successful 
 among the people of France, when subjected 
 to the semblance of a popular vote. The 
 national spirit was exhausted by the chang- 
 es and the sufferings, the wars and the 
 crimes, of so many years; and in France, 
 as in all other countries, parties, exhausted 
 by the exertions and vicissitudes of civil 
 war, are in the very situation where milita- 
 ry tyranny becomes the next crisis. The 
 rich favoured Buonaparte for the sake of 
 protection, — the poor for that of relief, — 
 the emigrants, in many cases, because they 
 desired to return to France, — the men of 
 the Revolution, because they were afraid of 
 being banished from it ; — the sanguine and 
 courageous crowded round his standard in 
 hope of victory,- the fimid cowered be- 
 hind it in the desire of safety. Add to these 
 the vast multitude who follow the opinion 
 of others, and take the road which lies most 
 obvious, and is most trodden, and it, is no 
 wonder that the I8th Brumaire,and its con- 
 sequences, received the general sanction of 
 the people. The constitution of the year 
 Eight, or Consular Government, was ap- 
 
 firoved by the suffrages of nearly four mil- 
 ions of citizens, — a more general approba- 
 tion than any preceding system had been 
 received with. The vote was doubtless a 
 farce in itself, considering how many con- [ 
 stitutions had been adopted and sworn to | 
 within so short a space ; but still the num- I 
 bers who expressed assent, more than doub- j 
 ling those votes which were obtained by 
 the constitutions of 1792 and of the year ' 
 Three, mdicate the superior popularity of ' 
 Buonaparte's system. ' ! 
 
 To the four millions who expressly de- , 
 clared their adherence to the new Consu- ! 
 lar constitution, must be added the m;mv 
 nundreds of thousands and millions more, 
 who were either totally indifferent upon ' 
 the form of government, providing thev en- 
 joyed peace and protection under it. or ' 
 who, though abstractedly preferring other ' 
 rulers, were practically disposed to submit 
 to the party in possession of the power. 
 
 Such and so extended being the princi- ' 
 pies on which Buonaparte selected the ' 
 
 members of his government, he manifested, 
 in choosing individuals, that wonderful pen- 
 etration, by which, more perhaps than any 
 man who ever lived, he was enabled at 
 oncfc to discover the person most capaole 
 of serving him, and the means of securing 
 his attachment. Former crimes or errors 
 made no cause of exclusion ; and in several 
 cases the alliance between the First Con- 
 sul and his ministers might have been com- 
 pared to the marriages between the settlers 
 on the Spanish mainland, and the unhappy 
 females, the refuse of great cities, sent out 
 to recruit the colony. — '• I ask thoe not," 
 said the buccaneer to the wife he had se- 
 lected from the cargo of vice, •' what haa 
 been thy former conduct ; but, henceforth, 
 see thou continue faithful to me, or this," 
 striking his liand on his musket, " shadl 
 punish thy want of fidelity." 
 
 For second and third Consuls, Buona- 
 parte chose Cambaceres, a lawyer, and a 
 member of the moderate party, with Le- 
 brun, who had formerly co-operated with 
 the Chancellor Maupeou. The former was 
 employed by the Chief Consul as his orgaa 
 of communication with the Revolutionists, 
 while Lebrun rendered him the same ser 
 vice with the Royal party ; and although, 
 as Madame de Stael observes, they preach- 
 ed very different sermons on the same 
 texts, yet they were both eminently suc- 
 cessful in detaching from their original fac- 
 tions many of either class, and uniting them 
 with this third, or government party, which 
 was thus composed of deserters from both. 
 The last soon became so numerous, that 
 Buonaparte was enabled to dispense with 
 the bascule, or trimming system, by which 
 alone his predecessors, the Directors, had 
 been enabled to support their power. 
 
 In the ministrj', Buonaparte acted upon 
 the same principle, selecting and making 
 his own the men whose talents were most 
 distinguished, without reference to their 
 former conduct. Two were particularly 
 distinguished, as men of the most eminent 
 talents, and extensive experience. These 
 were Talleyrand and Fouche. The for- 
 mer, noble by birth, and Bishop of Autun, 
 notwithstanding his high rank in church 
 and state, had been deeply engaged in the 
 Revolution. He had been placed on the 
 list of emigrants, from which his name was 
 eras«d on the establishment of the Directo- 
 rial government, under which he became 
 Minister of Foreign Affairs. He resigned 
 that office in the summer preceding 18th 
 Brumaire ; and Buonaparte, finding him at 
 variance with the Directory, readily passed 
 over some personal grounds of complaint 
 which he had against him, and enlisted in 
 his service a supple and dexterous politi- 
 cian, and an experienced minister; fond, it 
 is said, of pleasure, not insensible to views 
 of self-interest, nor too closely fettered by 
 principle, but perhaps unequalled in inge- 
 nuity, Talleyrand was replaced in the sit- 
 uation of minister for foreign affairs, after 
 a short interval, assigned for the purpose 
 of suffering the public to forget his promi- 
 nent share in the scandalous treaty with the 
 .American commissioners, and continued for
 
 33-2 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXVJ. 
 
 a long tract of time one of the closest shar- 
 ers of Buonaparte's councils. 
 
 If the character of Talleyrand bore no 
 etrong traces of public virtue or inflexible 
 morality, that of Fouche was marked with 
 8till darker shades. He had been dipt in 
 Gomc of the worst transactions of the Reign 
 of Terror, and his name is found among the 
 agents of the dreadful crimes of that unhap- 
 py period. In the days of the Directory, 
 he is stated to have profited by the univer- 
 sal peculation which was then practised, 
 and to have amassed large sums by shares 
 in contracts and brokerage in the public 
 funds. To atone for the imperfections of 
 a character stained with perfidy, venality, 
 and indifference to human suflering, Fou- 
 che brought to Buonaparte's service a de- 
 votion, never like to fail the First Consul 
 unless his fortunes should happen to change, 
 and a perfect experience with all the weap- 
 ons of revolutionary war, and knowledge of 
 those who were best able to wield them. 
 He had managed under Barras's administra- 
 tion the department of police ; and, in the 
 course of his agency, had become better 
 acquainted perhaps than any man in France 
 with all the various parties in that distract- 
 ed country, the points which they were de- 
 sirous of reaching, the modes by which they 
 hoped to attain them, the character of their 
 individual leaders, and the means to gain 
 them over or to intimidate them. Formi- 
 dable by his extensive knowledge of the 
 revolutionary springs, and the address with 
 which he could either put them into mo- 
 tion, or prevent them from operating, Fou- 
 che, in the latter part of his life, displayed 
 a species of wisdom which came in place 
 of morality and benevolence. 
 
 Loving wealth and power, he was neither 
 a man of ardent passions, nor of a vengeful 
 disposition ; and though there was no scru- 
 ple in his nature to withhold him from be- 
 coming ail agent in the great crimes which 
 Btate policy, under an arbitrary government, 
 must often require, yet he had a prudential 
 and constitutional aversion to unnecessary 
 evil, and was always wont to characterize his 
 own principle of action, by saying, that he did 
 as little harm as he possioly could. In his 
 mysterious and terrible office of head of the 
 police, he had often means of granting fa- 
 vours, or interposing lenity in behalf of in- 
 dividuals, of which he gained the full cred- 
 it, while the harsh measures of which he 
 was the agent, were set down to the neces- 
 sity of his situation. By adhering to these 
 principles of moderation, he established for 
 himself at length a character totally incon- 
 sistent with that belonging to a member of 
 the revolutionary committee, and resem- 
 bling rather that of a timid but well-disposed 
 servant, who, in executing his master's com- 
 mands, is desirous to mitigate as much as 
 possible their effect on individuals. It is, 
 UDon the whole, no wonder, that although 
 Sieyes objected to Fouche, from his want 
 of principle, and Talleyrand was averse to 
 him from jealousy, interference, and per- 
 sonal enmity. Napoleon chose, neverthe- 
 ess, to retain in the confidential situation 
 of minister of police, the person by whom 
 
 that formidable office had been first placed 
 on an effectual footing. 
 
 Of the other ministers, it is not necessary 
 to speak in detail. Cambaceres retained 
 the situation of Minister of Justice, for 
 which lie was well qualified 5 and the cel- 
 ebrated malliematician, La Place, was pre- 
 ferred to that of the Interior, for which he 
 was not, according to Buonaparte's report, 
 qualified at all. Berthier, as we have al- 
 ready seen, filled the war department, and 
 shortly afterwards Carnot ; and Gaudin ad- 
 ministered the finances with credit to him- 
 self. F'orfait, a naval architect of emi- 
 nence, replaced Bourdon in the helpless 
 and hopeless department of the French Ad- 
 miralty. 
 
 A new constitution having been thus 
 formed, and the various branches of duty 
 distributed with much address among those 
 best capable of discharging them, other 
 changes were at the same time made, 
 which were designed to mark that a new 
 era was commenced, in which all former 
 prejudices were to be abandoned and done 
 away. 
 
 We have noticed that one of the first 
 acts of the Provisional Government had 
 been to new-modify the national oath, and 
 generalize its terms, so that they should be 
 no longer confined to the constitution of the 
 year Three, but should appJy to that which 
 was about to be framed, or to any other 
 which might be produced by the same au- 
 thority. Two subsequent alterations in the 
 constitution, which passed without much 
 notice, so much was the revolutionary or 
 republican spirit abated, tended to show 
 that farther changes were impending, and 
 that the Consular Republic was speedily to 
 adopt the name, as it already had the es- 
 sence, of a monarchy. It was scarce three 
 months since the President of the Directo- 
 ry had said to the people, on the anniversary 
 of the taking of the Bastille, — " Royalty 
 shall never raise its head again. We shall 
 no more behold individuals boasting a title 
 from Heaven, to oppress the earth with 
 more ease and security, and who consid- 
 ered France as their private patrimony, 
 Frenchmen as their subjects, and the laws 
 as the expression of their good will and 
 pleasure." Yet now, in contradiction to 
 this sounding declamation, the national 
 oath, expressing hatred to royalty, was an- 
 nulled, under the pretext that the Republic, 
 being universally acknowledged, had no oc- 
 casion for the guard of such disclamations. 
 In like manner, the public observance of 
 the day on which Louis XVI. had suffered 
 decapitation, was formally abolished. Buo- 
 naparte, declining to pass a judgment on the 
 action as just, politic, or useful, pronounc- 
 ed that, in any event, it could only be re- 
 garded as a national calamity, and was 
 therefore in a moral, as well as a political 
 sense, an unfit epoch for festive celebra- 
 tion. An expression of tlie First Consul to 
 Sieyes was also current at the same time, 
 which, although Buonaparte may not have 
 used it, has been generally supposed to ex- 
 press his sentiments. Sieyes had spoken 
 of Louis under the established phrase of
 
 Chap. XXXVL] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 333 
 
 the Tyrant. " He was no tyrant," Buona- 
 parte replied ; " had he been such, I should 
 nave been a subaltern officer of artillery, 
 and you. Monsieur I'Abbe, would have been 
 etill saying mass." 
 
 A third sign of approaching change, or 
 rather of the approaching return to the an- 
 cient system of government under a differ- 
 ent|chief, was the removal of thcjFirst Con- 
 sul from the apartments in the Luxembourg 
 Palace, occupied by the Directors, to the 
 royal residence of the Tuilleries. Madame 
 de Stael beheld the entrance oftliis fortu- 
 nate soldier into the princely residence of 
 the Bourbons. He was already surrounded 
 by a vassal crowd, eager to pay him the 
 homage which the inhabitants of tliose 
 splendid halls had so long claimed as their 
 due, that it seemed to be consistent with 
 the place, and to become the right of this 
 new inhabitant. The doors were thrown 
 open with a bustle and violence, expressive 
 Ot the importance of the occasion. But the 
 hero of the scene, in ascending the magnifi- 
 cent staircase, up which a throng of cour- 
 tiers followed him, seemed totally indiffer- 
 ent to all around, his features bearing only 
 a general expression of indifference to 
 events, and contempt for mankind. 
 
 The first measures of Buonaparte's new 
 government, and the exjiectation attached 
 to his name, had already gone some length 
 in restoring domestic quiet ; but he was 
 well aware that much more must be done 
 to render that quiet permanent ; that the 
 external relations of France with Europe 
 raust be attended to without delay ; and that 
 the French expected from him either the 
 conclusion of an honourable peace, or the 
 restoration of victory to their national ban- 
 ners. It was necessary, too, that advances 
 towards peace should in the first place be. 
 made, in order, if they were unsuccessful, 
 that a national spirit should be excited, 
 which might reconcile the French to the 
 renewal of the war with fresh energy. 
 
 Hitherto, in diplomacy, it had been usual 
 to sound the way for opening treaties of 
 peace by obscure and almost unaccredited 
 agents, in order that the party willing to 
 make propositions might not subject them- 
 selves to a haughty and insulting answer, 
 or have their desire of peace interpreted 
 as a confession of weakness. Buonaparte 
 went into the opposite extreme, and ad- 
 dressed the King of England in a personal 
 epistle. This letter, like that to the Arch- 
 duke Charles, during the campaign of 1797, 
 intimates Buonaparte's affectation of superi- 
 ority to the usual forms of diplomacy, and 
 his pretence to a character determined to 
 emancipate itself from rules only designed 
 for mere ordinary men. But the manner of 
 the address was in bad taste, and ill calcu- 
 lated to obtain credit for his being sincere 
 in the proposal of peace. He was bound 
 to know so much of the constitutional au- 
 thority of the monarch whom he addressed, 
 as to be aware that George III. would not, 
 and could not, contract any treaty personal- 
 ly, but must act by the advice of those min- 
 isters whose responsibility was his guaran- 
 tee to the nation at large. The terms of 
 
 the letter set forth, as usual, the blessings 
 of peace, and urged the propriety of its be- 
 ing restored ; propositions which could not 
 admit of dispute in the abstract, but which 
 admit much discussion when coupled with 
 unreasonable or inadmissible conditions. 
 
 The answer transmitted by Lord Gren- 
 ville, in the forms of diplomacy, to the Min- 
 ister of Foreign Affairs, dwelt on the ag- 
 gressions of France, declared that the res- 
 toration of the Bourbons would have been 
 the best security for their sincerity, but dis- 
 avowed all right to dictate to France in her 
 internal concerns. Some advances were 
 made to a specific treaty ; and it is probable 
 that England might at that period have ob- 
 tained the same or better terms than she 
 afterwards got by the treaty of Amiens. It 
 may be added, that the moderate principles 
 expressed by the Consular government, 
 might, in the infancy of his power, and in a 
 moment of considerable doubt, have induc- 
 ed Buonaparte to make sacrifices, to which, 
 triumphant and established, he would not 
 condescend. But the possession of Egypt, 
 which Buonaparte must have insisted on, 
 were it only for his own reputation, was 
 likely to be an insuperable difficulty. The 
 conjuncture also appeared to the English 
 ministers propitious for carrying on the war. 
 Italy had been recovered, and the Austrian 
 army, to the number of 140,000, were men- 
 acing Savoy, and mustering on the Rhine. 
 Buonaparte, in the check received before 
 Acre, liad been found not absolutely invin- 
 cible. The exploits of Suwarrow over the 
 French were recent, and had been decisive. 
 The state of the interior of France was well 
 known ; and it was conceived, that though 
 this successful general had climbed into the 
 seat of supreme power which he found un- 
 occupied, yet tiiat two [strong parties, of 
 which the Royalists objected to his person, 
 the Republicans to his form of government, 
 could not fail, the one or other, to deprive 
 him of his influence. 
 
 The treaty was finally broken off, on the 
 score that there was great reason to doubt 
 Buonaparte's sincerity ; and, supposing that 
 were granted, there was at least equal room 
 to doubt the stability of a power so hastily 
 acknowledged, and seeming to contain in 
 itself the principles of decay. There may 
 be a difference of opinion in regard to Buo- 
 naparte's sincerity in the negotiation, but 
 there can be none as to the reality of his 
 joy at its being defeated. The voice which 
 summoned him to war was that which 
 sounded sweetest in his ears, since it was 
 always followed by exertion and by victory. 
 He had been personally offended, too, by 
 the allusion to the legitimate rights of the 
 Bourbons, and indulged his resentment by 
 pasquinades in the Moniteur. A supposed 
 letter from the last descendant of the Stuart 
 family appeared there, congratulating the 
 King of Britain on his acceding to the doc- 
 trine of legitimacy, and summoning him to 
 make good his principles, by an abdication 
 of-his crown in favour of the lineal heir. 
 
 The external situation of France had, U 
 we before remarked, been considerably im- 
 proved by the consequences of the battle
 
 334 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. iChap. XXX VI. 
 
 of Zurich, and the victories of Moreau. 
 But the Republic derived yet greater ad- 
 Tantages from the breach between the Em- 
 perors ol' Austria and Russsia. Paul, nat- 
 urally of an uncertain temper, and offended 
 by the management of the last campaign, in 
 which Korsakow had been defeated, ami 
 Suwarrow checked, in consequence of tlicir 
 being unsupported by the Austrian army, had 
 withdrawn his troops, so distinguished for 
 their own bravery as well as for tlie talents 
 of their leader, from the seat of war. But 
 the Austrlans, possessing a firmness of char- 
 acv. r undismayed by defeat, and encourag- 
 ed by the late success of their arms under 
 Uie veteran Melas, had made such gigantic 
 exertions as to counterbalance the loss of 
 their Russian confederates. 
 
 Their principal force was in Italy, and 
 it was on the Italian frontier that they med- 
 itated a grand effort, by which, supported 
 by the British fleet, they proposed to re- 
 duce Genoa, and penetrate across the Var 
 into Provence, where existed a strong body 
 of Royalists ready to take arms, under the 
 command of General Willot, an emigrant 
 officer. It was said the celebrated Piche- 
 gru, who, escaped from Guiana, had taken 
 refuge in England, was also with this army, 
 and was proposed as a chief leader of the 
 expected insurrection. 
 
 To execute this plan, Melas was placed 
 at the head of an army of 140,000 men. 
 This army was quartered for the winter in 
 the plains of Piedmont, and waited but the 
 approach of spring to commence opera- 
 lions. 
 
 Opposed to them, and occupying the 
 country betwixt Genoa and the Var, lay a 
 I'rench army of 40.000 men ; the relics of 
 those who had been repeatedly defeated in 
 Italy by Suwarrow. Tliey were quartered 
 in a poor country, and the English squadron, 
 which blockaded the coast, was vigilant in 
 preventing any supplies from being sent 
 to them. Distress was therefore consider- 
 able, and the troops were in proportion dis- 
 pirited and disorganized. Whole corps 
 abandoned their position, contrary to or- 
 ders ; and with drums beating, and colours 
 flying, returned into France. A proclama- 
 tion from Napoleon was almost alone suffi- 
 cient to remedy these disorders. He called 
 ou the soldiers, and particularly those corps 
 who had formerly distinguished themselves 
 underhis command in his Italian campaigns, 
 to remember tlie confidence he had once 
 placed in them. The scattered troops re- 
 turned to their duty, as war-horses when 
 dispersed are said to rally and form ranks at 
 the mere sound of the trumpet. Masscna, 
 an •officer, eminent for his acquaintance 
 with the mode of carrying on war in a moun- 
 tainous country, full of passes and strong 
 positions, was intrusted with the command 
 of the Italian army, which Buonaparte re- 
 solved to support in person with the army 
 of reserve 
 
 The French army upon the Rhine pos- 
 sessed as great a superiority over the .\us- 
 trians, as Melas, on the Italian frontier, en- 
 joyed over Massena. Moreau was placed 
 in the command of a large army, augment- 1 
 
 ed by a strong detachment from that of 
 (ieneral Bruno, now no longer necessary 
 fur the protection of Holland, and by the 
 army of Helvetia, wliicli, after the defeat of 
 Korsakow, was not farther required for the 
 defence of .Switzerland. In bestowing this 
 great charye on Moreau, the First Consul 
 showed liinisell' superior to the jealousy 
 which might have dissuaded meaner minds 
 from iiitrustijg a rival, whose military skill 
 w;>^ often compared with his own, with 
 sui.li an opportunity of distinguishing him- 
 sell'. But Buonaparte, in this and other 
 cases, preferred the employing and profiting 
 by the public service of" men of talents, and 
 especially men of military eminence, to 
 any risk which he could run from their ri- 
 valry. Ho had tlie just confidence in his 
 own powers, never to doubt his supremacy, 
 and trusted to tlie influence of discipline, 
 and the love of their profession, which in- 
 duces generals to accept of command even 
 under administrations of which they disap- 
 prove. In this manner he rendered depend- 
 ent upon himself even those officers, who, 
 averse to the Consular form of government, 
 inclined to republican principles. Such 
 were Massena, Brune, Jourdan, Lecourbe, 
 and Champiounet. He took care at tha 
 same time, by changing the commands in- 
 trusted to them, to break off all combina- 
 tions or connexions which they might have 
 formed for a new alteration of the govern- 
 ment. 
 
 General Moreau was much superior in 
 numbers to Kray, the Austrian who com- 
 manded on the Rhine, and received orders 
 to resume the offensive. He was cautioua 
 in his tactics, though a most excellent offi- 
 cer, and was startled at the plan sent him 
 by Buonaparte, which directed him to cross 
 the Rhine at Schaff hausen, and, marching 
 on Ulm with his whole force, place himself 
 in the rear of the greater part of the Aus- 
 trian army. This was one of those schemes, 
 fraught with great victories or great revers- 
 es, which Buonaparte delighted to form, 
 and which often requiring much sacrifice 
 of men, occasioned his being called by 
 those who loved him not, a general at the 
 rate of ten thousand men per day. Such 
 enterprises resemble desperate passes in 
 fencing, and must be executed with the 
 same decisive resolution with which they 
 are formed. Few even of Buonaparte's 
 best generals could be trusted with the 
 execution of his master-strokes in tactics, 
 unless under his own immediate superin- 
 tendence. 
 
 Moreau invaded Germany on a more 
 modilied plan ; and a series of marches, 
 counter-marches, and desperate battles en- 
 sued, in which General Kray, admirably 
 supported by the Archduke Ferdinand, 
 made a gallant defence against superior 
 numbers. 
 
 In Buonaparte's account of this campaign 
 he blames Moreau for hesitation and timid- 
 ity in following up the advantages which he 
 obtained. Yet to a less severe, perhaps to 
 a more impartial judge, Moreau's success 
 might seem satisfactory, since, crossing the 
 Rhine in the end of April, he had his head-
 
 Chap. XXX VI.^ LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 335 
 
 quarters at Augsburg upon the 15th July, 
 ready either to co-operate with the Italian 
 army, or to march into the heart of the 
 AuBtrian territory. Nor can it be denied 
 that, during this whole campaign, Moreau 
 kept in view, as a principal object, the pro- 
 tecting the operations of Buonaparte in It- 
 aly, and saving that chief, in his dauntless 
 and desperate invasion of the Milanese ter- 
 ritory, from the danger which might have 
 ensued, had Kray found an opportunity of 
 opening a communication with tlie Austrian 
 army in Italy, and despatching troops to its 
 support. 
 
 It may be remarked of these two great 
 generals, that, as enterprise was the char- 
 acteristic of Buonaparte's movements, pru- 
 dence was that of Moreau's ; and it is not 
 unusual, even when there occur no other 
 motives for rivals undervaluing each other, 
 that the enterprising judge the prudent to 
 be timid, and the prudent account the en- 
 terprising rash. 
 
 It is not ours to decide upon professional 
 questions between men of such superior 
 talents ; and, having barely alluded to the 
 topic, we leave Moreau at x\ugsburg, where 
 he finality concluded an armistice with Gen- 
 eral Kray, as a consequence of that which 
 Buonaparte had established in Italy after the 
 battle of Marengo. Thus much, therefore, 
 is duo in justice to Moreau. His campaign 
 was, on the whole, crowned in its results 
 with distinguished success. And when it 
 is considered, that he was to manoeuvre 
 both with reference to the safety of the 
 First Consul's operations and his own, it 
 may be doubted whether Buonaparte would, 
 at the lime, have thanked him for venturing 
 on more hazardous measures ; the result of 
 which might have been either to obtain 
 more brilliant victory for the army of the 
 Rhine, in the event of success, or, should 
 they have miscarried, to have ensured the 
 ruin of the army of Italy, as well as of that 
 commanded by Moreau himself. There 
 must have been a wide difference beiween 
 the part which Moreau ought to act as sub- 
 sidiary to Buonaparte, (to whom it will pres- 
 ently be seen he despatched a reinforce- 
 ment of from fifteen to twenty thousand 
 men,) and that which Buonaparte, in obe- 
 dience to his daring genius, might have 
 himself thought it right to perform. The 
 Commander-in-chief may venture much 
 on his own responsibility, which must not 
 be hazarded by a subordinate general, 
 whose motions ought to be regulated upon 
 the general plan of the campaign. 
 
 We return to the operations of Napoleon 
 during one of the most important campaigns 
 of his life, and in which he added — if that 
 were still possible — to the high military 
 reputation he had acquired. 
 
 In committing the charge of the cam- 
 paign upon the Rhine to Moreau, the First 
 Consul had /Reserved for himself the task of 
 bringing back victory to the French stand- 
 ards, on tha fields in which he won his ear- 
 liest laurels. His plan of victory again in- 
 cluded a passage of the Alps, as boldly and 
 unexpectedly as in 1795, but in a different 
 direction. That earlier period had this re- 
 
 semblance to the present, that on both oc- 
 casions, the Austrians menaced Genoa; 
 but in 1800, it was only from the Italian 
 frontier and the Col de Tende, whereas, in 
 1795, the enemy were in possession of the 
 mountains of Savoy above Genoa. Swit- 
 zerland too, formerly neutral, and allowing 
 no passage for armies, was now as open to 
 the march of French troops as any of their 
 own provinces, and of this Buonaparte de- 
 termined to avail himself. He was aware 
 of the Austrian plan of taking Genoa and 
 entering Provence ; and he formed the dar- 
 ing resolution to put himself at the head of 
 the army of reserve, surmount the line of 
 the Alps, even where they are most diffi 
 cult of access, and, descending into Italy, 
 place himself in the rear of the Austrian 
 army, interrupt their communications, car- 
 ry off their magazines, parks, and hospitals, 
 coop them up betwixt his own army and 
 that of Massena, which was in their front, 
 and compel them to battle, in a situation 
 where defeat must be destruction. But to 
 accomplish this daring movement, it was 
 necessary to march a whole army over the 
 highest chain of mountains in Europe, by 
 roads which afford but a dangerous pas- 
 sage to the solitary traveller, and through 
 passes where one man can do more to de- 
 fend, than ten to force their way. Artille- 
 ry was to be carried through sheep-paths 
 and over precipices impracticable to wheel 
 carriages ; ammunition and baggage were 
 to he transported at the same disadvantages ; 
 and provisions were to be conveyed through 
 a country poor in itself, and inhabited by a 
 nation wliicli had every cause to be hostile 
 to Franco, and might therefore be expected 
 prompt to avail themselves of any opportu- 
 nity which should occur of revenging them- 
 selves for her late aggressions. 
 
 The strictest secrecy was necessary, to 
 procure even the opportunity of attempting 
 this audacious plan of operations ; and to 
 ensure this secrecy, Buonaparte had re- 
 course to a singular mode of deceiving the 
 enemy. It was made as public as possible, 
 by orders, decrees, proclamations, and the 
 like, that the First Consul was to place 
 himself at the head of the army of reserve, 
 and that it was to assemble at Dijon. Ac- 
 cordingly, a numerous staff was sent to that 
 place, and much apparent bustle took place 
 in assembling six or seven thousand men 
 tliere, with great pomp and fracas. These, 
 as the spies of Austria truly reported to 
 their employers, were either conscripts, or 
 veterans unfit lor service ; and caricatures 
 were published of the First Consul review- 
 ing troops composed of children and disa- 
 bled soldiers, which was ironically termed 
 his army of reserve. When an army so 
 composed was reviewed by the First Con- 
 sul himself with great ceremony, it im- 
 pressed a general belief that Buonaparte was 
 only endeavouring, by making a show of 
 force, to divert the Austrians from their de- 
 sign upon Genoa, and thus his real purpose 
 was effectually concealed. Bulletins, too, 
 were privately circulated by the agents of 
 police, as if scattered by the Royalists, in 
 which specious arguments were used to
 
 336 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAl ARTE. iChap. XXXVIL 
 
 prove that the French army of reserve nei- 
 ther did nor could exist — and these also 
 were designed to withdraw attention from 
 the various points on which it was at tlie 
 very moment collecting. 
 
 state of Paris permitted several regiments 
 to be detached from the capital. New lev- 
 ies were made with the utmost celerity ; 
 and the divisions of the army of reserve 
 were organized separately, and at different 
 
 The pacification of the west of France places of rendezvous, but ready to form a 
 had placed many good troops at Buona- junction when they should recewe the eig- 
 parte's disposal, which had previously been nal for commencing operations, 
 engaged against the Chouans ; the quiet I 
 
 CHAP. XXXVII. 
 
 The Chief Consul leaves Paris on G(h May 1800— JIas an Intervieio with Necker at Ge- 
 neva on 8th — Arrives at Latisanne on the Volh — Various corps put in motion to cross 
 the Alps. — Napoleon, at the head of the Main Army, marches on the loth, and ascends 
 Mont St. Bernard — Difficulties of the march surmounted. — On the i(>lh,the Van-gxiurd 
 takes possession of Aosta. — Fortress and Town of Hard threaten to baffle the whole 
 Plan — The Town is captured — and Napoleon contrives to send his Artillery through 
 it under the fire of the Port, his Infantry^ and Cavalry pa.ising over the Albaredo. — 
 Lannes carries Ivrea. — Recapitulation. — Operations of the Austrian General Melas 
 — At the commencement of the Campaign Melas advances towards Genoa. — Many Ac- 
 tions bettoixt him and Massena. — In March. Lord Keith blockades Genoa. — Mela.') 
 compelled to retreat from Genoa — Enters Nice — Recalled from thence by the news of 
 Napoleons having crossed Mont St. Bernard — Genoa surrenders — Buonaparte enters 
 Milan — Battle of Montebello, and Victory of the French — The Chief Consul is join- 
 ed by Dessaix on the l\th June. — Great Battle of Marengo on the VUh, and complete 
 Victory of the French — Death of Dessaix — Capitxdation on the loth, by which Genoa 
 6cc. are yielded to the French. — Napoleon returns to Paris on the 2d July, and is re- 
 ceived with all the acclamations due to a great Conqueror. 
 
 O.N' the 6th of May 1800, seeking to re- 
 new the fortunes of France, now united 
 with his own, the Chief Consul left Paris, 
 nnd, having reviewed the pretended army of 
 reserve at Dijon on the 7th, arrived on the 
 cith at Geneva. Here he had an interview 
 with tlie celebrated financier Necker. 
 There was always doomed to be some mis- 
 understanding between Buonaparte and this 
 accomplished family. Madame de Stael 
 believed that Buonaparte spoke to her fa- 
 ther with confidence on his future pros- 
 pects ; while the First Consul affirms that 
 Necker seemed to expect to be intrusted 
 with the management of the French finan- 
 ces, and that they parted with mutual in- 
 difference, if not dislike. Napoleon had a 
 more interesting conversation with Gener- 
 al Marescot, despatched to survey Mont 
 Bernard, and who had, with great difficulty, 
 ascended as far as the convent of the Char- 
 treux. '•■ Is the route practicable ?" said 
 Buonaparte. — " It is barely possible to 
 pass," replied the engineer. — " Let us set 
 forward then," said Napoleon, and the ex- 
 traordinary march was commenced. 
 
 On the 13th,. arriving at Lausanne, Buo- 
 naparte joined the van of his real army of 
 reserve, which consisted of six effective 
 regiments, commanded by the celebrated 
 I^annes. These corps, together with the 
 rest of the troops intended for the expedi- 
 tion, had been assembled from their seve- 
 ral positions by forced marches. Carnot. 
 the minister at war, attended the First Con- 
 sul at Lausanne, to report to him that 15,000, 
 or from that to the number of 20,000 men, 
 detached from Moreau's army, were in the 
 act of descending on Italy by St. Ciothard 
 in order to form the left wing of his army. 
 The whole army, in its various divisions. 
 
 was now united under the command of Bcr- 
 thier nominally, as General-in-chief, thougli 
 in reality under that of the First Consul 
 himself. This was in compliance with a 
 regulation of the Constitution, which ren- 
 dered it inconsistent for the First Consul 
 to command in person. It was a form 
 which Buonaparte at present evaded, and 
 afterwards laid aside ; thinking truly, tliat 
 the name, as well as off.ce of Generalissi- 
 mo, was most fittingly vested in his own 
 person, since, though it might not be the 
 loftiest of his titles, it was that which best 
 expressed his power. The .army might 
 amount to 60,000 men, but one-third of the 
 number were conscripts. 
 
 Duriny the interval between the loth and 
 18th of May, all the colums of the French 
 army were put into motion to cross the 
 Alps. Tureau, at the head of 5000 men, 
 directed his march by Mount Cenis, on ex- 
 illes and Susa. A similar division, com- 
 manded by Chabran, took the route of the 
 Little St. Bernard. Buonaparte himself, 
 on the 15tli, at the head of the main body 
 of his army, consisting of 30,000 men and 
 upwards, marched from Lausanne to the 
 little village called St. Pierre, at which 
 point there ended every thing resembling a 
 practicable road. .\n immense and appar- 
 ently inaccessible mountain, reared its head 
 among general desolation and eternal frost; 
 while precipices, glaciers, ravines, and a 
 boundless extent of faithless snows, which 
 the slightest concussion of the air converts 
 into avalanches capable of burying armies 
 in their descent, appeared to forbid access 
 to all living things but the chamois, and 
 his scarce less wild pursuer. Yet foot by 
 foot, and man by man, did the French sol 
 dicrs proceed to ascend this formidable bar-
 
 C^. XXXVII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 337 
 
 rier, which Nature had erected in vain to 
 limit human ambition. The view of the 
 valley, emphatically called " of Desola- 
 tion," where nothing is to be seen but snow 
 and sky, had no terrors for the First Consul 
 and his army. They advanced up paths hith- 
 erto only practised by hunters, or here and 
 there a hardy pedestrian, the infantry load- 
 ed with their arms, and in full military 
 equipment, the cavalry leading their hors- 
 es. The musical bands played from time 
 to time at the head of the regiments, and, 
 in places of unusual difficulty, the drums 
 beat a charge, as if to encourage the sol- 
 diers to encounter the opposition of Nature 
 herself. The artillery, without which they 
 could not have done service, were deposit- 
 ed in trunks of trees hollowed out for the 
 purpose. Each was dragged by a hundred 
 men, and the troops, making it a point of 
 honour to bring forward their guns, accom- 
 plished tliis severe duty, not with cheer- 
 fulness only, but with enthusiasm. The 
 carriages were taken to pieces, and harness- 
 ed on the backs of mules, or committed to 
 the soldiers, who relieved each other in 
 the task of bearing them with levers ; and 
 the ammunition was transported in the 
 same manner. While one half of the sol- 
 diers were thus engaged, the others were 
 obliged to carry the muskets, cartridge-bo.\- 
 es, knapsacks, and provisions of their com- 
 rades, as well as their own. Each man, so 
 loaded, was calculated to carry from sixty 
 to seventy pounds weight, up icy precipic- 
 es, where a man totally without encum- 
 brance cculd ascend but slowly. Probably 
 no troops save the French could have en- 
 dured the fatigue of such a march ; and no 
 other general than Buonaparte would have 
 ventured to require it at their hand. 
 
 He set out a considerable time after the 
 march had begun, alone, excepting his 
 guide. He is described by tlie Swiss peas- 
 ant who attended him in that capacity, as 
 wearing his usual simple dress, a grey sur- 
 tout, and three-cornered hat. He travelled 
 in silence, save a few short and hasty ques- 
 tions about the country, addressed to his 
 truide from time to time. When these 
 were answered, he relapsed into silence. 
 There was a gloom on his brow, corres- 
 ponding with the weather, which vvas wet 
 and dismal. His countenance had acquir- 
 ed, during his Eastern campaigns, a swart 
 complexion, which added to his natural se- 
 vere gravity, an>l the Swiss peasant who 
 guided him felt fear as he looked on him.' 
 Occasionally his route was stopt bv some 
 
 * Apparently the guide who conducted him from 
 the Grand Chartreiix found the Chief Consul in 
 better humour, for Buonaparte said he conversed 
 freely with him, and expressed come wishes with 
 respect to a little farm, &c. which lie was able to 
 ffratify. To h s guide from Martigny to St. Pierre, 
 he was also liberal ; but the only specimen of his 
 conversation which the latter rememtwred, was, 
 when, shaking the rain-water from his hat, he ex- 
 claimed — " There, see what I have done in your 
 mountains — spoiled my new hat. Pshaw, I will 
 find another on the other side." See, for these and 
 other interesting anecdotes, Mr. Tennent's Tour 
 through the Netherlands, Holland, Germany, 
 Steitterland, ^c. 
 
 Vot. I. P 
 
 temporary obstacle occasioned by a halt in 
 the artillery or baggage ; his commands on 
 such occasions were peremptorily given, 
 and instantly obeyed, his very look seeming 
 enough to silence all objection, and remove 
 every difficulty. 
 
 The army now arrived at that singular 
 convent, where, with courage equal to their 
 own, but flowing from a much higher 
 source, the monks of St. Bernard have fixed 
 their dwellings among the everlasting 
 snows, that they may afford succour and 
 hospitality to the forlorn travellers in those 
 dreadful wastes. Hitherto the soldiers had 
 had no refreshment, save when they dipt 
 a morsel of biscuit amongst the snow. 
 The good fathers of the convent, who pos- 
 sess considerable magazines of provisions, 
 distributed bread and cheese, and a cup of 
 wine, to each soldier as he passed, which 
 was more acceptable in their situation, 
 than, according to one who shared their 
 fatigues,* would have been tfie gold vf 
 Mexico. 
 
 The descent on the other side of Mont 
 St. Bernard was as difficult to the infantry 
 as the ascent had been, and still more so to 
 the cavalry. It was, however, accomplish- 
 ed without any material loss, and the army 
 took up their quarters for the night, after 
 having marched fourteen French leagues. 
 The next morning, 16th May, the van- 
 guard took possession of Aosta, a vill.ace of 
 Piedmont, from which extends the valley 
 of the same name, watered by the river Do- 
 rea, a country pleasant in itself, but render 
 ed delightful by its contrast with the hor- 
 rors which had been left behind. 
 
 Thus was achieved the celebrated pas- 
 sage of Mont St. Bernard, on the particulars 
 of which we have dwelt the more willingly, 
 because, although a military operation of 
 importance, they do not involve the un- 
 wearied details of human slaughter, to 
 which our narrative must now return. 
 
 Where the opposition of Nature to Na- 
 poleon's march appeared to cease, that of 
 man commenced. A body of Austriaos at 
 Chatillon were overpowered and defeated 
 by Lannes ;, but the strong fortress of Bard 
 o'Tered more serious opposition. This lit- 
 tle citadel is situated upon an almost per- 
 pendicular rock rising out of the river Do- 
 rea, at a place where the valley of Aosta ts 
 rendered so very narrow by the approach 
 of two mountains to each other, that the 
 fort and walled town of Bard entirely close 
 up the entrance. This formidable obstacle 
 threatened for the moment to shut up the 
 French in a valley, where their means of 
 subsistence must have been speedily ex- 
 hausted. General Lannes made a despe- 
 rate effort to carry the fort by assault ; but 
 the advanced guard of the attacking party 
 were destroyed by stones, musketry, and 
 hand-grenades, and the attempt was relin- 
 quished. 
 
 Buonaparte in person went now to recon- 
 noitre, and for that purpose ascending' a 
 
 * Joseph Petit, Fourrier des grenadiers de '>a 
 garde, author of Marengo ou Catnpajne U'llalu, 
 bvo. an. ix
 
 tS'dS 
 
 LIFE OF NArOLt:Oi\ BUO:, Al'AKTE. IChap. XXX VIL 
 
 huge rock called Albaredo, being a preci- 
 pice on the side of one of the mountains 
 which form the pass, from the summit of 
 which he could look down into the town, 
 and into the fortress. He detected a pos- 
 sibility of tiiking the town by storm, though 
 he judged the fort was too strong to be ob- 
 tained by a coup-de-main. The town was 
 accordingly carried by escalade ; but the 
 French who obtained possession of it had 
 little cover from the artillery of the fort, 
 which fired furiously on the houses where 
 they endeavoured to shelter themselves, 
 and which the Austrians might have entire- 
 ly demolished but for respect to the inhab- 
 itants. Meanwhile, Buonaparte availed 
 himself of the diversion to convey a great 
 part of !iis army in single files, horse as 
 well as foot, by a precarious path formed 
 by the pioneers over the tremendous Alba- 
 redo, and so down on the other side, in this 
 manner avoiding the cannon of Fort Bard. 
 
 Still a most important difficulty remained. 
 It was impossible, at least without great 
 loss of time, to carry the French artillery 
 over the Albaredo, while, without artillery, 
 it was impossible to move against the Aus- 
 trians, and every hope of the campaign 
 must be given up. 
 
 In the meantime, the astonished com- 
 mandant of the fort, to whom the apparition 
 of this immense army was like enchant- 
 ment, despatched messenger after messen- 
 ger to warn Melas, then lying before Ge- 
 noa, that a French army of 30,000 men and 
 upwards, descending from the Alps by ways 
 hitherto deemed impracticable for military 
 movements, had occupied the valley of 
 Aosta, and were endeavouring to debouche 
 by a path of steps cut in the Albaredo. But 
 lie pledged himself to his commander-in- 
 chief, that not a single gun or ammunition 
 wagon should pass through the town ; and 
 as it was impossible to drag these along the 
 Albaredo, he concluded, that, being with- 
 out his artillery, Buonaparte would not ven- 
 ture to descend into the plain. 
 
 But while the commandant of Bard thus 
 argued, he was mistaken in his premises, 
 though right in his inference. The artille- 
 ry of the French armv had already passed 
 through the town of Bard, and under the 
 guns of the citadel, without being discover- 
 ed to have done so. This important ma- 
 nneuvre was accomplished by previously 
 laying the street with dung and earth, over 
 which the pieces of cannon, concealed un- 
 der straw and branches of trees, were drag- 
 ged by men in profound silence. The gar- 
 rison, though they did not suspect what was 
 going on, fired nevertheless occasionally 
 upon some vague suspicion, and killed and 
 wounded artillerymen in suthcient number, 
 to show it would have been impossible to 
 pass under a severe and sustained discharge 
 from the ramparts. It seems singular *:iiat 
 the commandant had kept up no intelli- 
 gence with the town. Any signal previously 
 agreed upon — a light shown in a window, 
 for example — would have detected such a 
 stratagem. 
 
 A division of conscripts, under General 
 Chabran, was left to reduce Fort Bard, 
 
 which continued to hold out, until, at the 
 expense of great labour, batteries were es- 
 tablished on the top of the Albaredo, by 
 whicii it was commanded, and a heavy gun 
 placed on the steeple of the church, when 
 it was compelled to surrender. It is not 
 fruitless to observe, that the resistance of 
 this small place, which had been overlook- 
 ed or undervalued in the plan of the cam- 
 paign, was very nearly rendering the march 
 over Mont St. Bernard worse than useless, 
 and might have occasioned the destruction 
 of all the Chief Consul's army. So little 
 are even the most distinguished generals 
 able to calculate with certainty upon all 
 the chances of war. 
 
 From this dangerous pass, the vanguard 
 of Buonaparte now advanced down the val- 
 ley to Ivrea, where Lannes carried the 
 town by storm, and a second time combated 
 and defeated the Austrian division which 
 had defended it, when reinforced and situ- 
 ated on a strong position at Romano. The 
 roads to Turin and Milan were now alike 
 open to Buonaparte — he had only to decide 
 which he chose to take. Meanwhile he 
 made a halt of four days at Ivrea, to refresh 
 the troops after their fatigues, and to pre- 
 pare them for future enterprises. 
 
 During this space, the other columns of 
 his army were advancing to form a junction 
 with that of the main body, according to the 
 plan of the campaign. Tureau, who had 
 passed the Alps by the route of Mont Cenis, 
 had taken the forts of Susa and La Brunette. 
 On the other hand, the large corps detach- 
 ed by Carnot from Moreau's army, were 
 advancing by Mount St. Gothard and the 
 Simplon, to support the operations of the 
 F'irst Consul, of whose army they were to 
 form the left wing. But ere we prosecute 
 the account of Buonaparte's movements 
 during this momentous campaign, it is ne- 
 cessary to trace the previous operations of 
 Melas, and the situation in which that Aus- 
 trian general now found himself. 
 
 It has been already stated, that, at the 
 commencement of this campaign of 1800, 
 the Austrians entertained the highest hopes 
 that their Italian army, having taken Genoa 
 and Nice, might penetrate into Provence by 
 crossing the frontier at the Var, and per- 
 haps make themselves masters of Toulon 
 and Marseilles. To realize these hopes, 
 Melas, having left in Piedmont a sufficiei.t 
 force, as he deemed it, to guard the passes 
 of the Alps, had advanced towards Genoa, 
 whicii Masscna prepared to cover and de- 
 fend. A number of severe and desperate 
 actions took place between these generals ; 
 but being a war of posts, and fought in .1 
 very mountainous and difficult country, it 
 was impossible by any skill of combination 
 to ensure on any occasion more than partial 
 success, since co-operation of movemcnta 
 upon a great and extensive scale was pro- 
 hibited by the character of the ground. 
 There was much hard fighting, however, 
 in which, though more of the Austrians 
 were slain, yet the loss was most severely 
 felt by the French, whose numbers v%'ere 
 inferior. 
 In the month of March, the F^nglish fleet,
 
 Chap. XXX VII] LIFE OF jNAPOLEOxX BUOiNAPARTE. 
 
 339 
 
 under Lord Keith, appeared, as we have 
 already hinted, before Genoa, and com- 
 menced a blockade, which strictly prevent- 
 ed access to the port to all vessels loaded 
 with provisions, or other necessaries, for 
 the besieged city. 
 
 On the Cth of April, Melas, by a grand 
 movement, took Vado, and intersected the 
 French line. Suchet, who commanded 
 Massena's left wing, was cut off from that 
 general, and thrown back on France. 
 Marches, manoeuvres, and bloody combats, 
 followed each other in close detail ; but 
 the French, though obtaining advantages in 
 several of the actions, could never succeed 
 in restoring the communication between 
 Suchet and Massena. Finally, while the 
 former retreated towards France, and took 
 up a line on Borghetta, the latter was com- 
 pelled to convert his army into a garrison, 
 and to shut himself up in Genoa, or at least 
 encamp in a position close under its ram- 
 parts. Melas, in the meantime, approached 
 the city more closely, when Massena, in a 
 desperate sally, drove the Austrians from 
 their advanced posts, forced them to retreat, 
 made prisoners twelve hundred men, and 
 carried off some warlike trophies. But the 
 French were exhausted by their very suc- 
 cess, and obliged to remain within, or un- 
 der the walls of the city, where the ap- 
 proach of famine began to be felt. Men 
 were already compelled to have recourse 
 to the flesh of horses, dogs, and other un- 
 clean animals, and it was seen that the 
 place must soon be necessarily obliged to 
 •surrender. 
 
 Satisfied with the approaching fall of Ge- 
 noa, Melas, in the beginning of May, left 
 the prosecution of the blockade to General 
 Ott, and moved himself against Suchet, 
 whom he drove before him in disorder, and 
 who, overborne by numbers, retreated to- 
 wards the French frontier. On the Uth of 
 May, Melas entered Nice, and thus com- 
 menced the purposed invasion of the French 
 frontier. On the 14-th, the .\ustrians again 
 attacked Suchet, who now had concentrated 
 Ills forces upon the Var, in hopes to protect 
 the French territory. Finding this a more 
 dilficult task than he expected, Melas 
 ne.Tt prepared to pass the Var higher up, 
 und tirns to turn the position occupied by 
 Suchet. 
 
 But on the 21st, the Austrian veteran re- 
 ceived intelligence which put a stop to all 
 his operations against Suchet, and recalled 
 him to Italy to face a much more formida- 
 ble antagonist. Tidings arrived that the 
 First Consul of France had crossed St. Ber- 
 nard, had extricated himself from the val- 
 ley of Aosta, and was threatening to over- 
 run Piedmont and the Milanese territory. 
 'riif>se tidin js were as unexpected as embar- 
 rassing. The artillery, the equipage, the 
 provisions of Melas, together with his com- 
 munications with Italy, were all at the 
 mcrc" of this unexpected invader, who, 
 thoui^li his force was not accurately known, 
 must iiavo brou<;]it with him an army more 
 than adequate to destroy the troops left to 
 puard the frontier; who, besides, were ne- 
 cessarily divided, and exposed to be beaten 
 
 in detail. Yet, if Melas marched back 
 into Piedmont against Buonaparte, he must 
 abandon the attack upon Suchet, and 
 raise tlie blockade of Genoa, when that 
 important city was just on the eve of sur- 
 render. 
 
 Persevering in the belief that the French 
 army of reserve could not exceed twenty 
 thousand men, or thereabouts, in number, 
 and supposing that the principal, if not the 
 sole object of the First Consul's daring ir- 
 ruption, was to raise the siege of Genoa, 
 and disconcert the invasion of Provence, 
 Melas resolved on marching himself against 
 Buonaparte with such forces, as, united 
 with those he had left in Italy, might be of 
 power to face the French army, according 
 to his computation of its probable strength. 
 At the same time, he determined to leave 
 before Genoa, an army sufficient to insure 
 its fall, and a corps of observation in front 
 of Suchet, by means of which he might ea- 
 sily resume his plans against that general, 
 so soon as the Chief Consul should be de- 
 feated or driven back. 
 
 The corps of observation already men- 
 tioned was under the command of General 
 Ellsnitz, strongly posted upon the Roye, 
 and secured by entrenchments. It served 
 at once to watch Suchet, and to cover the 
 siege of Genoa from any attempts to re- 
 lieve the city, which might be made in the 
 direction of France. 
 
 Massena, in the meantime, no sooner 
 perceived the besieging army weakened by 
 the departure of Melas, than he conceived 
 the daring plan of a general attack on the 
 forces of Ott, who was lef\ to carry on the 
 siege. The attempt was unfortunate. The 
 French were defeated, and Soult, who )iad 
 joined Massena, was wounded and made a 
 prisoner. Yet Genoa still held out. An 
 officer had found his way into the place, 
 brought intelligence of Buonaparte's de- 
 scent upon Piedmont, and inspired all v.-ith 
 a new spirit of resistance. Still, however, 
 extreme want prevailed in the city, and the 
 hope of deliverance seemed distant. The 
 soldiers received little food, the inhabitants 
 less, the Austrian prisoners, of whom they 
 had about 8000 in Genoa, almost none.* .\t 
 length, the situation of things seemed des- 
 perate. The numerous population ofGe 
 noa rose in the extremity of^ their despair, 
 and called for a surrender. Buonaparte, 
 they said, was not wont to march so slow- 
 ly ; he would have been before the walla 
 sooner, if he was to appear at all ; he mutt 
 have been defeated or driven back by the 
 superior force of Melas. They demanded 
 the surrender of the place, therefore, which 
 Massena no longer foutad himself in a con 
 dition to oppose. 
 
 Yet could that brave general have sus- 
 pended this measure a few hours loncer, he 
 would have been spared the necessity of 
 
 * Xapoleon says, that Massena proposed to (•cn- 
 eral Ott to send in provisions to feed tliese unha)>- 
 py men, pledging his honour they should Ixj used 
 to no other purpose, and that General Ott was dis- 
 pleased with Lord Keith lor declining to comply 
 with a. proposal so utterly unknown in the ustigci 
 of war. It is difficult to give credit to this storj.
 
 :;40 
 
 LIFE OF NAFOLCON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX Vli 
 
 making it ^t all. General Ott had just re- 
 ceived commands from Melas to raise the 
 blockade with all despatch, and to fall back 
 upon the I'o, in order to withstand Buona- 
 parte, who, in unexpected strength, was 
 marching upon Milan. The Austrian statT- 
 officer, who brought the order, had just re- 
 ceived his audience of General Ott, when 
 General .\ndrieux, presenting himself on 
 the part of Massena, announced the French 
 general's desire to surrender the place, if 
 his troops were permitted to march out 
 with their arms. There was no time to de- 
 bate upon terms ; and those granted to Mas- 
 sena by Melas were so unusually favourable, 
 that perhaps they should have made him 
 aware of the precarious state of the besieg- 
 ing army. He was permitted to evacuate 
 Genoa without laying down his arms, and 
 the convention was signed 3th June ISOO. 
 r»Ieantime, at this agitating and interesting 
 period, events of still greater importance 
 than those which concerned the fate of the 
 once princely Genoa, were taking place 
 with frightful rapidity. 
 
 Melas, with about one half of his army, 
 had retired from his operations in the Ge- 
 noese territory, and retreated on Turin by the 
 way of Coni, where he fixed his head-quar- 
 ters, expecting that Buonaparte would either 
 advance to possess himself of the capital 
 of Piedmont, or that he would make an ef- 
 fort to relieve Genoa. In the first instance, 
 Melas deemed himself strong enough to 
 receive the First Consul ; in the second, to 
 pursue him ; and in either, to assemble such 
 numerous forces as might harass and em- 
 barrass either his advance or his retreat. 
 But Buonaparte's plan of the campaign was 
 different from what Melas had anticipated. 
 He had formed the resolution to pass the 
 rivers Sesia and Tesino, and thus leaving 
 Turin and Melas behind him, to push 
 straight for Milan, and form a junction with 
 the division of about 20,000 men, detached 
 from the right wing of Moreau's army, 
 which, commanded by Moncey, were on 
 their road to join him, having crossed the 
 mountains by the route of St. Gothard. It 
 was necessary, however, to disguise his 
 purpose from the sagacious veteran. 
 
 With this view, ere Buonaparte broke up 
 from Ivrea, Lannes, who had commanded 
 his vanguard with so much gallantry, victo- 
 rious at Romano, seemed about to improve 
 hia advantage. He had marched on Chia- 
 vaso, and seizing on a number of boats and 
 small vessels, appeared desirous to con- 
 struct a bridge over the Po at that place. 
 This attracted the attention of Melas. It 
 might be equally a preliminary to an attack 
 on Turin, or a movement towards Genoa. 
 But as the Austrian General was at the 
 same time alarmed by the descent of Gen- 
 eral Tureau's division from Mount Cenis, 
 and their capture of Susa and La Brunnota, 
 Turin seemed ascertained to be the object 
 of the French ; and Melas acted on this 
 idea. He sent a strong force to oppose the 
 establishment of the bridge, and while his 
 Aitcniion was thus occupied, Buonaparte 
 was left to take the road to Milan unmolest- 
 ■ed Vercelli was occupied by the cavalry 
 
 under Murat, and the Sesia was crossed 
 without obstacle. The Tesino, a broad and 
 rapid river, offered more serious opposi- 
 tion ; but the French found four or five small 
 boats, in which they pushed across an ad- 
 vanced party under General Gerard. The 
 Austrians, who opposed the passage, were 
 in a great measure cavalry, who could not 
 act on account of the woody and impractica- 
 ble character of the bank of the river. The 
 passage was accomplished j and, upon the 
 second of June, Buonaparte entered Milan, 
 where he was received with acclamations 
 by a numerous class of citizens, who looked 
 for the re-establishment of the Cisalpine 
 Republic. The Austrians were totally un- 
 prepared for this movement. Pavia fell in- 
 to the hands of the French ; Lodi and Cre- 
 mona were occupied, and Pizzighitone was 
 invested. 
 
 Meantime, Buonaparte, fixing his resi- 
 dence in the ducal palace of Milan, em- 
 ployed himself in receiving the deputations 
 of various public bodies, and in re-organiz- 
 ing the Cisalpine government, while he 
 waited impatiently to be joined by Moncey 
 and his division, from Mount St. Gothard. 
 They arrived at length, but marching more 
 slowly than accorded with the fiery promp- 
 titude of the First Consul, who was impa- 
 tient to relieve the blockade of Genoa, 
 which place he concluded still held out 
 He now issued a proclamation to his troops, 
 in which he described, as the result of the 
 efforts he expected from them, " Cloudless 
 glory and solid peace," On the 9th of Juno 
 his armies were again in motion. 
 
 Melas, an excellent officer, had at the 
 same time some of the slowness imputed to 
 his countrymen, or of the irresolution inci- 
 dent to the advanced age of eighty years, — 
 for so old was the opponent of Buonaparte, 
 then in the very prime of human life, — or, 
 as others suspect, it may have been orders 
 from Vienna which detained the Austrian 
 general so long at Turin, where he lay in a 
 great measure inactive. It is true, that on 
 receiving notice of Buonaparte's march on 
 Milan, he instantly despatched orders to 
 General Ott, as we have already stated, to 
 raise the siege of Genoa, and join him with 
 all possible speed; but it seemed, that, in 
 the meantime, he might have disquieted 
 Buonaparte's lines of communication, by 
 acting upon the river Dorea, attacking 
 Ivrea, in which the French had left much 
 baggage and artillery, and relieving the fort 
 of Bard. Accordingly, he made an attempt 
 of this kind, by detaching 6000 men to Chi- 
 avaso, who were successful in delivering 
 some Austrian prisoners at that place ; but 
 Ivrea proved strong enough to resist them, 
 and the French retaining possession of that 
 place, the Austrians could not occupy the 
 valley of the Dorea, or relieve the besieged 
 fortress of Bard. 
 
 The situation of Melas now became crit- 
 ical. His communications with the left, or 
 north bank of the Po, were entirely cut off, 
 and by a line stretching from Fort Bard to 
 Placentia, the French occupied the best 
 and fairest share of the north of Italy, while 
 he found himself confined to Piedmont
 
 Chap. XXX VII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 341 
 
 The Austrian army, besides, was divided 
 into two parts, — one under Ott, which was 
 still near Genoa, that had so lately surren- 
 dered to them, — one with Melas him- 
 self, which was at Turin. Neither were 
 agreeably situated. That of Genoa was 
 observed on its right by Suchet, whose 
 army, reinforced with the garrison which, 
 retaining their arms, evacuated that city 
 under Massena, might soon be expect- 
 ed to renew the offensive. There was, 
 therefore, the greatest risk, that Buonaparte, 
 pushing a strong force across the Po, might 
 attack and destroy either the division of 
 Ott, or that of Melas himself, before they 
 were able to form a junction. To prevent 
 such a catastrophe, Ott received orders to 
 march forward on the Tesino, while Melas, 
 moving towards Alexandria, prepared to re- 
 sume his communications with his lieuten- 
 ant-general. 
 
 Buonaparte, on his part, was anxious to 
 xelieve Genoa ; news of the fall of which had 
 not reached him. With this view he re- 
 solved to force his passage over the Po, and 
 move against the Austrians, who were found 
 to occupy in strength the villages of Casteg- 
 gio and Montebello. These troops proved 
 to be the greater part of the very army 
 which he expected to find before Genoa, 
 and which was commanded by Ott, but 
 which had moved westward, in conformity 
 to the orders of Melas. 
 
 General Lannes, who led the vanguard of 
 the French, as usual, was attacked early in 
 the morning by a superior force, which he had 
 much difficulty in resisting, the nature of the 
 ground gave advantage to the Austrian cav- 
 alry, and the French were barely able to 
 support their charges. At length the divis- 
 ion of Victor came up to support Lannes, 
 and the victory became no longer doubtful, 
 though the Austrians fought most obstin- 
 ately. The fields being covered with tall 
 crops of grain, and especially of rye, the 
 difierent bodies were frequently hid until 
 they found themselves at the bayonet's 
 point, without having had any previous op- 
 portunity to estimate each other's force, a 
 circumstance which led to much close 
 fighting, and necessarily to much slaughter. 
 At length the Austrians retreated, leaving 
 the field of battle covered with their dead, 
 and above 5000 prisoners in the hands of 
 their enemies. 
 
 General Ott rallied the remains of his ar- 
 my under the walls of Tortona. From the 
 prisoners taken at the battle of Montebello, 
 as this action was called, Buonaparte learn- 
 ed, for the first time, the surrender of Ge- 
 noa, which apprised him that he was too 
 late for the enterprise which he had medi- 
 tated. He therefore halted his army for 
 three days in the position of Stradella, un- 
 willing to advance into the open plain of 
 Marengo, and trusting that Melas would 
 find himself compelled to give him battle 
 in the position which he had chosen, as 
 most unfavourable to the Austrian cavalry. 
 He despatched messengers to Suchet, com- 
 manding him to cross the mountains by the 
 Col de Cadibona, and march on the river 
 
 Scrivia, which would place him in the rear 
 of the Austrians. 
 
 Even during the very battle of the 11th, 
 the Chief Consul was joined by Dessaiz, 
 who had just arrived from Egypt. Landed 
 at Frejus, after an hundred interruptions, 
 that seemed as if intended to withhold him 
 from the fate he was about to meet, he had 
 received letters from Buonaparte, inviting 
 him to come to him without delay. The 
 tone of the letters expressed discontent 
 and embarrassment. " He has gained all," 
 said Dessaix, who was much attached to 
 Buonaparte, " and yet he is not happy. 
 Immediately afterwards, on reading the ac- 
 count of his march over St. Bernard, he ad- 
 ded, " He will leave us nothing to do." He 
 immediately set out post to place himself 
 under the command of his ancient general, 
 and, as it eventually proved, to encounter 
 an early death. They had an interesting 
 conversation on the subject of Egypt, to 
 which Buonaparte continued to cling, as to 
 a matter in which his own fame was i/iti- 
 mately and inseparably concerned. Des- 
 saix immediately received the command of 
 the division hitherto under that of Boudet. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the head-quarters of 
 Melas had been removed from Turin, and 
 fixed at Alexandria for the space of two 
 days ; yet he did not, as Buonaparte had ex- 
 pected, attempt to move forward on the 
 PVench position at Stradella, in order to 
 force his way to Mantua ; so that the First 
 Consul was obliged to advance towards Al- 
 exandria, apprehensive lest the Austrians 
 should escape from him, and either, by 
 a march to the left flank, move for the Te- 
 sino, cross that river, and, by seizing Milan, 
 open a communication with Austria in that 
 direction ; or by marching to the right, and 
 falling back on Genoa, overwhelm Suchet, 
 and take a. position, the right of which 
 might be covered by that city, while the 
 sea was open for supplies and provisions, 
 and their flank protected by the British 
 squadron. 
 
 Either of these movements might have 
 been attended with alarming consequences ; 
 and Napoleon, impatient lest his enemy 
 should give him the slip, advanced his head- 
 quarters on the 12th to Voghera, and on 
 the 13th to St. Juliano, in the midst of the 
 great plain of Marengo. As he still saw 
 nothing of the enemy, the Chief Consul 
 concluded that Melas had actually retreat- 
 ed from Alexandria, having, notwithstand- 
 ing the temptation aff"orded by the level 
 ground around him, preferred withdrawing, 
 most probably to Genoa, to the hazard of 
 a battle. He was still more confirmed in 
 this belief, when, pushing forward as far as 
 the village of Marengo, he found it only 
 occupied by an Austrian rear-guard, which 
 offered no persevering defence against the 
 French, but retreated from the village with- 
 out much opposition. The Chief Consul 
 could no longer doubt that Melas had elu- 
 ded him, by marching off by one of hi« 
 flanks, and probably by his right. He gave 
 orders to Dessaix, whom he had intrusted 
 with the command of the reserve, to march
 
 342 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chaj,. XXXVII. 
 
 towards Rivolta, with a view to observe the i Italy, but it was impossible to guess how 
 rituons wUh Genoa; and i.th.s ^yerore ..per tant con^ 
 
 manner the reserve was removed half 
 day's march from the rest of the army, 
 which had like to have produced most sin- 
 ister effects upon the event of the great 
 battle that followed. 
 
 Contrary to what Buonaparte had antici- 
 pated, the Austrian general, finding the 
 First Consul in his front, and knowing that 
 Suchet was in his rear, had adopted, with 
 the consent of a council of war, the reso- 
 lution of trying the fate of arms in a gen- 
 eral battle. " It was a bold, but not a rash 
 resolution. The Austrians were more nu- 
 merous than the French in infantry and ar- 
 tillery ; much superior in cavalry, both in 
 point of numbers and of discipline ; and it 
 has been already said, that the extensive 
 plain of Marengo was favourable for the 
 use of that description of force. Melas, 
 therefore, on the evening of the Idth, con- 
 centrated his forces in front of Alexandria, 
 divided by the river Bormida from the pur- 
 posed field of fight; and Napoleon, unde- 
 ceived concerning the intentions of his 
 enemy, made with all haste the necessary 
 preparations to receive battle, and failed 
 not to send orders to Dessaix to return as 
 sjieedily as possible and join the array. 
 That general was so far advanced on his 
 way towards Rivolta before these counter 
 orders reached him, that his utmost haste 
 only brought him back after the battle had 
 lasted several hours. 
 
 Buonaparte's disposition was as fol- 
 lows :— The village of Marengo was occu- 
 pied by the divisions of Gardanne and 
 Chambarlhac. Victor, with other two di- 
 visions, and commanding the whole, was 
 prepared to support them. He extended 
 his left as far as Castel Ceriolo, a small vil- 
 lage which lies almost parallel with Ma- 
 rengo. Behind this first line was placed 
 a brigade of cavalry, under Kellermana, 
 ready^to protect the flanks of the line, or to 
 debouche through the intervals, if opportu- 
 nity served, and attack the enemy. About 
 a thousand yards in the rear of the first line 
 was stationed the second, under Lannes, 
 supported by Champeaux's brigade of cav- 
 alry. At the same distance, in the rear of 
 Lannes, was placed a strong reserve, or 
 third line, consisting of the division of Car- 
 ra St. Cyr. and the Consular Guard, at the 
 head of whom was Buonaparte himself. 
 Thus the French were drawn up on this 
 memorable day in three distinct divisions, 
 each composed of a corps d'armee, distant 
 about three quarters of a mile in the rear of 
 each other. 
 
 The force which the French had in the 
 field in the commencement of the day, was 
 above twenty thousand men; the reserve, 
 under Dessaix. upon its arrival, might make 
 the whole amount to thirty thousand. The 
 Austrians attacked with nearly forty thou- 
 sand troops. Both armies were in high 
 spirits, determined to fight, and each con- 
 fident in their general— the Austrians in the 
 bravery and experience of Mel;ig,the French 
 in the genius and talents of Buonaparte. 
 
 event of the day might involve. Thus 
 much seemed certain, that the battle must 
 be decisive, and that defeat must prove 
 destruction to the party who should sustain 
 it. Buonapart?, if routed, could hardly 
 have accomplished his retreat upon Milan ; 
 and Melas, if defeated, had Suchet in his 
 rear. The fine plain on which the French 
 were drawn up, seemed lists formed by na- 
 ture for such an encounter, when the fate 
 of kingdoms was at issue. 
 
 Early in the morning the Austrians cross- 
 ed the Bormida, in three columns, by three 
 military bridges, and advanced in the same 
 order. The right and the centre columns, 
 consisting of infantry, were commanded by 
 Generals Haddick and Kaine ; the left, 
 composed entirely of light troops and cav- 
 alry, made a detour round Castel Ceriolo, 
 the' village mentioned as forming the ex- 
 treme right of the French position. About 
 seven in the morning, Haddick attacked 
 Marengo with fury, and Gardanne's divis- 
 ion, after fighting bravely, proved inade- 
 quate to its defence. Victor supported 
 Gardanne. and endeavoured to cover the 
 village by an oblique movement. Melas, 
 who commanded in person the central 
 column of the Austrians, moved to support 
 Haddick ; and by their united efforts, the 
 village of Marengo, after having been once 
 or twice lost and won, was finally carried. 
 
 The broken divisions of Victor and Gar- 
 danne, driven out of Marengo, endeavoured 
 to rally on the second line, commanded 
 by Lannes. This was about nine o'clock. 
 While one Austrian column manoeuvred to 
 turn Lannes's flank, in which they could 
 not succeed, another, with better fortune, 
 broke through the centre of Victor's divis- 
 ion, in a considerable degree disordered 
 them, and thus uncovering Lannes's left 
 wing, compelled him to retreat. He was 
 able to do 'so in tolerably good order; but 
 not so the broken troops of Victor on the 
 left, who fled to the rear in great confusion. 
 The column of Austrian cavalry who had 
 come round Castel Ceriolo, now appeared 
 on the field, and threatened the right of 
 Lannes, which alone remained standing 
 firm. Napoleon detached two battalions of 
 the Consular Guard from the third line, or 
 reserve, which, forming squares behind the 
 right wing of Lannes, supported its resist- 
 ance, and withdrew from it in part the at- 
 tention of the enemy's cavalry. The Chief 
 Consul himself, whose post was distinguish- 
 ed by the furred caps of a guard of two 
 hundred grenadiers, brought up Monnier'a 
 division, which had but now entered the 
 field at tlie moment of extreme need, being 
 the advance of Dessaix' s reserve, returned 
 from their half day's march towards Rivol- 
 ta. These were, with the guards, directed 
 to support Lannes's right wing, and a brig- 
 ade detached from them was thrown into 
 Castel Ceriolo, which now became the 
 point of support on Buonaparte's extreme 
 right, and which the Austrians, somewhat 
 unaccountably, had omitted to occupy in 
 
 in the eenius and talents oi isuonaparie.— uiiai.i.uuii.,auijr, ,.cvu^....^ — >- --- ly 
 The immediate stake was the possession of | force when their left column passed it m
 
 Chap. XXX VII.\ LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 343 
 
 the beginning of the engagement. Buona- 
 parte, meantime, by several desperate 
 charges of cavalry, endeavoured in vain to 
 arrest the progress of the enemy. His 
 lefl wing was put completely to flight ; his 
 centre was in great disorder, and it was 
 only his right wing, whicli, by strong sup- 
 port, had been enabled to stand their 
 ground. 
 
 In these circumstances the day seemed 
 80 entirely against him, that, to prevent his 
 right wing from boiiig overwhelmed, he was 
 compelled to retreat in the face of an ene- 
 my superior in numbers, and particularly in 
 cavalry and artillery It was, liowcver, 
 rather a change of position, than an absolute 
 retreat to the rear. The French right, 
 still resting on Castel Ceriolo, which form- 
 ed the pivot of the manoeuvre, iiad orders 
 to retreat very slowly, the centre faster, the 
 left It ordinary quick time. In this manner 
 the whole line of battle was changed, and 
 instead of extending diagonally across the 
 plain, as when the tight began, the French 
 now occupied an oblong position, the left 
 being withdrawn as far back as St. Juliano, 
 where ii was protected by the advance of 
 Dessaix's troops. This division, being the 
 sole remaining reserve, had now at length 
 arrived on the field, and, by Buonaparte's 
 directions, had taken a strong position in 
 froat of Saint Juliano, on which the Frencli 
 were obliged to retreat, great part of the 
 left wing in the disorder of utter flight, the 
 right wing steadily, and by intervals front- 
 ing the enemy, and sustaining with firmness 
 the attacks made upon them. 
 
 At this time, and when victory seemed 
 within his grasp, the strength of General 
 Melas, eighty years old, and who had been 
 many hours on horseback, failed entirely ; 
 and he was obliged to leave the field, and 
 retire to Alexandria, committing to Gener- 
 al Zich the charge of completing a victory 
 which appeared to be already gained. 
 
 But the position of Dessaix, at St. Julia- 
 no, afforded the First Consul a rallying 
 point, which he now greatly needed. His 
 army of reserve lay formed in two lines in 
 front of the village, their flanks sustained 
 by battalions en potence, formed into close 
 columns of infantry ; on the left was a train 
 of artillery ; on the right, Kellermann, with 
 a large body of French cavalry, which, 
 routed in the beginning of the day, had ral- 
 lied in this place. The ground that Des- 
 saix occupied was where the high road 
 forms a sort of defile, having on the one 
 hand a wood, on the other a thick planta- 
 tion of vines. 
 
 The French soldier understands better 
 perhaps than any other in the world the art 
 of rallying, after having been dispersed. 
 The fugitives of Victor's division, though 
 in extreme disorder, threw themselves into 
 the rear of Dessaix's position, and, covered 
 by his troops, renewed their ranks and their 
 courage. Yet, when Dessaix saw the plain 
 filled with flying soldiers, and beheld Buon- 
 aparte himself in full retreat, he thought all 
 must be lost. They met in the midst of 
 the greatest apparent confusion, and Des- 
 saix said, " The battle is lost — I suppose I 
 
 I can do no more for you than secure your 
 retreat ?" 
 
 " By no means," answered the First Con- 
 sul, " the battle is, I trust, gained — the dis- 
 ordered troops whom you see are my 
 centre and left, whom I will rally in your 
 rear — Push forward your colnnin.'' 
 
 Dessaix, at the head of the ninth light brig- 
 ade, instantly rushed forward and charged the 
 Austrians, wearied with fighting the whole 
 day, and disordered by their liasty pursuit. 
 Tiie moment at which he advanced, so 
 critically favourable for Buonaparte, was 
 fatal to himself. He fell, shot through the 
 head.* But his soldiers continued to at- 
 tack with fury, and Kellermann, at the same 
 time charging the .\ustrian column, pene- 
 trated its ranks, and separated from the rest 
 j six battalions, which, surprised and panio 
 struck, threw down their arms ; Zach, who. 
 in the absence of Melas, commanded in 
 j chief, being at their head, was taken with 
 .hem. The Austrians were now driven 
 back in their turn. Buonaparte galloped 
 along the French line, calling on the sol- 
 diers to advance. " You know," he said, 
 " it is always my practice to sleep on the 
 field of battle." 
 
 The .\ustrians had pursued their success 
 with incautious hurry, and without attend- 
 ing to the due support which one corps 
 ought, in all circumstances, to be prepared 
 to aflord to another. Their left flank was 
 also exposed, by their hasty advance, to 
 Buonaparte's right, which had never lost 
 order. They were, therefore, totally un- 
 prepared to resist this general, furious, and 
 unexpected attack. They .vere forced back 
 at all points, and pursued along the plain, 
 suffering immense loss ; nor were they 
 again able to make a stand until driven 
 back over the Bormida. Their fine caval- 
 ry, instead of being drawn up in squadrons 
 to cover their retreat, fled in disorder, and 
 at full gallop, riding down all that was in 
 their way. The confusion at passing the 
 river was inextricable — large bodies of men 
 were abandoned on the left side, and sur- 
 rendered to the French in the course of the 
 night, or next morning. 
 
 It is evident, in perusing the accounts of 
 this battle, that the victory was wrested 
 out of the hands of the Austrians, after they 
 had become, by the fatigues of the day, toe 
 weary to hold it. Had they sustainea 
 their advance by reserves, their disaster 
 would not have taken place. It seems al- 
 so certain, that the fate of Buonaparte was 
 determined by the arrival of Dessaix at the 
 I moment he did. and that in spite of the 
 i skilful disposition by which the Chief 
 ' Consul w.is enabled to support the attack 
 1 so long, he must have been utterly defeated 
 had Dessaix put less despatch in his coun- 
 
 * The Moniteur put in the mouth of the (lying 
 general a message to Buonaparte, in which he ex- 
 presseii his regret that he had done so little for his- 
 tory, and in that of the Chief Consul an answer, 
 ) lamenting that he had no time to weep for Dessaix 
 : But Buonaparte himself assures us, that Dessaij 
 i was .^hot dead on the spot ; nor is it probalile that 
 the tide of battle, then just upon the act of turiv 
 I iog, left the Consul himself time for set phrases, al 
 i >imcutal ejaculations.
 
 344 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXVII. 
 
 ter-march. Military men have been farther 
 of opinioB, that Melas was guilty of a great 
 error, in not occupying Castel Ceriolo on 
 the advance ; and that the appearances of 
 early victory led the Austrians to be by far 
 too unguarded in their ad/ance on Saint Ju- 
 liano. 
 
 In consequence of a loss whicli seemed 
 in the circumstances altogether irreparable, 
 Melas resolved to save the remains of his 
 army, by entering, upon the 13th June 1800, 
 into a convention, or rather capitulation, 
 by which he agreed, on receiving permis- 
 sion to retire behind Mantua, to yield up 
 Genoa, and all the fortified places which 
 the Austrians possessed in Piedmont, Lom- 
 bardy, and the Legations. Buonaparte the 
 more readily granted these terms, that an 
 English army was in the act of arriving on 
 the coast. His wisdom taught him not to 
 drive a powerful enemy to despair, and to 
 be satisfied with the glory of having regain- 
 ed, in the aflTairs of Montebello and of Ma- 
 rengo, almost all the loss sustained by the 
 French in the disastrous campaign of 179i). 
 Enough had been done to show, that, as the 
 fortunes of France appeared to wane and 
 dwindle after Buonaparte's departure, so 
 they revived with even more than their 
 original brilliancy, as soon as this Child of 
 Destiny had returned to preside over them. 
 An armistice was also agreed upon, which 
 it was supposed might afford time for the 
 conclusion of a victorious peace with Aus- 
 tria; and Buonaparte extended this truce to 
 the armies on the Rhine, as well as those 
 in Italy. 
 
 Two days having been spent in the ar- 
 rangements which the convention with Me- 
 las rendered necessary, Bu'>naparte, on the 
 17th June, returned to I^. 'an, where he 
 again renewed the republican constitution, 
 which had been his original gift to the Cis- 
 alpine Stats. He executed several other 
 acts of authority. Though displeased with 
 Massena for the surrender of Genoa, he did 
 not the less constitute him Commander-in- 
 chief in Italy ; and though doubtful of the 
 
 attrchment of Jourdan, who on the 18th 
 Brumaire, seemed ready to espouse the Re- 
 publican interest, he did not on that ac- 
 count hesitate to name him Minister of the 
 French Republic in Piedmont, which was 
 equivalent to giving him the administration 
 of that province. These conciliatory steps 
 had the effect of making men of the most 
 opposite parties see their own interest in 
 supporting the government of the First 
 Consul. 
 
 The presence of Napoleon was now ea- 
 gerly dosired at Paris. He set out from Mi- 
 lan on the 2-lth .June, and in his passage 
 through Lyons, paused to lay the founda- 
 tion-stone for rebuilding the Place Belle- 
 cour; a splendid square, which had been 
 destroyed by the frantic vengeance of the 
 Jacobins when Lyons was retaken by them 
 from the insurgent party of Girondine and 
 Royalists. Finally, the Chief Consul re- 
 turned to Paris upon the 2d July. He had 
 left it on the 6th of May ; yet in the space 
 of not quite two months, how many hopes 
 had he realized ! All that the most sanguine 
 partizans had ventured to anticipate of his 
 success had been exceeded. It seemed 
 that his mere presence in Italy was of it- 
 self sufficient at once to obliterate the mis- 
 fortunes of a disastrous campaign, and re- 
 store the fruits of his own brilliant victories, 
 which had been lost during his absence. 
 It appeared as if he was the sun of France 
 — when he was hid from her, all was gloom 
 — when he appeared, light and serenity 
 were restored. All the inhabitants, leav- 
 ing their occupations, thronged to the Tu- 
 illeries to obtain a glimpse of the wonder- 
 ful man, who appeared with the laurel of 
 victory in the one hand, and the olive of 
 peace in the other. Shouts of welcome and 
 congratulation resounded from the gardens, 
 the courts, and the quays, by which the 
 palace is surrounded ; high and low illumi- 
 nated their houses ; and there were few 
 Frenchmen, perhaps, that were not for the 
 moment partakers of the general joy.
 
 Ckdp. XXXVII^ LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 345 
 
 CHAP. XXZVIII 
 
 Napoleon offers, and the Atislrian Envoy accepts, a new Treaty — The Emperor re/use* 
 it, unless Englandis included. — Negotiations then attempted with England — They 
 fail, and Austria is encouraged to a renewal of the War. — Reasoning on the Policy 
 of this Coiiclusion. — An Armistice of forty-five Days is followed by the resumption of 
 Hostilities. — Battle of Hohenlinden gained by Moreau on the '3d December \H(X). — 
 Other Battles take place, by which the Austrian Affairs are made desperate, and they 
 agree to a separate Peace. An Armistice takes place, which is followed by the Trea- 
 ty of Luneville. — Convention between France and the United States. — Explanatory 
 Recapittdation. — The Queen of Naples repairs to Petersburgh to intercede with the 
 Emperor Paul — His capricious Character : originally a violent Anti-Gallican, he 
 grows cold and hostile to the Austrians, and attached to the Fame and Character of 
 the Chief Consid— Receives the Queen of Naples with cordiality, and applies in her 
 behalf to Buonaparte — His Envoy received at Paris with the utmost distinction, and 
 the Royal Family of Naples saved for the present, though on severe Conditions. — 
 The Neapolitan General compelled to evacuate the Roman Territories. — Rome restor- 
 ed to the Authority of the Pope. — Napoleon demands of the King of Spain to declare 
 War against Portugal. — Olivenza and Almeida taken. — Buonaparte's conduct to- 
 wards the Peninsular Powers overbearing and peremptory. — The British alone active 
 in opposing the French. — Malta, after a Blockade of two Years, obliged to submit to 
 the English. 
 
 tililies over the whole world ; since in the 
 one case, on breaking off the treaty, hos- 
 tilities can be almost instantly resumed ; 
 on the other, the distance and uncertainty 
 of communication may prevent the war be- 
 ing recommenced for many months ; by 
 which chance of delay, the French, as be- 
 ing inferior at sea, were sure to be ;the 
 gainers. The British statesmen, therefore, 
 proposed some modifications, to prevent 
 the obvious mequality of such armistice. 
 But it was replied on the part of France, 
 that though they would accept of such a 
 modified armistice, if Great Britain would 
 enter into a separate treaty, yet the Chief 
 Consul would not consent to it if Austris. 
 was to be participant of the negotiation. 
 
 Here, therefore, the overtures of peace 
 betwixt France and England were ship- 
 wrecked, and the Austrian Emperor was 
 reduced to the alternative of renewing the 
 war, or entering into a treaty without his 
 allies. He appears to have deemed him- 
 self obliged to prefer the more dangerooB 
 and more honourable course. 
 
 This was a generous resolution on the 
 part of Austria; but by no means politic at 
 the period, when their armies were defeat- 
 ed, their national spirit depressed, and 
 when the French armies had penetrated so 
 far into Germany. Even Pitt himself, upon 
 whose declining health the misfortune 
 made a most unfavourable impression, had 
 considered the defeat of Marengo as a con- 
 clusion to the hopes of success against 
 France for a considerable period. •' Fold 
 up the map," he said, pointing to that of 
 Europe ; " it need not be again opened for 
 j these twenty years." 
 
 I Yet, unwilling to resign the contest, 
 I even while a spark of hope remained, it 
 was resolved upon in the British councils 
 to encourage .\ustria to farther prosecution 
 of the war. Perhaps, in recommending 
 such a measure to her ally, at a period 
 when she had sustained such great losses, 
 and was in the state of dejection to whictk 
 ' they gave rise, Great Britain too much i» 
 
 Napoleon proceeded to manage with 
 great skill and policy the popularity which 
 his success had gained for him. In war it 
 was always his custom, after he had struck 
 some venturous and apparently decisive 
 blow, to offer such conditions as might in- 
 duce the enemy to submit, and separate his 
 interest from that of hi.^ allies. Upon this 
 system of policy he offered the Count de 
 St. Julien, an Austrian envoy, the conditions 
 of a treaty, having for its basis that of Cam- 
 po Formio, which, after the loss of Italy on 
 the fatal field of Marengo, afforded terms 
 much more favourable than the Emperor of 
 Germany was entitled to have e.tpected 
 from the victors. The Austrian envoy ac- 
 cordingly took upon him to subscribe these 
 preliminaries ; but they did not meet the 
 approbation of the Emperor, who placed 
 his honour on observing accurately the en- 
 gagements which he had formed with Eng- 
 land, and who refused to accede to a trea- 
 ty in which she was not included. It was 
 added, however, that Lord Minto, the Brit- 
 ish ambassador at Vienna, had intimated 
 Britain's willingness to be included in a 
 treaty for general pacification. 
 
 This proposal occasioned a communica- 
 tion between France and Britain, through 
 Monsieur Otto, commissioner for the care 
 of French prisoners. The French envoy 
 intimated, that as a preliminary to Britain's 
 entering on the treaty, she must consent to 
 an armistice by sea, and suspend the advan- 
 tages which she received from her naval 
 superiority, in the same manner as the 
 First Consul of Franc(' had dispensed with 
 prosecuting his victories by land. This de- 
 mand would have withdrawn the blockade 
 of the British vessels from the French sea- 
 ports, and allowed the sailing of reinforce- 
 ments to Egypt and Malta, which last im- 
 portant place was on the point of surrender- 
 ing to the English. The British ministers 
 were also sensible that there was, besides, 
 A great difference between a truce betwixt 
 two land armies, stationed in presence of 
 •tch other, and a suspension of naval hos- 
 VOL. i, P 2
 
 346 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXVUl 
 
 sembled an eager and over-zealous second, 
 who urges his principal to continue a com- 
 bat after his strength is exhausted. Aus- 
 tria, a great and powerful nation, if left to 
 repose, would have in time recruited her 
 strength, and constituted once again a bal- 
 ance against the power of France on the 
 continent; but if urged to farther exertions 
 in the hour of her extremity, she was like- 
 ly to sustain such farther losses, as might 
 render her comparatively insignificant for a 
 number of years. Such at least is the con- 
 clusion which we, who have the advantage 
 of considering the measure with reference 
 to its consequences, are now enabled to 
 form. At the emergency, things were 
 viewed in a different light. The victories 
 of Suwarrow and of the Archduke Charles 
 were remembered, as well as the recent 
 defeats sustained by France in the year 
 1799, which had greatly tarnished the fame 
 of her arms. The character of Buonaparte 
 was not yet sufficiently estimated. His 
 failure before Acre had made an impression 
 in England, which was not erased by the 
 victory of Marengo ; the extreme prudence 
 which usually tempered his most venturous 
 undertakings was not yet generally known ; 
 and the belief and hope were received, that 
 one who ventured on such new and daring 
 manojuvres as Napoleon employed, was 
 likely to behold them miscarry at length, 
 and thus to fall as rapidly as he had risen. 
 
 Influenced by such motives, it •"as deter- 
 mined in the British cabinet to encourage 
 the Emperor, by a loan of two millions, to 
 place himself and his brother, the Archduke 
 John, in command of the principal army, 
 raise the whole national force of his mighty 
 empire, and at -the head of the numerous 
 forces which he could summon into the 
 field, either command a more equal peace, 
 or try the fortunes of the most desperate 
 war. 
 
 The money was paid, and the Emperor 
 joined the army ; but the negotiations for 
 peace were not broken off. On the contra- 
 ry, they were carried on much on the 
 terms which Saint Julien had subscribed to, 
 with this addition?! and discreditable cir- 
 cumstance, that the First Consul, as a 
 pledge of the Austrian sincerity, required 
 that the three fortified towns of Ingoldstadt, 
 Ulm, and Philipstadt, should be placed tem- 
 porarily in the hands of the French ; a con- 
 dition to which the Austrians were compel- 
 led to submit. But the only advantage pur- 
 chased by this surrender, which greatly 
 exposed the hereditary dominions of Aus- 
 tria, was an armistice of forty-five days, at 
 the end of which hostilities were again re- 
 newed. 
 
 In tne action of Haag, the Archduke 
 John, whose credit in the army almost ri- 
 valled thry. of his brother Charles, obtainnd 
 considerable advantages ; and, encouraged 
 by them, he ventured on the 3d of Decem- 
 ber 1800, two days afterward.s, a great and 
 decisive encounter with Moreiu. This 
 was the occasion on which that genn.rai 
 gained over the Austrians the bloody and 
 most important victory of Hohenlinden, an 
 achievement which did much to keep his 
 
 reputation for military talents abreast with 
 that of the First Consul himself. Moreau 
 pursued his victory, and obtained posses- 
 sion of Salzburg. At tlie same time Auge- 
 reau, at the head of the Gallo-Batavian ar- 
 my, pressed forward into Bohemia ; and 
 Macdonald, passing from the country of 
 the Grisons into the V'alteline, forced a 
 division of his army across the Mincio, 
 and communicated with Massena and the 
 French army in Italy. The Austrian af- 
 fairs seemed utterly desperate. The Arch- 
 duke Charles was again placed at the head 
 of her forces, but they were so totally dis- 
 couraged, that a retreat on all points was 
 the only measure which could be executed. 
 
 Another and a final cessation of arms was 
 now the only resource of the Austrians ; 
 and, in order to obtain it, the Emperor was 
 compelled to agree to make a peace sepa- 
 rate from his allies, Britain, in considera- 
 tion of the extremity to which her ally was 
 reduced, voluntarily relieved him from the 
 engagement by which he was restrained 
 from doing so without her participation. 
 An armistice shortly afterwards took place, 
 and the Austrians being now sufficiently 
 humbled, it was speedily followed by a 
 peace. Joseph Buonaparte, for this pur- 
 pose, met with the Austrian minister. 
 Count Cobentzel, at Luneville, where the 
 negotiations were carried on. 
 
 There were two conditions of the treaty, 
 which were peculiarly galling to the Empe- 
 ror. Buonaparte peremptorily exacted the 
 cession of Tuscany, the hereditary domin- 
 ions of the brother of Francis, which were 
 to be given up to a prince of the House of 
 Parma, while the Archduke was to obtain 
 an indemnity in Germany. The French 
 Consul demanded, with no less pertinacity, 
 that Francis (though not empowered to do 
 so by the Germanic constitution) should 
 confirm the peace, as well in his capacity 
 of Emperor of Germany, as in that of sove- 
 reign of his own hereditary dominions. 
 This demand, from which Buonaparte 
 would on no account depart, involved a 
 point of ijreat difficulty and delicacy. One 
 of the principal clauses of the treaty inclu- 
 ded the cession of the whole territories on 
 the left bank of the Rhine to the French 
 Republic ; thereby depriving not only Aus- 
 tria, but Prussia, and various other princps 
 of the German empire, of their possessions 
 in the districts, which wore now made over 
 to P'rance. It was provided that the Prin- 
 ces who should suffer such deprivations, 
 were to be remunerated by indemnities, as 
 they were termed, to be allotted to them at 
 the expense of the Germanic body in gene- 
 ral. Now, the Emperor had no power to 
 authorize the alienation of these fiefs of the 
 empire, without consent of the Diet, and 
 this was strongly urged by his envoy. 
 
 Buonaparte was, however, determined to 
 make peace on no other terms than those I 
 of the Emperor's giving away what was not 
 his to bestow. Francis was compelled to 
 submit, and, as the necessity of the caao 
 pleaded its apology, the act of the Empe- 
 ror was afterwards ratified by the Diet. Ex- 
 cept in these mortifying claims, the sub-
 
 Chap. XXX VIII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 347 
 
 misBion to which plainly intimated the 
 want of power to resist compulsion, the 
 treaty of Luneville was not much more ad- 
 vantageous to France than that of Campo 
 Formic ; and the moderation of tlie First 
 Consul indicated at once his desire of 
 peace upon the continent, and considera- 
 Dle respect for the bravery and strength of 
 Austria, though enfeebled by such losses as 
 those of Marengo and Hohenlinden. 
 
 We have already noticed the disputes be- 
 tween France and America, and the scan- 
 dalous turn of the negotiations, by which 
 the French Directory attempted to bully or 
 wheedle the United States out of a sum of 
 money, which, in part at least, was to be 
 dedicated to their own private use. Since 
 that time the aggressions committed by the 
 French on the American navy had been so 
 numerous, that the two republics seemed 
 about to go to war, and the United States 
 actually issued letters of marque for mak- 
 ing reprisals en the French. xVew commu- 
 nications and negotiations, however, were 
 opened, which Buonaparte studied to bring 
 to maturity. His brother Joseph acted as 
 negotiator, and on the 30th of September 
 1800, a convention was entered into, to sub- 
 sist for the space of eight years, agreeing 
 on certain modifications of the right of 
 search, declaring that commerce should be 
 free between the countries, and that the 
 captures on either side, excepting such as 
 were contraband, and destined for an ene- 
 my's harbour, should be mutually restored. 
 Thus Buonaparte restored peace between 
 France and the United States, and pre- 
 vented the latter, in all probability, from 
 throwing themselves into a closer union 
 with Britain, to which their common de- 
 •cent, with the similarity of manners, lan- 
 guage, and laws, overcoming the recollec- 
 tion of recent hostilities, might have other- 
 wise strongly inclined them. 
 
 Still more important results were derived 
 by Napoleon, from the address and political 
 sagacity, with whicli, in accommodating 
 matters witii the court of Naples, he con- 
 trived to form what finally became a strong 
 and predominating interest in the councils, 
 and even the affections of a monarch, whose 
 amity was, of all others, the most impor- 
 tant to his plans. The prince alluded to 
 was the Emperor of Russia, who had been, 
 during the preceding year, the most formi- 
 dable and successful enemy encountered 
 by France since her revolution. A short 
 resumption of ficts is necessary, to under- 
 stand the circumstances in which the nego- 
 tiation with Naples originated. 
 
 When Buonaparte departed for F.gypt, 
 ."ill Italy, excepting Tuscany, and the do- 
 minions assigned to Austria bv the trenty 
 of Campo Formio, was in the hands of the 
 French ; while Naples was govcriK'd bv 
 the ephemeral Partlienopean Repuhlic, and 
 the city of the Popes by that which assum- 
 ed the superb title of Roman. Tliese au- 
 thorities, however, were only nomiral ; tlio 
 French generals exercised the real authori- 
 ty in both countries. Suddenly, and as if 
 by magic, the whole state of affairs was 
 •hanged by the military talents of Suwa"" 
 
 row. The Austrians and Russians gained 
 great successes in the north of Italy, and 
 General Macdonald found himself obliged 
 to evacuate Naples, and to concentrate the 
 principal resistance of the French in Lcra- 
 bardy and Piedmont. Cardinal Ruftb. a 
 soldier, churchman, and politician, put him 
 self at the head of a numerous body of in- 
 surgents, and commenced war against such 
 French troops as had been left in the south 
 and in the middle of Italy. This move- 
 ment was actively supported by the British 
 fleet. Lord Nelson recovered Naples ; 
 Rome surrendered to Commodore Trow- 
 bridge. Thus the Parthenopean and Ro- 
 man republics were extinguished for ever. 
 The royal family returned to Naples, and 
 that fine city and country were once more a 
 kingdom, Rome, the capital of the world, 
 was occupied by Neapolitan troops, gener- 
 ally supposed the most indifferent of mod- 
 ern times. 
 
 Replaced in his richest territories by the 
 allies, the King of Naples was bound by 
 every tie to assist them in the campaign of 
 1800, He accordingly sent an army into 
 the March of Ancona, under the command 
 of Count Roger de Damas, who. with the 
 assistance of insurrectionary forces* among 
 the inhabitants, and a body of Austrians, 
 w-.'.s to clear Tuscany of the French, Un- 
 deterred by the battle of Marengo, the 
 Count de Damas marched against the French 
 general Miohis, who commanded in Tusca- 
 ny, and sustained a defeat by him near Si- 
 enna. Retreat became now necessary, the 
 more especially as the armistice which was 
 entered into by General Melas deprived 
 the Neapolitans of any assistance from the 
 .Vustrians, and rendered their whole expe- 
 dition utterly hopeless. They were not 
 even included by name in the armistice, 
 and were thus left exposed to the whole 
 vengeance of the French. Damas retreat- 
 ed into the territories of the Church, which 
 were still occupied by the Neapolitan forc- 
 es. The consequence of these events was 
 easily foreseen. The Neapolitan troops, so 
 soon as the French could find leisure to 
 look towards them, must be either destroy- 
 ed entirely, or driven back upon Naples, 
 and that city must be again forsaken by the 
 royal family, happy if they were once more- 
 able to make their escape to Sicily, as on 
 the former occasion, 
 
 .At this desperate crisis, the Queen of 
 the two Sicilies took a resolution which 
 seemed almost as desperate, and could on- 
 )y have been adopted by a woman of a bold 
 and decisive character. She resolved, not- 
 withstanding the severity of the season, to 
 repair in person to the court of the Empe- 
 ror Paul, and implore his intercession with 
 the First Consul, in behalf of her husband 
 and his territories. 
 
 We have not hitherto mentioned, except 
 rursorilv, tiie powerful prince whose me- 
 diation she implored. The son and succes- 
 
 ' * These were, at this period, easily raised in any 
 part of Italy. The exactions of the French had 
 entirely alienated the affections of the natives, 
 who had long since seen through their pretexts uf 
 flording thetn the benefit of a free goveinnient.
 
 348 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXVm. 
 
 Bor of the celebrated Catherine, far from 
 poeaessing the prudence and political sa- 
 gacity of his mother, seemed rather to dis- 
 play the heady passions and imperfect judg- 
 ment of his unfortunate father. He was 
 capricious in the choice of his objects, pur- 
 suing for the time, with uncommon and ir- 
 regular zeal and pertinacity, projects which 
 he afterwards discarded and abandoned, 
 swelling trifles of dress or behaviour into 
 matters of importance, and neglecting, on 
 the other hand, what was of real conse- 
 quence ;— governed, in short, rather by im- 
 agination than by his reasoning qualities, 
 and sometimes affording room to believe 
 that he actually laboured under a partial 
 aberration of mind. Such characters are 
 often to be met with in private society, the 
 restraints of which keep them within such 
 limits, that they pass through life without 
 attracting much notice, unless when creat- 
 ing a little mirth, or giving rise to some 
 passing wonder. But an absolute prince, 
 possessed of such a disposition, is like a 
 giddy person placed on the verge of a 
 
 Srecipice, which would try the soundest 
 ead, and must overpower a weak one. 
 
 The Emperor had first distinguished him- 
 self by an energetic defence of the rights 
 of sovereigns, and a hatred of whatever 
 belonged to or was connected with the 
 French Revolution, from a political max- 
 im to the shape of a coat or a hat. The 
 brother of Louis XVI., and inheritor of his 
 rights, found a refuge in the Russian do- 
 minions j and Paul, fond, as most princes 
 are, of military glory, promised himself 
 that of restoring the Bourbon dynasty by 
 force of arms. 
 
 The train of victories acquired by Su war- 
 row was well calculated to foster these 
 original partialities of the Emperor ; and, 
 accordingly, while success continued to 
 wait on his banners, he loaded his (general 
 with marks of his regard, elevated him to 
 the rank of a prince, and conferred on him 
 the title of Italinsky, or Italicus. 
 
 The very first and only misfortune which 
 befell Suwarrow, seems to have ruined him 
 in the opinion of his capricious master. 
 The defeat of Korsakow by Massena, near 
 Zurich, had involved Suwarrow in great 
 momentary danger, as he advanced into 
 Switzerland, reckoning on the support of 
 that general, whose disaster left his right 
 uncovered. Now, .although Suwarrow sav- 
 ed his army on this occasion by a retreat, 
 which required talent equal to that which 
 achieved his numerous victories, yet the 
 bare fact of his having received a check, 
 was sufficient to ruin him with his liaughty 
 sovereign. Paul was yet more offended 
 with the conduct of the Austrians. The 
 Archduke Charles having left Switzerland 
 to descend into Germany, had given occa- 
 sion and opportunity for Massena to cross 
 the Limmat and surprise Korsakow ; and 
 this, notwithstanding every explanation and 
 acology, rankled in the mind of the Czar. 
 He recalled his armies from the frontiers 
 af Germany, and treated his veteran and 
 tictorious general with such marka of neg- 
 
 lect and displeasure, that the old man's 
 heart sunk under them. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Paul gathered up far- 
 ther subjects of complaint against the Aus- 
 trian government, and complained of their 
 having neglected to provide for some Rus- 
 sian prisoners, under a capitulation which 
 they made in behalf of their own, at the 
 surrender of Ancona to the French. 
 
 The Austrians could not afford to lose so 
 powerful and efficient an ally in the day of 
 their adversity. They endeavoured to ex- 
 plain, that the movement of the Archduke 
 Charles was inevitably necessary, in conse- 
 quence of an invasion of the Austrian ter- 
 ritory — they laid the blame of the omission 
 of the Russians in the capitulation upon the 
 commandant FroElich, and offered to place 
 him under arrest. The Emperor of Austria 
 even proposed, in despite of the natural 
 pride which is proper to his distinguished 
 House, to place Suwarrow at the head of 
 the Austrian armies, — a proffer which, if it 
 had been accepted, might have given rise 
 to an extraordinary struggle betwixt the ex- 
 perience, determination, and warlike skill 
 of the veteran Scythian, and the formidable 
 talents of Buonaparte, and which perhaps 
 offered the only chance which Europe pos- 
 sessed at the time, of opposing to the latter 
 a rival worthy of himself; for Suwarrow 
 had never yet been conquered, and possess- 
 ed an irresistible influence over the minds 
 of his soldiers. These great generals, how- 
 ever, were not destined ever to decide the 
 fate of the world by their meeting. 
 
 Suwarrow, a Russian in all his feelings^ 
 broke his heart, and died under the unmer- 
 ited displeasure of his Emperor, whom he 
 had served with so much fidelity. If the 
 memory of his unfortunate sovereign were 
 to be judged of according to ordinary rules, 
 his conduct towards his distinguished sub- 
 ject would have left on it an indelible stig- 
 ma. As it is, the event must pass as an- 
 other proof, that the Emperor Paul was not 
 amenable, from the construction of his un- 
 derstanding and temperament, to the ordi- 
 nary rules of censure. 
 
 Meanwhile, the proposals of Austria were 
 in vain. The Czar was not to be brought 
 back to his former sentiments. He was 
 like a spoiled child, who, tired of his fa- 
 vourite toy, seems bent to break asunder 
 and destroy what was lately the dearest ob- 
 ject of his affection. 
 
 When such a character as Paul changes 
 his opinion of his friends, he generally runs 
 into the opposite extreme, and alters also 
 his thoughts of his enemies. Like his fa- 
 ther, and others whose imagination is indif- 
 ferently regulated, the Czar had need of 
 some one of whom to make his idol. The 
 extravagant .admiration which the Emperor 
 Peter felt for Frederick of Prussia, could 
 not well be entertained for any one now 
 alive, unless it were the First Consul of 
 France ; and on him, therefore, Paul was 
 now disposed to turn his eyes with a mix- 
 ture of wonder, and of a wish to imitate 
 what he wondered at. This extravagance 
 of admiration is a passion natural to sooM
 
 Chap. XXXVIIL] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 349 
 
 minds, (never strong ones,) and may be 
 compared to that tendency which others 
 have t9 be in love all their lives, in defiance 
 of advancing age and other obstacles. 
 
 When Paul was beginning to entertain 
 this humour, the arrival of the Queen of 
 Sicily at his court gave him a graceful and 
 even dignified opportunity to approach to- 
 wards a connexion with Napoleon Buona- 
 parte. His pride, too, must have been grat- 
 ified by seeing the daughter of the renown- 
 ed Maria Theresa, the sister of the Empe- 
 ror of Austria, at his court of St. Peters- 
 burgh, soliciting from the Czar of Russia 
 the protection which her brother was total- 
 ly unable to afford her ; and a successful in- 
 terference in her behalf would be a kind of 
 insult to the misfortunes of that brother, 
 against whom, as we have noticed, Paul 
 nourished resentful feelings. He there- 
 fore resolved to open a communication with 
 France, in behalf of the royal family of Na- 
 ples. Lewinshoff, Grand Huntsman of Rus- 
 sia, was despatched to make the overtures 
 of mediation. He was received with the 
 utmost distinction at Paris, and Buonaparte 
 made an instant and graceful concession to 
 the request of the Emperor Paul. The First 
 Consul agreed to suspend his military opera- 
 tions against Naples, and to leave the royal 
 family in possession of their sovereignty ; 
 reserving to himself, however, the right of 
 dictating the terms under which he was to 
 grant them such an amnesty. 
 
 It was time that some effectual interposi- 
 tion should take place in defence of the 
 King of Naples, who, though he had around 
 him a nation individually brave and enthu- 
 siastic, was so ill-served, that his regular 
 army was in the worst and most imperfect 
 state of discipline. Murat, to whom Buon- 
 aparte had committed the task of executing 
 his vengeance on Naples, had already cross- 
 ed the Alps, and placed himself at the head 
 of an .army often thousand chosen men; a 
 force then judged sufficient not only to drive 
 the Neapolitian general Damas out of the 
 Ecclesiastical States, but to pursue him as 
 far as Naples, and occupy that beautiful cap- 
 ital of a prince , whose regular army con- 
 sisted of more than thirty thousand soldiers, 
 and whose irregular forces might have been 
 increased to any number by the mountain- 
 eers of Calabria, who form excellent light 
 troops, and by the numerous Lazzai'oni of 
 Naples, who had displayed their valour 
 acaiost Championet, upon the first invasion 
 of the French. But the zeal of a nation ' 
 avails little when the spirit of the govern- 
 ment bears no proportion to it. The gov- 
 ernment of Naples dreaded the approach of 
 Murat as that of the Angel of Death ; and 
 they received the news that Lewinshoff had 
 joined the French general at Florence, as a 
 condemned criminal might have heard the 
 news of a reprieve. The Russian envoy 
 was received with distinguished honours at 
 Florence. Murat appeared at the theatre 
 with Lewinshoff, where the Jtalians, who 
 had so lately seen the Russia'n and French 
 banners placed in bloody opposition to each 
 other, now beheld them formally united in 
 jireaeQce of Uiese dignitaries ; in sign, it 
 
 was said, that the two nations were com- 
 bined for the peace of the world and gener- 
 al benefit of humanity. Untimely augury ! 
 How often after that period did these stand- 
 ards meet in the bloodiest fields history 
 ever recorded ; and what a long and despe- 
 rate struggle was yet in reserve ere the gen- 
 eral peace so boldly predicted was at length 
 restored ! 
 
 The respect paid by the First Consul to 
 the wishes of Paul, saved for the present 
 the royal family of Naples ; but Murat, nev- 
 ertheless, made them experience a full por- 
 tion of the bitter cup which the vanquished 
 are generally doomed to swallow. General 
 Damas was commanded in the haughtiest 
 terms to evacuate the Roman States, and 
 not to presume to claim any benefit from 
 the armistice which had been extended to 
 the Austrians. At the same time, while 
 the Neapolitans were thus compelled hasti- 
 ly to evacuate the Roman territories, gen- 
 eral surprise was exhibited, when, instead 
 of marching to Rome, and re-establishing 
 the authority of the Roman Republic, Mu- 
 rat, according to the orders which he had 
 received from the First Consul, carefully 
 respected the territory of the Church, and 
 reinstalled the officers of the Pope in what 
 had been long termed the patrimony of St. 
 Peter's. This unexpected turn of circum- 
 stances originated in high policy on the 
 part of Buonaparte. 
 
 We certainly do Napoleon no injustice in 
 supposing, that personally he had little or 
 no influential sense of religion. Some ob- 
 scure yet rooted doctrines of fatality, seem, 
 so far as we can judge, to have formed the 
 extent of his metaphysical creed. We can 
 scarce term him even a deist; and he was 
 an absolute stranger to every modificatioa 
 of Christian belief and worship. But he 
 saw and valued the use of a uational reli- 
 gion as an engine of state policy. In Egypt 
 he was desirous ofbeing thought an envoy of 
 Heaven ; and though uncircumcised, drink- 
 ing wine and eating pork, still claimed to be 
 accounted a follower of the laws of the Pro- 
 phet. He had pathetically expostulated with 
 the Turks on their hostility towards him. 
 The French, he said, had ceased to be follow- 
 ers of Jesus ; and now that they were almost, 
 if not altogether, Moslemah, would the 
 true believers make war on those who had 
 overthrown the cross, dethroned the Pope, 
 and extirpated the order of Malta, the sworn 
 persecutors of the Moslem faith ? On hia 
 return to France, all this was to be forgot- 
 ten, or only remembered as a trick played 
 upon the infidels. He was, as we have said, 
 aware of the necessity of a national faith 
 to support the civil government ; and as, 
 while in Egypt, he affected to have destroy- 
 ed the Catholic religion in honour of that 
 of Mahommed, so, returned to Europe, be 
 was now desirous to become the restorer 
 of the temporal territories of the Pope, in 
 order to obtain such a settlement of church 
 affairs in France, as mi^jht procure for hia 
 own government the countenance of tha 
 Sovereign Pontiff, and for himself an admis- 
 sion into the pale of Christian prince*. 
 This restitution was in some measure coa
 
 350 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXX VIH. 
 
 eistent with his policy in 1798, when he had 
 spared the temporalities of the Holy See. 
 Totally indifferent as Napoleon was to re- 
 ligion in his personal capacity, his whole 
 conduct shows his sense of its importance 
 to the existence of a settled and peaceful 
 state of society. 
 
 Besides evacuating the Ecclesiastical 
 States, the Neapolitans were compelled by 
 Murat to restore various paintings, statues, 
 and other objects of art, which they had, in 
 imitation of Buonaparte, taken forcibly from 
 the Romans, — so captivating is the influ- 
 ence of bad example. A French army <if 
 about eighteen thousand men was to be 
 quartered in Calabria, less for the purpose 
 of enforcing the conditions of peace, than 
 to save France the expense of supporting 
 the troops, and to have them stationed 
 •where they might be embarked for Egypt 
 at the shortest notice. The harbours of the 
 Neapolitan dominions were of course to be 
 closed against the English. A cession of 
 part of the isle of Elba, and the relinquish- 
 ment of all pretensions upon Tuscany, sum- 
 med up the sacrifices of ihe King of Naples, 
 who, considering how often he had braved 
 Napoleon, had great reason to thauk tlie 
 Emperor of Russia for his effectual media- 
 tion in his favour. 
 
 These various measures respecting for- 
 eign relations, the treaty of Luneville, the 
 acquisition of the good-will of the Empe- 
 ror Paul, the restoration of Rome to the 
 Pope's authority, and the mildness of the 
 penalty inflicted on the King of Naples, 
 seemed all to spring from asouncl and mod- 
 erate system, the object of which was rath- 
 er the consolidation of Napoleon's govern- 
 ment, than any wish to extend its influence 
 or its conquests. His plans, in after times, 
 often exhibited a mixture of the greatest 
 good sense and prudence, with rash and 
 splenetic explosions of an over-eager ambi- 
 tion, or a temper irritated by opposition ; 
 but it is to be remembered that Buonaparte 
 was not yet so firm in the authority which 
 he had but just acquired, as to encourage 
 any display of the infirmities of his mind 
 and temper. 
 
 His behaviour towards Portugal was, 
 however, of a character deviating from the 
 moderation he had in general displayed. 
 Portugal, the ancient and faithful ally of 
 England, was on that account the especial 
 object of the First Consul's displeasure. 
 He, therefore, demanded of the King of 
 Spain, who, since the peace between the 
 countries, hud been the submissive vassal 
 of France, to declare war on the Prince 
 Regent of Portugal, although the husband 
 of his daughter. War accordingly was de- 
 clared, in obedience to the mandate of the 
 First Consul, and the Spanish armies, to- 
 gether with an auxiliary army of French 
 under Leclerc, entered Portugal, took Oli- 
 venza and Almeida, and compelled the 
 Prince Regent, 6th of June, 1801, to sign a 
 treaty, engaging to shut his ports against 
 the English, and surrendering to Spain, Oli- 
 venza, and other places on the frontier of 
 the Guadiana. Buonaparte was highly dis- 
 contented with this treaty, to which he 
 
 would not accede ; and he refused, at the 
 same time, to withdraw from Spain the ar- 
 my of Leclerc. On the 29th September, 
 lie condescended to grant Portugal peace 
 under some additional terms, which were 
 not in themselves of much consequence, 
 although the overbearing and peremptory 
 conduct which he exhibited towards the 
 peninsular powers, was a sign of the dicta- 
 torial spirit which he was prepared to as- 
 sume in the affairs of Europe. 
 
 The same disposition was manifested in 
 the mode by which Buonaparte was pleased 
 to show his sense of the King of Spain's 
 complaisance. He chose for that purpose 
 to create a kingdom and a king — a king, too. 
 of the house of Bourbon. An Infant oi 
 Spain obtained the throne of Tuscany, un- 
 der the name of Etruria, rent from the house 
 of Austria. Madame de Stael terms this 
 the commencement of the great masquerade 
 of Europe ; but it was more properly the 
 second act. The stage, during the first, was 
 occupied by a quadrille of republics who 
 were now to be replaced by an anti-mask 
 of kings. This display of power pleased 
 the national vanity, and an uproar of ap- 
 plause ensued, while the audience at the 
 theatre applied to Buonaparte the well- 
 known line — 
 
 " J'ai fait dcs rois, madame, et n'ai pas vou)« 
 
 I'etre." 
 
 While all the continent appeared thus 
 v.'illing to submit to one so ready to avail 
 himself of their subjectioi, Britain alone 
 remained at war ; without allies, %vithout, it 
 might seem, a direct object ; yet on the 
 grand and unalterable principle, that no 
 partial distress should induce her to submit 
 to the system of degradation, which seem- 
 ed preparing for all nations under the yoke 
 of France, and which had placed France 
 herself, with all her affected zeal for liber- 
 ty, under the government of an arbitrary 
 ruler. On every point the English squad- 
 rons annihilated the commerce of France, 
 crippled her revenues, blockaded her ports, 
 and prevented those combinations which 
 would have crowned the total conquest of 
 Europe, could the Master, as he might now 
 be called, of the Jjand, have enjoyed at the 
 same time, the facilities which can only be 
 afforded by communication by sea. 
 
 It was in vain that Buonaparte, who, be- 
 sides his natural hardiness of perseverance, 
 connected a part of his own glory with the 
 preservation of Egypt, endeavoured by va- 
 rious means to send supplies to that distant 
 province. His convoys were driven back 
 into harbour by the English fleets ; and he 
 directed against his admirals, who could 
 not achieve impossibilities, the unavailing 
 resentment natural to one whp was so little 
 accustomed to disappointment,' 
 
 T!ie chance of relieving Egypt was ren- 
 dered yet more precarious by the loss of 
 Malta, whichjfcafter a distressing blockade 
 of two years, was obliged to submit to the 
 English arms on the 5th of September J 800. 
 The English were thus in possession of a 
 strong, and almost impregnable citadel, i«.
 
 Chap. XXXIX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 351 
 
 the midat of the Mediterranean, with an 
 excellent harbour, and everything required 
 for a naval station of the first importance ; 
 above all, they had obtained the very spot 
 which Buonaparte had fixed upon for 
 maintaining the communication with Egypt, 
 which was now in greater danger than 
 ever. 
 
 The capture of Malta was, however, by 
 its consequences, favourable to Napoleon's 
 views in one important respect. The Em- 
 peror Paul imagined he had rights upon that 
 island, iu consequence of his having declar- 
 
 ed himself Grand Master of the Order of 
 Saint John ; and although, by his deserting 
 the coalition, and abandoning the common 
 cause, he had lost all right to expect that 
 Great Britain should surrender to him an 
 important acquisition made by her own 
 arms, yet, with his usual intemperate in- 
 dulgence of passion, he conceived himself 
 deeply injured by its being withheld, and 
 nourished from that time an implacable re- 
 sentment against England and her govern- 
 ment, the effects of which are afterwards to 
 be traced. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX. 
 
 Internal Government of France. — General attachment to the Chief Consul, though the 
 two Factions of Republicans and Royalists are hostile to him. — Plot of the former to 
 remove him by Assassination — Defeated. — Vain hopes of the Royalists, that Napole- 
 on would be the instrument of restoring the Bourbons — Applications to him for that 
 effect disappointed — Royalists methodize the Plot of the Infernal Machine — Descrip- 
 tion of it — It fails. — Suspicion first falls on the Republicans, and a decree of trans- 
 portation is passed against a great number of their Chiefs — but is not carried into ex- 
 ecution. — The actual Conspirators tried and executed. — Use made by Buonuparte of 
 the Conspiracy to consolidate Despotism. — Various Measures devised for that purpose. 
 — System of the Police. — Fouclie — His Skill, Influence, and Power. — Napoleon be- 
 comes jealous of him, and organizes measures of precaution against him. — Apprehen- 
 sion entertained by the Chief Consul of the effects of Literature, and his efforts against 
 it. — Persecution of Madame de Stael. — The Concordat — Various Views taken of 
 that Pleasure. — Plan for a general System of Jurisprudence. — Amnesty granted to the 
 Emigrants. — Plans of Public Education. — Other Plans of Improvement. — Hopes of 
 a General Peace. 
 
 We return to the internal government of 
 France under the Chief Consul. 
 
 The events subsequent to the revolution 
 of the 18th Brumaire, seemed to work a 
 miraculous change on the French nation. 
 The superior talents of Napoleon, with the 
 policy exercised by Talleyrand and Fouche, 
 and the other statesmen of ability whom he 
 had called into administration, and who de- 
 sired at all events to put an end to further 
 revolutionary movements — but, above all, 
 the victory of Marengo, had at once creat- 
 ed and attached to the person of the Chief 
 Consul an immense party, which might be 
 said to comprehend all those, who, being 
 neither decided Royalists nor determined 
 Republicans, were indifferent about the 
 form of the government, so they found ease 
 and protection while living under it. 
 
 But, on the other hand, the heads of the 
 two factions continued to exist; and as the 
 power of the First Consul became at once 
 more absolute and more consolidated, it 
 1,'rew doubly hateful and formidable to them. 
 His political existence was a total obstruc- 
 tion to the system, of both parties, and yet 
 one which it was impossible to remove. 
 Tlieire was no national council left, in 
 which the authority of the First Consul 
 could be disputed, or his measures im- 
 peached. The strength of his military 
 power bid defiance alike to popular commo- 
 tions, if the Democrats had yet possessed 
 the means of exerting them, and to the 
 scattered bands of the Royalist insurgents. 
 What chance remained for ridding tlieni- 
 aelves of the autocrat, in whom the Ro- 
 publicani saw a dictator, the Royalists an 
 
 usurper ? None, save that, being mortal. Na- 
 poleon was subject to be taken off by assas- 
 sination. 
 
 The Democrats were naturally the first 
 to meditate an enterprise of this nature. 
 The right of taking off a tyrant was, accord- 
 ing to their creed, as proper to any private 
 citizen as to those who opposed him armed 
 in the field. The act of Harmodius and 
 Aristogiton — the noble deed of Brutus and 
 his associates — were consecrated in history, 
 and esteemed so congenial to the nature of 
 a free constitution, that the Convention, oa 
 the motion of Jean de Brie, had at one time 
 determined to raise a legion of assassins 
 armed with poniards, who should devote 
 themselves to the pious task of exterminat- 
 ing all foreign princes, statesmen, and min- 
 isters — in short, all who were accounted the 
 foes of freedom, without pity or distinction. 
 In a party entertaining such principles, 
 there could be no scruple on the score of 
 morality ; and where they ha(| been so late- 
 ly professed by thousands, it seemed natu- 
 ral that, amid the multitude, they must have 
 made a deep impression on some enthusi- 
 astic and gloomy disposition, which might 
 be easily provoked to act upon them. 
 
 It is no wonder, therefore, that some ob- 
 scure Jacobins should have early nourished 
 th6 purpose of assassinating Napoleon, as 
 the enemy of his country's freedom, and 
 the destroyer of her liberties •, but it is sin- 
 gular, that most of the conspirators against 
 his person were Italians, .\rena, brother 
 of the deputy who was said to have aimed a 
 lia^ger at Buonaparte in the Council of Five 
 Hundred, was at the head of tlie conspira-
 
 352 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIX. 
 
 cy. He was a Corsican. With him, Ce- 
 raschi and Diana, two Italian refugees ; a 
 painter, called Topino Lebrun ; and two or 
 three enthusiasts of low condition, formed 
 a plot for the purpose of assassinating the 
 Chief Consul at the Opera-house. Their 
 intention was detected by the police ; Ce- 
 rascbi and Diana were arrested behind the 
 scenes, armed, it was said, and prepared for 
 the attempt, and Napoleon was congratulat- 
 ed by most of the constituted authorities 
 apon having escaped a great danger. 
 
 Crassous, President of the Tribunate, 
 made a singular speech on the occasion, 
 which would almost bear a double interpre- 
 tation. " There had been so many conspir- 
 acies," he said, " at so many different pe- 
 riods, and under so many different pretexts, 
 which had never been followed up either 
 by inquiry or punishment, that a great num- 
 ber of good citizens had become sceptical 
 on the subject of their existence. This in- 
 credulity was dangerous," he argued ; " it 
 was time it should be ended." With this 
 view. Monsieur Crassous recommended, 
 that the persons guilty on the present oc- 
 casion should be prosecuted and punished 
 with all the solemnity and rigour of the 
 laws. 
 
 Buonaparte replied, with military indiffer- 
 ence, that he had been in no real danger. 
 " The contemptible wretches," he said, in 
 something like a renewal of his R^'yptian 
 vein, " had no power to commit the crime 
 they meditated. Besides the assistance df 
 the whole audience, I had with me a piquet 
 of my brave guard, irom whom the wretch- 
 es could not have borne a look." .So end- 
 ed this singular discourse ; and it is re- 
 markable that neither were the circumstan- 
 ces of the plot made public, nor the con- 
 spirators punished, till the more memorable 
 attempt on Napoleon's life by the Royalists. 
 The Royalists, as a party, had far more 
 interest with Buonaparte than the Demo- 
 crats. The former approved of the princi- 
 ples and form of his government, — it was 
 only necessary for their conversion, that 
 they should learn to endure his person ; 
 whereas the Jacobins being equally averse 
 to the office to which he aspired, to his 
 power, and to himself, there were no hopes 
 of their being brought to tolerate either the 
 monarch or the man. Of the latter, there- 
 fore, Napoleon entertained equal dislike 
 and distrust; while, from obvious causes, 
 his feelings towards the former were in 
 some measure friendly. 
 
 The Royalists, too, for some time enter- 
 tained a good opinion of Buonaparte, and 
 conceived that he intended, in his own 
 time and his own way, to act in behalf of 
 the exiled royal family. The enthusiastic 
 of the party were at a loss to conceive that 
 the throne of France should be again erect- 
 ed, and that any one but a Bourbon shoukl 
 dare to ascend it. It seemed to them im- 
 possible that the monarchy should revive 
 without the restoration of the legitimate 
 monarch, and they could not believe that a 
 Corsican soldier of fortune would meditate 
 an usurpation, or that France would be for 
 a moment tolerant of his pretensions. The 
 
 word liberty had, indeed, misled the people 
 of France for a time, but, that illusion be- 
 ing dissipated, their natural love to the roy- 
 al race would return like a reviving spring, 
 and again run in its old channel. 
 
 So geiier.al was the belief among this 
 class, that Buonaparte meditated the resto- 
 ration of the Bourbons, that several agents 
 of the family made their way so far as to 
 sound his own mind upon the subject. 
 Louis himself, afterwards XVIII., address- 
 ed to the First Consul a letter of the fol- 
 lowing tenor : — '•' You cannot achieve the 
 happiness of France without my restora- 
 tion, any more than I can ascend the throne 
 which is my right, without your co-opera- 
 tion. Hasten then to complete the good 
 work, which none but you can accomplish, 
 and name the rewards which you claim for 
 your friends." 
 
 Buonaparte answered the letter with cold 
 civility. He esteemed the person, he said, 
 and pitied the misfortunes, of his Royal 
 Highness the Conipte de Provence, and 
 should be glad to assist him, did an oppor- 
 tunity permit. But as his Royal Highness 
 could not be restored to France, save at 
 the expense of an hundred thousand lives, 
 it was an enterprise in which he, Buona- 
 parte, must decline to aid him. 
 
 A less direct, and more artful course, is 
 said to have been attempted, by the mission 
 of the Duchesse de Guiche, one of the 
 most beautiful and pleasing women of the 
 time, who, obtaining permission to come 
 to Paris under pretext of her private affairs, 
 was introduced at the Tuilleries, and de- 
 lighted Josephine with the elegance of her 
 manners. Napoleon did not escape the fasci- 
 nation, but the instant she touched on the 
 subject of politics, the interesting Duchesse 
 received an order to quit Paris. 
 
 As soon as the Royalists discovered, by 
 the failure of these and similar applications, 
 as well as by the gradual tendency of Buon- 
 aparte's measures,that the restoration of the 
 Bourbons was the thing farthest from his 
 purpose, their disappointment exasperated 
 them against the audacious individual, 
 whose single person seemed now the only 
 obstacle to that event. Monarchical pow- 
 er was restored, in spirit at least, if not in 
 form ; was it to be endured, the more zeal- 
 ous followers of the Bourbons demanded 
 of each other, that it should become the 
 prize of a military usurper ? Tliis party, a*; 
 well as that of the Jacobins, contained 
 doubtless many adherents, whom the en- 
 thusiasm of their political principles dis- 
 posed to serve their cause, even at the ex- 
 pense of great crimes. The sentiments of 
 the princes of the royal family upon such a 
 subject, were becoming their high rank.* 
 They were resolved to combat Buonaparte's 
 pretensions with open force, such as befit- 
 ted their pretensions as head of the chival- 
 ry of France, but to leave to Jacobins the 
 
 * The opinions of the royal family were nobly 
 rxpre.ssed, in a letter written by the Prince of Con- 
 di! to the Compte de'Artois, at a later period, 34tli 
 January 180*2, wbich will bo horoaiVer quoted at 
 leuglb.
 
 Chap XXXIX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 353 
 
 schemes of private assassination. Still 
 there must have been many, among those 
 characters which are found during the mis- 
 eries and crimes of civil war, who conceiv- 
 ed that the assassination of the Chief Con- 
 sul would be received as good service when 
 accomplished, although it might not be au- 
 thorized beforehand. Nay, there may have 
 been partizans zealous enough to take the 
 crime and punishment on themselves, with- 
 out looking farther than the advantage 
 which their party would receive by the ac- 
 tion. 
 
 A horrible invention, first hatched, it is 
 said, by the Jacobins,* was adopted by cer- 
 tain Royalists of a low description, remark- 
 able as actors in the wars of the Cliouaus, 
 of whom the leaders were named Carbon 
 and St. Regent. It was a machine consist- 
 ing of a barrel of gunpowder, placed on a 
 cart to which it was strongly secured, and 
 charged with grape-shot so disposed around 
 the barrel, as to be dispersed in every 
 direction by the explosion. The lire was 
 to be communicated by a slow match. It 
 was the purpose of the conspirators, un- 
 deterred by the indiscriminate slaughter 
 which such a discharge must occasion, to 
 place the machine in the street through 
 which the First Consul was to go to the 
 Opera, having contrived that it should ex- 
 plode, exactly as his carriage should pass 
 the spot ; and, strange to say, this strata- 
 gem, which seemed as uncertain as it was 
 atrocious, was within an hair's-breadth of 
 success. 
 
 On the evening of the 10th October 1800, 
 Buonaparte has informed us, that though 
 he himself felt a strong desire to remain at 
 home, bis wife and one or two intimate 
 friends insisted that he should go to the 
 Opera. He was slumbering under a cano- 
 py when they awaked him. One brought 
 nis hat, ai'.other his sword. He was in a 
 manner forced into his carriage, where he 
 again slumbered, and was dreaming of the 
 danger which he had escaped in an attempt 
 to pass the river Tagliamento some years 
 before. On a sudden he awaked amidst 
 thunder and flame. 
 
 The cart bearing the engine, which was 
 placed in the street St. Nicaise, intercepted 
 the progress of the Chief Consul's coach, 
 which passed it with some difficulty. St. 
 Regent had fired the match at the appoint- 
 ed instant; but the coachman, who chanc- 
 ed to be somewhat into.xicated, driving un- 
 
 * It is said, in the Memoirs of Fouch^, that the 
 inrernt machine was the invention originally of a 
 Jacobir named Chevalier, assisted by Veycer, one 
 of tlie kzme party ; that they even made an experi- 
 ment C'£ its power, by exploding an engine of the 
 kind behind the Convent de la Salpctricre ; that 
 this circumstance drew on them the attention of 
 the police, and that they were arrested. It does 
 not appear by what means the Royalists berame 
 privy to the Jacobin plot, n-jr is the story in all its 
 parts very probable ; yet it would seem it must be 
 partly true, since the attempt by means of the in- 
 fernal machine was at first charged upon the Jaco- 
 bins, in consequence of Chevalier's being known 
 to have had some scheme in agitation, to be exe- 
 cuted by similar moans, in the course of the pre- 
 vious yesr. 
 
 usually fast, the carriage had passed the 
 machine two seconds before the explosion 
 took place ; and that almost imperceptible 
 fraction of time was enough to save the 
 life which was aimed at. The explosion 
 was terrible. Two or three houses were 
 greatly damaged — twenty persons killed, 
 and about fifty-three wounded ; among the 
 latter was the incendiary St. Regent. The 
 report was heard several leagues from Paris. 
 Btionaparte instantly exclaimed to Lannea 
 and Bessieres, who were in the carriage, 
 "We are blown up!" The attendants 
 would have stopped the coach, but with 
 more presence of mind he commanded 
 them to drive on, and arrived in safety at 
 llie Opera; his coachman during the whole 
 time never discovering what had happened, 
 but conceiving the Consul had only receiv- 
 ed a salute of artillery. 
 
 A public officer, escaped from such a 
 peril, became an object of yet deeper in- 
 terest than formerly to the citizens in gen- 
 eral ; and the reception of the Consul at 
 the Opera, and elsewhere, was more enthu- 
 siastic than ever. Relief was ostentatious- 
 ly distributed amongst the wounded, and 
 the relatives of the slain ; and every one, 
 shocked with the wild atrocity of such a 
 reckless plot, became, while they execrated 
 the perpetrators, attached in proportion to 
 the object of their cruelty. A disappointed 
 conspiracy always adds strength to the 
 government against which it is directed ; 
 and Buonaparte did not fail to push this ad- 
 vantage to the uttermost. 
 
 Notwithstanding that the infernal ma- 
 chine (for so it was not unappropriately 
 termed) had in fact been managed by the 
 hands of Royalists, the first suspicion fell 
 on the Republicans ; and Buonaparte took 
 the opportunity, before the public were tin- 
 deceived on the subject, of dealing that 
 party a blow, from the effects of which they 
 did not recover during his reign. .\n arbi- 
 trary decree of thfe Senate was asked and 
 readily obtained, for the transportation be- 
 yond seas of nearly one hundred and thirty 
 of the chiefs of the broken faction of the 
 Jacobins, among whom were several names 
 which belonged to the celebrated Reign of 
 Terror, and had figured in the rolls of the 
 National Convention. These men were 
 so generally hated, as connected with the 
 atrocious scenes during the reign of Robes- 
 pierre, that the unpopularity of their char- 
 acters excused the irregularity of the pro- 
 ceedings against them, and their fate waa 
 viewed with complacency by many, and 
 with indifference by all. In the end, the 
 First Consul became so persuaded of the 
 political insignificance of these relics of 
 Jacobinism, (who, in fact, were as harmless 
 as the fragments of a bomb-shell after its 
 explosion,) that the decree of deportation 
 was never enforced against them ; and Fe- 
 li.\ Lepelletier, Chaudieu, Talot, and their 
 companions, were allowed to live obscure- 
 ly in France, watched closely by the po- 
 lice, and under the condition that they 
 should not venture to approach Paris. 
 
 The actual conspirators were proceeded 
 against with seventy. Chevalier and Vey-
 
 354 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIX. 
 
 cer, Jacobins, said to have constructed the 
 original model of the infernal machine, 
 were tried before a military commission, 
 condemned to be shot, and suffered death 
 accordingly. 
 
 Arena, Ceraschi, Le Brun, and Demcr- 
 ville, were tried before the ordinary court 
 of criminal judicature, and condemned by 
 the voice of a jury ; although there was 
 little evidence against them, save that 
 of their accomplice Harel, by whom they 
 had been betrayed. They also were exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 At a later period, Carbon and St. Regent, 
 Royalists, the agents in the actual attempt 
 of 10th October, were also tried, condemn- 
 ed, and put to death. Some persons tried for 
 the same offence were acquitted ; and jus- 
 tice seems to have been distributed with an 
 impartiality unusual in France since the 
 Revolution. 
 
 But Buonaparte did not design that the 
 consequences of these plots should end 
 with the deaths of the wretches engaged in 
 tliem. It afforded an opportunity not to be 
 neglected to advance his principal object, 
 which was the erection of B'rance into a 
 despotic kingdom, and the possessing him- 
 self of uncontrolled power over the lives, 
 properties, thoughts, and opinions, of those 
 who were born his fellow-subjects, and of 
 whom the very meanest but lately boasted 
 himself his equal. He has himself ex- 
 pressed his purpose respecting the Consti- 
 tution of the year Eight, or Consular Gov- 
 ernment, in words dictated to General 
 Gourgaud. 
 
 "The ideas of Napoleon were fixed ; but 
 the aid of time and events were necessary 
 for their realization. The organization of 
 the Consulate had presented nothing in 
 contradiction to them ; it taught unanimity, 
 and that was the first step. This point 
 gained, Napoleon was quite indifferent as 
 to the form and denominations of the sev- 
 eral constituted bodies. He was a stranger 
 to the Revolution. It was natural that the 
 will of these men, who had followed it 
 through all its phases, should prevail in 
 questions as difficult as they were abstract. 
 The wisest plan was to go on from day to 
 day — by the polar star by which Napoleon 
 meant to guide the Revolution to the haven 
 he desired." 
 
 If there is anything obscure in this pas- 
 sage, it received but too luminous a com- 
 mentary from the co\irse of Buonaparte's 
 actions ; all of which tend to show that he 
 embraced the Consular government as a 
 mere temporary arrangement, calculated to 
 prepare the minds of the French nation for 
 his ulterior views of ambition, as young 
 colts are ridden with a light bridle until they 
 are taught by degrees to endure the curb 
 and bit, or as water-fowl taken in a decoy 
 are first introduced within a wider circuit 
 of nets, in order to their being gradually 
 brought within that strict enclosure where 
 they are made absolute prisoners. He tells 
 us in plain terms, he let the revolutionary 
 sages take their own way in arranging the 
 constitution ; determined, without regard- 
 ing the rules they laid down on the chart. , 
 
 to steer his course by one fixed point to one 
 desired haven. That polar star was his own 
 selfish interest — that haven was despotic 
 power. What he considered as most for 
 his own interest, he was determined to 
 consider as the government most suited for 
 France also. Perhaps he may have per- 
 suaded himself that he was actually serving 
 his country as well as himself ; and, indeed, 
 justly considered, he was in both instaucea 
 equally grievously mistaken. 
 
 With the views which he entertained, 
 the Chief Consul regarded the conspiracies 
 against his life as affording a pretext for ex- 
 tending his power too favourable to be neg- 
 lected. These repeated attacks on the 
 Head of the state made it desirable that 
 some mode should be introduced of trying 
 such offences, briefer and more arbitrary 
 than the slow forms required by ordinary 
 jurisprudence. The prompt and speedy 
 justice to be expected from a tribunal freed 
 from the ordinary restraint of formalities 
 and juries, was stated to be more necessary 
 on account of the state of the public roads, 
 infested by bands called Chauffeurs, who 
 stopped the public carriages, intercepted 
 the communications of commerce, and be- 
 came so formidable, that no public coach 
 was permitted to leave Paris without a mil- 
 itary guard of at least four soldiers on the 
 roof. This was used as a strong additional 
 reason for constituting a special Court of 
 Judicature. 
 
 Buonaparte could be at no loss for mod- 
 els of such an institution. As hero of the 
 Revolution, he had succeeded to the whole 
 arsenal of revolutionary weapons forged in 
 the name of Liberty, to oppress the dear- 
 est rights of humanity. He had but to se- 
 lect that which best suited him, and to 
 mould it to the temper of the times. The 
 country which had so long endured the 
 Revolutionary Tribunal, was not likely to 
 wince under any less stern judicature. 
 
 The Court which government now pro- 
 posed to establish, was to consist of eight 
 members thus qualified. 1. The president 
 and two judges of the ordinary criminal 
 tribunal. "1. Three military men, bearing 
 at least the rank of captain. 3. Two citi- 
 zens, to be suggested by government, who 
 should be selected from such as were by 
 the constitution qualified to act as judges. 
 Thus five out of eight judges were directly 
 named by the government for the occasion. 
 The Court was to decide without jury, with- 
 out appeal, and without revision of any kind. 
 As a boon to the accused, the Court were 
 to have at least si.K members present, and 
 there was to be no casting vote ; so that 
 the party would have his acquittal, unless 
 six members out of eight, or four members 
 out of six, should unite in finding him guil 
 ty ; whereas in other courts, a bare ma- 
 jority is sufficient for condemnation. 
 
 With this poor boon to public opinion, 
 the special Commission Court was to be the 
 jurisdiction before whom armed insurgents, 
 conspirators, and in general men guilty of 
 crimes against the social compact, were to 
 undergo their trial. 
 The Counsellor of State, Portalii; laid
 
 Chap. XXXIX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 355 
 
 this plan before the Legislative Body, by 
 whom it was, according to constitutionai 
 form, referred to the consideration of the 
 Tribunate. It was in this body, the only 
 existing branch of the constitution where 
 vvas preserved some shadow of popular 
 forms and of free debate, that those who 
 continued to entertain free sentiments 
 could have any opportunity of expressing 
 them. Benjamin Constant, Daunon, Che- 
 nier, and others, the gleanings as it were of 
 the liberal party, made an honourable but 
 unavailing defence against this invasion of 
 the constitution, studying at the same time 
 to express their opposition in language and 
 by arguments least likely to give otTence to 
 the government. To the honour of the 
 Tribunate, which was the frail but sole re- 
 maining barrier of liberty, the project had 
 nearly made shipwreck, and was only pass- 
 ed by a small majority of forty-nine over 
 forty-one. In the Legislative Body there 
 was also a strong minority. It seemed as 
 if the friends of liberty, however deprived 
 of direct popular representation, and of all 
 the means of influencing public opinion, 
 were yet determined to maintain au oppo- 
 sition to the First Consul, somewhat on the 
 plan of that of England. 
 
 Another law, passed at this time, must 
 have had a cooling effect on the zeal of 
 fiome of these patriots. It was announced 
 that there were a set of persons, who were 
 to be regarded rather as public enemies 
 than as criminals, and who ought to be pro- 
 vided against rather by anticipating and de- 
 feating their schemes than by punishing 
 their offences. These consisted of Piepub- 
 licans. Royalists, or any others entertaining, 
 or supposed to entertain, opinions inimical 
 to the present state of affairs ; and the law 
 now passed entitled the government to treat 
 them as suspected persons, and as such, to 
 Ijanish them from Paris or from France. 
 Thus was the Chief Consul invested with 
 full power over the personal liberty of eve- 
 ry person whom he chose to consider as the 
 enemy of his government. 
 
 Buonaparte was enabled to avail himself 
 to the uttermost of the powers which he 
 had thus extracted from tlie Constitutional 
 Bodies, by the frightful agency of the po- 
 lice. This institution may, even in its mild- 
 est form, be regarded as a necessary evil ; 
 for although, while great cities continue to 
 afford obscure retreats for vice and crime 
 of every description, there must be men, 
 whose profession it is to discover and bring 
 criminals to justice, as while there are ver- 
 min in the animal world, there must be 
 kites and carrion-crows to diminish their 
 number ; yet, as the excellence of these 
 guardians of the public depends in a great 
 measure on their familiarity with the arts, 
 haunts, and practices of culprits, thev can- 
 not be expected to feel the same horror for 
 '•-rimes, or criminals, which is common to 
 other men. On the contrary, they have a 
 sympathy with them of the same kind 
 which hunters entertain for the game wliich 
 is the object of their pursuit. Besides, as 
 much of their business is carried on by the 
 medium of spies, they must be able to per- 
 
 sonate the manners and opinions of those 
 whom they detect ; and are frequently in- 
 duced, by their own interest, to direct, en- 
 courage, nay, suggest crimes, that they 
 may obtain tiie reward due for conviction 
 of the offenders. 
 
 Applied to state offences, the agancy of 
 such persons, though sometimes unavoida- 
 ble, is yet more frightfully dangerous. Mor- 
 al delinquencies can be hardly with any 
 probability attributed to worthy or innocent 
 persons ; but there is no character so pure, 
 that he who bears it may not be supposed 
 capable of entertaining false and exaggerat- 
 ed opinions in politics, and, as such, be- 
 come the victim of treachery and delation. 
 In France, a prey to so many factions, the 
 power of the police had become over- 
 whelming; indeed the very existence of 
 the government seemed in some measure 
 dependent upon the accuracy of their in- 
 telligence ; and for this purpose their num- 
 bers had been enlarged, and their discipline 
 perfected, under the administration of the 
 sagacious and crafty Fouche. This remark- 
 able person had been an outrageous Jaco- 
 bin, and dipped deep in the horrors of 
 the revolutionary government — an adherent 
 of Barras, and a partaker in the venality 
 and peculation which characterized that pe- 
 riod. He was. therefore, totally without 
 principle ; but his nature was not of that 
 last degree of depravity, which delights in 
 evil for its own sake, and his good sense 
 told him, that an unnecessary crime was a 
 political blunder. The lenity with which 
 he exercised his terrible office, when left in 
 any degree to his own discretion, while it 
 never prevented his implicit execution of 
 Buonaparte's commands, made the abomi- 
 nable system over which he presided to a 
 certain extent endurable ; and thus even 
 his good qualities, while they relieved in- 
 dividual suffering, were of disservice to hia 
 country, by reconciling her to bondage. 
 
 The haute police, as it is called by the 
 French, meaning that department which 
 applies to politics and state affairs, had been 
 unaccountably neglected by the ministera 
 of Louis XVI., and was much disorganized 
 by the consequences of the Revolution. — 
 The demagogues of the Convention had 
 little need of a regular system of the kind. 
 Every affiliated club of Jacobins supplied 
 them with spies, and with instruments of 
 their pleasure. The Directory stood in & 
 different situation. They had no general 
 party of their own, and maintained their au- 
 thority, by balancing the Moderates and 
 Democrats against each other. They, 
 therefore, were more dependent upon the 
 police than their predecessors, and they in- 
 trusted Fouche with the superintendence. 
 It was then that, destroying, or rather su- 
 perseding, the separate offices where the 
 agents of the police pretended to a certain 
 independence of acting, he brought the 
 whole system to concentrate within his own 
 cabinet. By combining the reports of hia 
 agents, and of the various individuals with 
 whom under various pretexts he maintain- 
 ed correspondence, the Minister of Police 
 arrived at so accurate a knowledge of the
 
 356 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIX. 
 
 purpose, disposition, adherents, and tools 
 of the different parties in France, that he 
 could anticipate their mode of acting upon 
 all occasions that were likely to occur, 
 knew what measures were likely to be pro- 
 posed, and by whom they were to be sup- 
 ported ; and when any particular accident 
 took place, was able, from his previous 
 general information, to assign it to the real 
 cause, and the true actors. 
 
 An unlimited system of espial, and that 
 atretching through society in all its ramifi- 
 cations, was necessary to the perfection of 
 this system, which had not arrived to its ut- 
 most height, till Napoleon ascended the 
 throne. Still, before his reign, it existed 
 all through France, controlling the most 
 confidential expressions of opinion on pub- 
 lic affairs, and like some mephitic vapour, 
 stilling the breath though it was invisible 
 to the eye, and, by its mysterious terrors, 
 putting a stop to all discussion of public 
 measures, which was not in the tone of 
 implicit approbation. 
 
 The expense of maintaining this estab- 
 lishment was immense ; for Fouche com- 
 prehended amongst his spies and inform- 
 ers persons, whom no ordinary gratuity 
 would have moved to act such a part. But 
 this expense was provided for by the large 
 sums which the Minister of Police receiv- 
 ed for the toleration yielded to brothels, 
 gambling-houses, and other places of prof- 
 ligacy, to whom he granted licenses, in 
 consideration of their observing certain 
 regulations. His system of espial was also 
 extended, by the information which was 
 collected in these haunts of debauchery; 
 and thus the vices of the capital were made 
 to support the means by which it was sub- 
 jected to a despotic government. His au- 
 to-biography contains a boast, that the pri- 
 vate secretary of the Chief Consul was his 
 pensioner, and that the lavish profusion of 
 Josephine made even her willing to ex- 
 change intelligence concerning the Chief 
 Consul's views and plans. Thus was Fou- 
 che not only a spy upon the people in be- 
 half of Buonaparte, but a spy also on Buo- 
 naparte himself. 
 
 Indeed, the power of the director of this 
 terrible enginery was so great, as to excite 
 the suspicion of Napoleon, who endeavour- 
 ed to counter-balance it by dividing the de- 
 partment of police into four distinct offi- 
 ces. There were established, 1st, The 
 military police of the palace, over which 
 Duroc, the grand master of the household, 
 presided. 2d, The police maintained by 
 the inspector of the gens-d'armes. 3d, 
 That exercised over the city of Paris by the 
 Prefect. 4th, The general police, which 
 fltill remained under the control of Fouche. 
 Thus, the First Consul received every day 
 four reports of police, and esteemed him- 
 self secure of learning, through some one 
 of them, information which the others 
 might have an interest in concealing. 
 
 The agents of these different bodies were 
 frequently unknown to each other ; and it 
 often happened, that when, in the exercise 
 of their office, thev were about ly arrest 
 tome individual who had incurroil -uupi- 
 
 cion, they found him protected against 
 them, by his connexion with other bureaus 
 of police. The system was, therefore, as 
 complicated as it was oppressive and un- 
 just; but we shall, have such frequent op- 
 I portunity to refer to the subject, that we 
 need here only repeat, that, with reference 
 to his real interest, it was unfortunate for 
 Buonaparte that he found at his disposal so 
 ready a weapon of despotism as the organ- 
 ized police, wielded by a hand so experi- 
 enced as that of Fouche. 
 
 It was the duty of the police to watch 
 the progress of public opinion, whether it 
 was expressed in general society, and con- 
 fidential communication, or by the medium 
 of the press. Buonaparte entertained a fe- 
 verish apprehension of the effects of litera- 
 ture on the general mind, and in doing so 
 acknowledged the weak points in his gov- 
 ernment. The public journals were under 
 the daily and constant superintendence of 
 the police, and their editors were summon- 
 ed before Fouche when anything was in- 
 serted which could be considered as dis- 
 respectful to his authority. Threats and 
 promises were liberally employed on such 
 occasions, and such journalists as proved 
 refractory, were soon made to feel that the 
 former were no vain menaces. The sup- 
 pression of the offensive newspaper was 
 often accompanied by the banishment or 
 imprisonment of the editor. The same 
 measure was dealt to authors, booksellers, 
 and publishers, respecting whom the jeal- 
 ousy of Buonaparte amounted to a species 
 of disease. 
 
 No one can be surprised that an absolute 
 jrovernment should be disposed to usurp 
 the total management of the daily press, 
 and such other branches of literature as are 
 immediately connected with politics ; but 
 the interference of Buonaparte's police 
 went much farther, and frequently required 
 from those authors who wrote only on gener- 
 al topics, some express recognizance of his 
 authority. The ancient Christians would 
 not attend the theatre, because it was ne- 
 cessary that, previous to enjoying the beau- 
 ties of the scene, they should sacrifice some 
 grains of incense to the false deity, suppos- 
 ed to preside over the place. In like man- 
 ner, men of generous minds in France were 
 often obliged to suppress works on subjects 
 the most alien to politics, because they 
 could not easily obtain a road to the public 
 unless they consented to recognize the right 
 of the individual, who had usurped the su- 
 preme authority, and extinguished the lib- 
 erties of his country. The circumstances 
 which subjected Madame de Stael to a long 
 persecution by the police of Buonaparte, 
 may be quoted as originating in this busy 
 desire, of connecting his government with 
 the publications of all persons of genius. 
 
 We have been already led to notice, that 
 there existed no cordiality betwixt Buona- 
 parte and the gifted daughter of Necker. 
 Their characters were far from suited to 
 each other. She had manifestly regarded 
 the First Consul as a subject of close and 
 curious observation, and Buonaparte loved 
 not that any one should make him the sub-
 
 Chap. XXXIX] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 «S7 
 
 ject of minute scrutiny. Madame de Stael 
 was the centre also of a distinguished circle 
 of society in France, several of whom were 
 engaged to support the cause of liberty ; 
 and the resolution of a few members of the 
 Tribunate, to make some efforts to check 
 the advance of Buonaparte to arbitrary pow- 
 er, was supposed to be taken in her saloon. 
 and under her encouragement. For this 
 she was only banished from Paris. But 
 when she was about to publish her excel- 
 lent and spirited book on Germnn manners 
 and literature, in which, unhappily, there 
 was no mention of the French nation, or 
 its supreme chief, Madame de Stael's work 
 was seized by the police, and she was fa- 
 Toured with a line from Fouche, acquaint- 
 ing her that the air of France did not suit 
 her health, and inviting her to leave it with 
 all convenient speed, \\1iile in e.xile from 
 Paris, which she accounted her country, 
 the worthy Prefect of Geneva suggested a 
 mode by which she might regain favour. .\n 
 ode on the birth of the King of Rome, was 
 recommended as the means of conciliation. 
 Madame de Stael answered, she should 
 limit herself to wishing him a good nurse ; 
 and became exposed to new rigours, even 
 extending to the friends who ventured to 
 visit her in her exile. So general was the 
 French influence all over Europe, that, to 
 shelter herself from the persecutions by 
 which she was everywhere followed, she 
 was at length obliged to escape to England, 
 by the remote way of Russia. Chenier, 
 author of the Hymn of the Marseilloise, 
 though formerly the panegyrist of General 
 Buonaparte, became, with other literary 
 persons who did not bend low enough to | 
 his new dignity, objects of persecution to 
 the First Consul. The childish pertinacity 
 with which Napoleon followed up such un- 
 reasonable piques, belongs indeed, chiefly, 
 to the history of the Emperor, but it show- 
 ed its blossoms earlier. The power of in- 
 dulging such petty passions, goes, in a great 
 measure, to foster and encourage their prog- 
 ress; and in the case of Buonaparte, this 
 power, great in itself, was increased by 
 the dangerous facilities which the police 
 offered, for gratifying the spleen, or the 
 revenge, of the' offended sovereign. | 
 
 .\nother support, of a very different kind, 
 and grounded on the most opposite princi- ' 
 pies, was afforded to the rising power of | 
 Napoleon, through the re-establishment of < 
 religion ia France, by his treaty with the I 
 Pope, called the Concordat. Two great | 
 steps had been taken towards this important } 
 point, by the edict opening the churches, j 
 and renewing the exercise of the Christian j 
 religion, and by the restoration of the Pope ' 
 to his temporal dominions, after the battle 
 «f Marengo. The further objects to be i 
 attained were the sanction of the First Con- j 
 sul'a government by the Pontiff" on the one i 
 hand, and. on the other, the re-establish- ] 
 ment of the rights of the church in France, I 
 80 far as should be found consistent with | 
 the new order of things. 
 
 This important treaty was managed by 
 Joseph Buonaparte, who, with three col- 
 leagues, held conferences for that purpose ! 
 
 with the plenipotentiaries of the Pope. The 
 
 ratifications were exchanged on the 18th of 
 September 1801 ; and when they were pub- 
 lished, it was singular to behold how sab<- 
 missively the once proud See of Rome lay 
 prostrated before the power of Buonaparte^ 
 and how absolutely he must have dictatedi 
 all the terms of the treaty. Every article 
 innovated on some of "those rights and- 
 claims, which the Church of Rome had for 
 ages asserted as the unalienable privileges 
 of her infallible head. 
 
 I. It was provided, that the Catholic re>^ 
 ligion should be freely exercised in France, 
 acknowledged as the national faith, and its- 
 service openly practised, subject to such 
 regulations of police as the French govern- 
 ment should judge necessary. II. The 
 Pope, in concert with the French govern- 
 ment was to make a new division of dio- 
 ceses, and to require of the existing bishops 
 even the resignation of their sees, should 
 that be found necessary to complete the 
 new arrangement. III. The sees which 
 should become vacant by such resignation, 
 or by deprivation, in case a voluntary abdi- 
 cation was refused, as also all future vacan- 
 cies, were to be filled up by the Pope, on 
 nominations proceeding from the French 
 government. IV. The new bishops were 
 to take an oath of fidelity to the- govern- 
 ment, and to observe a ritual, in which there 
 were to be especial forms of prayer for the 
 Consuls. V". The church-livings were to 
 undergo a new division, and the bishops 
 were to nominate to them, but only such 
 persons as should be approved by the gov- 
 ernment. V'l. The government was to 
 make suitable provision for the national 
 clergy, while the Pope expressly renounced 
 all right competent to him and his success- 
 ors, to challenge or dispute the sales of 
 church property which had been made since 
 the Revolution. 
 
 Such was the celebrated compact, by 
 which Pius VII. surrendered to a soldier, 
 whose name was five or six years before 
 unheard of in Europe, those high claims to 
 supremacy in spiritual affairs, w^hich his 
 predecessors had maintained for so many 
 ages against the whole potentates of Europe. 
 A puritan might have said of the Power 
 seated on the Seven Hills—" Babylon is 
 fallen, it is fallen that great city!" The 
 more rigid Catholics were of the same opin- 
 ion. The Concordat, they alleged, showed 
 rather the abasement of the Roman hier- 
 archy than the re-erection of the Gallic 
 church. 
 
 The proceedings against the existing 
 bishops of France, most of whom were of 
 course emierants, were also but little edi- 
 fying. Acting upon the article of the Con- 
 cordat already noticed, and caused, as the 
 letter itself states, •' by the exigencies of 
 the times, which exercises its violence 
 even on us." the Pope required of each of 
 these reverend persons, by an especial man- 
 date, to accede to the compact, by surren- 
 dering his see, as therein provided. The 
 order was peremptory in its terms, and an 
 answer was demanded within fifteen days. 
 The purpose of this haste was to prevent
 
 358 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XXXIX. 
 
 consultation or combination, and to place 
 before each bishop, individually, the choice 
 of compliance, thereby gaining a right to be 
 provided for in the new hierarchy ; or of 
 refusal, in which case the Pope would be 
 obliged to declare the see vacant, in con- 
 formity to his engagement with Buonaparte. 
 The bishops in general declineil compli- 
 ance with a request, which, on the part of 
 the Pope, was evidently made by compul- 
 sion. They offered to lay their resignation 
 at his Holiness's feet, so soon as they 
 should be assured that there was regular 
 canonical provision made for filling up their 
 sees; but they declined by any voluntary 
 act of theirs, to give countenance to the 
 surrender of the rights of the church im- 
 plied in the Concordat, and preferred exile 
 and poverty to any provisio-.i which they 
 might obtain, bv consenting to compromise 
 the privileges of the hierachy. These pro- 
 ceedings greatlv increased the unpopulari- 
 ty of the Concordat among the more zeal- 
 ous Catholics. 
 
 Others of that faith there were, who, 
 though they considered the new system as 
 Tery imperfect, yet thought it might have the 
 effect of preserving in France some sense 
 of the Christian religion, which under the 
 total disuse of public worship, stood a 
 chance of being entirely extinguished in the 
 minds of the rising generation. They re- 
 membered, that though the Jews in the 
 days of f^.sdras shed tears of natural sorrow 
 when they beheld the inferiority of the sec- 
 ond Temple, yet Providence had sanction- 
 ed its erection, under the warrant, and by 
 permission of an unbelieving task-master. 
 They granted that the countenance shown 
 by Buonaparte to the religious establish- 
 ment, was entirclv from motives of self-in- 
 terest ; but still they hoped that God, who 
 works his own will by the selfish passions 
 of individuals, was now using those of the 
 First Consul to recall some sense of reli- 
 gion to France ; and they anticipated that 
 religion, as the best friend of all that is good 
 and graceful in humanity, was likely, in 
 course of time, to bring back and encour- 
 age a sense of rational liberty. 
 
 The revolutionary part of France beheld 
 the Concordat with very different eyes. 
 The Christian religion was. as to the .Jews 
 and Greeks of old. a stumbling-block to the 
 Jacobins, and foolishness to the philoso- I 
 phers. It was a system which they had at- 
 tacked with a zeal even as eager as that 
 which they had directed airainst monarchi- 
 cal institutions ; and in the restoration of 
 the altar, they foresaw the re-erection of 
 the throne. Iiuonaparte defended himself 
 among the philosophers, by comparing his 
 Concordat t<> a sort of vaccination of reli- 
 gion, which, by introducing a slighter kind 
 into the system of the state, would gradu- 
 ally prepare fur its entire extinction. 
 
 In the meantime, he proceeded to renew 
 the ancient league betwixt the church and 
 crown, with as much s^demnity as possible. 
 Portalis was created .Minister of Religion, 
 a new office, lor manatjing the atlairs of the 
 church. He hail deserved this preferment. 
 
 the Legislative Body, in which he proved to 
 the French statesmen, (what in other coun- 
 tries is seldom considered as matter of 
 doubt,) that the e.xercise of religion is con- 
 genial to human nature, and worthy of be- 
 ing cherished and protected by the state. 
 The Concordat was inaugurated at Notre 
 Dame with the utmost magnificence. Buon- 
 aparte attended in person, with all the bad- 
 ges and pomp of royalty, and in the style 
 resembling as nearly as possible that of the 
 former Kings of France. The Archbishop 
 of Aix was appointed to preach upon the 
 occasion, being the very individual prelate 
 who had delivered the sermon upon the 
 coronation of Louis XVI. Some address, 
 it was said, was employed to procure the 
 attendance of the old Republican Generals. 
 They were invited by Berthier to breakfast, 
 and thence carried to the First Consul's 
 levee ; after which it became impossible 
 for them to decline attending him to the 
 Church of Notre Dame. As he returned 
 from the ceremony surrounded by these 
 military functionaries, Buonaparte remark- 
 ed with complacency, that the former or- 
 der of things was fast returning. One of 
 his generals boldly answered, — " Yes I — all 
 returns — excepting the two millions of 
 Frenchmen who have died to procure the 
 proscription of the very system now in the 
 act of being restored." 
 
 It is said that Buonaparte, when he found 
 the Pope and the clergy less tractable than 
 he desired, regretted having taken the step 
 of re-establishing religion, and termed the 
 Concordat the greatest error of his reign. 
 But such observations could only escape 
 him in a moment of pique or provocation. 
 He well knew the advantage which a gov- 
 ernment must derive from a national churcli, 
 which recognises them in its ritual ; and at 
 Saint Helena, he himself at once acknowl- 
 edged the advantage of his compact with 
 the Pope as a measure of state, and his in- 
 difference to it in a religious point of view. 
 " I never regretted the Concordat," he said, 
 " I must have had either that or sometliing 
 equivalent. Had the Pope never before ex- 
 isted, he should have been made for the oc- 
 casion." 
 
 The First Consul took car»», accordingly, 
 to make his full advantage of the Concor- 
 dat, by introducing his own name as much 
 as possible into the catechism of the church, 
 which, in other respects, w.as that drawn 
 up by Bossuet. To honour Napoleon, the 
 catechumen was taught, was the same as to 
 honour and serve (iod himself— to oppose 
 his will, was to incur the penalty of eternal 
 damnation. 
 
 In civil affairs, Buonaparte equally exert- 
 ed his talents, in connecting the safety and 
 interests of the nation with his own aggran- 
 dizement. He had already laughed at tho 
 idea of a free constitution. ''The only 
 free constitution necessary," he said, " or 
 useful, was a good civil code ;" not con- 
 sidering, or choosing to iiave it considered, 
 that the best system of laws, when held by 
 no better guar.antee than the pleasure of an 
 arbitrary prince and his coun<. il of state, is 
 
 by a learned and argumentative speech to | as insecure as the situation of a pearl sus
 
 Chc^. XXXIX.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 359 
 
 pended by a single hair. Let us do justice 
 to Napoleon, however, by acknowledging, 
 that he encountered with manly firmness 
 the gigantic labour of forming a code of in- 
 stitutions, which, supplying the immense 
 variety of provincial laws that existed in 
 the different departments of France, and 
 suppressing the partial and temporary reg- 
 ulations made in the various political crises 
 of the Revolution, were designed to be the 
 basis of a uniform national system. For 
 this purpose, an order of the Consuls con- 
 voked Messrs. Portalis. Tronchet, Bigot, 
 Preamenu, and Maleville, jurisconsults of 
 the highest character, and associated them 
 with the Minister of Justice, Cambaceres. 
 in the task of adjusting and reporting a 
 plan for a general system of jurisprudence. 
 The progress and termination of this great 
 work will be hereafter noticed. The Chief 
 Consul himself took an active part in the 
 d«liberations. 
 
 An ordinance, eminently well qualified 
 to heal the civil wounds of France, next 
 manifested the talents of Buonap:irte, and, 
 as men hoped, his moderation. This was 
 the general amnesty granted to the emi- 
 grants. A decree of the senate, 26th April 
 1801, permitted the return of these unfor- 
 tunate persons to France, providing they 
 did so, and took the oath of lidelity to gov- 
 ernment, within a certain period. There 
 were, however, five classes of exceptions, 
 containing such as seemed too deeply and 
 strongly pledged to the house of Bourbon, 
 ever to reconcile themselves to the govern- 
 ment of Buonaparte. Such were, 1st, Those 
 who had been chiefs of bodies of armed royal- 
 ists ; — 2d, Who had held rank in the armies 
 of the allies ; — 3d, Who had belonged to 
 the household of the princes of the blood ; 
 — 4th, Who had been agents or encouragers 
 of foreign or domestic war; — 5th, The gen- 
 erals and admirals, together with the rep- 
 resentatives of the people, who had been 
 guilty of treason against the Republic, to- 
 gether with the prelates, who declined to 
 resign their sees in terms of the Concor- 
 dat. It was at the same time declared, that 
 not more than five hundred in all should 
 be excepted from the amnesty. Buona- 
 parte truly judged, that the mass of emi- 
 grants, thus winnowed and purilied from all 
 who had been leaders, exhausted in fortune, 
 and wearied out by exile, would in gene- 
 ral be grateful for permission to return to 
 France, and passive, nay, contented and at- 
 tached subjects of his dotninion : and the 
 event in a great measure, if not fully, jus- 
 tified his expectations. Such part of their 
 property as had not been sold, was directed 
 to be restored to them ; but they were sub- 
 
 jected to the special superintendanre of 
 the police for tlie space of ten years after 
 their return. 
 
 With similar and most laudable attention 
 to the duties of his high office, Buonaparte 
 founded plans of education, and particular- 
 ly, with Mongo's assistance, established the 
 Polytechnic school, which has produced so 
 many men of talent. He inquired anxiously 
 into abuses, and was particularly active in 
 correcting those which had crept into the 
 prisons during the Revolution, where great 
 tyranny was exercised by monopoly of pro- 
 visions, and otherwise. In amending such 
 evils, Buonaparte, though not of kingly 
 birth, showed a mind worthy of the rank to 
 which he had ascended. It is only to be 
 regretted, that in what interfered with hia 
 ))ersonal wishes or interest, he uniformly 
 failed to manifest tho sound and correct 
 views, which on abstract questions he could 
 form so clearly. 
 
 Other schemes of a public character were 
 held out as occupying the attention of the 
 Chief Consul. Like Augustus, whose sit- 
 uation his own in some measure resembled, 
 Napoleon endeavoured, by the magnificence 
 of his projects for the improvement of the 
 state, to withdraw attention from his in- 
 roads upon public freedom. The inland 
 navigation of Languedoc was to be com- 
 pleted, aud a canal, joining the river Yonne 
 to the Saonne, was to connect the south 
 part of the republic so completely with the 
 north, as to establish a communication by 
 water between Marseilles and Amsterdam. 
 Bridges were also to be built, roads to be 
 laid out and improved, museums founded 
 in the principal towns of France, and many 
 other public labours undertaken, on a scale 
 which should put to shame even the boast- 
 ed days of Louis XI\'. Buonaparte knew 
 the French nation well, and was aware that 
 he should best reconcile them to his gov- 
 ernment, by indulging his own genius for 
 bold and magnificent undertakings, whether 
 of a military or a civil character. 
 
 But although these splendid proposals 
 filled the public ear, and tlattered the na- 
 tional pride of France, commerce continued 
 to languish, under the effects of a constant 
 blockade, provisions became dear, and dis- 
 content against the Consulate began to gain 
 ground over the favourable sentiments 
 which had hailed its commencement. The 
 effectual cure for these heart-burnings was 
 only to be found in a general peace ; and a 
 variety of events, some of them of a char- 
 acter very unpleasing to the First Consul, 
 seemed gradually preparing for this desira- 
 ble event.
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 tCAop. XL. 
 
 CHAP. ZL. 
 
 Return to the external Relations of France. — Her universal Ascendency. — Napolton't 
 advances to the Emperor Paul. — Plan of destroying the British Power in India. — 
 Right of Search at Sea. — Death of Paul. — /te Effects on Buonaparte. — Affairt 
 of Egypt. — Assassination of Kleber. — Menou appointed to succeed him. — British 
 Army lands in Egypt. — Battle and Victory^ of Alexandria. — Death of Sir Ralph 
 Abercromhy. — General Hutchinson succeeds him. — The French General Belliard 
 capitulates — as does Menou. — War in Egypt brought to a victoriotis Conclusion. 
 
 Having thus given a glance at the internal 
 affairs of France during the commence- 
 ment of Buonaparte's domination, we re- 
 turn to her external relations, which, since 
 the peace of Luneville, had assumed the 
 appearance of universal ascendenc)', so 
 much had the current of human affairs been 
 altered by the talents and fortunes of one 
 man. Not only was France in secure pos- 
 session, by the treaty of Luneville, of ter- 
 ritories e.vtendingto the banks of the Rhine, 
 but the surrounding nations were, under 
 the plausible names of protection or alli- 
 ance, as submissive to her government as 
 if they had made integral parts of her do- 
 minions. Holland, Switzerland, and Italy, 
 were all in a state of subjection to her will ; 
 Spain, like a puppet, moved but at her sig- 
 nal ; Austria was broken-spirited and de- 
 jected ; Prussia still remembered her losses 
 in the first revolutionary war ; and Russia, 
 who alone could be considered as unmoved 
 by any fear of France, was yet in a situation 
 to be easil}' managed, by flattering and ca- 
 joling the peculiar temper of the Emperor 
 Paul. 
 
 We have already observed, that Buona- 
 parte had artfully availed himself of the 
 misunderstanding between Austria and Rus- 
 sia, to insinuate himself into the good gra- 
 ces of the Czar. The disputes between 
 Russia asd England gave him still further 
 advantaETfis over the mind of that incautious 
 monarch. 
 
 The refusal of Britain to cede the almost 
 impregnable fortress of Malta, and with it 
 the command of th-^ Mediterranean, to a 
 power who wss no longer friendly, was ag- 
 !»rav:ited by her declining to admit Russian 
 i)risoners into the carte' of e.^chancre be- 
 twixt the French and British. Buouaparte 
 contrived to make his approaches to the 
 ('■z:iT in a manner calculated to bear upon 
 both these subjects of grievance. He pre- 
 sented to Paul, who affected to be consid- 
 ered as tlie drand Master of the Order of 
 St. John of Jerusalem, tlie sword given by 
 the Pope to the heroic John dc la Valette, 
 vrho was at the head of the Order during 
 the criei)rated defence of Malta ngainst the 
 Turks. With tlie same view of placing his 
 own conduct in a favourable contrast with 
 that of Great Britain, he new-clothed and 
 armed eight or nine tliousand Russian pris- 
 oners, and dismissed them freely, in token 
 of his personal esteem for the character of 
 tlie Emperor. 
 
 A more secret and scandalous mode of 
 acquiring interest is said to have been at- 
 tained, through the attachment of the un- 
 fortunate Prince to a French actress of tal- 
 
 ents and beauty, who had been sent from 
 Paris for the express purpose of acquiring 
 his affections. From these concurring rea- 
 sons, Paul began now openly to manifest 
 himself as tlic warm friend of France, and 
 the bitter enemy of Britain. In the former 
 capacity, he had the weak and unworthy 
 complaisance to withdraw the hospitality 
 which he had hitherto afforded to the rel- 
 ics of the Royal P'araily of Bourbon, who 
 were compelled to remove from Mittau, 
 where they had been hitherto permitted to 
 reside. 
 
 To gratify his pique against England, 
 Paul gave hearing at least to a magnificent 
 scheme, by which Buonaparte proposed to 
 accomplish the destruction of the British 
 power in India, which he had in vain hoped 
 to assail by the possession of Egypt. The 
 scheme was now to be effected by the union 
 of the French and Russian troops, which 
 were to force their way to British India 
 over land, through the kingdom of Persia ; 
 and a plan of such a campaign was seriously 
 in agitation. Thirty-five thousand French 
 were to descend the Danube into the Bl.ack 
 Sea 5 and then, being wafted across that 
 sea and the sea of Azof, were to.march bv 
 land to the banks of the Wolga. Here they 
 were again to be embarked, and descend 
 the river to Astracan, and from thence were 
 to cross the Caspian Sea to Astrabad, where 
 they were to be joined by a Russian armv, 
 equal in force to their own. It \vas thought 
 that, marching through Persia by Herat, 
 Ferah, and Candahar, the Russo-Gallic 
 army might reach the Indus in forty-five 
 days from Astrabad. This gigantic project 
 would scarce have been formed by any 
 less daring genius than Napoleon ; nor 
 could any prince, with a brain less infirm 
 than Paul's, have agreed to become his 
 tool in so extraordinary an undertaking, 
 from which France was to derive all the 
 advantage. 
 
 A nearer mode of injuring the interests 
 of England than this overland march to 
 India, was in the power of the Emperor of . 
 Russia. A controversy being in depend- 
 ence betwixt England and the northern 
 courts, afforded the pretext for throwing 
 his weight into the scale against her at this 
 dangerous crisis. 
 
 The right of search at sea, that is, the 
 right of stopping a neutral or friendly ves- 
 sel, and taking out of her the goods belong- 
 ing to an enemy, is acknowledged in the 
 earliest maritime codes. But England, by 
 her naval superiority, had been enabled to 
 exert this right so generally, that it became 
 the subject of much heart-burning to neu-
 
 Chap. XL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 361 
 
 tral powers. The association of the North- 
 ern States in 1780, Icnown by the name of 
 the Armed Neutrality, had for its object to 
 put down this right of search, and establish 
 the maxim that free bottoms made free 
 goods ; in other words, that the neutral 
 character of the vessel should protect what- 
 ever property she might have on board. 
 This principle was now anxiously reclaim- 
 ed by France, as the most effective argu- 
 ment for the purpose of irritating the neu- 
 tnu powers against Great Britain, whose 
 right of search, which could not be exercis- 
 ed without vexation and inconvenience to 
 their commerce, must necessarily be un- 
 popular amongst them. Forgetting that the 
 dauiger occasioned by the gigantic power 
 of France was infinitely greater than any 
 which could arise from the maritime claims 
 of England, the northern courts became 
 again united on the subject of what they 
 termed the freedom of the seas. Indeed, 
 the Emperor Paul, even before the offence 
 arising out of his disappointment respect- 
 ing Alalia, had proceeded so far as to se- 
 questrate all British property in his domin- 
 ions, in resentment of her exercising the 
 riglit of search. But upon the fresh provo- 
 cation which he conceived himself to have 
 received, the Emperor became outrageous, 
 and took the most violent measures for 
 seizing the persons and property of the 
 English, that ever were practised by an an- 
 gry aud uareasonable despot. 
 
 Prussia, more intent on her own imme- 
 diate aggrandizement than mindful of the 
 welfare of Europe in general, took advan- 
 tage of the universal ill-will against Eng- 
 land, to seize upon the King's continental 
 dominions of Hanover, with peculiar breach 
 of public faith, as she herself had guaran- 
 teed the neutrality of that country. 
 
 The consequences, with regard to the 
 northern powers, are well known. The 
 promptitude of the administration sent a 
 strong fleet to the Baltic ; and the well-con- 
 tested battle of Copenhagen detached Den- 
 mark from the Northern Confederacy. 
 Sweden had joined it unwillingly ; and Rus- 
 sia altered her course of policy in conse- 
 quence of the death of Paul. That unhappy 
 prince had surmounted the patience of his 
 subjects, and fell a victim to one of those 
 conspiracies, which in arbitrary monarch- 
 ies, especially such as partake of the orien- 
 tal character, supply all the checks of a 
 moderate and free constitution, where the 
 prerogative of the crown is limited by laws. 
 in these altered circumstances, the cause 
 of dispute was easily removed, by the right 
 of search being subjected to equitable reg- 
 ulations and modifications. 
 
 Buonaparte received the news of Paul's 
 death with much more emotion than he 
 was usually apt to testify. It is said, that, 
 for the first time in his life, a passionate 
 exclamation of " Mon Dieu !" escaped him 
 in a tone of sorrow and surprise. With 
 Paul's immense power, and his disposition 
 to place it at the disposal of France, the 
 First Consul doubtless reckoned upon the 
 accomplishment of many important plans 
 which his death disconcerted. It was nat 
 
 Vet. T q, 
 
 ural, also, that Napoleon should be moved 
 by the sudden and violent end of a prince, 
 who had manifested so much admiration of 
 his person and his qualities. He is said to 
 have dwelt so long on the strangeness of 
 the incident, that Fouche was obliged to 
 remind him, that it was a mode of changing 
 a chief magistrate, or a course of admin 
 istration, which was common to the empire 
 in which it took place.* 
 
 The death of Paul, so much regretted by 
 Buonaparte, was nevertheless the means 
 of accelerating a peace between France and 
 Great Britain, which, if it could have been 
 established on a secure basis, would have 
 afforded him the best chance of maintain- 
 ing his power, and transmitting it to his 
 posterity. While the Czar continued to be 
 his observant ally, there was little prospect 
 that the First Consul would be moderate 
 enough in the terms which he might have 
 proffered, to permit the British ministry to 
 treat with him. 
 
 .\nother obstacle to peace was at thi« 
 time removed, in a manner not more ac- 
 ceptable to Buonaparte than was the death 
 of the Emperor Paul. The possession of 
 Egypt by the French was a point which the 
 First Consul would have insisted upon from 
 strong personal feeling. I'he Egyptian ex- 
 pedition was intimately connected with his 
 own persona] glory, nor was it likely that 
 he would have sacrificed its results to his 
 desire of peace with Great Britain. On the 
 other hand, there was no probability that 
 England would accede to any arrangement, 
 which should sanction the existence of a 
 French colony, settled in Egypt with tlie 
 express purpose of destroying our Indian 
 commerce. But this obstacle to peace wa.s 
 removed by the fate of arms. 
 
 Affairs in Egypt had been on the whc.k* 
 unfavourable to the French, since that army 
 had lostthe presence of the commander-in- 
 chief Kleber, on whom the command de- 
 volved, was discontented both at the uncer- 
 emonious and sudden manner in which the 
 duty had been imposed upon him, and witli 
 the scarcity of means left to support his de- 
 fence. Perceiving himself threatened by a 
 large Turkish force, which was collecting 
 for the purpose of avenging the defeat of 
 the vizier at .\boukir. he became desirous 
 of giving up a settlement which he despair- 
 ed of maintaining. He signed accordingly 
 a convention with the Turkish plenipotf-n- 
 tiaries, and Sir Sidney Smith on tlic part of 
 the British, by which it was provided that 
 the French should evacuate Egypt, and 
 that Kleber and his army sliould be t-ans- 
 ported to France in safety, without nein? 
 molested by the British fleet. When thp 
 British government received advice of ihis 
 convention, they refused to ratify ii, on the 
 ground that Sir Sidnev Smith had exceeu- 
 ed his powers in entering into it. Tlie 
 Earl of Elgin having be^n sent out as plen- 
 ipotentiary to the Porie. it was asserted 
 that Sir Sidney's ministerial powers were 
 superseded by his appointment. Such w.i« 
 
 * " Mais enfin que voulez vou« ' C'cst uii tUiiln 
 de destitution, propre a ce pait-14 1"
 
 m-i 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLKON BUOXAx'^ARTr.. 
 
 [Chap. XL. 
 
 the alleged intbrmaltty on which the treaty 
 fell to the ground; but the truth was, that 
 the arrival of Kleber and his army in the 
 south of France, at the very moment when 
 the successes of Suwarrow gave strong 
 hopes of making some impression on her 
 frontier, might have had a most material 
 effect upon the events of the war. Lord 
 Keith, therefore, vvho commanded i\ the 
 Mediterranean, received orders not to per- 
 mit tlie passage of the French Egyptian ar- 
 my, and the treaty of El Arish was in con- 
 sequence broken off. 
 
 Kleber, disappointed of this mode of ex- 
 tricating himself, had recourse to arms. 
 The Vizier Jouseff Pacha, having crossed 
 the desert, and entered Egypt, received a 
 bloody and decisive defeat from the French 
 general, near the ruins of the ancient city 
 of Heliopolis, on the 'iiOth of March 1800. 
 The measures which Kleber adopted after 
 this victory were well calculated to main- 
 tain the possession of the country, and rec- 
 oncile the inhabitants to the French gov- 
 ernment. He was as moderate in the imposts 
 as the exigencies of his army permitted, 
 greatly improved the condition of the 
 troops, and made, if not peace, at least an 
 effectual truce with the restless and enter- 
 prising Murad Bey, who still continued to 
 be at the head of a considerable body of 
 Mamelukes. Kleber also raised among the 
 Greeks a legion of fifteen hundred or two 
 thousand men ; and with more difficulty 
 succeeded in levying a regiment of Copts. 
 
 While busied in these measures, he was 
 cut short by the blow of an assassin. A fa- 
 natic Turk, called Soliman Haleby, a na- 
 tive of Aleppo, imagined he was inspired 
 by heaven to slay the enemy of the Prophet 
 ;uid the Grand Seignior. He concealed 
 liimself in a cistern, and springing out on 
 Kleber when there was only one man in 
 company with him, stabbed him dead. The 
 assassin was justly condemned to die by a 
 military tribunal ; but the sentence was ex- 
 ecuted with a barbarity which disgraced 
 those who practised it. Being impaled 
 alive, he survived for four hours in the ut- 
 most tortures, which he bore with an indif- 
 ference which his fanaticism perhaps alone 
 could have bestowed. 
 
 The Baron Menou, on whom the com- 
 mand now devolved, was an inferior person 
 to Kleber. He had made some figure 
 amongst the nobles who followed the revo- 
 lutionary cause in the Constituent Assem- 
 bly, and was the same general whose want 
 of decision at the affair of the Sections 
 had led to the employment of Buonaparte 
 in nis room, and to the first rise, conse- 
 quently, of the fortunes which had since 
 swelled so high. Menou altered for the 
 worse several of the regulations of Kleber, 
 and, carrying into literal execution what 
 Buonaparte had only written and spoken 
 of, he became an actual Mahommedan, 
 married a native Turkish woman, and as- 
 sumed the name of Abdallah Menou. This 
 change of religion exposed him to the ridi- 
 oule of the French, while it went in no 
 degree to conciliate the Egyptians. 
 
 The succours from France, which Buon- 
 aparte had promised in his farewell addresj 
 to the Egyptian army, arrived slowly, and 
 in small numbers and quantity. This was 
 not the fault of the Chief Consul, who had 
 commanded Gantheaume to put to sea with 
 a squadron, having on board four or five 
 thousand men ; but being pursued by the 
 English fleet, that admiral was glad to re- 
 gain the harbour of Toulon. Other efforts 
 were made with the same indifferent suc- 
 cess. The French ports were too closely 
 watched to permit the sailing of any expe- 
 dition on a large scale, and two frigates, 
 with five or six hundred men, were the on- 
 ly reinforcements that reached Egypt. 
 
 Meantime, the English cabinet had adopt- 
 ed the daring and manly resolution of 
 wresting from France this favourite colony 
 by force. They had for a length of time 
 confined their military efforts to partial and 
 detached objects, which, if successful, 
 could not have any effect on the general 
 results of the war, and which, when they 
 miscarried, as was the case before Cadiz, 
 Ferrol, and elsewhere, tended to throw 
 ridicule on the plans of the ministry, and, 
 however undeservedly, even upon the char- 
 acter of the forces employed on the ser- 
 vice. It was by such ill-considered and 
 imperfect efforts that the war was main- 
 tained on our part, while our watchful and 
 formidable enemy combined his mighty 
 means to effect objects of commensurate 
 importance. We. like puny fencers, of- 
 fered doubtful and uncertain blows, which 
 could only affect the extremities ; he nev 
 er aimed, save at the heart, nor thrust, but 
 with the determined purpose of plunging 
 his weapon to the hilt. 
 
 The consequence of these partial and 
 imperfect measures was, that even while 
 our soldiers were in the act of gradually 
 attaining that perfection of discipline by 
 which they are now distinguished, they 
 ranked — most unjustly — lower in the re- 
 spect of their countrymen, than at any oth- 
 er period in our history. The pre-eminent 
 excellence of our sailors had been shown 
 in a thousand actions ; and it became too 
 usual to place it in contrast with the fail- 
 ure of our expeditions on shore. But it 
 was afterwards found that our soldiers 
 could assume the same superiority, when- 
 ever the plan of the campaign offered them 
 a fair field for its exercise. Such a field 
 of action was afforded by the Egyptian ex- 
 pedition. 
 
 This undertaking was the exclusive plan 
 of an ill-requited statesman, the late Lord 
 Melville; who had difficulty in obtaining 
 even Mr. Pitt's concurrence in a scheme, 
 of a character so much more daring than 
 Britain had lately entertained. The expe- 
 dition was resolved upon by the narrowest 
 possible majority in the cabinet; and his 
 late Majesty interposed his consent in 
 terms inferring a solemn protest against 
 the risk about to be incurred. " It is with 
 the utmost reluctance," (such, or nearly 
 such, were the words of George III..) 
 " that I consent to a measure, which send*
 
 Cl>ap. XLI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 363 
 
 the flower of my irmy upon a dangerous 
 expedition against a distant province."'* 
 The event, however, showed, that in ardu- 
 ous circumstances, the daring game, if pre- 
 viously well considered, is often the most 
 successful. 
 
 On the 3th of March 1801, General Sir 
 Ralph Abercrombie, at the head of an ar- 
 my of seventeen thousand men. landed in 
 Egypt, in despite of the most desperate 
 opposition by the enemy. The excellence 
 of the troops was displayed by the extreme 
 gallantry and calmness with which, landing 
 through a heavy surf, they instantly form- 
 ed and advanced against the enemy. On 
 the "list of March, a general action took 
 place. The French cavalry attempted to 
 turn the British flank, and made a despe- 
 rate charge for that purpose, but failed in 
 their attempt, and were driven back with 
 ifreat loss. The French were defeated and 
 compelled to retreat on Alexandria, under 
 the walls of which they hoped to maintain 
 themselves. But the British suffered an 
 irreparable loss in their lamented comman- 
 der, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, who was mor- 
 tally wounded in the course of this action. 
 In this gallant veteran his country long re- 
 gretted one of the best generals, and one 
 of the worthiest and most amiable men, to 
 whom she ever gave birth. 
 
 The command descended on General 
 Hutchinson, who was soon joined by the 
 Captain Pacha, with a Turkish army. The 
 recollections of Aboukir and Heliopolis, 
 joined to the remonstrances and councils 
 of their English allies, induced the Turks 
 to avoid a general action, and confine them- 
 selves to skirmishes, by which system the 
 French were so closely watched, and their 
 communications so effectually destroved, 
 that General Belliard, shut up in a fortified 
 
 * At an after period, the good Kinj made the 
 followins acknowledgment of his mistake. When 
 Lord Melville was out uf power, his majesty did 
 hira the honour to visit him at Wimhledonj and 
 partake of some refreshment. On that occasion 
 the King took an opportunity to fill a glass of wine, 
 and having made the company do the same, he 
 gave as his toast, " The health of the coura;;eoiis 
 minister, who, against the opinion of many of his 
 colleagues, and even the remonstrances of his 
 King, had dared to conceive and carry througii 
 the E^ptian e.ipedition." 
 
 camp in Cairo, cut off from Alexandria, and 
 threatened with insurrection within the 
 place, was compelled to capitulate, under 
 condition that his troops should safely be 
 transported to France, with their arms and 
 baggage. This was on the 28th of June, 
 and the convention had scarce been signed, 
 when the English army was reinforced in a 
 manner which showed the bold and suc- 
 cessful combination of measures under 
 which the expedition had been undertaken. 
 An army of seven thousand men, of whom 
 two thousand were sepoys, or native Indian 
 troops, were disembarked at Cossier, on 
 the Red Sea, and detached from the Indian 
 settlements, now came to support the Eu- 
 ropean part of the English invasion. The 
 Egyptians saw with the extremity of won- 
 der, native troops, many of them Mosle- 
 mah, who worshipped in the mosques, and 
 observed the ritual enjoined by the Proph- 
 et, perfectly accomplished in the European 
 discipline. The lower class were inclined 
 to think, that this singular reinforcement 
 had been sent to them in consequence of 
 Mahommed's direct and miraculous inter- 
 position ; only their being commanded by 
 English officers did not favour this theory. 
 In consequence of these reinforcements, 
 and his own confined situation under the 
 walls of Alexandria, Menou saw liimself 
 constrained to enter into a convention for 
 surrendering up the province of I-gj'pt. 
 He was admitted to the same terms of com- 
 position which had been granted to Bel- 
 liard ; and thus the war in that quarter was, 
 on the part of Great Britain, triumphant! v 
 concluded. 
 
 The conquest of this disputed kingdom, 
 excited a strong sensation both in France 
 and Britain ; but the news of the contest 
 being finally closed by Menou's submis- 
 sion, are believed to have reached the for- 
 mer country some time before the English 
 received them. Buonaparte, on learning 
 the tidings, is reported to have said, " Well, 
 there remains now no alternative but to 
 make the descent on Britain." But it seems 
 to have occurred to him presently after- 
 wards, that the loss of this disputed prov- 
 ince might, instead of being an argument 
 for carrying the war to extremity, be con- 
 sidered as the removal of an obstacle to a 
 treaty of peace. 
 
 CHAP. XLI. 
 
 Preparations made for the Invasion of Britain.— Xelson put in command of the Sea.~ 
 Attack of the Boulogne Flotilla.— Pitt leaves the Ministry— succeeded by Mr. Adding- 
 ton.—Xegotialions for Peace.— Just punishment of England, in regard to the con- 
 quered Settlements of the Enemy.— Forced to restore them all. save Ceylon and Trini- 
 dad. — Malta is placed under the guarantee of a Neutral Poicer. — Preliminaries of 
 Peace signed.— Joy of the English Populace, and doubU of the better classes.— Trea- 
 ty of Amiens signed. — The ambilioxis projects of Napoleon, nevertheless, proceed icith- 
 out interruption— Extension of his power in Italy.— He is appointed Consul for life 
 with the power of naming his Successor. 
 
 As the words of the First Consul appeared | along the coast, was crowded with flat-bot- 
 to intimate, preparations were resumed on j tamed boats, and the shores covered with 
 the French coast for the invasion of Great, camps of the men designed apparently to 
 Britain. Boulogne, and every harbour I fill them. We need not at greseat dwd'l on
 
 8G4 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEO.\ BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XU. 
 
 the preparations for attack, or tliose which 
 the English adopted in defence, as we shall 
 liavc occasion to notice both, when Buona- 
 ]).irte, for the last time, threatened England 
 with the same measure. It is enough to 
 say. that, on the present occasion, the men- 
 aces of France had their usual effect in 
 ;ftvakening the spirit of Britain. 
 
 The most extensive arrangements were 
 made for the reception of the invaders 
 should they chance to land, and in the 
 meanwhile, our natural barrier was not ne- 
 glected. The naval preparations were very 
 great, and what gave yet more confidence 
 than the number of vessels and guns, Nel- 
 son was put into command of the sea, from 
 Orfordness to Beachy-head. Under his 
 management, it soon became the questioo, 
 not whether the French flotilla was to in- 
 vade the British shores, but whether it was 
 to remain in safety in the French harbours. 
 Boulogne was bombarded, and some of the 
 small craft and gunboats destroyed — the, 
 English admiral generously sparing the 
 town ; and not satisfied with this partial suc- 
 cess, Nelson prepared to attack them with 
 the boats of the squadron. The French re- 
 sorted to the most unusual and formidable 
 preparations for defence. Their flotilla was 
 moored close to the shore in the mouth of 
 Houlogne harbour, the vessels secured to 
 each other by chains, and filled with sol- 
 diers. The British attack in some degree 
 failed, owing to the several divisions of 
 boats missing each other in the dark ; some 
 French vessels were taken, but they could 
 not be brought off; and the French chose to 
 consider this result as a victory, on their 
 part, of consequence enough to balance the 
 loss at Aboukir ; — though it amounted at 
 best to ascertaining, that although their ves- 
 sels could not keep the sea, they might, in 
 some comparative degree of safety, lie un- 
 der close cover of their own batteries. 
 Meantime, the changes which had taken 
 place in the British administration, were 
 preparing public expectation for that peace 
 which all the world now longed for. 
 
 Mr. Pitt, as is well known, left the min- 
 istry, and was succeeded in the office of 
 Srst Minister of State by Mr. Addington, 
 »ow Lord Sidmouth. The change was just- 
 ly considered as friendly to pacific meas- 
 ures ; for, in France especially, the gold of 
 Pitt had been by habit associated with all 
 that was prejudicial to their country. The 
 very massacres of Paris, nay, the return of 
 Buonaparte from Egypt, were imputed to 
 the intrigues of the English minister ; he 
 was the scape-goat on whom were charged 
 as the ultimate cause all the follies, crimes, 
 Aod misfortunes of the Revolution. 
 
 A great part of his own countrymen, 
 ae well as of the French, entertained a doubt 
 of ttie possibility of concluding a peace un- 
 der Mr. Pitt's auspices ; while those who 
 were most anti-Gallican in their opinions, 
 •lad little wish to see his lofty spirit stoop 
 €> the task of arranging conditions of treaty 
 «n terms so different from what his hopes 
 had once dictated. The worth, temper, 
 and talents of his successor, seemed to 
 qaalify him to' enter into a negotiation, to 
 
 • which the greater part of the nation waa 
 now inclined, were it but for the sake of 
 I experiment. 
 
 ' Buonaparte himself was at this time die* 
 posed to peace. It was necessary to France, 
 and no less necessary to him, since he oth- 
 erv.ise must remain pledged to undertake 
 the hazardous alternative of invasion, in 
 which chances stood incalculably against 
 his success ; while a failure might have, 
 in its consequences, inferred the total ruin 
 of his power. All parties were, therefore, 
 in a great degree inclined to treat with sin- 
 cerity ; and Buonaparte was with little dif- 
 ficulty brought to consent to the evacuation 
 of Egypt, there being every reason to be- 
 lieve that he was already possessed of the 
 news of the convention with Menou. At 
 any rate, the French cause in Egypt had 
 been almost desperate ever since the battle 
 of Alexandria, and the First Consul waa 
 conscious that in this sacrifice he only re- 
 signed that, which there was little chance 
 of his being able to keep. It was also stip- 
 ulated that the French should evacuate 
 Rome and NapleSij a condition of little con- 
 sequence, as they were always able to re- 
 occupy these countries when their interest 
 required it. The Dutch colony of the Cape 
 of Good Hope was to be restored to tlie Ba- 
 tavian republic, and declared a free port. 
 
 In respect of the settlements which the 
 British arms had conquered, England un- 
 derwent a punishment not unmerited. The 
 conquest of the enemy's colonies had been 
 greatly too much an object of the English 
 ministry ; and thus the national force had 
 been frittered away upon acquisitions of 
 comparatively petty importance, which, 
 from the insalubrity of the climate, cost us 
 more men to maintain them than would 
 have been swept off by many a bloody bat« 
 tie. All the conquests made on this ped- 
 dling plan of warfare, were now to be re- 
 turned without any equivalent. Had the 
 gallant soldiers, who perished miserably for 
 the sake of these sugar-islands, been united 
 in one well-concerted expedition, to the 
 support of Charette, or La Piochejacquelein, 
 such a force might have enabled these 
 chiefs to march to Paris ; or, if sent to Hol- 
 land, mistht have replaced the Stadthoider 
 in his dominions. And now, these very 
 sugar-islands, the pitiful compensation 
 which Britain had received for the blood 
 of her brave children, were to be restored 
 to those from whom they had been wrested. 
 The important possessions of Ceylon in the 
 East, and Trinidad in the West IndieK, 
 were the only part of her conquests which 
 England retained. The integrity of her 
 ancient ally, Portugal, was, however, rec- 
 ognized, and the independence of the Ioni- 
 an Islands was stipulated for and guaran- 
 teed. Britain restored Porta Feraijo, and 
 what other places she had occupied in the 
 Isle of Elba, or on the Italian coast; but 
 the occupation of Malta for some time ' 
 threatened to prove an obstacle to the trea- 
 ty. The English considered it as of the 
 last consequence that this strong island 
 should remain in their possession, and in- 
 timated that they regarded the pertipac^oui 
 
 ]|
 
 :iap. XLL] 
 
 LIFE OF N.VPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 366 
 
 resistance which the First Consul testified 
 to this proposal, as implying a private and 
 unavowed desire of renewing, at soaie fu- 
 ture opportunity, his designs on Eg}pt, to 
 which Malta might be considered as in 
 some measure a key. After much discus- 
 eion, it was at length agreed that the inde- 
 pendence of the island should be secured 
 by its being garrisoned by a neutral power, 
 and placed under its guarantee and protec- 
 tion. 
 
 The preliminaries of peace were signed 
 10th October 1801. (General Law de Lau- 
 riston, the school companion and first aid- 
 de-camp of Buonaparte, brought them over 
 from Paris to London, where they were re- 
 ceived with the most extravagant joy by the 
 populace, to whom novelty is a sufficient 
 recommendation of almost anything. But 
 amidst the better classes, the sensation was 
 much divided. There was a small but en- 
 ergetic party, led by the celebrated Wind- 
 ham, who, adopting the principles of Burke 
 to their utmost extent, considered the act 
 of treating with a regicide government as 
 indelible meanness, and as a dereliction, on 
 the part of great Britain, of those principles 
 of legitimacy, upon which the social com- 
 pact ought to rest. More moderate anti- 
 Gallicans, while they regretted that our ef- 
 forts in favour of the Bourbons had been 
 totaL'y unavailing, contended with reason, 
 that ws were not so closely leagued to their 
 cause as to be bound to sacrifice our own 
 country, in a vain attempt to restore the 
 exiled family to the throne of France. This 
 was the opinion entertained by Pitt him- 
 self, and the most judicious among his fol- 
 lowers. Lastly there was the professed 
 Opposition, who, while rejoicing that we 
 hsia been able to obtain peace on any terms, 
 might now exult in the fulfilment of their 
 predictions, of the bad success of the war. 
 Sheridan summed up what was perhaps the 
 Diost general feeling in the country, with 
 the observation, that " it was a peace 
 which all men were glad of, and no man 
 could be proud of." 
 
 Amiens was appointed for the meeting 
 of commissioners, who were finally to ad- 
 just the treaty of pacification, which was 
 not ended till five months after the prelim- 
 inaries had been agreed on. After this 
 long negotiation, the treaty was at length 
 signed, 27th March 1802. The isle of Mai- j 
 ta, according to this agreement, was to be 
 occupied by a garrison of Neapolitan troops, 
 while, besides Britain and France, Austria, I 
 Spain, Russia, and Prussia, were to guaran- j 
 tee its neutrality. The Knights of St. John i 
 were to be the sovereigns, but neither ! 
 French nor English were in future to be I 
 members of that order. The harbours j 
 were to be free to the commerce of all na- 
 tions, and the Order was to be neutral to- 
 wards all nations save the Algerines and | 
 other piratical states. I 
 
 Napoleon, had he chosen to examine into 
 the feelings of the English, must have seen 
 plainly that this treaty, unwillingly acceded | 
 to by them, and only by way of experiment, I 
 Was to have a duration long or short, in . 
 proportion to their confidence in, or doubt I 
 
 of, his own good faitli. His ambition, and 
 the little scruple which he showed in grat- 
 ifying it, was. he must have been sensible 
 the terror of Europe ; and until the fears be 
 had excited were disarmed by a tract of 
 peaceful and moderate conduct on his part 
 the suspicions of England must have been 
 constantly awake, and the pe.ace bctweea 
 the nations must have been considered as 
 preciirious as an armed truce. Yet these 
 considerations could not induce him to lay 
 aside, or even postpone, a train of meas- 
 ures, tending directly to his own personal 
 aggrandizement, and confirming the jeal- 
 ousies which his character already inspir- 
 ed. These measures were partly of a na- 
 ture adapted to consolidate and prolong his 
 own power in France ; partly to extend the 
 predominating influence of that country 
 over her continental neighbours. 
 
 By the treaty of Luneville, and by that 
 of Tolentino, the independent existence of 
 the Cisalpine and Helvetian republics had 
 been expressly stipulated ; but this inde- 
 pendence, according to Buonaparte's ex- 
 planation of the word, did not exclude 
 their being reduced to mere satellites, who 
 depended on, and whose motions were to 
 be regulated by France, and by himself, '.he 
 chief governor of France and all her depen- 
 dencies. When, therefore, the Directory 
 was overthrown in France, it was not his 
 purpose that a directorial form of govern- 
 ment should continue to subsist in Italy. 
 Measures were on this account to be tak- 
 en, to establish in that country something 
 resembling the new Consular model adopt- 
 ed in Paris. 
 
 For this purpose, in the beginninir of 
 January 1302, a convention of 450 deputies 
 from the Cisalpine States arrived at Lyons, 
 (for they were not trusted to deliberate 
 within the limits of their own country,) to 
 contrive for themselves a new political sys- 
 tem. In that period, when the modelling 
 of constitutions was so common, there was 
 no difficulty in drawing up one j which con- 
 sisted of a president, a deputy-president, a 
 legislative council, and three electoral col- 
 leges, composed, 1st, of proprietors, 2d, of 
 persons of learning, and, 3d, of commercial 
 persons. If the Italians had been awkward 
 upon the occasion, they had the assistance 
 of Talleyrand ; and soon after the arrival of 
 Buonaparte himself at Lyons gave counte- 
 nance to their operations. His presence 
 was necessary for the exhibition of a most 
 singular farce. 
 
 A committee of thirty of the Italian con- 
 vention, to whom had been intrusted the 
 principal duty of suggesting the new model 
 of government, gave in a report, in which 
 it was stated, that, from the want of any 
 man of sufficient influence amongst them- 
 selves to till the office of president, upon 
 whom devolved all the executive duties 
 of the state, the new system could not be 
 considered as secure, unless Buonaparte 
 should be prevailed upon to fill that situa- 
 tion, not, as it was carefully explained, in 
 his character of head of the French gov- 
 ernment, but in his individual capacity. 
 Napoleon graciously inclined to their suit.
 
 366 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLI. 
 
 He informed them, that he concurred in the 
 modest opinion they had formed, that their 
 republic did not at present possess an indi- 
 vidual sufficiently gifted with talents and 
 imprrtiality to take charge of their affairs, 
 which he should, therefore, retain under his 
 own chief management, while circumstan- 
 ces required hini to do so. 
 
 Having thus established his power in It- 
 aly as firmly as in France, Buonaparte pro- 
 ceeded to take measures for extending his 
 dominions in the former country and else- 
 where. By a treaty with Spain, now made 
 public, it appeared that the Duchy of Par- 
 ma was to devolve on France, together with 
 the island of Elba, upon the death of the 
 present Duke, — an event at no distant date 
 to be expected. The Spanish part of the 
 province of Louisiana, in North America, 
 was to be ceded to France by the same trea- 
 ty. Portugal, too, though the integrity of 
 her dominions had been guaranteed by the 
 preliminaries of the peace with England, 
 had been induced, by a treaty kept studi- 
 ously private from the British court,'to cede 
 her province of Guiana to France. These 
 stipulations served to show, that there was 
 no quarter of the world in which France 
 and her present ruler did not entertain 
 views of aggrandizement, and that ques- 
 tions of national faith would not be consid- 
 ered too curiously when they interfered 
 with their purpose. 
 
 While Europe was stunned and astonish- 
 ed at the spirit of conquest and accumula- 
 tion manifested by this insatiable conquer- 
 or, France was made aware that he was 
 equally desirous to consolidate and to pro- 
 long his power, as to extend it over near 
 and distant regions. He was all, and more 
 than all, that sovereign had ever been ; and 
 he still wanted the title and the perma- 
 nence which royalty requires. To attain 
 these was no difficult matter, when the First 
 Consul was the prime mover of each act, 
 whether in the Senate or Tribunate ; nor 
 was he long of discovering proper agents 
 eager to gratify his wishes. 
 
 Chabot de L'Allier took the lead in the 
 race of adulation. Arising in the Tribu- 
 nate he pronounced a long eulogium on 
 Buonaparte, enhancing the gratitude due to 
 the hero, by whom France had been pre- 
 served and restored to victory. He, there- 
 fore, proposed, that the Tribunate should 
 transmit to the Conservative Senate a reso- 
 lution, requesting the Senate to consider 
 the manner of bestowing on Napoleon 
 Buonaparte a splendid mark of the national 
 gratitude. 
 
 There was no misunderstanding this hint. 
 The motion was unanimously adopted, and 
 transmitted to the Convention, to the Sen- 
 ate, to the Legislative Body, and to the 
 Consuls. 
 
 The Senate conceived they should best 
 meet the demand now made upon them, by 
 electing Napoleon First Consul for a sec- 
 ond space often years, to commence when 
 the date of the original period, for which 
 he was named by the Constitution, should 
 expire. 
 
 The proposition of the Senate being re- 
 
 duced into the form of a decree, was inti- 
 mated to Buonaparte, but fell short of his 
 wishes ; as it assigned to him, however 
 distant it was, a period at which he must be 
 removed from authority. It is true, that 
 the space of seventeen years, to which the 
 edict of the Senate proposed to extend his 4i 
 power, seemed to guarantee a very ample 1 
 duration ; and in point of fact, before the ' 
 term of its expiry arrived, he was prisoner 
 at Saint Helena. But still there was a ter- 
 mination, and that was enough to mortify 
 his ambition. 
 
 lie thanked the Senate, therefore, for 
 this fresh mark of their confidence, but 
 eluded accepting it in express terms, by 
 referring to the pleasure of the people. 
 Their suffrages, he said, had invested him 
 with power, and he could not think it right 
 to accept of the prolongation of that power 
 but by their consent. It might have been 
 thought that there was now nothing left but 
 to present the decree of the Senate to the 
 people. But the Second and Third Con- 
 suls, Buonaparte's colleagues at a humble 
 distance, took it upon them, though the 
 constitution gave them no warrant for such 
 a manoeuvre, to alter the question of the 
 Senate, and to propose to the people one 
 more acceptable to Buonaparte's ambition, 
 requesting their judgment, whether the 
 Chief Consul should retain his office, not 
 for ten years longer, but for the term of his 
 life. By this juggling, the proposal of the 
 Senate was set aside, and that assembly 
 soon found it wisest to adopt the more lib- 
 eral views suggested by the Consuls, to 
 whom they returned thanks, for having 
 taught them (we suppose) how to appre- 
 ciate a hint. 
 
 The question was sent down to the de- 
 partments. The registers were opened 
 with great form, as if the people had really 
 some constitutional right to exercise. As 
 the subscriptions were received at the offi- 
 ces of the various functionaries of govern- 
 ment, it is no wonder, considering the na- 
 ture of the question, that the ministers with 
 whom the registers were finally deposited, 
 were enabled to report a majority of three 
 millions of citi:iens who gave votes in the 
 affirmative. It was much more surprising, 
 that there should have been an actual mi- 
 nority of a few hundred determined Repub- 
 licans, with Carnot at their head, who an- I- 
 swered the question in the negative. This ' 
 statesman observed, as he signed his vote, ; 
 that he' was subscribing his sentence of de- j 
 portation; from which we may conjecture 
 his opinion concerning the fairness of this 
 mode of consulting the people. He was mis- , 
 taken notwithstanding. Buonaparte found 
 himself so strong, that he could afTjird to 
 be merciful, and to assume a show of im- 
 partiality, by suffering those to go unpun- 
 ished who iiad declined to vote for the in- 
 crease of his power. 
 
 He did not, however, venture to pHropose 
 to the people another innovation, which 
 extended beyond his death the power which 
 their liberal gift had continued during his 
 life. A simple decree of the Senate as- 
 signed to Buonaparte the right of nominal"
 
 diap. XLIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BL'OXAPARTE. 
 
 367 
 
 ing his successor, by a testamentary deed. 
 So that Napoleon might call his children 
 or relatives to the succession of the empire 
 of France, as to a private inheritance ; or, 
 like Alexander, he might leave it to the 
 most favoured of his lieutenant-generals. 
 To such a pass had the domination of a 
 military chief, for the space of betwixt two 
 and three years, reduced the tierce democ- 
 racy and stubborn loyalty of the two fac- 
 tions, which seemed before that period to 
 combat for the possession of France. Na- 
 poleon had stooped on them both, like tlie 
 nawk in the fable. 
 
 The period at which we close the chap- 
 ter was a most important one in Napoleon's 
 life, and seemed a crisis on wliich his fate, 
 and that of France, depended. Britain, his 
 most inveterate and most successful enemy, 
 had seen herself compelled by circumstan- 
 ces to resort to the experiment of a doubt- 
 ful peace, rather than continue a war which 
 seemed to be waged without an object. 
 The severe checks to national prosperity, 
 which arose from ihe ruined commerce and 
 blockaded ports of France, mi^ht now, un- 
 der the countenance of the First Consul, be 
 exchanged for the wealth that waits upon 
 trade and manufactures. Her navy, of which 
 few vestiges were left save the Brest fleet, 
 might n^w be recruited, and resume by 
 degrees that acquaintance with the ocean 
 from which thev had long been debarred. 
 
 The restored colonies of France might 
 have added to the sources of her national 
 wealth, and she might have possessed — 
 what Buonaparte on a remarkable occa- 
 sion declared to be the principal objects 
 he desired for her — ships, colonies, and 
 commerce. 
 
 In liis personal capacity, the First Con- 
 sul possessed all the power which he de- 
 sired, and a great deal more than, whether 
 his own or the country's welfare was re- 
 garded, he ought to have wished for. His 
 victories over the foes of France had, by 
 their mere fame, enabled him to make 
 himself master of her freedom. It re- 
 mained to show — not whether Napoleon 
 was a patriot, for to that honourable name 
 he had forfeited all title when he first 
 usurped unlimited power — but whether he 
 was to use the power which he had wrong- 
 fully acquired, like Trajan or like Domi- 
 tain. His strangely-mingled character show- 
 ed traits of both these historical portraits, 
 strongly opposed as they are to each other. 
 Or rather, he might seem to be like Socra- 
 tes in the allegory, alternately influenced 
 by a good and a malevolent demon ; the 
 former marking his course with actions of 
 splendour and dignity ; while, the latter, 
 mastering human frailty by means of its 
 prevailing foible, the love of self, debased 
 the history of a hero, by actions and senti- 
 ments worthy only of a vulgar tyrant. 
 
 CHAP. XLII. 
 
 Different Views entertained by the English Ministers and the Chief Consul of the effects 
 of the Treaty of Amiens. — Napoleon, misled by the Shouts of a London Mob, misun- 
 derstands the feelings of ihe People of Great Britain. — His continued encroachments 
 on the Independfnce of Europe — His Conduct to Switzerland — Interferes in their 
 Politics, and sets himself up, uninvited, as Mediator in their Concerns — His extraor- 
 dinary Manifesto addressed to them. — Ney enters Switzerland at the head of 10,000 
 Men. — The patriot, Reding, disbands his Forces, and is imprinoned. — Switzerland it 
 compelled to furnish France with a Subsidiary Ariny of ir),000 Troops. — The Chief 
 Consul adopts the title of Grand Mediator of the Helvetic Republic. 
 
 The eyes of Europe were now fixed on 
 Buonaparte, as master of the destinies of 
 the civilized world, v/hich his will could 
 either maintain in a state of general peace, 
 or replunge into all the miseries of renew- 
 ed and more inveter,ite war. Many hopes 
 were entertained, from his eminent person- 
 al qualities, that the course in which he 
 would direct them might prove as honoura- 
 ble for himself as happy for the nations 
 over whom he now possessed sucli un- 
 bounded influence. The shades of his char- 
 acter were either lost amid the lustre of his 
 victories, or excused from the necessity of 
 his situation. The massacre of Jaffa was 
 little known, was acted afar oft', and might 
 present itself to memory as an act of mili- 
 tary severity, which circumstances might 
 palliate, if not excuse. 
 
 Napoleon, supposing him fully satiated 
 with martial glory, in which he had never 
 been surpassed, was expected to apply him- 
 self to the arts of peace, by which he 
 might derive fame of a more calm, yet not 
 less honourable character. Peace was all 
 
 around him, and to preserve it, he had only 
 to will that it should continue ; and the 
 season seemed eminently propitious for 
 taking the advice of Cineas to the King of 
 Epirus, and reposing himself after his la- 
 bours. But he was now beginning to show, 
 that, from the times of Pyrrhus to his own, 
 ambition has taken more pleasure in the haz- 
 ards and exertions of the chase than in its 
 successful issue. All the power which Buo- 
 naparte already possessed seemed only val- 
 uable in 1)19 eyes, as it afforded him the 
 means of getting as much more ; and, like a 
 sanguine and eager gamester, he went on 
 doubling his stakes at every throw, till the 
 tide of fortune, which had so long run in 
 his favour, at length turned against him, 
 and his ruin was total. His ruling and pre- 
 dominating vice was ambition — we would 
 have called it his only one, did not ambi- 
 tion, when of a character intensely selfish, 
 include so many others. 
 
 It seems the most natural course, in con- 
 tinuing our history, first to trace those 
 events which disappointed the general ex-
 
 368 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 ICkap. XLII. 
 
 pectations of Europe, and after a jealous 
 and feverish armistice of little more than a 
 year, again renewed the horrors of war. 
 We shaJl then resume the internal history 
 of France and her ruler. 
 
 Although the two contracting powers 
 had been able to agree upon the special 
 articles of the peace of Amiens, they pos- 
 sessed extremely different ideas concerning 
 the nature of a state of pacification in gen- 
 eral, and the relations which it establishes 
 between two independent states. The 
 English minister, a man of the highest per- 
 sonal worth and probity, entertained no 
 doubt that peace was lo have its usual ef- 
 fect, of restoring all tlie ordinary amicable 
 intercourse betwi-xt France and England ; 
 and that, in matters concerning their mutu- 
 al allies, and the state of the European re- 
 public in general, the latter country, on 
 sheathing the sword, had retained the right 
 of friendly counsel and remonstrance. Mr. 
 Addington could not hope to restore the 
 balance of Europe, for which so much 
 blood had been spilled in the ISih century. 
 The scales and beams of that balance were 
 broken into fragments, and lay under the 
 leet of Buonaparte. But Britain did not 
 lie prostrate. She still grasped in her hand 
 the trident of the Ocean, and had by no 
 event, in the late contest, been reduced to 
 •iurrender the right of remonstrating against 
 violence and injustice, and of protecting 
 the feeble, as far as circumstances would 
 still permit. 
 
 But Buonaparte's idea of the effects of 
 the treaty of Amiens was very different. 
 It was, according to his estimation, a treaty, 
 Containing everything that Britain was en- 
 titled to expect on the part of herself and 
 her allies, and the accepting of which ex- 
 cluded her from all farther right of interfer- 
 ence in the affairs of Europe. It was like 
 a bounding charter, which restricts the 
 right of the person to whom it is grant- 
 ed to the precise limits therein described, 
 and precludes the possibility of his making 
 either claim or acquisition beyond them. 
 All Europe, then, was to be at the disposal 
 of France, and states created, dissolved, 
 changed, and re-changed at her pleasure, 
 unless England could lay her finger on the 
 line in the treaty of Amiens, which prohib- 
 ited the proposed measure. ''England," 
 said the Moniteur, in an official tone, '' shall 
 have the treaty of Amiens, the whole treaty 
 of Amiens, and nothing but the treaty of 
 I Amiens I" In this manner the treaty was, 
 / so far as England was concerned, under- 
 stood to decide, and that in favour of 
 France, all questions which could possibly 
 arise in the course of future time between 
 the two countries; while, in ordinary can- 
 dour, and in common sense, it could be 
 only considered as settling the causes of 
 animosity between the parties, as they ex- 
 isted at the date of the pacification. 
 
 The insular situation of England was ab- 
 surdly alleged as a reason why she should 
 not interfere in continental politics ; as if 
 the relations of states to each other were 
 not the same, whether divided by an ocean 
 or a line of mountains. The very circum- 
 
 stance had been founded upon eloquently 
 and justly by one of her own poets, for 
 claiming for Britain the office of an um- 
 pire,* because less liable to be agitated by 
 the near vicinity of continental war, and 
 more likely to decide with impartiality con- 
 cerning contending claims, in which she 
 herself could have little interest. It was 
 used by France in the sense of another 
 poet, and made a reason for thrusting Eng- 
 land out of the European world, and allow- 
 ing her no vote in its most important con- 
 cerns.! 
 
 To such humiliation it was impossible for 
 Britain to submit. It rendered the treaty 
 ol' Amiens, thus interpreted, the counter- 
 part of the terms which the Cyclops grant- 
 ed to Polyphemus, that he should be the 
 last devoureu. If Britain were compelled 
 to remain, with fettered hands and pad- 
 locked lips, a helpless and inactive witness, 
 while France completed the subjection of 
 the Continent, what other doom could she 
 expect than to be fin>illy subdued ? It will 
 be seen afterwards that disputes arose con- 
 cerning the execution of the treaty. These, 
 it is possible, might have been accommo- 
 dated, had not the general interpretation, 
 placed by tiie First Consul on the whole 
 transaction, been inconsistent with the 
 honour, safety, and independence .^f Great 
 Britain. 
 
 It seems more than probable, that the 
 extreme rejoicing of the rabble of London 
 at signing the preliminaries, their dragging 
 about the carriage of Lauriston, and shout- 
 ing " Buonaparte for ever !" had misled the 
 ruler of France into an opinion that peace 
 was indispensably necessary to England ; 
 for, like other foreigners, misapprehending 
 the nature of our popular government, he 
 may easily enough have mistaken the cries 
 of a London mob for the voice of the Brit- 
 ish people. The ministers also seemed to 
 keep their ground in Parliament on condi- 
 tion of their making and maintaining peace ; 
 and as they showed a spirit of frankness 
 and concession, it might be misconstrued 
 by Buonaparte into a sense of weakness. 
 Had he not laboured under some such im- 
 pression, he would probably have postponed 
 till the final pacification of Amiens, the gi- 
 gantic steps towards farther aggrandize- 
 ment, which he hesitated not to take after . 
 signing the preliminaries, and during the ' 
 progress of the Congress. 
 
 We have specified, heretofore, Napo- , 
 Icon's acceptance of the Presidency of 
 the Cisalpine Republic, on which he now 
 bestowed the name of Italian, as if it was 
 designed at a future time to comprehend 
 the whole peninsula of Italy. By a secret 
 treaty with Portugal, he had acquired the 
 province of Guiana, so far as it belonged to 
 that power. By another with Spain, he 
 had engrossed the Spanish part of Louiai- , 
 ana, and, what was still more ominous, the < 
 reversion of the Duchy of Parma, and of » 
 
 * " Thrice happy Britain, from tho kingdoms rent. 
 To -sit tho Guardian of the Continent." 
 
 Addkor. 
 t " peoitua toto divisos orba Britannoi "
 
 Cliap. XLIL\ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 369 
 
 the island of Elba, important as an excel- 
 lent naval station. 
 
 In the German Diet for settling the in- 
 demnities, to be granted to the various 
 princes of the empire who had sustained 
 loss of territory in consequence of late 
 events, and particularly of the treaty of 
 Luneville, the influence of France predom- 
 inated in a manner which threatened entire 
 destruction to that ancient Confederation. 
 It may be in general observed, that towns, 
 districts, and provinces, were dealt from 
 hand to hand like cards at a gaming-table ; 
 aijd the powers of Europe once more, after 
 the partition of Poland, saw with scandal 
 the government of freemen transferred from 
 hand to hand, without regard to their wish- 
 es, aptitudes, and habits, any more than 
 those of cattle. This evil imitation of an 
 evil precedent was fraught with mischief, 
 as breaking every tie of affection betwixt 
 the governor and governed, and loosening 
 all attachments which bind subjects to their 
 rulers, excepting those springing from force 
 on tlie one side, and necessity on the other. 
 
 In this transfer of territories and juris- 
 dictions, the King of Prussia obtained a 
 valuable compensation for the Duchy of 
 <;)leves, and other provinces transferred to 
 France, as lying on the left bank of the 
 Rhine. The neutrality of that monarch had 
 been of the last service to France during 
 her late bloody campaigns, and was now to 
 be compensated. The smaller princes of 
 the Empire, especially those on the right 
 bank of the Rhine, who had virtually placed 
 themselves under the patronage of France, 
 •verc also gratified with large allotments of 
 t/'rritory ; whilst Austria, whose pertina- 
 cious opposition was well remembered, 
 '.was considered as yet retaining too high 
 pretensions to power and independence, 
 and her indemnities were as much limited 
 ■M those of the friends of France were ex- 
 tended. 
 
 The v.arious advantages and accessions of 
 power and influence which we havehither- 
 ti> alluded to. as attained by France, were 
 chiefly pained by address in treating, and 
 diplomatic skill. But shortly after the trea- 
 ty of Amiens had been signed, Buonaparte 
 manifested to the world, that where intrigue 
 was unsuccessful, his sword was as ready as 
 f.vor to support and extend his aggressions. 
 
 The attack of the Directory on the Swiss 
 Cantons had been alwavs considered as a 
 coarse and gross violation of the law of na- 
 tions, and was regarded as such by Buona- 
 parte himself. But he failed not to main- 
 tain the military possession of Switzerland 
 by the French troops; nor, however indig- 
 nant under the downfall of her ancient fame 
 and present liberties, was it possible for 
 that country to offer any resistance, with- 
 out the certainty of total destruction. 
 
 The eleventh article of the treaty of 
 Luneville, seemed to afford the Swiss a 
 prospect of escaping from this thnddnui, 
 but it was in words only. That treaty was 
 declared to extend to the Batavian, Hel- 
 vetic, Cisalpine, and Ligurian Republics. 
 " The contracting parties guarantee the in- 
 4*ptndence of the said republics," contin- 
 Voi. L ttst 
 
 ue» the treaty, " and the right of the people 
 who inhabit them to adopt what form of 
 government they please." We have seen 
 how far the Cisalpine Republic profited by 
 this declaration of independence ; the pro- 
 ceedings respecting Switzerland were much 
 more glaring. 
 
 There was a political difference of opin- 
 ion in the Swiss cantons, concerning the 
 form of government to be adopted by them ; 
 and the question was solemnly agitated in a 
 Diet held at Berne. The majority inclined 
 for a constitution framed on the principle 
 of their ancient government by a federative 
 league, and the plan of such a constitution 
 was accordingly drawn up and approved of. 
 Aloys Reding, renowned for wisdom, cour- 
 age, and patriotism, was placed at the head 
 of this system. He saw the necessity of 
 obtaining the countenance of France, in or- 
 der to the free enjoyment of the constitu- 
 tion which his countrymen had chosen, and 
 betook himself to Paris to solicit Buona- 
 parte's consent to it. This consent was 
 given, upon the Swiss government agreeing 
 to admit to their deliberations six persons 
 of the opposite party, who, supported by the 
 French interest, desired that the constitu- 
 tion should be one and indivisible, in imita- 
 tion of that of the French Republic. 
 
 This coalition, formed at the First Con- 
 sul's request, terminated in an act of treach- 
 ery, which Buonaparte had probably fore- 
 seen. Availing themselves of an adjournal 
 of the Diet for the Easter holidays, the 
 French party summoned a meeting, from 
 which the other members were absent, and 
 adopted a form of constitution which total- 
 ly subverted the principles of that under 
 which the Swiss had so long lived in free- 
 dom, happiness, and honour, Buonaparte 
 congratulated them on the wisdom of their 
 choice. It was, indeed, sure to meet hie 
 approbation, for it was completely subver- 
 sive of all the old laws and forms, and so 
 might receive any modification which his 
 policy should dictate ; and it was to be ad- 
 ministered of course by men, who, having 
 risen under his influence, must necesearily 
 be pliant to his will. Having made hie 
 compliments on their being possessed of a 
 free and independent constitution, he sig- 
 nified his willingness to withdraw the troops 
 of France, and did so accordingly. For 
 this equitable measure much gratitude was 
 expressed by the Swiss, which might havp 
 been saved, if they had known that Buonn- 
 parte's policy rather than his generosity dic- 
 tated his proceedings. It was, in the first 
 place, his business to a.ssume the appearance 
 of leaving the Swiss in possession of their 
 freedom ; secondly, he was sure that events 
 would presently happen, when they should 
 be left to themselves, which would afford a 
 plausible pretext to justify his armed inter- 
 ference. 
 
 The aristocratic cantons of the ancient 
 .Swiss League were satisfied with the con- 
 stitution finally adopted by the French par- 
 ty of their country ; but not so the demo- 
 cratic, or small cantons, who, rather than 
 submit to it, declared their resolutiou 
 to withdraw from the general League,
 
 ro 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLII. 
 
 as new-modelled by the French, and to 
 form under their own ancient laws a sepa- 
 rate confederacy. This was to consist of 
 the cantons of Schweitz, Uri, and Under- 
 walden, forest and mountain regions, in 
 which the Swiss have least degenerated 
 from the simple and hardy manners of their 
 ancestors. A civil war immediately broke 
 out. in the course of which it was seen, 
 that in popularity, as well as patriotism, the 
 usurping Helvetic government, establish- 
 f>d by French interest, was totsdly inferior 
 to the gallant foresters. These last were 
 guided chiefly by the patriotic Reding, who 
 strove, with undaunted though ultimately 
 with vain resolution, to emancipate his un- 
 fortunate country. The intrusive govern- 
 ment were driven from Berne, their troops 
 everywhere routed, and the federative party 
 were generally received with the utmost de- 
 monstrations of joy by their countrymen, 
 few adhering to the usurpers, excepting 
 those who were attached to them by views 
 of emolument. 
 
 But while Reding and the Swiss patriots 
 were triumphing in the prospect of restor- 
 ing their ancient constitution, with all its 
 privileges and immunities, the strong grasp 
 of superior power was extended to crush 
 their patriotic exertions. 
 
 The fatal tidings of the proposed forcible 
 interference of France, were made known 
 by the sudden arrival of Rapp, Adjutant- 
 general of Buonaparte, with a letter ad- 
 dressed to the eighteen Swiss cantoris. 
 This manifesto was of a most extraordinary 
 nature. Buonaparte upbraided the Swiss 
 with their civil discords of three ye^-s' 
 standing, forgetting that these discords 
 would not have existed but for the invasion 
 of the French. He told them that, when 
 he, as a boon granted, had been pleased to 
 ■withdraw his troops from their country, 
 they had immediately turned their arms 
 against each other. These are singular pro- 
 positions enough to be found in a procla- 
 mation addressed by one independent na- 
 tion to another. But what follows is still 
 more extraordinary. ''You have disputed 
 three years, without understanding one an- 
 other; if left to yourselves, you will kill 
 each other for three years more, without 
 coming to any better result. Your history 
 shows that your intestine wars cannot be 
 terminated without the efficacious inter- 
 vention of France. It is true, I had resolved 
 not to intermeddle with your affairs, having 
 always found that your various governments 
 have applied to me for advice whic'i they 
 never meant to follow, and have sometimes 
 made a bad use of my name to favour their 
 own private interests and passions. But 
 I cannot remain insensible to the distress 
 of which I see you the prey — I recall my 
 resolution of neutrality — I consent to be 
 the mediator of your differences. But my 
 meuiation shall be effectual, as becomes 
 the great nation in whose name I address 
 you." 
 
 This insulting tone, with which, uninvited, 
 and as if granting a favour, the Chief Con- 
 sul took upon him, as a matter of course, 
 to exercise the most arbitrary power over a 
 
 free and independent people, is equally re- 
 markable at the close of the manifesto. 
 The proclamation commands, that a depu- 
 tation be sent to Paris, to consult with the 
 Chief Consul; and concludes with an as- 
 sertion of Buonaparte's •' right to expect 
 that BO city, community, or public body, 
 should presume to contradict the measures 
 which it might please him to adopt." To 
 support the reasoning of a manifesto which 
 every school-boy might have confuted, Ney, 
 with an army of forty thousand men, enter- 
 ed Switzerland at different points. 
 
 As the presence of such an overpowering 
 force rendered resistance vain, Aloys Re- 
 ding, and his gallant companions, were com- 
 pelled to dismiss their forces after a touch- 
 ing address to them. The Diet of Schweitz 
 also dissolved itself in consequence of the 
 interference, as they stated, of an armed 
 force of foreigners, whom it was impossi- 
 ble, in the exhausted state of the country, 
 to oppose. 
 
 Switzerland was thus, once more, occu- 
 pied by the French soldiers. The patriots, 
 who had distinguished themselves in assert- 
 ing her rights, were sought after and in»- 
 prisoned. Aloys Reding was urged to 
 conceal himself, but he declined to do so ; 
 and when upbraided by the French "officer 
 who came to arrest him, as being the head 
 of the insurrection, he answered nobly, "' I 
 have obeyed the call of conscience and my 
 country — do vou execute the commands of 
 your master." He was imprisoned in the 
 Castle of Aarsbourg. 
 
 The resistance of these worthy patriots, 
 their calm, dignified, and manly conduct, 
 their simple and affecting pleas against over- 
 mastering violence, though they failed to 
 procure the advantages which they hoped 
 for their country, were not lost to the world, 
 or to the cause of freedom. Their pathetic 
 complaints, when perused in many a remote 
 valley, excited detestation of French usurp- 
 ation, in bosoms which had hitherto con- 
 tented themselves with regarding the victo- 
 ries of the Republic with wonder, if not 
 with admiration. For other aggressions, 
 the hurry of revolution, the extremity of 
 war. the strong compulsion of necessity 
 might be pleaded ; but that upon Switzer- 
 land was as gratuitous and unprovoked as 
 it was nefariously unjust. The name of 
 the Cantons, connected with so many re- 
 collections of ancient faith and bravery, 
 hardy simplicity, and manly freedom, gate 
 additional interest to the sufferings of such 
 a country ; and no one act of his public life 
 did Buonaparte so much injury throughout 
 Europe, as his conduct towards Switzer- 
 land. 
 
 The dignified resistance of the Swiss, 
 their renown for courage, and the policy of 
 not thwarting them too far, had some effect 
 on the Chief Consul himself ; and in the 
 final act of mediation, by which he saved 
 them the farther trouble of taking thought 
 about their own constitution, he permitted 
 federalism to remain as an integral princi- 
 ple. By a subsequent defensive treaty, the 
 Cantons agreed to refuse all passage through 
 the country to the enemies of France, and
 
 Chap. XLIIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 371 
 
 engaged to maintain an army of a few thou- 
 sand men to guarantee this engagement. 
 Switzerland also furnished France with a 
 subsidiary army of sixteen thousand men, to 
 be maintained at the expense of the French 
 government. But the firmness which these 
 mountaineers showed in the course of dis- 
 cussing this treaty was such, that it saved 
 them from having the conscription imposed 
 on them, as in other countries under the 
 dominion of France. 
 Notwithstanding these qualifications, how- 
 ever, it was evident that the voluntary and 
 self-elected Mediator of Switzerland was 
 in fact sovereign of that country, as well as 
 of France and the north of Italy ; but there 
 was no voice to interdict this formidable 
 accumulation of power. England alone in- 
 terfered, by sending an envoy (Mr. Aloore) 
 to the Diet of Schweitz, to inquire by what 
 
 means she could give assistance to their 
 claims of independence } but ere his arri- 
 val, the operations of Ney had rendered all 
 farther resistance impossible. A remon- 
 strance was also made by England to tho 
 French government upon this unprovok.-d 
 aggression on the liberties of an independ- 
 ent people. But it remained unanswered 
 and unnoticed, unless in the pages of the 
 Moniteur, where the pretensions of Britain 
 to interfere with the affairs of the Conti- 
 nent, were held up to ridicule and con- 
 tempt. After this period, Buonaparte adopt- 
 ed, and continued to bear, the title of Grand 
 Mediator of the Helvetian Republic, in to- 
 ken, doubtless, of the right which he had 
 assumed, and effectually exercised, of in- 
 terfering in their affairs whenever it suitcil 
 him to do so. 
 
 CHAP. ZZ.III. 
 
 Increasing Jealoiuies belivixt France and England — Additional Encroachments and 
 Offences on the part of the former. — Singrdar Instructions given by the First Consul 
 to his Commercial Agents in British Ports. — Orders issued by the English 3Iinisters. 
 for the Expulsion of all Persons acting under them. — Violence of the Press 07i both 
 sides of the Channel. — Peltier's celebrated Royalist Publication, L'Ambigu. — Buona- 
 parte answers through the Moniteur. — Monsieur Otto's Note of Remonstrance — Lord 
 Hawkesbury's Reply. — Peltier tried for a Libel against the First Consul— found Guil- 
 ty — but not brought up for Sentence. — Xapoleon's C07Uinued Displeasure. — Angry Di.\- 
 cussiotis respecting tht Treaty of Amiens — Malta. — Offensive Report of General Se- 
 bastiani — Resolution of the British Government in consequence. — Conferences bn- 
 ticixt Buonaparte and Lord Whittcorth. — The King sends a Message to Parliament, 
 demanding additional aid. — Buonaparte quarrels ivith Lord Whitworth at a Levee-- 
 Particulars. — Resentment of England xipon this occasion. — Farther Discussio7is con- 
 cerning Malta. — Reasons why Buonaparte might desire to break off Negotiations. — 
 Britain declares War against France on ISth May 1803. 
 
 These advances towards universal empire, 
 made durirg the very period when the pa- 
 cific measures adopted by the preliminaries, 
 and afterwards confirmed by the treaty of 
 .Vmiens, were in the act of being carried 
 into execution, excited the natural jeal- 
 ousy of the people of Britain. They had 
 not been accustomed to rely much on the 
 sincerity of the French nation ; nor did 
 the character of its present Chief, so full 
 of ambition, and so bold and successful 
 in his enterprises, incline them to feelings 
 of greater security. On the other hand, 
 Buonaparte seems to have felt as matter of 
 personal offence the jealousy which the 
 British entertained ; and instead of sootli- 
 ing it, as policy dictated, by concessions 
 and confidence, he showed a disposition 
 to repress, or at least to punish it, bv meas- 
 ures which indicated anger and irritation. 
 There ceased t) be any cordiality of inter- 
 course betwixt the two nations, and thev 
 began to look into the conduct of each 
 other for causes of offence, rather than for 
 the means of removing it. 
 
 The English had several subjects of com- 
 plaint against France, besides the seneral 
 encroachments which she had continued 
 to make on the liberties of Europe. .\ law 
 had been made during the times of the | 
 wildest Jacobinism, which condemned to j 
 forfeiture every vessel under a hundred ' 
 
 tons burthen, carrying British merchandise, 
 and approaching within four leagues of 
 France. It was now thought proper, that 
 the enforcing a regulation of so hostile :t 
 character, made during a war of unexam- 
 pled bitterness, should be the first fruits of 
 returning peace. Several British vessels 
 were stopped, their captains imprisoned, 
 their cargoes confiscated, and all restitu- 
 tion refused. Some of these had been 
 driven on the f'rench coast unwillingly, and 
 by stress of weather ; but the necessity of 
 the case created no exemption. .\j. in- 
 stance there was, of a British vessel iii 
 ballast, which entered Charente, in order 
 to load with a cargo of Brandy. The 
 plates, knives, forks, &c. used by the cap- 
 tain, being found to be of British manu- 
 facture, the circumstance was thought i 
 sufficient apology for seizing the vessel. 
 These aggressions, repeatedly made, were 
 not, so far as appears, remedied on the 
 most urgent remonstrances, and seemi'd 
 to argue that the French were already act- 
 ing on the vexatious and irritating princi- 
 ple which often precedes a war, but very 
 seldom immediately follows a peace. Ti.'^ 
 conduct of France was felt to be tho more 
 unreasonable and ungracious, as ail restric- 
 tions on her commerce, imposed during th«> 
 war, had been withdrawn on the part oi 
 Great Britain so soon as the peace wj^s cc^-
 
 372 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLUI. 
 
 claded. In like manner, a stipulation of 
 the treaty of Amiens, providing that all 
 sequestrations imposed on the property of 
 Vrench or of English, in the two contending 
 countries, should be removed, was instant- 
 ly complied with in Britain, but postponed 
 and dallied with on the part of France. 
 
 The above were vexatious and offensive 
 measures, intimating little respect for the 
 government of England, and no desire to 
 cultivate her good will. They were per- 
 haps adopted by the Chief Consul, in hopes 
 of inducing Britain to make some sacrifi- 
 ces in order to obtain from his favour a 
 commercial treaty, the advantages of which, 
 according to his opinion of the English na- 
 tion, was a boon calculated to make them 
 quickly forgive the humiliating restrictions 
 from which it would emancipate their trade. 
 If this were any part of his policy, he was 
 ignorant of the nature of the people to 
 whom it was applied. It is the sluggish 
 ox alone that is governed by a goad. But 
 what gave the deepest offence and most 
 lively alarm to Britain, was, that while 
 Buonaparte declined affording the ordinary 
 facilities for English commerce, it was 
 his purpose, nevertheless, to establish a 
 commercial agent in every part of the Brit- 
 ish dominions, whose ostensible duty was 
 to watch over that very trade which the 
 First Consul showed so little desire to en- 
 courage, but whose real business resembled 
 that of an accredited and privileged spy. 
 These official persons were not only, by 
 their instructions, directed to collect every 
 possible information on commercial points, 
 but also to furnish a plan of the ports of 
 each district, with all the soundings, and 
 to point out with what wind vessels could go 
 out and enter with most ease, and at what 
 draught of water the harbour might be en- 
 tered by ships of burthen. To add to the 
 alarming character of such a set of agents, 
 it was found that those invested with the 
 office were military men and engineers. 
 
 Consuls thus nominated had reached Brit- 
 ain, but had not, in general, occupied the 
 posts assigned to them, when the British 
 government, becoming informed of the du- 
 ties they were expected to perform, an- 
 nounced to them that any one who might 
 repair to a British sea-port under such a 
 character, should be instantly ordered to 
 quit the island. The secrecy with which 
 these agents had been instructed to conduct 
 themselves was so great, that one Fauvelet, 
 to whom the office of commercial agent at 
 Dublin had been assigned, and who had 
 reached the place of his destination before 
 the nature of the appointment was discov- 
 ered, could not be found out by some per- 
 sons who desired to make an affidavit be- 
 fore him as Consul of France. It can be 
 no wonder that the very worst impression 
 was made on the public mind of Britain 
 r>ispecting the further nrojects of her late 
 enemich, when it was evident that they 
 availed themselves of the first moments of 
 retummg peace to procure, by an indirect 
 and most suspicious course of proceeding, 
 thatepecies of information, which would 
 iM most uieful to France, and mott danger- 
 
 ous to Britain, in the event of a renewed 
 war. 
 
 While these grievances and circumstanc- 
 es of suspicion agitated the English nation,, 
 the daily press, which alternately acts up- 
 on public opinion, and is re-acted upon by 
 it, was loud and vehement. The personal 
 character of the Chief Consul was severe- 
 ly treated ; his measures of self-aggran- 
 dizement arraigned, his aggressions on the 
 liberty of France, of Italy, and especially 
 of Switzerland, held up to open day ; while 
 every instance of petty vexation and op- 
 pression practised upon British commerce 
 or British subjects, was quoted as express- 
 ing his deep resentment against the only 
 country which possessed the will and the 
 power to counteract his acquiring the uni- 
 versal dominion of Europe. 
 
 There was at this period in Britain a 
 large party of French Royalists, who, de- 
 clining to return to France, or falling under 
 the exceptions to the amnesty, regarded 
 Buonaparte as their personal enemy, as well 
 as the main obstacle to the restoration of 
 the Bourbons, to which, but for him only, 
 the people of France seemed otherwise 
 more disposed than at any time since the 
 commencement of the Revolution. Thesa 
 gentlemen found an able and active advo- 
 cate of their cause in Monsieur Peltier, au 
 emigrant, a determined royalist, and a man 
 of that ready wit and vivacity of talent 
 which is peculiarly calculated for periodi- 
 cal writing. He had opposed the demo- 
 crats during the early days of the Revolu- 
 tion, by a publication termed the " Acts of 
 the Apostles;" in which he held up to ridi- 
 cule and execration the actions, preten- 
 sions, and principles of their leaders, with 
 such success as induced Brissot to assert, 
 that he had done more harm to the Repub- 
 lican cause than all the allied armies. At 
 the present crisis, he commenced the pub- 
 lication of a weekly paper in London, in 
 the French language, called L'Ambigu. 
 The decoration at the top of the sheet waa 
 a head of Buonaparte, placed on the body 
 of a Sphinx. This ornament being object- 
 ed to after the first two or three numbers, 
 the Sphinx appeared with the neck truncat- 
 ed; but being still decked with the consu- 
 lar emblems, continued to intimate emblem- 
 atically the allusion at once to Egypt, and 
 to the ambiguous character of the First 
 Consul. The columns of this paper were 
 dedicated to the most severe attacks upon 
 Buonaparte and the French government; 
 and as it was highly popular, from the gen- 
 eral feelings of the English nation towards 
 both, it was widely dispersed and generally 
 read. 
 
 The torrent of satire and abuse poured 
 forth' from the English and Anglo-gallican 
 periodical press, was calculated deeply to 
 annoy and irritate the person against whom 
 it was chiefly aimed. In England we are 
 so much accustomed to see character* the 
 most unimpeachable, nay, the most venera.- 
 ble, assailed by the daily press, that we ao 
 count the individual guilty of folly, who. if 
 he be innocent of giving cause to the tcuk> 
 dal, takes it to heart more than & paue»- 
 
 5
 
 Chap. XLin.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOA BUONAPARTE. 
 
 373 
 
 ger would mind the barking of a dog, that 
 yelps at every passing sound. But this is 
 a sentiment acquired partly by habit, partly 
 by our knowledge, that unsubstantiated scan- 
 dal of this sort makes no impression on the 
 public mind. Such indifference cannot be 
 expected on the part of foreigners, who in 
 this particular, resemble horses introduced 
 from neighbouring counties into the pre- 
 cincts of forest districts, that are liable to 
 be stung into madness by a peculiar species 
 of gad-fly, to which the race bred in the 
 country are from habit almost totally indif- 
 ferent. 
 
 ""it be thus with foreigners in general, 
 je supposed that from natural impa- 
 ucuce of censure, as well as rendered sus- 
 ceptible and irritable by his course of unin- 
 terrupted success. Napoleon Buonaparte 
 must have winced under the animated and 
 sustained attacks upon his person and gov- 
 ernment, which appeared in the English 
 newspapers, and Peltier's Ambigu. He at- 
 attached at all times, as we have already 
 had occasion to remark, much importance 
 to the influence of the press, which in Paris 
 he had taken under his own especial super- 
 intendence, and for which he himself often 
 condescended to compose or correct para- 
 graphs. To be assailed, therefore, by 
 the whole body of British newspapers, al- 
 most as numerous as their navy, seems to 
 have provoked him to the extremity of his 
 patience ; and resentment of these attacks 
 aggravated the same hostile sentiments 
 against England, which, from causes of sus- 
 picion already mentioned, had begun to be 
 engendered in the British public against 
 France and her ruler. 
 
 Napoleon, in the meantime, endeavoured 
 to answer in kind, and the columns of the 
 Moniteur had many an angry and violent 
 passage directed against England. Answers, 
 replies, and rejoinders passed rapidly across 
 the Channel, inflaming and augmenting the 
 hostile spirit, reciprocally entertained by 
 the two countries against each other. But 
 there was this great disadvantage on Buon- 
 aparte's side, that while the English might 
 justly throw the blame of this scandalous 
 warfare on the license of a free press, the 
 Chief Consul could not transfer the respon- 
 sibility of the attack on his side ; because it 
 was universally known, that the French pe- 
 riodical publications being under the most 
 severe regulations, nothing could appear 
 in them except what had received the pre- 
 vious sanction of the government. Every 
 attack upon England, therefore, which was 
 published in the French papers, was held 
 to express the personal sentiments of the 
 Chief Consul, who thus, by destroying the 
 freedom of the French press, had rendered 
 himself answerable for every such license 
 »s it was permitted to take. 
 
 It became speedily plain, that Buona- I 
 parte could reap no advantage from a con- 
 test in which he was to be the defendant in 
 his own person, and to maintain a literary 
 warfare with anonymons antagonists. He ! 
 had recourse, therefore, to a demand upon i 
 the British government, and, after various I 
 rtpreeentations of milder import, caused ; 
 
 his envoy, Monsieur Otto, to state in an of- 
 ficial note the following distinct grievances i 
 — First, the existence of a deep and contin- 
 ued system to injure the character of the 
 First Consul, and prejudice the effect of his 
 public measures, through the medium of 
 the press : Secondly, the permission of a 
 part of the Princes of the House of Bour- 
 bon, and their adherents, to remain in Eng- 
 land, for the purpose, (it was alleged,) that 
 they might hatch and encourage schemes 
 against the life and government of the Chief 
 Consul. It was therefore categorically de- 
 manded, 1st, That the British government 
 do put a stop to the publication of the ab»-- 
 complained of, as affecting the head o 
 French government. 2d, That the emi- 
 grants residing in Jersey be dismissed from 
 England — that the bishops who had declin- 
 ed to resign their sees be also sent out of 
 the country — that George Cadoudal be 
 transported to Canada — that the Princes of 
 the House of Bourbon be advised to repair 
 to Warsaw, where the head of their family 
 now resided — and, finally, that such emi- 
 grants who continued to wear the ancient 
 badges and decorations of the French court, 
 be also compelled to leave England. Lest 
 the British ministers should plead, that the 
 constitution of their country precluded 
 them from gratifying the First Consul in 
 any of these demands. Monsieur Otto fore- 
 stalled the objection, by reminding them, 
 that the Alien Act gave them full power to 
 exclude any foreigners from Great Britain 
 at their pleasure. 
 
 To this peremptory mandate, Lord 
 Hawkesburj-, then Minister for Foreign 
 Affairs, instructed the British agent, Mr. 
 Merry, to make a reply, at once firm and 
 conciliatory ; avoiding the tone of pique 
 and ill temper which is plainly to be traced 
 in the French note, yet maintaining the dig- 
 nity of the nation he represented. It was 
 observed, that, if the French government 
 had reason to complain of the license of 
 the English journals, the British govern- 
 ment had no less right to be dissatisfied 
 with the retorts and recriminations which 
 had been poured out from those of Paris 5 
 and that there was this remarkable feature 
 of difference betwixt them, that the Eng- 
 lish Ministry neither had, could have, nor 
 wished to have, any control over the free- 
 dom of the British press 3 whereas the Mo- 
 niteur, in which the abuse of England had 
 appeared, was the official organ of the 
 French government. But, finally upon this 
 point, the British Monarch, it was said, 
 would make no concession to any foreign 
 power, at the expense of the freedom of 
 the press. If what was published was li- 
 bellous or actionable, the printers and pub- 
 lishers were open to punishment, and all 
 reasonable facilities would be afforded for 
 prosecuting them. To the demands so per- 
 emptorily urged, respecting the emigrants. 
 Lord Hawkesbury replied, by special an- 
 swers applying to the different classes, bat 
 summed up in the general argument, that 
 his Majesty neither encouraged them in 
 any scheme against the French government. 
 Dor did he believe there were any such ia
 
 374 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLIII. 
 
 existence; and that while these unfortu- 
 nate princes and their followers lived in 
 conformity to the laws of Great Britain, 
 and without affording nations with whom 
 she was at peace any valid or sufficient 
 cause of complaint, his Majesty would feel 
 it inconsistent with his dignity, his honour, 
 and the common laws of hospitality, to de- 
 prive them of that protection, which indi- 
 viduals resident within the British domin- 
 ions could only forfeit by their own miscon- 
 duct. 
 
 To render these answers, being the only 
 reply which an English Minister could 
 have made to the demands of France, in 
 ■some degree acceptable to Buonaparte, 
 Peltier was brought to trial for a libel 
 against the First Consul, at the instance 
 of the Attorney-General. He was defend- 
 ed by Mr. Mackintosh, (now Sir James.) in 
 one of the most brilliant speeches ever made 
 at bar or in forum, in which the jury were 
 reminded, that every press on the conti- 
 nent was enslaved, from Palermo to Ham- 
 burgh, and that they were now to vindicate 
 the right we had ever asserted, to speak of 
 men both at home and abroad, not accord- 
 ing to their greatness, but their crimes. 
 
 The defendant was found guilty ; but his 
 cause might be considered as triumphant.* 
 Accordingly, every part of the proceedings 
 gave offence to Buonaparte. He had not 
 desired to be righted by the English law, 
 but by a vigour beyond the law. The pub- 
 licity of the trial, the wit and eloquence of 
 the advocate, were ill calculated to soothe 
 the feelings of Buonaparte, who knew hu- 
 man nature, and the character of his usurp- 
 ed power, too well, to suppose that public 
 discussion could be of service to him. He 
 had demanded darkness, the English gov- 
 ernment had answered by giving him light ; 
 he had wished, like those who are con- 
 Bcions of flaws in their conduct, to suppress 
 all censure of his measures, and by Peltier's 
 trial, the British ministers had made the 
 investigation of them a point of legal ne- 
 cessity. The First Consul felt the con- 
 sciousness that he himself, rather than 
 Peltier, was tried before the British public, 
 with a publicity which could not fail to 
 blaze abroad the discussion. Far from con- 
 ceiving himself obliged by the species of 
 atonement which had been offered him, he 
 deemed the offence of the original publica- 
 tion was greatly aggravated, and placed it 
 now directly to the account of the English 
 -ministe's, of whom he could never be made 
 to understand, that they had afforded him 
 the only remedy in their power. 
 
 The paragraphs hostile to England in the 
 Moniteur were continued ; an English pa- 
 per called the Argus, conducted by Irish 
 refugees, was printed at Paris, under per- 
 mission of the government, for the purpose 
 of assailing Britain with additional abuse, 
 while the fire was returned from the Eng- 
 lish side of the Channel, with double vehe- 
 mence and tenfold success. These were 
 
 * He wa3 never brought up to receive sentence, 
 our quarrel with the French having soon afler- 
 traiOB come to an abaoluto rupture. 
 
 ominous precursors to a state of peace, and 
 more grounds of misunderstanding were 
 daily added. 
 
 The new discussions related '■hiefly to 
 the execution of the treaty of Amiens, in 
 which the English government showed no 
 promptitude. Most of the French colo- 
 nies, it is true, had been restored ; but the 
 Cape, and the other Batavian settlements, 
 above all, the island of Malta, were still 
 possessed by the British forces. At com- 
 mon law, if the expression may be used, 
 England was bound instantly to redeem 
 her engagement, by ceding these posses- 
 sions, and thus fulfilling the articles of the 
 treaty. In equity, she had a good defence ; 
 since in policy, for herself and Europe, she 
 was bound to decline the cession at all 
 risks. 
 
 The recent acquisitions of France on the 
 continent, afforded the plea of equity to 
 which we have alluded. It was founded on 
 the principle adopted at the treaty of Ami- 
 ens, that Great Britain should, out of her 
 conquests over the enemy's foreign settle- 
 ments, retain so much as to counter-balance, 
 in some measure, the power which France 
 had acquired in Europe. This principle 
 being once established, it followed that the 
 compact at Amiens had reference to the 
 then existing state of things ; and since, 
 after that period, France had extended her 
 sway over Italy and Piedmont, England be- 
 came thereby entitled to retain an additional 
 compensation, in consequence of France's 
 additional acquisitions. This was the true 
 and simple position of the case; France 
 had innovated upon the state of things 
 which existed when the treaty was made, 
 and England might, therefore, in justice, 
 claim an equitable right to innovate upon 
 the treaty itself, by refusing to make sur- 
 render of what had been promised in other 
 and very different circumstances. Perhaps 
 it had been better to fix upon this obvious 
 principle, as the ground of declining to sur- 
 render such British conquests as were not 
 yet given up. unless France consented to 
 relinquish the power which she had usurped 
 upon tlie continent. This, however, would 
 have produced instant war ; and the Minis- 
 ters were naturally loath to abandon the 
 prospect of prolonging the peace which 
 had been so lately established, or to draw 
 their pen througli the treaty of Amiens, 
 while the ink with which it was written 
 was still moist. They yielded, therefore, 
 in a great measure. The Cape of Good 
 Hope and the Dutch colonies were restor- 
 ed, Alexandria was evacuated, and the Min- 
 isters confined their discussions with France 
 to the island of Malta only ; and, conde- 
 scending still farther, declared themselves 
 ready to concede even this last point of 
 discussion, providing a sufficient guarantee 
 should be obtained for this important cita- 
 del of the Mediterranean being retained in 
 neutral hands. The Order itself was in no 
 respect adequate to the purpose ; and as to 
 the proposed Neapolitan garrison, (none of 
 the most trust-worthy in any case,) France, 
 by her encroachments in Italy, had become 
 so near and so formidable a neighbour to
 
 Chap. XLIIl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 375 
 
 the King of Naples, that, by a threat of in- 
 vasion of his capital, she might have com- 
 pelled him to deliver up Malta upon a very 
 brief notice. .\11 this was urged on the 
 part of Britain. The French ministry, on 
 the other hand, pressed for literal execution 
 of the treaty, .\fter some diplomatic eva- 
 eions had been resorted to, it appeared as 
 if the cession could be no longer deferred, 
 when a publication appeared in the Moni- 
 teur. which roused to a high pitch the sus- 
 picions, as well as the indignation of the 
 British nation. 
 
 The publication alluded to was a report 
 of General Sebastiani. This officer had 
 been sent as the emissary of the First Con- 
 sul, to various Mahommedan courts in 
 Asia and Africa, in all of which it seems to 
 have been his object, not only to exalt the 
 greatness of his master, but to misrepresent 
 and degrade the character of England. He 
 had visited Egypt, of which, with its fortress- 
 es, and the troops which defended them, he 
 haJd made a complete survey. He then wait- 
 ed upon Djezzar Pacha, and gives a flattering 
 .-iccount of his reception, and of the high 
 esteem in which Djezzar held the First 
 Consul, whom he had so many reasons for 
 wishing well to. At the Ionian Islands, he 
 harangued the natives, and assured them of 
 the protection of Buonaparte. The whole 
 report is full of the most hostile expres- 
 sions towards England, and accuses General 
 .Stuart of having encouraged the Turks to 
 assassinate the vfriter. Wherever Sebasti- 
 ani went, he states himself to have interfer- 
 ed in the factions and quarrels of the coun- 
 try ; he inquired into its forces ; renewed 
 old intimacies, or made new ones with 
 leading persons ; enhanced his master's 
 power, and was liberal in promises of 
 French aid. He concludes, that a French 
 army of sis thousand men would be suffi- 
 cient to conquer Egypt, and that the Ionian 
 Islands were altogether attached to the 
 French interest. 
 
 The publication of this report, which 
 seemed as if Buonaparte were blazoning 
 forth to the world his unaltered determina- 
 tion to persist in his Eastern projects of 
 colonization and conquest, would have ren- I 
 dered it an act of treason in the English 
 Ministers, if, by the cession of Malta, they i 
 had put into his hand, or at least placed [ 
 within his grasp, the readiest means of ] 
 carrying into execution those gigantic 
 schemes of ambition, which had for their | 
 ultimate, perhaps their most desired object, | 
 the destruction of the Indian commerce of I 
 Britain. ! 
 
 As it were by way of corollary to the ! 
 gasconading journal of Sebastiani, an elabo- | 
 rate account of the forces, and natural ad- j 
 vantages of France, was published at the 
 same period, which, in order that there 
 might be no doubt concerning the purpose ' 
 of its appearance at this crisis, was sum- * 
 med up by the express conclusion. " that 
 Britaii> was unable to contend with France 
 single-handed." Thi-s tone of defiance, of- 
 ficially adopted at such a moment, added 
 not a little to the resentment of the F-ndish 
 
 nation, not accustomed to decline a chal- 
 lenge or endure an insult. 
 
 The Court of Britain, on the appearance 
 of this Report on the State of France, to- 
 gether with that of Sebastiani, drawn up 
 and subscribed by an official agent, con- 
 taining insinuations totally void of founda- 
 tion, and disclosing intrigues inconsistent 
 with the preservation of peace, and the 
 objects for which peace had been made, 
 declared that the King would enter into no 
 farther discussion on the subject of Malta, 
 until his Majesty had received the most 
 ample satisfaction for this new and singular 
 aggression. 
 
 While things were thus rapidly approach- 
 ing to a rupture, the Chief Consul adopted 
 the unusual resolution, of himself entering 
 personally into conference with the British 
 ambassador. He probably took this deter- 
 mination upon the same grounds which 
 dictated his contempt of customary forms, 
 in entering, or attempting to enter, into 
 direct correspondence with the princes 
 whom he had occasion to treat with. Such 
 a deviation from the established mode of 
 procedure seemed to mark his elevation 
 above ordinary rules, and would afford him, 
 he might think, an opportunity of bearing 
 down the British ambassador's reasoning, 
 by exhibiting one of those bursts of passion, 
 to which he had been accustomed to see 
 most men give way. 
 
 It would have been more prudent in Na- 
 poleon to have left the conduct of the ne- 
 gotiation to Talleyrand. A sovereign can- 
 not enter in person upon such conferences, 
 unless with the previous determination of 
 adhering precisely and finally to whatever 
 ultimatum he has to propose. He cannot, 
 without a compromise of dignity, chaffer 
 or capitulate, or even argue, and of course 
 is incapable of wielding any of the usual, 
 and almost indispensable weapons of nejo- 
 tiators. If it was Napoleon's expectation, 
 by one stunning and emphatic declaration 
 of his pleasure, to beat down all arguments, 
 and confound all opposition, he would have 
 done wisely to remember, that he was not 
 now. as in other cases, a general upon a 
 victorious field of battle, dictating terms to 
 a defeated enemy ; but was treating upon a 
 footing of equality with Britain, the mis- 
 tress of the seas, possessing strength as 
 formidable as his own, though of a difierenl 
 character, and whose prince and people 
 were far more likely to be incensed than 
 intimidated by any menaces which his pas- 
 sion might throw out. 
 
 The character of the English ambassador 
 was as unfavourable for the Chief Consul's 
 probable purpose, as that of the nation he 
 represented. Lord Whitworth was pos- 
 sessed of great experience and sagacity. 
 His integrity and honour were undoubted ; 
 and. with the highest degree of courage, he 
 had a calm and collected disposition, admi- 
 rably calculated to give him the advantage 
 in any discussion with an aiitasonist, of a 
 fiery, impatient, and overbearing temper. 
 
 We will make no apology for dwelling at 
 unusual length on the conferences betwiit
 
 37S 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 
 
 [CAap. XLIU. 
 
 the First Consul and Lord Whitworth, 
 as they are strikingly illustrative of the 
 character of Buonaparte, and were in their 
 consequences decisive of his fate, and that 
 of the world. 
 
 Their first interview of a political nature 
 took place in the Tuilleries, 17th February 
 1803. Buonaparte, having announced that 
 this meeting was for the purpose of " mak- 
 ing his sentiments known to the King of 
 England in a clear and authentic manner,'' 
 proceeded to talk incessantly for the space 
 of nearly two hours, not without considera- 
 ble incoherence, his temper rising as he 
 dwelt on the alleged causes of complaint 
 which he preferred against England, thougli 
 not so much or so incautiously as to make 
 him drop the usual tone of courtesy to the 
 ambassador. 
 
 He complained of the delay of the British 
 in evacuating Alexandria and Malta; cut- 
 ting short all discussion on the latter sub- 
 j-jct, by declaring he would as soon agree 
 to Britain's possessing the suburb of St. 
 Antoine as that island. He then referred 
 to the abuse thrown upon him by the Eng- 
 lish papers, but more especially by those 
 French journals published in London. He 
 affirmed that Georges and other Chouan 
 chiefs, whom he accused of designs against 
 his life, received relief or shelter in Eng- 
 land ; and that two assassins had been ap- 
 prehended in Normandy, sent over by the 
 French emigrants to murder him. TThis, 
 he said, would be publicly proved in a 
 court of justice. From this point he di- 
 verged to Eg}'pt, of which he affirmed he 
 could make himself master whenever he 
 Lad a mind ; but that he considered it too 
 paltry a stake to renew the war for. Yet 
 while on this subject, he suffered it to es- 
 cape him, that the idea of recovering this 
 favoured colony was only postponed, not 
 abandoned. " Egypt," he said, '■' must soon- 
 er or later belong to France, either by the 
 falling to pieces of the Turkish govern- 
 ment, or in consequence of some agree- 
 ment with the Porte." In evidence of his 
 peaceable intentions, he asked, what he 
 should gain by going to war, since he had 
 no means of acting offensively against Eng- 
 land, except by a descent, of which he ac- 
 knowledged the hazard in the strongest 
 terms. The chances, he said, were an 
 hundred to one against him; and yet he 
 declared that the attempt should be made 
 if he were nov/ obliged to go to war. He 
 estoUed the power of both countries. The 
 army of France, he said, should be soon 
 recruited to four hundred and eighty thou- 
 sand men ; and the fleets of England were 
 Buch as he could not propose to match 
 within the space of ten years at least. 
 United, the two countries might govern the 
 world, would they but understand each 
 other. Had he found, he said, the least 
 cordiality on the part of England, she 
 should have had indemnities assigned her 
 apon the continent, treaties of commerce, 
 all that she could wish or desire. But he 
 confessed that his irritation increased daily, 
 
 ?ulce eTcry gale that blew from England. 
 
 brought nothing but enmity and hatrod 
 against him." 
 
 He then made an excursive digression, 
 in which, taking a review of the nations of 
 Europe, he contended that England could 
 hope for assistance from none of them in a 
 war with France. In the total result, hu 
 demanded the instant Ailfilment of the 
 treaty of Amiens, and the suppression of 
 the abuse in the English papers. War waa 
 the alternative. 
 
 During this excursive piece of declama- 
 tion, which the First Consul delivered 
 with great rapidity, Lord Whitworth, not- 
 withstanding the interview lasted two hours^ 
 had scarcely time to slide in a few wordg 
 in reply or explanation. As he endeavour- 
 ed to state the new grounds of mistrust 
 which induced the King of England to de- 
 mand more advantageous terms, in conse- 
 quence of the accession of territory and in- 
 tiuence which France had lately made. Na- 
 poleon interrupted him — " I suppose you 
 mean Piedmont and Switzerland — they are 
 trifling occurrences, which must have been 
 foreseen while the negotiation was in de- 
 pendence. You have no right to recur tc 
 them at this time of day." To the hint of 
 indemnities which might be allotted to Eng 
 land out of the general spoil of Europe, if 
 she would cultivate the friendship of Buo- 
 naparte, Lord Whitworth nobly answered, 
 that the King of Britain's ambition led him 
 to preserve what was his, not to acquiro 
 that which belonged to others. They part- 
 ed with civility, but with a conviction on 
 Lord Whitworth's part, that Buonaparte 
 would never resign his claim to the possce- 
 sion of Malta. 
 
 The British Ministry were of the 8am« 
 (Jpinion ; for a message was sent down by 
 his Majesty to the House of Commons, 
 stating, that he had occasion for additional 
 aid to enable him to defend his dominions, 
 incase of an encroachment on the part of 
 France. A reason was given, which injur- 
 ed the cause of the Ministers by placing 
 the vindication of their measures upon sim- 
 ulated grounds ; — it was stated, that thess 
 apprehensions arose from naval prepara- 
 tions in the difierent ports of France. No 
 such preparations had been complained of 
 during the intercourse between the minis- 
 ters of France and England, — in truth, none 
 such existed to any considerable extent, — 
 and in so far, the British ministers gave the 
 advantage to the French, by not resting the 
 cause of their country on the just and true 
 grounds. All, however, were sensible of 
 the real merits of the dispute, which were 
 grounded on the grasping and inordinate 
 ambition of the French ruler, and the sen- 
 timents of dislike and irritation with which * 
 he seemed to regard Great Britain. 
 
 The charge of the pretended naval pre- 
 paration being triumphantly refuted by 
 France, Talleyrand was next employed to 
 place before Lord Whitworth the means 
 which, in case of a rupture, France pos- 
 sessed of wounding England, not directly, 
 indeed, but through the sides of those states 
 of Europe whom she would most wish ta
 
 Chap. XUIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 377 
 
 see, if not absolutely independent, yet un- 
 oppressed by military exactions. " It was 
 natural," a note of this statesman assert- 
 ed, " that Britain being armed in conse- 
 quence of the King's message, France 
 should arm also — that she should send an 
 army into Holland — form an encampment 
 on the frontiers of Hanover — continue to 
 maintain troops in .Switzerland — march oth- 
 ers to the south of Italy, and, finally, form 
 encampments upon the coast."' All these 
 threats, excepting the last, referred to dis- 
 tant and to neutral nations, who were not al- 
 leged to have themselves given any cause 
 of complaint to France ; but who were 
 now to be subjected to military occupation 
 and exaction, because Britain desired to see 
 them happy and independent, and because 
 harassing and oppressing them must be in 
 proportion unpleasing to her. It was an 
 entirely new principle of warlike policy, 
 which introduced the oppression of unof- 
 fending and neutral neighbours as a legiti- 
 mate mode of carrying on war against a 
 hostile power, against whom there was lit- 
 tle possibility of using measures directly 
 offensive. 
 
 Shortly after this note had been lodged, 
 Buonaparte, incensed at the message of the 
 King to Parliament, seems to have formed 
 the scheme of bringing the protracted ne- 
 gotiations betwixt France and England to a 
 point, in a time, place, and manner, equal- 
 ly extraordinary. At a public Court held 
 at the Tuilleries, on the 13th March 1803, 
 the Chief Consul came up to Lord Whit- 
 worth in considerable agitation, and ob- 
 served aloud, and within hearing of the cir- 
 cle, — " You are then determined on war ?" 
 — and, without attending to the disclama- 
 tions of the English ambassador, proceed- 
 ed, — " We have been at war for fifteen 
 years — you are determined on hostility for 
 fifteen years more — and you force me to 
 it." He then addressed Count Marco w and 
 the Chevalier A.zzwro. — •' The English wish 
 for war ; but if they draw the sword first, 
 I will be the last to return it to the scab- 
 bard. They do not respect treaties, which 
 henceforth we must cover with black 
 crape I" He then again addressed Lord 
 Whitworth — " To what purpose are those 
 armaments ? Against whom do you take 
 these measures of precaution ? I have not 
 a single ship of the line in any port in 
 France — But if you arm, I too will take up 
 arms — if you fight, I will fight — you may 
 destroy France, but you cannot intimidate 
 her." 
 
 •' We desire neither the one nor the oth- 
 er." answered Lord Whitworth, calmly. — 
 ■• We desire to live with her on terms of 
 rjood intelligence." 
 
 ■' You must respect treaties then," said 
 Buonaparte, sternly. " Woe to those by 
 whom they are not respected I They will 
 l>e accountable for the consequences'to all 
 h'.urope." 
 
 .'Jo saying, and repeating his las* remark 
 twice over, he retired from the levee, leav- 
 ing the whole circle surprised at the want 
 of decency and dignity which had given 
 rise to such a scene. 
 
 Tliis remarkable explosion may be easily 
 explained, if we refer it entirely to the im- 
 patience of a fiery temper, rendered, by the 
 most extraordinary train of success, mor- 
 bidly sensitive to any obstacle which inter- 
 fered with a favourite plan ; and, doubtless, 
 it is not the least evil of arbitrary power, 
 that he who possesses it is naturally tempt- 
 ed to mix up his own feelings of anger, 
 revenge, or mortification, in affairs which 
 ought to be treated under the most calm 
 and impartial reference to the public good 
 exclusively. But it has been averred by 
 those who had best opportunity to know 
 Buonaparte, that the fits of violent passion 
 wliicli he sometimes displayed, were leas 
 tlie bursts of unrepressed and constitution- 
 al irritability, than means previously calcu- 
 lated upon to intimidate and astound those 
 with whom he was treating at the time. 
 There may, therefore, have been policy 
 amid the First Consul's indignation, and he 
 may have recollected, that the dashing to 
 pieces Cobenzell's china-jar in the violent 
 scene which preceded the signing of the 
 treaty of Campo Formio,* was completely 
 successful in its issue. But the condi- 
 tion of Britain was very different from that 
 of Austria, and he might have !_roken all 
 the porcelain at St. Cloud without making 
 the slightest impression on the equanimity 
 of Lord Whitworth. This " angry parle," 
 therefore, went for nothing, unless in so far 
 as it was considered as cutting off the iaint 
 remaining hope of peace, and expressing 
 the violent and obstinate temper of the 
 individual, upon whose pleasure, whether 
 originating in judgment or caprice, the fate 
 of Europe at this important crisis unhappi- 
 ly depended. In England, the interview at 
 the Tuilleries, where Britain was held to 
 be insulted in the person of her ambassa- 
 dor, and that in the presence of the repre- 
 sentatives of all Europe, greatly augment- 
 ed the general spirit of resentment. 
 
 Talleyrand, to whom Lord Whitworth ap- 
 plied for an explanation of the scene which 
 had occurred, only answered, that the First 
 Consul, publicly affronted, as he conceived 
 himself, desired to exculpate himself in pres- 
 ence of the u.inisters of all the powers of 
 Europe. The question of peace or war 
 came now to turn on the subject of Malta. 
 The retention of this fortress by the Eng- 
 lish could infer no danger to France; where- 
 as, if parted with by them under an insecure 
 guarantee, the great probability of its falling 
 into the hands of France, was a subject of 
 the most legitimate jealousy to Britain, who 
 must always have regarded the occupation 
 of Malta as a preliminary step to the recap- 
 ture of Egypt. There seemed policy, there- 
 fore, in Napoleon's conceding this point, and 
 obtaining for France that respite, which, 
 while it regained her colonies and recruit- 
 ed her commerce, would have afforded her 
 the means of renewing a navy, which had 
 been almost totally destroyed daring the 
 war, and consequently of engaging Eng- 
 land, at some future and propitious time, on 
 the element which she called peculiarly 
 
 •Seep. i277
 
 37S 
 
 LIFE OF AAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLIV. 
 
 her own. It was accordingly supposed to 
 be Talleyrand's opinion, that, by giving 
 way to England on (he subject of Malta, 
 Napoleon ought to lull her suspicions to 
 sleep. 
 
 Yet there were strong reasons, besides 
 the military character of Buonaparte, which 
 might induce the First Consul to break off 
 negotiation. Hi^ empire was founded on 
 the general opinion entertained of his in- 
 flexibility of purpose, and of his unvaried 
 success, alike in political objects as in the 
 field of battle. Were he to concede the 
 principle which England now contested 
 with him in the face of Europe, it would 
 have in a certain degree derogated from 
 the pre-eminence of the situation he claim- 
 ed, as Autocrat of the civilized world. In 
 that character he could not recede an inch 
 from pretensions which he had once as- 
 serted. To have allowed that his encroach- 
 ment on Switzerland and Piedmont render- 
 ed it necessary that he should grant a com- 
 pensation to England by consenting to her 
 retention of Malta, would have been to 
 grant that Britain had still a right to inter- 
 fere in the affairs of the Continent, and to 
 point her out to nations disposed to throw 
 off the French yoke, as a power to whose 
 mediation he still owed some deference. 
 
 Tliese reasons were not without force in 
 themselves, and, joined to the natural im- 
 petuosity of Buonaparte's temper, irritated 
 and stung by the attacks in the English pa- 
 pers, had their weight probably in inducing 
 him to give way to that sally of resent- 
 ment, by which he endeavoured to cut 
 short the debate, as he would have brought 
 up his guard in person to decide the fate of 
 a long-disputed action. 
 
 Some lingering and hopeless attempts 
 were made to carry on negotiations. The 
 English Ministry lowered their claim of 
 retaining Malta in perpetuity, to the right 
 of holding it for ten years. Buonaparte, on 
 the other hand, would listen to no modifi- 
 cation of the treaty of Amiens, but offered, 
 as the guarantee aflbrded by the occupa- 
 tion of Neapolitan troops was objected to, 
 that the garrison should consist of Rus- 
 sians or Austrians. To this proposal Brit- 
 ain would not accede. Lord Whitworth 
 left Paris, and, on the 18th May 1803, Brit- 
 ain declared war against France. 
 
 Before we proceed to detail the history 
 of this eventful struggle, we must cast our 
 eyes backwards, and review some events of 
 importance which had happened in France 
 since the conclusion of the treaty of Amiens. 
 
 CHAP. XLIV. 
 
 Retrospect. — St. Domingo. — The Negroes, victorious over the Whites and Mulaltoes, split 
 into parties under different Chiefs — Toussaint L' Ouverture the most distinguished of 
 these. — His Plans for the amelioration of his Subjects. — Appoints, in imitation of 
 France, a Consular Government. — France sends an Expedition against St. Domingo, 
 under General Leclerc. in December 1801, which is successful, and Toussaint submits. 
 After a brief interval, he is sent to France, lohere he dies under the hardships of con- 
 finement. — The French, visited by Yellow Fever, are assaulted by the Negroes, and 
 War is carried on of new with dreadful fury. — Leclerc is cu( off by the distemper, and 
 is succeeded by Rochamheau. — The French finally obliged to capitidate to an English 
 Squadron, on 1st December 1803. — Buonaparte's scheme to consolidate his power at 
 home. — The Corisular Guard augmented to 6000 men — Description of it. — Legion of 
 Honour — Account of it. — Opposition formed, on the principle of the English one, 
 against the Consular Government. — They oppose the establishment of the Legion of 
 Honour, which, however, is carried. — Application to the Count de Provence (Louis 
 XVHL) to resign the Crown — Rejected. 
 
 When the treaty of Amiens appeared to 
 have restored peace to Europe, one of Buo- 
 naparte's first enterprises was to attempt the 
 recovery of the French possessions in the 
 large, rich, and valuable colony of St. Do- 
 mingo, the disasters of which island form a 
 terrible episode in the history of the war. 
 
 The convulsions of the French Revolu- 
 tion had reached St. Domingo, and, catch- 
 ing like fire to combustibles, had bred a 
 violent feud between the white people in 
 the island, and the mulattoes, the latter of 
 whom demanded to be admitted into the 
 privileges and immunities of the former ; 
 the newly-established rights of men, as they 
 alleged, having no reference to the distinc- 
 tion of colour. While the whites and the 
 people of colour were thus engaged in a 
 civil war, the negro slaves, the most op- 
 pressed and most numerous class of the 
 population, arose against both parties, and 
 rendered the whole island one scene of 
 
 bloodshed and conflagration. The few plant- 
 ers who remained invited the support of the 
 British arms, which easily effected a tem- 
 porary conquest. But the European soldie- 
 ry perished so fast through the influence of 
 the climate, that, in 1798, the English were 
 glad to abandon an island, which had prov- 
 ed the grave of so many of her best and 
 bravest, who had fallen without a wound, 
 and void of renown. 
 
 The negroes, left to themselves, divided 
 into different parties, who submitted to the 
 authority of chiefs more or less independent 
 of each other, many of whom displayed con- 
 siderable talent. Of these the principal 
 leader was Toussaint L'Ouverture, who, 
 after waging war like a savage, appears to 
 have used the power which victory procur- 
 ed him with much political skill. .Although 
 himself a negro, he had the sagacity to per- 
 ceive how important it was for the civiliza- 
 tion of his subjects, that they should not be
 
 Chap. XLir.] 
 
 LIFE OF KAPOLEOX BUOXAPARTE. 
 
 !T9 
 
 deprived of the opportunities of knowledge, | salubrious climate. But he would not per- 
 and examples of industry, afforded them by I mit it to be supposed, that there was the 
 the white people. He, therefore, protect- | least danger; and he exercised an act of 
 ed and encouraged the latter, and establish- | family authority on the subject, to prove 
 
 ed, as an equitable regulation, that the 
 blacks, now freemen, should nevertheless 
 continue to labour the plantations of the 
 white colonists, while the produce of the 
 estate should be divided in certain propor- 
 tions betwixt the white proprietor and the 
 sable cultivator. 
 
 The le.ist transgressions of these regu- 
 lations he punished with African ferocity. 
 On one occasion, a white female, the own- 
 er of a plantation, had been murdered by the 
 negroes by whom it was laboured, and who 
 had formerly been her slaves. Toussaint 
 inarched to the spot at the head of a party 
 of his horse-guards, collected the negroes 
 belonging to the plantation, and surrounded 
 them with his black cavalry, who, after a 
 very brief inquiry, received orders to charge 
 and cut them to pieces ; of which order our 
 informant witnessed the execution. His 
 unrelenting rigour, joined to his natural sa- 
 gacity, soon raised Toussaint to the chief 
 command of the island ; and he availed 
 himself of the maritime peace, to consoli- 
 date his authority by establishing a consti- 
 tution on the model most lately approved 
 of in France, which being that of the year 
 Eight, consisted of a consular government. 
 Toussaint failed not, of course, to assume 
 the supreme government to himself, with 
 power to name his successor. The whole was 
 a parody on the procedure of Buonaparte, 
 which, doubtless, the latter was not'highly 
 pleased with ; for there are many cases in 
 which an imitation by others, ^f the con- 
 duct we ourselves have held, is a matter 
 not of compliment, but of the most severe 
 satire. The constitution of St. Domingo 
 was instantly put in force, although, with 
 an ostensible deference to France, the 
 sanction of her government had been cere- 
 moniously required. It was evident that 
 the African, though not unwilling to ac- 
 knowledge some nominal degree of sove- 
 reignty on the part of France, was deter 
 
 that such were his real sentiments. His 
 sister, the beautiful Pauline, afterwards the 
 wife of Prince Borghese, showed the ut- 
 most reluctance to accompany her present 
 husband. General Leclerc, upon the expe- 
 dition, and only went on board when actu- 
 ally compelled to do so by the positive or- 
 ders of the First Consul, who, although she 
 was his favourite sister, was yet better con- 
 tented that she should share the general 
 risk, than by remaining behind, leave it to 
 be inferred that he himself augured a disas- 
 trous conclusion to the expedition. 
 
 The armament set sail on the 14th of 
 December 1801, while an English squadron 
 of observation, uncertain of their purpose, 
 waited upon and watched their progress to 
 the West Indies. The French fleet pre- 
 sented themselves before Cape Fran9ois, 
 on the 29th of January 1802. 
 
 Toussaint, summoned to surrender, seem- 
 ed at tirst inclined to come to an agreement, 
 terrified probably by the great force of the 
 expedition, which time and the climate 
 could alone afford the negroes any chance 
 of resisting. A letter was delivered to him 
 from the First Consul, expressing esteem 
 for his person ; and General Leclerc offered 
 him the most favourable terms, together 
 with the situation of lieutenant-governor. 
 Ultimately, however, Toussaint could not 
 make up his mind to trust the French, and 
 he determined upon resistance, which he 
 managed with considerable skill. Never- 
 theless, the well-concerted military opera- 
 tions of the whites soon overpowered for 
 the present the resistance of Toussaint and 
 his followers. Chief after chief surrender- 
 ed, and submitted themselves to General 
 Leclerc. \t length, Toussaint L'Ouver- 
 ture himself seems to have despaired of 
 being able to make further or more effect- 
 ual resistance. He made his formal sub- 
 mission, and received and accepted Le- 
 clerc's pardon, under the condition that he 
 
 mined to retain in his own hands the effec- should retire to a plantation at Gonaives, 
 
 tivc government of the colony. But this in 
 no respect consisted w^th the plans of Buo- 
 naparte, who was impatient to restorp to 
 France those possessions of which the Brit- 
 ish naval superiority had so long deprived 
 her — colonies, shipping, and commerce. 
 A powerful expedition was fitted out at 
 
 and never leave it without permission of 
 the commander-in-chief. 
 
 The French had not long had possession 
 of the colony, ere they discovered, or sup- 
 posed they had discovered, symptoms of a 
 conspiracy amon(;st the negroes, and Tous- 
 saint was, on very slight grounds, accused 
 
 the harbours of Brest, L'Orient, and Roche- I as encouraging a revolt. Under this allega- 
 fort, destined to restore St. Domingo in full j tion, the only proof of which was a letter, 
 subjection to the French empire. The ' capable of an innocent interpretation, the 
 fleet amounted to thirtv-four ships bearing ' unfortunate chief was seized upon, with his 
 forty guns and upwards, with more than '• whole family, and put on board of a vessel 
 twenty frigates and smaller armed vessels. ! bound to France. Nothing official was 
 They had on board above twenty thousand ' ever learned concerning his fate, further 
 men, and General Leclerc, the brother-in- ' than that he was imprisoned in the castle 
 law of the First Consul, was named com- : of Joux, in Franche Comnte, where the un- 
 mander-in-chief of the expedition, having a happy African fell a victim to the severity 
 staff composed of officers of acknowledged I of an Alpine climate, to which he was un- 
 skill and bravery. ' accustomed, and the privations of a close 
 
 It is said that Buonaparte had the art to 1 confinement. The deed has been often 
 employ a considerable proportion of the ' quoted and referred to as one of the worst 
 troops which composed the late army of the ! .actions of Buonaparte, who ought, if not in 
 Rhine, in this distant e.xpedition to an in- ' justice, in generosity at least, to have had
 
 360 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLIV. 
 
 compassion on a man, whose fortunes bore 
 in many respects a strong similarity to his 
 own. It afforded but too strong a proof, 
 that though humanity was often in Napole- 
 on's mouth, and sometimes displayed in his 
 actions, yet its maxims were seldom found 
 sufficient to protect those whom he disliked 
 or feared, from the fate which tyranny most 
 willingly assigns to its victims, that of being 
 silently removed from the living world, and 
 inclosed in their prison as in a tomb, from 
 which no complaints can be heard, and 
 where they are to wait the slow approach 
 of death, like men who are literally buried 
 alive. 
 
 The perfidy with which the French had 
 conducted themselves towards Toussaint, 
 was visited by early vengeance. That 
 scourge of Europeans, the yellow fever, 
 broke out among their troops, and in an 
 incredibly short space of time swept off 
 General Leclerc, with many of his best 
 officers and bravest soldiers. The negroes, 
 incensed at the conduct of the governor 
 towards Toussaint, and encouraged by 
 the sickly condition of the French army, 
 rose upon them in every quarter. A 
 species of war ensued, of which we are 
 thankful it is not our task to trace the de- 
 plorable and ghastly particulars. The cru- 
 elty which was perhaps to be expected in 
 the savage Africans, just broke loose from 
 the bondage of slavery, communicated it- 
 self to the civilized French. If the former 
 tore out their prisoners' eyes with cork- 
 screws, the latter drowned their captives 
 by hundreds, which imitation of Carrier's 
 republican baptism they called "deporta- 
 tion into the sea." On other occasions, 
 numerous bodies of negroes were confined 
 in hulks, and there smothered to death with 
 the fames of lighted sulphur. The issue 
 of this hellish warfare was, that the cruelty 
 of the French enraged instead of terrifying 
 their savage antagonists ; and at length, that 
 the numbers of the former, diminished by 
 disease and constant skirmishing, became 
 unequal to the defence even of the garrison- 
 towns of the island, much more so to the 
 task of reconquering it. General Rocham- 
 beau, who succeeded Leclerc as command- 
 er-in-chief, was finally obliged to save the 
 poor wreck of that fine army, by submitting 
 at discretion to an English squadron, 1st 
 December 1803. Thus v/as the richest col- 
 ony in the West Indies finally lost to France. 
 Remaining entirely in possession of the 
 black population, St. Domingo will show, 
 in process of time, how far the natives of 
 Africa, having European civilization within 
 their reach, are capable of forming a state, 
 governed by the usual rules of polity. 
 
 While Buonaparte made these strong ef- 
 forts for repossessing France in this fine 
 colony, it was not to be supposed that he 
 was neglecting the establishment of his 
 own power upon a more firm basis. His 
 present situation was — like every other in 
 life — considerably short of what he could 
 have desired, though so infinitely superior 
 to all that his most unreasonable wishes 
 could at one time have aspired to. He had 
 all the leal power of royalty, and, since the 
 
 I settlement of his authority for life, he had 
 I daily assumed more of the pomp and cir- 
 cumstance with which sovereignty is us. 
 ] ually invested. The Tuilleries were once 
 more surrounded with guards without, and 
 filled by levees within- The ceremonial 
 of a court was revived, and Buonaparte, 
 judging of mankind with accuracy, neglect- 
 ed no minute observance by which the 
 princes of the earth are wont to enforce 
 their authority. Still there remained much 
 to be done. He held the sovereignty only 
 in the nature of a life-rent. He could, in- 
 deed, dispose of it by will, but the last 
 wills even of kings have been frequently 
 set aside; and, at any rate, the privilege 
 comes short of that belonging to a heredita- 
 ry crown, which descends by the right of 
 blood from, one possessor to another, so 
 that in one sense it may be said to confer 
 on the dynasty a species of immortality. 
 Buonaparte knew also the virtue of names. 
 The title of Chief Consul did not necessa* 
 rily infer sovereign rights — it might signify 
 everything, or it might signify nothing — in 
 common language it inferred alike one of 
 the annual executive governors of the Ro- 
 man Republic, whose fasces swayed the 
 world, or the petty resident who presides 
 over commercial affairs in a foreign sea- 
 port. There were no precise ideas of 
 power or rights necessarily and unalien- 
 ably connected with it. Besides, Buon- 
 aparte had other objections to his present 
 title of dignity. The title of First Con- 
 sul implied, that there were two others, — 
 far, indeed, from being co-ordinate with 
 Napoleon, but yet who occupied a higher 
 rank on the steps of the throne, and ap- 
 proached ifis person more nearly, than ho 
 could have desired. Again, the word re- 
 minded the hearer, even by the new mode 
 of its application, that it belonged to a gov- 
 ernment of recent establishment, and of 
 revolutionary origin, and Napoleon did not 
 wish to present such ideas to the public 
 mind; since that which was but lately 
 erected might be easily destroyed, and that 
 v/hich last arose out of the revolutionary 
 cauldron, might, like the phantoms whicn 
 had preceded it, give place in its turn to 
 an apparition more potent. Policy seemed 
 to recommend to him, to have recourse to 
 the ancient model which Europe had been 
 long accustomed to reverence ; to adopt the 
 form of government best known and longest 
 established through the greater part of the 
 world ; and, assuming the title and rights of 
 a monarch, to take his place among the an- 
 cient and recognized authorities of Europe. 
 It was necessary to proceed with the 
 utmost caution in this innovation, which, 
 whenever accomplished, must necessarily 
 involve the French people in the notable 
 inconsistency, of having murdered the de- 
 scendant of their old princes, committed a 
 thousand crimes, and suffered under a mass 
 of misery, merel3' because they were resolv- 
 ed not to permit the existence of that crown, 
 which was now to be placed on the head 
 of a soldier of fortune. Before, therefore, 
 he could venture on this bold measure, 
 in which, were it but for very shame's sake.
 
 Chap. XLIV] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 381 
 
 he must be certain of great opposition, i couraged those who had received them to 
 Buonaparte endeavoured, by every means ; make every effort to preserve the character 
 in his power, to strengthen himself in his which they had thus gained, while they awa- 
 
 government. 
 
 kened the emulation of hundreds and thou- 
 
 The army was carefully new-modelled, , samds who desired similar marks of distinc- 
 80 as to make it as much as possible his | tion. Buonaparte now formed the project of 
 
 own ; and the French soldiers, who regard 
 ed the power of Buonaparte as the fruit of 
 their own victories, were in general devot- 
 ed to his cause, notwithstanding the fame 
 of Moreau, to whom a certain part of their 
 number still adhered. The Consular Guard, 
 a highly privileged body of selected forces, 
 ■was augmented to the number of six thou- 
 sand men. These formidable legions, which 
 included troops of every species of arms, 
 had been gradually formed and increased 
 upon the plan of the corps of guides which 
 Buonaparte introduced during the first Ital- 
 ian campaigns, for immediate attendance 
 on his person, and for preventing such acci- 
 dents as once or twice had like to have be- 
 fallen him, by unexpected encounters with 
 flying parties of the enemy. But the guards, 
 as now increased in numbers, had a duty 
 much more extended. They were chosen 
 men, taught to consider themselves as su- 
 perior to the rest of the army, and enjoying 
 advantages in pay and privileges. When 
 the other troops were subject to privations, 
 care was taken that the guards should ex- 
 perience as little of them as possible, and 
 tliat by every possible exertion they should 
 be kept in the highest degree of readiness 
 for action. They were only employed upon 
 service of the utmost importance, and sel- 
 dom in the beginning of an engagement, 
 when they remained in reserve under the 
 eye of Napoleon himself. It was usually 
 by means of his guard that the final and 
 decisive exertion was made which marked 
 Buonaparte's tactics, and so often achieved 
 victory at the very crisis when it seemed 
 inclining to the enemy. Regarding them- 
 selves as considerably superior to the other 
 loldiers, and accustomed also to be under 
 Napoleon's immediate command, his guards 
 were devotedly attached to him ; and a 
 body of troops of such nigh character might 
 be considered as a formidable bulwark 
 around the throne which he meditated as- 
 cending. 
 
 The attachment of these chosen legions, 
 and of his soldiers in general, formed the 
 foundation of Buonaparte's power, who, 
 of all sovereigns that ever mounted to 
 authority, might be said to reign by dint of 
 victory and of his sword. But he surround- 
 ed himself by another species of partizaiis. 
 The Legion of Honour was destined to 
 form a distinct and particular class of priv- 
 ileged individuals, whom, by honours and 
 bounties bestowed on them, he resolved 
 to bind to his own interest. 
 
 This ir.stitution, which attained consider- 
 able political importance, originated i'.i the 
 custom which Napoleon had earlv introduc- 
 ed, of conferring on. soldiers, of whatever 
 rank, a sword, fusee, or other military weap 
 
 embodying the persons who had merited 
 such rewards into an association, similar in 
 many respects to those orders, or brother- 
 hoods of chivalry, with which, during the 
 middle ages, the feudal sovereigns of Eu- 
 rope surrounded themselves, and which 
 subsist to this day, though in a changed and 
 modified form. These, however, have 
 been uniformly created on the feudal prin- 
 ciples, and the honour they confer limited, 
 or supposed to be limited, to persons of 
 some rank and condition ; but the scheme 
 of Buonaparte was to extend this species 
 of honourable distinction through all ranks, 
 in the quality proper to each, as medals to 
 be distr-buted among various classes of the 
 community are struck upon metals of dif- 
 ferent value, but are all stamped with the 
 same die. The outlines of the institution 
 were these : — 
 
 The Legion of Honour was to consist of a 
 great Council of Administration and fifteen 
 Cohorts, each of which was to have its own 
 separate head-quarters, in some distinguish- 
 ed town of the Republic. The Council of 
 .Administration w;is to consist of the three 
 Consuls, and four other members ; a sena- 
 tor, namely, a member of the Legislative 
 Body, a member of the Tribunate, and one 
 of the Council of State, each to be chosen 
 by tlie body to which he belonged. The 
 order might be acquired by distinguished 
 merit, either of a civil or a military na- 
 ture ; and various rules were laid down for 
 the mode of selecting the members. The 
 First Consul was, in right of his office, Cap- 
 tain-General of tlie Legion, and President 
 of the Council of Administration. Every 
 cohort was to consist of seven grand offi- 
 cers, twenty commanders, thirty subaltern 
 officers, and three hundred and fifty legion- 
 aries. Their nomination was for life, and 
 their appointments considerable. The 
 grand officers enjoyed a yearly pension of 
 oOW) francs ; the commanders 2500 ; the i 
 officers 1000 francs ; the privates or legion- 
 aries, 250. They were to swear upon their 
 honour to defend the government of France, 
 and maintain the inviolability of her em- 
 pire ; to combat, by ever)' lawful means, 
 against the re-establishment of the feudal 
 institutions ; and to concur in maintaining 
 the principles of liberty and equality. 
 
 Notwithstanding these last words, con- 
 taining, when properly understood, the 
 highest political and moral truth, but em- 
 ployed in France originally to cover the 
 most abominable cruelties, and used more 
 lately as mere words of course, the friends 
 of liberty were not to be blinded, regard- 
 ing the purpose of this new institution. 
 Their number was now much limited ; but 
 amidst their weakness thev had listened to 
 
 on, in the nameof the state, as acknowledg- the lessons of prudence and experience, 
 ing and commemorating some act of peculiar and abandoning these high-swollen, illuso- 
 gallantry. The influence of such public re- ' ry, and absurd pretensions, which had cre- 
 wards wag of course very great. They en- ated such general disturbance, seem to
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XLIV. 
 
 have set themselves seriously, and at the 
 same time moderately to work, to protect 
 the cause of practical and useful freedom, 
 by such resistance as the constitution still 
 permitted them to offer, by means of the 
 Tribunate and the Legislative Body. 
 
 Among the statesmen who associated to 
 form an Opposition, which, on the princi- 
 ple of the constitutional Opposition of Eng- 
 land, were to act towards the executive 
 government rather as to an erring friend, 
 whom they desired to put right, than as an 
 enemy, whom they meant to destroy, were 
 Benjamin Constant, early distinguished by 
 talent and eloquence, Chenier, author of 
 the hymn of the Marseilloise, Savoye-Rol- 
 lin, Chauvelin, and others, among whose 
 names that of Carnot was most distinguish- 
 ed. These statesmen had learned apparent- 
 ly, that it is better in human affairs to aim 
 at that minor degree of good which is prac- 
 ticatle, than to aspire to a perfection which 
 is unattainable. In the opinion of most of 
 them, the government of Buonaparte was 
 a necessary evil, without which, or some- 
 thing of the same strength, to control the 
 factions by which she was torn to pieces, 
 France must have continued to be a prey 
 to a succession of such anarchical govern- 
 ments as had already almost ruined her. 
 They, therefore, entertained none of the 
 usual views of conspirators. They consid- 
 ered the country as in the condition of a 
 wounded warrior, compelled for a short 
 time to lay aside her privileges, as he his 
 armour ; but they hoped, when France had 
 renewed her strength and spirit by an inter- 
 val of repose, they might see her under bet- 
 ter auspices than before, renew and assert 
 her claims to be free from military law. 
 Meantime they held it their duty, profess- 
 ing, at the same time, the highest respect 
 to the government and its head the First 
 Consul, to keep alive as far as was permit- 
 ted the spirit of the country, and oppose 
 the encroachments of its ruler. They were 
 not long allowed to follow the practical 
 and useful path which they had sketched 
 out 5 but the French debates were never so 
 decently or respectably conducted as dur- 
 ing this period. 
 
 The Opposition, as they may be called, 
 had not objected to the re-appointment of 
 Buonaparte to the Consulate for life. Prob- 
 ably they were reluctant to have the ap- 
 pearance of giving him personal offence, 
 were aware tliey would be too feebly sup- 
 ported, and were sensible, that struggling 
 for a point which could not be attained, 
 was unlikely to lead to any good practical 
 results. The institution of the Legion of 
 Honour offered a better chance to try their 
 new opposition tactics. 
 
 Rcederer, the orator, bv whom the meas- 
 ure was proposed to the Tribunate, endeav- 
 oured to place it in the most favourable 
 light. It was founded, he said, upon the 
 eighty-sevenili article of the Constitution- 
 al Declaration, which provided that nation- 
 al recompences should be conferred on 
 those soldiers who had distinguished them- 
 selves in their country's service. He rep- 
 resented the proposed order as a moral in- 
 
 stituion, calculated to raise to the highest 
 the patriotism and gallantry of the French 
 people. It was a coin, he said, of a value 
 different from, and tar more precious than 
 that which was issued from the treasury — 
 a treasure of a quality which could not be 
 debased, and of a quantity which was inex- 
 haustible, since the mine consisted in the 
 national sense of honour. 
 
 To this specious argument, it was replied 
 by Roll in and others, that the law was of a 
 nature dangerous to public liberty. It was 
 an abuse, they said, of the constitutional 
 article, on which it was alleged to be found- 
 ed, since it exhausted at once, by the cre- 
 ation of a numerous corps, the stock of re- 
 wards which tiie article referred to held in 
 frugal reserve, to recompense great actions 
 as they should occur. If everything was 
 given to remunerate merits which had been 
 already ascertained, what stock, it was ask- 
 ed, remained for compensating future ac- 
 tions of gallantry, excepting the chance of 
 a tardy admission into the corps as vacan- 
 cies should occur 1 But especially it was 
 pleaded, that the establishment of a milita- 
 ry body, distinguished by high privileges 
 and considerable pay, yet distinct and differ- 
 ing from all the other national forces, was 
 a direct violation of the sacred principles 
 of equality. Some reprobated the inter- 
 mixture of the civil officers of the state in 
 a military institution. Others were of opin- 
 ion that the oath proposed to be taken was 
 superfluous, if not ridiculous ; since, how 
 could the members of the Legion of Hon- 
 our be more bound to serve the state, or 
 watch over the constitution, than any other 
 citizens ; or, in what manner was it propos- 
 ed they should exert themselves for that 
 purpose ? Other arguments were urged, 
 but that which all felt to be the most co- 
 gent, was rather understood than even hint- 
 ed at. This was the immense additional 
 strength which the First Consul must attain 
 by having at his command the distribution 
 of the new honours, and being thus enabled 
 to form a body of satellites entirely de- 
 pendent upon himself, and carefully select- 
 ed from the bravest and ablest within the 
 realm. 
 
 The institution of the Legion of Honour 
 was at length carried in the Tribunate, by a 
 majority of fifty-six voices, over thirty-eight, 
 and sanctioned in the Legislative Body by 
 one hundred and sixty-six over an hundred 
 and ten. The strong divisions of the Oppo- 
 sition on this trying question, showed high 
 spirit in those who composed that party ; 
 but they were placed in a situation so insu- 
 lated and separated from the public, so ut- 
 terly deprived of all constitutional guaran- 
 tees for the protection of freedom, that 
 their resistance, however honourable to 
 themselves, was totally ineffectual, and 
 without advantage to the nation. 
 
 Meanwhile Buonaparte was deeply en- 
 gaged in intrigues of a different character, 
 by means of which he hoped to place the 
 sovereign authority which he had acquired, 
 on a footing less anomalous, and more cor- 
 responding with that of the other monarchs 
 in Europe, than it was at present. For this
 
 Charp. XL v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 383 
 
 purpose an « verture was made by the Prus- 
 sian minister Haugwitz, through the medi- 
 um of Monsieur de Meyer, President of 
 the Regency of Warsaw, proposing to the 
 Compte de Provence (since Louis XVIIL) 
 that he should resign his rights to the crown 
 of France to the successful General who 
 occupied the throne, in which case the 
 exiled princes were to be invested with do- 
 minions in Italy, and restored to a brilliant 
 existence. The answer of Louis was mark- 
 ed at once by moderation, sense, and that 
 firmness of character which corresponded 
 with his illustrious birth and high preten- 
 sions. " I do not confound Monsieur Buo- 
 naparte," said the exiled monarch, •' withi 
 those who have preceded him ; I esteem 
 his bravery and military talents ; I owe him 
 goodwill for many acts of his government, 
 for the good which is done to my people I 
 will always esteem done to me. But he is 
 mistaken'if he thinks that my rig'uts can be 
 made the subjects of bargain and composi- 
 tion. The very step he is now adopting 
 would go to establish them, could they be 
 otherwise called in question. I know not 
 what may be the design-s of God for myself 
 and my family, but I am not ignorant of the 
 duties imposed on me by the rank in which 
 it was his pleasure I should be born. As a 
 Christian, I will fulfil tliose duties to my 
 last breath. .\s a descendant of Saint 
 Louis, I will know by his example how to 
 respect myself, even were I in fetters. As 
 the successor of I'ranois the First, I will at 
 least have it to say with him, ' We have lost 
 all excepting our honour !' " 
 
 Such is the account wliicti has been uni- 
 formly given by the Princes of the House 
 of Bourbon, concerning this communica- 
 tion, which is said to have taken place on 
 the 2()th February 1003. Buonaparte has 
 indeed denied that he was accessory to any 
 such transac'-ion, and lias said truly enough, 
 that an endeavour to acquire an interest in ; 
 the Bourbons' title by compromise, would \ 
 have been an admission on his part that liis 1 
 own, flowing, as he alleged, from tlie peo- 
 ple, was imperfect, and needed repairs. 
 Therefore, he denied having taken any step I 
 
 which could, in its consequences, have in- 
 ferred such an admission. 
 
 But, in the first place, it is not to be sup- 
 posed tliat such a treaty would have been 
 published by the Bourbon family, unless it 
 had been proposed by Meyer; and it is 
 equally unlikely that either Haugwitz or 
 Meyer would have ventured on such a ne- 
 gotiation, excepting at the instigation of 
 Buonaparte, wiho alone could make good 
 the terms proposed on the one side, or de- 
 rive advantage from the concessions stipu- 
 lated on the other. Secondly, without 
 stopping to inquire how far tiie title which 
 Buonaparte pretended to the supreme au- 
 thority, was of a character incapable of be- 
 ing improved by a cession of the Compte 
 de Provence's rights in his favour, it would 
 still have continued an object of great po- 
 litical consequence to have obtained a sur- 
 render of the claims of the House of Bour- 
 bon, which were even yet acknowledged by 
 a very considerable party within the king- 
 dom. It was, therefore, worth while to 
 venture upon a negotiation which might 
 have had the most important results, al- 
 though, when it proved fruitless, we can 
 see strong reasons for Napoleon concealing 
 and disowning Ins accession to a step, 
 which might be construed as implying some 
 sense of deficiency of his own title, and 
 some degree of recognition of that of the 
 exiled Prince. 
 
 It may be remarked, that, up to this pe- 
 riod, Napoleon had manifested no particu- 
 lar spleen towards the family of Bourbon. 
 Oq the contrary, he had treated their fol- 
 lowers with lenity, and spoken with decen- 
 cy of their own claims. But the rejection 
 of the treaty with Monsieur Buonaparte, 
 however moderately worded, has been rea- 
 sonably supposed to have had a deep effect 
 on his mind, and may have been one remote 
 cause of a tragedy, for which it is impossi- 
 ble to find an adequate one— the murder, 
 namely, of the Duke d'Enghien. But, be- 
 fore we approach this melancholy part of 
 Napoleon's history, it is proper to trace the 
 events which succeeded the renewal of the 
 war. 
 
 CHAP. XLV. 
 
 Mutual Feelings of Naj)oleon and the British Nation, on the Renewal of the War. — 
 First Hostile Measures on both sides. — England lays an Embargo on French Vessels 
 in her Forts — Napoleon rclaliulcs hy detaining British Subjects in France. — Effects 
 of this unprecedented Measure. — Hanover and other Places occupied by the French. — 
 Scheme of Invasion reneired.— Nature and extent of Napoleon's Preparations. — De- 
 fensive Measures of England. — Reflections. 
 
 Thk bloody war which succeeded the short 
 peace of Amiens, originated, to use the 
 words of the satirist, in high words, jeal- 
 ousies, and fears. Tliere was no special or 
 determinate cause of quarrel, which could 
 be removed by explanation, apology, or 
 concession. 
 
 The English nation were jealous, and 
 from the strides which Buonaparte had 
 made towards universal power, not jealous 
 without reason, of the farther purposes o*" 
 
 the French ruler, and demanded guarantees 
 against the encroachments which thev ap- 
 prehended ; and such guarantees he deem- 
 ed it beueatli his dignity to grant. The 
 discussion of these adverse claims had been 
 unusually violent and intemperate ; and aa 
 Buonaparte conceived the English nation 
 to be his personal enemies, so thev, on the 
 other hand, began to regard his power as 
 totally incompatible with the peace of Eu- 
 rope, and independence of Britain. To
 
 384 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chop. XL V. 
 
 Napoleon, the English people, tradesmen 
 and shopkeepers as he chose to qualify 
 them, seemed assuming a consequence in 
 Europe, which was, he conceived, far be- 
 yond their due. He was affected by feel- 
 ings similar to those with which Haman 
 beheld Mordecai sitting at the King's gate ; 
 — all things availing liim nothini,', while 
 Britain held such a high rank among the 
 nations, without deigning to do him rever- 
 ence or worship. The English people, on 
 the other hand, regarded him as the haughty 
 and proud oppressor who had the will at 
 least, if not the power, to root Britain out 
 from among the nations, and reduce them 
 to a state of ignominy and bondage. 
 
 When, therefore, the two nations again 
 arose to the contest, it wa^ like combatants 
 whose anger against each other has been 
 previously raised to the highest pitch by 
 mutual invective. Each had recourse to 
 the measures by which their enemy could 
 be most prejudiced. 
 
 England had at her command the large 
 means of annoyance arising out of her im- 
 mense naval superiority, and took her meas- 
 ures with the decision which the emergen- 
 cy required. Instant orders were despatch- 
 ed to prevent the cession of such colonies 
 as yet remained to be given up, according 
 to the treaty of Amiens, and to seize by a 
 coup-de-main such of the French settle- 
 ments as had been ceded, or were yet oc- 
 cupied by her. France, on the other hand, 
 in consequence of her equally great superi- 
 ority by land, assembled upon her extensive 
 line of sea-coast a very numerous array, 
 with which she appeared disposed to make 
 good her ruler's threats of invasion. At the 
 siame time, Buonaparte occupied without 
 ceremony the territory of Naples, Holland, 
 nnd such other states as Britain must have 
 seen in his hands with feelings of keen ap- 
 prehension, and thus made good the pre- 
 vious menaces of Talleyrand in his celebra- 
 ted Note. 
 
 But besides carrying to the utmost extent 
 nil the means of annoyance which the ordi- 
 nary rules of hostility afford, Napoleon, go- 
 ing beyond these, had recourse to strange 
 and unaccustomed reprisals, unknown as 
 yet to the code of civilized nature, and tend- 
 ing only to gratify his own resentment, and 
 extend the evils of war, already sufficiently 
 numerous. 
 
 The English had, as is the universal cus- 
 tom, laid an embargo on all French vessels 
 in their ports, at the instant the war was 
 proclaimed, and the loss to France was of 
 course considerable. Buonaparte took a 
 singular mode of retaliating, by seizing on 
 the persons of the English of every descrip- 
 tion, who chanced to be at Paris, or travel- 
 ling in the dominions of France, who, trust- 
 ing to the laws of good faith hitherto ob- 
 served by all civilized nations, e.tpected 
 nothing less than an attack upon their per- 
 sonal freedom. The absurd excuse at first 
 set up for this extraordinary violation of hu- 
 manity, at once, and of justice, was, that 
 some of these individuals might be liable to 
 •erve in the English militia, and were there- 
 fore to be considered as prisoners of war. 
 
 But this flimsy pretext could not have ex- 
 cused the seizing on the English of all 
 ranks, conditions, and ages. The measure 
 was adopted without the participation of 
 the First Consul's ministers; at least we 
 must presume so, since Talleyrand himself 
 encouraged some individuals to remain 
 after the British ambassador had left Paris, 
 with an assurance of safety which he had it 
 not in his power to make good. It was the 
 vengeful start of a haughty temper, render- 
 ed irritable, as we have often stated, by 
 uninterrupted prosperity, and resenting, of 
 consequence, resistance and contradiction, 
 with an acuteuess of feeling approaching 
 to frenzy. 
 
 The individuals who suffered under this 
 capricious and tyrannical act of arbitrary 
 power, were treated in all respects like 
 prisoners of war, and confined to prison as 
 such, unless they gave their parole to abide 
 in certain towns assigned them, and keep 
 within particular limits. 
 
 The mass of individual evil occasioned by 
 this cruel measure was incalculably great 
 Twelve years, a large proportion of human 
 life, were cut from that of each of these 
 Detenus, as they were called, so far as 
 regarded settled plan, or active exertion. 
 Upon many, the interruption fell with fatal 
 influence, blighting all their hopes and pros- 
 pects ; others learned to live only for the 
 passing day, and were thus deterred from 
 habitual study or useful industry. The most 
 tender bonds of affection were broken 
 asunder by this despotic sentence of im- 
 prisonment ; the most fatal inroads wert; 
 made on family feelings and affections by 
 this long separation between children, and 
 husbands, and wives — all the nearest and 
 dearest domestic relations. In short, if it 
 was Buonaparte's desire to inflict the high- 
 est degree of pain on a certain number of 
 persons, only because they were born in 
 Britain, he certainly attained his end. If 
 he hoped to gain anything farther, he wa« 
 completely baffled ; and when he hypo- 
 critically imputes the sufferings of the /)•• 
 tentis to the obstinacy of the English min- 
 istry, his reasoning is the same with that of 
 a captain of Italian banditti, who murders 
 his prisoner, and throws the blame of the 
 crime on the friends of the deceased, who 
 failed to send the ransom at which he had 
 rated his life. Neither is his vindication 
 more reasonable, when he pretends to say 
 that the measure was taken in order to pre- 
 vent England, on future occasions, from 
 seizing, according to ancient usage, on the 
 shipping in her ports. This outrage must 
 therefore be recorded as one of those acts 
 of wanton wilfulness in which Buonaparte 
 indulged his passion, at the .expense of his 
 honour, and, if rightly understood, of his 
 real interest. 
 
 The detention of civilians, unoffending 
 and defenceless, was a breach of those 
 courtesies which ought to be sacred, as 
 mitigating the horrors of war. The occu- 
 pation of Hanover was made in violation of 
 the Germanic Constitution. This patrimo- 
 ny of our kings had in former wars been 
 admitted to the benefit of neutrality ; a rea-
 
 Chap. XL v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 .S8r, 
 
 80nable distinction being taken betwixt the 
 Elector of Hanover, as one of the grand 
 feudatories of the Empire, and the same 
 person in his character of King of Great 
 Britain ; in which latter crpacity only he 
 wais at war with France. But Buonaparte 
 was not disposed to recognize these meta- 
 physical distinctions ; nor were any of the 
 powers of Germany in a condition to incur 
 nis displeasure, by asserting the constitu- 
 tion and immunities of the empire. Austria 
 had paid too deep a price for her former 
 attempts to withstand the power of France, 
 to permit her to e.xtend her opposition be- 
 yond a feeble remonstrance ; and Prussia 
 had too long pursued a temporizing and 
 truckling line of politics, to allow her to 
 break short with Napoleon, by endeavour- 
 ing to merit the title her monarch once 
 claimed, — of Protector of the North of 
 Germany. 
 
 Everything in Germany being thus favour- 
 able to the views of France, Mortier, who 
 had already assembled an army in Holland, 
 and on the frontiers of Germany, moved for- 
 ward on Hanover. A considerable force 
 was collected for resistance, under his F».oy- 
 al Highness the Duke of Cambridge, and 
 General Walmoden. It soon appeared, 
 however, that, left to their own resources, 
 and absolutely unsupported either by Eng- 
 land or the forces of the Empire, the Elect- 
 orate was incapable of resistance 5 and that 
 any attempt at an ineffectual defence would 
 only serve to aggravate the distresses of the 
 country, by subjecting the inhabitants to 
 the extremities of war. In compassion, 
 therefore, to the Hanoverians, the Duke of 
 Cambridge was induced to leave the hered- 
 itary dominions of his father's house ; and 
 General Walmoden had the mortification to 
 find himself obliged to enter into a conven- 
 tion, by which the capital of the Elector- 
 ate, and all its strong-holds, were to be de- 
 livered up to the French, and the Hanove- 
 rian army were to retire behind the Elbe, 
 on condition not to serve against France 
 and her allies till previously exchanged. 
 
 The British government having refused 
 to ratify this convention of Suhlingen, as 
 it was termed, the Hanoverian army were 
 summoned to surrender as prisoners of 
 war; — hard terms, which, upon the deter- 
 mined resistance of Walmoden, were only 
 thus far softened, that these tried and faith- 
 ful troops were to be disbanded, and deliv- 
 er up their arms, artillery, horses, and mili- 
 tary stores. In a letter to the First Consul, 
 Mortier declares that he granted these miti- 
 gated terms from respect to the misfortunes 
 of a brave enemy ; and mentions, in a tone 
 of creditable feeling, the distress of Gen- 
 eral Walmoden, and the despair of the fine 
 regiment of Hanoverian guards, when dis- 
 mounting from their horses to surrender 
 them up to the French. 
 
 At the same time that they occupied 
 Hanover, the French failed not to make a 
 further use of their invasion of Germany, 
 by laying forced loans on the Hanseatic 
 towns, and other encroachments. 
 
 The Prince Royal of Denmark was the 
 only sovereign who showed an honourable 
 Vol. I. R 
 
 sense of these outrages, by assembling in 
 Holstein an army of thirty thousand men ; 
 but being unsupported by any other pow- 
 er, he was soon glad to lay aside the atti- 
 tude which he had assumed. Austria ac- 
 cepted, as current payment, the declara- 
 tion of France, that by her occupation of 
 Hanover she did not intend any act of con- 
 quest, or annexation of territory, but mere- 
 ly proposed to retain the Electorate as a 
 pledge for the isle of Malta, which the 
 English, contrary, as was alleged, to the 
 faith of treaties, refused to surrender. 
 Prussia naturally dissatisfied at seeing the 
 aggressions of France extend to the neigh- 
 bourhood of her own territories, was nev- 
 ertheless obliged to rest contented with the 
 same e-xcuse. 
 
 The French ruler did not confine him- 
 self to the occupation of Hanover. Taren- 
 tum, and other sea-ports of the King of 
 Naples's dominions, were seized upon, un- 
 der the same pretext of their being a pledge 
 for the restoration of Malta. In fact, by 
 thus quartering his troops upon neutral ter- 
 ritories, by whom he took care that they 
 should l3e paid and clothed, Napoleon made 
 the war support itself, and spared France 
 the burthen of maintaining a great propor- 
 tion of his immense army; while large ex- 
 actions, not only on the commercial towns, 
 but on .Spain, Portugal, and Naples, and oth- 
 er neutral countries, in the name of loans, 
 filled his treasury, and enabled him to car- 
 ry on the expensive plans which he medi- 
 tated. 
 
 Any one of the separate manosuvres which 
 we have mentioned, would, before this 
 eventful war, have been considered as a 
 sufficient object for a long campaign. But 
 the whole united was regarded by Buona- 
 parte only as side-blows, affecting Britain 
 indirectly through the occupation of her 
 monarch's family dominions, the embar- 
 rassment offered to her commerce, and the 
 destruction of such independence as had 
 been left to the continental powers. His 
 great and decisive game remained to he 
 played — that scheme of invasion to '.vhich 
 he had so strongly pledged himself in his 
 angry dialogue with Lord Whitworth. — 
 Here, perhaps, if ever in his life, Buona 
 parte, from considerations of prudence, 
 suffered the period to elapse which would 
 have afforded the best chance for execution 
 of his venturous project. 
 
 It must be in the memory of most who 
 recollect the period, that the kingdom of 
 Great Britain w>»s seldom less provided 
 against invasion than at the commencement 
 of this second war ; and that an embarka- 
 tion from the ports of Holland, if undertak- 
 en instantly after the %var had broken out, 
 might have escaped our blockading squad- 
 rons, and have at least shown what a Frencii 
 army could have done on British ground, 
 at a moment when the al:inn wus general, 
 and the country in an unprepared state. 
 But it is probable that Buonapa-te himself 
 was as much unprovided as England for tho 
 sudden breach of the treaty of .\miens, an 
 event brought about more by the influence 
 of passion than of policy ; so that its con-
 
 386 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XL V. 
 
 sequences were as unexpected in liis calcu- 
 lations as in those of Great Britain. Be- 
 sides, he had not diminished to himself the 
 dangers of the undertaking, by which he 
 must have staked his military renown, his 
 power, wliich he held chiefly as the conse- 
 quence of his reputation, perhaps his life, 
 upon a desperate game, which though he 
 had already twice contemplated it, he had 
 not yet found hardihood enough seriously 
 to enter upon. 
 
 He now, however, at length bent himself, 
 with the whole strength of his mind, and 
 the whole force of his empire, to prepare 
 for this final and decisive undertaking. The 
 gun-boats in the Bay of Gibralter, where 
 calms are frequent, had sometimes in the 
 course of the former war been able to do 
 considerable damage to the English ves- 
 sels of war, when they could not use their 
 sails. Such small craft, therefore, was 
 supposed the proper force for covering the 
 intended descent. They were built in 
 different harbours, and brought together by 
 Tawling along the French shore, and keep- 
 ing nncref the protection of the batteries, 
 which were now established on every cape, 
 almost as if the sea-coast of the Channel 
 on the French side had been the lines of a 
 besieged city, no one point of which could 
 with prudence be left undefended by can- 
 non. Boulogne was pitched upon as the 
 centre port, from which the expedition was 
 to sail. By incredible exertions, Buona- 
 parte had rendered its harbour and roads 
 capable of containing two thousand vessels 
 of various descriptions. The smaller sea- 
 ports of Vimereux, Ambleteuse, and Eta- 
 ples, Dieppe, Havre, St. Valeri, Caen, 
 Gravelines, and Dunkirk, were likewise fill- 
 ed with shipping. Flushing and Ostend 
 were occupied by a separate flotilla. Brest, 
 Toulon, and Rochefort, were each the sta- 
 tion of as strong a naval squadron as France 
 had still the means to send to sea. 
 
 A land army was assembled of the most 
 formidable description, whether we regard 
 the high military character of the troops, 
 the extent and perfection of their oppoint- 
 ments, or their numerical strength. The 
 coast, from the mouth of the Seine to that 
 of the Texel, was covered with forces; 
 and Soult, Ney, Davoust, and Victor, names 
 that were then the pride and the dread of 
 war, were appointed to command the Ar- 
 my of England, (for that menacing title 
 was once more assumed,) and execute those 
 manoeuvres, planned and superintended by 
 Buonaparte, the issue of which was to be 
 the blotting out of Britain from the rank of 
 independent nations. 
 
 Far from being alarmed at this formida- 
 ble demonstration of force, England pre- 
 pared for her resistance with an energy he- 
 coming her ancient rank in Europe, and far 
 surpassing in its efforts any extent of mili- 
 tary preparation before heard of in her his- 
 tory. To nearly one hundred tho\isaiul 
 troops of the line, were added eighty thou- 
 sand and upwards of militia, which scarce 
 yielded to the regulars in point of disci- 
 pline. The volunteer force, by which eve- 
 vg citizen was permitted and invited to 
 
 add his efforts to the defence of the coun 
 try, was far more numerous than during the 
 last war, was better officered also, and ren- 
 dered every way more effective. It waa 
 computed to amount to three hundred and 
 fifty thousand men, who, if we regard the 
 shortness of the time and the nature of the 
 service, had attained considerable practice 
 in the use and management of their arme. 
 Other classes of men were embodied, and 
 destined to act as pioneers, drivers of wag- 
 ons, and in the like services. On a sud- 
 den, the land seemed converted to an im- 
 mense camp, the whole nation into soldiers, 
 and the good old King himself into a Gen- 
 eral-in-Chief. All peaceful considerations 
 appeared for a time to be thrown aside j 
 and the voice, calling the nation to defend 
 their dearest rights, sounded not only in 
 Parliament, and in meetings convoked to 
 second the measures of defence, but was 
 heard in the places of public amusement, 
 and mingled even with the voice of devo- 
 tion — not unbecominglysurely, since tode- 
 fend our country is to defend our religion. 
 
 Beacons were erected in conspicuous 
 points, corresponding with each other, all 
 around and all through the island, and morn- 
 ing and evening, one might have said, every 
 eye was turned towards them to watch for 
 the fatal and momentous signal. Partial 
 alarms were given in different places, from 
 the mistakes to which such arrangements 
 must necessarily be liable ; and the ready 
 spirit which animated every s])ecies of troops 
 where such signals called to arms, was of the 
 most satisfactorydescriptionand afforded the 
 most perfect assurance, that the heart of 
 every man was in the cause of his country. 
 Amidst her preparations by land, England 
 did not neglect or relax her precautions on 
 the element she calls her own. She cover- 
 ed the ocean with five hundred and seven- 
 ty ships of war of various descriptions. Di- 
 visions of her fleet blocked up every French 
 port in the Channel ; and the army destined 
 to invade our shores, might see the British 
 flag flying in every direction on the horizon, 
 waiting for their issuing from the harbour, as 
 birds of prey may be seen floating in the 
 air above the animal which they design to 
 pounce upon. Sometimes the British frig- 
 ates and sloops of war stood in, and can- 
 nonaded or threw shells into Havre, Dieppe, 
 Granville, and Boulogne itself. Sometimes 
 the seamen and marines landed, cut out 
 vessels, destroyed signal-posts, and disman- 
 tled batteries. Such events were trifling, 
 and it was to be regretted that they cost 
 the lives of gallant men ; but although 
 they produced no direct results of conse- 
 quence, yet they had their use in encour- 
 aging the spirits of our sailors, and damping 
 the coiitidnnce of the enemy, who must 
 at length have looked forward with more 
 doubt than hope to the invasion of the 
 English coast, when the utmost vigilance 
 could not prevent their experiencing insults 
 upon their own. 
 
 During this period of menaced attack 
 and arranged defence, Buonaparte visited 
 Boulogne, and seemed active in preparing 
 his soldiers for the grand effort. He re-
 
 Chap. XL v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 387 
 
 viewed them in an unusual manner, teach- 
 ing them to execute several manoeuvres by 
 night; and experiments were also made 
 upon the best mode of arranging the sol- 
 diers in the li^l-bottomed boats, and of em- 
 barking and disembarking them with celer- 
 ity. Omens were resorted to for keeping 
 up the enthusiasm which the presence of 
 the First Consul naturally inspired. A 
 Roman battle-a.ve was said to be found 
 wlien they removed the earth to pitch 
 Buonaparte's tent or barrack ; and medals 
 of William the Conqueror were produced, 
 as having been dug up upon the same hon- 
 oured spot. These were pleasant bodings, 
 yet perhaps did not altogether, in the minds 
 of the soldiers, counterbalance the sense 
 of insecurity impressed on them by the 
 prospect of being packed together in these 
 miserable chaloupes, and exposed to the 
 fire of an enemy so superior at sea, that 
 during the Chief Consul's review of the 
 fortifications, their frigates stood in shore 
 with composure, and fired at him and his 
 suite as at a mark. The men who had 
 j braved the perils of the Alps and of the 
 Egyptian deserts, might yet be allowed to 
 feel alarm at a species of danger which 
 I eeemed so inevitable, and which they had 
 1 no adequate means of repelling by force of 
 j arms. 
 
 , .A circumstance which seemed to render 
 the expedition in a great measure hopeless, 
 1 was the ease with which the English could 
 i maintain a constant watch upon their oper- 
 ' ations within the port of Boulogne. The 
 least appearance of stir or preparation, to 
 ; embark troops, or get ready for sea, was 
 promptly sent by signal to the English coast, 
 and the numerous British cruisers were in- 
 i stantly on the alert to attend their motions. 
 Nelson had, in fact, during the last war, 
 declared the sailing of a hostile armament 
 I from Boulogne to be a most forlorn un- 
 I dertaking, on account of cross tides and 
 other disadvantages, together with the cer- 
 I tainty of the flotilla being lost if there were 
 } the least wind west-north-west. " As for 
 I rowing," he adds, "that is impossible. — 
 ' It is perfectly right to be prepared for a 
 imad government," continued this incontes- 
 tible judge of maritime possibilities; " but 
 with the active force whicli has been giv- 
 i«n me, I may pronounce it almost imprac- 
 ticable." 
 
 Buonaparte himself continued to the last 
 to affirm that he was serious in his attempts 
 to invade Great Britain, and that the scheme 
 was very practicable. He did not, however, 
 latterly, talk of forcing his way by means 
 of armed small craft and gun-boats, while 
 I the naval forces on each side were in their 
 jpresent degree of comparative strength, the 
 iallowed risk of miscarriage being as ten to 
 one to that of success ; — this' bravado, 
 which he had uttered to Lord Whitworth, 
 involved too much uncertainty to be really 
 acted upon. At times, long after, he talked 
 slightingly to his attendants of the causes 
 which prevented his accomplishing his pro- 
 ject of invasion ;* but when speaking seri- 
 
 • Si de Itgtrs derangtmens o'avaient mis obsto 
 
 ously and in detail, he shows plainly that his 
 sole hope of effecting the invasion was, by 
 assembling such a fleet as should give him 
 the temporary command of the Channel. 
 This fleet was to consist of fifty vessels, 
 which, despatched from the various ports 
 of France and Spain, were to rendezvous 
 atMartinico, and, returning from thence to 
 the British Channel, protect the flotilla, 
 upon which were to embark one hundred 
 and fifty thousand men.* Napoleon was 
 disappointed in his combinations respecting 
 the shipping ; for, as it happened. Lord 
 Cornwallis lay before Brest j Pellew ob- 
 served the harbours of Spain ; Nelson 
 watched Toulon and Genoa; and it would 
 have been necessary for the French and 
 Spanish navy to fight their way through 
 these impediments, in order to form a union 
 at Martinico. 
 
 It is wonderful to observe how incapable^ 
 the best understandings become of forming" 
 a rational judgment, where their vanity anil 
 self-interest are concerned, in slurring over 
 the total failure of a favourite scheme. 
 While talking of the miscarriage of this 
 plan of invasion, Napoleon gravely exclaim- 
 ed to Las Casas, " And yet the obstacles 
 which made me fail were not of human ori- 
 gin — tliey were the work of the elements. 
 In the south the sea undid my plans ; in 
 the north, it was the conflagration of Mos- 
 cow, the snows and ice that destroyed me. 
 Thus, water, air, fire, all nature in short 
 have been the enemies of an universal re 
 generation, commanded by Nature herself 
 The problems of Providence are inscruta- 
 ble. "t 
 
 Independent of the presumptuouf^ness ol" 
 expressions, by which an individual being, 
 of the first-rate talents doubtless, but yet 
 born of a woman, seems to raise himself 
 above the rest of his species, and deem 
 himself unconquerable save by the ele- 
 mental resistance, the inaccuracy of the rea- 
 soning is worth remarking. Was it the sea 
 which prevented his crossing to England, 
 or was it the English ships and sailors"? He 
 might as well have affirmed that the hJll of 
 Mount St. John, and the wood of Soignies, 
 and not the army of Wellington, v/crc the 
 obstacles which prevented him from march- 
 ing to Brussels. 
 
 ' Before quitting the subject, we may no- 
 tice, that Buonaparte seems not to have 
 entertained the least doubts of success, 
 could he have succeeded m disembarking 
 his army. A single general action was to 
 decide the fate of England. Five days 
 were to bring Napoleon to London, where 
 he was to perform the part of William the 
 Third ; but with more generosity and disin- 
 terestedness. He was to call a meeting of 
 the inhabitants, restore them what he cliIU 
 their rights, and destroy the oiig.archica! 
 faction. A few months would not, accord- 
 ing to his account, have elapsed, ere the 
 
 cle k man enterprise fie B<Hili>gnc, (\\ie poovoit (Stra 
 I'Angletcrre aujourd'hui 7— Las Casks, tomo II 
 3nie panic, p. \Xib. 
 
 * Momoires ecrits k Sainl FielcBe, soui) la ilictn* 
 de I'Empereur, tomo 11. p. 2-77. 
 
 t Las Cases, tomo I. purtio 2A;, p, 278,
 
 :;SS 
 
 LIFE OF KVPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XL VI. 
 
 two nations, late such determined enemies, 
 ^vould liuve been identified by ilieir princi- 
 ples, their maxims, their interests. The 
 full explanation of this gibberish, (for it can 
 be ternied no better, even proceeding from 
 the lips of Napoleon,) is to be found else- 
 where, when he spoke a language more 
 genuine than that of the Moniteur and the 
 bulletins. " England," he said, " must 
 have ended, by becoming an appendage to 
 the France of my system. Nature has made 
 it one of our islands, as well as Oleron and 
 Corsica."* 
 
 It is impossible not to pursue the train of 
 reflections which Buonaparte continued to 
 pour forth to the companion of his exile, on 
 the rock of St. Helena. When England 
 was conquered, and identified with France 
 in maxims and principles, according to one 
 form of expression, or rendered an append- 
 age and dependency, according to another 
 l)lirase, the reader may suppose that Buon- 
 aparte would have considered his mission 
 :is accomplished. Alas ! it was not much 
 more than commenced. " I would have 
 departed from thence [from subjugated 
 Britain] to carry the work of European re- 
 generation [that is, the extension of his 
 own arbitrary authority] from south to 
 north, under the Republican colours, for I 
 was then Chief Consul, in the same man- 
 ner which I was more lately on the point 
 of achieving it under the monarchical 
 tbrms.'"t When we find such ideas retain- 
 ing hold of Napoleon's imagination, and 
 arising to his tongue after his irretrievable 
 fall, it is impossible to avoid exclaiming, 
 Did ambition ever conceive «x. ..uU a 
 dream, and had so wild a vision ever a ter- 
 oination so disastrous and humiliating I 
 
 ' Las Cases, tome II. partie 3me, p. 335. 
 I*^idem, tome II. partie 2de, p. 278. 
 
 It may be expected that something should 
 be lieresaid, upon the chances which Brit- 
 ain would liave had of defending herself suc- 
 cessfully against the army of invaders. We 
 are willing to acknowledge that the risk 
 must have been dreadful ; and that Buona- 
 parte, with his genius and his army, must 
 have inflicted severe calamities upon a 
 country which had so long enjoyed the 
 blessings of peace. But the people were 
 unanimous in their purpose of defence, and 
 their forces composed of materials to which 
 Buonaparte did more justice when he came 
 to be better acquainted with them. Of the 
 three British nations, the English have 
 since shown themselves possessed of the 
 same steady valour which won the fields of 
 Cressy and Agincourt, Blenheim and Min- 
 den — the Irish have not lost the fiery en- 
 thusiasm which has distinguished them in 
 all the countries of Europe — nor have the 
 Scots degenerated from the stubborn cour- 
 age with which their ancestors for two 
 thousand years maintained their indepen- 
 dence against a superior enemy. Even if 
 London had been lost, we would not, under 
 so great a calamity, have despaired of the 
 freedom of the country ; for the war would 
 in all probability have assumed that popu- 
 lar and national character which sooner or 
 later wears out an invading army. Neither 
 does the confidence with which Buonaparte 
 affirms the conviction of his winning the 
 first battle, appear so certainly well-found- 
 ed. This at least we know, that the reso- 
 lution of the country was fully bent up to 
 the hazard ; and those who remember the 
 period will bear us wi»9'?«e, that the desire 
 that the ITrencn would make the aiiempk, 
 was a general feeling through all classes, 
 because they had every reason to hope that 
 the issue might be such as forever to silence 
 the threat of invasion. 
 
 CHAP. XI. VI. 
 
 Disaffection begins to arise against Napoleon among the Soldiery. — Purpose of setting 
 np Moreau against him. — Character of Moreau — Causes of his Estrangement from 
 Buonaparte.— Pichegru.— The Duke D' Enghien— Georges Cadoudal. Pichegru— 
 and other Royalists, landed in France. — Desperate Enteiprise of Georges — Defeated. 
 Arrest of Moreau — of Pichegru— and Georges. — Captain Wright. — Duke D' Enghien 
 seized at Strasburg — hurried to Paris — transferred to Vincennes — Tried by a Mili- 
 tary Commission — Condemned and Executed. — Universal Horror of France and 
 Europe. — Buonaparte's Vindication of his Conduct— His Defence considered. — Pi- 
 chegru found Dead in his Prison — Attempt to explain his Death by charging him with 
 Suicide — Captain Wright found with his Throat cut. — A similar attempt made. — 
 Georges and other Conspirators Tried — Condemned and Executed. — Royalists silent- 
 ed. — Moreau sent into Exile. 
 
 While Buonaparte was meditating the 
 regeneration of Europe, by means of con- 
 quering first Britain and then the Northern 
 Powers, a course of opposition to his gov- 
 ernment, and disaffection to his person, 
 was beginning to arise even among the sol- 
 diers themselves. The acquisition of the 
 Consulate for life, was naturally consider- 
 ed as a death-blow to the Republic ; and to 
 that name many of the principal officers of 
 the army, who had advanced themselves to 
 proraotion by means of the Revolution, still 
 
 I held a grateful attachment. The dissatis- 
 faction of these military men was the more 
 
 I natural, as some of them might see in 
 Buonaparte nothing more than a success- 
 
 j fill adventurer, who had raised himself 
 
 I high above the heads of his comrades, and 
 now exacted their homage. As soldiers 
 they quickly passed from murmurs to 
 threats ; and at a festive meeting, which 
 was prolonged beyond the limits of sobrie- 
 ty, a colonel of hussars proposed himself as 
 the Brutus to remove this new Caesar. Be
 
 Chap. XL VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 389 
 
 ing expert at the use of the pistol, he un- 
 dertook to hit his mark at nfty yards dis- 
 t;ince, during one of those reviews which 
 were perpetually taking place in presence 
 of the First Consul. The affair became 
 known to the police, but was hushed up as 
 much as possible by the address of Fouche, 
 who saw that Buonaparte might be preju- 
 diced by the bare act of making public that 
 such a thing had been agitated, however un- 
 Lhinkingly. 
 
 The discontent spread wide, and was 
 '■ cretly augmented by the agents of the 
 House of Bourbon: and, besides the con- 
 stitutional opposition, whose voice was at 
 times heard in the Legislative Body and the 
 Tribunate, there existed malcontents with- 
 out doors, composed of two parties, one of 
 whom considered Buonaparte as the enemy 
 of public liberty, whilst the other regarded 
 him as the sole obstacle to the restoration 
 of the Bourbons; and the most eager parti- 
 sins of both began to meditate on the prac- 
 ticability of removing him by any means, 
 the most violent and the most secret not 
 r-xcepted. Those amorg the furious Repub- 
 licans, or enthusiastic Royalists, who en- 
 tertained such sentiments, excused them 
 doubtless to their conscience, by Napole- 
 on's having destro\ed the liberties, and 
 usurped the supreme authority, of the 
 country ; thus palliating the complexion 
 'if a crime which can never be vindi- 
 cated. 
 
 These zealots, however, bore no propor- 
 tion to the great body of Frenchmen, wlio, 
 displeased with the usurpation of Buona- 
 parte, and disposed to overthrow it if pos- 
 sible, held themselves yet obliged to re- 
 frain from all crooked and indirect practi- 
 ces against his life. Proposing to destroy 
 his power in the same way in which it 
 had been built, the first and most ne- 
 cessary task of the discontented party 
 was to find some military chief, whose re- 
 putation might bear to be balanced against 
 that of Napoleon ; and no one could claim 
 such distinction excepting Moreau. If 
 his campaigns were inferior to those of 
 his great rival in the lightning-like bril- 
 liancy and celerity of their operations, and 
 in the boldness of combination on which 
 they were founded, they were executed 
 at smaller loss to his troops, and were less 
 calculated to expose him to disastrous con- 
 sequences if they chanced to miscarry. 
 Moreau was no less celebrated for his 
 retreat through the defiles of the Black 
 Forest, in 1796, than for the splendid and 
 decisive victory of Hohenlinden. 
 
 Moreau's natural temper was mild, gen- 
 tle, and accessible to persuasion — a man 
 of great abilities certainly, but scarcclv 
 displaying the bold and decisive character 
 which he ought to possess, who, in such 
 times as w^e wr'te of, aspires to place him- 
 eelf at the head of a faction in the state. 
 Indeed, it rather would seem that he was 
 forced into that situation of eminence bv the 
 influence of general opinion, joined to con- 
 curring circumstances, than that he delib- 
 erately aspired to place himself there. He 
 waa the son of a lawyer of Bretagne. and 
 
 ; in every respect a man who had risen by 
 , the Revolution. He was not, therefore, 
 j naturally inclined towards the Boi:rbons; 
 I yet when Pichegru's communications with 
 the exiled family in 1795, became knowa 
 I to him by the correspondence which he in- 
 tercepted, Moreau kept the secret until 
 some months after, when Pichegni had, 
 with the rest of his party, fallen under the 
 Revolution of 18th Fructidor. which in- 
 stalled the Directory of Barras, Reubel, 
 and La Raveilliere. "After this period, Mo- 
 reau's marriage with a lady who entertain- 
 ed sentiments favourable to the Bourbons, 
 seems to have gone some length in decid- 
 ing his own political opinions." 
 
 Moreau had lent Buonaparte his sword 
 and countenance on 18th Brumaire ; but he 
 was soon dissatisfied with the engrossing 
 ambition of the new ruler of France, and 
 they became gradually estranged from each 
 other. This was not the fault of Buona- 
 parte, who, naturally desirous of attaching 
 to himself so great a general, showed him 
 considerable attention, and complained 
 that it was received with coldness. On 
 one occasion, a most splendid pair of pis» 
 tols had been sent to the First Consul. 
 " They arrive in a happy time/"' he said, and 
 presented them to Moreau, who at that in- 
 stant entered his presence-chamber. Mo- 
 reau received the civility as one .rhich he 
 would willingly have dispensed with. He 
 made no other acknowledgment than a cold 
 bow, and instantly left the levee. 
 
 Upon the institution of the Legion of 
 Honour, one of the Grand Crosses was of- 
 fered to him. "'The fool!" said Moreau, 
 " does he not know that I have belonged to 
 the ranks of honour for these twelve years 1" 
 Another pleasantry on this topic, upon 
 which Buonaparte was very sensitive, was 
 a company of officers, who dined together 
 with Moreau, voting a sauce-pan of honour 
 to the General's cook, on account of his 
 merits in dressing some particular dish. 
 Thus, living estranged from Buonaparte, 
 Moreau came to be gradually regarded as 
 the head of the disaffected party in France ; 
 and the eyes of all those who disliked Na- 
 poleon or his government, were fixed upon 
 him, as the only individual whose influence 
 might be capable of balancing that of the 
 Chief Consul. 
 
 Meantime the peace of Amiens being 
 broken, the British government, with natu- 
 ral policy, resolved once more to avail 
 themselves of the state of public feeling 
 in France, and engage the partisans of roy- 
 alty in a fresh attack upon the Consular 
 government, They were probably in some 
 degree deceived concerning the strength 
 of that party, which had been much reduc- 
 ed under Buonaparte's management, and 
 had listened too implicitly to the promises 
 and projects of agents, who, themselves 
 sanguine beyond what was warranted, ex- 
 aggerated even their own hopes in commu- 
 nicating them to the British ministers. It 
 seems to have been acknowledged, that lit- 
 tle success was to be hoped for. unless 
 Moreau could be brought to join the con- 
 spiracy. This, however, was esteemed
 
 390 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XL VI. 
 
 possible ; and notwithstanding the disa- 
 greement, personal as well as political, 
 which had subsisted betwixt him and Pich- 
 egru, the latter seems to have undertaken 
 to become the medium of communica- 
 tion betwixt Moreau and the Royalists. 
 Escaped from the deserts of Cayenne, to 
 which he had been exiled, Pichegru had for 
 some time found refuge and support in Lon- 
 don, and there operdy professed his prin- 
 ciples as a Royalist, upon which he had for 
 a long time acted in secret. 
 
 A scheme was in agitation for raising the 
 Royalists in the west, where the Duke de 
 Berri was to make a descent on the const 
 of Picardy, to favour the insurrection. The 
 Duke d'Enghien, grandson of the Prince of 
 Conde, fixed his residence under the pro- 
 tection of the Margrave of Baden, at the 
 chateau of Ettenheim, with the purpose, 
 doubtless, of being ready to put himself at' 
 the head of the Royalists in the east of 
 France, or, if occasion should offer, in 
 Paris itself. This Prince of the House of 
 Bourbon, the destined inheritor of the 
 name of the great Conde, was in the flow- 
 er of youth, handsome, brave, and high- 
 minded. He had been distinguished for 
 his courage in the emigrant army, which 
 his grandfather commanded. He gained 
 by his valour the battle of Bortsheim ; and 
 when his army, to whom the French Re- 
 publicans showed no quarter, desired to 
 execute reprisals on their prisoners, he 
 threw himself among them to prevent their 
 violence. "These men," he said, "are 
 Frenchmen — they are unfortunate — I place 
 them under the guardianship of your hon- 
 our and your humanity." Such was the 
 princely youth, whose name must now be 
 written in bloody characters in this part of 
 Napoleon's history. 
 
 Whilst the French princes expected on 
 the frontier the effect of commotions in 
 the interior of France, Pichegru, Georges 
 Cadoudal, and about thirty other Royalists 
 of the most determined character, were se- 
 cretly landed in France, made their way to 
 the metropolis, and contrived to find lurk- 
 ing-places invisible to the all-seeing police. 
 There can be no reason to doubt that a 
 part of those agents, and Georges in par- 
 ticular, •saw the greatest obstacle of their 
 enterprise in the existence of Buonaparte, 
 and were resolved to commence by his as- 
 sassination. Pichegru, who was constant- 
 ly in company with Georges, cannot well 
 be supposed ignorant of this purpose, al- 
 ' though better befitting the fierce chief of a 
 ' band of Chouans than the Conqueror of 
 Holland. 
 
 In the meantime, Pichegru effected the 
 desired communication with Moreau, then, 
 as we have said, considered as the chief of 
 the discontented military men, and the de- 
 clared enemy of Buonaparte. They met 
 at least twice ; and it is certain that on one 
 of these occasions Picliegru carried with 
 him (ieorges Cadoudal, at whose person 
 and plans Moreau expressed horror, and de- 
 piren that Pichegru would not again bring 
 that irrational savage into his company. 
 The cause of his dislike wo must naturally 
 
 suppose to have been the nature of the 
 measures Georges proposed, being the last 
 to which a brave and loyal soldierlike Mo- 
 reau would willingly have resorted to ; but 
 Buonaparte, when pretending to give au ex- 
 act account of what passed betwixt Moreau 
 and Pichegru, represents the conduct of the 
 former in a very different point o^view. 
 Moreau, according to this account, inform- 
 ed Pichegru, that while the First Consul 
 livedj he had not the slightest interest in 
 the army, and that not even bis own aids- 
 de-camp would follow him agaiost Napole- 
 on ; but were Napoleon removed, Moreau 
 assured them all eyes would be fixed on 
 himself alone — that he would then become 
 First Consul — that Pichegru should be sec- 
 ond, and was proceeding to make farther 
 arrangements, when Georges broke in on 
 tiieir deliberations with fury, accused the 
 generals of scheming their own grandeur, 
 not the restoration of the King, and de- 
 clared that to choose betwixt blue and blue, 
 (a phrase by which the V'endeans distin- 
 guished the Republicans,) he would as 
 soon have Buonaparte as Moreau at the 
 head of affairs, and concluded by statin? 
 his own pretensions to be Third Consul 
 at least. According to this account, there- 
 fore, Moreau was not shocked at the atroci- 
 ty of Georges's enterprise, of which he 
 himself had been the first to admit the ne- 
 cessity, but only disgusted at the share 
 which the Chouan chief assorted to him- 
 self in the partition of the spoil. But we 
 pH'e no credit whatever to this story. 
 Though nothing could have been so impor- 
 tant to the First Consul at the time as to 
 produce proof of Moreau's direct accession 
 to the plot on his life, no such proof waa 
 ever brought forward ; and therefore the 
 statement, we have little doubt, was made 
 up afterwards, and contains what Buona- 
 parte might think probable, and desire that 
 others should believe, not what he knew 
 from certain information, or was able to 
 prove by credible testimony. 
 
 The police was speedily alarmed, and ill 
 action. Notice had been received that a 
 band of Royalists had introduced them- 
 selves into the capital, though it was for 
 some time very difficult to apprehend them. 
 Georges, meanwhile, prosecuted his at- 
 tempt against tiie Chief Consul, and is be- 
 lieved at one time to have insinuated him- 
 self in the disguise of a menial into the 1M- 
 illeries, and even into Buonaparte's apart- 
 ment ; but without finding any opportunity 
 to strike the blow, which his uncommon 
 strength and desperate resolution might 
 otherwise have rendered decisive. All the 
 barriers were closed, aud a division of 
 Buonaparte's guards maintained the closeit 
 watch, to prevent any one escaping from 
 the city. By degrees sufficient light wai 
 obtained to enable the government to make 
 a communication to the public upon the 
 existence and tendency of^ the conspiracy, 
 which became more especially necessary, 
 when it was resolved to arrest Moreau 
 himself. This took place on the 15th Feb- 
 ruary 1804. He was seized without diffi- 
 culty or resistance, while residing quietlj 
 
 I'
 
 Chap. XL VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 301 
 
 Kt his country-house. On the day follow- 
 ing, an order of the day, signed by Murat, 
 then Governor of Paris, announced the fact 
 to the citizens, with the additional informa- 
 tion, that Moreau was engaged in a conspi- 
 racy with Pichegru, Georges, and others, 
 who were closely pursued by the police. 
 
 The news of Moreau's imprisonment pro- 
 duced the deepest sensation in Paris ; and 
 the reports which w^re circulated on the sub- 
 ject were by no means favourable to Buon- 
 aparte. Some disbelieved the plot entirely, 
 while others, less sceptical, considered the 
 Chief Consul as making a pretext of the 
 abortive attempt of Pichegru and Georges 
 for the purpose of sacrificing Moreau,' who 
 was at once his rival in military fame, and 
 the declared opponent of his government. 
 It was even asserted that secret agents of 
 Buonaparte in London had been active in 
 encouraging the attempts of the original 
 conspirators, for the sake of implicating a 
 man whom the First Consul both hated and 
 feared. Of this there was no proof; but 
 these and other dark suspicions pervaded 
 men's minds, and all eyes were turned 
 with anxiety upon the issue of the legal in- 
 vestigations which were about to take place. 
 
 Upon the 17lli February, the Great Judge 
 of Police, by a report which was communi- 
 cated to the Senate, the Legislative Body, 
 and the Tribunate, denounced Pichegru. 
 Georges, and others, as having returned to 
 France from their exile, with the purpose 
 of overthrowing the government, and as- 
 sassinating the Chief Consul, and impli- 
 cated Moreau as having held communica- 
 tion with them. When the report was read 
 in the Tribunate, the brother of Moreau 
 wose, and, recalling the merits and services 
 of his relative, complained of the cruelty 
 of calumniating him without pr9of, and de- 
 manded for him the privilege of an open 
 and public trial. 
 
 " This is a fine display of sensibility," 
 said Curee, one of the Tribunes, in ridicule 
 of the sensation naturally produced by this 
 affecting incident. 
 
 " It is a display of indignation," replied 
 the brother of Moreau, and left the As- 
 icmbly. 
 
 The public bodies, however, did what 
 was doubtless expected of them, and carri- 
 ed to the foot of the Consular throne the 
 most exaggerated expressions of their inter- 
 est in the life and safety of him by whom 
 it wa« occupied. 
 
 Meanwhile the vigilance of the police, 
 and the extraordinary means employed by 
 them, accomplished the arrest of almost 
 all the persons concerned in the plot. A 
 false friend, whom Pichegru had trusted to 
 the highest degree, betrayed his confidence 
 for a large bribe, and introduced the gens 
 d'armes into his apartment while he was 
 asleep. They first secured the arms which 
 lay beside him, and then his person, after 
 a severe struggle. Georges Cadoudal, per- 
 haps a yet more important capture, fell into 
 the hands of the police soon after. He had 
 been traced so closely, that at length he 
 dared not enter a house, but spent many 
 hours of the day and night in driving about 
 
 Paris in a cabriolet. On being arrested, he 
 shot one of the gens d'armos dead, mortally 
 wounded another, and had nearly escaped 
 from them all. The other conspirators, 
 and those accused of countenancing their 
 enterprise, were arrested to the number of 
 forty persons, who were of very different 
 characters and conditions ; some followers 
 or associates of Georges, and others belong- 
 ing to the ancient nobility. Among the 
 latter were Messrs. Armand and Jules Po- 
 ligiiac, Charles de la Riviere, and other 
 Royalists of distinction. Chance had also 
 thrown into Buonaparte's power a victim 
 of another description. Captain Wright, 
 the commander of a British brig of war, had 
 been engaged in putting ashore on the 
 coast of Morbihan, Pichegru, and some of 
 liis companions. Shortly afterwards, his 
 vessel was captured by a French vessel of 
 superior force. Under pretence that his 
 evidence was necessary to the conviction 
 of the P'rench conspirators, he was brought 
 up to Paris, committed to the Temple, and 
 treated with a rigour which became a pre- 
 lude to the subsequent tragedy. 
 
 It might have been supposed, that among 
 so many prisoners, enough of victims might 
 have been selected to atone with their 
 lives for the insurrection which they were 
 accused of meditating ; nay, for the attempt 
 which was alleged to be designed against 
 the person of the First Consul. Most un- 
 happily for his fame. Napoleon thought oth- 
 erwise ; and, from causes which we shall 
 hereafter endeavour to appreciate, sought 
 to give a fuller scope to the gratification 
 of his revenge, than the list of his captives, 
 though containing several men of high rank, 
 enabled liim to accomplish. 
 
 We have observed, that the residence of 
 the Duke d'Enghien upon the French fron- 
 tier was to a certain degree connected with 
 the enterprise undertaken by Pichegru, so 
 far as concerned the proposed insurrection 
 of the royalists in Paris. This we infer 
 from the Duke's admission, that he resided 
 at Ettenheim in the expectation of having 
 soon a part of importance to play in France.* 
 This was perfectly vindicated by his situa- 
 tion and connexions. But that the Dme 
 participated in, or countenanced in t.tc 
 slightest degree, the meditated attempt on 
 Buonaparte's life, has never even been al- 
 leged, and is contrary to all the proof in the 
 case, and especially to the sentiments im- 
 pressed upon him by his grandfather, the 
 Prince of Conde.f He lived in great pri- 
 
 * The passage alluded to is in the Duke ( f Rovi- 
 go's (Savary'.s) Vindication of his own conduct. 
 At tlie same time no traccsof such an admission 
 are to be found in the interrogations, as printed 
 elsewhere. It is also said, that when the Duke 
 (ihnn at Ettenheim) first heard of llie conspiracy 
 of Pichegru, he alleged that it must have been only 
 a prelcmled discovery. " Had there l)een such an 
 inlrigne in reality," he said, "my father and 
 grandfather would have let me know something of 
 the matter, that I mi"ht provide for my safety." 
 It may be added, that if he had been really engag- 
 ed in that conspiracy, it is probable that he would 
 have retired from the vicinity of the French terri- 
 tory on the scheme being discovered. 
 
 I A remarkable letter from the Prince of CoimW
 
 392 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XL VI. 
 
 ■vjcy, and amused himself principally with 
 hunting. A pension allowed him by Eng- 
 land was his only means of support. 
 
 On the evening of the 14tn March, a 
 body of French soldiers and gens d'armes, 
 commanded by Colonel Ordener, acting 
 under the direction of Caulaincourt, after- 
 wards called Duke of Vicenza, who had 
 been sent to Strasburg to superintend their 
 proceedings suddenly entered the territory 
 of Baden, a power with whom France was 
 in profound peace, and surrounded the 
 chateau in which the unfortunate prince re- 
 sided. The descendant of Condf sprung 
 to his arms, but was prevented from using 
 them by one of his attendants, who repre- 
 sented the force of the assailants as too 
 great to be resisted. The soldiers rushed 
 into the apartment, and, presenting their 
 pistols, demanded to know which was the 
 Duke d'Enghien. " If you desire to arrest 
 him," said the Duke, "you ought to have 
 his description in your warrant."—" Then 
 we must seize on you all," replied the offi- 
 cer in command; and the prince, with his 
 little household, were arrested and carried 
 to a mill at some distance from the house, 
 wliere he was permitted to receive some 
 clothes and necessaries. Being now recog- 
 nized, he was transferred, with his attend- 
 ants, to the citadel of Strasburg, and pres- 
 ently afterwards separated from the gentle- 
 men of his household, with the exception 
 of his aid-de-camp, the Baron de St. Jac- 
 ques. The most exact precautions were 
 taken to prevent the possibility of his com- 
 municating with any one. He remained 
 a close prisoner for three days ; but on the 
 18th, betwixt one and two in the morning, 
 a party of gens d'armes entered his apart- 
 ment, and obliged him to rise and dress 
 himself hastily, informing him only that he 
 
 to tl>e Conipte d'Attois, dated 24th January 1802, 
 contains the following passage, which we trans- 
 late literally: — " The Chevalier de Roll will give 
 vou an account of what has passed here yesterday. 
 A man of a very simple and gentle exterior arrived 
 the night before, and iiaving travelled, as he aflirni- 
 C(l, on foot, from Paris to Calais, had an audience 
 of me about eleven in the forenoon, and distinctly 
 offered to rid us of the Usurper by the shortest 
 method possible. I ilid not give him time to finish 
 the details of his project, but rejected the proposal 
 with horror, assuring him that you, if present, 
 would do the same. 1 told him, we should always 
 be the enemies of him who had arrogated to him- 
 self the power and the throne of our Sovereign, 
 until he siiould make restitution : that we had 
 combated the Usurper by open force, and would do 
 so again if opportunity offered ; but that we would 
 never employ that species of means which only 
 became the Jacobin party ; and if that faction 
 should meditate such a crime, assuredly we would 
 not be their accomplices." This discourse the 
 I'rince renewed to the secret agent in the presence 
 of the Chevalier de Roll, as a confidential friend 
 of the Compte d'Arfdis, and, finally, advised the 
 man instantly to leave England, as, in case of his 
 being arrested, the Prince would afford him no 
 countenance or protection. The person to whom 
 tlie Prince of Conde' addressed sentiments so wor- 
 thy of himself and of his great ancestor, after- 
 wards proved to be an agent of Buonaparte, de- 
 • patched to sound the opinions of the Princes of 
 the House of Bourbon, and if possible to implicate 
 them in such a nefarious project as should justly 
 excite public indignation against them. 
 
 was about to commence a journey. He re- 
 quested the attendance of his valet-de- 
 chambre ; but was answered that it was un- 
 necessary. The linen which he was per. 
 mitted to take with him amounted to two 
 shirts only, so nicely had his worldly wants 
 been calculated and ascertained. He was 
 transported with the utmost speed and se- 
 crecy towards Paris, where he arrived on the 
 20th, and after having been committed for a 
 few hours to the Temple, was transferred 
 to the ancient Gothic castle of Vincennes, 
 about a mile from the city, long used as a 
 state prison, but whose walls never receiv- 
 ed a more illustrious or a more innocent 
 victim. There he was permitted to take 
 some repose ; and, as if the favour had on- 
 ly been granted for the purpose of being 
 withdrawn, he was awaked at midnight, 
 and called upon to sustain an interrogatory 
 on which his life depended. 
 
 The inquisitors before whom he was car- 
 ried, formed a military commission of eight 
 officers, having General Hulin as their 
 president. They were, as the proceedings 
 express it, named by Buonaparte's brother- 
 in-law Murat, then governor of Paris. — 
 Though necessarily exhausted with fatigue 
 and want of rest, the Duke d'Enghien per- 
 formed in this melancholy scene a part 
 worthy of the last descendant of the great 
 Conde. He avowed his name and rank, 
 and the share which he had taken in the 
 •war against France, but denied all knowl- 
 edge of Pichegru or of his conspiracy. 
 The interrogations ended by his demand- 
 ing an audience of the Chief Consul. " My 
 name," he said, " my rank, my sentiments, 
 and the peculiar distress of my situation, 
 lead me to hope that my request will not 
 be refused." 
 
 The military commissioners paused and 
 hesitated — nay, though selected doubtless 
 as fitted for the office, they were even affect- 
 ed by the whole behaviour, and especially by 
 the intrepidity, of the unhappy prince. But 
 Savary, then chief of the police, stood be- 
 hind the president's chair and controlled 
 their sentiments of compassion. When 
 they proposed to further the prisoners 
 request of an audience of the First Consul, 
 Savary cut the discussion short, by saying, 
 that was inexpedient. At length they re- 
 ported their opinion, that the Duke d'En- 
 ghien was guilty of having fought against 
 the Republic, intrigued with England, and 
 maintained intelligence in .Strasburg, for the 
 purpose of seizing the place ; — great part 
 of which allegations, and especially the 
 last, was in express contradiction to the on- 
 ly proof adduced, the admission, namely, 
 of the prisoner himself. The report being 
 sent to Buonaparte to know his farther 
 pleasure, the court received for answer 
 their own letter, marked with the emphatic 
 words, "Condemned to death." Napoleon 
 was obeyed by his satraps with Persian de- 
 votion. The sentence was pronounced, 
 and the prisoner received it with the same 
 intrepid gallantry which distinguished him 
 through the whole of the bloody scene. 
 He requested the aid of a confessor. — 
 " Would you die like a monk?" is said to
 
 Chap. XL VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 393 
 
 have been the insulting reply. The duke, 
 without noticing the insult, knelt down for 
 & minute, and seemed absorbed in profound 
 devotion. 
 
 " Let us go," he said, when he arose 
 from his knees. All was in readiness for 
 the execution ; and, as if to stamp the trial 
 as a mere mockery, the grave had been 
 prepared ere the judgment of the court was 
 pronounced.* Upon quitting the apart- 
 ment in which the pretended trial had ta- 
 ken place, the prince was conducted by 
 torch-light down a winding stair, which 
 seemed to descend to the dungeons of the 
 ancient castle. 
 
 " .\m I to be immured in an oubliette ?" 
 he said, naturally recollecting the use 
 which had sometimes been made of those 
 tombs for the livinrr. — " No, Monseigneur," 
 answered the soldier he addressed, in a 
 voice interrupted by uohs, " be tranquil on 
 that subject." The stair led to a postern, 
 which opened into the castle ditch, where, 
 as we have already said, a grave was dug, 
 beside wliich were drawn up a party of the 
 gens d'armes d'clite. It was near six o'clock 
 in the morning, and day had dawned. But 
 as there was a heavy mist on the ground, 
 several torches and lamps mixed their pale 
 and ominous light with that afforded by the 
 heavens, — a circumstance which seems to 
 have given rise to the inaccurate report, 
 that a lantern was tied to the button of the 
 victim, that his slayers might take the more 
 certain aim. .Savary was again in attend- 
 ance, and had taken his place upon a para- 
 pet which commanded the place of execu- 
 tion. The victim was placed, the fatal 
 word was given by the future Duke de Ro- 
 vigo, the party fired, and the prisoner fell. 
 The body, dressed as it was, and without 
 the slightest attention to the usual decen- 
 cies of sepulture, was huddled into the 
 grave with as little ceremony as common 
 robbers use towards the carcases of the 
 murdered. 
 
 Paris learned with astonishment and fear 
 the singular deed which had been perpetra- 
 ted so near her walls. No act had ever ex- 
 cited more universal horror, both in France 
 and in foreign countries, and none has left so 
 deep a stain on the memory of Napoleon. If 
 there were farther proof necessary of the 
 general opinion of mankind on the subject. 
 the anxiety displayed by Savary, Hulin, and 
 the other subaltern assents in this shameful 
 transaction, to diminish their own share in 
 it, or transfer it to otliers, would be sufficient 
 evidence of the deep responsioilitv to 
 which they felt themselves subjected. ' 
 
 There is but justice, however, in listen- 
 ing to the defence which Buonaparte set 
 up for himself when in Saint Helena, es- 
 pecially as it appeared perfectly convincinir 
 to Las Cases, his attendant, who, though 
 reconciled to most of his master's actions, 
 
 *Savary has denird tliia. It is not of much 
 oonsequenca The illp^il arrest — the precipita- 
 tion of the mock trial — the disconformity of tlie 
 ■entence from the proof— the hurry of the execu- 
 tion — all prove that the unfortunate prince was 
 doomed to die long before be was brought before 
 be military commission. _ 
 
 VoJ I R 2 
 
 had continued to regard the Duke d'En- 
 ghien's death as so great a blot upon his es- 
 cutcheon, that he blushed even when Na- 
 poleon himself introduced the subject.* 
 
 His exculpation seems to have assumed 
 a different and inconsistent character, ac- 
 cording to the audience to whom it was 
 stated. Among his intimate friends and fol- 
 lowers, he appears to have represented the 
 whole transaction as an affair not of his own 
 device, but which was pressed upon him by 
 surprise by his ministers. " I was seated,'' 
 ho said, '•' alone, and engaged in finishing 
 my coffee, when they came to announce to 
 me the discovery of some new machination. 
 They represented it was time to put an end 
 to such horrible attempts, by washing my- 
 self in the blood of one amongst the Bour- 
 bons; and they suggested the Duke d'En- 
 ghien as the most proper victim." Buona- 
 parte proceeds to say, that he did not know 
 exactly who the Duke d'Enghien was, far 
 less that he resided so near France as to be 
 only three leagues from the Rhine. This 
 was explained. '• In that case," said Napo- 
 leon, " he ought to be arrested." His pru- 
 dent ministers had foreseen this conclusion. 
 They had the whole scheme laid, and the 
 orders ready drawn up for Buonaparte's sig- 
 nature ; so that, according to this account, 
 he was hurried into the enormity by the 
 zeal of those about him, or perhaps in con- 
 sequence of their private views and myste- 
 rious intrigues. He also charged Talley- 
 rand with concealing from him a letter, 
 written by the unfortunate prisoner, in 
 which he offered his services to Buona- 
 parte, but which was intercepted by the 
 minister. If this had reached him in time, 
 he intimates that he would Imve spared the 
 prince's life. To render this statement 
 probable, he denies generally that Josephine 
 had interested herself to the utmost to en- 
 gage him to spare the duke ; although this 
 has been affirmed by the testimony of such 
 as declared, that they received the fact from 
 the Empress's own lips. 
 
 It is unfortunate for the truth of this state- 
 ment, and the soundness of the defence 
 which it contains, that neither Talleyrand, 
 nor any human being save Buonaparte him- 
 self, could have the least interest in the 
 death of the Duke d'Enghien. That Napo- 
 leon should be furious at the conspiracies 
 of Georges and Pichegru, and should be, 
 willing to avenge the personal dangers he 
 incurred ; and that he should be desirous to 
 intimidate the family of Bourbon, by ■• wash- 
 ing himself," as he expresses it, '' in the 
 blood of one of their House," was much in 
 character. But that the sagacious Talley- 
 rand should have hurried on a cruel pro- 
 ceeding, in which he had no earthly inter- 
 est, is as unlikely, as that, if he had desired 
 to do so, he could have been able to elicit 
 from Buonaparte the powers necessary for 
 an act of so much consequence, without his 
 master having given the affair, in all its 
 
 * The reasoning and sentiments of Buonapari^ 
 on this subject, are taken from the work of I^i^ 
 Cases, torn. iv. partie 7ieme, p. 249, where t)i< v 
 are given at. great length.
 
 394 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chop. XL VI. 
 
 bearings, the most full and ample consider- 
 ation. It may also be noticed, that besides 
 transferring a part at least of the guilt from 
 himself, Buonaparte might be disposed to 
 gratify his revenge against Talleyrand, by 
 stigmatising him, from St. Helena, with a 
 crime the most odious to his new sovereigns 
 of the House of Bourbon. Lastly, the ex- 
 istence of the letter above-mentioned has 
 never been proved, and it is inconeistent 
 with every thought and sentiment of the 
 Duke d'Enghien. It is besides said to have 
 been dated from Strasburg ; and the duke's 
 aid-de-camp, the Baron de St. Jacques, has 
 given his testimony that he was never an 
 instant separated from his patron during his 
 confinement, in that citadel ; and that the 
 duke neither wrote a letter to Buonaparte 
 nor to any one else. But after all, if Buo- 
 naparte had actually proceeded in this 
 bloody matter upon the instigation of Tal- 
 leyrand, it cannot be denied, that, as a man 
 knowing right from wrong, he could not 
 hope to transfer to his counsellor the guilt 
 of the measures which he executed at his 
 recommendation. The murder, like the re- 
 bellion of Absalom, was not less a crime, 
 even supposing it recommended and facili- 
 tated by the unconscientious counsels of a 
 modern Achitophel. 
 
 Accordingly, Napoleon has not chosen to 
 trust to this defence : but, inconsistently 
 with his pretence of being hurried into the 
 flieasure by Talleyrand, he has, upon other 
 occasions, broadly and boldly avowed that 
 it was in itself just and necessary ; that the 
 Duke d'Enghien was condemned by the 
 laws, and suffered execution accordingly 
 under ^heir sanction. 
 
 It is an eas*- task to show, that even ac- 
 cording to the law of France, jealous and 
 severe as it was in its application to such 
 subjects, there existed no right to take the 
 life of the duke. It is true he was an emi- 
 giunt, and the law denounced the penalty 
 of death against such of these as should re- 
 turn to France with arms in their hands. 
 But the duke did not so return — nay, his re- 
 turning at all was not an act of his own, but 
 the consequence of violence exercised on 
 his person. He was in a more favourable 
 case, than even those emigrants whom 
 storms had cast on their native shore, and 
 whom Buonaparte himself considered as 
 objects of pity, not of punishment. He 
 had indeed borne arms against France ; but 
 as a member of the House of Bourbon, he 
 was not, and could not be accounted, a sub- 
 ject of Buonaparte, having left the country 
 before his name was heard of 5 nor could he 
 be considered a.s in contumacy against the 
 state of France, for he, like the rest of the 
 roya. family, wad specially excluded from 
 the benefits of the amnesty which invited 
 the return of the less distinguished emi- 
 grants. The act by which he was trepan- 
 ned, and brought witliin the compass of 
 French power, not of French law, was as 
 much a violation of the rights of nations, as 
 the precipitation with which the pretended 
 trial followed the arrest, and the execution 
 the trial, was an outrage upon humanity. 
 On the trial no witnesses were produced, 
 
 nor did any investigation take place, saving 
 by the interrogation of the prisoner. What- 
 ever points of accusation, therefore, are 
 not established by the admission of the duke 
 himself, must be considered as totally un- 
 proved. Yet this unconscientious tribunal 
 not only found their prisoner guilty of 
 having borne arms against the Republic, 
 which he readily admitted, but of having 
 placed himself at the head of a party of 
 French emigrants in the pay of England, 
 and carried on machinations for surprising 
 the city of Strasburg ; charges which he 
 himself positively denied, and which were 
 supported by no proof whatsoever. 
 
 Buonaparte, well aware of the total ir- 
 regularity of the proceedings in this extra- 
 ordinary case, seems, on some occasions, 
 to have wisely renounced any attempt to de- 
 fend what he must have been convinced 
 was indefensible, and has vindicated hi* 
 conduct upon general grounds, of a nature 
 well worthy of notice. It seems that, whea 
 he spoke of the death of the Duke d'En- 
 ghien among his attendants, he always chose 
 to represent it as a case falling under the 
 ordinary forms of law, in which all regular- 
 ity was observed, and where, though he 
 might be accused of severity, he could not 
 be charged with violation of justice. This 
 was safe language to hearers from whom he 
 was sure to receive neither objection nor 
 contradiction, and is just an instance of an 
 attempt, on the part of a consciously guilty 
 party, to establish, by repeated assevera- 
 tions, an innocence which was inconsistent 
 with fact. But with strangers, from whom 
 replies and argument might "be expected. 
 Napoleon took broader grounds. He alleg- 
 ed the death of the Duke d'Enghien to he 
 an act of self-defence, a measure of state 
 polity, arising out of the natural rights of 
 humanity, by which a man, to save his own 
 life, is entitled to take away that of another, 
 " I was assailed," he said, " on all hands bj 
 the enemies whom the Bourbons raised up 
 against me ; threatened with air-guns, in- 
 fernal machines, and deadly stratagems of 
 every kind. I had no tribunal on earth to 
 which I could appeal for protection, there- 
 fore I had a right to protect myself; and by 
 putting to death one of those whose follow- 
 ers threatened my life, I was entitled to 
 strike a salutary terror into the others. 
 
 We have no doubt that, in this argument, 
 which is in the original niuc'i extended, 
 Buonaparte explained his real motives ; at 
 least we can only add to them the stimulus 
 of obstinate resentment, and implacable re- 
 venge. But the whole resolves itself into 
 an allegation of that state necessity, which 
 has been justly called the Tyrant's plea, and 
 which has always been at hand to defend, 
 or rather to palliate, the worst crimes of 
 sovereigns. The prince may be lamented, 
 who is exposed, from civil disaffection, to 
 the dagger of the assassin, but his danger 
 gives him no right to turn such a weapon, 
 even against the individual person by whom 
 it is pointed at him. Far less could the at- 
 tempt of any violent partisans of the Hou»e 
 of Bourbon authorize the First Coniul to 
 take, by a suborned judgment, and the oioat
 
 Chap.XLVI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 395 
 
 precipitate procedure, the life of a young 
 prince, against whom the accession to the 
 conspiracies of which Napoleon complained 
 had never been alleged, far less proved. In 
 every point of view, the act was a murder; 
 and the stain of the Duke d'Enghien's blood 
 must remain indelibly upon Napoleon Buo- 
 Daparte . 
 
 With similar sophistry, he attempted to 
 daub over the violation of the neutral terri- 
 tory of Baden, which was committed for 
 the purpose of enabling his emissaries to 
 seize the person of his unhappy victim. 
 This, according to Buonaparte, was a wrong 
 which was foreign to the case of the Duke 
 d' Enghien, and concerned the sovereign of 
 Baden alone. As that prince never com- 
 plained of this violation, •' the plea," he 
 contended, " could not be used by any oth- 
 er person." This was merely speaking as 
 one who has power to do wrong. To whom 
 was the Duke of Baden to complain, or what 
 reparation could he expect by doing so ? 
 He was in the condition of a poor man, who 
 Buffers injustice at the hands of a wealthy 
 neighbour, because he has no means to go 
 to law, but whose acquiescence under the 
 injury cannot certainly change its charac- 
 ter, or render that invasion just which is in 
 Its own character distinctly otherwise. The 
 passage may be marked as showing Napo- 
 leon's unhappy predilection to consider 
 public measures not according to the im- 
 mutable rules of right and wrong, but ac- 
 cording to the opportunities which the 
 weakness of one kingdom may afford to the 
 superior strength of another. 
 
 It may be truly added, that even the pli- 
 ant argument of state necessity was far from 
 justifying this fatal deed. To have retained 
 the Duke d'Enghien a prisoner, as a host- 
 age who might be made responsible for the 
 Royalists' abstainmg from their plots, might 
 have had in it some touch of policy; but 
 the murder of the young and gallant prince, 
 in a way so secret and so savage, had a deep 
 moral effect upon the European world, and 
 excited hatred against Buonaparte wherever 
 the tale was told. In tlie well-known words 
 of Fouche. the duke's execution was worse 
 than a moral crime — it was a political blun- 
 der. It had this consequence most unfor- 
 tunate for Buonaparte, that it seemed to 
 Btamp his character as bloody and unforgiv- 
 ing ; and in so far prepared the public mind 
 to receive the worst impressions, and au- 
 thorized the worst suspicions, when other 
 tragedies of a more mysterious character 
 ■followed that of the last of the race of 
 Conde. 
 
 The Duke d'Enghien's execution took 
 place on the 21st March ; on the 7th Aoril 
 following General Pichegru was found dead 
 in his prison. A black handkerchief was 
 wrapped round his neck, which had been 
 tightened by twisting round a short stick 
 inserted through one of the folds. It was 
 asserted that he had turned this stick with 
 his own hands, until lie lost the power of 
 respiring, and then, by laying his head on 
 the pillow, had secured the stick in its po- 
 •ition. It did not escape the public, that 
 this was a mode of tertnioating life far more 
 
 likely to be inflicted by the lands of others 
 than those of the deceased himself. Sur- 
 geons were found, but men, it is said, of 
 small reputation, to sign a report upon the 
 stale of the body, in which they affirm that 
 Pichegru had died by suicide ; yet as he 
 must have lost animation and sense so soon 
 as he had twisted the stick to the point of 
 strangulation, it seems strange he should 
 not have then unclosed his grasp on the fa- 
 tal tourniquet, which he used as the means 
 of self-destruction. In that case the pres- 
 sure must have relaxed, and the fatal pur- 
 pose have remained unaccomplished. No 
 human eye could see into the dark recesses 
 of a state prison, but there were not want- 
 ing many who entertained a total disbelief 
 of Pichegru's suicide. It was argued that 
 the First Consul did not dare to bring before 
 a public tribunal, and subject to a personal 
 interrogatory, a man of Pichegru's boldness 
 and presence of mind — it was said also, that 
 his evidence would have been decisively 
 favourable to Moreau — that the citizens of 
 Paris were many of them attached to Pich- 
 egru's person — that the soldiers had not for- 
 gotten his military fame — and, finally, it 
 was reported, that in consideration of these 
 circumstances, it was judged most expedi- 
 ent to take away his life in prison. Public 
 rumour went so far as to name, as the 
 agents in the crime, four of those Mame- 
 lukes, of whom Buonaparte had brought a 
 small party from Egypt, and whom he used 
 to have about his person as matter of parade. 
 This last assertion had a strong irapreseion 
 on the multitude, who are accustomed to 
 think, and love to talk, about the mutes 
 and bowstrings of Eastern despotism. But 
 with well-informed persons, its improbabil- 
 ity threw some discredit on the whole ac- 
 cusation. The state prisons of France must 
 have furnished from their officials enough 
 of men as relentless and dexterous in such 
 a commission as those Eastern strangers 
 whose unwonted appearance in these 
 gloomy regions must have at once shown a 
 fatal purpose, and enabled every one to 
 trace it to Buonaparte. 
 
 A subsequent catastrophe, of nearly the 
 same kind, increased by its coincidence 
 the dark suspicions which arose out of 
 the circumstances attending the death ot' 
 Pichegru. 
 
 Captain Wright, from whose vessel Pich- 
 egru and his companions had disembarked 
 on the French coast, had become, as we 
 have said, a prisoner of war, his ship being 
 captured by one of much superior force, and 
 after a most desperate defence. Under 
 pretext that his evidence was necessary to 
 the conviction of Pichegru and Georges, he 
 was brought to Paris, and lodged a close 
 prisoner in tlie Temple. It must also be 
 mentioned, that Captain Wright had been 
 an officer under Sir Sidney Smith, and that 
 the mind of Buonaparte was tenaciously 
 retentive of animosity against those who 
 aided to withstand a darling purpose, or 
 diminish and obscure the military renown, 
 which was yet more dear to him. The 
 treatment of Captain Wright was — must 
 have been severe, even if it extendec.
 
 396 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.XLVI. 
 
 DO farther than solitary imprisonment ; but 
 reports went abroad, that torture was em- 
 ployed to bring the gallant seaman to such 
 confessions as might suit the purposes of 
 the French government. This belief be- 
 came very general, when it was heard that 
 Wright, like Pichegru, wis found dead in 
 his apartment, with his throat cut from ear 
 to ear, the result, according to the account 
 given by government, of his own impa- 
 tience and despair. This official account 
 of the second-suicide committed by a state 
 prisoner, augmented and confirmed the 
 opinions entertained concerning the death 
 of Pichegru, which it so closely resembled. 
 The unfortunate Captain Wright was sup- 
 posed to have been sacrificed, partly per- 
 haps to Buonaparte's sentiments of petty 
 vengeance, but chiefly to conceal, within 
 the walls of the Temple, the evidence which 
 his person would have exhibited in a public 
 court of justice, of the dark, and cruel prac- 
 tices by which confession was sometimes 
 eitorted. 
 
 Buonaparte always alleged his total igno- 
 rance concerning the fate of Pichegru and 
 Wright, and affirmed upon all occasions, 
 that they perished, so far as he knew, by 
 their own hands, and not by those of assas- 
 sins. No proof has ever been produced to 
 contradict his assertion ; and so far as he 
 is inculpated upon these heads, his crime 
 can be only matter of strong suspicion. But 
 it was singular that this rage for suicide 
 should have thus infected the state prisons 
 of Paris, and that both these men, deter- 
 mined enemies of the Emperor, should 
 have adopted the resolution of putting 
 themselves to death, just when that event 
 was most convenient to their oppressor. 
 Above all, it must be confessed, that, by 
 his conduct towards the Duke d'Enghien, 
 Buonaparte had lost that fairness of charac- 
 ter to which he might otherwise have ap- 
 pealed, as in itself an answer to the pre- 
 sumptions formed against him. The man 
 v/ho, under pretext of state necessity, ven- 
 tured on such an open violation of the laws 
 of justice, ought not to complain if he is 
 judged capable, in every case of su'spicion. 
 of sacrificing the rights of humanity to hi.s 
 passions or his interest. He himself has af- 
 firmed, that Wright died long before it was 
 sinnounced to the public, but has given no 
 reason why silence was preserved witli re- 
 spect to the event. The Duke de Rovigo, 
 also denying all knowledge of Wright's 
 death, acknowledges that it was a dark and 
 mysterious subject, and intimates his belief 
 that Fouch6 was at the bottom of the tra- 
 gedy. In Fouche's real or pretended Me- 
 moirs, the subject is not mentioned. We 
 leave, in the obscurity in whic.'i we found 
 it, a dreadful tale, of which the truth can- 
 not, in all probability, be known, until the 
 •ecrets of all hearts shall be laid open. 
 
 Rid of Pichegru, by his own hand or his 
 jailor's, Buonaparte's government was now 
 left to deal with Georges and his comrades, 
 as well as with Moreau. With the first it 
 was an easy task, for the Chouan chief 
 retained, in the court of criminal justice 
 J-veforo which he was conveyed, the same 
 
 fearless tone of defiance which he had dis- 
 played from the beginning. He acknowl- 
 edged that he came to Paris for the sake of 
 making war personally on Napoleon, and 
 seemed only to regret his captivity, as it 
 had disconcerted his enterprise. He treat- 
 ed the judges with cool contempt, and 
 amused himself by calling Thuriot, who 
 conducted the process, and who had been 
 an old Jacobin, by the name of Monsieur 
 Tue-Roi. There was no difficulty in ob- 
 taining sentence of death against Georges 
 and nineteen of his associates ; amongst 
 whom was Armand de Polignac, for whose 
 life his brother aiTectionately tendered his 
 own. Armand de Polignac, however, with 
 seven others, were pardoned by Buona- 
 parte ; or rather banishment in some cases, 
 and imprisonment in others, were substi- 
 tuted for a capital punishment. Georges 
 and the rest were executed, and died with 
 the most determined firmness. 
 
 The discovery and suppressioa of this 
 conspiracy seems to have produced, in a 
 great degree, the effects expected by Buon- 
 aparte. The Royal party became silent and 
 submissive, and, but that their aversion to 
 the reign of Napoleon showed itself in lam- 
 poons, satires, and witticisms, which were 
 circulated in their evening parties, it could 
 hardly have been known to exist. Offers 
 were made to Buonaparte to rid him of the 
 remaining Bourbons, in consideration of a 
 large sum of money ; but with better judg- 
 ment than had dictated his conduct of late, 
 he rejected the proposal. His interest, he 
 was now convinced, would be better con- 
 sulted by a line of policy which should 
 reduce the exiled family to a state of insig- 
 nificance, than by any rash and violent 
 proceedings which must necessarily draw 
 men's attention, and, in doing so, were 
 likely to interest them in behalf of the suf- 
 ferers, and animate them against their pow- 
 erful oppressor. With this purpose, the 
 names of the exiled family were, shortly 
 after this period, carefully suppressed in all 
 periodical publications, and, with one or 
 two exceptions, little allusion to their exis- 
 tence can be traced in the pages of the offi- 
 cial journal of France; and unquestiona- 
 bly, the policy was wisely adopted towards 
 a people so light, and animated so intensely 
 with the interest of the moment, as the 
 French, to whom the present is a great 
 deal, the future much less, and the past 
 nothing at all. 
 
 Though Georges's part of the conspiracy 
 was disposed of tlius easily, the trial of 
 Moreau involved a much more dangerous 
 task. It was found impossible to procure 
 evidence against him, beyond his own ad- 
 mission that he had seen Pichegru twice ; 
 and this admission was coupled with a pos- 
 itive denial that he had engaged to be par- 
 ticipant in his schemes. A majority of the 
 judges seemed disposed to acquit him en- 
 tirely, but were cautioned by the president 
 Hemart. that, by doing so, they would force 
 the government upon violent measures. 
 Adopting this hint, and willing to compro- 
 mise matters, they declared Moreau guilty, 
 but not to the extent of a capital criate-
 
 Chop. XL VII.] LITE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 397 
 
 He was subjected to imprisonment for two 
 years ; but the soldiers continuing to inte- 
 rest themselves in his fate, Fouche, who 
 about this time was restored to the admin- 
 istration of police, interceded warmly in 
 his favour, and seconded the applications 
 of Madame RIoreau, for a commutation of 
 Iier husband's sentence. His doom of im- 
 prisonment was therefore exchanged for 
 Jiat of exile ; a mode of punishment safer 
 "or Moreau, considering the late incidents 
 .'n the prisons of state ; and more advantage- 
 ous for Buonaparte, as removing entirely 
 
 from the thoughts of the republican party, 
 and of the soldiers, a leader, whose military 
 talents brooked comparison with his own, 
 and to whom the public eye would natural- 
 ly be turned when any cause of discontent 
 with their present government might in- 
 cline them to look elsewhere. Buonaparte 
 thus escaped from the conseauences of this 
 alarming conspiracy ; and, (ike a patient 
 whose disease is brought to a favourable 
 crisis by the breaking of an imposthume, he 
 attained additional strength by the discom- 
 fiture of those secret enemies. 
 
 CHAP. XLVII. 
 
 General indignation of Europe in consequence of the Murder of the Duke d'Enghien. — 
 Russia complains to Talleyrand of the violation of Baden ; and, along \cith Sweden, 
 remonstrates in a Note laid before the German Diet — but without effect. — Charges 
 brought by Buonaparte against Mr. Drake, and Mr. Spencer Smith — who are accord- 
 ingly dismissed from the Courts of Stutgard and Munich. — Seizure — imprisonment — 
 and dismissal — of Sir George Rumbold. the British Envoy at Lower Saxony. — 
 Treachery attempted against Lord Elgin, by the Agents of Buonaparte — Details — De- 
 feated by the exemplary Prudence of that Xobleman. — These Charges brought before 
 the House of Commons, and peremptorily denied by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
 
 Buonaparte, as we have seen, gained a 
 great accession of power by the event of 
 Pichegru's conspiracy. But this was in 
 some measure counterbalanced by the dim- 
 inution of character which attached to the 
 kidnapping and murdering the Duke d'Eng- 
 hien, and by the foul suspicions arising from 
 the mysterious fate of Pichegru and Wright. 
 He possessed no longer the respect which 
 might be claimed by a victor and legislator, 
 but had distinctly shown that either the 
 sudden tempest of ungoverned passion, or 
 the rankling feelings of personal hatred, 
 could induce him to take the readiest means 
 of wreaking the basest, as well as the blood- 
 iest vengeance. Deep indignation was felt 
 through every country on the Continent, 
 though Russia and Sweden alone ventured 
 to express their dissatisfaction with a pro- 
 ceeding so contrary to the law of nations. 
 The court of St. Petersburgh went into 
 state mourning for the Duke d'Enghien, 
 and while the Russian minister at Paris 
 presented a note to M. Talleyrand, com- 
 plaining of the violation of the Duke of Ba- 
 den's territory, the Russian resident at Ra- 
 tisbon was instructed to lay before the Diet 
 of the Empire a remonstrance to the same 
 oflfect. The Swedish minister did the same. 
 The answer of the French minister was 
 hostile and offensive. He treated with 
 scorn the pretensions of Russia to interfere 
 in the affairs of France and Germany, and 
 accused that power of being desirous to re- 
 kindle the Hames of war in Europe. This 
 correspondence tended greatly to inflame 
 the discontents already subsisting betwixt 
 France and Russia, and was one main cause 
 '■>f again engaging France in war with that 
 powerful enemy. 
 
 The Russian and Swedish remonstrance 
 to the Diet produced no effect. Austria 
 was too much depressed, Prussia was too 
 closely leagued with France, to he influ- 
 anced by it ; and there were none of the 
 
 smaller powers who could be expetted to 
 provoke the displeasure of the First Con- 
 sul, by seconding the complaint of the vio- 
 lation of the territory of Baden. The blood 
 of the Duke d'Enghien was not, however, 
 destined to sleep unavenged in his obscure 
 dwelling. The Duke of Baden himself re- 
 quested the matter might be left to silence 
 and oblivion ; but many of the German po- 
 tentates t'elt as men, what they dared not, 
 in their hour of weakness, resent as princes. 
 It was a topic repeatedly and efficaciously 
 resumed whenever an opportunity of resist- 
 ance against the universal conqueror pre- 
 sented itself; and the perfidy and cruelty 
 of the whole transaction continued to ani- 
 mate new enemies against him, until, in the 
 issue, they became strong enough to work 
 his overthrow. From the various and in- 
 consistent pleas which Buonaparte set up 
 in defence of his conduct, now attempting 
 to justify, now to apologize for, now to 
 throw on others, a crime which he alone 
 had means and interest to commit, it is be- 
 lieved that he felt the death of the Duke 
 d'Enghien to be the most reprehensible 
 as well as the most impolitic act in hj« 
 life. 
 
 Already aware of the unpopularity which 
 -.tached to his late cruel proceedings, Buo- 
 naparte became desirous to counterbalance 
 it by filling the public mind with a terrific 
 idea of the schemes of England, which, in 
 framing and encouraging attempts upon hJB 
 life, drove him to those unusual and extra- 
 ordinary acts, which he desired to represent 
 as measures of retaliation. Singular ma- 
 ncEuvres were resorted to for the purpose 
 of confirming the opinions which he was de- 
 sirous to impress upon the world. The im- 
 prudence — so at least it neenis — of Mr. 
 Drake, British resident at Munich, enabled 
 Buonaparte to make his charges against 
 England with some speciousness. Thi« 
 agent of the British government had miiw
 
 398 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEO]N BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XLVII. 
 
 tained a secret correspondence with a per- 
 «on of infamous character, called Mehee de 
 la Touche, who, affecting the sentiments of 
 a Royalist and enemy of Buonaparte, was 
 in fact employed by the First Consul to tre- 
 pan Mr. Drake into expressions which might 
 implicate the English ministers, his con- 
 •tituents, and furnish grounds for the ac- 
 -cusations which Buonaparte made against 
 them. It certainly appears that Mr. Drake 
 endeavoured, by the medium of De la 
 Touche, to contrive the means of effecting 
 an insurrection of the Royalists, or other 
 enemies of Buonaparte, with whom his 
 country was then at war; and in doing so, 
 he acted according to the practice of all 
 belligerent powers, who, on all occasions, 
 are desirous to maintain a communication 
 with such malcontents as may e.iist in the 
 hostile nation. But, unless by the greatest 
 distortion of phrase and expression, there 
 arises out of the letters not the slightest 
 room to believe that Mr. Drake encouraged 
 the party with whom he supposed himself 
 to be in correspondence, to proceed by the 
 mode of assassination, or any others than 
 are compatible with the law of nations, and 
 acknowledged by civilized governments. 
 The error of Mr. Drake seems to have been, 
 that he was not sufficiently cautious re- 
 specting the sincerity of the person with 
 whom he maintained his intercourse. Mr. 
 Spencer Smith, the British envoy at Stut- 
 gard, was engaged in a similar intrigue, 
 which appears also to have been a snare 
 spread for him by the French government. 
 
 Buonaparte failed not to make the utmost 
 use of these pretended discoveries, which 
 were promulgated with great form by Reg- 
 nier, who held the office of Grand Judge. 
 He invoked the faith of nations, as if the 
 Duke d'Enghien had been still residing in 
 peaceable neutrality at Ettenheim, and es- 
 cladmed against assassination, as if his state 
 dungeons could not have whispered of the 
 death of Pichegru. The complaisant sove- 
 reigns of Munich and Stutgard readily or- 
 dered Smith and Dralve to leave their 
 courts ; and the latter was forced to depart 
 on foot, and by cross-roads, to avoid being 
 kidnapped by the French gens d'arraes. 
 
 The fate which Mr. Drake dreaded, and 
 perhaps narrowly escaped, actually befell 
 Sir George Rumbold, resident at the free 
 German city of Hamburgh, in the capacity 
 of his British Alajesty's envoy to the Circle 
 of Lower Saxony. On the night of the 2oth 
 October, he was seized, in violation of the 
 rights attached by the law of nations to the 
 persons of ambassadors, as well as to the 
 territories of neutral countries, by a party 
 of the French troops, who crossed the Elbe 
 for that purpose. The envoy, with his pa- 
 pers, was then transferred to Paris in the 
 capacity of a close prisoner, and thrown 
 into the fatal Temple. Tl.e utmost anxie- 
 ty was excited even amongst Buonaparte's 
 ministers, lest th's imprisonment should be 
 intended as a prelude to farther violence ; 
 and both Fouchc and Talleyrand exerted 
 what influence they possessed over the mind 
 of Napoleon, to prevent the proceedings 
 which were to be apprehended. The King 
 
 of Prussia also extended his powerful in- 
 terposition ; and the result was, that Sir 
 George Rumbold, after two days' imprison- 
 ment, was dismissed to England, on giving 
 liis parole not to return to Hamburgh. It 
 seems probable, although the Moniteur calls 
 this gentleman the worthy associate of 
 Drake and Spencer Smith, and speaks of 
 discoveries amongst his papers which were 
 to enlighten the public on the policy of 
 England, that nothing precise was sdleg- 
 ed against him, even to palliate the outrage 
 which the French ruler had committed. 
 
 The tenor of Buonaparte's conduct in an- 
 other instance, towards a British nobleman 
 of distinction, though his scheme was ren- 
 dered abortive by the sagacity of the noble 
 individual against whom it was directed, ia 
 a striking illustration of the species of in- 
 trigue practised by the French police, and 
 enables us to form a correct judgment of 
 the kind of evidence upon which Buona- 
 parte brought forward his calumnious accu- 
 sation against Britain and her subjects. 
 
 The Earl of Elgin, lately ambassador of 
 Great Britain at the Porte, had, contrary to 
 the usage among civilized nations, been 
 seized upon with his family as he passed 
 through the French territory ; and, during 
 the period of which we arc treating, ha 
 was residing upon his parole near Pau, in 
 the south of France,, as one of the Detenu*. 
 Shortly after the arrest of Moreau, Georges, 
 &c. an order arrived for committing hi» 
 lordship to close custody, in reprisal, it waa 
 said, of severities exercised in England on 
 the French General Boyer. The truth was, 
 that the affair of General Boyer had beea 
 satisfactorily explained to the French go»- 
 ernment. In the Parisian papers, on the 
 contrary, his lordship's imprisonment wa* 
 ascribed to barbarities which he was said to 
 have instigated against the French prison- 
 ers of war in Turkey — a charge totally 
 without foundation. Lord Elgin was, how- 
 ever, transferred to the strong castle of 
 Lourdes, situated on the descent of the 
 Pyrenees, where the commandant received 
 him, though a familiar acquaintance, with 
 the reserve and coldness of an entire stran- 
 ger. Attempts were made by this gentle- 
 man and his lieutenant to exasperate the 
 feelings which must naturally agitate the 
 mind of a man torn from the bosom of hia 
 family, and committed to close custody itt 
 a remote fortress, where the accommoda-. 
 tion was as miserable as the castle itself 
 was gloomy, strong, and ominously seclud-. 
 ed from the world. They failed, however, 
 in extracting from their prisoner any ex- 
 pressions of violence or impatience, how- 
 ever warranted by the usage to which be 
 was subjected. 
 
 After a few days' confinement, a serjeant 
 of the guard delivered to Lord Elgin a let- 
 ter, the writer of which informed him, that, 
 being his fellow-prisoner, and confined in a 
 secluded dungeon, he regretted he could, 
 not wait on his lordship, but that when he 
 walked in the court-yard, he could have 
 conversation with him at the window of 
 his room. Justly suspecting this communi- 
 cation, Lord Elgin destroyed the letter;-
 
 Chap. XL VIl] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 399 
 
 and while he gave the serjeant a louis d'or, 
 lold him, that if he or any of hia comrades 
 should again bring him any secret letter or 
 message, he would inform the commandant 
 of the circumstance. Shortly afterwards, 
 the commandant of the fortress, in conver- 
 sation with Lord Elgin, spoke of the prison- 
 er in question as a person whose health was 
 suffering for want of exercise ; and next day 
 his lordship saw the individual walking in 
 the court-yard before his window. He man- 
 ifested every disposition to engage his lord- 
 ship in conversation, which Lord Elgin suc- 
 cessfully avoided. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards, and not till he 
 had been subjected to several acts of se- 
 verity and vexation. Lord Elgin was permit- 
 ted to return to Pau. But he was not yet 
 extricated from the nets in which it was the 
 fraudulent policy of the French government 
 to involve him. The female, who actea as 
 porter to his lordship's lodgings, one morn- 
 ing presented him with a packet, which she 
 said had been left by a woman from the 
 country, who was to call for an answer. 
 With the same prudence which distinguish- 
 ed his conduct at Lourdes, Lord Elgin de- 
 tained the portress in the apartment, and 
 found that the letter was from the state 
 prisoner already mentioned ; that it contain- 
 ed an account of his being imprisoned for 
 an attempt to burn the French fleet ; and 
 detailed his plan as one which he had still 
 in Tiew, and which he held out in the col- 
 ours most likely, as he judged, to interest 
 an Englishman. The packet also covered 
 letters to the Compte d'Artois and other 
 foreigners of distinction, which Lord Elgin 
 was requested to forward with his best con- 
 »enience. Lord Elgin thrust the letters in- 
 to the fire in presence of the portress, and 
 kept her in the room till they were entire- 
 ly consumed ; explaining to her at the same 
 time, that such letters to him as might be 
 delivered by any other channel than the or- 
 dinary post, should be at once sent to the 
 governor of the town. His lordship judged 
 It his farther duty to mention to the prefect 
 the conspiracy detailed in the letter, under 
 the condition, however, that no steps should 
 be taken in consequence, unless the affair ! 
 became known from some other quarter. 
 
 .Some short time after these transactions, i 
 and when Buonaparte was appointed to as- ■ 
 sume the imperial crown, (at which period 
 there was hope of a general act of grace, i 
 which should empty the prisons,) Lord El- 
 gin's fellow-captive at Lourdes, being, it | 
 seems, a real prisoner, as well as a spy, in j 
 hopes of meriting a share in this measure 
 of clemency, made a full confession of all ; 
 which he had done or designed to do ! 
 agaiiist Napoleon's interest Lord Elgin 
 was naturally interested in this confession, ■ 
 which appeared in the Moniteur, and was i 
 a good deal surprised to see that a detail, 
 otherwise minute, bore no reference to, or 
 correspondence regarding, the plan of burn- 
 ing the Brest fleet. He lost no time in 1 
 writing an account of the particulars we \ 
 have mentioned, to a friend at Paris, by i 
 whom they were communicated to Mon- ' 
 •iaur Fargues, senator of tlie district uf 
 
 Beam, whom these plots particularly inter- 
 ested as having his senatorie for their scene. 
 When Lord Elgin's letter was put into hia 
 hand, the senator changed countenance, 
 and presently after expressed his high con- 
 gratulation at what he called Lord Elgin's 
 providential escape. He then intimated, 
 with anxious hesitation, that the whole waa 
 a plot to entrap Lord Elgin ; that the let- 
 ters were written at Paris, and sent down to 
 Beam by a confidential agent, with the full 
 expectation that they would be found in hi* 
 lordship's possession. This was confirmed 
 by the commandant of Lourdes, with whom 
 Lord Elgin had afterwards an unreserved 
 communication, in which he laid aside the 
 jailor, and resumed the behaviour of a. 
 gentleman. He imputed Lord Elgin's lib- 
 eration to the favourable report which he 
 himself and his lieutenant had made of the 
 calm and dignified manner in which bis 
 lordship had withstood the artifices which 
 they had been directed to use, with a view 
 of working on his feelings, and leading him 
 into some intemperance of expression 
 against France or her ruler; which might 
 have furnished a pretext for treating him 
 with severity, and for implicating the Brit- 
 ish government in the imprudence of one 
 of her nobles, invested with a diplomatic 
 character.* 
 
 The above narrative forms a singularly lu- 
 minous commentary on the practices im- 
 puted to Messrs. Drake and Spencer, and 
 subsequently to Sir George Rumbold ; nor 
 is it a less striking illustration of the deten- 
 tion of the unfortunate Captain Wright. 
 With one iota less of prudence and pres- 
 ence of mind. Lord El;_'iri must have been 
 entangled in the snare which was so treach- 
 erously spread for him. Had he even engag- 
 ed in ten minutes conversation with the 
 villainous spy and incendiary, it would have 
 been in the power of such a wretch to rep 
 resent the import after his own pleasure. 
 Or had his lordship retained the packet of 
 letters even for half an hour in his posses- 
 sion, which he might have most innocently 
 done, he would probably have been seized 
 with them upon his person ; and it must in 
 that case have been impossible for him 
 to repel such accusations, as Buonaparte 
 would have no doubt founded on a circum- 
 stance so suspicious 
 
 While Napoleon used such perfidious 
 means, in order to attach if possible, to a 
 British ambassador of such distinguished 
 rank, the charge of carrying on intrigues 
 against his person, the British ministers, in 
 a tone the most manly and dignified, dis- 
 claimed the degrading charges which had 
 been circulated agoinst them through Eu- 
 rope. When the topic Nvas introduced by 
 Lord Morpeth into the British House of 
 Commons, by a motion respecting the cor- 
 respondence of Drake, the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer replied, " I thank the noble 
 lord for giving me an opportunity to repel, 
 openly and courageously, one of the most 
 
 • This account is abstracted from the full de- 
 tnil^ which Lord Elgin did us th« honour to son* 
 icuiiicale in au authonticalod maouscript.
 
 100 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XL VIII. 
 
 gross and most atrocious calumnies ever 
 fabricated in one civilized nation to the 
 prejudice of another. I affirm, that no pow- 
 er has been given, no instruction has been 
 sent, by this government to any individual, 
 to act in a manner contrary to the law of na- 
 tions. I again alErm, as well in my own name 
 as in that of my colleagues, that we have 
 not authorized any human being to conduct 
 himself in a manner contrary to the lionour 
 of this country, or the dictates of humanity." 
 
 This explicit declaration, made by Brit- 
 ish ministers in a situation where detected 
 falsehood would have proved dangerous to 
 those by whom it was practised, is to be 
 placed against the garbled correspondence 
 of which tlie French possessed themselves, 
 by means violently subversive of the law 
 of nations; and which correspondence was 
 the result of intrigues that would never 
 have existed but for the treacherous sugges- 
 tions of their own agents. 
 
 CHAP. XI.VIII. 
 
 Napoleon meditates a change of title from Chief Consul to Emperor. — A Motion to thit 
 purpose brought forward inthe Tribunate — Opposed by Carnot — Adopted by the Tri- 
 bunate and Senate. — Outline of the A'ew Si'stcm — Coldly received by the People. — 
 Napoleon visits Boulogne, Aix-la-Chapelle, and the Frontiers of Germany, where he 
 is received with respect. — The Coronation. — Pius VII. is summoned from Rome to 
 perform the Ceremony at Paris. — Details. — Reflections. — Changes that took place in 
 Italy. — Napoleon appointed Sovereign of Italy, and Crowned at Milan. — Genoa an- 
 nexed to France. 
 
 The time seemed now propitious for Buo- 
 naparte to make the last remaining move- 
 ment in the great game, which he had 
 hitherto played with equal skill, boldness, 
 and success. The opposing factions of the 
 state lay in a great measure prostrate before 
 him. Tlie death of the Duke d'Enghien and 
 of Pichegru had intimidated the Royalists, 
 while the exile of Moreau had left the Re- 
 publicans without a leader. 
 
 These events, while they greatly injured 
 Buonaparte's character as a man, extended, 
 in a like proportion, the idea of his power, 
 and of his determination to employ it to the 
 utmost extremity against whosoever might 
 oppose him. This moment, therefore, of 
 general submission and intimidation, was 
 the fittest to be used for transmuting the 
 military baton of the First Consul into a 
 sceptre, resembling those of the ancient and 
 established sovereignties of Europe ; and it 
 only remained, for one who could now dis- 
 pose of France as he listed, to dictate the 
 form and fashion of the new emblem of his 
 sway. 
 
 The title of King most obviously pre- 
 sented itself; but it was connected with 
 the claims of the Bourbons, which it was 
 not Buonaparte's policy to recall to remem- 
 brance. That of Emperor implied a yet 
 higher power of sovereignty, and there ex- 
 isted no competitor' who could challenge 
 a claim to it. It was a novelty also, and 
 flattered the French love of change ; and 
 though, in fact, the establishment of an 
 empire w.as inconsistent with the various 
 oaths taken against royalty, it was not, in 
 terms, so directly contradictory to them. 
 As the re-cstablishmeiit of a kingdom, so 
 far it was agreeable to those who might 
 seek, not indeed how to keep their vows, 
 but how to elude, in words at least, the 
 charge of having broken them. To Napo- 
 leon's ov/n ear, the word King might sound 
 as if it restricted his power within the lim- 
 its of the ancient kingdom ; while that of 
 Emperor might comprise dominions equal 
 
 to the wide sv.-eep of ancient Rome her- 
 self, and the bounds of the habitable earth 
 alone could be considered as circumscrib- 
 ing their extent. 
 
 "The main body of the nation being pas- 
 sive or intimidated, there was no occasion 
 to stand upon much ceremony with the 
 constitutional bodies, the members of whicli 
 were selected and paid by Buonaparte him- 
 self, held their posts at his pleasure, had 
 every species of advancement to hope if 
 they promoted his schemes, and every evil, 
 of which the least would be deprivation 
 of office, to expect, should they thwart 
 him. 
 
 On the 30th of April ISOi, Curee, an ora- 
 tor of no great note, (and who was perhaps 
 selected on that very account, that his pro- 
 posal might be disavowed should it meet 
 with unexpected opposition,) took the lead 
 in this measure, which was to destroy the 
 slight and nominal remains of a free constitu- 
 tion which France retained under her pres- 
 ent form of government. •' It was time to 
 bid adieu," he said, "to political allusions. 
 The internal tranquillity of France had 
 been regained, peace with foreign states 
 had been secured by victory. The finan- 
 ces of the country had been restored, its 
 code of laws renovated and re-established. 
 It was time to ;iscertain the possession of 
 these blessings to the nation in future, and 
 the orator saw no mode of doing this, save 
 rendering the supreme power hereditary 
 in the person and family of Napoleon, to 
 whom France owed such a debt of gratitude. 
 This, he stated, was the universal desire of 
 the army and of the people. He invited 
 the Tribunate, therefore, to give effect to 
 the general wish, and hail Napoleon Buon- 
 aparte by the title of Emperor, as that 
 which best corresponded with the dignity 
 of the nation." 
 
 The members of the Tribunate contend- 
 ed with each other who should most en- 
 hance the merits of Napoleon, and prove, 
 in the most logica' aud rhetorical terms.
 
 Chap. XL VlII] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 401 
 
 the advantages of arbitrary power over the 
 various modifications of popular or unlimit- 
 ed governments. But one man, Carnot, 
 was bold enough to oppose the full tide of 
 sophistry and adulation. This name is 
 unhappily to be read among the colleagues 
 of Robespierre in the Revolutionary Com- 
 mittee, as well as amongst those who voted 
 for the death of the misused and unoffend- 
 ing Louis XVI. ; yet his highly honourable 
 conduct in the urgent crisis now under 
 discussion, shows that the zeal for liberty 
 which led him into such excesses, was gen- 
 uine and sincere ; and that, in point of firm- 
 ness and public spirit, Carnot equalled the 
 ancient patriots whom he aspired to imitate. 
 His speech was as temperate and expres- 
 sive as it was eloquent. Buonaparte, he 
 admitted, had saved France, and saved it 
 by the assumption of absolute power ; but 
 this he contended was only the temporary 
 consequence of a violent crisis of the kind 
 to which republics were subject, and the 
 evils of which could only be stemmed by a 
 remedy equally violent. The present head 
 of the government was, he allowed, a dic- 
 tator} but in the same sense in which Ka- 
 bi:>.B, Camillus, and Cincinnatus, were so 
 of yore, who retired to the condition of 
 private citizens when they had accomplish- 
 ed the purpose for which temporary supre- 
 macy had been intrusted to them. The 
 like was to be expected from Buonaparte, 
 who, on entering on the government of the 
 state, had invested it with Republican forms, 
 which he had taken a solemn oath to main- 
 tain, and which it was the object of Cu- 
 ree's motion to invite him to violate. He 
 allowed that the various Republican forms 
 of France had been found deficient, in sta- 
 bility, which he contended was owing to 
 the tempestuous period in which tV-ey had 
 been adopted, and the excited and irritable 
 temper of men fired with political animosi- 
 ty, and incapable at the moment of steady 
 or philosophical reflection ; but he appeal- 
 ed to the United States of America, as 
 an example of a democratical government, 
 equally wise, vigorous, and permanent. He 
 admitted the virtues and talents of the 
 present governor of France, but contended 
 that these attributes could not be rendered 
 hereditary along with the throne. He re- 
 minded the Tribunate that Domitian had 
 been the son of the wise V^espasian, Cali- 
 gula of Germanicus, and Commodus of 
 Marcus Aurelius. Again he asked, wjieth- 
 er it was not wronging Buonaparte's glory 
 to substitute a new title to that which lie 
 had rendered so illustrious, and to invite 
 and tempt him to become the instrument 
 of destroying the liberties of the very 
 country to which he had rendered such in- 
 estimable services? He then announced 
 the undeniable proposition, that what ser- 
 vices soever an individunl might render to 
 the state of which he was a member, tliore 
 were bounds to public gratitude prescribed 
 by honour as well as reason. If a citizen 
 had the means of operating the sufeiv, or 
 restoring the liberty of his country, it could 
 not be termed a becoming recompense to 
 enrrender to him that very liberty, the re- 
 
 establishment of which had been his owa 
 work. Or what glory, he asked, could ac- 
 crue to the selfish individual, who should 
 claim the surrender of his country's inde- 
 pendence in- requital of his services, and 
 desire to convert the state which his tal- 
 ents had preserved into his cwn private 
 patrimony ? 
 
 Carnot concluded his manly and patriot- 
 ic speech by declaring, that though he op- 
 posed on grounds of conscience the altera- 
 tion of government which had been pro- 
 posed, he would, nevertheless, should it be 
 adopted by the nation, give it his unlimited 
 obedience. He kept his word accordingly, 
 and retired to a private station, in poverty 
 most honourable to a statesman who had 
 filled the highest offices of the state, and 
 enjoyed the most unlimited power of amass- 
 ing wealth. 
 
 When his oration was concluded, there 
 was a contention for precedence among 
 the time-serving speakers, who were each 
 desirous to take the lead in refuting the 
 reasoning of Carnot. It would be tedious 
 to trace them through their sophistry. The 
 leading argument turned upon the talents 
 of Buonaparte, his services rendered to 
 France, and the necessity there was for ac- 
 knowledging them by something like a pro- 
 portionate act of national gratitude. Their 
 eloquence resembled nothing so nearly as 
 the pleading of a wily procuress, who en- 
 deavours to persuade some simple maiden, 
 that the services rendered to her by a lib- 
 eral and gallant admirer, can only be re- 
 warded by the sacrifice of her honour. The 
 speaking (for it could neither be termed 
 debate nor deliberation) was prolonged for 
 three days, after which the motion of Cu- 
 ree was adopted by the Tribunate, without 
 one negative voice excepting that of the 
 inflexible Carnot. 
 
 The Senate, to whom the Tribunate has- 
 tened to present their project of establish- 
 ing despotism under its own undisguised 
 title, hastened to form a senatus consultum, 
 which established the new constitution of 
 France. The outline. — for what would it 
 serve to trace the minute details of a de- 
 sign sketched in the sand, and obliterated 
 by the tide of subsequent events, — was as 
 follows : — 
 
 1st, Napoleon Buonaparte was declared 
 hereditary Emperor of the French nation. 
 The empire was made hereditary, first in 
 the male line of the Emperor's direct de- 
 scendants. Failing these, Napoleon might 
 adopt the sons or grandsons of his brothers, 
 to succeed him in such order as he might 
 point out. In default of such adoptive 
 heirs, Josepli and Louis Buonaparte were, 
 in succession, declared the lawful heirs 
 of the empire. Lucien and Jerome Buon- 
 aparte were excluded from this rich inherit- 
 ance, as they had both disobliged Napoleon 
 by marrying without his consent. 
 
 2d. The members of the Imperial family 
 were declared Princes of the Blood, and by 
 the decree of the Senate, the offices of Grand 
 Elector, .\rchchancellor of the empire, 
 Archchancellor of State, High Constable 
 and Great Admiral of the Empire, were ei«
 
 402 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XLVIU 
 
 tablished as necessary appendages of the 
 empire. These dignitaries, named of course 
 by the Emperor himself, consisting of his 
 relatives, connexions, and most faithful ad- 
 herents, formed his Grand Council. The 
 rank of Marechal of the Empire was con- 
 ferred upon seventeen of the most distin- 
 guished generals, comprehending Jourdan, 
 Augereau, and others, formerly zealous Re- 
 publicans. Duroc was named Grand Mare- 
 chal of the Palace ; Caulaincourt, Master 
 of the Horse; Berthier, Grand Huntsman, 
 and the Compte de Segur, a nobleman of 
 the old court, Master of Ceremonies. 
 
 Thus did republican forms, at length and 
 finally, give way to those of a court ; and 
 that nation, which no moderate or rational 
 degree of freedom would satisfy, now con- 
 tentedly, or at least passively, assumed the 
 yoke of a military despot. France, in 1792, 
 had been like the wild elephant in his fits 
 of fury, when to oppose his course is death ; 
 in 1804, she was like the same animal tam- 
 ed and trained, who kneels down and suf- 
 fers himself to be mounted by the soldier, 
 whose business is to drive him into the 
 throng of the battle. 
 
 Measures were taken as on former occa- 
 sions, to preserve appearances, by obtain- 
 ing, in show at least, the opinion of the 
 people, on this radical change of their sys- 
 tem. Government, however, were already 
 confident of their approbation, which, in- 
 deed had never been refused to any of the 
 variuus constitutions, however inconsistent, 
 that had succeeded each other with such 
 rapidity. Secure on this point, Buonaparte's 
 accession to the Empire was proclaimed 
 with the greatest pomp, without waiting to 
 inquire whether the people approved of his 
 promotion or otherwise. The proclama- 
 tion was coldly received, even by the popu- 
 lace, and excited little enthusiasm. It 
 seemed, according to some writers, as if the 
 shades of T'Enghien andPichegru had been 
 present invisibly, and spread a damp over 
 the ceremony. The Emperor was recog- 
 nised by the soldiery with more warmth. 
 He visited the encampments at Boulogne, 
 with the intention, apparently, of receiving 
 euch an acknowledgment from the troops 
 as was paid by the ancient Franks to their 
 monarchs, when they elevated them on 
 their bucklers. Seated on an iron chair, 
 •aid to have belonged to King Dagobert, he 
 took his place between two immense camps, 
 and having before him the Channel, and the 
 hostile coasts of England. The weather, 
 we have been assured, had been tempestu- 
 ous, but no sooner had the Emperor assum- 
 ed his seat, to receive the homage of his 
 shouting host, than the sky cleared, and the 
 wind dropt, retaining just breath sufficient 
 gently to wave the banners. Even the ele- 
 ments seemed to acknowledge the Impe- 
 rial dignity, all save the sea, which rolled 
 as carelessly to the feet of Napoleon as it 
 had formerly done towards those of Canute 
 the Dane. 
 
 The Emperor, accompanied with his Em- 
 press, who bore her honours both graceful- 
 ly and meekly, visited Aix-la-Chapelle, and 
 ttie frontiers of Germany. They received 
 
 the congratulations of all the powers of 
 Europe, excepting England, Russia, and 
 Sweden, upon their new exaltation ; and 
 the German princes, who had everything to 
 hope and fear from so powerful a neigh- 
 bour, hastened to pay their compliments to 
 Napoleon in person, which more distant 
 sovereigns offered by their ambassadors. 
 
 But the most splendid and public recog- 
 nition of his new rank was yet to be made, 
 by the formal act of coronation, which, 
 therefore, Napoleon determined should 
 take place with circumstances of solemnity, 
 which had been beyond the reach of any 
 temporal prince, however powerful, for ma- 
 ny ages. His policy was often marked by 
 a wish to revive, imitate, and connect his 
 own titles and interest with, some ancient 
 observance of former days; as if the novel- 
 ty of his claims could have been rendered 
 more venerable by investing them with an- 
 tiquated forms, or as men of low birth, 
 when raised to wealth and rank, are some- 
 times desirous to conceal the obscurity of 
 their origin under the blaze of heraldic 
 honours. Pope Leo, he remembered, had 
 placed a golden crown on the head of 
 Charlemagne, and proclaimed him Empe- 
 ror of the Romans. Pius VII., he deter- 
 mined, should do the same for a successor 
 to much more than the actual power of 
 Charlemagne. But though Charlemagne 
 had repaired to Rome to receive inaugura- 
 tion from the hands of the Pontiff of that 
 day. Napoleon resolved that he who now 
 owned the proud, and in Protestant eyes 
 profane, title of Vicar of Christ, should 
 travel to France to perform the coronation 
 of the successful chief, by whom the See 
 of Rome had been more than once hum- 
 bled, pillaged, and impoverished, but by 
 whom also her power had been re-erected 
 and restored, not only in Italy, but in 
 France itself. 
 
 Humiliating as the compliance with Buo- 
 naparte's request must have seemed to the 
 more devoted Catholics, Pius VII. had al- 
 ready sacrificed, to obtain the Concordat, 
 so much of the power and privileges of the 
 Roman See, that he could hardly have been 
 justified if he had run the risk of losing the 
 advantages of a treaty so dearly purchased, 
 by declining to incur some personal trou- 
 ble,- or, it might be termed, sbme direct 
 self-abasement. The Pope, and the cardi- 
 nals whom he consulted, implored the illu- 
 mination of Heaven upon their councils ; 
 but it was the stern voice of necessity 
 which assured them, that, except at the 
 risk of dividing the Church by a schism, 
 they could not refuse to comply with Buo- 
 naparte's requisition. The Pope left Rome 
 on the 5th November. He was every- 
 where received on the road with the highest 
 respect, and most profound veneration ; the 
 Alpine precipices themselves had been se- 
 cured by parapets wherever they could ex- 
 pose the venerable Father of the Catholic 
 Church to danger, or even apprehension. — 
 Upon the 25th November, he met Buona- 
 parte at Fontainbleau ; and the conduct of 
 the Emperor Napoleon was as studiously 
 respectful towards him, as that of Charle-
 
 Chap. XL VIII.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 403 
 
 magne, whom he was pleased to call his 
 predecessor, could have been towards Leo. 
 
 On the 2d December, the ceremony of 
 the coronation took place in the ancient 
 cathedral of Notre Dame, with the addition 
 of every ceremony which could be devised 
 to add to its solemnity. Yet we liave been 
 told that the multitude did not participate 
 in the ceremonial with that eagerness 
 which characterises the inhabitants of all 
 capitals, but especially those of Paris, up- 
 on similar occasions. They had, within a 
 very few years, seen so many exhibitions, 
 processions, and festivals, established on 
 the most discordant principles, which, 
 though announced as permanent and un- 
 changeable, had successively given way 
 to newer doctrines, that they considered 
 the splendid representation before them as 
 an unsubstantial pageant, which would fade 
 away in its turn. Buonaparte himself 
 seemed absent and gloomy, till recalled to a 
 sense of his grandeur by the voice of the 
 numerous deputies and functionaries sent 
 up from all the several departments of 
 France, to witness the coronation. These 
 functionaries had been selected with due 
 attention to their political opinions ; and 
 many of them holding offices under the 
 government, or expecting benefits from tiie 
 Emperor, made up, by the zealous vivacity 
 of tneir acclamations, for the coldnes3 of 
 the good citizens of Paris. 
 
 The Emperor took his coronation oath as 
 usual on such occasions, with his hands 
 upon the Scripture, and in the form in whicli 
 it was repeated to him by the Pope. But 
 in the act of coronation itself, there was a 
 marked deviation from the universal cus- 
 tom, characteristic of the man, the age, 
 and the conjuncture. In all other similar 
 solemDities, the crown had been placed on 
 the sovereign's head by the presiding spir- 
 itual person, as representing the Deity, by 
 whom princes rule. But not even from the 
 Head of the Catholic Church would Buona- 
 parte consent to receive as a boon the gold- 
 en symbol of sovereignty, which he was 
 sensible he owed solely to his own unpar- 
 alleled train of military and civil successes. 
 The crown having been blessed by the 
 Pope, Napoleon took it from the altar with 
 his own hands, and placed it on his brows. 
 He then put the diadem on the head of his 
 Empress, as if determined to show that his 
 authority was the child of his own actions. 
 Te Deum was sung; the hej^ilds, (for they 
 also had again come into fashion,) pro- 
 claimed, "that the thrice glorious and 
 thrice august Napoleon, Emperor of the 
 French, was crowned and installed." Thus 
 concluded this remarkable ceremony. — 
 Those who remember having beheld it, 
 must now doubt whether they were waking, 
 or whether fancy l;ad framed a vision so 
 dazzling in its appearance, so extraordinary 
 in its origin and progress, and so epheme- 
 ral in its endurance. 
 
 The very day before the cercmonv of 
 coronation, (that is, on the 1st of Decem- 
 ber,) the senate had waited upon the Empe- 
 ror with the result of the votes collected in 
 the departments, which, till that time, had 
 
 been taken for granted. Upwards of three 
 millions five hundred thousand citizens had 
 given their votes on this occasion ; of whom 
 only about tiiree thousand five hundred had 
 declared against the proposition. The 
 vice-president, Neufchateau, declared, 
 " this report was the unbiassed expression 
 of the people's choice. No government 
 could plead a title more authentic." 
 
 This was the established language of the 
 day ; but when the orator went farther, and 
 mentioned the measure now adopted as en- 
 abling Buonaparte to guide into port the 
 vessel of the Republic, one would have 
 tliought llipre was more irony than compli- 
 ment in the expression. 
 
 Napoleon replied, by promises to employ 
 the power which the unanimous consent of 
 the senate, the people, and the army, had 
 conferred upon him, for the advantage of 
 that nation which he himself, writing from 
 fields of battle , had first saluted with the title 
 of the Great. He promised, too, in name 
 of his Dynasty, that his children should 
 long preserve the throne, and be at once 
 the first soldiers in the array of France 
 and the first magistrates among her citi- 
 zens. 
 
 As every word on such an occasion was 
 scrupulously sifted and examined, it seem- 
 ed to some that this promise, which Napo- 
 leon volunteered in behalf of children who 
 had as yet no existence, intimated a med- 
 itated change of consort, since from his pres- 
 ent Empress he had no longer any hope of 
 issue. Others censured the proplietic tone 
 in which he announced what would be the 
 fate and conduct of unborn beings, and spoke 
 of a reign, newly commenced, under the 
 title of a Dynasty, which is usually applied 
 to a race of successive princes. 
 
 We pause for a moment to consider the 
 act of popular accession to the new gov- 
 ernment ; because there, if anywhere, we 
 are to look for something like a legal 
 right, in virtue of which Napoleon might 
 claim obedience. He himself, when plead- 
 ing his own cause after his fall, repeat- 
 edly rests his right to be considered and 
 treated as a legitimate monarch, upon the 
 fact that he was called to the crown by the 
 voice of the people. 
 
 We will not stop to inquire how the re- 
 gisters, in which the votes of the citizens 
 were enrolled, were managed by the func- 
 tionaries who had the charge of them ; — 
 it is only necessary to state in passing, that 
 these returning officers were in general 
 accessible to the influence of government, 
 and that there was no possibility of institu- 
 ting any scrutiny into the authenticity of 
 the returns. Neither will we repeat, that 
 instead of waiting for the event of the pop- 
 ular vote, he had accepted of the empire 
 from the Senate, and had been proclaimed 
 Emperor accordingly. Waiving those cir- 
 cumstances entirely, let it be remembered, 
 that France is usually reckoned to contain 
 upwards of thirty millions of inhabitants, 
 and that three millions, five hundred thou- 
 sand, only, gave their votes. This was not 
 a third part, deducting women and children, 
 of those who had a title to express their
 
 404 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XL VIII. 
 
 opinion, w.iere it was to be held decisive 
 of the greatest change which the state could 
 undergo; and it must be allowed that the 
 authority of so limited a portion of the peo- 
 ple is far too small to bind the remainder. 
 We have heard it indeed argued, that the 
 question having been formerly put to the 
 nation at large, every one was under an ob- 
 ligation to make a specific reply; and they 
 who did not vote, must be held to have ac- 
 quiesced in the opinion e.xpressed by the 
 majority of such as did. This argument, 
 being directly contrary to the presumption 
 of law in all similar cases, is not more valid 
 than the defence oi'the soldier, who, accus- 
 ed of having stolen a necklace from an image 
 of the Virgin, replied to the charge, that he 
 had first asked the Madonna's permission, 
 and, receiving no answer, had taken silence 
 for consent. 
 
 In another point of view, it must be re- 
 membered that this vote, by which Na- 
 poleon claimed the absolute and irre- 
 deemable cession of the liberties of France 
 in his favour, was not a jot more solemn 
 than those by which the people had previ- 
 ously sanctioned the Constitution of the 
 Year 17al, that of the Year VIII., and that 
 of the Consular Government. Now, either 
 the vote upon all those occasions was bind- 
 ing and permanent, or it was capable of be- 
 ing denied and recalled at the pleasure of 
 the people. If the former was the case, 
 then the people had no right, in 1804, to 
 resume the votes they had given, and the 
 oaths they had sworn, to the first form of 
 government in 1791. The others which 
 they sanctioned in its stead, were, in con- 
 sequence, mere usurpations, and that now- 
 attempted the most flagrant of all, since 
 three constitutions, each resting on the 
 popular consent, were demolished, and 
 three sets of oaths broken and discarded, 
 to make room for Represent model. Again, 
 if the people, in swearing to one constitu- 
 tion, retained inalienably the right of sub- 
 stituting another, whenever they thought 
 proper, the Imperial Constitution remained 
 at their mercy as much as those that pre- 
 ceded it; and then on what could Buona- 
 parte rest the inviolability of his authority, 
 guarded with such jealous precaution, and 
 designed to descend to his successors, 
 without any future appeal to the people ? 
 The dynasty which he supposed himself to 
 have planted, was in that case not the oak- 
 tree which he conceived it, but, held dur- 
 ing the good pleasure of a fickle people, 
 rather resembled the thistle, whose un- 
 substantial crest rests upon the stalk only 
 80 long as the wind shall not disturb it. 
 
 But we leave these considerations ; nor 
 do we stop to inquire how many, amid the 
 three millions and upwards of voters, gave 
 an unwilling signature, which they would 
 have refused if they had dared, nor how 
 many more attached no greater conse- 
 quence to the act than to a piece of formal 
 complaisance, which every government ex- 
 pected in its turn, and which bound the 
 subject no longer than the ruler had means 
 to enforce his obedience. Another and 
 Tiore formidable objection remains behind, 
 
 which pervaded the whole pretended sur 
 render by the French nation of their liber- 
 ties, and rendered it void, null, and without 
 force or effect whatsoever. It was, from 
 the commencement, what jurists call a 
 pactum, in illicitit : — the people gave that 
 whicli they had no right to surrender, and 
 Buonaparte accepted that which he had no 
 title to take at their hands. In most in- 
 stances of despotic usurpation — we need 
 only look at the case of CcEsar — the popular 
 party have been made the means of work- 
 ing out their own servitude ; the govern- 
 ment being usurped by some demagogue 
 who acted in their name, and had the art to 
 make their own hands the framers of their 
 own chains. But though such consent on 
 the part of the people, elicited from an ex- 
 cess of partial confidence or of gratitude, 
 may have rendered such encroachments 
 on the freedom of the state more easy, it 
 did not and could not render it in any case 
 more legal. The rights of a free people 
 aire theirs to enjoy, but not theirs to alienate 
 or surrender. The people are in this re- 
 spect like minors, to whom law assures 
 their property, but invests them with no 
 title to give it away or consume it ; the 
 national privileges are an estate entailed 
 from generation to generation, and they 
 can neither be the subject of gift, exchange, 
 nor surrender, by those who enjoy the 
 usufruct or temporary possession of them 
 No man is lord even of his person, to the 
 effect of surrendering his life or limbs to 
 the mercy of another; the contract of the 
 Merchant of Venice would now be held 
 null from the beginning in any court of 
 justice in Europe. But far more should 
 the report of 1804, upon Buonaparte's elec- 
 tion, be esteemed totally void, since it in- 
 volved the cession on the part of the French 
 people of that which ought to have been 
 far more dear to them, and held more inali- 
 enable, than the pound of flesh nearest the 
 heart, or the very heart itself. 
 
 As the people of France had no right to 
 resign their own liberties, and that of their 
 posterity, for ever, so Buonaparte could not 
 legally avail himself of their prodigal and 
 imprudent cession. If a blind man give a 
 piece of gold by mistake instead of a piece 
 of silver, he who receives it acquires no 
 legal title to the surplus value. If an igno- 
 rant man enter unwittingly into an illegal 
 compact, his signature, though voluntary. 
 is not binding upon him. It is true, that 
 Buonaparte had rendered the highest ser- 
 vices to France, by his Italian campaigns in 
 the first instance, and aflerwards by that 
 wonderful train of success which followed 
 his return from Egypt. Still, the services 
 yielded by a subject to his native land, like 
 the duty paid by a child to a parent, cannot 
 render him creditor of the country, beyond 
 the amount which she has legal means of 
 discharging. If France had received the 
 highest benefits from Buonaparte, she had 
 in return raised him as high as any subject 
 could be advanced, and had, indeed, in her 
 reckless prodigality of gratitude, given, or 
 suffered him to assume, the very despotic 
 authority, which this compiict of which we
 
 Chap. XL Vin.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 405. 
 
 treat was to consolidate and sanction under 
 Its real name of Empire. Here, therefore, 
 we close the argument; concluding the 
 pretended vote of the French people to be 
 totally null, both a3 regarding the subjects 
 who yielded their privileges, and the empe- 
 ror who accepted of their surrender. The 
 former could not give away rights which it 
 was not lawful to resign, the latter could not 
 accept an authority which it was unlawful 
 to exercise. 
 
 An apologv', or rather a palliation, of Buo- 
 naparte's usurpation, has been set up by 
 himself and his more ardent admirers, and 
 we are desirous of giving to it all the 
 weight which it shall be found to deserve. 
 They have said, and with great reason, that 
 Buonaparte, viewed in his general conduct, 
 was no selfish usurper, and that the mode in 
 which he acquired his power was gildcfd ov- 
 er by the use which he made of it. This is 
 true ; for we will not underrate the merits 
 which Napoleon thus acquired, by observ- 
 ing that shrewd politicians have been of 
 opinion, that sovereigns who have only a 
 questionable right to their authority, are 
 compelled, were it but for their own sakes, 
 to govern in such a manner as to make the 
 country feel its advantage in submitting to 
 their sovernment. We grant willingly, that 
 in much of his internal administratio.T Buo- 
 naparte showed that he desired to have no 
 advantage separate from that of France ; 
 that he conceived her interests to be con- 
 nected with his own glory ; that he expend- 
 ed his wealth in ornamenting the empire, 
 and not upon objects more immediately per- 
 sonal to himself. We have no doubt that 
 he had more pleasure in seeing treasures of 
 art added to the Museum, than in hanging 
 them on the walls of his own palace ; and 
 that he spoke truly, when asserting that he 
 grudged Josephine the expensive plants 
 with which she decorated her residence at 
 Malmaison, because her tnste interfered 
 with the prosperity of the public botanical 
 garden of Paris. We allow, therefore, that 
 Buonaparte fully identified himself with the 
 country which he had rendered his patri- 
 mony ; and that while it should be called 
 by his name, he w.as desirous of investing it 
 with as much external splendour, and as 
 much internal prosperity, as his gigantic 
 schemes were able to compass. No doubt 
 it may be said, so completely was the coun- 
 try identified with its ruler, that as France 
 had nothing but what belonged to its Em- 
 peror, he was in fact improving his own es- 
 tate when he advanced her public works, 
 and could no more be said to lose sight of 
 his own interest, than a private gentleman 
 does, who neglects his garden to ornament 
 his park. But it is not fair to press the mo- 
 tives of human nature to their last retreat, 
 in which something like a taint of self-in- 
 terest may so often be discovered. It is 
 enough to reply, that the selfishness which 
 embraces the interests of a whole kingdom, 
 is of a kind so liberal, so extended, and so 
 refined, as to be closelv allied to patriot- 
 ism ; and that the good intentions of Buo- 
 naparte towards that France, over wliich he 
 ruled with despotic sway, can be no more 
 
 doubted, than the affections of an arbitrarj 
 father, whose object it is to make his son 
 prosperous and happy, to which he annexes 
 as the only condition, that he shall be im- 
 plicitly obedient to every tittle of his will. 
 The misfortune is, however, that arbitrary 
 power is in itself a faculty, which, whether 
 exercised over a kingdom, or in the bosom 
 of a family, is apt to be used with caprice 
 rather than judgment, and becomes a snare 
 to those who possess it, as well as a burthen 
 to those over whom it extends. A father, 
 for example, seeks the happiness of his son, 
 while he endeavours to assure his fortunes, 
 by compelling him to enter into a mercena- 
 ry and reluctant marriage ; and Buonaparte 
 conceived himself to be benefiting as well 
 as aggrandising France, when, preferring the 
 splendour of conquest to the blessings of 
 peace, he led the flower of her young men 
 to perish in foreign fields, and finally was 
 the means of her being delivered up, drain- 
 ed of her population, to the mercy of the 
 foreign invaders, whose resentment his am- 
 bition had provoked. 
 
 Such are the considerations which natu- 
 rally arise out of Napoleon's final and avow- 
 ed assumption of the absolute power, which 
 he had in reality possessed and exercised 
 ever since he had been created First Con- 
 sul for life. It was soon after made mani- 
 fest, that France, enlarged and increased in 
 strength as she had been under his auspif- 
 es, v/as yet too narrow a sphere for his dom- 
 ination. ' Italy afforded the first illustratioa 
 of his grasping ambition. 
 
 The northern states of Italy had follow- 
 ed the example of France through all her 
 change of models. They had become re- 
 publican in a Directorial form, when Napo- 
 leon's swnrd conquered them from the Aus- 
 trians ; had changed to an establishment 
 similar to the Consular, when that was in- 
 stituted in Paris by the 18th Brumaire ; 
 and were now destined to receive, as a King, 
 him who had lately accepted and exercised 
 with regal authority the office of their pres- 
 ident. 
 
 The authorities of the Italian (late Cisal- 
 pine) Republic, had a prescient guess of 
 what was expected of them. A deputation 
 appeared at Paris, to declare the absolute 
 necessity wliich they felt, that their govern- 
 ment should assume a monarchical and 
 hereditary form. On the 17th March, they 
 obtained an audience of the Emperor, to 
 whom they intimated the unanimous desire 
 of their countrymen, that Napoleon, found- 
 er of the Italian Republic, should be mon- 
 arch of the Italian Kingdom. He was to 
 have power to name his successor, such 
 being always a native of France or Italy. 
 With an affectation of jealous indepen- 
 dence, however, the authors of this " hum- 
 ble petition and advice" stipulated, thatths 
 crowns of France and Italy should never, 
 save in the present instance, be placed on 
 the head of the same monarch. Napoleon 
 might, during his life, devolve the sove- 
 reignty of Italy on one of his descendants, 
 either'natural or adopted; but it was anx- 
 iously stipulated, that such delegation 
 should not'be made during the period whilo
 
 406 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. [Chap. XL Vm. 
 
 France continued to occupy the Neapolitan 
 territories, the Russians Corfu, and the 
 British Malta. 
 
 Buonaparte granted the petition of the 
 Italian States, and listened with indulgence 
 to their jealous scruples. He agreed with 
 them, that the separation of the crowns of 
 France and Italy, which might be useful to 
 their descendants, would be in the high- 
 est degree dangerous to themselves ; and 
 therefore he consented to bear the addition- 
 al burthen whicli their love and confidence 
 imposed, at least until the interest of his 
 Italian subjects should permit him to place 
 the crown on a younger head, who, animat- 
 ed by his spirit, should, he engaged, " be 
 ever ready to sacrifice his life for the peo- 
 
 Ele over whom he should be called to rcMgn, 
 y Providence, by the constitution of the 
 country, and by the will of Napoleon." In 
 announcing this new acquisition to the 
 French Senate, Buonaparte made use of 
 an expression so singularly audacious, that 
 to utter It required almost as much courage 
 as to scheme one of his most daring cam- 
 paigns. •' The power and majesty of the 
 French empire," he said, " are surpassed 
 by the moderation which presides over her 
 political transactions.'' 
 
 Upon the 11th April, Napoleon, with his 
 Empress, set off to go through the form of 
 coronation, as King of Italy. The cere- 
 mony almost exactly resembled that by 
 whicli he had been inaugurated Emperor. 
 The ministry of the Pope, however, was 
 not employed on this second occasion, al- 
 though, as Pius VII. was then on his return 
 to Rome, he could scarcely have declined 
 officiating, if he had been requested by 
 Buonaparte to take Milan in his route for 
 that purpose. Perhaps it was thought too 
 harsh to exact from the Pontiff the conse- 
 cration of a King of Italy, whose very title 
 implied a possibility that his dominion 
 might be one day extended, so as to include 
 the patrimony of Saint Peter. Perhaps, and 
 we rather believe it was the case, some 
 cause of dissatisfaction had already occur- 
 red betwixt Napoleon and Pius VII. 
 However this may be, the ministry of the 
 Archbishop of Milan was held sufficient for 
 the occasion, and it was he who blessed 
 the celebrated iron crown said to have gird- 
 ed the brows of the ancient Kings of the 
 Lombards. Buonaparte, as in the ceremony 
 at Paris, placed the ancient emblem on his 
 head with his own hands, assuming and re- 
 peating aloud the haughty motto attached 
 to it by its ancient owners, Ditu me I'a 
 donne ; Gate qiti la louche* 
 
 * God has given it me ; Let him beware who 
 <rouid touch il 
 
 The new kingdom was, in all respects, 
 modelled on the same plan with the French 
 empire. An order, called " of the Iron 
 Crown," was established on the footing of 
 that of the Legion of Honour. A large 
 French force was taken into Italian pay, and 
 Eugene Beauharnois, the son of Josephine 
 by her former marriage, who enjoyed and 
 merited the confidence of his father-in-law, 
 was created viceroy, and appointed to re- 
 present, in that character, the dignity of 
 Napoleon. 
 
 i\ap leon did not leave Italy without 
 fartlif extension of his empire. Genoa, 
 once le proud and the powerful, resigned 
 her itvJependence, and her Doge presented 
 to the Emperor a request that the Ligurian 
 Republic, laying down her separate rights, 
 should be considered in future as a part of 
 the French nation. It was but lately that 
 Buonaparte had declared to the listening 
 Senate, that the boundaries of France were 
 permanently fixed, and should not be exten- 
 ded for the comprehension of future con- 
 quests. It is farther true, that, by a solemn 
 alliance with France, Genoa had placed her 
 arsenals and harbours at the disposal of the 
 French government ; engaged to supply her 
 powerful ally with six thousand sailors, and 
 ten sail of the line, to be equipped at her 
 own expense ; and that her independence, 
 or such a nominal share of that inestimabh.- 
 privilege as was consistent with her con- 
 nexion with this formidable power, had 
 been guaranteed by France. But neither 
 the charge of inconsistency with his own 
 public declarations, nor consideration of the 
 solemn treaty acknowledging the Ligurian 
 Republic, prevented Napoleon from avail- 
 ing himself of the pretext afforded by the 
 petition of the Doge. It was convenient 
 to indulge the city and government of Ge- 
 noa in their wish to become an integral 
 part of the Great nation. Buonaparte wan 
 well aware, that, by recognising them as a 
 department of France, he was augmenting 
 the jealousy of Russia and Austria, who 
 had already assumed a threatening front to- 
 wards him; but, as he visited the splendid 
 city of the Dorias, and saw its streets of 
 marble palaces, ascending from and sur- 
 rounding its noble harbours, he was heard 
 to exclaim, that such a possession was well 
 worth the risks of war. The success of 
 one mighty plan only induced him to form 
 another; and while he was conscious that 
 he was the general object of jealousy and 
 suspicion to Europe, Napoleon could not 
 refrain from encroachments, which neces- 
 sarily increased and perpetuated such ho«« 
 tile sentiments towards him.
 
 CJuip. XUX] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 407 
 
 CHAP. ZLIZ. 
 
 Napoleon addresses a Second Letter to the King of England personally — The folly and 
 inconvenience of this Innovation discussed — Answered by the British Secretary qf 
 State to Talleyrand. — Alliance formed betwixt Russia and England. — Prussia keep* 
 tUoof, and the Emperor Alexander visits Berlin. — Austria prepares for War, and 
 marches an Army into Bavaria — Her impolicy in prematurely coinmencing Hostili- 
 ties, and in her Conduct to Bavaria. — Unsoldierlike Conduct of the Austrian Gener- 
 al, Mack. — Buonaparte is joined by the Electors of Bavaria and IVirtemburg, and 
 Uie Duke of Baden. — Skilful Manoeuvres of the French Generals, and successive lo*»- 
 e* of the Austrians. — Xapoleon violates the Neutrality of Prussia, by marching 
 through Anspach and Bareuth. — Further Losses of the Austrian Leaders, and con- 
 sequent disunion among them. — Mack is cooped up in Ulm — Issues a formidable De- 
 "ilaration on the I6th October — and surrenders on the following day. — Fatal ReauiU 
 vfthis Man's Poltroonery, want of Skill, and probable I'reachery. 
 
 BcoifAPARTE, Consul, had affected to give 
 & direct testimony of his desire to make 
 peace, by opening a communication imme- 
 diately and personally with the King of 
 Great Britain. Buonaparte, Emperor, had, 
 according to his own interpretation of his 
 proceedings, expiated by his elevation all 
 the crimes of the Revolution, and wiped 
 out for ever the memory of those illusory 
 visions of liberty and equality, which had 
 alarmed such governments as continued to 
 rest their authority on the ancient basis of 
 legitimacy. He had, in short, according to 
 his own belief, preserved in his system all 
 that the Republic had produced of good, 
 nnd done away all the memory of that 
 which was evil. 
 
 With such pretensions, to say nothing of 
 his absolute power, he hastened to claim 
 admission among the acknowledged Princes 
 of Europe ; and a second time (27th Janu- 
 ary 1805,) by a letter addressed to King 
 George lU.. personally, under the title of 
 '• Sir my Brother," endeavoured to prove, 
 by a string of truisms, — on the preference 
 of a state of peace to war, and on the recip- 
 rocal grandeur of France and England, both 
 adTanced to the highest pitch of prosperity, 
 — that the hostilities between the nations 
 ought to be ended. 
 
 \Ve have already stated the inconvenien- 
 «es which must necessarily attach to a de- 
 parture from the usual course of treating 
 between states, and to the transference of 
 the discussions usually intrusted to inferior 
 and responsible agents, to those who are 
 themselves at the head of the nation. But 
 if Napoleon had been serious in desiring 
 peace, and saw anv reason for directly com- 
 municating with the English King rather 
 than with the English government, he ought 
 to have made his proposals something more 
 fpeciiic than a string of general proposi- 
 tions, which, affirmed on the one side, and 
 undisputed on the other, left the question 
 between the belligerent powers as undecid- 
 ed as formerly. The question was, not 
 whether peace was desirable, but on what 
 terms it was offered, or could be obtained. 
 If Buonaparte, while statir.i, as he might 
 have been expected to do, that the jealous- 
 ies entertained by England of his power 
 were unjust, had agreed, that for the tran- 
 quillity of Europe, the weal of both nations 
 *nd the respect in which he held the char- 
 Kter of the monarch whom he addressed, 
 
 Malta should remain with Britain in perpe- 
 tuity, or for a stipulated period, it would 
 have given a serious turn to his overture, 
 which was at present as vague in its ten- 
 dency, as it was unusual in the form. 
 
 The answer to his letter, addressed by 
 the British Secretary of Slate to Talleyrand, 
 declared, that Britain could not make a 
 precise reply to the proposal of peace inti- 
 mated in Napoleon's letter, until she had 
 communicated with her allies on the Conti- 
 nent, and in particular with the Emperor 
 of Russia. 
 
 These expressions indicated, what wa« 
 already well known to Buonaparte, the 
 darkening of another continental storm, 
 about to be directed against his power. On 
 this occasion, Russia was the soul of the 
 confederacy. Since the death of the un- 
 fortunate Paul had placed that mighty coun- 
 trv under the government of a wise and 
 prudent Prince, whose education had been 
 sedulously cultivated, and who had profiteo 
 in an eminent degree by that advantage, her 
 counsels had been dignified, wise, and mod- 
 erate. She had offered her mediation be- 
 twixt the belligerent powers, which, accept- 
 ed willingly by Great Britain, had been 
 somewhat haughtily declined by France, 
 whose ruler was displeased, doubtless, to 
 find that power in the hands of a sharp- 
 sighted and sagacious sovereign, which, 
 when lodged in those of Paul, he might 
 reckon upon as at his own disposal, through 
 his influence over that weak and partial 
 monarch. 
 
 From this time there was coldness be- 
 twixt the French and Russian governments. 
 The murder of the Duke d'Enghien increas- 
 ed the misunderstanding. The Emperor of 
 Russia was too high-spirited to view this 
 scenB of perfidy and violence in silence ; 
 and as he not only remonstrated with Buo- 
 naparte himself, but appealed to the Ger- 
 man Diet on the violation of the territories 
 of the empire, Napoleon, unused to have his 
 actions censured and condemned by others, 
 how powerful soever, seems to have regard- 
 ed the Emperor .\lexander with personal 
 dislike. Russia and Sweden, and their 
 monarchs, became the subjects of satira 
 and ridicule in the Moniteur ; and, as eve- 
 ry one knew, such arrows were never di»- 
 charaed without Buonaparte's special au- 
 thority. The latter prince withdrew hi» 
 ambassador from Paris, and in a public note
 
 408 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLIX. 
 
 delivered to the French envoy at Stock- 
 holm, expressed his surprise at the " inde- 
 cent and ridiculous insolencies which Mon- 
 sieur Napoleon Buonaparte had permitted 
 to be inserted in the Moniteur." Gustavus 
 was, it is true, of an irregular and violent 
 temper, apt to undertake plans, to the 
 achievrtnent of which the strength of his 
 kingdom was inadequate ; yet he would 
 scarcely have expressed himself with so lit- 
 tle veneration for the most formidable au- 
 thority in Europe, had he not been confi- 
 dent in the support of the Czar, in fact, 
 on the 10th of January 1805, the King of 
 Sweden had signed a treaty of close alliance 
 with Russia ; and. as a necessary conse- 
 quence, on the 31st of October following, 
 he published a declaration of war against 
 France, in terms personally insulting to iVa- 
 jvjloon. 
 
 Russia and England, in tlie meantime, 
 h:id engaged in an alliance, the general pur- 
 jiDSP of which was to form a league upon 
 the continent, to compel the French gov- 
 «;ri)asent to consent to the re-establishment 
 • li' the balance of Europe. The objects pro- 
 iii:ii:d were briefly the independence of 
 IfoUand and Switzerland ; the evacuation 
 iif Hanover and the north of Germany by the 
 French troops ; the restoration of Piedmont 
 to the King of Sardinia ; and the complete 
 evacuation of Italy by the French. These 
 were gigantic schemes, for which suitable 
 »'lForts were to be made. Five hundred 
 Ihousnnd men were to be employed ; and 
 Britain, besides affording the assistance of 
 Ikt forces by sea and land, was to pay 
 large subsidies for supporting the armies of 
 the coalition. 
 
 Great Britain and Russia were the ani- 
 mating sources of this new coalition against 
 France ; but it was impossible, considering 
 the insular situation of the first of those 
 powers, and the great distance of the sec- 
 ond from the scene of action, that they 
 alone, without the concurrence of the Em- 
 peror of Austria and the King of Prussia, 
 should be able to assail France with any 
 prospect of making a successful impression. 
 F.very effort, therefore, was used to awaken 
 those states to a sense of the daily repeated 
 <5acroachments of Buonaparte, and of the 
 extreme danger to which they were respec- 
 tively exposed by the rapidly increasing ex- 
 tent of his empire. 
 
 But since the unsuccessful campaign of 
 the year 1792, Prussia had observed a cau- 
 tious and wary neutrality. She had seen, 
 not perhaps without secret pleasure, the 
 humiliation of Austria, her natural rival in 
 Germany, and she had taken many opportu- 
 nities to make acquisition of petty objects 
 of advantage, in consequence of the various 
 changes upon the continent ; so that she 
 seemed to lind her own interest in the suc- 
 cesses of France. It is imagined, also, that 
 Buonaparte had found some of her leading 
 statesmen not altogether inaccessible to in- 
 fluence of a different kind, by the liberal 
 exercise of which he was enabled to main- 
 tain a strong interest in the Prussian coun- 
 eils. Butthe principles of these ministers 
 ware far from being shared by the nation at 
 
 large. The encroachments on the German 
 Empire intimately concerned the safety of 
 Prussia, and the nation saw, in the decay of 
 the Austrian influence, the creation and in- 
 crease of a strong German party in favour 
 of France, to whom Bavaria, VVirtemberg, 
 and almost all the petty princes upon the 
 Rhine and its vicinity, began now to lookup 
 with the devotion and reverence which had 
 hitherto been paid to the great states of 
 .\ustria and Prussia. The subjects of the 
 Great Frederick also remembered his nu- 
 merous victories, and, proud of the army 
 which he had created and bequeathed to l.is 
 succe.ssor, felt neither apprehension nor 
 unwillingness at the thought of measuring 
 forces with the Dictator of Europe. The 
 councils, therefore, of Prussia were divid- 
 ed ; and though those which were favoura- 
 ble to France prevailed so far as to prevent 
 her immediately becoming a member of the 
 coalition, yet, by increasing her army to the 
 war establishment, and marching forces to- 
 wards the country which appeared about to 
 become the scene of hostilities, Prus.^ia 
 gave plain intimation that the continuance 
 of her neutrality depended upon the events 
 of war. 
 
 To animate her councils, if possible, with 
 a more decided spirit, Alexander visited the 
 court of Berlin in person. He was received 
 with the utmost distinction, and both the 
 King of Prussia, and his beautiful and inter- 
 esting queen, gave manifest tokens of the 
 share they took personally in the success 
 of the alliance. An oath was taken by the 
 two sovereigns at the tomb of the (ireat 
 Frederick, by which they are said to have 
 devoted themselves to the liberation of 
 Germany, — a vow which, though at a di.s- 
 tant period, they amply redeemed. Still, 
 whatever might be the personal opinions of 
 the King of Prussia, the counsels of Haug- 
 witz continued to influence his cabinet ; 
 and the Emperor withdrew from Berlin, to 
 place himself at the head of his troops, 
 while the Prussian monarch, assembling an 
 army of observation, assumed the menacing 
 air of a neutral who feels himself able to 
 turn the scale in favour of either of the bel- 
 ligerent powers at his pleasure. This was 
 not the moment for Buonaparte to take of- 
 fence at these demonstrations, as the doing 
 so might convert a doubtful friend into an 
 avowed and determined enemy. But the 
 dubious policy of Prussia was not forgotten. 
 — it was carefully treasured in Napoleon's 
 memory, as that for which she was to be 
 called to account at a future period. In the 
 meantime he had the full advantage of her 
 hesitating councils and doubtful neutrality. 
 Austria was more accessible to the ap- 
 plication of the allies. Notwithstanding 
 the disasters of the last two wars, the lo.ssof 
 a large portion of Italy, the disasters of 
 Bellegarde. Alvinzi, and Wurniser. and the 
 disastrous defeats of Marengo and Hohen- 
 linden, the extent and inilitiiry character of 
 her population, among whom a short inter- 
 val of peace was sufficient to recruit tlia 
 losses of the most bloody war. — aoove all. 
 the haughty determination of a cabinet re- 
 markable for the tenacity with which they
 
 Chap. XLIX] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 409 
 
 retain and act upon the principles which 
 they have once adopted, induced her gov- 
 ernment to accede to the alliance betwixt 
 Russia and Great Britain. She had not for- 
 gotten the successes which her generals 
 and armies had obtained when fighting by 
 the side of Suwarrow, and might hope to 
 see once more renewed the victories of 
 Trebiaand of Novi. She therefore increas- 
 ed her force in every quarter ; and while 
 the Archduke Charles took the command 
 of eighty thousand men in Italy, on which 
 country Austria always kept a wishful eye, 
 eighty thousand more, destined to act upon 
 the Lech, and it was hoped upon the Rhine, 
 were placed under the charge of General 
 Mack, whose factitious and ill-merited 
 reputation had, unfortunately for Austria, 
 remained unabated, notwithstanding his 
 miserable Neapolitan campaign in 1799. 
 The Archduke Ferdinand, a prince of great 
 courage and hopes, was the nominal com- 
 mander of the last-mentioned army, while 
 the real authority was lodged in this old and 
 empty professor of tactics. To conclude 
 this detail of preparation, the Archduke 
 John was appointed to command in the 
 Tyrol. 
 
 It remained only to try the event of ne- 
 gotiation, ere finally proceeding to military 
 extremities. It was not difficult to state 
 the causes of the war, which was now about 
 to break out anew. By the peace of Lune- 
 ville, finally concluded between Austria 
 and France, the independence of the Italian, 
 Helvetian, and Batavian republics had been 
 stipulated; but instead of such terms being 
 complied with. Napoleon, rendering him- 
 self Grand Mediator of Switzerland and 
 King of Italy, had at the same time filled 
 Holland with troops, and occupied the 
 whole three countries in such a manner, 
 as made them virtually, and almost avow- 
 edly, the absolute dependencies of France. 
 
 Complaints on these heads, warmly urg- 
 ed by Austria, were sharply answered by 
 France, who in her turn accused Austria 
 of want of confidence, and of assuming arms 
 in the midst of peace. The Emperor of 
 Russia interfered, and sent a special ambas- 
 Bador to Paris, with the purpose of coming, 
 if possible, to an amicable accommodation, 
 which might even yet preserve the tranquil- 
 lity of Europe. But ere Novosiltzoff" had 
 reached his place of destination, the union 
 of Genoa with the French empire was an- 
 nounced ; an encroachment, which, joined 
 to Napoleon's influence in Switzerland, 
 rendered the whole north-w., -stern frontier 
 of Italy completely open fo.-the march of 
 French armies, and precluded the possible 
 hope of that fine country assuming any 
 character of independence, even if. at a 
 future time, its crown should be vested 
 in a person different from the ruler of 
 France. 
 
 Upon hearing of this new usurpation, 
 made at the very time when Napoleon's 
 steps towards the aggrandisement of his 
 power were under challenge, Russia coun- 
 termanded her ambassador ; and Austria, 
 after the exchange of some more angry 
 Botes, began her daring enterprise by march- 
 VoL. I. S 
 
 ing a large army upon Bavaria. It would 
 have been better, probably, had the Empe- 
 ror Francis suspended this decisive meas- 
 ure, and continued to protract, if possible, 
 the negotiation, until the Russiaii auxiliary 
 armies, two in number, of fifty thousand 
 men each, could have advanced to the as- 
 sistance of their allies ; or until a sense of 
 the approaching crisis had removed the in- 
 decision in the Prussian councils, and in- 
 duced the King to join the coalition. Ei- 
 ther of these events, and more especially 
 both, might have given a very different 
 turn to this disastrous campaign. 
 
 But Austria was not alone to be blamed 
 for precipitating the war — she exposed her- 
 self to censure by the mode in which she 
 conducted it. Occupying Bavaria with nu- 
 merous forces, the Elector was required to 
 join the confederacy. Maximilian of Ba- 
 varia was not disinclined to unite his forces 
 with those which proposed for their object 
 the defence of Germany; but he pleaded 
 that his son, now travelling in France, 
 would be made responsible, should he join 
 the coalition. " On rny knees," he said, 
 in a letter to the Emperor Francis, " I im- 
 plore you for permission to remain neutral." 
 His reasonable request was rejected, and 
 the Elector was required to join the con- 
 federacy with a violence of urgency, both 
 unjust and impolitic. He was farther given 
 to understand, that his troops would not be 
 permitted to remain as a separate army, 
 but must be incorporated with those of 
 Austria. These were terms so harsh, as to 
 render even the precarious alliance of 
 France preferable to submission. Maxi- 
 milian, retreating from his capital of Mu- 
 nich to Wurtzburg, and withdrawing his 
 army into Franconia, again endeavoured to 
 negotiate for neutrality. It was again im- 
 periously refused ; and while the Austrian 
 government insisted that the Elector should 
 join them with his whole forces, the Aus- 
 trian troops were permitted to conduct 
 themselves as in an enemy's country ; re- 
 quisitions were raised, and other measures 
 resorted to, tending to show that the inva- 
 ders remembered the ancient grudge which 
 had so long subsisted between Bavaria and 
 Austria. It was natural that the Bavarian 
 prince, incensed at this treatment, should 
 regard the allies as enemies, ajd wait the 
 arrival of the French as liberators. 
 
 The military inanucuvrea of the Austriaa 
 army were not more able, than her conduct 
 towards the neutral state of Bavaria was 
 politic or just. There are two errors, 
 equally fptal, into which a general of mid- 
 dling or inferior talent is apt to fall, vyhen 
 about to encounter v.'ith an adversary of 
 genius. If he mixes presumption with ^is 
 weakness of parts, he will ojidnavour to 
 calculate the probable motions of his an- 
 tagonist; and having, as he supposes, as- 
 certained what thev are likely to bo, will 
 attempt to anticipate and interrupt them, 
 and thereby expose himself to some 8ign;il 
 disaster, by mistaking the principle on 
 which his enemy desic^ns to act. Or, if in- 
 timidated by the reputation of the crm- 
 mander opgosed to him, such a geoerai 's
 
 ilii 
 
 LIFE OF JS'APOLEOlN BUOiNAFARTE. 
 
 [CUap. XLIX 
 
 aptitirc.nain passive and irresolute, until 
 the motions of the enemy make his purpose 
 evident, at a time when it is probably im- 
 possible to prevent his attaining it. It was 
 left for General Mack, within the space of 
 a ver} brief campaign, to unite both char- 
 acters ; and fall first into errors of rashness 
 and presumption, afterwards into those of 
 indecision and cowardice. 
 
 It required little experience to know, 
 'hat, after two singularly unfortunate wars, 
 every precaution should have been taken 
 to bring the Austrian troops into contact 
 with their enemy, under such advantages 
 of position and numbers as might counter- 
 balance the feelings of discouragement 
 with which the bravest soldiers must be 
 affected, in consequence of a course of de- 
 feat and disaster so uniform, that there 
 seemed tn be a fate in it. In tliis point of 
 view, the Austrian armies ought to have 
 halted on their own territories, where the 
 river Inn forms a strong and excellent line 
 of defence, extending betwixt the Tyrol and 
 the Danube, into which the Inn empties it- 
 self at Passau. Supposing Mack's large 
 force concentrated, with this formidable 
 barrier in front, it seems as if the Austrians 
 might have easily maintained a defensive 
 position until the armies of Russia appear- 
 ed to support them. 
 
 If, determined upon the imperious and 
 unjust aggression on Bavaria, Mack found 
 it necessary to advance more to the west- 
 ward than the line of the Inn, in order to 
 secure the country of the Elector, the 
 Lech, in its turn, offered him a position in' 
 which he might have awaited the Russians, 
 though their junction must necessarily have 
 been protracted, in proportion to the ex- 
 tent of his advance. But it was the choice 
 of this unlucky tactician to leave Bavaria 
 also behind him, and, approaching the 
 frontiers of France, to take possession of 
 Ulra, Memoiingen, and the line of the Iller 
 and Danube, where he fortified himself 
 with great care, as if to watch the defiles 
 of the Black Forest. It can only be thought 
 by those who judged most favourably of 
 Mack's intentions, that, as the passes of 
 that celebrated forest had been frequently 
 the route by which the French invaded 
 Germany, he had concluded it nust there- 
 fore be by th-.t road, and no other, that their 
 approach on the present occasion was to be 
 expected. Knowing with whom he had to 
 contend, the Austrian general ought to have 
 suspected the direct contrary ; for Buona- 
 parte's manoauvres were nr.t more distin- 
 guished by talents, than by novelty and 
 originality of design. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that this great 
 confederacy took at unawares one who had 
 80 many reasons for being alert. The Aus- 
 trian forces, thougii they had commenced 
 the campaign so hastily, were not more 
 early read>' for the field, than were the im- 
 mense armies of the French empire. The 
 camps at Boulogne, so long assembled on 
 the shores of the Channel, were now to be 
 relieved from their inactivity ; and, serious 
 as the danger was in which their assistance 
 was required, Buonaparte was perhaps not 
 
 displeased at finding a fair pretext to with- 
 draw from the invasion to which he had 
 hastily pledged himself. Tins formidable 
 assemblage of troops, laying aside the ap- 
 pellation of the Army ofEngland, was here- 
 after distinguished by that of the Grand 
 Army. At the same time, the armies main- 
 tained in Holland, and in the North of Ger- 
 many, were put into motion. 
 
 In this remarkable campaign Buonaparte 
 commenced, for the first time, the system 
 of issuing official bulletins, for the purpose 
 of announcing to the French nation his ac- 
 counts of success, and impressing upon the 
 public mind what truths he desired them to 
 know, and at the same time, what false- 
 hoods he was desirous they should believe. 
 In every country, such official accounts will 
 naturally have a partial character, as every 
 government must desire to represent the 
 result of its measures in as favourable a 
 light as possible. Where there is a free 
 press, however, the deception cannot be car- 
 ried to extremity ; imposture cannot be at- 
 tempted, on a grand scale at least, where it 
 can be contrasted with other sources of in- 
 formation, or refuted by arguments derived 
 from evidence. But Buonaparte had the 
 unlimited and exclusive privilege of saying 
 what he pleased, without contradiction or 
 commentary, and he was liberal in using a 
 licence which could not be checked. Yet 
 his bulletins are valuable historical doc- 
 uments as well as the papers in the Moni- 
 teur, which he himself frequently composed 
 or superintended. Much correct informa- 
 tion there certainly is ; and that which is 
 less accurate is interesting, since it shows, 
 if not actual truths, at least what Napoleon 
 desired should be received as such, and 
 so throws considerable light both on his 
 schemes and on his character. 
 
 Buonaparte communicated to the Senate 
 the approach of war, by a report, dated 22d 
 September, in which, acquainting them 
 with the cause of quarrel betwixt himself 
 and the allied powers, he asked, and of 
 course obtained, two decrees ; one for or- 
 dering eighty thousand conscripts to the 
 field, another for the organization of tbe^ 
 National Guard. He then put himself at 
 the head of his forces, and proceeded to 
 achieve the destruction of Mack's army, 
 not as at Marengo by one great general 
 battle, but by a series of grand manoeuvres 
 and a train of partial actions necessary to 
 execute them, which rendered resistance 
 and retreat alilte impossible. These ma- 
 noeuvres we can only indicate, nor can they 
 perhaps bo well understood without the as- 
 sistance of the map. 
 
 While Mack expected the approach of 
 the French upon his front, Buonaparte had 
 formed the daring resolution to turn the 
 flank of the Austrian general, cut him off 
 from his country and his resources, and re- 
 duce him to the necessity, either of surren- 
 der, or o^ giving battle without a hope of 
 success. To execute this great concep- 
 tion, the French army was parted into sii 
 grand divisions. That of Bernadotte,evao» 
 uatir.jT Hanover which it had hitherto o<^ 
 cupied, and traversing Hesse, seemed as if
 
 Chap. XLIX] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 411 
 
 about to unite itself to the main army, 
 which had iiow reached the Rhine on all 
 points. But its real destination was soon 
 determined, when, turning towards the left, 
 Bernadotte ascended the river Maine, and 
 at Wurtzburg formed a junction with the 
 Elector of Bavaria, who, with the troops 
 which had followed him into Franconia, 
 immediately declared for the French cause. 
 The Elector of Wirtemberg and the Duke 
 of Baden followed the same line of politics ; 
 and thus Austria had arrayed against her 
 those very German princes, whom a mode- 
 rate conduct towards Bavaria might perhaps 
 have rendered neutral ; France, at the out- 
 set of the contest, scarce having the power 
 to compel them to join her standard. The 
 other five columns of French troops, under 
 Ney, Soult, Davoust. Vandamme, and Mar- 
 mont, crossed the Rhine at different points, 
 and entered Germany to the northward of 
 Mack's position ; while Murat, who made 
 his passage at Kehl, approaching the Black 
 Forest, manoeuvred in such a manner as to 
 confirm Mack in his belief that the main at- 
 tack was to como from that quarter. But 
 the direction of all the other divisions inti- 
 mated that it was the object of the French 
 Emperor to move round the right wing of 
 the Austrians, by keeping on the north or 
 left side of the Danube, and then by crossing 
 that river, to put themselves in the rear of 
 Mack's army, and interpose betwixt him 
 and Vienna. For this purpose, Soult who 
 had crossed at Spires, directed his march 
 upon Augsburg ; while, to interrupt the 
 communication betwixt that city and Ulm, 
 the Austrian head-quarters, Murat and Lan- 
 nes had advanced to Wertingen, where a 
 smart action took place. The .\ustrians 
 lost all their cannon, and it was said four 
 thousand men — an ominous commencement 
 of the campaign. The action would have 
 been termed a battle, had the armies been 
 on a smaller scale ; but where such great 
 numbers were engaged on either side, it 
 did not rank much above a skirmish. 
 
 With the same purpose of disquieting 
 Mack In his head-quarters, and preventing 
 him from attending to what passed on his 
 left wing and rear. Ney, who advanced from 
 Stutgard, attacked the bridges over the 
 Danube at Guntzburg. which were gallant- 
 ly but fruitlessly defended by the .\rchduke 
 Ferdinand, who had advanced from Ulm to 
 that place. The Archduke lost many guns, 
 and nearly three thousand men. 
 
 In the meantime, an operation took place, 
 which marked in the most striking manner 
 the inflexible and decisive character of Na- 
 poleon's counsels, compared with those of 
 the ancient courts of Europe. To accom- 
 plish the French plan, of interposing be- 
 twixt Mack and the supplies and reinforce- 
 ments, both Austrian and Russian, which 
 were in motion towards him, it was neces- 
 sary that all the French divisions should be 
 directed upon Nordlingen, and particularly i 
 that the division under Bernadotte, which ' 
 now included the Bavarian troops, should \ 
 accomplish a simuUareous movement in i 
 that direction. But there was no time for j 
 the last-mentioned general to get into the ! 
 
 desired position, unless by violating the 
 neutrality of Prussia, and taking the straight 
 road to the scene of operations, by march- 
 ing through the territories of Anspach and 
 Bareuth, belonging to that power. A less 
 daring general, a more timid politician than 
 Napoleon, would have hesitated to commit 
 such an aggression at such a moment. 
 Prussia, undecided in her counsels, was yet 
 known to be in point of national spirit 
 hostilely disposed towards France j and a 
 marked outrage of this nature was likely to 
 raise the indignation of the people in gene- 
 ral to a point which Haugwitz and his party 
 might be unable to stem. The junction of 
 Prussia with the allies at a moment so crit- 
 ical, might be decisive of the fate of the 
 campaign, and well if the loss ended there. 
 Yet with these consequences before his 
 eyes. Napoleon knew, on the other hand, 
 that it was not want of pretexts to go to 
 war which prevented Prussia from drawing 
 the sword, but diffidence in the power of 
 the allies to resist the arms and fortune of 
 France. If, therefore, by violating the terri- 
 tory of Prussia, he should be able to inflict 
 a sudden and terrible blow upon the allies, 
 he reckoned truly that the court of Berlin 
 would be more astounded at his success, 
 than irritated at the means which he had 
 taken to obtain it. Bernadotte received, 
 therefore, the Emperor's commands to 
 march through the territory of Anspacli and 
 Bareuth, which were only defended by 
 idle protests and reclamations of the rights 
 of neutrality. The news of this aggression 
 gave the utmost offence at the Prussian 
 court ; and the call for war, which alone 
 could right their injured honour, became 
 almost unanimous through the nation. But 
 while the general irritation, which Buona- 
 parte of course foresaw, was thus taking 
 place on the one side, the success which 
 he had achieved over the Austrians acted 
 on the other as a powerful sedative. 
 
 The spirit of enterprise had deserted 
 Mack as soon as actual hostilities com- 
 menced. With the usual fault of Austrian 
 generals, he had extended his position too 
 far, and embraced too many poi;it8 of de- 
 fence, rendering his communications diffi- 
 cult, and offering facilitioa for Buonaparte's 
 favourite tactics, of ^xttacking and de.nroy- 
 ing in detail the divisions opposed to him. 
 The defeat at Guntzburg induced Mack at 
 length to concentrate his army around 
 Ulm ; but Bavaria and Suabia were now 
 fully in possession of the French and Ba- 
 varians ; and the .\ustrian general Spangen- 
 berg. surrounded in Memmingen, was com- 
 pelled to lay down hia arms with five thou- 
 sand men. The French had crossed the 
 Rhine about the Sfith September; it was 
 now the I3th October, and they could 
 scarcely be said to have begun the campaign, 
 when they had made, on various points, not 
 fewer than twenty thousand prisoners. Na 
 poleon, however, expected that resistance 
 from Mack's despair which no other motive 
 had yet engaged him to offer; and he an- 
 nounced to his army tho prospect of a gen 
 eral action. He callcil on his soldiers to 
 revenge themselves on the Austrians for
 
 41-^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOIS BL ONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. XLIX, 
 
 the loss of the plunder of London, of which, 
 but for this new continental wai-, they 
 would have been already in possession. He 
 pointed out to them, that, as at Marengo, 
 be had cut the enemy off from his reserves 
 and resources, and he summoned them to 
 signalize Ulm by a battle, which should be 
 yet more decisive. 
 
 No general action, however, took place, 
 though several sanguinary affairs of a par- 
 tial nature were fought, and terminated uni- 
 formly to the misfortune of the Austrians. 
 In the meantime, disunion took place 
 among their generals. The Archduke Fer- 
 dinand, Schwartzenberg, afterwards des- 
 tined to play a remarkable part in this 
 changeful history, with Collowrath and 
 others, seeing themselves invested by toils 
 which were daily narrowed upon them, re- 
 solved to leave Mack and his army, and 
 cut their way into Bohemia at the head of 
 the cavalry. The Archduke executed this 
 movement with the greatest gallantry, but 
 not without considerable loss. Indeed, the 
 behaviour of the Austrian princes of the 
 blood throughout these wars was such, as 
 if Fate had meant to mitigate the disasters 
 of the Imperial House, by showing forth 
 the talents and bravery of their ancient 
 race, and proving, that altheugh Fortune 
 frowned on them, Honour remained faith- 
 ful to their line. Ferdinand, after much 
 fighting, and considerable damage done 
 and received, at length brought six thou- 
 sand cavalry in safety to Egra, in Bohe- 
 mia. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mack found himself, with 
 the remains of his army, cooped up in Ulm, 
 as Wurmser had been in Mantua. He pub- 
 lished an order of the day, which intimated 
 an intention to imitate the persevering de- 
 fence of that heroic veteran. He forbade 
 the word surrender to be used by any one 
 — he announced the arrival of two power- 
 t'ul armies, one of Austrians, one of Rus- 
 sians, whose appearance would presently 
 raise the blockade — he declared his deter- 
 mination to eat horse-flesh rather than lis- 
 ten to any terms of capitulation. This bra- 
 vado appeared on the 16th October, and the 
 conditions of surrender were subscribed by 
 Mack on the next day, having been proba- 
 bly in the course of adjustment when he was 
 making these notable professions of resist- 
 ance. 
 
 The course of military misconduct which 
 we have traced, singular as it is, might 
 be perhaps referred to folly or incapacity 
 on the part of Mack, though it must be 
 owned it was of that gross kind which ci- 
 vilians considered as equal to fraud. But 
 another circumstance remains to be told, 
 which goes far to prove that this once cel- 
 ebrated and trusted general had ingrafted 
 the traitor upon the fool. The terms of 
 capitulation, as subscribed on the 17th Oc- 
 tober, bore, that there should be an armis- 
 tice until 26th October at midnight; and 
 that if, during this space, an Austrian or 
 Russian army should appear to raise the 
 blockade, the army at Ulm should have 
 liberty to join them, with their arms and 
 baggage. This stipulation allowed the 
 
 Austrian soldiers some hope of relief, and 
 in any event it was sure to interrupt the 
 progress of Buonaparte's successes, by de- 
 taining the principal part of his army in the 
 neighbourhood of Ulm, until the term of 
 nine days was expired. But Mack con- 
 sented to a revision of these terms, a thing 
 i which would scarcely have been proposed 
 to a man of honour, and signed on the 19lh 
 a second capitulation, by which he con- 
 sented to evacuate Ulm on the day follow- 
 ing j thus abridging considerably, at a cri- 
 sis when every minute was precious, any 
 advantage, direct or contingent, which the 
 Austrians could have derived from the de- 
 lay originally stipulated. No reason haa 
 ever been alleged for this concession. 
 Buonaparte, indeed, had given Mack an 
 audience previous to the signing of this ad- 
 ditional article of capitulation, and what ar- 
 guments he then employed must be left to 
 conjecture. 
 
 The effects of Mack's poltroonery, want 
 of skill, and probable treachery, were 
 equal to the results of a great victory. 
 Artillery, baggage, and military stores, 
 were given up to an immense extent. 
 Eight general officers surrendered upon 
 parole, upwards of 20,000 men became 
 prisoners of war, and were marched into 
 France. The numbers of the prisoners 
 taken in this campaign were so great, that 
 Buonaparte distributed them amongst the 
 agriculturists, that their work in the fields 
 might make up for the absence of the con- 
 scripts, whom he had withdrawn from such 
 labour. The experiment was successful ; 
 and from the docile habits of the Germans, 
 and the good-humour of their French em- 
 ployers, this new species of servitude suit- 
 ed both parties, and went some length to 
 soften the hardships of war. For not the 
 field of battle itself, with its wounded and 
 dead, is a more distressing sight to hu- 
 manity and reflection, than prison-barracks 
 and hulks, in which hundreds and thou- 
 sands of prisoners are delivered up to idle- 
 ness, and all the evils which idleness is 
 sure to introduce, and not unfrequeijtly to 
 disease and death. Buonaparte meditated 
 introducing this alteration into the usages 
 of w;ir upon a great scale, and thought of 
 regimenting his prisoners for the purpose 
 of labouring on public works. His jurists 
 objected to the proposal as contrary to the 
 law of nations. This scruple might have 
 been avoided, by employing only volunteers, 
 which would also have prevented the ap- 
 pearance of retrograding towards those 
 barbarous times, when the captive of the 
 sword became the slave of his victor. But 
 national character would, in most instances 
 render the scheme impracticable. Thu^ 
 an attempt was afterwards made to dispose 
 of the Spanish prisoners in a similar way, 
 who in most cases made their escape, and 
 in some rose upon and destroyea their 
 task-masters. A French soldier would, in 
 like manner, make an indifferent serf to an 
 English farmer, an English prisoner a still 
 more intractable assistant to a French ag- 
 riculturist. The advantages of comparative 
 freedom would be ia both cases counter-
 
 Chap. L] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 413 
 
 balanced, by a feeling of degradation in 
 the personal subjection experienced. 
 
 When the general officers of the Austri- 
 ans were admitted to a personal interview 
 with the French Emperor, he behaved with 
 courtesy toKlenau and others of reputation, 
 •whose character had become known to him 
 in the Italian campaigns. But he com- 
 plained of the politics of their court, which 
 he said had forced him into war when he 
 knew not what he was fighting for. He 
 prophesied the fall of the House of Austria, 
 unless his brother the Emperor hastened 
 to make peace, and reprobated the policy 
 which brought the uncivilized Russians to 
 interfere in the decision of more cultivated 
 countries than their own. Mack* had the 
 imprudence to reply, that the Emperor of 
 Austria had been forced into the war by 
 
 * It will be unnecessary again to mentioo this 
 nmo's name, of which our readers are doubtless 
 lu much lited as we ourselves are. He was corn- 
 
 Russia. " Then," said Napoleon, " you no 
 longer exist as an independent power." 
 The whole conversation appeared in the 
 bulletin of the day, which also insinuates, 
 with little probability, that the Austrian of- 
 ficers and soldiers concurred generally in 
 blaming the alliance between their own 
 Emperor and Alexander. From this we in- 
 fer, that the union between those two pow- 
 erful sovereigns was, even in the moment 
 of this great success, a subject of appre- 
 hension to Buonaparte ; whose official 
 notes are sometimes expressed with gene- 
 rosity towards the vanquished, who had 
 ceased to struggle, but always with an eager 
 tone of reproach and offence towards those 
 from whom an animated resistance was to 
 be apprehended. 
 
 mittcd to a state prison, in a remote part of the 
 Austrian dominions ; and whether he died in cap- 
 tivity, or was set at liberty, we have not learned, 
 nor are we anxious to know. 
 
 CHAP. L. 
 
 Potilion of the French Armies. — Napoleon advances towards Vienna. — The Emperor 
 Francis leaves his Capital.— French enter Vienna on the iSth November. — Review of 
 the French Successes in Italy and the Tyrol. — Schemes of Napoleon to force on a gen- 
 eral Battle— He succeeds. — Battle of Austerlitz is fought on the 2d December, and the 
 combined Austro- Russian Armies completely defeated. — Interview betwixt the Empe- 
 ror of Austria and Napoleon. — The Emperor Alexander retreats towards Russia. — 
 Treaty of Presburgh signed on the 26th December — Its Conditions. — Fate of the King 
 of Sweden — and of the Two Sicilies. 
 
 The tide of war now rolled eastward, hav- 
 ing surmounted and utterly demolished the 
 formidable barrier which was opposed to it. 
 Napoleon placed himself at the head of his 
 central army. Ney, upon his right, was 
 ready to repel any descent which might be 
 made from the passes of the Tyrol. Murat, 
 on his left, watched the motions of the Aus- 
 trians> under the Archduke Ferdinand, who, 
 refusing to join in the unworthy capilula- 
 tjoa o*" Ulm, had cut their way into Bohe- 
 mia, and there united themselves with oth- 
 er forces, either stationed in that kingdom, 
 or who had, like themselves, escaped thith- 
 er. Lastly, the division of Augereau (who 
 had recently advanced from France at the 
 head of an army of reserve,) occupying part 
 of Swabia, served to protect the rear of the 
 French array against any movement from 
 the Vorarlberg ; and at the same time men- 
 aced the Prussians, in case, acting upon the 
 offence given by the violation of their terri- 
 tory, they should have crossed the Danube, 
 and engaged in the war. 
 
 If, however, the weight of Prussia had 
 been thrown into the scale with sufficient 
 energy at this decisive moment, it would 
 not probably have been any resistance which 
 Augereau co jld have offered that could have 
 saTed Napoleon from a perilous situation, 
 since the large armies of the new enemy 
 would have been placed in his rear, and, 
 of course, his communications with France 
 entirely cut off. It was a crisis of the same 
 kind which opened to Austria in the year 
 1813 ; but she was then taught wisdom by 
 experience, and availed herself of the gold- 
 
 en opportunity which Prussia now suffered 
 to escape. Buonaparte had reckoned with 
 accuracy upon the timid and fluctuating 
 councils of that power. The aggression on 
 their territories of Anspach and Bareuth 
 was learned at Berlin ; but then the news 
 of the calamity sustained by the Austrians 
 at Ulm succeeded these tidings almost in- 
 stantly, and while the first article of intel- 
 ligence seemed to urge instant hostilities, 
 the next was calculated to warn them 
 against espousing a losing cause. 
 
 Thus trusting to the vacillating and tim- 
 id policy of Prussia, Napoleon, covered on 
 his flank and rear as we have stated, con- 
 tinued to push forward with his central for- 
 ces towards Vienna, menaced repeatedly in 
 the former wars, but whose fate seemed de- 
 cided aiXer the disaster of Ulm. It is true, 
 that an army, partly consisting of Russians 
 and partly of Austrians, had pressed forward 
 to prevent that disgraceful calamity, and, 
 finding that the capitulation had taken 
 place, were now retreating step by step in 
 front of the advancing French ; but, not ex- 
 ceeding forty-five thousand men, they were 
 unable to make any effectual stand upon 
 the. Inn, the Traun, the Ens, or in any other 
 position which might have covered Vienna. 
 They halted, indeed, repeatedly, made a 
 considerable show of resistance, and fought 
 some severe though partial actions ; but 
 alwavs ended by continuing their retreat, 
 which was now directed upon Moravia, 
 where the Grand Russian army had already 
 assembled, under the command of the Em- 
 peror Alexander, and were expecting still
 
 414 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L. 
 
 further reinforcements under General Bux- 
 howden. 
 
 Some attempts were made to place Vien- 
 na in a state of defence, and the inhabi- 
 tants were called upon to rise in mass for 
 that purpose. But as the fortifications were 
 OHcient and in disrepair, an effort at resist- 
 ance could only have occasioned the de- 
 struction oftliecity. The Emperor Fran- 
 cis saw himself, therefore, under the neces- 
 sity of endeavouring to provide for the safe- 
 ty of his capital by negotiation, and for that 
 of his person by leaving it. On the 7th No- 
 vember, accordingly, he departed from Vi- 
 enna for Brunn in Moravia, in order to place 
 himself under the protection of the Russian 
 forces. 
 
 On the same day, but late in the evening, 
 Count Giulay arrived at Buonaparte's head- 
 quarters, then established at Lintz, with a 
 proposal for an armistice, previous to a gen- 
 eral negotiation for peace. Napoleon re- 
 fused to listen to the proposal unless V^e- 
 nice and the Tyrol were put into his hands. 
 These terms were too hard to be accepted. 
 Vienna, therefore, was left to its l^te ; and 
 that proud capital of the proud House of 
 Austria remained an unresisting prize to the 
 invaders. 
 
 On the 13th November the French took 
 possession of Vienna, where they obtained 
 an immense quantity of military stores, 
 arms, and clothing; a part of which spoils 
 were bestowed by Napoleon on his ally 
 the Elector of Bavaria, who now witnessed 
 the humiliation of the Imperial House 
 which had of late conducted itself so haugh- 
 tily towards him. General Clarke was 
 appointed Governor of Vienna ; and by a 
 change as rapid as if it had talten place on 
 the stage, the new Emperor of France oc- 
 cupied Schonbrunn, the splendid palace of 
 the long-descended Emperor of Austria. 
 But though such signal successes liad crown- 
 ed the commencement of the campaign, it 
 was necessary to defeat the haughty Rus- 
 sians, in whose aid the Emperor of Austria 
 still confidec, before the object of the war 
 could be considered as attained. The bro- 
 ken and shattered remnant of the Austrian 
 forces had rallied from different quarters 
 around the yet untouched army of Alexan- 
 der ; and although the latter retreated from 
 Brunn towards Olmutz, it was only with the 
 purpose of forming a junction with Bu.vhow- 
 den, before they hazarded a general battle. 
 In the meantime, the French army folio w- 
 f ing close on their back into Moravia, fought 
 ; one or two partial actions, which, thougn 
 claimed as victories, were so severely dis- 
 puted as to make Napoleon aware that he 
 had to do with a more obstinate enemy than 
 he had of late encountered in tlie dispirit- 
 ed Austrians. He waited, therefore, until 
 the result of his skilful combinations should 
 have drawn around him the greatest force he 
 could expect to collect, ere venturing upon 
 an engagement, of wiiich, if he failed to ob- 
 tain a decisive victory, the consequences 
 were likely to be fatal to him. 
 
 At this period, success had smiled on the 
 French in Italy, and in the Tyrol, as well 
 as in Germany. In the former country, it 
 
 may be remembered that the Archduke 
 Charles, at the head of seventy-five or eigh- 
 ty thousand men, exclusive of garrisons, was 
 opposed to Massena, whose forces consider- 
 ably exceeded that amount. The Prince 
 occupied the left bank of the Adige, with 
 the purpose of maintaining a defensive war- 
 fare, until he should hear news of the cam- 
 paign in Germany. Massena, hosvever, af- 
 ter some fighting, succeeded in forcing the 
 passage of the river at Verona, and in oc- 
 cupying the town of St. Michael. This was 
 on the l20lh October. Soon afterwards, the 
 account of the surrender at Ulm reached 
 the Frenchman, and determined him on a 
 general attack along the whole Austrian 
 line, which was strongly posted near Cal- 
 diero. The assault took place on the 30th 
 October, and was followed by a very despe- 
 rate action ; for the Austriant. confident in 
 the presence of their favourite commander, 
 fought with the greatest courage. They 
 were, however, defeated; and a column of 
 five thousand men, under General Hellin- 
 ger, deta,ched for the purpose of attacking 
 the French in the rear, failed in their pur- 
 pose, and, being themselves surrounded, 
 were obliged to lay down their arms. The 
 victors were joined by General St. Cyr, at 
 the head of twenty-five thousand men^ who 
 had evacuated the kingdom of Naples, up- 
 on a treaty of neutrality entered into with 
 the King, and now came to join their coun- 
 trymen in Lombardy. 
 
 In the midst of his own misfortunes, the 
 Archdu te Charles received tlie fatal intel- 
 ligence of the capitulation of Ulm, and 
 that the French were advancing in full 
 march towards Vienna. To cover his 
 brother's capital became a matter of more 
 pressing necessity than to attempt to con- 
 tinue the defence of Italy, which circum- 
 stances rendered almost hopeless. He com- 
 menced his retreat, therefore, on the night 
 of the 1st of November, determining to con- 
 tinue it through the mountain passes of 
 Carinthia, and so on into Hungary. If he 
 had marched by the Tyrol, he would have 
 found Augereau in his front, with Ney and 
 Marmont threatening his flanks, while Mas- 
 sena, before whom he was now retreating, 
 pressed on his rear. 
 The Archduke commenced this dispiriting 
 and distressing movement, over nearly the 
 same ground which he had passed while, re- 
 treating before Buonaparte himself in 1797. 
 He did not however, as on that occasion, 
 avail himself of the Tagliamento, or Palma 
 Nova. His purpose was retreat, not de- 
 fence ; and, though pursued closely by Mas- 
 sena, he halted no longer at these strong 
 posts than was necessary to protect his 
 march, and check the vivacity of the French 
 advance. He effected at length his retreat 
 upon Laybach. where he received tidings 
 from his brother the Archduke John, whose 
 situation on the Tyrol was not more agree- 
 able than his own in Italy ; and who, like 
 Charles himself, was desirous to escape into 
 the vicinity of Hungary with what forces 
 remained to him. 
 
 The distress of the Archduke John was 
 occasioned by an army of French and Bava-
 
 Chap. I,.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 415 
 
 rians, commanded by Ney, who had pene- 
 trated into the Tyrol by paths deemed im- 
 practicable ; taken the forts of Schwatz, 
 Neustadt and Inspruck itself, and placed 
 the Archduke's army in the most precarious 
 situation. Adopting a determination wor- 
 thy of his birth, the Austrian l^rince resolv- 
 ed at ail risks to eftect a junction with his 
 brother, and, though hard pressed by the 
 enemy, he accomplished his purpose. Two 
 considerable corps of Austrians, being left 
 in an insulated situation by these move- 
 ments of tlie two Princes, were obliged to 
 surrender. These were tlie divisions of 
 Jellachich, in tlie Vorarlberg, and of the 
 Prince of Rohan, in Lombardy. The whole 
 of the north of Italy, with llie Tyrol and 
 all its passes, was left to the undisturbed 
 and unresisted occupation of the French. 
 
 The army of the royal brothers had, how- 
 ever, become formidable by tlieir junction, 
 and was daily growing stronger. They 
 were in communication with Hungary, the 
 brave inhabitants of which warlike country 
 were universally rising in arms. They 
 were alsojoinedby volunteers from Croatia, 
 the Tyrol, and all those wild and mountain- 
 ous countries, which have so long supplied 
 the Austrian army with the finest light 
 troops in the world. 
 
 It might seem to counterbalance these 
 advantages, that Massena had also en.ered 
 into communications with the French irmy 
 of Germany at Clagenfurt, the capiti.l of 
 Carinthia. But having left great part o'' his 
 troops in Italy, he had for the time ceased 
 Vo be formidable to the Austrian princes, 
 who now meditated advancing on the 
 French grand army, which the audacity of 
 its leader had placed in a situation extreme- 
 ly perilous to any other than French troops 
 acting under the eye of their Emperor. 
 
 Nothing, it is true, could be more admi- 
 rably conceived and satisfactorily accom- 
 plished than the succession of grand ma- 
 noeuvres, which, distinguishing the opening 
 of the campaign, had produced the great, 
 yet cheaply-purchased success of Ulm, and 
 the capture of Vieni». Nor was the series 
 of combination less wonderful, by which, 
 clearing the Vorarlberg, the Tyrol, and the 
 north of Italy of the enemy, Napoleon had 
 placed almost all the subordinate divisions 
 of his own army at his disposal, ready to 
 assist him in the grand enterprise against 
 the Austro-Russian force. But he has been 
 considered by military critics as having 
 trusted too great a risk upon the precarious 
 event of battle, when he crossed the Dan- 
 ube and plunged into Moravia, when a de- 
 feat, or even a check, might have been at- 
 tended with the most fatal consequences. 
 The position of the .\rchdukes Charles and 
 John ; the organization of the Hungarian ' 
 insurrection, which proceerled rapidly ; the | 
 success of the .\rchduke Ferdinand, in rais- ! 
 ing a similar general levy in Bohemia, threat- ! 
 ened alarming operations in the French rear; 
 while Prussia, with the sword drawn in her i 
 hand, and the word war upon her lips, i 
 watched but the slightest waning of Buon- 
 aparte's star, to pronounce the word, and 
 to strike a blow at the same moment. 
 
 Napoleon accordingly, though he had 
 dared the risk, was perfectly sensible that 
 as he had distinguished the earlier part of 
 this campaign by some of the most bril- 
 liant manoeuvres which military history 
 records, it was now incumbent upon him- 
 without delay, to conclude it by a great 
 and decisive victory over a new and formi- 
 dable enemy. He neglected, therefore, no 
 art by which success could be ensured. In 
 the firstplace, it was necessary to determine 
 the allies to immediate battle ; for, situated 
 in tiie heart of an enemy's country, with 
 insurrection spreading wider and wider 
 around him, an immediate action was as 
 desirable on his part, as delay would have 
 been advantageous to his opponents. Some 
 attempts at negotiation were made by the 
 Austrians, to aid which Haugwitz, the Prus- 
 sian minister, made his appearance in the 
 French camp with the offer of his master's 
 mediation, but with the alternative of de- 
 claring war in case it was refused. To 
 temporize with Prussia was of the last 
 consequence, and the French Emperor 
 found a willing instrument in Haugwitz. 
 "The French and Austrian outposts,'' said 
 Napoleon, " are engaged ; it is a prelude to 
 the battle which I am about to fi^ht — Say 
 nothing of your errand to me at present — I 
 wish to remain in ignorance of it. Return 
 to Vienna, and wait the events of war." 
 Haugwitz, to use Napoleon's own expres- 
 sion, was no novice, and returned to Vienna 
 without waiting for another hint ; and doubt- 
 less the French Emperor was well pleased 
 to be rid of his presence. 
 
 Napoleon next sent Savary to the Russian 
 camp, under pretence of compliii.ent to the 
 Emperor Alexander, but in reality as a spy 
 upon that monarch and his generals. He 
 returned, having discovered, or affected to 
 discover, that the Russian sovereign was 
 surrounded by counsellors, whom their 
 youth and rank rendered confident and pre- 
 sumptuous, and who, he concluded, might 
 be easily m'sguided into some fatal act of 
 rashness. 
 
 Buonaparte acted on the hint, and upon 
 the first movement of the Austro-Russian 
 army in advance, withdrew his forces from 
 the position they had occupied. Prince 
 Dolgorucki, aid-de-camp of the Emperor 
 Alexander, was despatched by him to return 
 the compliments which had been brought 
 him. He too was, doubtless, expected to 
 use his powers of observation, but they 
 were not so acute as those of the old officer 
 of police. Buonaparte, as if the interior of 
 his camp displayed scenes which he did not 
 desire Dolgorucki to witness, met the prince 
 at the outpoai, which the soldiers were in 
 the act of hastily covering with field-works, 
 like an army which seeks to shelter con- 
 scious weakness under entrenchments. En- 
 couraged by what he thought he saw of the 
 difficulties in which the French seemed to 
 be placed, Dolgorucki entered upon politics, 
 and demanded in plain terms the cession of 
 the crown of Italy. To this proposal Buona- 
 parte listened with a patience which seemed 
 to be the effect of his present situation. In 
 short, Dolgorucki carried back to his Impe-
 
 416 
 
 LIFE OF KAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CAop. L. 
 
 perial Master the hastily conceived opin- 
 ion, that the French Emperor was retreat- 
 ing, and felt himself in a precarious pos- 
 ture. On this false ground the Russian 
 council of war determined to act. Their 
 plan was to extend their own left wing, 
 with the purpose of turning the right of the 
 French army, and taking them upon the 
 flank and rear. 
 
 It was upon the 1st December at noon 
 that the Russians commenced this move- 
 ment, by which, in confidence of success, 
 they abandoned a chain of heights where 
 they might have received an attack with 
 great advantage, descended into ground 
 more favourable to the enemy, and, finally. 
 Traced their left wing at too great a distance 
 from the centre. The French general no 
 sooner witnessed th^s rash manoeuvre, than 
 he exclaimed, •' Before to-morrow is over, 
 that army is my owr.." In the meantime, 
 withdrawing his outposts, and concentrat- 
 ing his forces, he continued to intimate a 
 conscious inferiority, which was far from 
 existing. 
 
 The two armies seem to have been very 
 nearly of the same strength. For though 
 the bulletin, to enhance the victory, makes 
 the opposite army amount to 100,000 men, 
 yet there were not actually above 50,000 
 Russians, and about 25,000 Austrians, in the 
 field of battle. The French army might be 
 about the same force. But they were com- 
 manded by Napoleon, and the Russians by 
 Koutousoff; a veteran soldier indeed, full of 
 bravery and patriotism, and accustomed to 
 war as it was waged against the Turks ; but 
 deficient in general talent, as well as in 
 the alertness of mind necessary to penetrate 
 into and oppose the designs of his adversa- 
 ry, and, as is not unusual, obstinate in pro- 
 portion to the narrowness of his understand- 
 ing, and the prejudices of his education. 
 
 Meanwhile Buonaparte, possessed of his 
 enemy's plan by the demonstrations of the 
 preceding day, passed the night in making 
 his arrangements. He visited the posts in 
 person, and apparently desired to maintain 
 an incognito which was soon discovered. 
 As soon as the person of the Emperor was 
 recognized, the soldiers remembered that 
 next day (2d December) was the anniversa- 
 ry of his coronation. Bunches of lighted 
 hay, placed on the end of poles, made an 
 extempore illumination, while the troops, 
 with loud acclamations, protested they 
 would present him on the following day 
 with a bouquet becoming the occasion; and 
 an old grenadier, approaching his person, 
 swore that the Emperor should only have 
 to combat with his eyes, and that, without 
 his exposing his person, the whole colours 
 and artillery of the Russian army should be 
 brought to him to celebrate the festival of 
 the morrow. 
 
 In the proclamation which Napoleon, ac- 
 cording to his custom, issued to the army, 
 ne promises that he will keep his person 
 out of the reach of fire ; thus showing the 
 full confidence, that tiie assurance of his 
 personal safety would be considered as great 
 an encouragement to the troops, as the us- 
 oal protestation of sovereigns and leaders, 
 
 that they will be in the front, and share the 
 dangers of the day. This is perhaps the 
 strongest proof possible of the complete 
 and confidential understanding which sub- 
 sisted between Napoleon and his soldiers. 
 Yet there have not been wanting those, who 
 have thrown the imputation of cowardice 
 on the victor of a hundred battles, whose 
 reputation was so well established amongst 
 those troops who must be the best judges, 
 that his attention to the safety of his per- 
 son was requested by them, and granted by 
 him, as a favour to his army. 
 
 The battle of Austerlitz, fought against aa 
 enemy of great valour but slender experi- 
 ence, was not of a very complicated charac- 
 ter. The Russians, we have seen, were ex- 
 tending their line to surround the French 
 flank. Marshal Davoust, with a division of 
 infantry, and another of dragoons, was plac- 
 ed behind the convent of Raygern, to op- 
 pose the forces destined for this manoeuvre, 
 at the moment when they should conceive 
 the point carried. Soult commanded the 
 right wing ; Lannes conducted the left, 
 which last rested upon a fortified position 
 called Santon, defended by twenty pieces 
 of cannon. Bernadotte led the centre, 
 where Murat and all the French cavalry 
 were stationed. Ten battalions of the Im- 
 perial Guard, with ten of Oudinot's division, 
 were kept in reserve in the rear of the line, 
 under the eye of Napoleon himself, who 
 destined them, with forty field-pieces, to 
 act wherever the fate of battle should ren- 
 der their services most necessary. Such 
 were the preparations for this decisive bat- 
 tle, where three Emperors, each at the head 
 of his own army, strove to decide the desti- 
 nies of Europe. The sun rose with un- 
 clouded brilliancy ; it was that sun of Aus- 
 terlitz which Napoleon upon so many suc- 
 ceeding occasions apostrophised, and re- 
 called to the minds of his soldiers. As its 
 first beams rose above the horizon, Buoaa- 
 parte appeared in front of the army, sur- 
 rounded by his marshals, to whom he issu- 
 ed his last directions, and they departed at 
 full gallop to their different posts. 
 
 The column detached from the left of the 
 Austro-Russian army was engaged in a false 
 manoeuvre, and it was ill executed. The 
 intervals between the regiments of which it 
 consisted were suffered to become irregular, 
 and the communications between this at- 
 tacking column itself and the main body 
 were not maintained with sufficient accura- 
 cy. When the Russians thought themselves 
 on the point of turning the right flank of 
 the French, they found themselves sudden- 
 ly, and at unawares, engaged with Davoust's 
 division, of whose position behind the con- 
 vent of Raygern, they had not been aware. 
 At the same time, Soult, at the head of the 
 French right wing, rushed forward upon the 
 interval between the Austro-Russian cen- 
 tre and left, caused by the march of the lat- 
 ter upon Raygern, and, completely inter- 
 secting their line, severed the left wing en- 
 tirely from the centre. 
 
 The Emperor of Russia perceived the dan- 
 ger, and directed a desperate attempt to be 
 made upon Soult's division by the Russian
 
 Chap. L] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOiX BUONAPARTE. 
 
 417 
 
 Guards, for the purpose of restoring the 
 communication with his left. The French 
 infantry were staggered by this charge, and 
 one regiment completely routed. But it 
 was in such a crisis that the genius of Buo- 
 naparte triumphed. Be«sieres had orders to 
 advance with the Imperial Guard, while the 
 Russians were disordered with their own 
 success. The encounter was desperate, 
 and the Russians displayed the utmost val- 
 our before they at length gave way to the 
 discipline and steadiness of Buonaparte's 
 veterans. Their artillery and standards 
 were lost, and Prince Constantine, the Em- 
 peror's brother, who fought gallantly at their 
 nead, was only saved by the speed of his 
 horse. 
 
 The centre of the French army now ad- 
 vanced to complete the victory, and the cav- 
 alry of Murat made repeated charges with 
 such success, that the Emperors of Russia 
 and Austria, from the heights of Austerlitz, 
 beheld their centre and left completely de- 
 feated. The fate of the right wing could no 
 longer be protracted, and it was disastrous 
 even bej-ond the usual consequences of de- 
 feat. They had been actively pressed dur- 
 ing the whole battle by Laimes. but now the 
 troops on their left being routed, they were 
 surrounded on all sides, and, unable to make 
 longer resistance, were forced down into a 
 hollow, where they were exposed to the fire 
 of twenty pieces of cannon. Many attempt- 
 ed to escape across a lake, which was par- 
 tially frozen ; but the ice proving too weak 
 gave way under them, or was broken by the 
 hostile cannonade. This fatality renewed, 
 according to Buonaparte's description, the 
 appearance of the battle with the Turks at 
 Aboukir, where so many thousand men, 
 flying from the battle, perished by drowning. 
 It was with the greatest difficulty, that, ral- 
 lying the remains of their routed forces 
 around them, and retiring in the best man- 
 ner they could, the Emperors effected their 
 personal retreat. Only the devoted bravery 
 of the Russians, and the loyalty of the Aus- 
 trian cavalry, who charged repeatedly to 
 protect the retrograde movement, could 
 nave rendered it possible, since the sole 
 passage to the rear lay along a causeway, 
 extending between two lakes. The retreat 
 was, however, accomplished, and the Em- 
 perors escaped without sustaining the loss 
 in the pursuit which might have been ex- 
 pected. But in the battle, at least 20,000 
 men had remained, killed, wounded, and 
 prisoners 5 and forty standards, with a great 
 proportion of the hostile artillery, were the | 
 ti-ophies of Napoleon, whose army had thus , 
 amply redeemed their pledge. It was, | 
 however, at a high rate, that they had pur- | 
 chased the promised bouquet. Their own 1 
 ranks had lost probably .5000 men, tliough I 
 Ihe bulletin diminishes the numbers to two ! 
 thousand five hundred. ! 
 
 The Austrian Emperor considered his ' 
 last hope of successful opposititm to Napo- 
 leon as extinguished by this defeat, and ' 
 conceived, therefore, th'it he had nothing 
 remaining save to throw himself upon the 
 discretion of the victor. There were, in- ' 
 4eed some, who accused bis councils of | 
 Vol. L S 2 
 
 pusillanimity. It was said, that the levies 
 of Prince Charles in Hungary, and of Prince 
 Ferdinand in Bohemia, were in great for 
 wardness — that the Emperors had still a 
 considerable army under their own com- 
 mand — and that Prussia, already sufficient- 
 ly disposed for war, would certainly not 
 permit Austria to be totally overwhelmed. 
 But it ought to be considered, on the other 
 hand, that the new levies, however useful 
 in a partisan war, could not be expected to 
 redeem the loss of such a battle as Auster- 
 litz — that they were watched by French 
 troops, which, though inferior in number, 
 were greatly more formidable in discipline 
 — and that, as for Prussia, it was scarce 
 rational to expect that she would interfere 
 by arms, to save, in the hour of distress, 
 those to whom she had given no assistance, 
 when such would probably have been de- 
 cisive of the contest, and that in favour of 
 the allies. 
 
 The influence of the victory on the Prus- 
 sian councils was indeed soon made evident; 
 for Count Haugwitz, who had been dismiss- 
 ed to Vienna till the battle should take 
 place, now returned to Buonaparte's head- 
 qu.orters, having changed the original mes- 
 sage of defiance of which he was the bear- 
 er, into a handsome compliment to Napole- 
 on upon his victory. The answer of Napo- 
 leon intimated his full sense of the duplici- 
 ty of Prussia. — '•' This," he said, " is a com- 
 pliment designed for others, but Fortune 
 has transferred the address to me.'' It 
 was, however, still necessarv to concili- 
 ate a power, which had an hundred and 
 fifty thousand men in the field ; and a pn 
 vate treaty with Haugwitz assigned the 
 Electorate of Hanover to Prussia, in ex- 
 change for Anspach, or rather as the price 
 of her neutrality at this important crisis. 
 Thus all hopes of Prussian interference 
 being over, the Emperor Francis must be 
 held justified in yielding to necessity, and 
 endeavouring to secure the best terms 
 which could be yet obtained, by submitting 
 at discretion. His ally, Alexander, refused 
 indeed to be concerned in a negotiation, 
 which in the circumstances could not fail 
 to be humiliating. 
 
 A personal interview took place betwixt 
 the Emperor of Austria and Napoleon, to 
 whose camp Francis resorted almost ic the 
 guise of a suppliant. The defeated Prince 
 is represented as having thrown the blames 
 of the war upon the English. " They are 
 a set of merchants," he said, " who would 
 set the continent on fire, in order to secure 
 to themselves the commerce of the world.'' 
 The argument was not very logical, but the 
 good Prince in whose mouth it is placed, is 
 not to be condemned for holding at such 
 a moment the language which might please 
 the victor. When Buonaparte welcomed 
 him to his military hut, and said it was iJ»« 
 only palace he had inhabited for nearly two 
 months, the Austrian answered with a 
 smile, " You have turned your residence, 
 then, to such good account, that you ought 
 to be content with it." 
 
 The Emperor of Austria, having satisfied 
 himself that he would be admitted to terms
 
 418 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CA<qj. L. 
 
 of greater or less severity, next stipulated 
 &r that which Alexander had disdained to 
 request in his own person — the unmolested 
 retreat of the Russians to their own coun- 
 try. 
 
 "The Russian army is surrounded," said 
 Napoleon ; " not a man can escape me. 
 But I wish to oblige their Emperor, and 
 will stop the march of my columns, if your 
 Majesty promises me that these Russians 
 ehail evacuate Germany, and the Austrian 
 and Prussian parts of Poland." 
 
 " It is the purpose of the Emperor Alex- 
 ander to do so." 
 
 The arrangement was communicated by 
 Savary to the Russian Emperor, who ac- 
 quiesced in the proposal to return with his 
 army to Russia by regular marches. No 
 other engagement was required of Alexan- 
 der than his word ; and the respectful man- 
 ner in which he is mentioned in the bulle- 
 tins, indicates Buonaparte's desire to cul- 
 tivate a good understanding with this pow- 
 erful and spirited young monarch. On the 
 other hand, Napoleon has not failed to place 
 in the Czar's mouth such compliments to 
 himself as the following : — " Tell your mas- 
 ter," said he to Savary, '•' that he did mir- 
 acles yesterday — that this bloody day has 
 augmented my respect for him — He is the 
 predestined of Heaven — it will take a hun- 
 dred years ere my army equals that of 
 France." Savary is then stated to have 
 found Alexander, despite of his reverse of 
 fortune, a man of heart and head. He en- 
 tered into details of the battle. 
 
 " You were inferior to us on the whole," 
 he said, " yet we found you superior on 
 every point of action." 
 
 "That," replied Savary, ••'arises from 
 warlike experience, the fruit of sixteen 
 years of glory. This is the fortieth battle 
 which the Emperor has fought." 
 
 " He is a great soldier," said Alexander ; 
 " I do, not pretend to compare myself with 
 him — this is the first time I have been un- 
 der fire. But it is enough. 1 came hither 
 to the assistance of the Emperor of Austria 
 — he has no farther occasion for my services 
 — I return to my capital." 
 
 Accordingly he commenced his march 
 towards Russia, in pursuance of the terms 
 agreed upon. The Russian arms had been 
 unfortunate ; but the behaviour of their 
 youthful Emperor, and the marked defer- 
 ence shown towards him by Buonaparte, 
 made a most favourable impression upon 
 Europe at large. 
 
 The Austrian Monarch, left to his fate, 
 obtained from Buonaparte ai\ armistice — 
 a small part of the price was imposed in 
 the shape of a military contribution of an 
 hundred millions of francs, to be raised in 
 the territories occupied by the French ar- 
 mies. The cessation of hostilities was to 
 endure while Talleyrand on the one side, 
 and Prince John of Lichtensteia on the 
 other, adjusted the terms of a general paci- 
 fication. Buonaparte failed not to propiti- 
 ate the Austrian negotiator by the most ex- 
 travagant praises in his bulletins, and has 
 represented the Emperor of Austria as ask- 
 ing, " Why, posseasiag men of such dis- 
 
 tinguished talent, should the affairs of my 
 cabinet be committed to knaves andfoois ?" 
 Of this question we can only say, that if 
 really asked by Francis, which we doubt, 
 he was himself the only person by whom it 
 could have been ajjswered. 
 
 The compliments to the Prince John of 
 Lichtenstein, were intended to propitiate 
 the public in favour of the treaty of peace, 
 negotiated by a man of such talents. Some 
 of his countrymen, on the other hand, ac- 
 cused him of selfish precipitation in the 
 treaty, for the purpose of removing the 
 scene of war from the neighbourhood of his 
 own family estates. But what could the 
 wisdom of' the ablest negotiator, or the 
 firmness of the most stubborn patriot, have 
 availed, when France was to dictate terras, 
 and Austria to receive them ? The treaties 
 of Campo Formio and Luneville, though 
 granted to Austria by Napoleon in the hour 
 of victory, were highly advantageous com- 
 pared to that of Presburgh, which was 
 signed on the 26th of December 1805, about 
 a fortnight after to battle of Austerlitz. By 
 this negotiation, Francis ceded to Bavaria 
 the oldest possession of his house, the 
 mountains of Tyrol and of the Vorarlberg, 
 filled with the best, bravest, and most at- 
 tached of his subjects, and which, by their 
 geographical situation, had hitherto given 
 Austria influence at once in Germany and 
 Italy. Venice, Austria's most recent pos- 
 session, and which had not been very hon- 
 ourably obtained, was also yielded up and 
 added to the kingdom of Italy. She was 
 again reduced to the solitary sea-port of 
 Trieste, in the Adriatic. 
 
 By the same treaty, the Germanic allies 
 of Buonaparte were to be remunerated. 
 Wirtemberg, as well as Bavaria, received 
 large additions at the expense of Austria 
 and of the other princes of the Empire, and 
 Francis consented that both the Electors 
 should be promoted to the kingly dignity, 
 in reward of their adherence to the French 
 cause. Other provisions there were, equal- 
 ly inconsistent with the immunities of the 
 Germanic body, for which scarcely a shad- 
 ow of respect was retained, save by an 
 illusory clause, or species of protest, by 
 which Austria declared, that all the stipu- 
 lations to which she consented were under 
 reservation of the rights of the Empire. By 
 the treaty of Presburgh, Austria is said to 
 have lost upwards of 20,000 square miles o( 
 territory, two millions and a half of subjects, 
 and a revenue to the amount of ten mil- 
 lions and a half of florins. And this mo- 
 mentous surrender was made in consequence 
 of one unfortunate campaign, which lasted 
 but six months, and was distiugnished by 
 only one general action. 
 
 There were two episodes in this war, of-- 
 little consequence in themselves, but im- 
 portant considered with reference to the 
 alterations they produced in two of the 
 ancient kingdoms of Europe, which they 
 proved the proximate cause of re-model- 
 ling according to the new form of goverii- 
 mont which had been introduced by Buon- 
 aparte, and sanctioned by the exaoople of 
 France.
 
 Chap. L.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 419 
 
 The King of Sweden had been an ardent 
 and enthusiastic member of the Anti-gaili- 
 can league. He was brave, enterprising, 
 and chivalrous, and ambitious to play the 
 part of his namesake and progenitor, CJus- 
 tavus Adolphus, orhis predecessor, Charles 
 XIL ; without, however, considering, that 
 since the time of these princes, and partly 
 in consequence of t'.jeir wars and extensive 
 undertakings, Sweden had sunk into a sec- 
 ondary rank in the great European family ; 
 and without reflecting, that when great en- 
 terprises are attempted without adequate 
 means to carry them through, valour be- 
 comes Quixotic, and generosity ludicrous. 
 He had engaged to join in a combined ef- 
 fort for the purpose of freeing Hauover, 
 and the northern parts of Germany, from 
 the French, by means oi an army of Eng- 
 lish, Russians', and Swedes. Had Prussia 
 acceded to the confederacy, this might 
 have been easily accomplished ; especially 
 88 Saxony, Hesse, and Brunswick, would, 
 under her encouragement, have willingly 
 have joined in the war. -Xay, even without 
 the accession of Prussia, a diversion in the 
 North, ably conducted and strongly sup- 
 ported, might have at least found Berna- 
 doite sufRcient work in Hanover, and pre- 
 vented him from materially contributing, by 
 his march to the Danube, to the disasters 
 of the Austrian army at Ulm. But by some 
 of those delays and misunderstandings, 
 which are so apt to disappoint the objects 
 of a coalition, and disconcert enterprises 
 attempted by troops of different nations, the 
 forces designed for the north of Europe did 
 not assemble until the middle of November, 
 and then only in strength sufficient to un- 
 dertake the siege of the Hanoverian for- 
 tress of Hamelen. in which Bernadotte had 
 left a strong garrison. The enterprise, too 
 tardy in its commencement, was soon brok- 
 en off by the news of the battle of Auster- 
 litz and its consequences, and, being finally 
 abandoned, the unfortunate King of Sweden 
 returned to his own dominions, where his 
 subjects received with unwillingness and 
 terror a prince, who on many accounts had 
 incurred the fatal and persevering resent- 
 ment of Buonaparte. Machinations began 
 presently to be agitated for removing him 
 from the kingdom, as or.e with whom Na- 
 poleon could never be reconciled, and 
 averting from Sweden, by such sacrifice, 
 the punishment which must otherwise fall 
 on the country, as well as on the kins. 
 
 While the trifling attempt against Hame- 
 len, joined to other circumstances, was tlius 
 preparing the downfall of the ancient dy- 
 nasty of Sweden, a descent made bv the I 
 Russians and English on the Neapolitan ' 
 territories, afforded a good apology to Buon- I 
 aparte for depriving the King of the two 
 Sicilies of his dominions, so far as they lay 
 open to the pi.wer of France. Governed 
 entirely by the influence of the Queen, the j 
 policy of Naples had been of a fickle and ] 
 insincere character. Repeatedly saved j 
 from the greatest hazard of dethronement, j 
 the king or his royal consort had never | 
 omitted an opportunity to resume arms i 
 •gainst Frsuice, under the conviction, per- ' 
 
 haps, that their ruin would no longer be 
 j deferred than whilst political considerations 
 I induced the French Emperor to permit 
 ! their possession of their power. The last 
 i interference in their behalf had been at the 
 instance of the Emperor Paul. After this 
 period we have seen that their Italian do- 
 minions were occupied by French troops, 
 who held Otranto, and other places in Ca- 
 labria, as pledges (so they pretended) for 
 the restoration of Malta. 
 
 But upon the breaking out of the war of 
 1805, it was agreed, by a convention enter- 
 ed into at Paris 21st of September, and rat- 
 ified by the King of Naples on the 8th of 
 October, that the French should withdraw 
 their forces from the places which they oc- 
 cupied in the Neapolitan territories, and 
 the King should observe a strict neutrality. 
 Neither of the contracting parties was quite 
 sincere. The French troops, which were 
 commanded by St. Cyr, were, as we have 
 seen, withdrawn from Naples, for the pur- 
 pose of reinforcing Massena, in the begin- 
 ning of the campaign of Austerlitz. Their 
 absence would probably have e-idured no 
 longer than the necessity which called them 
 away. But the court of Naples was equal- 
 ly insincere ; for no sooner had St. Cyr left 
 the Neapolitan territories to proceed north- 
 ward, than the King, animated by the op- 
 portunity which his departure afforded, once 
 more raised his forces to the war establish- 
 ment, and received with open arms ao 
 armv, consisting of 12.0(X) Russian troops 
 from Corfu, and 8000 British from Malta, 
 who disembarked in his dominions. 
 
 Had this armament occupied Venice at 
 the commencement of the war, they might 
 have materially assisted in the campaign of 
 the Archduke Charles against Massena. 
 The sending them in November to the ex- 
 tremity of the Italian peninsula, only serv- 
 ed to seal the fate of Ferdinand the Fourth. 
 On receiving the news of the armistice at 
 Austerlitz, the Russians and the British re- 
 embarked, and not long after their depart- 
 ure a large French army, commanded by 
 Joseph Buonaparte, approached once more 
 to enforce the doom passed against the 
 royal family of Naples, that they should 
 cease to reign. The King and Queen fled 
 from the storm which they had provoked. 
 Their son, the Prince Royal, in whose fa- 
 vour they had abdicated, only made use of 
 his temporary authority to surrender Gaeta, 
 Pescara, and Naples itself, with its castles, 
 to the French general. In Calabria, how- 
 ever, whose wild inhabitants were totally 
 disinclined to the French yoke, Count Ro- 
 ger de Damns and the Duke of Calabria at- 
 tempted to make a stand. But their hasty 
 and undisciplined levies were easily defeat- 
 by the French under general Regnier, and, 
 nominally at least, almost the whole Nea- 
 politan kingdom was subjected to the pow- 
 er of Joseph Buonaparte. 
 
 One single trait of gallantry illuminated 
 the scene of universal pusillanimity. The 
 Prince of Hesse Philipsthal, who defended 
 the strong fortress of Gaeta in name of Fer- 
 dinand IV., refused to surrender it in ternw 
 of the capitulation. "Tell your general/'
 
 420 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. U. 
 
 said he, in reply to the French summons, 
 " that Gaeta is not Ulm, nor the Prince of 
 Hesse General Mack '." The place was 
 defended with a gallantry corresponding to 
 these expressions, nor was it surrendered 
 until the 17th of July 1806 after a long siege, 
 in which the brave governor was wounded. 
 The heroic young prince only appeared on 
 
 the public scene to be withdrawn from it 
 by an untimely death, which has been as- 
 cribed to poison. His valour, however 
 honourable to himself, was of little use to 
 the royal family of Naples, whose deposi- 
 tion was determined on by Buonaparte, in 
 order to place upon the throne one of his 
 own family. 
 
 CHAP. LI. 
 
 Relative situations of Prance and England. — Hostilities commenced with Spain, by the 
 Stoppage, by Commodore Moore, of four Spanish Galleons, when three of their Es- 
 cort were taken, and one blew up. — Napoleon's Plan of Invasion stated and discussed. 
 — John Clerk of Eldin's great system of Breaking the Line, explained — Whether it 
 could have been advantageously used by France ? — The French Admiral, Villeneuve, 
 forms a junction with the Spanish Fleet under Gravina — Attacked and defeated by 
 Sir Robert Calder, with the Loss of two Ships of the Line. — Nelson appointed to the 
 Command in the Mediterranean. — Battle of Trafalgar /oitgr/ji on the 2lst Octo- 
 ber 1805. — Particulars of the Force on each Side, and Details of the Battle. — Death 
 of Nelson. — Behaviour of Napoleon on learning the Intelligence of this Signal De- 
 feat. — Villeneuve commits Suicide. — Address of Buonaparte to the Legislative Body. 
 — Statement of Monsieur de Champagny on the Internal Improvements of France. — 
 Elevation of Napoleon's Brothers, Louis and Joseph, to the Thrones of Holland and 
 Naples. — Principality of Lucca conferred on Eliza, the eldest Sister of Buonaparte, 
 and that of Guastalla on Pauline, the youngest. — Other Alliances made by his Fami- 
 ly. — Reflections. — Napoleon appoints a new Hereditary Nobility. — The Policy of this 
 Measure considered. — Converts from the old Noblesse anxiously sought for and libe- 
 rally rewarded. — Confederation of the Rhine established, and Napoleon appointed 
 Protector. — The Emperor Francis lays aside the Imperial Crown of Germany, retain- 
 ing only the Title of Emperor of Austria. — Vacillating and Impolitic Conduct of 
 Prussia. 
 
 The triumphs of Napoleon had been great- 
 er at this period of his reign, than had ever 
 before been recorded in history as achiev- 
 ed by a single man. Yet even these, like 
 everything earthly, had their limit. Fate, 
 while she seemed to assign him complete 
 domination over the land, had vested in 
 other hands the empire of the seas ; and it 
 frequently happened, that when his victori- 
 ous eagles were flying their highest pitch 
 upon the continent, some conspicuous naval 
 disaster warned the nations, that there was 
 another element, where France had a rival 
 and a superior. 
 
 It is true, that the repeated success of 
 England, resembling almost that of the 
 huntsman over his game, had so much di- 
 minished the French navy, and rendered so 
 cautious such seamen as France had re- 
 maining, that the former country, unable to 
 get opportunities of assailing the French 
 vessels, was induced to have recourse to 
 strange, and, as it proved, ineffectual 
 meano of carrying on hostilities. Such 
 was the attempt at destroying the harbour 
 of Boulogne, by sinking in the roads ships 
 loaded with stones, and another scheme to 
 blowup the French ships, by means of de- 
 tonating machines to be affixed to them 
 under water. The one, we believe, only 
 furnished the inhabitants of Boulogne with 
 asupply of useful building stone ; the other, 
 from the raft on which the machines were 
 conveyed, was much ridiculed under the 
 name of the catamaran expedition.* 
 
 •Those implements of destructirn were afler- 
 varda nawl againat tho British oruisexs in Ameti- 
 
 Buonaparte, meanwhile, never lost sight 
 of that combination of naval manoeuvres, 
 through means of which, by the time that 
 the subjugation of Austria should permit 
 the Grand Army to resume its destination 
 for England, he hoped to assemble in the 
 Channel such a superior fleet, as might 
 waft his troops in safety to the devoted 
 shores of Britain. The unbounded inflo- 
 ence which he exercised over the court of 
 Spain, seemed likely to facilitate this diffi- 
 cult enterprise. Yet, as from Spain the 
 French Emperor derived large supplies of 
 treasure, it would have been convenient for 
 him, that, for a time at least, she should 
 retain the mask of neutrality, while, in 
 fact, she was contributing to sevef France, 
 and prejudice England, more effectually 
 than if she had been in a state of avowed 
 hostility with the latter power. 
 
 The British government determined to 
 bring this state of things to a decided point 
 by stopping four galleons, or vessels loaded 
 with treasure, proceeding under an escort 
 from the South Sea, and destined for Cadi*. 
 The purpose of the English was only to 
 detain these ships, as a pledge for the sin- 
 cerity of the government of Spain, in obserr- 
 ing a more strict neutrality than hitherto. 
 But unhappily the British force under Corn- 
 
 ea, and were judged formidable. But such despe- 
 rate courage is necessary to attach the machine to 
 the destined vessel, ami the fiito of the engineer, if 
 discovered, is so certainly fatal, that, like fiie- 
 shipg, petards, and similar inventions, liable to ttM 
 same inconvenience, they do not appear f *--'- "- 
 got into general use.
 
 Chap. LI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 421 
 
 modore Moore, amounted only to four 
 frigates. Spanish honour rendered the ad- 
 miral unwilling to strike the national flag 
 to an equal strength, and an action ensued, 
 in which three of the Spanish vessels were 
 taken, and one unfortunately blew up ; an 
 accident greatly to be regretted. Mr. 
 Southey observes, with his usual sound 
 sense and humanity, " Had a stronger squad- 
 ron been sent, (against the Spaniards,) this 
 deplorable catastrophe might have been 
 saved — a catastrophe which excited not 
 more indignation in Spain, than it did grief 
 in those who were its unwilling instruments, 
 in the British i>eople, and in the British 
 government." 
 
 This action took place on the 5th of Oc- 
 tober 1804 ; and as hostilities were of course 
 immediately commenced betwixt Spain and 
 Britain, Buonaparte, losing the advantages, 
 he derived from the neutrality of the former 
 power, had now only to use the naval and 
 military means which she afforded for the 
 advancement of his own purposes. The 
 Court of Spain devoted them to his service, 
 with a passive complaisance of which we 
 shall hereafter see the reward. 
 
 Napoleon persisted to the last in asserting 
 that he saw clearly the means of utterly 
 destroying the English superiority at sea. 
 This he proposed to achieve by evading 
 the blockades of the several ports of France 
 and Spain, which, while weather permitted, 
 were each hermetically sealed by the pres- 
 ence of a British squadron, and by finally 
 assembling in the Channel that overwhelm- 
 ing force, which, according to his state- 
 ment, was to reduce England to a depend- 
 ency on France, as complete as that of the 
 Isle of Oleron. But men of the greatest 
 talents must necessarily be liable to error, 
 when they apply the principles of a science 
 with which they are well acquainted upon 
 one element, to the operations which are 
 to be carried on by means of another. It 
 is evident that he erred, when calculating 
 his maritime combinations, in not suffi- 
 ciently considering two xnost material dif- 
 ferences betwixt them, and those which 
 had exalted his glory upon land. 
 
 In the first place, as a landsman, Napoleoin 
 did not make sufficient allowance for the 
 action of contrary winds and waves ; as in- 
 deed it was perhaps his fault, even in land 
 operations, where their influence is less 
 essential, to admit too little consequence to 
 the opposition of the elements. He com- 
 plained, when at St. Helena, that he could 
 never get a seaman sufficiently emancipated 
 from the technicality of his profession, to 
 execute or enter into any of his schemes. 
 " If I proposed," he said, '' any new idea, 
 I had Gantheaume and all the marine de- 
 partment to contend with — Sir, that is im- 
 possible — Sir, the winds — the calms — the 
 currents, will not permit it ; and thus I was 
 stopped short." We believe little dread 
 could have been entertained of the result 
 of naval combinations, in which the influ- 
 4nce of the winds and Vr-aves were not pre- 
 viously and accurately calculated ; and 
 that British seamen would have desired 
 •othiog more ardently, than that their ene- 
 
 mies should have acted upon a system iu 
 which these casualties were neglected, 
 even if that system had been derived from 
 the genius of Napoleon. 
 
 But, secondly, there was this great dif- 
 ference betwixt the land and the sea ser- 
 vice, to which (the vehemence of his wish- 
 es, doubtless, overpowering his judgment) 
 Buonaparte did not give sufficient weight. 
 Upon land, the excellence of the French 
 troops, their discipline, and the enthusi'- 
 asm arising from uninterrupted success^ 
 might be safely reckoned upon as likely to 
 bear down any obstacle which they might 
 unexpectedly meet with, in the executioa 
 of the movements which they were com- 
 manded to undertake. The situation of the 
 French seamen was diametrically the con- 
 trary. Their only chance of safely consist- 
 ed in their being able to elude a rencontre 
 with a British squadron, even of very infe- 
 rior force. So much was this the case at 
 the period of which we treat, that Linois, 
 their admiral in the East Indian seas, com- 
 manding an eighty-four-gun ship, and at the 
 head of a considerable squadron of ships of 
 war, was baffled and beaten off in the Straits 
 of Malacca by a squadron of merchant ves- 
 sels belonging to the British East India 
 Company, although built of course for traf- 
 fic, and not for war, and, as usual in war 
 time, very imperfectly manned. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the great and es- 
 sential difference which we have pointed 
 out between the French navy and their 
 land forces, and that the former was even 
 more inferior to that of England than the 
 continental troops in general were to the 
 F'rench soldiers, it is evident that Buona- 
 parte, when talking of ships of the line, 
 was always thinking of battalions. Thue 
 he imagines that the defeat of the Nile 
 might have been prevented, had the head- 
 most vessels of the French line, instead 
 of remaining at anchor, slipped their ca- 
 bles, and borne down to the assistance of 
 those which were first attacked by the 
 British. But in urging this, the leading 
 principle of the manoeuvre of breaking the 
 line, had totally escaped the French Empe- 
 ror. It was tlie boast of the patriotic sage,* 
 who illustrated and recommended this 
 most important system of naval tactics, that 
 it could serve the purpose of a British fleet 
 
 * The late John Clerk of Eldin ; a name nev- 
 er to he mcntionsd by Britons without respect and 
 veneration, since, until his systematic Essay upon 
 Naval Tactics appeared, the breaking of the line 
 (whatever professional jealousy may allege to th9 
 contrary) was never practised on decided and de- 
 fined principle. His suavity, nay, simplicity of 
 manner, equalled the originality of his genius. 
 This trifling tribute is due from one, who, honour- 
 ed with Ills regard from boyhood, has stood by his 
 side, while he w.is detailing and illustratiug tba 
 system which taught British seamen to under- 
 stand and use their own force at an age so early, 
 that ho can remember having been guilty of ab- 
 stracting from the table some of tlio little cork 
 models by which Mr. Clerk exemplified his m»- 
 nicuvres ; unchecked but by his good-humoured 
 raillery, when he missed a supposed lino-of-batti» 
 ship, and complained that the demonstratioa WM 
 cripplod by its absence.
 
 422 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 {Chap. LI. 
 
 only. The general principle is briefly this : 
 By breaking through the line, a certain 
 number of sliips are separated from the rest, 
 which the remainder must either abandon 
 to their fate by sailing away, or endeavour 
 to save by bearing down, or doubling as it 
 were, upon the assailants, and engaging in 
 a close and general engagement. ]Vow, 
 this last alternative is what Buonaparte 
 recommends, — what he would certainly 
 have practised on laud, — and what he did 
 practise, in order to extricate his right 
 wing, at Marengo. But the relative supe- 
 riority of the English navy is so great, that, 
 while it is maintained, a close engagement 
 with an enemy in the least approaching to 
 equality, is equivalent to a victory ; and to 
 recommend a plan of tactics which should 
 render such a battle inevitable, would be, 
 in other words, advising a French admiral 
 to lose his whole fleet, instead of sacrificing 
 those ships which the English manoiuvre 
 had cut off", and crowding sail to save such 
 as were yet unengaged. 
 
 Under this consciousness of inferiority, 
 the escape of a Spanish or French squad- 
 ron, when a gale of wind forced, from the 
 port in which they lay, the British block- 
 ading vessels, was a matter, the ultimate 
 success of which depended not alone on 
 the winds and waves, but still more upon 
 the chance of their escaping any part of the 
 hostile navy, with whom battle, except 
 with the most exorbitantsuperiority on their 
 side, was certain and unavoidable defeat. 
 Their efforts to comply with the wishes 
 of the Emperor of France, were there- 
 fore so partially conducted, so insulated, 
 and so ineffectual, that they rather resem- 
 bled the children's game of Hide and Seek, 
 than anything like a system of regular com- 
 bination. A more hasty and less cautious 
 compliance with Napoleon's earnest wishes 
 to assemble a predominant naval force, 
 would have only occasioned the total de- 
 struction of the combined fleets at an ear- 
 lier period than when it actually took place. 
 
 Upon this desultory principle, and seizing 
 the opportunity of the blockading squadron 
 being driven by weather from the vicinity 
 of their harbour, a squadron of ten French 
 vessels escaped from Rochefort on the 11th 
 of January 1805; and another, under Vil- 
 leneuve, got out of Toulon on the 18th by 
 a similarly favourable opportunity. The 
 former, after rendering some trifling servi- 
 ces in the West Indies, was fortunate 
 enougii to regain the port from which they 
 had sailed, with the pride of a party who 
 have sallied from a besieged town, and re- 
 turned into it without loss. Villeneuve al- 
 so regained Toulon without disaster, and, 
 encouraged by his success, made a second 
 sortie upon ihc loth of March, having on 
 board a large body of troops, designed, it 
 was supposed, for a descent upon Ireland 
 or Scotlaiid. Fie made, however, towards 
 Cadiz, and formed a iunction tlierc with 
 the Spanish fleet under Gravina. They 
 sailed for the West fndies, where the joint 1 
 squadrons were able to possess themselves | 
 of a rock called Diamond, which is scarce ' 
 to be discovered on the ran;) ; and with ! 
 
 this trophy, which served at least to 
 show they had been actually out of har- 
 bour, they returned with all speed to 
 Europe. ,Ss for executing manoeuvres, 
 and forming combinations, as Napoleon's 
 plans would lead us to infer, was the pur- 
 pose of their hurried expedition, they at- 
 tempted none, save of that kind which the 
 liare executes when the hound is at his 
 lieels. Nelson, they were aware, was in 
 full pursuit of them, and to have attempt- 
 ed anything which involved a delay, or 
 gave a chance of his coming up with them, 
 was to court destruction. They were so 
 fortunate as to escape him, though very nar- 
 rowly, yet did not reach their harbours in 
 safety. 
 
 On the 23d July, the combined fleets fell 
 in with Sir Robert Calder, commanding a 
 British squadron. The enemy amounted 
 to twenty sail of the line, three fifty-gun 
 ships, and four frigates, and the British to 
 fifteen sail of the line, and two frigates on- 
 ly. Under this disparity of force, never- 
 theless, the English admiral defeated the 
 enemy, and took two ships of the line ; yet 
 such was the opinion in both countries of 
 the comparative superiority of the British 
 navy, that the French considered their es- 
 cape as a kind of triumph. Buonaparte 
 alone grumbled against V^illeneuve, for not 
 having made use of his advantages, for so 
 it pleased him to term an engagement in 
 which two ships of the line were lost; 
 whilst the English murmured at the inade- 
 quate success of Sir Robert Calder, against 
 an enemy of such superior strength, as if 
 he had performed somelliing less than hia 
 duty. A court-martial ratified, to a cer- 
 tain extent, the popular opinion ; though it 
 may be doubted whether impartial posteri- 
 ty will concur in the justice of the censure 
 which was passed upon the gallant admi- 
 ral. At any other period of our naval his- 
 tory, the action of the 23d of July would 
 have been rnted as a distinguished victory. 
 
 The combined fleets escaped into Vigo, 
 wliere they refitted ; and, venturing to sail 
 from that port, they proceeded to Ferrol, 
 united themselves with the squadron which 
 was lying there, and continued their course 
 for Cadiz, which they entered in safety. 
 This did not consist with the plans of Buo- 
 naparte, who would have had the whole na- 
 val force united at Brest, to be in readiness 
 to cover the descent upon England. '' Gen- 
 eral terror was spread," he said, " through- 
 out that divided nation, and never was Eng- 
 land so near to destruction." Of the gen- 
 eral terror, few of the British, we believe, 
 remember anything, and of the imminent 
 danger we were not sensible. Had the 
 combined fleets entered the British Chan- 
 nel, instead of the Mediterranean, they 
 would have found the same admiral, the 
 same seamen, nay, in many instances, the 
 same ships, to which Villeneuve's retreat 
 into Cadiz gave the trouble of going to seek 
 him there. 
 
 When the certainty was known that the 
 enemy's fleets were actually in Cadiz, Nel- 
 son was put at the head of the British na- 
 val force ID the Mediterranean, which wm
 
 Chap. LI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 423 
 
 reinforced with an alertness and secrecy 
 that did the highest honour to the Admiral- 
 ty. V'illeneuve, in the meantime, had, it is 
 believed, his mrster's express orders to put 
 to sea ; and if he had been censured for 
 want of zeal in the action off Cape Finis- 
 terre with Calder, he was likely, as a brave 
 man, to determine on running some risk to 
 prove the injustice of his Emperor's re- 
 proaches. Cadiz also, being strictly block- 
 aded by the English, the fleets of France 
 and Spain began to be in want of necessa- 
 ries. But what principally determined the 
 French admiral on putting to sea, was his 
 ignorance of the reinforcements received 
 by the English, which, though they left 
 Nelson's fleet still inferior to his own, yet 
 brought them nearer to an equality than, 
 had he been aware of it, would have render- 
 ed their meeting at all desirable to Ville- 
 neuve. It was another and especial point 
 of encouragement, that circumstances led 
 him to disbelieve the report that Nelson 
 commanded the British fleet. Under the 
 influence of these united motives, and con- 
 fiding in a plan of tactics which he had form- 
 ed for resisting the favourite mode of at- 
 tack practised by the English, the French 
 admiral sailed from Cadiz on the 19th Oc- 
 tober 1805, in an evil hour for himself and 
 for his country. 
 
 The hostile fleets were not long of meet- 
 ing, and the wind never impelled along the 
 ocean two more gallant armaments. The 
 advantage of numbers was greatly on the 
 side of Villeneuve. He had thirty-three 
 sail of the line, and seven large frigates ; 
 Nelson only twenty-seven line-of-battle 
 ships, and three frigates. The inferiority of 
 the English in number of men and guns was 
 yet more considerable. The combined fleet 
 nad four thousand troops on board, many of 
 whom, excellent rifle-men, were placed in 
 the tops. But all odds were compensated 
 by the quality of the British sailors, and the 
 talents of Nelson. 
 
 Villeneuve showed no inclination to shun 
 the eventful action. His disposition was 
 singular and ingenious. His fleet formed a 
 double line, each alternate ship being about 
 a cable's length to the windward of her 
 second a-hcad and a-stem, and thus the ar- 
 rangement represented the chequers of a 
 draught-board, and seemed to guard against 
 the operation of cutting the line, as usually 
 practised by the British. But Nelson had 
 determined to practise the manoeuvre in a 
 manner ns original as the mode of defence 
 adopted by Villeneuve. His order for sail- 
 ing was in two lines, and this was also the 
 order for battle. .\a advanced squadron of 
 eight of the fastest sailing two-deckers, was 
 to cut ofl" three or four of the enemies line, 
 a-head of their centre ; the second in com- 
 mand, Admiral Collingwood, was to break 
 in upon the enemy about the twelfth ship 
 from the rear, and Nelson himself deter- 
 mined to bear down on the centre. The ef- 
 fect of these mancruvres must of course be 
 a close and general action ; for the rest, 
 Nelson knew he could trust to the detc>r- 
 mination of his officers and seamen. To his 
 •dtnirals and oflicera be explained in gen- 
 
 eral, that his object was a close and deci- 
 sive engagement ; and that if, in the confu- 
 sion and smoke of the battle, signals should 
 not be visible, the captain would never do 
 wrong who laid his ship alongside of the 
 enemy. 
 
 With such dispositions on either side, 
 the two gallant fleets met on the memorable 
 21st of October. Admiral CoUingwood, who 
 led the van, went down on the enerny with 
 all his sails set, and, disdaining to furl them 
 in the usual manner, cut the sheets, and let 
 his canvass fly loose in the wind, as if he 
 needed it no longer after it had borne him 
 amidst the thickest of the enemy. Nelson 
 run his vessel, the Victory, on board the 
 French Redoubtable ; theTemeraire, a sec- 
 ond British ship, fell on board the same 
 vessel on the other side ; another enemy's 
 ship fell on board of the Temeraire, and the 
 action was fiercely maintained betwixt 
 these four vessels, which lay as close as if 
 they had been moored together in some 
 friendly harbour. While the Victory thuB 
 engaged the Redoubtable on the starboard, 
 she maintained from her larboard guns an 
 incessant fire on the Bucentaur and the co- 
 lossal Santa Trinidad, a vessel of four decks. 
 The example of the Admiral was univer- 
 sally followed by the British captains ; they 
 broke into the enemy's line on every side, 
 engaged two or three ships at the same time, 
 and maintained the battle at the very muz- 
 zles of the cannon. The superiority which 
 we have claimed for our countrymen was 
 soon made manifest. Nineteen ships of the 
 line were captured, two v»ere first rate ves- 
 sels, none were under seventy-four guns. 
 Four ships of the line were taken, in a sub- 
 sequent action, by Sir Richard Strachan. 
 Seven out of the vessels which escaped in- 
 to Cadiz were rendered unserviceable. The 
 whole combined fleet was almost totally de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 It is twenty years and upwards since that 
 glorious day. But the feelings of deep sor- 
 row, mingled with those of exultation, with 
 which we first heard the tidings of the bat- 
 tle of Trafalgar, still agitate our bosoms, as 
 we record, that Nelson, the darling of Brit- 
 ain, bought with his life this last and decid- 
 ed triumph over his country'.^ enemies. A 
 Briton himself in every word and thought, 
 the discharge of a sailor's duty, according to 
 his idea, was a debt involving every feat 
 which the most esalted bravery could per- 
 form, and every risk which the extremity of 
 danger could present. The word to which 
 he attached such an unlimited meaning, 
 was often in his mouth ; the idea never, we 
 believe, absent from his mind. His last 
 signal intimated that England expected 
 every man to do hia duty. His first words 
 on entering the action were, " I thank tb« 
 great Disposer of events for this great op- 
 portunity of doing my duty ;" and with hia 
 last departing breath, he was distinctly 
 heard to repeat the same pious and patriot- 
 ic sentiment, '' I thank God I have done my 
 duty."* That duty was indeed performed, 
 
 *See, for these and other particulars of the bat- 
 tle ofTrafalgur, Southoy's lifa of Nelson, a worit
 
 424 
 
 LIFE OF N.iPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LI. 
 
 even to the utmost extent of his own com- 
 prehensive interpretation of the phrase. 
 The good servant of his country slept not 
 before his task was fultilled 5 for, by the 
 victory in which he fell, the naval force of 
 the enemy was altogether destroyed, and 
 the threat of invasion silenced for ever. 
 
 It is a remarkable coincidence, that 
 Mack's surrender having taken place on the 
 20th October, Napoleon was probably en- 
 tering Ulm in triumph upon the very day. 
 when the united remains of his maritime 
 force, and the means on which, according 
 to his own subsequent account, he relied 
 for the subjugation of England, were flying, 
 striking, and sinking, before the banners of 
 Nelson. What his feelings may have been 
 OQ learning the news, we have no certain 
 means of ascertaining. The Memoirs of 
 Fouche say, upon the alleged authority of 
 Berthier, that his emotion was extreme, 
 and that his first exclamation was, " I can- 
 not be everywhere!" implying, certainly, 
 that his own presence would have changed 
 the scene. The same idea occurs in liis 
 conversations with Las Casas. It may be 
 greatly doubted, however, whether Napole- 
 on would have desired to have been on 
 board the best ship in the French navy on 
 that memorable occasion ; and it seems 
 pretty certain, that his being so could have 
 had no influence whatever on the fate of the 
 day. The unfortunate Villeneuve dared 
 not trust to his master's forgiveness. " He 
 ought," so Buonaparte states it, " to have 
 been victorious, and he was defeated." For 
 this, although the mishap which usually 
 must attend one out of the two comman- 
 ders who engage in action, Villeneuve 
 felt there was no apology to be accepted, 
 or even offered, and the brave but unfortu- 
 nate seaman committed suicide. Buona- 
 parte, on all occasions, spoke with disre- 
 spect of his memory ; nor was it a sign of 
 his judgment in nautical matters, that he 
 preferred to this able, but unfortunate ad- 
 miral, the gasconading braggart, Latouche 
 Treville.* 
 
 already repeatedly quoted. It is the history of a 
 hero, in the narrative of which are evinced at once 
 the judgment and fidelity of the historian, with the 
 imagination of the poet. It well deserves to be, 
 what already it is, the text book of the British 
 
 •This admiral commanded at Toulon in 1804, 
 •nd having stolen out of harbour with a strong 
 ■quadron, when the main body of the English fleet 
 was out of sight, had t)io sritisfactiun to see three 
 Tosaols, under Rear-Admiral Campbell, retreat be- 
 fore his superior force. This unusual circuni- 
 itanco so elated Monsieur Latouche Treville, that 
 he converted the affair into a general pursuit of th» 
 whole Britisli fleet, and ofNelson himself, who, h'^ 
 pretended, fled before him. Nelson was so much 
 nettled at his effrontery, that he wrote to his bro- 
 ther, " Vou will have seen Latouclic's letter, how 
 he chased me and how I run. 1 keep it, and if 
 I take him, by God — he shall eat it." I/atouclie 
 escaped this pnnishment by dying of tlie fatigue 
 incurred by walking so often up to the signal-post 
 at Sepet, to watch for the momentary absence of 
 U>e blockading squadron, which he pretended dared 
 Dotface him This man Buonaparte considered is 
 tlte boost of the French navy 
 
 The unfortunate event of the battle of 
 Trafalgar was not permitted to darken the 
 brilliant picture, which the extraordinary 
 campaign of Ulm and Austerlitz enabled the 
 victor to present to the empire which ho 
 governed, and which detailed his successes 
 in the full-blown pride of conquest, "His 
 armies," he said, addressing the Legislative 
 Body, the session of which he opened with 
 great pomp on 2d March 1806, " had nev- 
 er ceased to conquer, until he commanded 
 them to cease to combat. His enemies 
 were humbled and confounded — the royal 
 house of Naples had ceased to reign /or ev- 
 er — (the term was too comprehensive) — the 
 entire peninsula of Italy now made apart of 
 the Great Empire — his generosity had per- 
 mitted the return of the defeated Russians 
 to their own country, and had re-establish- 
 ed the throne of Austria, after punishing her 
 by the privation of a part of her dominions." 
 Trafalgar was then touched upon. " A 
 tempest," he said, " had deprived him of 
 some few vessels, after a combat impru- 
 dently entered into ;" — and thus he glossed 
 over a calamitous and decisive defeat, in 
 which so many of his hopes were ship- 
 wrecked. 
 
 When a sovereign has not sufficient great- 
 ness of mind to acknowledge his losses, we 
 may, without doing him wrong, suspect him 
 of exaggerating his successes. Those of 
 France, in her external relations, were in- 
 deed scarcely capable of being over-esti- 
 mated. But when Monsieur de Champag- 
 ny, on the 5th March following, made a 
 relation of the internal improvements of 
 France under the government of Buona- 
 parte, he seems to have assumed the merit 
 of those which only existed upon paper, and 
 of others which were barely commenced, 
 as well as of some that were completed. All 
 was of course ascribed to the inspiring gen- 
 ius of the Emperor, to whose agency Franc* 
 was indebted for all her prosperity. The 
 credit of the good city of Paris was restor- 
 ed, and her revenue doubled — agriculture 
 was encouraged, by the draining of immense 
 morasses — mendicity was abolished. Ben- 
 eficial results, apparently inconsistent with 
 each other, were produced by his regula- 
 tions — the expenses of legal proceedings 
 were abridged, and the appointments of the 
 judges were raised. Immense and meet 
 expensive improvements, which, in other 
 countries, or rather under other sovereigns, 
 are necessarily reserved for times of peace, 
 were carried on by Napoleon during tha 
 most burdensome wars against entire Eu- 
 rope. Forty millions had been expended 
 on public works, of which eight great canal* 
 were quoted with peculiar emphasis, aa 
 opening all the departments of the empire to 
 the influence of internal navigation. To 
 conclude, the Emperor had established 
 three hundred and seventy schools — had re- 
 stored the rites of religion — reinforced pub- 
 lic credit by supporting the Bank — reconcil- 
 ed jarring factions— diminished the public 
 imposts — and ameliorated the condition of 
 every existing Frenchman. To judge from 
 the rapturous expressions of Monsieur de 
 Champagny, the Emperor was already the
 
 Chap. LI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 425 
 
 ■ubject of deserved adoration : it only re- 
 mained to found temples and raise altars. 
 
 Much of this statement was unquestiona- 
 bly the exaggeration of flattery, which rep- 
 resented everything as commenced as soon 
 as it had been resolved upon by the sove- 
 reign, everything finished as soon as it was 
 begun. Other measures there were, which, 
 like the support afforded to the Bank, mere- 
 ly repaired injures which Napoleon himself 
 had inflicted. The credit of this comraer-- 
 cial establishment had been shaken, be- 
 cause, in setting off for the campaign, Na- 
 poleon had stripped it of the reserve of spe- 
 cie laid up to answer demands ; and it was 
 restored, because his return with victory 
 had enabled him to replace what he had 
 borrowed. Considering that there was no 
 •mall hazard of his being unable to remedy 
 the evil which he had certainly occasion- 
 6d, his conduct on the occasion scarcely 
 deserves the name of a national benefit. 
 
 Some part of this exaggeration might 
 even deceive Napoleon. It is one of the 
 great disadvantages of despotism, that the 
 sovereign himself is liable to be imposed 
 npon by false representations of this nature ; 
 aa it is said the Empress Catherine was flat- 
 tered by the appearance of distant villages 
 and towns in the desert places of her em- 
 pire, which were, in fact, no more than 
 painted representations of such objects, up- 
 on the plan of those that are exhibited on 
 the stage, or are erected as points of view 
 in some fantastic pleasure gardens. It was 
 a part of Buonaparte's character to seize 
 with ready precision upon general ideas of 
 improvement. Wherever he came, he form- 
 ed plans of important public works, many of 
 which never existed but in the bulletin. 
 Having issued his general orders, he was 
 apt to hold them as executed. It was im- 
 possible to do all himself, or even to over- 
 look with accuracy those to whom the de- 
 tails were committed. There were, there- 
 fore, many magnificent schemes commen- 
 ced, under feelings of the moment, which 
 were left unfinished for want of funds, or 
 perhaps because they only regarded some 
 points of local interest, and there were ma- 
 ny adopted that were forgotten amid the 
 hurry of affairs, or postponed till the mo- 
 ment of peace, which was never to appear 
 during his reign. 
 
 But with the same frankness with which 
 history is bound to censure the immeasura- 
 ble ambition of this extraordinary man, she 
 is bound also to record that his views to- 
 wards the improvement of his empire were 
 broad, clear-sighted, and public-spirited ; 
 and we think it probable, that, had his pas- 
 iSion for war been a less predominant point 
 of his character, his care, applied to the ob- 
 jects of peace, would have done as much 
 for France, as Augustus did for Rome. Still 
 it must be added, that, having bereft his 
 country of her freedom, and proposing to 
 transmit the empire, like his own patrimo- 
 ny, to his heirs, the evil which he had done 
 to France was as permanent as his system 
 of government, while the benefits which he 
 had conferred on her, to whatever extent 
 ihey might have been realized, must have 
 
 been dependent upon his own life, and the 
 character of his successo» 
 
 But as such reflections had not prevent- 
 ed Napoleon from raising the fabric of su- 
 preme power, to the summit of which he had 
 ascended, so they did not now prevent him 
 from surrounding and strengthening it with 
 such additional bulwarks as he could find 
 materials for erecting, at the expense of 
 the foes whom he subdued. Sensible of 
 the difficulty, or rather the impossibility, of 
 retaining all power in his own hands, be 
 now bent himself so to modify and organ- 
 ize the governments of the countries ad- 
 jacent, that they should always be depend- 
 ent upon France ; and to insure this point, 
 he determined to vest immediate relations 
 of his own with the supreme authority ia 
 those states, which, under the name of al- 
 lies, were to pay to France the same hom- 
 age in peace, and render her the same ser- 
 vices in war, which ancient Rome exacted 
 from the countries which she had subdued. 
 Germany, Holland, and Italy, were each 
 destined to furnish an appanage to tha 
 princes born of the Imperial blood of Napo- 
 leon, or connected with it by matrimonial 
 alliances. In return for these benefits, Buo- 
 naparte was disposed to subject his broth- 
 ers to the ordinary monarchical restric- 
 tions, which preclude princes nearly con- 
 nected with the throne from forming mar- 
 riages according to their own private inclin- 
 ations, and place them in this respect en- 
 tirely at the devotion of the monarch, and 
 destined to form such political alliances as 
 may best suit his views. They belonged, 
 he said, in the decree creating them, en- 
 tirely to the country, and must therefore lay 
 aside every sentiment cf individual feeling, 
 when the public weal required such a sac- 
 rifice. 
 
 Two of Napoleon's brothers resisted this 
 species of authority. The services which 
 Lucien had rendered him, upon the 18th 
 Brumaire, although without his prompt as- 
 sistance that daring adventure might have 
 altogether failed, had not saved him from 
 falling under the Imperial displeasure. It is 
 said that he had disapproved of the distruc- 
 tion of the Republic, and that, in remon- 
 strating against the murder of the Duke 
 d'Enghien, he had dared to tell his brother 
 that such conduct would cause the people 
 to cast himself and his kindred into the 
 common sewer, as they had done the corpse 
 of Marat. But Lucien's principal ofience 
 consisted in his refusing to part with his 
 wife, a beautiful and affectionate woman, for 
 the purpose of forming an alliance more 
 suited to the views of Napoleon. He re- 
 mained, therefore, long in a private situation, 
 notwithstanding the talent and decision 
 which he had evinced on many occasions 
 during the Revolution, and was only restor- 
 ed to his brother's favour and countenance, 
 when, after his return from Elba, his sup- 
 port became again of importance. Jerome, 
 the youngest brother of the family, incurred 
 also for a time his brother's displeasure, 
 by having formed a matrimonial connexion 
 with an American lady of beauty and accom- 
 plishments. Complying with the commanda
 
 426 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LI. 
 
 of Napoleon, he was at a In.ter period re- 
 Btored to his favour, but at present he too 
 was in disgrace. Neither Lucien nor Je- 
 rome was therefore mentioned in the spe- 
 cies of entail, which, in default of Napo- 
 leon's naming his successor, destined the 
 French Empire to Joseph and Louis in suc- 
 cession ; nor were the former called upon 
 to partake in the splendid provisions, which 
 after the campaign of Ansterlitz, Napoleon 
 was enabled to make for the other members 
 of his family. 
 
 Of these establishments, the most prince- 
 ly were the provinces of Holland, which 
 Napoleon now converted into a kingdom, 
 and conferred upon Louis Buonaparte. 
 This transmutation of a republic, whose 
 independence was merely nominal, into a 
 kingdom, which was completely and abso- 
 lutely subordinate, was effected by little 
 more than an expression of the French Em- 
 peror's will that such an alteration should 
 take place. The change was accomplished 
 without attracting much attention ; for the 
 Batavian Republic was placed so absolutely 
 at Buonaparte's mercy, as to have no power 
 whatever to dispute his pleasure. They 
 had followed the French Revolution 
 through all its phases ; and under their 
 present constitution, a Grand Pensionary, 
 who had the sole right of presenting new 
 laws for adoption, and who was accountable 
 to no one for the acts of his administration, 
 corresponded to the First Consul of the 
 French Consular Government. This of- 
 fice-bearer was now to assume the name of 
 King, as his prototype had done that of Em- 
 peror ; but the King was to be chosen from 
 the family of Buonaparte. 
 
 On the 18th M,->rch 1806, the secretary 
 of the Dutch Legation at Paris arrived at the 
 Hague, bearing a secret commission. The 
 States General were convoked — the Grand 
 Pensionary was consulted — and finally, a 
 deputation was sent to Paris, requesting 
 that the Prince Louis Napoleon should be 
 created hereditary King of Holland. Buon- 
 aparte's assent was graciously given, and 
 the transaction was concluded. 
 
 It is indeed probable, that though the 
 change was in every degree contradictory 
 of their habits and opinions, the Dutch sub- 
 mitted to it as affording a prospect of a de- 
 sirable relief from the disputes and factions 
 which then divided their government. Lou- 
 is Buonaparte was of a singularly amiable 
 and gentle disposition. Besides his near 
 relationship to Napoleon, he was married 
 to Hortensia, the daughter of Josephine, 
 etep-child of course tc the Emperor, and 
 who was supposed to snare a great propor- 
 tion of his favour. The conquered States of 
 Holland, no longer the High and Mighty, as 
 they had been accustomed to style them- 
 selves, hoped, in adopting a monarch so 
 nearly and intimately connected with Buon- 
 aparte, and received from his hand, that 
 they might be permitted to enjoy the pro- 
 tection of France, and be secured against 
 the subaltern oppression exercised over 
 their commerce and their country. The 
 acceptance of Louis as their King, they im- 
 agined, must establish for them a powerful 
 
 protector in the councils of that Autocrat, 
 at whose disposal they were necessarily 
 placed. Louis Buonaparte was therefore 
 received as King of Holland. How far the 
 Prince and hi.? subjects experienced fulfil- 
 ment of the hopes which both naturally 
 entertained, belongs to another page of thia 
 history. 
 
 Germany also was doomed to find more 
 than one appanage for the Duonaparte fami- 
 ly. The effect of the campaign of Ulm and 
 Austerlitz had been almost entirely de- 
 structive of the influence which the House 
 of Austria had so long possessed in the 
 south-west districts of Germany. Stripped 
 of her dominions in the Vorarlberg and the 
 Tyrol, as she had formerly been of the larg- 
 er portion of the Netherlands, she was flung 
 far back from that portion of Germany bor- 
 dering on the right of the Rhine where she 
 had formerly exercised so muc i authority, 
 and often, it must be confessed, with no 
 gentle hand. 
 
 Defeated and humbled, the Emperor of 
 Austria, was no longer able to offer any op- 
 position to the projects of aggrandizement 
 which Napoleon meditated in those confines 
 of the empire which lay adjacent to the 
 Rhine and to France, of which that river 
 had been declared the boundary; nor in- 
 deed to his scheme of entirely new-mo<Jel- 
 ling the empire itself 
 
 Prussia, however, rencained a party inter- 
 ested, and too formidable, for her numerous 
 armies and high military reputation, to be 
 despised by Napoleon. He was indeed 
 greatly dissatisfied with her conduct during 
 the campaign, and by no means inclined 
 either to forget or to forgive the menacing 
 attitude which the Court of Berlin had as- 
 sumed, although finally determined by the 
 course of events to abstain from actual hos- 
 tility. i"et notwithstanding these causes 
 of irritation. Napoleon still esteemed it 
 more politic to purchase Prussia's acqui- 
 escence in his projects by a large sacrifice 
 to her selfish interests, than to add her to 
 the number of his avowed enemies. She 
 was therefore to be largely propitiated at 
 the expense of some other state. 
 
 We have already noticed the critical ar- 
 rival of Haugwitz, the prime-minister of 
 Prussia, at Vienna, and how the declara- 
 tion of war against France with which he 
 was charged, was exchanged for a friendly 
 congratulation to Napoleon by the event of 
 the battle of Austerlitz. Napoleon was no 
 dupe to the versatility of the Prussian cabi- 
 net ; but the Archduke Ferdinand had ral- 
 lied a large army in Bohemia — his brother 
 Charles was at the head of a yet larger in 
 Hungary — Alexander, though defeated, rC'* 
 fused to enter into any treaty, and retained 
 a menacing attitude, and, victor as he was, 
 Buonaparte could not wish to see the great 
 and highly-esteemed military force of Prus- 
 sia thrown into the scale against him. He 
 entered, therefore, into a private treaty with 
 Haugwitz, whom he found on this, as on 
 former occasions, much devoted to the 
 French interest. By this agreement, Prus- 
 sia was to cede to France, or rather to place 
 at her disposal, the territories of Anspach
 
 Chap. LI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 427 
 
 and Bareuth, and, by way of indemnifica- 
 tion, was to have the countenance of France 
 in occupying Hanover, from which the 
 French troops had been withdrawn to join 
 the Grand Army. 
 
 The conduct of the Prussian minister, — 
 for with him, rather than with his court, 
 the fault lay, — was at once mean-spirited 
 and unprincipled. He made his country 
 surrender to France that very territory 
 which the French armies had so recently 
 violated, and he accepted as an indemnifi- 
 cation the provinces belonging to the King 
 of Britain, with whom Prussia was so far 
 from having any quarrel, that she had been 
 on the point of making common cause with 
 her against the aggressions of France ; and 
 which provinces had been seized by France 
 in violation of tne rights of neutrality 
 claimed by the E ector of Hanover, as a 
 member of the Germanic Body. Such 
 gross and complicated violations of nation- 
 al law and justice, have often carried with 
 them their own punishment, nor did they 
 fail to do so in the present instance. 
 
 Those states, Anspach and Bareuth, with 
 Cleves, which had been ceded by Bavaria, 
 were united into what was called the 
 Grand Duchy of Berg, which was conferred 
 as an appanage upon Joachim Murat. Ori- 
 ginally a soldier of fortune, and an undaunt- 
 ed one, Murat had raised himself to emi- 
 nence in the Italian campaigns. On the 
 18th Brumaire, he commanded the party 
 whicli drove the Council of Five Hundred 
 out of their liall. In reward for this ser- 
 vice, he obtained the command of the Con- 
 sular Guard, and the hand of Marie de 
 r.'Vnnonciade, afterwards called Caroline, 
 sister of Napoleon. Murat was particular- 
 ly distinguished as a cavalry officer ; his 
 handsome person, accomplished horseman- 
 ship, and daring bravery at the head of his 
 squadrons, procured him the title of Le 
 Beau Sabreur. Out of the field of battle 
 he was but a weak man, liable to be duped 
 by his own vanity, and the flattery of those 
 around him. He affected a theatrical fop- 
 pery in dress, which rather evinced a fan- 
 tastic love of finery than good taste ; and 
 hence he was sometimes called KingFran- 
 coivi, from the celebrated mountebank of 
 thati^me. His wife Caroline was an able 
 woman, and well versed in political in- 
 trigue. It will presently be found that they 
 arose to higher fortunes than the Grand 
 Duchy of Berg. Meantime, Murat was in- 
 vested with thehercditary dignity of Grand 
 Admiral of France ; for it was the policy 
 of Buonaparte to maintain the attachment 
 of the new princes to the Great Nation, 
 were it but by wearing some string or tas- 
 sel of his own imperial livery. 
 
 The fair territories of Naples and Sicily 
 ■were conferred upon Joseph, the former 
 in possession, the latter in prospect. He 
 was a "ood man, who often strove to mod- 
 erate the fits of violence to which his broth- 
 er gave way. In society, he was accom- 
 plished and amiable, fond of letters, and, 
 though notpossessert of anything approach- 
 ing his brother's high qualifications, had 
 j^tgood judgment as well as good incli- 
 
 nations. Had he continued King of Na- 
 ples, it is probable he might have been as 
 fortunate as Louis, in conciliating the re- 
 spect of his subjects ; but his transference 
 to Spain was fatal to his reputation. In 
 conformity with the policy which we have 
 noticed, the King of Naples was to contin- 
 ue a high feudatory of the Empire, under 
 the title of the Vice-Grand Elector. 
 
 The principality of Lucca had been al- 
 ready conferred on Eliza, the eldest sister 
 of Buonaparte, and was now augmented by 
 the districts of Massa-Carara and Gafagnana. 
 She was a woman of a strong and mascu- 
 I line character, which did not, however, 
 I prevent her giving way to the feminine 
 j weakness of encouraging admirers, who, it 
 is said, did not sigh in vain. 
 
 The public opinion was still less favour- 
 ] able to her younger sister Pauline, who 
 I was one of the most beautiful women in 
 France, and perhaps in Europe. Leclerc, 
 her first husband, died in the fatal expedi- 
 tion to St. Domingo, and she was after- 
 wards married to the Prince Borghese. 
 Her encouragement of the fine arts was so 
 little limited by the ordinary ideas of de- 
 corum, that the celebrated Canova wai 
 permitted to model from her person a na- 
 ked Venus, the most beautiful, it is said, of 
 his works.* Scandal went the horrible 
 length of imputing to Pauline an intrigue 
 with her own brother; which we willingly 
 reject as a crime too hideous to be even 
 mentioned, far less imputed to any one, 
 without the most satisfactory evidence. 
 The gross and guilty enormities practised 
 by the ancient Roman emperors, do not be- 
 long to the character of Buonaparte, though 
 such foul aspersions have been cast upon 
 him by those who were willing to represent 
 him as in all respects the counterpart of 
 Tiberius or Caligula. Pauline Borghese 
 received the principality of Guastalla, in 
 the distribution of honours among the fami- 
 ly of Napoleon. 
 
 At this period, also, Buonaparte began 
 first to display a desire of engrafting his 
 own family upon the ancient dynasties of 
 Europe, with whom he had been so long at 
 war, and the ruin of most of whom had 
 contributed to his elevation. The Elector 
 of Bavaria haa to repay the patronage which 
 raised him to the rank of king, and enlarged 
 his territories with the fine country of the 
 Tyrol, by forming an alliance which should 
 mix his ancient blood with that of the fam- 
 ily connexions of the fortunate soldier. 
 Eugene Beauharnois, Viceroy of Italy, the 
 son of Josephine by her first husband, and 
 now the adopted son of N^ooleon, waa 
 wedded to the eldest daughter of the King 
 of Bavaria. Eugene was deservedly fa- 
 voured by his father-in-law, Napoleon. He 
 was a man of talents, probity, anl honour, 
 and displayed great military skill, particu- 
 
 * It is said, that being asked by a lad; bow sha 
 could submit to such an exposure of hei person, 
 she conceived that the question only related to 
 physical inconvenience, and answered il by as- 
 suring her friend that the apartment was properly 
 aired
 
 423 
 
 LIFE OF JS-APOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LI. 
 
 larly during the Russian campaign of 1812. 
 Stephanie Beauharnois, the niece of Jose- 
 phine, was married about the same time to 
 the Hereditary Prince of Baden, son to the 
 reigning Duke, the neutrality of whose ter- 
 ritories had been violated in the seizure of 
 the Duke d'Enghien. 
 
 These various kingdoms and principali- 
 ties, erected in favour of his nearest rela- 
 tions, imposed on the mind a most impres- 
 sive image of Buonaparte's unlimited au- 
 thority, who distributed crowns among his 
 kinsfolks as ordinary men give vails to their 
 domestics. But the sound policy of his 
 conduct may be greatly doubted. We have 
 elsewhere stated the obvious objections to 
 the transference of cities and kingdoms 
 from hand to hand, with as little ceremony 
 as the circulation of a commercial bill pay- 
 able to the holder. Authority is a plant of 
 a slow growth, and to obtain the full ven- 
 eration which renders it most effectual, 
 must have risen by degrees in the place 
 which it overshadows and protects. Sud- 
 denly transferred to new regions, it is apt to 
 pine and to perish. The theoretical evils 
 of a long-established government are gen- 
 erally mitigated by some practical remedy, 
 or those who suffer by them have grown 
 callous from habit. The reverse is the 
 case with a newly-established domination, 
 which has no claim to the veneration due 
 to antiquity, and to which the subjects are 
 not attached by the strong though invisible 
 chains of long habit. 
 
 Fox, in his own nervous language, has 
 left his protest against the principle adopt- 
 ed at this time in Europe, of transferring 
 Uie subjects of one prince to another by 
 way of equivalents, and under the pretext 
 of general arrangement. " The wildest 
 .schemes." he remarked, " that were ever 
 before broached, would not go so far to 
 shake the foundations of all established 
 government, as this new practice. There 
 must be in every nation a certain attach- 
 ment of the people to its form of govern- 
 ment, without which no government could 
 exist. The system, then, of transferring 
 the subjects of one prince to another, 
 strikes at the foundation of every govern- 
 ment, and the existence of every nation." 
 
 These observations apply generally to 
 violent alterations upon the European sys- 
 tem ; but other and more special objections 
 arise to Buonaparte's system of erecting 
 thrones in Holland, in Naples, and all 
 through Europe, for the members of his 
 own family. It was particularly impolitic, 
 as marking too strongly his determination to 
 be satisfied with nothing less than the do- 
 minion of the world ; for while he governed 
 France in his own person, the disposing of 
 other countries to his brothers and near 
 relations, feudatories of France, and his de- 
 pendants as well by blood as by allegiance, 
 what else could be expected than that the 
 independence of such kingdoms must be 
 merely nominal, and their monarchs bound 
 to act in every respect at the agents of 
 Buonaparte's pleasure ? This, indeed, was 
 their most sacred duty, according to his 
 own view of the matter, and he dilated upon 
 
 it to Las Cases while at St. Helena. The 
 following passage contains an express avow- 
 al of the principles on which he desired and 
 expected his brothers to regulate the gov- 
 ernments intrusted to them : — 
 
 " At another time the Emperor recurred to 
 the subject of his relations, the little aid he 
 had received from them, the embarrassment 
 and mischief which they had caused him. He 
 dwelt especially on that false idea upon their 
 part, that when once placed at the head of 
 a state, they ought to identify themselves 
 with it to such an extent, as to prefer its 
 interests to those of the common country. 
 He agreed, that the source of this sentiment 
 might be in some degree honourable, but 
 contended that they made a false and hurt- 
 ful application of it, when, in their whims 
 of absolute independence, they considered 
 themselves as in an isolated posture, not 
 observing that they made only parts of a 
 great system, the movements of which 
 it was their business to aid, and not to 
 thwart."* 
 
 This is explaining in few words the 
 principle on which Napoleon established 
 these subsidiary monarchies, which was noi 
 for the benefit of the people of whom they 
 were respectively composed, but for the 
 service of France, or more properly of him- 
 self, the sole moving principle by which 
 France was governed. In devolving the 
 crown of Holland on the son of Louis, after 
 the abdication of Louis, he repeats the same 
 principle as a fundamental condition of its 
 tenure. " Never forget," he said, " that in 
 the situation to which my political system 
 and the interest of my empire have called 
 you, your first duty is towards me, your 
 second towards France. All your other 
 duties, even those towards the people whom 
 I have called you to govern, rank after 
 these." 
 
 When Napoleon censures his delegate 
 princes for preferring the interest of the 
 kingdoms which he had assigned them, in- 
 stead of sacrificing it to him and his gov- 
 ernment, he degrades them into mere pup- 
 pets, which might indeed bear regal titles 
 and regal attendance, but, entirely depend- 
 ent on the will of another, had no choice 
 save to second the views of an ambition, 
 the most insatiable certainly that ever 
 reigned in a human breast. 
 
 This secret did not remain concealed 
 from the Dutch, from the Neapolitans, or 
 other foreigners, subjected to these pageant 
 monarchs ; and as it naturally incensed 
 them against Napoleon' s government, so it 
 prevented the authority which he had del- 
 egated from obtaining either affection or 
 reverence, and disposed the nation who 
 were subjected to it to take the first oppor- 
 tunity of casting the yoke aside. 
 
 The erection of these kindred monarch- 
 ies was not the only mode by which Napole- 
 on endeavoured to maintain an ascendencT 
 in the countries which he had conquered, 
 and which he desired to retain in depend' 
 ence upon France, though not nominally 
 or directly making parts of the French em- 
 
 * Las Cases, tomo I V. Portie 7tieme, p. 71 .
 
 Chap. LI.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOX BUO^^\PARTE. 
 
 429 
 
 pire. Buonaparte had already proposed to 
 his council the question, whether the cre- 
 ation of Grandees of the Empire, a species 
 of nobility whose titles were to depend, not 
 on their descent, but on their talents and 
 services to the state, was to be considered 
 asaviolationofthelaws of liberty and equal- 
 ity. He was universally answered in the 
 negative ; for. having now acquired a hered- 
 itary monarch, it seemed a natural, if not 
 an indispensable consequence, that France 
 should have peers of the realm. and great oifi- 
 cers of the crown. Such an establishment, ac- 
 cording to Buonaparte's view, would at once 
 place his dignity on the same footing with 
 those of the other courts of Europej (an as- 
 Bimilation to which he attached a greater 
 degree of consequence than was consistent 
 with policy,) and by blending the new no- 
 bles of the Empire with those of the ancient 
 kingly government, would tend to reconcile 
 the modern state of things with such relics 
 of the old court as yet existed. 
 
 From respect, perhaps, to the republican 
 opinions which had so long predominated, 
 the titles and a[>pendages of these grand 
 feudatories were not chosen within the 
 Ujunds of France herself, but from provin- 
 ces which had experienced the sword of 
 tlie ruler. Fifteen dukedoms, grand fiefs, 
 not of Fr.ance, but of the French empire, 
 which extended far beyond France itself, 
 were created by the fiat of the Emperor. 
 The income attached to each amounted to 
 the fifteenth part of the revenue of the pro- 
 vince, wliich gave title to ilie dignitary. 
 The Emperor invested with these cndov,'- 
 ments those who had best served him in 
 war and in state affairs. Princedoms also 
 were erected, and while mareschals and 
 ministers were created Dukes, the superior 
 rank of Prince was bestowed on Talleyrand, 
 Bemadotte, and Berthier, by the titles of 
 Beneventum. i^onte-Corvo. and Neufchatel. 
 
 The transformation of Republican gen- 
 erals and ancient Jacobins into the peerage 
 of a monarchical government, gave a spe- 
 cies of incongruity to this splendid mas- 
 querade, and more than one of the person- 
 ages showed not a little awkwardness in sup- 
 porting their new titles. It is true, the 
 nigh degree of talent annexed to some of 
 the individuals thus promoted, the dread 
 inspired by others, and the fame in war 
 which many had acquired, might bear them 
 out against the ridicule which was unspar- 
 ingly heaped upon them in the saloons 
 frequented by the ancient noblesse ; but, 
 whatever claims these dignitaries had to i 
 the respect of the public, had been long 
 theirs, and received no accession from their 
 new honours and titles. 
 
 In this, and on similar occasions. Napo- 
 leon overshot his aim, and diminished to a 
 certain extent his reputation, by seeming to 
 i«t a value upon honours, titles, and cere- 
 monies, which, if matters of importance to 
 other courts, were certainly not such as he 
 ought to have rested his dignity upon. 
 Ceremonial is the natural element of a long 
 established court, and etiquette and title 
 are the idols which are worshipped there. 
 But Buonaparte reigned by his talents and 
 
 his sword. Like Mezentius in the .£neid, 
 he ought to have acknowledged no other 
 source of his authority.* It was imprudent 
 to appear to attach consequence to points, 
 which even his otherwise almost boundless 
 power could not attain, since his nobility 
 and his court-ceremonial must still retaia 
 the rawness of novelty, and could no more 
 possess that value, which, whether real or 
 imaginary, has been generally attached to 
 ancient institutions and long descent, than 
 the Emperor could, by a decree of his com- 
 plaisant Senate, have given his modern 
 coinage the value which antiquaries attach 
 to ancient medals. It was imprudent to 
 decend to a strife in which he must neces- 
 sarily be overcome ; for where power rests 
 in a great measure on public opinion, it ia 
 diminished in proportion to its failure in 
 objects aimed at, whether of greater or less 
 consequence. This half-feudal half-oriental 
 establishment of grand feudatories, with 
 which Buonaparte now began to decorate 
 the structure of his power, may be compar- 
 ed to the heavy Gothic devices with which 
 modern architects sometimes overlay the 
 front of their buildings, where they always 
 encumber what they cannot ornament, and 
 sometimes overload what they are designed 
 to support. 
 
 The system of the new Noblesse was set- 
 tled by an Imperial edict of Napoleon him- 
 self, which was communicated to the Senate 
 .Wtli March 1806, not for the purpose of de- 
 liberation or acceptance, but merely that, 
 like the old Parliament of Paris, they might 
 enter it upon their register. 
 
 The court of Buonaparte now assumed a 
 character of the strictest etiquette, in which 
 these important trifles, called by a writer on 
 the subject the " Superstitions of Gentle- 
 men Ushers,'' were treated as matters of 
 serious import, and sometimes occupied the 
 thoughts of Napoleon himself, and supplied 
 the place of meditated conquests, and the 
 future destruction or erection of kingdoms. 
 
 The possessors of ancient titles, tempted 
 by revival of the respect paid to birth and 
 rank, did not fail to mingle with those 
 wliose nobility rested on the new creation. 
 The Emperor distinguished these ancient 
 minions of royalty with considerable favour, 
 as, half-blushing for their own apostacy in 
 doing homage to Buonaparte in the palace 
 of the Bourbons, half-sneering at the mal- 
 adroit and awkward manners of their new 
 associates, they mingled among the men of 
 new descent, and paid homage to the mon- 
 arch of the day, " because," as one of them 
 expressed himself to Madame de Stael, 
 " one must serve some one or other." Buo- 
 naparte encourajed these nobles of the an- 
 cient antichambers, whose superior man- 
 ners seemed to introduce among his cour- 
 tiers some traits of the former court, so in- 
 imitable for grace and for address, and also 
 because he liked to rank among his retaift- 
 ers, so far as he could, the inheritors of 
 those Buperb names which ornamented tho 
 
 • Dextra mihi dous, et telum quod missile libro 
 
 Nude adsint 
 
 ^neidof. Lib. X.
 
 430 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 iCkap. LL 
 
 history of France in former ages. But then 
 he desired to make them exclusively his 
 own ; nothing less than complete and un- 
 compromising conversion to liis government 
 would give satisfaction. A baron of the old 
 noblesse, who had become a counsellor of 
 state, was in 1810 summoned to attend the 
 Emperor at Fontainbleau. 
 
 " What would you do," said the Emperor, 
 '' should you learn that the Compte de 
 Lille was this instant at Paris V 
 
 "I would inform against him, and have 
 him arrested," said the candidate for fa- 
 vour; " the law commands it." 
 
 " And what would you do if appointed a 
 judge on his trial V demanded the Emperor 
 again. 
 
 •' I would condemn him to death," said 
 the unhesitating nobis ; " the law denoun- 
 ces him." 
 
 " With such sentiments you deserve a 
 prefecture," said the Emperor ; and the 
 catechumen, whose respect for the law was 
 Ui us absolute, was made Prefect of Paris. 
 
 Such converts were searched for, and, 
 when found, were honoured, and rewarded, 
 and trusted. For the power of recompens- 
 iiig his soldiers, statesmen, and adherents, 
 the conquered countries were again the 
 Emperor's resource. National domains 
 were reserved to a large amount throughout 
 tliose countries, and formed funds, out of 
 which gratifications and annuities were, at 
 Napoleon's sole pleasure, assigned to the 
 generals, officers, and soldiers of the French 
 army ; who might in this way be said to have 
 h!! Europe for their paymaster. Thus eve- 
 ry conquest increased his means of reward- 
 ing his soldiers ; and that army, which was 
 the most formidable instrument of his ambi- 
 tion, was encouraged and maintained at the 
 expense of those states which had suffered 
 most from his arms. 
 
 We have not yet concluded the important 
 changes introduced into Europe by the con- 
 sequences of the fatal campaign of Auster- 
 litz. The Confederation of the Rhine, which 
 withdrew from the German Empire so large 
 a portion of its princes, and, transferring 
 them from the influence of Austria, placed 
 them directly and avowedly under the pro- 
 tection of France, was an event which tend- 
 ed directly to the dissolution of the Ger- 
 manic League, which had subsisted since 
 the year 300, when Charlemagne received 
 the Imperial Crown from Pope Leo the 
 T.hird. 
 
 By the new Federation of the Rhine, the 
 courts of Wirtemberg and Bavaria, of Hes- 
 se d'.\rnistadt, with some petty princes of 
 the right bank of the Rhine, formed among 
 lhftmselvi»s an alliance offensive and defen- 
 sive, and renounced their dependence upon 
 the Germanic Body, of which they declared 
 Uiey no longer recognised the con.stitution. 
 The reasons assigned for this league had 
 considerable weight. It was urged that the 
 countries governed by these princes were. 
 in every case of war betwixt France and 
 Austria, exposed to all the evils of invasion, 
 from which the Germanic Body had no lon- 
 ger power to defend them. Therefore, be- 
 ing obliged to seek fur more effectual pro- , 
 
 tection from so great an evil, they placed 
 themselves directly under the guardianship 
 of France. Napoleon, on his part, did not 
 hesitate to accept the title of Protector of 
 the Confederation of the Rhine. It is true, 
 that he had engaged to his subjects that he 
 would not extend the limits ol his empire 
 beyond that river, which he acknowledged 
 as the natural boundary of France ; but this 
 engagement was not held to exclude the 
 sort of seigniorie attached to the new Pro- 
 tectorate, in virtue of which he plunged the 
 German States who composed the Confede- 
 racy into every war in which France herself 
 engaged, and at pleasure carried their ar- 
 mies against other German States, their 
 brethren in language and manners, or trans- 
 ferred tlicm to more distant climates, to 
 wage wars in which they had no interest, 
 and to wliich they had received no provo- 
 cation. It was also a natural consequence, 
 that a number of inferior members of the 
 empire, who had small tenures under the 
 old constitutions, having no means of de- 
 fence excepting their ancient rights, were 
 abolished in their capacity of imperial feud- 
 atories, and reduced from petty sovereigns 
 to the condition of private nobles. This, 
 though certainly unjust in the abstract prin- 
 ciple, was not in practice an inconvenient 
 result of the great change introduced. 
 
 The military contingents, which the Con- 
 federation placed, not perhaps in words, but 
 certainly in fact, at the disposal of their Pro- 
 tector, not less than sixty thousand men, 
 were of a character and in a state of milita- 
 ry organization very superior to those which 
 they had formerly furnished to the Ger- 
 manic Body. These last, much fewer in 
 number, were seldom in a complete state of 
 equipment, and were generally very inferi- 
 or in discipline. But Napoleon not only 
 exacted that the contingents furnished un- 
 der this new federation should be complete 
 in numbers, and perfect in discipline and 
 appointments, but, imparting to them, and 
 to their officers, a spark of his own military 
 ardour, he inspired them with a spirit of 
 bravery and confidence which they had been 
 far from exhibiting when in the opposite 
 ranks. No troops in his army behaved bet- 
 ter than those of the Confederacy of the 
 Rhine. But the strength which the system 
 afforded to Napoleon was only temporary, 
 and depended on the continuance of the 
 power by which it was created. It w,as too 
 arbitrary, too artificial, and too much oppos- 
 ed both to the interests and national preju- 
 dices of the Germans, not to bear within it 
 the seeds of dissolution. When tlie tide of 
 fortune turned against Buonaparte after the 
 battle of Leipsic, Bavaria hastened to join 
 the allies for the purpose of completing his 
 destruction, and the example was followed 
 by all the other Princes of the Rhine. It 
 fared with Napoleon and the German Con- 
 federation, as with a necromancer .and the 
 demon whom for a certain term he haJ 
 bound to his service, and who obeys hi.ii 
 with fidelity during the currency of the ob- 
 ligation ; but, when that is expired, is tho 
 first to tear his employer to pieces. 
 Francis of Austria, seeing the empire, of
 
 Chap. LIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 431 
 
 which his house had been so long the head, 
 going to pieces like a parting wreck, had no 
 other resource than to lay aside the Impe- 
 rial Crown of Germany, and to declare that 
 league dissolved which he now saw no suffi- 
 cient means of enforcing. He declared the 
 ties dissevered which bound the various 
 princes to him as Emperor, to each other 
 as allies ; and although he reserved the Im- 
 perial title, it was only as the Sovereign of 
 Austria, and his other hereditary states. 
 
 France became therefore in a great meas- 
 ure the successor to the influence and dig- 
 nity of the Holy Roman Empire, as that of 
 Germany had been proudly styled for a 
 thousand years ; and the Empire of Napo- 
 leon gained a still nearer resemblance to 
 that of Charlemagne. At least France suc- 
 ceeded to the Imperial influence exercised 
 by Austria and her empire over all the 
 Bouth-western provinces of that powerful 
 district of Europe. In the eastern districts, 
 Austria, stunned by her misfortunes and her 
 
 defeats, was passive and unresisting. Prus- 
 sia, in the north of Germany, was halting 
 between two very opposite sets of counsel- 
 lors ; one of which, with too much confi- 
 dence in the military resources of the coun- 
 try, advised war with France, for which the 
 favourable opportunity had been permitted 
 to escape ; while the other recommended, 
 that, like the iackall in the train of the lion, 
 Prussia should continue to avail herself of 
 the spoils which Napoleon might permit 
 her to seize upon, without presuming to 
 place herself in opposition to his will, In 
 either case, the course recommended was 
 sufficiently perilous ; but to vacillate, as 
 the cabinet of Berlin did, betwixt the one 
 and tlie other, inferred almost certain ruin. 
 While Napoleon thus revelled in aug- 
 mented strength, and increased honours. 
 Providence put it once more, and for the 
 last time, in his power, to consolidate his 
 immense empire by a general peace, mari- 
 time as well as upon the Continent. 
 
 CHAP. ZiXZ. 
 
 Death of Pitt — He is succeeded by Fox as Prime Minister. — Circumstances which led 
 to Negotiation with France. — I'he Earl of Lauderdale is sent to Paris as the British 
 Negotiator. — Negotiation is broken off in consequence of the Refusal of England to 
 cede Sicily to France, and Lord Lauderdale leaves Paris. — Reasonings on the Stabil- 
 ity of Peace, had Peace been obtained. — Prussia — her Temporizing Policy — She 
 takes alarm — An attempt made by her to form a. Confederacy in opposition to that of 
 the Rhine, is defeated by the Machinations of Napoleon. — Strong and general dispo- 
 sition of the Prussians to War. — Legal Murder of Palm, a bookseller, by authority of 
 Buonaparte, aggravates this feeling. — The Emperor Alexander again visits Berlin. 
 — Prussia begins to arm in August ISOG, a7id, after some Negotiation, takes the Field 
 in October, under the Duke of Brunsirick. — Impolicy of the Plans of the Campaign. 
 — Details. — Action fought, and lost by the Prussians, at Saalfcld — Followed by th* 
 decisive Defeat of Auerstadt. or Jena, on the \3th October. — Particulars of the Battle. 
 — Duke of Brunswick mortally wounded. — Consequences of this total Defeat— All the 
 strong places tn Prussia given up without resistance. — Buonaparte takes possession of 
 Berlin on the ~oth.— Explanation of the different Situations of Austria and Prussia 
 after their several Defeats. — Reflections on the Fall of Prussia. 
 
 The death of William Pitt was accelerated 
 by the campaign of Ulm and Austerlitz, as 
 his health had been previously injured by 
 the defeat of Marengo. Great as he was as 
 a statesman, ardent in patriotism, and com- 
 prehensive in his political views, it had 
 been too much the habit of that great min- 
 ister, to trust, for some rc-cstablishment of 
 the balance of power on the Continent, tn 
 the exertions of the ancient European fjov- 
 ernments, whose efforts had gradually be- 
 come fainter and fainter, and their spirits 
 more and more depressed, when opposed to 
 the power of Buonaparte, whose blows, 
 like the thunderbolt, seemed to inflict in- 
 evitable ruin wherever they burst. But, 
 while resting too much hope on coalitions, 
 placing too murh confidence in foreign ar- 
 mies, and too little considering, perhaps, 
 what might have been achieved by our own, 
 had sufficient numbers been employed on 
 adequate objects, Pitt maintained with un- 
 abated zeal the great principle of resistance 
 to France, unless France should be dispos- 
 ed to show, that, satisfied with the immense 
 power which she possessed, her Emperor 
 was willing to leave the rest of Europe such 
 
 precarious independence, as his victorious 
 arms had not yet bereft them of. 
 
 The British ()rime minister was succeed- 
 ed, upon his death, by the statesman to 
 whom, in life, he had waged the most uni- 
 form opposition. Charles Fox, now at the 
 head of the British government, had uni- 
 formly professed to believe it possible to 
 effect a solid and lasti.ng peace with France, 
 and, in the ardour of debate, had repeatedlr 
 thrown on his great adversary the blame 
 that such had not been accomplished. 
 W'hen he himself became possessed of 
 the supreme power of administration, he 
 v.'as naturally disposed to realize his pre- 
 dictions, if Napoleon should be found dis- 
 posed tn admit a treaty upon anything like 
 equal terras. In a visit to Paris during the 
 peace of Amiens, Mr. Fox had been receiv- 
 ed with great distinction by Napoleon. 
 The private relations betwixt them were 
 therefore of an amicable nature, and g.ave 
 an opening for friendly intercourse. 
 
 The time, too, appeared favourable for 
 negotiation ; for whatever advantages had 
 been derived by France from her late tri- 
 umphant campaign on tbo Continent, were,
 
 432 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.Ln. 
 
 BO far as Britain was concerned, neutralized 
 and out-balanced by the destruction of the 
 combined fleets. All possibility of invasion 
 which appears before this event to have 
 ■warmly engrossed the imagination of Napo- 
 leon, seemed at an end for ever. The de- 
 lusion which represented a united navy of 
 fifty sail of the line triumphantly occupying 
 the British Channel, and escorting an over- 
 powering force to the shores of England, 
 was dispelled by the cannon of iilst Octo- 
 ber. The gay dreams, which painted a vic- 
 torious army marching to London, reform- 
 ing the state of England by the destruction 
 of her aristocracy, and reducing her to her 
 natural condition, as Napoleon termed it, 
 of such a dependency on France as the isl- 
 and of Oleron or of Corsica, were gone. 
 After the Battle of Trafalgar, all hopes 
 were extinguished that the fair provinces 
 of England could in any possible event have 
 been cut u-p into new fiefs of the French 
 empire. It was no longer to be dreamed, 
 that Delations, as they were termed, might 
 be formed upon the Royal Exchange for 
 the payment of annuities by hundreds of 
 tiiousands, and by millions, for rewarding 
 the soldiers of the Great Nation. To work 
 purses for the French officers, that they 
 might be filled with British gold, had of late 
 been a favourite amusement among the fair 
 ladies of France ; but it was now evident 
 that they had laboured in vain. All these 
 hopes and projects were swallowed up in 
 the billows which entombed the wrecks of 
 Trjifalgar. 
 
 In a word, if Austria had fallen in the 
 contest of 1805, Britain stood more pre-em- 
 inent than ever; and it might have been 
 rati/inally expected, that the desire of war 
 on the part of Napoleon should have ended, 
 when every prospect of bringing that war 
 to the conclusive and triumphant termina- 
 tion which he meditated, had totally disap- 
 peared. The views of the British cabinet, 
 also, we have said, were now amicable, 
 and an incident occurred for opening a ne- 
 gotiation, under circumstances which seem- 
 ed to warrant the good faith of the English 
 ministers. 
 
 A person pretending to be an adherent 
 of the Bourbons, but afterwards pretty well 
 understood to be an agent of the French 
 government, acting upon the paltry system 
 of espionage which had infected both their 
 internal and exterior relations, obtained an 
 audience of Mr. Fox, for the purpose, as he 
 pretended, of communicating to the Britisli 
 minister a proposal for the assassination of 
 Buonaparte. It had happened, that Mr. 
 Fox, in conversation with Napoleon, while 
 at Paris, had indignantly repelled a charge 
 of this kind, which the latter brought ag.iinst 
 some of the English ministry. "Clear 
 your head of that nonsense," was said to 
 be his answer, with more of English blunt- 
 ness than of French politeness. Perhaps 
 Buonaparte was desirous of knowing wheth- 
 er his practice would keep pace with his 
 principles, and on this principle had en- 
 couraged the spy. Fox, as was to be ex- 
 pected, not only repelled with abhorrence 
 the idea suggested by this French agent, 
 
 ! but caused it to be communicated to the 
 French Emperor; and this gave rise to 
 some friendly communication, and finally 
 to a negotiation for peace. Lord Yarmouth, 
 and afterwards Lord Lauderdale, acted for 
 the British government ; Champagny and 
 General Clarke for the Emperor of France. 
 Napoleon, who, like most foreigners, had 
 but an inaccurate idea of the internal struc- 
 ture of the British constitution, had expect- 
 ed to find a French party in the bosom of 
 England, and was surprised to find that a few 
 miscreants of the lowest rank, whom he had 
 been able to bribe, were the only English 
 who were accessible to foreign influence ; 
 and that the party which had opposed the 
 war with France in all its stages, were nev- 
 ertheless incapable of desiring to see it 
 cease on such terms as were dishonourable 
 to the country. 
 
 The French commissioners made sever- 
 al concessions, and even intimated, in ver- 
 bal conference with Lord Yarmouth, that 
 they would be content to treat upon the 
 principle of uti possidetis ; that is, of allow- 
 ing each party to retain such advantages aa 
 she had been able to gain by her arms dur- 
 ing the war. But when the treaty was far- 
 ther advanced, the French negotiators re- 
 sisted this rule, and showed themselves dis- 
 posed to deny that they had ever assented 
 to it. 
 
 They were indeed willing to resign a 
 long-contested point, and consented that 
 the island of Malta, with the Cape of Good- 
 Hope, and other possessions in the East and 
 West Indies, should remain under the do- 
 minion of Great Britian. But then they ex- 
 acted the surrender of Sicily and Naples, 
 proposing that Frederick IV. should be in- 
 demnified at the expense of Spain by the 
 cession of the Balearic Isles. Britain could 
 not implicitly consent to this last proposi- 
 tion, either in policy, or in justice to her 
 unfortunate ally. Naples was indeed occu- 
 pied by the French, and had received Jo- 
 seph Buonaparte as her King; but the insu- 
 lar situation of Sicily rendered it easy for 
 Britain to protect that rich Island, which 
 was still in the possession of its legitimate 
 monarch. The principle of uti possidetis 
 was therefore in favour of the English, eo 
 far as Sicily was concerned, as it was in 
 tliat of the French in the case of Naples. 
 The English envoy, for this reason, refused 
 an ultimatum, in which the cession of Sici- 
 ly was made an indispensable article. Lord 
 Lauderdale, at the same time, demanded 
 !iis passports, which, however, he did not 
 receive for several days, as if there had 
 been some hopes of renewing the treaty. 
 
 Buonaparte was put to considerable in- 
 convenience by the shrewdness and tenacity 
 of the noble negotiator, and bad not forgot- 
 ten them when, in 1815, he found himself 
 on board the Beiierophon, commanded by a 
 relation of the noble Earl. It is indeed 
 probable, that had Mr. Fox lived, the nego- 
 tiation might have been renewed. That 
 eminent statesman, then in his last illnesa^r 
 was desirous to accomplish two great ob- 
 jects — peace with France, and the aboli- 
 tion of the slave trade. But although Buo-
 
 Chap. LII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 433 
 
 naparte's deference for Fox might have in- 
 duced him to concede some of the points 
 in dispute, and although the British states- 
 man's desire of peace might have made him 
 relinquish others on the part of England, 
 ■till, while the two nations retained their 
 relative power and positions, the deep jeal- 
 ousy and mutual animosity which subsisted 
 between them would probably have render- 
 ed any peace which could have been made 
 a mere suspension of arms — a hollow and 
 insincere truce, which was almost certain 
 to give way on the slightest occasion. Brit- 
 ain could never have seen with indifference 
 Buonaparte making one stride after anoth- 
 er towards universal dominion ; and Buo- 
 uaparte could not long have borne with j.a- 
 tience the neighbourhood of our free insti- 
 tutions and our free press ; the former of 
 which must have perpetually reminded the 
 French of the liberty they had lost, while 
 the latter was sure to make the Emperor, 
 his government, and his policy, the daily 
 subject of the most severe and unsparing 
 criticism. Even the war with Prussia and 
 Russia, in which Napoleon was soon after- 
 wards engaged, would in all probability have 
 renewed the hostilities between France and 
 England, supposing them to have been ter- 
 minated for a season by a temporary peace. 
 Yet Napoleon always spoke of the death of 
 Fox as one of the fatalities on which his 
 great designs were shipwrecked; which 
 majces it the more surprising that he did not 
 resume intercourse with the administration 
 formed under his auspices, aud who might 
 nave been supposed to be animated by his 
 principles even after his decease. That he 
 did not do so may be fairly received in evi- 
 dence to show, that peace, unless on terms 
 which he could dictate, was not desired by 
 him. 
 
 As the conduct of Prussia had been fickle 
 and versatile during the campaign of Auster- 
 lilz, the displeasure of Napoleon was excit- 
 ed in proportion against her. She had, it is 
 1 true, wrenched from liim an unwilling ac- 
 j quiescence in her views upon HanoVer. 
 I By the treaty which Haugwitz had signed at 
 I Vienna, after the battle cfAustcrlitz, it was 
 i agreed that Prussia should receive the 
 Electoral dominions of the King of Eng- 
 ' land, his ally, instead of Anspach, Bareuth, 
 and Neufchatel, which she was to cede to 
 France. The far superior value of Hanover 
 was to be considered as a boon to Prussia, 
 in guerdon of her neutrality. But Napole- 
 on did not forgive the hostile disposition 
 which Prussia had manifested, and it is pro- 
 bable he waited with anxiety for tiie oppor- 
 tunity of inflicting upon her condign chas- 
 tisement. He continued to maintain a large 
 army in Swabia and Franconia, and. by in- 
 troducing troops into Westphalia, intimat- 
 ed, not obscurely, an approaching rupture 
 I with his ally. Meantime, under the influ- 
 I ence of conflicting councils, Prussia pro- 
 . i ceededin a course of politics which rendcr- 
 I ed her odious for her rapacity, and con- 
 1 temptible for tlie short-sighted views under 
 ' which she indulged it. 
 
 It was no matter of difncujty for the 
 , j Prussian forces to tvkc pcsscssion of Hano- 
 [| Vol I. -p 
 
 ver, which, when evacuated by Bemadotte 
 and his army, lay a prey to the first invader, 
 with the exception of the fortress of Hame- 
 len, still occupied by a French garrison. 
 The Electorate, the hereditary dominions of 
 the King of Great Britain, with whom Prus- 
 sia was at profound peace, was accordingly 
 seized upon, and her cabinet pretended to 
 justify that usurpation by alleging, that Han- 
 over, having been transferred to France by 
 the rights of war, had been ceded to the 
 Prussian government in exchange for other 
 districts. At the same time, an order of 
 the Prussian monarch shut his ports in the 
 Baltic against the admission of British ves- 
 sels. These measures, taken together, 
 were looked upon by England as intimating 
 determined and avowed hostility ; and Fox 
 described, in the House of Commons, the 
 conduct of Prussia, as a compound of the 
 most hateful rapacity with the most con- 
 temptible servility. War was accordingly 
 declared against her by Great Britain ; and 
 her flag being banished from the ocean by 
 the English cruisers, the mouth of the Elbe 
 and the Prussian sea-ports were declared in 
 a state of blockade, and her trade was sub- 
 jected to a corresponding de'jree of distress. 
 
 Meantime, it was the fate of Prussia to 
 find, that she held by a very insecure te- 
 nure that very Electorate, the price of her 
 neutrality at Austerlitz, and which was far- 
 ther purchased at the expense of war with 
 England. Her ministers, while pressing 
 France to confirm the cession of Hanover, 
 had the mortification to discover that Na- 
 poleon, far from regarding the Prussian right 
 in it as indefeasible, was in fact negotiating 
 for a general peace, upon the condition, 
 amongst others, that the Electorate should 
 be restored to the King of England, its he- 
 reditary sovereign. While the disclosure 
 of this double game showed Frederick Wil- 
 liam upon what insecure footing he held the 
 premium assigned to Prussia by the treaty 
 of Vienna, farth^ discovery of the projecte 
 of France seemed to impel him to change 
 the pacific line of his policy. 
 
 Hitherto the victories of Napoleon had 
 had for their chief consequences the de- 
 pression of.\ustria and the diminution of 
 that power which was the natural and an- 
 cient rival of the House of Brandenburg. 
 But now, when Austria was thrust back to 
 the eastward, and deprived of her influence 
 in the south-west of Germany, Prussia saw 
 with just alarm that France was assuming 
 that influence herself, and that, unless op- 
 posed, she was likely to become as power- 
 ful in the north of Germany, as ene had 
 rendered herself in the south-western cir- 
 cles. .Above all, Prussia was alarmed at 
 the Confederacy of the Rhine, an associa- 
 tion which placed under the direct influ 
 ence of France so large a proportion of 
 wiiat had been lately component parts of 
 the Germanic Empire. The disaoluticn 
 of the Germanic Empire itself wat an event 
 no less surprising and embarrassing ; for, 
 besides all the other important points, in 
 which the position of Prussia was altered 
 by the annihilation of that ancient confed- 
 eracy, she lost thereby the pro.^pect of he»
 
 434 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUORNAPATE. 
 
 [Chap. LII. 
 
 own monarch being, upon the decline of 
 Austria, chosen to wear the imperial crown, 
 as tlie iiiDst powerful member of the federa- 
 tion. 
 
 One way remained, to balance the new 
 species of power which France had ac- 
 quired by tliese innovations on the state of 
 Europe. It was possible, by forming the 
 northern princes of the German empire into 
 a league of the same character with the 
 Confederacy of the Rhine, having Prussia 
 instead of France for its protector, to cre- 
 ate such an equilibrium as might render it 
 difficult or dangerous for Buonaparte to 
 use his means, however greatly enlarged, 
 to disturb the peace of the north of Europe. 
 It was, therefore, determined in the Prus- 
 sian cabinet to form a league on this prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 This proposed Northern Confederacy, 
 however, could not well be established 
 without communication with France ; and 
 Buonaparte, though offering no direct op- 
 position to the formation of a league, sanc- 
 tioned by the example of that of the Rhine, 
 started such obstacles to the project in de- 
 tail, as were likely to render its establish- 
 ment on an effectual footing impossible. It 
 was said by his ministers, that Napoleon 
 was to take the Hanseatic towns under his 
 own immediate protection ; that the wise 
 prince who governed Saxony showed no 
 i^esire to become a member of the proposed 
 Confederacy ; and that France would per- 
 mit no power to be forced into such a mea- 
 sure. Finally, the Landgrave of Hesse 
 Cassel, who was naturally reckoned upon 
 as an important member of the proposed 
 Northern League, was tampered with to 
 prevail upon him to join the Confederacy 
 of the Rhine, instead of that which was 
 proposed to be formed under the protector- 
 ate of Prussia. This prince, afraid to de- 
 cide which of these powerful nations he 
 should adhere to, remained in a state of 
 neutrality, notwithstanding the offers of 
 France ; and, by doing so, incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of Napoleon, from which in the 
 sequel he suffered severely. 
 
 By this partial interruption and opposi- 
 tion. Napoleon rendered it impossible for 
 Prussia to make any effectual eflbrts for 
 combining together those remaining frag- 
 ments of the German empire, over which 
 her military power and geographical posi- 
 tion gave her natural influence. This dis- 
 appointment, with the iense of having been 
 outwitted by the French government, ex- 
 cited feelings of chagrin and resentment in 
 the Prussian cabinet, which corresponded 
 with the sentiments expressed by the na- 
 tion at large. In the former, the predomi- 
 nant feeling was, despite for disappoint- 
 ed hopes, and a desire of revenge on the 
 sovereign and state by whom they had been 
 orerreached : in the latter, there prevailed 
 a keen and honourable sense that Prussia 
 had lost her character tlirough the truck- 
 ling policy of her administration 
 
 Whatever reluctance the cabinet of Ber- 
 lin had shown to enter into hostilities wirh 
 France, the court and country never ap- 
 pear to have shared that sensation. The 
 
 former was under the influence of the 
 young, beautiful, and high-spirited Queea, 
 and of Louis of Prussia, a prince who felt 
 with impatience the decaying importance 
 of that kingdom, which the victories of the 
 Great Frederick had raised to such a pitch 
 of glory. These were surrounded by a nu- 
 merous band of noble youths, impatient for 
 war, as the means of emulating the fame of 
 their fathers ; but ignorant how little like- 
 ly vvere even the powerful and well-disci- 
 plined forces of Frederick, unless directed 
 by his genius, to succeed in opposition to 
 troops not inferior to themselves, and con- 
 ducted by a leader who had long appeared 
 to chain victory to his chariot wheels. 
 The sentiments of the young Prussian no- 
 blesse were sufficiently indicated, by their 
 going to sharpen their sabres on the thresh- 
 old of La Foret, the ambassador of Na- 
 poleon, and the wilder frolic of breaking 
 the windows of the ministers supposed to 
 be in the French interest. The Queen 
 appeared frequently in the uniform of the 
 regiment which bore her name, and some- 
 times rode herself at their head, to give en- 
 thusiasm to the soldiery. This was soon 
 excited to the highest pitch ; and had the 
 military talents of the Prussian generals 
 borne any correspondence to the gallantry 
 of the officers and soldiers, an issue to the 
 campaign might have been expected far 
 different from that which took place. The 
 manner in which the characters of the 
 Queen, the King, and Prince Louis, were 
 treated in the Moniteur, tended still more 
 to exasperate the quarrel ; for Napoleon's 
 studious and cautious exclusion from the 
 government paper of such political arti- 
 cles as had not his own previous approba- 
 tion, rendered him in reason accountable 
 for all which appeared there. 
 
 The people of Prussia at large were 
 clamorous for war. They, too, were sen- 
 sible that the late versatile conduct of their 
 cabinet had exposed them to the censure, 
 and even the scorn of Europe; and that 
 Buonaparte seeing the crisis ended, in 
 which the firmness of Prussia might have 
 preserved the balance of Europe, retained 
 no longer any respect for those whom he 
 had made his dupes, but treated with total 
 disregard the remonstrances, which, before 
 the advantages obtained at Ulm and Aus- 
 terlitz, he must have listened to with re- 
 spect and deference. 
 
 Another circumstance of a very exasper- 
 ating character took place at this tin>e. 
 One Palm, a bookseller at Nuremberg, had 
 exposed to sale a pamphlet, containing 
 remarks on the conduct of Napoleon, in 
 which the Emperor and his policy were 
 treated with considerable s&verity. The 
 bookseller was seized upon for this offence 
 by tne French gens d'armes, and transfer- 
 red to Braunau, where he was brought 
 before a miUlary commission, tried for a 
 libel on the Emperor of France, found guil- 
 ty, and shot to death in terms of his sen- 
 tence. The murder of this poor man, for 
 such it literally was, whether immediately 
 flowing from Buonaparte's mandate, or the 
 effect of the furious zeal of soino of hi*
 
 Chap. LIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 435 
 
 officers, excited deep and general indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The constitution of many of the states 
 in Germany is despotic; but, nevertheless, 
 the number of independent principalities, 
 and the privileges of the free towns, have 
 always insured to the nation at large the 
 blessings of a free press, which, much ad- 
 dicted as they are to literature, the Ger- 
 mans value as it deserves. The cruel ef- 
 fort now made to fetter this unshackled ex- 
 pression of opinion, was, of course, most 
 unfavourable to his authority by whom 
 it had been commanded. The thousand 
 presses of Germany continued on every 
 possible opportunity to dwell on the fate 
 of Palm ; and at the distance of six or sev- 
 en years from his death, it might be reck- 
 oned among the leading causes which ul- 
 timately determined the popular opinion 
 against'Napoleon. It had not less effect at 
 the time when the crime was committed ; 
 and the eyes of all Germany were turned 
 upon Prussia, as the only member of the 
 late Holy Roman League, by whom the 
 progress of the public enemy of the lib- 
 erties of Europe could be arrested in its 
 course. 
 
 Amidst the general ferment of the pub- 
 lic mind, Alexander once more appeared in 
 person at the court of Berlin, and, more 
 successful than on the former occasion, 
 prevailed on the King of Prussia at length 
 to unsheath the sword. The support of 
 the powerful hosts of Russia was promised ; 
 and. defeated by the fatal field of Auster- 
 litz in his attempt to preserve the south- 
 east of Germany from French influence, 
 Alexander now stood forth to assist Prussia 
 as the Champion of the North. An at- 
 tempt had indeed been made through means 
 of D'Oubril, a Russian envo}' at Paris, to 
 obtain a general peace for Europe, in con- 
 currence with that which Lord Lauder- 
 dale was endeavouring to negotiate on the 
 part of Britain ; but the treaty entirely mis- 
 carried. 
 
 While Prussia thus declared herself the 
 enemy of France, it seemed to follow as a 
 matter of course, that she should become 
 once more the friend of Britain ; and, in- 
 deed, that power lost no time in manifesting 
 an amicable disposition on her part, by 
 recalling the order which blockaded the 
 Prussian ports, and annihilated her com- 
 merce. But the cabinet of Berlin evinced, 
 in the moment when about to commence 
 hoetilites, the same selfish insincerity 
 which had dictated all their previous con- 
 duct. While sufficiently desirous of ob- 
 taining British money to maintain the ap- 
 proaching war, they showed great reluc- 
 tance to part with Hanover, an acquisition 
 made in a manner so unworthv ; and the 
 Prussian minister, Lucchesini, did not hes- 
 itate to tell the British ambassador. Lord 
 Morpeth, that the fate of the Electorate 
 would depend upon the event of arms. 
 
 Little good could be augured from the 
 interposition of a power, who, pretending 
 to arm in behalf of the rights of nations, 
 refused to part with an acquisition which 
 she herselt had made, contrary to all the 
 
 rules of justice and good faith. Still less 
 was a favourable event to be hoped for, 
 when the management of the war was in- 
 trusted to the same incapable or faithless 
 ministers, who had allowed every oppor- 
 tunity to escape of asserting the rights of 
 Prussia, when, perhaps, her assuming a firm 
 attitude might have prevented the necessity 
 of war altogether. But the resolution 
 which had been delayed, when so many fa- 
 vourable occasions were suffered to escape 
 unemployed, was at length adopted with an 
 imprudent precipitation, which left Prussia 
 neither time to adopt the wisest warlike 
 measures, nor to look out for those states- 
 men and generals by whom such measures 
 could have been most effectually executed 
 About the middle of August, Prussia 
 began to arm. Perhaps there are few ex- 
 amples of a war declared with the almost 
 unaminous consent of a great and warlike 
 people, which was brought to an earlier and 
 more unhappy termination. On the 1st of 
 October, Knobelsdorff, the Prussian envov. 
 was called upon by Talleyrand to explain 
 the cause of the martial attitude assumed by 
 his state. In reply, a paper was delivered, 
 containing three propositions, or rather 
 demands. First, That the French troops 
 which had entered the German territory, 
 should instantly re-cross the Rhine. Sec- 
 ondly, That France should desist from pre- 
 senting obstacles to the formation of a 
 league in the northern part of Germany, to 
 comprehend all the states, without excep- 
 tion, which had not been included in the 
 Confederation of the Rhine. Thirdly, That 
 negotiations should be immediately com- 
 menced, for the purpose of detaching the 
 fortress of Wesel from the French empire, 
 and for the restitution of three abbeys, 
 which Murat had chosen to seize upon as 
 a part of his Duchy of Berg. With this 
 manifesto was delivered a long explanatrry 
 letter, containing severe remarks on the 
 system of encroachment which France had 
 acted upon. Such a text and commentary, 
 considering their peremptory tone, and the 
 pride and power of him to whom they were 
 addressed in such unqualified terms, must 
 have been understood to amount to a dec- 
 laration of war. And yet, although Prussia, 
 in common with all Europe, had just reason 
 to complain of the encroachments cf France, 
 and her rapid strides to universal empire, 
 it would appear that the two first articles 
 in the King's declaration, were snbjects 
 i rather of negotiation than grounds of an 
 I absolute declaration of war, and that the 
 fortress of Wesel, and the three abbeys, 
 were scarce of importance enough to plunge 
 the whole empire into blood for the sake 
 of them. 
 
 Prussia, indeed, was less actually ajgriev- 
 ed than she was mortified and offended. 
 She saw she had been outwitted by Buona- 
 parte in the ne^oti.ntion of Vienna; that he 
 was juggling with her in the matter of Han- 
 over ; that she was in danger of beliolding 
 Sa-iony and Hesse -vithdrawn from her pro- 
 t'.ction. to be placed under that of France ; 
 and under a general sense of these injuries, 
 tbouiih rather apprehended than really su8>
 
 4r>G 
 
 LIFE OF JXAPOLEON BL'OxXAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIL 
 
 tK.incd, siic hurried to the field. If ncgotia- 
 tioiig could liave been protracted till the 
 advance ol'the Russian armies, it might have 
 given a dilt'erent Face to the war ; but in 
 tlie warlike ardour which possessed the 
 Prussians, they were desirous to secure 
 the advantages which, in military affairs, 
 belong to tiie assailants, without weighing 
 tlie circumstances which, in their situation, 
 rendered such precipitation fatal 
 
 Besides, such advantages were not easily 
 to be obtained over Buonaparte, who was 
 not a man to be amused by words when the 
 moment of action arrived. Four days before 
 the delivery of the Prussian note to his 
 minister, Buonaparte had left Paris, and was 
 personally in the field collecting his own im- 
 mense forces, and urging the contribution 
 of those contingents which the Confederate 
 Princes of the Rhine were bound to sup- 
 ply. His answer to the hostile note of the 
 King of Prussia, was addressed, not to that 
 monarch, but to his own soldiers. •' They 
 have dared to demand," he said, " that we 
 sjiould retreat at the first sight of their 
 army. Fools ! could they not rellect how 
 impossible they found it to destroy Paris, 
 a task incomparably more easy than to tar- 
 nish the honour of the Great Nation. Let 
 the Prussian army expect tlie same fate 
 which they encountered fourteen years ago, 
 since experience has not taught them, that 
 wliile it is easy to acquire additional do- 
 minions and increase of power, by the 
 friendship of France, her enmity, on the 
 contrary, which will only be provoked by 
 those who are totally destitute of sense 
 and reason, is more terrible than the tem- 
 pests of the ocean." 
 
 The King of Prussia had again placed at 
 the head of his armies the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick. In his youth, this general had gain- 
 ed renown under his uncle Prince Ferdi- 
 nand. But it had been lost in the retreat 
 from Champagne in 1792, where he had suf- 
 fered himself to be out-manoeuvred by 
 Dumouriez and his army of conscripts. He 
 was .seventy-two years old, and is said to 
 have added the obstinacy of ag', to others 
 of the infirmities which naturally attend it. 
 He was not communicative, nor accessible 
 to any of the other generals, excepting 
 MoUendorf ; and this generated a disun- 
 ion of councils in the Prussian camp, and 
 the personal dislike of the army to him by 
 whom it was commanded. 
 
 The plan of the campaign, formed by 
 this ill-fated Prince, seems to have been 
 singularly injudicious, and the more so, as 
 it is censurable on exactly the same ground:; 
 as that of Austria in the late war. Prussia 
 could not expect to have the advantage of 
 numbers in tiie contest. It was theretore 
 her obvious policy to procrastinate and 
 lengthen out negotiation, until she could 
 have the advantage of the Russian forces. 
 Instead of this, it was determined to rush 
 forward towards Franconia, and oppose the 
 Prussian army alone to the wiiole force of 
 France, commanded by their renowned 
 Emperor. 
 
 The motive too, was similar to Ihat ! 
 which had determined Austria to advance 
 
 I as far as the banks of the Iller. Saxony 
 , was in the present campaign, as Bavaria 
 in the former, desirous of remaining neu- 
 ter ; and the hasty advance of the Prussiaa 
 j armies was designed to compel the Elector 
 I Augustus to embrace their cause. It auc- 
 I ceeded accordingly ; and the Sovereign of 
 ' Saxony united his forces, though reluc- 
 tantly, with the left wing of the Prussians, 
 under Prince Hohenloe. The conduct of 
 the Prussians towards the Saxons, bore the 
 same ominous resemblance to that of the 
 Austrians to the Bavarians. Their troops 
 behaved in the country of Saxony more as 
 if they were in the land of a tributary than 
 an ally, and while the assistance of the 
 good and peaceable Prince was sternly ex- 
 acted, no efforts were made to conciliate 
 his good-will, or soothe the pride of his 
 subjects. In their behaviour to the Saxons 
 in general, the Prussians showed too much 
 of the haughty spirit that goes before a 
 fall. 
 
 The united force of the Prussian army, 
 with its auxiliaries, amounted to one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand men, confident in 
 their own courage, in the rigid discipline 
 which continued to distinguish their ser- 
 vice, and in the animating recollections of 
 the victorious career of the Great Freder- 
 ick. There were many generals and sol- 
 diers in their ranks who had served under 
 him ; bi}t, amongst that troop of veterans, 
 Blucher alone was destined to do distin- 
 guished honour to the school. 
 
 Notwithstanding these practical errors, 
 the address of the Prussian King to his ar- 
 my was in better taste than the vaunting 
 proclamation of Buonaparte, and concluded 
 with a passage, which, though its accom- 
 plishment was long delayed, nevertheless 
 proved at last prophetic ; — "We go," said 
 Frederick William, " to encounter an ene- 
 my, who has vanquished numerous armies, 
 humiliated monarchs, destroyed constitu- 
 tions, and deprived more than one state of 
 its independence, and even of its very name. 
 He has threatened a similar fate to Prussia, 
 and proposes to reduce us to the dominion 
 of a strange people, who would suppress the 
 very name of Germans. The fate of armies, 
 and of nations, is in the hands of the Al- 
 mighty ; but constant victory, and durable 
 prosperity, are never granted save to the 
 cause of justice." 
 
 While Buonaparte assembled in Franco- 
 nia an army considerably superior in num- 
 ber to that of the Prussians, the latter oc- 
 cupied the country in the vicinity of the 
 river Saale, and seemed, in doing so, to re- 
 nounce all the advantage of making the at- 
 tack on the enemy ere he had collected his 
 forces. Yet to make such an attack was, 
 and must have been, the principal motive 
 of their hasty and precipitate advance, es- 
 pecially after they had secured its primary 
 object, the accession of Saxony to the cam- 
 paign. The position which the Duke of , 
 Brunswick occupied was indeed very strong 
 as a defensive one, but the means of support- 
 ing so largo an army were not easily to be ob- 
 tained in such a barren country as that about 
 Weimar j and their magazines and depot!
 
 Chap LIL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 437 
 
 of provisions wer j injudiciously placed, not 
 close in the rear of the army; but at Naum- 
 burg, and other places, upon their extreme 
 left, and where they were exposed to tlie 
 risk of being separated from thcni. It might 
 be partly owing to the difiiculty of obtain- 
 ing forage and subsistence, that the Prus- 
 sian army was extended upon a line by far 
 too much prolonged to admit of mutual sup- 
 port. Indeed, they may be considered rath- 
 er as disposed in cantonments than as oc- 
 cupying a military position ; and as they re- 
 mained strictly on the defensive, an oppor- 
 tunity was gratuitously oflered to Buona- 
 parte to attack their divisions in detail, of 
 which he did not fail to avail himself with 
 his usual talent. The head-quarters of the 
 Prussians, where were the King and Duke 
 of Brunswick, were at Weimar; their left, 
 ■under Prince Hohenloe, were at Sclileitz ; 
 land their right extended as far as Muhl- 
 bausen, leaving thus a space of ninety 
 miles betwixt the extreme flanks of their 
 line. 
 
 Buonaparte, in the meantime, commenc- 
 ed the campaign, according to u'k custom, 
 by a series of partial actions fouglit on dif- 
 ferent points, in which his usual combina- 
 tions obtained his usual success ; the whole 
 tending to straiten the Prussians in their 
 position, to interrupt their communications, 
 separate them from their supplies, and com- 
 pel them to fight a decisive battle from ne- 
 cessity, not choice, in which dispirited 
 troops, under baffled and outwitted gener- 
 als, were to encounter with soldiers who 
 had already obtained a foretaste of victory, 
 and who fought under the most renowned 
 commanders, the combined efforts of the 
 whole being directed by the master spirit 
 of the age. 
 
 Upon the 8th October, fiuonaparte gave 
 vent to his resentment in a bulletin, in 
 which he con^plained of having received a 
 letter of twenty pages, signed by the King 
 of Prussia, being, as he alleged, a sort of 
 wretched pamphlet, such as England en- 
 gaged hireling authors to compose at the 
 rate of five hundred pounds sterling a-year. 
 "lam sorry,'' he said, "for my brother, 
 who does not understand the French lan- 
 guage, and has certainly never read that 
 rhapsody." The same publication contain- 
 ed much in ridicule of the Queen and 
 Prince Louis. It bears evident marks of 
 Napoleon's own composition, which was 
 as singular, though not so felicitous, as his 
 mode of fighting ; but it was of little use 
 to censure either the style or the reasoning 
 of the lord of so many legions. His arms 
 soon made the impression which he desir- 
 ed upon the position of" the enemy. 
 I The French advanced, in three divisions, 
 \ apon the dislocated and extended disposi- 
 tion of the large but ill-arranged Prussian 
 army. It was a primary and irretrievable 
 fault of the Duke of Brunswick, that his 
 magazines, and reserves of artillery and am- 
 munition, were placed atNaumburg, instead 
 of being closed in the rear of his arn^y, and 
 under the protection of his main body. 
 This ill-timed separation rendered it easy 
 I tor the French to interpose betwixt the 
 
 Prussians and their supplies, providing tiiey 
 were able to clear the course of the Saale. 
 With this view the French right wing, 
 commanded by Soult and Ney, marched 
 upon Hof The centre was under Berna- 
 dotte and Davoust, with the guard com- 
 manded by Murat. They moved on Saal- 
 burg and Sclileitz. The left wing was led 
 by Augereau against Coburg and Saalfeld. 
 It was the object of this grand combined 
 movement to overwhelm the Prussian left 
 wing, which was extended farther than pru- 
 dence poj-mitted ; and, having beaten this 
 part of the array, to turn their whole posi- 
 tion, and possess themselves of their maga- 
 zines. Alter some previous skirmishes, a 
 serious action took place at Saalfeld, where 
 Prince Louis of Prussia commanded the 
 advanced guard of the Prussian left wing. 
 
 In the ardour and inexperience of youth, 
 the brave Prince, instead of being content- 
 ed with defending the bridge on the Saale, 
 quitted that advantageous position, to ad- 
 vance with unequal forces against Lannes, 
 who was marching upon him from Graffen- 
 thal. If bravery could have atoned for im- 
 prudence, the battle of Saalfeld would not 
 have been lost. Prince Louis showed the 
 utmost gallantry in leading his men when 
 they advanced, and in rallying them when 
 they fled. He was killed fighting hand to 
 hand with a French subaltern, who requir- 
 ed him to surrender, and receiving a sabre- 
 wound for reply, plunged his sword into the 
 Prince's body. Several of his stafl" fell 
 around him. 
 
 The victory of Saalfeld opened the course 
 of the Saale to the French, who instantly 
 advanced on Naumburg. Buonaparte was 
 at Gera, within half a day's journey from 
 the latter city, whence he sent a letter to 
 the King of Prussia, couched in the lan- 
 guage of a victor, (for victorious he already 
 felt himself by his numbers and position,) 
 and seasoned with the irony of a successful 
 foe. He regretted his good brother had 
 been made to sign the wretched pamphlet 
 which had borne his name, but which he 
 protested he did not impute to him as 
 his composition. Had Prussia asked any 
 practicable favour of him, he said he would 
 have granted it ; but she had aeked his dis- 
 honour, and ought to have known there 
 could be but one answer. In considera- 
 tion of their former friendship, Napoleon 
 stated himself to be ready to restore peace 
 to Prussia and her monarch ; and, advising 
 his good brother to dismiss such coun- 
 sellors as recommended the present war 
 and that of 1792, he bade him heartily fare- 
 well. 
 
 Buonaparte neither expected nor receiv- 
 ed any answer to this missive, which was 
 written under the exulting sensations ex- 
 perienced by the angler, when he feels the 
 fish is hooked, and about to become his se- 
 cure prey. Naumburg and its magazines 
 were consigned to the flames, which first 
 announced to the Prussians that the French 
 army had gotten completely into their rear, 
 had destroyed their magazines, and, being 
 now interposed betwixt them and Saxony, 
 left them no alternative save that of battle
 
 438 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. UL 
 
 %vhich was to be waged at the greatest dis- 
 advantage with an alert enemy, to whom 
 their supineness had already given the 
 choice of time and place for it. There was 
 also this ominous consideration, that, in 
 case of disaster, the Prussians liad neither 
 principle, nor order, nor line of retreat. The 
 enemy were betwixt them and Magdeburg, 
 'vhich ought to have been their rallying 
 point ; and the army of the Great Frederick 
 was, it must be owned, brought to combat 
 with as little reflection or military science, 
 as a herd of school-boys might have display- 
 ed in a mutiny. 
 
 Too late determined to make spome exer- 
 tion to clear their comraunic-ations to the 
 rear, the Duke of Brunswick, with the King 
 of Prussia in person, marched with great 
 
 Eart of their army to the recovery ofNaum- 
 urg. Here Davoust, who had taken the 
 place, remained at the head of a division of 
 six-and-thirty thousand men, with whom he 
 was to oppose nearly double the number. 
 The march of the Duke of Brunswick was 
 so slow, as to lose the advantage of this su- 
 periority. He paused on the evening of the 
 twelfth on the heights of Auerstadt, and 
 gave Davoust time to reinforce the troops 
 with which he occupied the strong defile of 
 Koesen. The next morning, Davoust, with 
 strong reinforcements, but still unequal in 
 numbers to the Prussians, marched towards 
 the enemy, whose columns were already in 
 motion. The vanguard of both armies met, 
 without previously knowing that they were 
 6o closely approaching each other, so thick 
 lay the mist upon the ground. 
 
 The village of Hassen-Hausen, near 
 which the opposite armies were first made 
 aware of each other's proximity, became in- 
 stantly the scene of a severe conflict, and 
 was taken and retaken repeatedly. The 
 Prussian cavalry, being superior in numbers 
 to that of the French, and long famous for 
 its appointments and discipline, attacked 
 repeatedly, and was as often resisted by the 
 French squares of infantry, whom they found 
 it impossible to throw into disorder, or break 
 upon any point. The French having thus 
 repelled the Prussian horse, carried at the 
 point of the bayonet some woods and the 
 village of Spilberg, and remained in un» 
 disturbed possession of that of Hassen-Hau- 
 een. The Prussians had by this time main- 
 tained the battle from eight in the morning 
 till eleven, and being now engaged on all 
 points, with the exception of two divisions 
 of the reserve, had suffered great loss. The 
 Generalissimo, Duke of Brunswick, wound- 
 ed in the face by a grape-shot, was carried 
 off; so was General Schmettau, and other 
 officers of distinction. The want of an ex- 
 perienced chief began to be felt, when, to 
 increase the difliculties of their situation, 
 the King of Prussia received intelligence 
 that General Mollendorf, who commanded 
 his right wing, stationed near Jena, was in 
 the act of being defeated by Buonaparte in 
 person. The King took the generous but 
 perhaps desperate resolution, of trying, 
 whether in one general charge he could not 
 redeem the fortune of the day, by defeating 
 that part of the French with which he was 
 
 personally engaged. He ordered the at- 
 tack to be made along all the line, and with 
 all the forces which he had in the field ; 
 and his commands were obeyed with gal- 
 lantry enough to vindicate the honour of 
 the troops, but not to lead to success. They 
 were beaten off, and the French resumed 
 the offensive in their turn. 
 
 Still the Prussian monarch, who seems 
 now to have taken the command upon him- 
 self, endeavouring to supply the want of 
 professional experience by courage, brought 
 up his last reserves, and encouraged his bro- 
 ken troops rather to make a final stand for 
 victory, than to retreat in face of a conquer- 
 ing army. This effort also proved in vain. 
 The Prussian line was attacked everywhere 
 at once ; centre and wings were brokea 
 through by the French at the bayonet's 
 point; and the retreat, after so many fruit- 
 less efforts, in which no division had beea 
 left unengaged, was of the most disorderly 
 character. But the confusion was increas- 
 ed tenfold, when, as the defeated troopa 
 reached Weimar, they fell in with the right 
 wing of their own army, fugitives like them- 
 selves, and who were attempting to retreat 
 in the same direction. The disorder of two 
 routed armies meeting in opposing currents, 
 soon became inextricable. The roads were 
 choked up with artillery and baggage wag- 
 ons ; the retreat became a hurried flight; 
 and the King himself, who had shown the 
 utmost courage during the battle of Auer- 
 stadt, was as length, for personal safety, 
 compelled to leave the high roads, and es- 
 cape across the fields, escorted by a small 
 body of cavalry. 
 
 While the left of the Prussian army were 
 in the act of combating Davoust at Auer- 
 stadt, their right, as we have hinted, were 
 with equally bad fortune engaged at Jena. 
 This second action, though the least impor- 
 tant of the two, has always given the name 
 to the double battle ; because it was at Je- 
 na that Napoleon was engaged in person. 
 
 The French Emperor had arrived at thia 
 town, which is situated upon the Saade, oa 
 the 13th of October, and had lost no time 
 in issuing those orders to his Mareschals, 
 which produced the demonstrations of Da- 
 voust, and the victory of Auerstadt. His at- 
 tention was not less turned to the position 
 he himself occupied, and in which he had 
 the prospect of fighting Mollendorf, and the 
 right of ihe Prussians, on tlie next morning. 
 With his usual activity, he formed or en- 
 larged, in the course of the night, the roada 
 by which he proposed to bring up his artil- 
 lery on the succeeding day, and, by hewing 
 the solid rock, made a path practicable for 
 guns to the plateau, or elevated plain in the 
 front of Jena, where his centre was estab- 
 lished. The Prussian army lay before them, 
 extended on a line of six leagues, while 
 that of Napoleon, extremely concentrated, 
 showed a very narrow front, but was well 
 secured both in the flanks and in the rear. 
 Buonaparte, according to his custom, slept 
 in the bivouac, surrounded by his guaros. 
 In the morning he harangued his soldiers, 
 and recommended to them to stand firm 
 against the charges of the Prussian cavalry^
 
 Chap. LJL] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 430 
 
 which had been represented as very re- 
 doubtable. As before Ulm he had promis- 
 ed his soldiers a repetition of the battle of 
 Marengo, so now he pointed out to his men 
 that the Prussians, separated from their 
 magazines, and cut off from their country, 
 were in the situation of Macl< at Ulm. He 
 told them that the enemy no longer fought 
 for honour and victory, but for the chance of 
 opening a way to retreat ; and he added, that 
 the corps which sliould ]icrmit them to es- 
 cape would lose their honour. The French 
 replied with loud sliouts, and demanded in- 
 stantly to advance to the con^bat. The Em- 
 peror ordered the columns destined for the 
 attack to descend into the plain. His cen- 
 tre consisted of the Imperial Guard and 
 two divisions of Lanncs. Augereau com- 
 manded the right, which rested on a village 
 and a forest ; and Soult's division, with a 
 part of Ney's, were upon the left. 
 
 General Mollenclorf advanced on his side, 
 and both armies, as at Auerstadt, were hid 
 from each other by the mist, until suddenly 
 the atmosphere cleared, and showed them 
 to each other within the distance of half 
 cannon-shot. The conflict instantly com- 
 menced. It began on the F'rench right, 
 where the Prussians attacked with the pur- 
 pose of driving Augereau from the village 
 on which he rested his extreme flank. Lan- 
 nes was sent to support him, by whose suc- 
 cour he was enabled to stand his ground. 
 The battle then became general, and the 
 Prussians showed themselves such masters 
 of discipline, that it was long impossible to 
 gain any advantage over men, who advanced, 
 retired, or moved to cither flank, with the 
 regularity of machines. Soult at length, by 
 the most desperate efforts, dispossessed the 
 Prussians opposed to him of the woods from 
 which they had annoyed the French left ; 
 and at the same conjuncture the division 
 of Ney, and a large reserve of cavalry, ap- 
 peared upon the field of battle. Napoleon, 
 thus strengthened, advanced the centre, 
 consisting in a great measure of the Impe- 
 rial Guard, who, being fresh and in the high- 
 est spirits, compelled the Prussian army to 
 give way. Their retreat was at first order- 
 ly ; but it was a part of Buonaparte's tactics 
 to pour attack after attack upon a worsted 
 enemy, as the billows of a tempestuous 
 ocean follow each other in succession, till 
 the last waves totally disperse the fragments 
 of the bulwark which the first have breach- 
 ed. Murat, at the head of the dragoons and 
 the cavalry of reserve, charged, as one who 
 would merit, as far as bravery could merit, 
 the splendid destinies which seemed now 
 opening to him. The Prussian infantry 
 were unable to support the shock, nor could 
 their cavalry protect them. The rout be- 
 came general. Great part of the artillery 
 was taken, and the broken troops retreated 
 in disorder upon Weimar, where, as we 
 have already stated, their confusion became 
 inextricable, by their encountering the oth- 
 er tide of fugitives from their own left, 
 which was directed upon Weimar also. All 
 leading and following seemed now lost in 
 this army, so lately confiding in its numbers 
 and discipline. There was scarcely a gen- 
 
 eral left to issue orders, scarcely a soldier 
 disposed to obey them ; and it seems to have 
 been more by a sort of instinct, than any 
 resolved purpose, that several broken regi- 
 ments were directed, or directed them- 
 selves, upon Magdeburg, where Prince Ho- 
 henloe endeavoured to rally them. 
 
 Besides the double battle of Jena and 
 Auerstadt, Bernadotte had his sliare in the 
 conflict, as he worsted at Apolda, a village 
 betvvi.\t these two points of general action, 
 a large detachment. The Frencii accounts 
 state that 20,000 Prussians were killed and 
 taken in the course of this fatal day ; that 
 three hundred guns fell into their power, 
 with twenty generals, or lieutenant-gener- 
 als, and standards and colours to the num- 
 ber of sixty. 
 
 The mismanagement of the Prussian 
 generals in these calamitous battles, and in 
 all the nianceuvres which preceded them, 
 amounted to infatuation. The troops also, 
 according to Buonaparte's evidence, scarce- 
 ly maintained their high character, oppress- 
 ed probat iy by a sense of the disadvantages 
 under which they combated. But it is 
 unnecessary to dwell on the various causes 
 of a defeat, when the vanquished seem nei- 
 ther to have formed one combined and gen- 
 eral plan of attack in the action, nor main- 
 tained communication with each other 
 while it endured, nor agreed upon any 
 scheme of retreat when the day was lost. 
 The Duke of Brunswick, too, and General 
 Schmettau, being mortally wounded early 
 in the battle, the several divisions of the 
 Prussian army fought individually, without 
 receiving any general orders, and conse- 
 quently without regular plan or combined 
 mancBuvres. The consequences of the de- 
 feat were more universally calamitous than 
 could have been anticipated, even when 
 we consider, that, no mode of retreat hav- 
 ing been fixed on, or general rallying place 
 appointed, the broken army resembled a 
 covey of heath-fowl, which the sportsman 
 marks down and destroys in detail and at his 
 leisure. 
 
 Next day after the action, a large body 
 of the Prussians, who, under the command 
 of Mollendorf, had retired to Erfurt, were 
 compelled to surrender to the victors, and 
 the Mareschal, with the Prince of Orange 
 Fulda, became prisoners. Other relrcs of 
 this most unhappy defeat met with the 
 same fate. General Kalkreuth, at the 
 head of a considerable division of troops, 
 was overtaken and routed in an attempt to 
 cross the Hartz mountains. Prince Eugene 
 of Wirtemberg commanded an untouched 
 body of sixteen thousand men, whom the 
 Prussian general-in-chief had suffered to 
 remain at Memmingen, without an attempt 
 to bring them into the field. Instead of 
 retiring when he heard all was lost, the 
 Prince was rash enough to advance towards 
 Halle, as if to put the only unbroken divis- 
 ion of the Prussian army in the way of the 
 far superior and victorious hosts of France. 
 He was accordingly attacked and defeated 
 by Bernadotte. 
 
 The chief point of rallying, however, was 
 Magdeburg, under the walls of which strong
 
 44U 
 
 LIFE OF :N'AP0LE0N BUONAPAR'l t. 
 
 IChap. UL 
 
 city, Prince Hohenloe, though wounded, 
 contrived to assemble an army amounting 
 to fifty thousand men, but "/anting every- 
 thing, and in the last degree of confusion. 
 But Magdeburg was no place of rest for 
 them. The same improvidence, which had 
 marked every step of the campaign, had 
 exhausted that city of the immense maga- 
 zines which it contained, and taken tliem 
 for the supply of the Duke o;' Brunswick's 
 army. The wrecks of the field of Jena 
 were exposed to famine as well as the 
 sword. It only remained for Prince Ho- 
 henloe to make the best escape he could 
 to the Oder, and, considering the disastrous 
 circumstances in which he was placed, lie 
 seems to have displayed both courage and 
 skill in his proceedings. After various par- 
 tial actions, however, in all of which he 
 lost men, he finally found himself, with the 
 advanced-guard and centre of his army, on 
 the heights of Prenzlow, without provis- 
 ions, forage, or ammunition. Surrender 
 became unavoidable ; and at Prenzlow and 
 Passewalk, nearly twenty thousand Prus- 
 sians laid down their arms. 
 
 The rear of Prince Hohenloe's army did 
 not immediately share this calamity. They 
 were at Bortzenberg when the surrender 
 took place, and amounted to about fen 
 thousand men, the relics of the battle in 
 which Prince Eugene of Wircemberg had 
 engaged near Weimar, and were under the 
 command of a general whose name here- 
 at\er was destined to sound like a war 
 trumpet — the celebrated Blucher. 
 
 In the extremity of his country's distres- 
 ses, this distinguished soldier showed the 
 same indomitable spirit, the same activity 
 in execution and daringness of resolve, 
 which afterwards led to such glorious re- 
 sults. He was about to leave Bortzenberg 
 on the 29th, in consequence of his orders 
 from Prince Hohenloe, when he learned 
 that general's disaster at Prenzlow. He 
 instantly changed the direction of his re- 
 treat, and, by a rapid march towards Strelitz, 
 contrived to unite his forces with about ten 
 thousand men, gleanings of Jena and Auer- 
 stadt, which, under the Dukes of Weimar 
 and of Brunswick Oels, had taken their 
 route in that direction. Thus r.;inforced, 
 Blucher adopted the plan of passing the 
 Elbe at Lauenburg, and reinforcing the 
 Prussian garrisons in Lower Saxony. 
 With this view he fought several sharp ac- 
 tions, and made many rapid marches. But 
 the odds were too great to be balanced by 
 courage and activity. The division of 
 Soult which had crossed the Elbe, cut him 
 off from Lauenburg, that of Murat inter- 
 posed between him and .Stralsund, while 
 Bernadotte pressed upon his rear. Blu- 
 cher had no resource but to throw himself 
 and his diminished and dispirited army in- 
 to Lubcck. The pursuers came soon up, 
 and found him like a stag at bay. A battle 
 was fought on the 6lh of November in the 
 streets of Lubeck, with extreme fury on 
 both sides, in which the Prussians were 
 overpowered by numbers, and lost many 
 slain, besides four thousand prisoners. 
 Blucher fought his way out of the town, and 
 
 reached Schwerta. But he had now re- 
 treated as far as he had Prussian ground to 
 bear him, and to violate the neutrality of 
 the Danish territory, would only have rais- 
 ed up new enemies to his unfortunate mas- 
 ter. 
 
 On the 7th November, therefore, he 
 gave up his good sword, to be resumed un- 
 der happier auspices, and surrendered with 
 the few thousand men which remained un- 
 der liis command. But the courage which 
 he had manifested, like the lights of St. 
 Elmo amid the gloom of the tempest, show- 
 ed that there was at least one pupil of the 
 Great Frederick worthy of his master, and 
 aiibrded hopes, on wiiich Prussia long 
 dwelt in silence, till the moment of action 
 arrived. 
 
 The total destruction, for such it might 
 almost be termed, of the Prussian army, 
 was scarcely so wonderful, as the facility 
 with which the fortresses which defend that 
 country, some of them ranking among the 
 foremost in Europe, were surrendered by 
 their commandants, without shame, and 
 witliout resistance, to the victorious enemy. 
 Strong towns, an J fortified places, on 
 which the engineer had exhausted his sci- 
 ence, provided too with large garrisons, 
 and ample supplies, opened their gates at 
 the sound of a French trumpet, or the ex- 
 plosion of a few bombs. Spandau, Stettin, 
 Custrin, Hamelen, were each qualified to 
 have arrested the march of invaders for 
 months, yet were all surrendered on little 
 more than a summons. In Magdeburg was 
 a garrison of twenty-two thousand men, 
 two thousand of them being artilleiymen ; 
 and nevertheless this celebrated city ca- 
 pitulated with Mareschal Ney at the first 
 riight of shells. Hamelen was garrisoned 
 by six thousand troops, amply supplied 
 with provisions, and every means of main- 
 taining a siege. The place was surrender- 
 ed to a force scarcely one-third in propor- 
 tion to that of the garrison. These inci- 
 dents were too gross to be imputed to folly 
 and cowardice alone. The French them- 
 selves wondered at their conquests, yet had 
 a shrewd guess at the manner in which they 
 were rendered so easy. When the recre- 
 ant governor of Magdeburg was insulted by 
 the students of Halle for treachery as well 
 as cowardice, the French garrison of the 
 place sympathised, as soldiers, with the 
 youthful enthusiasm of the scholars, and 
 afforded the sordid old coward but little 
 protection against their indignation. From 
 a similar generous impulse, Schoels, the 
 commandant of Hamelen, was nearly de- 
 stroyed by the troops under his orders. la 
 surrendering the place, he had endeavoured 
 to stipulate, that, in case the Prussian prov- 
 inces should pass by the fortune of war to 
 some other power, the officers should re- 
 tain their pay and rank. The soldiers were 
 so much incensed at this stipulation, which 
 carried desertion in its front, and a proposal 
 to shape a private fortune to himself amid 
 the ruin of his country, that Schoels only 
 saved himself by delivering up the place to 
 the French before the time stipulated in 
 the articles of capitulation.
 
 Chap. LII.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 441 
 
 It is believed that, on several of these 
 occasions, the French constructed a golden 
 key to open these iron fortresses, without 
 being themselves at the expense of the 
 precious metal which composed it. Every 
 large garrison has of course a military chest 
 with treasure for the regular payment of 
 the soldiery ; and it is said that more than 
 oae commandant was unable to resist the 
 proffer, that, in case of an immediate sur- 
 render, this deposit should not be inquired 
 into by the captors, but left at the disposal 
 of the governor, whose accommodating dis- 
 position had saved them the time and 
 trouble of a siege. 
 
 Wiiile the French army made this unin- 
 terrupted progress, the new King of Hol- 
 land. Louis Buonaparte, with an army partly 
 composed of Dutch and partly of Frenchmen, 
 possessed himself with equal ease of West- 
 phalia, great part of Hanover, Emden, and 
 V^ist Friesland. 
 
 To complete the picture of general dis- 
 order which Prussia now exhibited, it is 
 only necessary to add, that the unfortunate 
 king, whose personal qualities deserved a 
 better fate, had been obliged after the battle 
 to fly into East Prussia, where lie finally 
 sought refuge in the city of Koningsberg. 
 L'Estocq, a faithful and able general, was 
 still able to assemble out of the wreck of 
 the Prussian army a few thousand men, for 
 the protection of his sovereign. Buonaparte 
 look possession of Berlin on the 2.5th Octo- 
 ber, eleven days after the battle of Jena. 
 The mode in which he improved his good 
 fortune, we reserve for future consideration. 
 
 The fall of Prussia was so sudden and so 
 total, as to excite the general astonishment 
 of Europe. Its prince %vas compared to 
 the rash and inexperienced gambler, who 
 risks his whole fortune on one desperate 
 cast, and rises from the table totally ruined. 
 That power had for three quarters of a cen- 
 tury ranked among the most important of 
 Europe ; but never had she exhibited such 
 a forinid.ible position as almost immediately 
 before her disaster, when, holding in her 
 own hand the balance of Europe, she might. 
 before the day of Austerlitz, have inclined 
 the scale to which side she would. And now 
 she lay at the feet of the antagonist whom 
 she had rashly and in ill time defied, not 
 fallen merely, but totally prostrate, without 
 the means of making a single effort to arise. 
 It was remembered that Austria, when her 
 armies were defeated, and her capital taken. 
 had still found resources in the courage of 
 her subjects, and that the insurrections of 
 Hungary and Bohemia had assumed, even 
 after Buonaparte's most eminent successes, 
 a character so formidable, as to aid in pro- 
 curing peace for the defeated Emperor on I 
 moderate terms. .-Vustria, therefore, was i 
 like a fortress repeatedly besiescd, and as I 
 often breached and damaged, but which ! 
 continued to be tenable, though diininislied j 
 in strength, and deprived of important out- ' 
 works. But Prussia seemed like the sunic i 
 fortress swallowed up by an earthquake, I 
 which leaves nothing either to inhabit or 
 defend, and where the fearful agency of | 
 the destrover reduce-; the stroneeisf bastions : 
 Vet.' I. T2 
 
 and bulwarks to crumbled masMS of niins 
 and rubbish. 
 
 The cause of this great distinction between 
 two countries which have so often contend- 
 ed against each other for political power, 
 and for influence in Germany, may be ea- 
 sily traced. 
 
 The empire of Austria combines in itself 
 several large kingdoms, the undisturbed and 
 undisputed dominions of a common sover- 
 eign, to whose sway they have been long ac- 
 customed, and towards whom they nourish 
 the same sentiments of loyalty which their 
 fathers entertained to the ancient princes 
 of the same house. Austria's natural au- 
 thority therefore rested, and now rests, on 
 this broad and solid base, the general and 
 rooted attachment of the people to their 
 prince, and their identification of his inter- 
 ests with their own. 
 
 Prussia had also her native provinces, in 
 which her authority was hereditary, and 
 where the affection, loyalty, and patriotism 
 of the inhabitants were natural qualities, 
 which fathers transmitted to their sons. 
 But a large part of her dominions consist 
 of late acquisitions obtained at different 
 times bv the arms or policy of the great 
 Frederick ; and thus her territories, made 
 up of a number of small and distant states, 
 want geographical breadth, while their dis- 
 proportioned length stretches, according to 
 \"oltaire's well-known simile, like a pair of 
 garters across the map of Europe. It fol- 
 lows as a natural consequence, that a long 
 time must intervene betwixt the formation 
 of such a kingdom, and the amalgamation 
 of its component parts, differing in lawjjj 
 manners, and usages, into one compact and 
 solid monarchy, having respect and affection 
 to their king, as the common head,and regard 
 to each other as members of the same com- 
 munity. It will require generations to pass 
 away, ere a kingdom, so artificially com- 
 posed, can be cemented into unity and 
 strength ; and the tendency to remain dis- 
 united, is greatly increased by the disad- 
 vantages of its geographical situation. 
 
 These considerations alone might explain, 
 why, after the fatal battle of Jena, the inhab- 
 itants of the various provinces of Prussia 
 contributed no important personal assist- 
 ance to repel the invader ; and why, al- 
 though almost all trained to arms, and ac- 
 customed to serve a certain time in the line, 
 they did not display any readiness to exert 
 themselves against tr.e common enemy 
 They felt that they belonged to Prussi 
 only by the right of the strongest, and there 
 fore were indifferent when the same righ 
 seemed about to transfer their allegiance 
 elsewhere. They saw the approaching ruin 
 of the Prussian power, not as children view 
 the danger of a father, which they are bound 
 to prevent at the hazard of their lives, but 
 as servants view that of a master, which 
 concerns them no otherwise than as leading 
 to a change of their employers. 
 
 There were other reasons, tending to 
 paralyse any effort at popular resistance 
 which affected the hereditary states of 
 Prussia, as well as her new acquisitioivs. 
 The power of Prussia had appeared to d«.
 
 442 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 pend a.most entirely upon her standing ar- 
 my, established by Frederick, and modelled 
 according to his rules. When, therefore, 
 this army was at once annihilated, no hope 
 of safety was entertained by those who had 
 so long regarded it as invincible. The 
 Prussian peasant, who would gladly have 
 joined the ranks of his country while they 
 continued to keep the field, knew, or 
 thought he knew, too much of the art of 
 war, to have any hope in the efforts which 
 might be made in a desultory guerilla war- 
 fare ; — which, however, the courage, devo- 
 tion, and pertinacity of an invaded people 
 have rendered the most formidable means 
 of opposition even to a victorious army. 
 
 The ruin of Prussia, to whatever causes 
 it was to be attributed, seemed, in the eyes 
 of astonished Europe, not only universal, 
 but irremediable. The King, driven to the 
 extremity of his dominions, could only be 
 considered as a fugitive, whose precarious 
 chance of restoration to the crown depend- 
 ed on the doubtful success of his ally of 
 Russia, who now, as after the capture of Vi- 
 enna, had upon his hands, strong as those 
 hands were, not the task of aiding an ally, 
 who was in the act of resistance to the com- 
 mon enemy, but the far more difficult one 
 of raising from the ground a prince who 
 was totally powerless and prostrate. The 
 French crossed the Oder — Glogau and Bres- 
 lau were taken. Their defence was re- 
 spectable ; but it seemed not the less cer- 
 tain that their fall involved almost the last 
 hopes of Prussia, and that a name raised so 
 high by the reign of one wise monarch, was 
 like to be blotted from the map of Europe 
 by the events of a single day. 
 
 Men looked upon this astonishing calam- 
 ity with various sentiments, according as 
 they considered it with relation to the Prus- 
 sian administration alone, or as connected 
 with the character of the King and kingdom, 
 and the general interests of Europe. In 
 the former point of view, the mind could 
 not avoid acknowledging, with a feeling of 
 embittered satisfaction, that the crooked 
 and selfish policy of Prussia's recent con- 
 duct, — as short-sighted as it was grasping 
 and unconscientious, — bad met in this pres- 
 ent hour of disaster with no more than mer- 
 ited chastisement. The indifference with 
 which the Prussian cabinet had viewed the 
 distresses of the House of Austria, which 
 their firm interposition might probably have 
 prevented — the tot:U want of conscience 
 and decency with which they accepted 
 Hanover from France, at the moment when 
 they meditated war with the power at whose 
 hand they received it — the shameless rapa- 
 city with which they proposed to detain the 
 Electorate from its legal owner, at the very 
 time when they were negotiating an alli- 
 ance with Britain, — intimated that con- 
 tempt of the ordinary principles of justice, 
 which, while it renders a nation undeserv- 
 ing of success, is frequently a direct obsta- 
 cle to their attaining it. Their whole pro- 
 cedure was founded on the principles of a 
 felon, who is willing to betray his aceonx- 
 plice, profided he is allowed to retain his 
 f wn share of tiie common booty. It was 
 
 [Chap. m. f 
 
 wonder, men said, that a government set- 
 ting such an example to its subjects, of 
 greediness and breach of faith in its public 
 transactions, should find among them, in 
 the hour of need, many who were capable 
 of preferring their own private interesta 
 to that of their country. And if the con- 
 duct of this wretched administration waa 
 regarded in a political instead of a mor- 
 al point of view, the disasters of the 
 kingdom might be considered as the con- 
 sequence of their incapacity, as well as 
 the just remuneration of their profligacy. 
 The hurried and presumptuous declaration 
 of war, after every favourable opportunity 
 had been suffered to escape, and indeed the 
 whole conduct of the campaign, showed a 
 degree of folly not far short of actual imbe- 
 cility, and which must have arisen either 
 from gross treachery, or something like 
 infatuation. .So far, therefore, as the min- 
 isters of Prussia were concerned, they 
 reaped only the reward due to their politi- 
 cal want of morality, and their practical 
 want of judgment. 
 
 Very different, indeed, were the feelings 
 with which the battle of Jena and its con- 
 sequences were regarded, when men con 
 sidered that great calamity in reference not 
 to the evil counsellors by whom it was pre- 
 pared, but to the prince and nation who 
 were to pay the penalty. " We are human," 
 and according to the sentiment of the poet, 
 on the extinction of the state of Venice,* 
 " must mourn even when the shadow of 
 that which has once been great passes 
 away." But the apparent destruction of 
 Prussia was not like the departure of the 
 aged man, whose life is come to the natur- 
 al close, or the fall of a ruined lower, whose 
 mouldering arches can no longer support 
 the incumbent weight. These are viewed 
 with awe indeed, and with sympathy, but 
 they do not excite astonishment or horror. 
 The seeming fate of the Prussian monarchy 
 resembled the agonizing death of him who 
 expires in the flower of manhood. The fall 
 of the House of Brandenburg was as if a 
 castle, with all its trophied turrets strong 
 and entire, should be at once hurled to the 
 earth by a super-human power. Men, alike 
 stunned with the extent and suddenness of 
 the catastrophe, were moved with sympa- 
 thy for those instantly involved in the ruin, 
 and struck with terror at the demolition of 
 a bulwark, by the destruction of which all 
 found their own safety endangered. The 
 excellent and patriotic character of Freder- 
 ick William, on whose rectitude and hon- 
 our even the misconduct of his ministers 
 had not brought any stain ; the distress of 
 his interesting, high-spirited, and beautiful 
 consort; the general sufferings of a brave 
 and proud people, accustomed to assume 
 and deserve the name of Protectors of the 
 Protestant Faith and of the Liberties of Ger- 
 many, and whose energies, corresponding 
 with the talents of their leader, had ena 
 
 * " Men are we, and must grieve even when tb* 
 
 shade 
 Of that which once was great is passed away.' 
 VVoRoiwoam
 
 Chap. LHI] 
 
 LIFE OF jN'APOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 443 
 
 bled them in former times to withstand the 
 combined force of France, Austria, and 
 Russia, — excited deep and generous sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 Still wider did that sympathy extend, and 
 more thrilling became its impulse, when it 
 was remembered that in Prussia fell the 
 last state of Germany, who could treat with 
 Napoleon in the style of an equal ; and that 
 to the exorbitant power which France al- 
 ready possessed in the south of Europe, 
 was now to be added an authority in the 
 north almost equally arbitrary and equally 
 extensive. The prospect was a gloomy 
 one ; and they who felt neither for the fall- 
 en authority of a prince, nor the destroyed 
 independence of a kingdom, trembled at 
 Ihe prospect likely to be entailed on their 
 own country by a ruin, which seemed as 
 remediless as it was extensive and astound- 
 ing. 
 
 But yet the end was wot. 
 
 Providence, which disappoints presumptu- 
 ous hopes by the event, is often mercifully 
 pleased to give aid when human aid seems 
 hopeless. Whatever may be thought of the 
 doctrine of an intermediate state of suffer- 
 ance and purification in an after stage of 
 existence, it is evident from history, that in 
 this world, kingdoms, as %vell as individu- 
 als, are often subjected to misfortunes aris- 
 ing from their own errors, and which prove 
 
 in the event conducive to future regenera- 
 tion. Prussia was exposed to a long and 
 painful discipline in the severe school of 
 adversity, by which she profited in such a 
 degree as enabled her to regain her higli 
 rank in the republic of Europe, with more 
 honour perhaps to her prince and people, 
 than if she had never been thrust from her 
 lofty station. Her government, it may be 
 hoped, have learned to respect the rights of 
 other nations, from the sufferings which fol- 
 lowed the destruction of their own — her 
 people have been taught to understand the 
 difference between the dominion of stran- 
 gers and the value of independence. In- 
 deed the Prussians showed in the event, 
 by every species of sacrifice, how fully they 
 had become aware, that the blessing of 
 freedom from foreign control is not to be 
 secured by the efforts of a regular army on- 
 ly, but must be attained and rendered per- 
 manent by the general resolution of the na- 
 tion, from highest to lowest, to dedicate 
 their united exertions to the achievement 
 of the public liberty at every risk, and by 
 every act of self-devotion. Thei^improve- 
 ment under the stern lessons which calam- 
 ity taught them, we shall record in a bright- 
 er page. For the time, the cloud of mis- 
 fortune sunk hopelessly dark over Prussia, 
 of which not merely the renown, but the 
 very national existence, seemed in danger 
 of being extinguished forever. 
 
 Cr.AP. LIII. 
 
 V'igeneroiis conduct of Buonaparte to the Duke of Brunswick. — The approach of the 
 French Troops to Brunswick compels the dying Prince to cause himself to be carried 
 to Altona, where he expires. — Oath of Revenge taken by his Son. — At Potsdam and 
 Berlin, the proceedings of Napoleon art equally cruel and vindictive. — His Clemency 
 towards the Prince of Hatzfeld — His Treatment of the Lesser Powers.— Jerome Buo- 
 naparte. — Seizure of Hamburgh. — Celebrated Berlin Decrees against British Com- 
 merce — Reasoning as to their justice — Napoleon rejects all application from the con- 
 tinental commercial toi07isto relax or repeal them. — Commerce, nevertheless, flourishes 
 in spite of them. — Second anticipation called for of the Conscription for 1807. — The 
 King of Prussia applies for an Ai^mistice, which is clogged with guch harsh terms that 
 he refuses them. 
 
 The will of N'apoleon seemed now the only 
 law, from which the conquered country 
 that so late stood forth as the rival of France, 
 was to expect her destiny ; and circum- 
 stances indicated, that, with more than the 
 fortune of Ccesar or Alexander, the Con- 
 queror would not emulate their generosity 
 or clemency. 
 
 The treatment of the ill-fited Uuke of 
 Brunswick did little honour to the vi.-tor. 
 After receiving a monal wound on the field 
 ol" battle, he was transported from thence 
 to Brunswick, his hereditary capital. I'pon 
 attaining his native dominions, in the gov- 
 ernment of which his conduct liad been al- 
 ways patriotic and praiseworthy, he y.ro.e 
 to Napoleon, representing that, although 
 ho had fought against him as a general In 
 the Prussian service, he nevertheless, as a 
 Prince of the Kiiipire. recommended his 
 hereditary principality to the moderation 
 and clemency of the victor. This attempt 
 k) separate his two characters, or to appeal 
 
 to the immunities cff a league which Napo- 
 leon had dissolved, although natural in the 
 Duke's forlorn situation, formed a plea not 
 likely to be attended to by the conqueror. 
 But, on oth^r and broader grounds, Buona- 
 parte, if not influenced by personal animos- 
 ity against tT.3 Duke, or desirous to de- 
 grade, in his person, the father-in-law of 
 the heir of the British crown, might have 
 found reasons for treating the defeated 
 general with the respect due to his rank 
 and his misfortunes. The Duke of Bruns- 
 wick was one of the oldest soldiers in Eu- 
 rope, and his unquestioned bravery ought 
 to have recommended him to his junior m 
 arms. He was a reigning prince, and Buo- 
 naparte's own aspirations towards confirr.Ki- 
 tion cf aristocratical rank should have led 
 hitii to treat the vanquished with decent ^ . 
 .\bove all, the Duke was defence]'^<«. 
 wounded, dying; a situation to commipd 
 the sympathy of every military man, who 
 knows on what casual circumstances tb^
 
 444 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CAop. LIU. 
 
 fate of battle depends. The answer of Na- 
 poleon was, nevertheless, harsh and insult- 
 ing in the last degree. He reproached the 
 departing general with his celebrated proc- 
 lamation against France in 1792, with the 
 result of his unhappy campaign in that 
 country, with the recent summons by whicli 
 the French had been required to retreat 
 beyond the Rhine. He charged him as 
 having been the instigator of a war which 
 his counsels ought to have prevented. He 
 announced the right which he had acquired, 
 to leave not one stone standing upon anoth- 
 er in the town of Brunswick; and summed 
 up his ungenerous reply by intimating, that 
 though he might treat the subjects of the 
 Duke like a generous victor, it was his 
 purpose to deprive the dying Prince and 
 his family of their hereditary sovereignty. 
 As if to fulfil these menaces, the French 
 troops approached the city of Brunswick ; 
 and the wounded veteran, dreading the fur- 
 ther resentment of his ungenerous victor, 
 was compelled to cause himself to be re- 
 moved to the neutral town of Altona, where 
 he expired. An application from his son, 
 requesting permission to lay his father's 
 body in the tomb of his ancestors, was re- 
 jected with the same sternness, which had 
 characterised Bajnaparte's answer to the 
 attempt of the Duke, when living, to soften 
 his enmity. The successor of the Duke 
 vowed, it is believed, to requite these in- 
 sults with mortal hatred, — did much to ex- 
 press it during his life, — and bequeathed to 
 his followers the legacy of revenge, which 
 the Black Brunswickers had the means of 
 amply discharging upon the 18th of June 
 1815. 
 
 Some have imputed this illiberal conduct 
 of Buonaparte to an ebullition of spleen 
 against the object of his personal dislike ; 
 others have supposed that his resentment 
 was, in whole or part, affected, in order to 
 ground upon it his resolution of confiscating 
 the state of Brunswick, and uniting it with 
 the kingdom of Westphalia, which, as we 
 shall presently see, he proposed to erect as 
 an appanage for his {brother Jerome. Wheth- 
 er arising from a burst of temperament, or 
 a cold calculation of interested selfishness, 
 his conduct was equally unworthy of a mon- 
 arch and a soldier. 
 
 At Potsdam and at Berlin, Napoleon show- 
 ed himself equally as the sworn and impla- 
 cable enemy, rather than as the generous 
 conqueror At Potsdam he seized on the 
 sword, belt, and hat of the Great Freder- 
 ick, and at Berlin he appropriated and re- 
 moved to Paris the monument of Victory, 
 erected by the same monarch, in conse- 
 quence of the defeat of the French at 
 Rosbach. The finest paintings and works 
 of art in Prussia were seized upon for 
 the benefit of the French National Mu- 
 seum. 
 
 The language of the victor corresponded 
 <vith his actions. His bulletins and proc- 
 lamations abounded with the same bitter 
 sarcasms against the King, the Qtiooii, and 
 those whom he called the war factinii of 
 Prussia. Ascribing the war to the unre- 
 prftaed audacity of the young nobility, he 
 
 said, in one of those proclamations, he 
 would permit no more rioting in Berlin, no 
 more breaking of windows ; and, in ad- 
 dressing the Count Neale, he threatened, 
 in plain terms, to reduce the nobles of Prus- 
 sia to beg their bread. These, and similar 
 expressions of irritated spleen, used in the 
 hour of conquest, level the character of the 
 great victor with that of the vulgar Eng- 
 lishman in the farce, who cannot be satisfi- 
 ed with beating his enemy, but must scold 
 him also. Napoleon's constant study of 
 the poetry ascribed to Ossian, might have 
 taught him that wrath should fly on eagles' 
 wings from a conquered foe. The soldiers, 
 and even the officers, caught the example 
 of their Emperor, and conceived they met 
 his wishes by behaving more imperiously 
 in quarters, and producing more distress to 
 their hosts, than had been their custom in 
 the Austrian campaigns. Great aggressions, 
 perhaps, were rarely perpetrated, and 
 would have been punished, as contrary to 
 military discipline ; but a grinding, con- 
 stant, and unremitting system of vexation 
 and requisition, was bitterly felt by the 
 Prussians at the time, and afterwards stern- 
 ly revenged. 
 
 It is but justice, however, to record an 
 act of clemency of Napoleon amid these 
 severities. He had intercepted a letter 
 containing some private intelligence re- 
 specting the motions of the French, sent 
 by Prince Hatzfeld, late the Prussian gov- 
 ernor of Berlin, to Prince Hohenloe, then 
 still at the head of an army. Napoleon ap- 
 pointed a military commission for the trial 
 of Hatzfeld ; and his doom, for continuing 
 to serve his native prince after his capital 
 had been occupied by the enemy, would 
 have been not less certain than severe. 
 His wife, however, threw herself at Napo- 
 leon's feet, who put into her hands the fatal 
 document which contained evidence of 
 what was called her husband's guilt, with 
 permission to throw it into the fire. Tile 
 French Emperor is entitled to credit for 
 the degree of mercy he showed on this oc- 
 casion; but it must be granted at the same 
 time, that to have proceeded to sentence 
 and execution upon such a charge, would 
 have been an act of great severity, if not of 
 actual atrocity. If, as has been alleged, the 
 correspondence of Prince Hatzfeld was 
 dated before, not after the capitulation of 
 Berlin, his death would have been an un- 
 qualified murder. 
 
 The victor, who had all at his disposal, 
 was now to express his pleasure concerning 
 those satellites of Prussia, which, till her 
 fall, had looked up to her as their natural 
 protector and ally. Of these, Saxony and 
 Hesse-Cassel were the principal ; and, in 
 his proceedings towards them, Buonaparte 
 regarded the train of his own policy much 
 more than the merits which the two elec- 
 tors might have respectively pleaded to- 
 wards France. 
 
 Saxony had joined her arms to those of 
 Prussia — forced, as she said, by the argu- 
 ments which a powerful neighbour can al- 
 ways apply to a weaker — still she Aod join- 
 ed her, and fought on her side at tlie battle
 
 Chap. LIll] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 445 
 
 of Jena. The apology of compulsion was 
 admitted by Buonaparte ; the Saxon troops 
 were dismissed upon their parole, and their 
 Prince raised to the rank of a King, shortly 
 afterwards admitted as a member of the 
 Confederacy of the Rhine, and treated by 
 Buonaparte with much personal considera- 
 tion. The Dukes of Saxe-Weimar and Saxe- 
 Gotha also were permitted to retain their 
 dominions, on acknowledging a similar vas- 
 salage to the French empire. 
 
 The Landgrave, or Elector, of Hesse- 
 Cassel, might have expected a still more 
 favourable acceptance in the eyes of the 
 victor, for he had refused to join Prussia, 
 and, in spite of threats and persuasions, had 
 observed neutrality during the brief contest. 
 But Napoleon remembered, to the preju- 
 dice of tlie Landgrave, that he had resisted 
 all previous temptations to enter into the 
 Confederation of the Rhine. He imputed 
 his neutrality to fear, not choice. He alleg- 
 ed, that it had not been strictly observed ; 
 and, treating the inaction of Hesse, whose 
 inclinations were with Prussia, as a greater 
 crime than the actual hostilities of Saxony, 
 whose will was with France, he declared, 
 according to his usual form of dethrone- 
 ment, that the House of Hesse-Cassel had 
 ceased to reign. The doom was executed 
 even before it was pronounced. Louis Buo- 
 naparte, with Marshal Mortier, had possess- 
 ed himself of Hesse-Cassel by the 1st of 
 November. The army of the Landgrave 
 made no resistance — a part of them passed 
 under the banners of France, the rest were 
 disbanded. 
 
 The real cause of seizing the territories 
 of an unoffending prince who was totally 
 helpless, unless in so far as right or justice 
 could afford him protection, was Buona- 
 parte's previous resolution, already hinted 
 at, to incorporate Hesse-Cassel with the ad- 
 jacent territories, for the purpose of form- 
 ing a kingdom to be conferred on his youn- 
 gest brother Jerome. This young person 
 bore a gay and dissipated character ; and, 
 though such men may at times make con- 
 siderable sacrifices for the indulgence of 
 transient passion, they are seldom capable 
 of retaining for a length of time a steady af- 
 fection for an object, however amiable. Je- 
 rome Buonaparte had married an American 
 young lady, distinguished for her beauty 
 and her talents, and had thus lost the coun- ! 
 tenance of Napoleon, who maintained the I 
 principle, that, segregated as his kindred | 
 were trom the nation at large by tlieir con- j 
 nexion with him, his rank, and his fortunes, | 
 they were not entitled to enter into alliances j 
 according to the dictates of their own feci- | 
 ings.but were bound to form such as were j 
 most suitable to his policy. Jerome was, 
 tempted by ambition finally to acquiesce in j 
 this reasoning, and sacrificed the connexion • 
 which his he.irt had chosen, to become | 
 the tool of his brother's ever-extending i 
 schemes of ambition. Th'.- reward was the i 
 kiwadom of Wc-tphalia. to which was unit- ! 
 ed Hesse-Cassel, \vit!i the varion.>j provin- ; 
 ces which Prussia hail possessed in I- ranco- j 
 nia; Westphalia Proper, and [.owerSaxouv ; ; 
 as also the territories of the unfortunate ■ 
 
 Duke of Brunswick. Security could be 
 scarcely supposed to attend upon a sove- 
 reignty, where the materials were acquired 
 by public rapine, and the crown purchased 
 by domestic infidelity. 
 
 About the middle of November, Mortier 
 formally re-occupied Hanover in the name 
 of the Emperor, and, marching upon Ham- 
 burgh, took possession of that ancient free 
 town, so long the emporium of commerce 
 for the North of Europe. Here, as formerly 
 at Leipsic, the strictest search was made 
 for British commodities and property, which 
 were declared the lawful subject of confis- 
 cation. The Moniteur trumpeted forth, 
 that these rigorous measures were accom- 
 panied with losses to British commerce 
 which would shake the credit of the nation. 
 This was not true. The citizens of Ham- 
 burgh had long foreseen that their neutrali- 
 ty would be no protection, and, in spite of 
 the fraudful assurances of the French en- 
 voy, designed to lull them into security, the 
 merchants had availed themselves of the 
 last two years to dispose of their stock, call 
 in their capital, and wind up their trade ; 
 so that the rapacity of the French was in a 
 great measure disappointed. The strict 
 search after British property, and the con- 
 fiscation which was denounced against it at 
 Hamburgh and elsewhere, were no isolated 
 acts of plunder and spoliation, but made 
 parts of one great system for destroying the 
 commerce of England, which was shortly 
 after laid before the world by the celebrat- 
 ed decrees of Berlin. 
 
 It was frequently remarked of Buona- 
 parte, that he studied a sort of theatrical 
 effect in the mode of issuing his decrees 
 and proclamations, the subject matter of 
 which formed often a strange contrast with 
 the date ; the latter, perhaps, being at the 
 capital of some subdued monarch, while the 
 matter promulgated respected some minute 
 regulation affecting the municipality of Pa- 
 ris. But there was no such discrepancy in 
 the date and substance of the Berlin de- 
 crees against British enterprise. It was 
 when Buonaparte had destroyed the natural 
 bulwark which protected the independence 
 of the north of Germany, and had necessa- 
 rily obtained a corresponding power on the 
 shores of the Baltic, that he seriously under- 
 took to promulgate his sweeping plan of 
 destroying the commerce of his Island foe. 
 When slight inconveniences, according 
 to Buonapr.rte's expression, put an end to 
 his liopes of invading Britain, or when, as 
 at other times he more candidly admitted, 
 the defeat at Trafalgar induced him "to 
 throw helve after hatchet," and resign all 
 iiope of attaining any success by means of 
 hi.s navy, he became desirous of sapping and 
 undermining the bulwark, which lie found 
 it impossible to storm ; and, by directing 
 his efforts to the destruction of British com- 
 merce, he trusted gradually to impair the 
 foundations ofhernational wealth and pros- 
 perity. He erred, perhaps, in thinking, 
 that, even if his object could have been ful- 
 ly attained, the full consequences woahl 
 have followed which his animosity antici- 
 pated. Great Britain's prosperity mainly
 
 446 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. Lin. 
 
 rests on her commerce, but her existence 
 as a nation is not absolutely dependent up- 
 on it ; as those foreigners are apt to ima- 
 gine, who have only seen the numerous ves- 
 sels with which she covers the ocean and 
 fills foreign ports, but have never witnessed 
 the extent of her agricultural and domestic 
 resources. But, entertaining the belief 
 which Napoleon did, in regard to the indis- 
 pensable connexion betwixt British com- 
 merce and British power, the policy of his 
 war upon the former cannot be denied. It 
 wras that of the Abyssinian hunter, who, 
 dreading to front the elephant in his fury, 
 draws his sabre along the animal's heel- 
 joint, and wails until the exertions of the 
 powerful brute burst the injured sinews, 
 and he sinks prostrate under his own weight. 
 
 The celebrated decrees of Berlin appear- 
 ed on the 21st November ISOG, interdicting 
 all commerce betwixt Great Britain and the 
 continent; which interdiction was declared 
 a fundamental law of the French empire, 
 until the English should consent to certain 
 alterations in the mode of conducting hos- 
 tilities by sea, which should render her 
 naval superiority less useful to herself, and 
 less detrimental to the enemy. This meas- 
 ure was justified upon the following 
 grounds : — That England had either intro- 
 duced new customs into her maritime code, 
 or revived those of a barbarous age — that 
 she seized on merchant vessels, and made 
 their crews prisoners, just as if they had 
 been found on board ships of war — declar- 
 ed harbours blockaded which were not so in 
 reality — and extended the evils of war to 
 the peaceful and unarmed citizen. 
 
 This induction to the celebrated project, 
 afterwards called the Continental System 
 of the Emperor, was false in the original 
 proposition, and sophistical in those by 
 which it was supported. It was positively 
 false that Great Britain had introduced into 
 her maritime law, either by new enactment, 
 or by the revival of obsolete and barbarous 
 customs, any alteration by which the rights 
 of neutrals were infringed, or the unarmed 
 citizen prejudiced, more than necessarily 
 arose out of the usual customs of war. The 
 law respecting the blockade of ports, and 
 the capture of vessels at sea, was the same 
 on which every nation had acted for three 
 centuries past, France herself not excepted. 
 It is true, that the maritime code seemed at 
 this period to be peculiarly that of England, 
 because no nation save herself had the 
 means of enforcing them ; but she did not 
 in this respect possess any greater advan- 
 tage by sea than Napoleon enjoyed by land. 
 
 The reasoning of the Emperor Napoleon 
 upon the inequality and injustice of the 
 maritime mode of exercising war, compared 
 with the law of hostilities by land, was not 
 more accurate than his allegation, that Brit- 
 ain had innovated upon the former for the 
 pur[)Ose of introducing new, or reviving old 
 severities. This will appear plain from the 
 following considerations . — 
 
 At an early period of society, the practice 
 of war was doubtless the same by land or 
 tea ; and the savage slaughtered or enslaved 
 bw enemy whether he found him in his hut 
 
 or in his canoe. But when centuries of 
 civilization began to mitigate the horrors 
 of barbarous warfare, the restrictive rulea 
 introduced into naval hostilities were dif- 
 ferent from those adopted in the case of wwa 
 by land, as the difference of the services 
 obviously directed. A land army has a pre- 
 cise object, which it can always attain if 
 victorious. If a general conquer a town, 
 he can garrison it ; he can levy contribu- 
 tions ; nay, he may declare that he will appro- 
 priate it to himself in right of sovereignty. 
 He can afford to spare the property of pri- 
 vate individuals, when he is at liberty to 
 seize, if he is so minded, upon all their pub- 
 lic rights, and new-mould them at his pleas- 
 ure. The seaman, on the other hand, seizes 
 on the merchant vessel and its cargo, by 
 the same right of superior force, in virtue 
 of which the victor by land has seized upon 
 castles, provinces, and on the very haven, 
 it may be, which the vessel belongs to. If 
 the maritime conqueror had no right to do 
 this, he would gain nothing by his superi- 
 ority except blows, when he met with ves- 
 sels of force, and would be cut off from 
 any share of the spoils of war, which form 
 the reward of victory. The innocent and 
 unarmed citizen, perhaps the neutral stran- 
 ger, suffers in both cases ; bat a state of war 
 is of course a state of violence, and its evils, 
 unhappily, cannot be limited to those who 
 are actually eng^ed in hostilities. If the 
 spirit of philanthropy affected in the perora- 
 tion to Buonaparte's decrees had been real, 
 he might have attained his pretended pur- 
 pose of softening the woes of war, by pro- 
 posing some relaxation of the rights of a 
 conqueror by land, in exchange for restric- 
 tions to be introduced into the practice of 
 hostilities by sea. Instead of doing so, he 
 under the pretext of exercising the right of 
 reprisals, introduced the following decrees, 
 unheard of hitherto among belligerent 
 powers, and tending greatly to augment the 
 general distress, which must, under all cir- 
 cumstances, attend a state of war. 
 
 I. The British isles were declared in a 
 state of blockade. II. All commerce and 
 correspondence with England was forbid- 
 den. All English letters were to be seized 
 in the post-houses. III. Every English- 
 man, of whatever rank or quality, found in 
 France, or the countries allied with her, 
 was declared a prisoner of war. IV. All 
 merchandise, or property of any kind, be- 
 longing to English subjects, was declared 
 lawful prize. V". .\H articles of English 
 manufacture, and articles produced in her 
 colonics, were in like manner declared con- 
 traband and lawful prize. VI. Half of the 
 produce of the above confiscations was to be 
 employed in tlie relief of those merchants, 
 whose vessels had been captured by the 
 English cruisers. VII. All vessels coming 
 from England, or the English colonies, were 
 to be refused admission into any harbour 
 Four additional articles provided the mode 
 of promulgating and enforcing the decree, 
 and directed that it should be communicat- 
 ed to the allies of France. This was the 
 first link of a long chain of arbitrary decree* 
 and ordinances, by which Napoleon, aiming
 
 Chap. LIII] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 447 
 
 at the destruction of British finance, inter- 
 rupted the whole commerce of Europe, and 
 destroyed for a season, and as far as lay in 
 his power, that connexion between distant 
 nations which unites them to each other by 
 tlie most natural and advantageous means, 
 the supply of the wants of the one country by 
 the superfluous produce of the other. The 
 extent of public inconvenience and distress 
 which was occasioned by the sudden sup- 
 pression of commerciail communication 
 with England, may be judged of by reflect- 
 ing, how many of the most ordinary arti- 
 cles of consumption are brought from for- 
 eign countries, — in how many instances the 
 use of these articles has brought them into 
 the list of necessaries, — and how, before an 
 ordinary mechanic or peasant sits down to 
 breakfast, distant climes must be taxed to 
 raise the coff"ee and sugar which he con- 
 aames. 
 
 The painful embarrassment of those de- 
 prived of their habitual comforts, was yet 
 exceeded by the clamour and despair of the 
 whole commercial world on the Continent, 
 who were thus, under pretext of relieving 
 them from the vexation of the English crui- 
 sers, threatened with a total abrogation of 
 their profession. Hamburgh, Bourdeaux, 
 Nantes, and other continental towns, soli- 
 cited, by petitions and deputations, some 
 relaxation of decrees which inferred their 
 general ruin. They pleaded the prospect 
 of universal bankruptcy, which this prohib- 
 itory system must occasion. " Let it be 
 so," answered the Emperor ; " the more 
 insolvency on the continent, the great- 
 er will be the distress of the merchants 
 in London. The fewer traders in Ham- 
 burgh, the less will be the temptation to 
 carry on commerce with England. Britain 
 must be humbied, were it at the expense 
 of throwing civilization back for centuries, 
 and returning to the original mode of trading 
 by barter." 
 
 But great as was Buonaparte's power, he 
 had overrated it in supposing, that, by a 
 mere expression of his will, he could put an 
 end to an intercourse, in the existence of 
 which the whole world possessed an inter- 
 eet. The attempt to annihilate commerce, 
 resembled that of a child who tries to stop 
 with his hand the stream of an artificial 
 fountain, which escapes in a hundred par- 
 tial jets from under his palm and between 
 his hngers. The Genius of Commerce, like 
 a second Proteus, assumed every variety of 
 shape, in order to elude the imperial inter- 
 diction, and all manner of evasions w,i3 
 
 ractised for that purpose. False papers, 
 false certificates, false bills of lading, were 
 devised, and these frauds were overlooked 
 in the seaports, by the very agents of the 
 police, and custom-house officers, to whom 
 the execution of the decrees was commit- 
 ted. Douaniers, magistrates, generals, and 
 prefects, nay, some of the kindred princes 
 of the House of Xapoleon, were well pleas- 
 ed to listen to the small still voice of their 
 interest, rather than to his authoritative 
 commands ; and the British commerce, 
 though charged with heavy expenses, con- 
 tinued to flourish in spito of the continen- 
 
 tal system. The new, and still more vio- 
 lent measures, which Napoleon had re 
 course to for enforcing his prohibitions, 
 will require our notice hereafter. Mean- 
 time, it is enough to say, that su»h acts of 
 increasing severity had the natural conse- 
 quence of rendering his person and power 
 more and more unpopular ; so that, while 
 he was sacrificing the interests and the com- 
 forts of the nations under his authority to 
 his hope of destroying England, he was in 
 fact digging a mine under his own feel, 
 which exploded to his destruction long be- 
 fore the security of England was materially 
 afiected. 
 
 Napoleon had foreseen, that, in order to 
 enforce the decrees by which, without pos- 
 session of any naval power, he proposed to 
 annihilate the naval supremacy of England, 
 it would be necessary to augment to a 
 great extent the immense superiority of 
 land forces which France already possess- 
 ed. It was necessary, he was aware, that 
 to enable him to maintain the prohibitions 
 which he had imposed upon general com- 
 merce, as well as to prosecute the struggle 
 in which he was about to be engaged with 
 Russia, a large draught should be made on 
 the population of France. He had, ac- 
 cordingly, by a requisition addressed to 
 the Senate, dated from Bamberg, 7th of Oc- 
 tober, required a second anticipation of the 
 conscription of 1807, amounting to a levy 
 of eighty tliousand men. 
 
 The measure was supported in the Sen- 
 ate by the oratory of Regnault de St. Jean 
 d'Angely, an ancient Rupublican. This 
 friend of freedom saw nothing inconsistent 
 in advocating a measure, which the absolute 
 monarch recommended as the necessary 
 step to a general peace. The conscripts 
 who had first marched had secured victory ; 
 those who were now to be put into motion 
 were to realize the prospect of peace, the 
 principle object of their brethren's success. 
 The obsequious Senate readily admitted 
 these arguments, as they would have done 
 any which had been urged in support of a 
 request which they dared not deny. The 
 sole purpose of Regnault's eloquence, was 
 to express in tlecent amplification the sim- 
 ple phrase, " Napoleon so wills it." 
 
 .'V deputation of the Senate, carrying to 
 Napoleon in person their warm acquiescence 
 in the proposed measure, received in guer- 
 don the honourable task of conveying to 
 Paris the spoils of Potsdam and Berlin, 
 with three hundred and forty-six stand of 
 colours, the trophies of the war against 
 Prussia — with the task of announcing the 
 celebrated decrees, by vvhich the ge.ieral 
 commerco of Europe and of France itsv'f 
 was annihilated, to secure it frpm the af- 
 gressioas of the British naval force. Tiw 
 military trophies were received — the de- 
 crees wore recorded ; and no one dared un- 
 dertake the delicate task of balancing th« 
 victories of the Emperor against the advan- 
 tage which his dominions were likely to de- 
 rive from them. 
 
 In the mcanwliile, the unfortunate Fred- 
 erick William, whose possession of bia 
 late flourishing kingdom was reduced t<»
 
 446 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 such territories as Prussia held beyond the 
 Oder, sent an embassy to Berlin, for the 
 purpose of learning upon what terms he 
 might be yet admitted to treat for peace 
 with the,.victor, who had hold of his cap- 
 ital and the greater part of his domin- 
 ions. The Marquis Lucchesini was em- 
 ployed on this mission, a subtle Italian, 
 who, being employed in negotiations at 
 Paris, had been accustomed to treat with 
 France on a footing of equality. But these 
 times were passed since the battle of Jena ; 
 and the only terms to which Prussia could 
 be now admitted, were to be so dearly pur- 
 
 chased, that even a mere temporary armis- 
 tice was to cost the surrender of Graudentz 
 Danttick, Colberg, — in short, all the fortres- 
 ses yet remaining to Prussia, and still in a 
 state of defence. As this would have been 
 placing himself entirely at the mercy of 
 Buonaparte, and in as bad circumstances 
 as he could be reduced to even by the most 
 unsuccessful military operations, the King 
 refused to acquiesce in such severe terms, 
 and determined to repose his fate in the 
 chance of war, and in the support of the 
 au.xiliary army of Russia, which was now 
 hastily advancing to his assistance. 
 
 CHAP. I.IV. 
 
 Retrospect of the Partition of Poland. — Napoleon receives addresses from Poland, 
 which he evades — He advances into Poland, Bcnnigsen retreating before him. — 
 Character of the Russian Soldiery. — The Cossacks. — Engagement at Pultusk, on 
 2Gth November, terminating to the disadvantage of the French. — Bennigsen continue* 
 his retreat. — The French go into ivinter quarters. — Bennigsen appointed Commander- 
 in-chief in the place of Kaminskoy, xoho shows symptoms of insanity. — He resumes 
 offensive operations. — Battle of Eylau, fought on Sth February 1807. — Claimed as a 
 victory by both parties. — The loss on both sides amounts to .50 .(.KX) men killed, tha 
 greater part Frenchmen. — Bennigsen retreats upon Konigsbcrg. — Napoleon offer* 
 favourable terms for aji Armistice to the King of Prussia, who refuses to treat, save 
 for a general Peace. — Napoleon falh back to the line of the Vistula. — Dantzic is be- 
 »ieged, and surrenders. — Russian army is poorly recruited — the French powerfully. — 
 Actio7is during the Summer. — Battle of Heilsberg, and retreat of the Kussiatis. — 
 Battle of Friedland on \3th June, and defeat of the Russians, after a hard fought day. 
 — An Armistice takes place on the 23d. 
 
 Napoleon was politically justified in the 
 harsh terms which he was desirous to im- 
 pose on Prussia, by having now brought his 
 victorious armies to the neighbourhood of 
 Poland, in which he had a good right to 
 conceive himself sure to find numerous fol- 
 lowers and a friendly reception. 
 
 The partition of this fine kingdom by its 
 powerful neighbours, Russia, Austria, and 
 Prussia, was tlio first open and audacious 
 transgression of the law of nations, which 
 disgraced the annals of civilized Europe. 
 It v/as e.vecuted by a combination of three 
 of the most powerful states of Europe 
 against one too unhappy in the nature of 
 its constitution, and too much divided by 
 factions, to offer any effectual resistance. 
 The kingdom subjected to this aggression 
 nad appealed in vain to the code of nations 
 for protection against an outrage, to which, 
 after a desultory and uncombined, and 
 therefore a vain defence, she saw herself 
 under a necessity of submitting. The 
 Poles retained, too, a secret sense of their 
 fruitless attempt to recover freedom in 1791, 
 and an animated recollection of the violence 
 by which it had been suppressed by the 
 Riissiaii .ii''nis. The^y waited witli hope and 
 exultation the approach of the French ar- 
 mies ; and candour must allow, that, un- 
 lawfully subjected as they had been to a 
 foreign yoke, they had a right to avail them- 
 selves of the assistance, not only of Napo- 
 leon, but of Mahomet, or of Satan himself, 
 had he proposed to aid them in regaining 
 the independence of which they had been 
 cppressively and unjustly deprived. 
 
 This feeling was general among the mid- 
 
 dling classes of the Polish arihtocracy. who 
 recollected with mortified pride the dim- 
 inution of their independent privileges, tlie 
 abrogation of tlieir iJiels, and the suppres- 
 sion of the Liberum Veto, by which a pri- 
 vate gentleman might render null the de- 
 cision of a whole assembly, unless unanim- 
 ity should be attained, by putting the dis- 
 sentient to death upon the spot."* But the 
 
 * Most readers must bo so far actjuaiiited with, 
 the ancient form of Polish Diets as to know, that 
 their resolutions were not legally valid if there 
 was one dissenting voice, and that in many cases 
 the most violent moans wore resorted to, to obtain 
 unanimity. The following instance was relalod 
 to our informer, a person of high rank. On soma 
 occasion, a provincial Diet was convened for the 
 purpose of passing a resolution which was gener- 
 ally acceptable, but to which it was apprehended 
 one noble of the district would oppose his veto. 
 To escape this interruption, it was generally re- 
 solved to meet exactly at the hour of summons, 
 to proceed to business upon the instant, and thu» 
 to elude the anticipated attempt of the individual 
 to defeat the purpose of their meeting. They ac- 
 cordingly met at the hour, with most accurate 
 precision, and shut and bolted the doors of their 
 place of meeting. But the dissentient arrived a 
 few minutes afterwards, and entrance being re- 
 fused, under the excuse that the Diet was already 
 constituted, he climbed upon the roof of the hall, 
 and, it being summer time when no fires were 
 lighted, descended through tlie vent into the stove 
 by which, in winter, the apartment was heated. 
 Here he lay perdu, until the vote was called, 
 when, just as it was about to be recorded as unan- 
 imous in favour of the proposed measure, ha 
 thrust his head init of the stove, like a turtle pro- 
 truding his neck from his shell, and pronounced 
 the fatal veto. Unfortunately for himself, in- 
 stead of instantly withdrawing his head, he look- 
 ed round for an instutit with exultation, to ro-
 
 Chap. LIV] 
 
 LIFE OF INAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 449 
 
 higher order of nobility, gratified by the 
 rauli they held, and the pleasures they en- 
 joyed at the courts of Berlin, \'ienna, and 
 especially St. Petersburgli, preferred in 
 general the peaceful enjoyment of their 
 immense estates to the privileges of a 
 stormy independence, which raised the 
 most insignificant of llie numerous aristoc- 
 racy to a rank and importance nearly re- 
 sembling their own. They might, too, 
 with some justice, distrust the views of 
 .\ap6leon, though recommended by the 
 most specious promises. The donunion 
 of Russia in particular, from similarity of 
 manners, and the particular attention paid 
 to their persons and interests, was not so 
 unpopular among the higher branches of 
 the aristocracy as might have been expect- 
 ed, from the unjust and arbitrary mode in 
 whicii she had combined to appropriate so 
 large a part of their once independent 
 kingdom. These did not, therefore, so 
 generally embrace the side of France as 
 the minor nobles or gentry had done. As 
 for the ordinary mass of the population, 
 being aJtr.ost all in the estate of serfage, or 
 villanage, which had been general over 
 Europe during the prevalence of the feudal 
 system, they followed their respective 
 lords, without pretending to entertain any 
 opinion of their own. 
 
 While Russia was marching her armies 
 hastily forward, not only to support, or 
 rather raise up once more, her unfoi-tunate 
 ally the King of Prussia, but to suppress 
 any ebullition of popular spirit in Poland, 
 Buonaparte received addresses from that 
 country, which endeavoured to prevail on 
 him to aid them in their views of regaining 
 their independence. Their application 
 was of a nature to embarrass him consider- 
 ably. To have declared himself the patron 
 of Polish independence, might have, in- 
 deed, brought large forces to his standard, 
 — might have consummated the disasters 
 of Prussia, and greatly embarrassed even 
 Russia herself; and so far policy recom- 
 mended to Napoleon to encourage their 
 hopes of her restored independence. But 
 Austria had been a large sharer in the va- 
 rious partitions of Poland, and Austria, 
 humbled as she had been, was still a power- 
 ful state, whose enmity might have proved 
 formid.ible, if, by bereaving her of her 
 Polish dominions, or encouraging her sub- 
 jects to rebel, Buonaparte had provoked 
 
 mark aiiJ enjoy tlio confusion which his sudden 
 appearance and interruption had excited in the 
 uasembly. One of the nobles, who stood hy, un- 
 sheathed his sabre, and severed at one blow the 
 head of the dissentient from his body. Our noblo 
 in'ormer, expressing some doubt of a story so ex- 
 traordinary, was referred for its contirrnation to 
 Prince Sobiesky, afterwards King of PuUiinl, who 
 not only bore testimony to tlio strange scene, as 
 what he had bmself witnessed, but declared that 
 the head of the Dietin rolled over on his own fool, 
 almost as soon as he heard the word i-eta uttered. 
 Buch a constitution requited much amelinnt ion ; | 
 but that formed no opolojy for the neighbouring 
 ■tates, who dismembereil and appropriutod to 
 themselves an independent kingdom, with the 
 faults or advantages of whose govcrruncnt they 
 bod not the slightest title to interfere 
 
 I her to hostilities, at the time when he him- 
 self and the best part of his forces were en- 
 I gaged in the Xorth of Europe. The same 
 I attempt wouM have given a very different 
 character to the war, which Russia at pres- 
 ent waged only in the capacity of the aux- 
 iliary of Prussia. The safety and integrity 
 of the Russian empire, south of the Volga, 
 depends almost entirely upon the preser- 
 vation of those territories which she has 
 acquired in Poland ; and, if she had en- 
 gaged in the war as a principal, Buona- 
 parte was scarcely yet prepared to enter up- 
 on a contest with the immense power of 
 that empire, which must be waged upon 
 the very frontier of the enemy, and ^s near 
 to their resources as he was distant from 
 his own. It might have been difficult, al- 
 so, to have stated any consistent grounds, 
 why he, who had carved out so m?ny new 
 sovereignties in Europe with the point of 
 his sword, should reprobate the principal 
 of the partition of Poland. Influenced by 
 these motives, the modern setter-up and 
 puller-down of kings abstained from re-es- 
 tablishing the only monarchy in Europe, 
 which he might have new-modelled to hia 
 mind, in the character not of a conqueror, 
 but a liberator. 
 
 While Napoleon declined making any 
 precise declaration, or binding himself by 
 any express stipulations to the Polish dele- 
 gates, the language he used to them waa 
 cautiously worded, so as to keep up their 
 zeal and animate their exertions. Dom- 
 browski, a Polish exile in the French army, 
 was employed to raise men for Napoleon's 
 service, and the enthusiasm of those who 
 entered, as well as the expectations of the 
 kingdom at large, were excited by such or- 
 acular passages as the following, which ap- 
 peared in the 36th bulletin : — " Is the throne 
 of Poland to be re-established, and will that 
 great nation regain her existence and inde- 
 pendence ? Will she be recalled to life, as 
 if summoned to arise from the tomb 7 — 
 God only, the great disposer of events, can 
 be the arbiter of this great political prob- 
 lem." 
 
 The continuance of war was now to be 
 determined upon ; a war to be waged with 
 circumstances of more than usual horror, 
 as it involved the sufferings of a winter- 
 campaign in the northern latitudes. The 
 French, having completely conquered the 
 Prussian estates to the east of the Oder, had 
 formed the sieges of Great Glogau, of Bres- 
 lau, and of Graudentz, and were at the same 
 time pushing westward to occupy Poland. 
 The Russian general, Bennigsen, had on 
 his side pressed forward for the purpose of 
 assisting the Prussians, and had occupied 
 Warsaw. But finding that their unfortunate 
 allies had scarcely the remnant of an army 
 in the field, the Russian general retreated 
 after some skirmishes, and recrossed the 
 Vistula, while the capital of Poland, thus 
 evacuated, was entered on the 28th Novem- 
 ber by Murat, at the head of the French 
 van-guard. 
 
 About the 23th, Napoleon, leaving Ber- 
 lin, had established himself at Posen, a 
 centrical town of Poland, which country
 
 450 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 began to manifest an agitation, partly the 
 consequence of French intrigues, partly 
 arising from the animating prospect of re- 
 stored independence. The Poles resumed 
 in many instances their ancient national 
 dress and manners, and sent deputies to 
 urge the decision of Buonaparte in their fa- 
 vour. The language in which they entreat- 
 ed his interposition, resembled that of Ori- 
 ental idolatry. "The Polish nation,"' said 
 Count Radyiminski, the Palatine of Gnes- 
 na, " presents itself before your Majesty, 
 groaning still under the yoke of German na- 
 tions, and salutes with the purest joy the 
 regenerator of their dear country, the legis- 
 lator of the universe. Full of submission 
 to your will, they adore you, and repose on 
 you with confidence all their hopes, as up- 
 on him who has the power of raising em- 
 pires and destroying them, and of humbling 
 the proud." The address of the President 
 of the Judicial Council-Chamber of the 
 Regency of Poland, was not less energetic. 
 " Already," he said, " we see our dear 
 country saved ; for in your person we adore 
 the most just and the most profound Solon. 
 We commit our fate and our hopes into 
 your hands, and we impiore the mighty 
 protection of the most august Caesar." 
 
 Not even these eastern hyperboles could 
 extort anything from Buonaparte more dis- 
 tinctly indicative of his intentions, than the 
 obscure hints we have already mentioned-. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Warsaw was put into 
 a state of defence, and the auxiliary forces 
 of Saxony and the new confederates of the 
 Rhine were brought up by forced marches, 
 while strong reinforcements from France 
 repaired the losses of the early part of the 
 campaign. 
 
 The French army at length advanced in 
 full force, and crossed successively the 
 rivers Vistula and Bug, forcing a passage 
 wherever it was disputed. Biit it was not 
 the object of Bennigsen to give battle to 
 forces superior to his own, and he there- 
 fore retreated behind the Wkra, and was 
 joined by the large bodies of troops com- 
 manded by Generals Bushowden and Ka- 
 minskoy. The latter took the general com- 
 mand. He was a contemporary of Su- 
 warrow, and esteemed an excellent officer, 
 but more skilled in the theory than the 
 practice of war. " Kaminskoy," said Su- 
 warrow, " knows war, but war does not 
 know him — I do not know war, but war 
 knows me." It appears also, that during 
 this campaign Kaminskoy was aiBicted with 
 mental alienation. 
 
 On the 23d December Napoleon arrived 
 in person upon the Wkra, and ordered the 
 advance of his army in three divisions. 
 Kaminskoy, when he saw the passage of 
 this river forced, determined to retreat be- 
 hind the Niemen, and sent orders to his 
 lieutenants accordingly. Bennigsen, there- 
 fore, fell back upon Pultusk, and Prince 
 Galitzin upon Golymin, both pursued by 
 large divisions of the French army. The 
 Russian Generals Buxhowden and D'Anrep 
 also Tetreated in different directions, and 
 apparently without maintainirtg asufficient- 
 y accurate communication either with Ben- 
 
 nigsen, or with Galitzin. In their retro 
 grade movements the Russians sustained 
 some loss, which the bulletins magnified to 
 such an extent, as to represent their army 
 as entirely disorganized, their columns wan- 
 dering at hazard in unimaginable disorder, 
 and their safety only caused by the short- 
 ness of the days, the difficulties of a coun- 
 try covered with woods and intersected 
 with ravines, and a thaw which had filled 
 the roads with mud to the depth of five feet. 
 It was, therefore, predicted, that although 
 the enemy might possibly escape from the 
 position in which he had placed himself, it 
 must necessarily be effected at the certain 
 loss of his artillery, his carriages, and his 
 baggage. 
 
 These were exaggerations calculated for 
 the meridian of Paris. Napoleon was him- 
 self sensible, that he was approaching a 
 conflict of a different kind from that which 
 he had maintained with Austria, and more 
 lately against Prussia. The common sol- 
 dier in both those services was too much 
 levelled into a mere moving piece of ma- 
 chinery, the hundred-thousandth part of the 
 great machine called an army, to have any 
 confidence in himself, or zeaJ beyond the 
 mere discharge of the task intrusted to him 
 according to the word of command. These 
 troops, however highly disciplined, wanted 
 that powerful and individual feeling, which 
 in armies possessing a strong national char- 
 acter, (by which the Russians are peculiar- 
 ly distinguished,) induces the soldier to re- 
 sist to the last moment, even when resist- 
 ance can only assure him of revenge. They 
 were still the same Russians, of whom 
 Frederick the Great said, " that he could 
 kill, but could not defeat vhem ;" — they 
 were also strong of constitution, and inured 
 to the iron climate in which Frenchmen 
 were now making war for the first time ;— 
 they were accustomed from their earliest 
 life to spare nourishment and hardship ; — in 
 a word, they formed then, as they do now, 
 the sole instance in Europe of an army, the 
 privates of which are semi-barbarians, with 
 the passions, courage, love of war, and devo- 
 tion to their country, which is found in the 
 earlier periods of society, while the educa- 
 tion received by their superior officers pla- 
 ces them on a level with those of any other 
 nation. TJhat of the inferior regimental of- 
 ficers is too much neglected ; but they are 
 naturally brave, kind to the common soldier, 
 and united among themselves- like a family 
 of brothers, — attributes which go far to com- 
 pensate the want of information. Among 
 the higher officers, are some of the best-in- 
 formed men in Europe. 
 
 The Russian army was at this period defi- 
 cient in its military staff, and thence im- 
 perfect in the execution of combined move 
 ments ; and their generals were better ac- 
 customed to lead an army in the day of actu- 
 al battle, than to prepare for victory by a 
 skilful combination of previous manceuvres. 
 But this disadvantage was balanced by their 
 zealous and unhesitating devotion to their 
 Emperor and their country. There scarce- 
 ly existed a Russian, even of the lowest 
 rank, within the influence of bribery ; and
 
 Chap. LI v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 451 
 
 an officer, like the Prussian commandant of | 
 Hanrjelen, who began to speculate upon re- ' 
 laining his rank in another service, when ' 
 surrendering the charge intrusted to hira by ; 
 his sovereign, would have been accounted j 
 in Russia a prodigy of unexampled villainy. | 
 In the mode of disciplining their forces, the I 
 Russians proceeded on the system most ap- 
 proved in Europe. Their infantry was con- 1 
 fessedly excellent, composed of men in the i 
 prime of life, and carefully selected as best | 
 qualified for military service. Tlieir artil- j 
 lery was of the first description, so far as 
 the men, guns, carriages, and appointments 
 were concerned ; but the rank of General of 
 Artillery had not the predominant weight in 
 the Russian army, which ought to be pos- 
 sessed by those particularly dedicated to tlie 
 direction of that arm, by which, according 
 to Napoleon, modern battles must be usual- 
 ly decided. The direction of their guns 
 was too often intrusted to general officers of 
 the line. The service of cavalry is less 
 natural to the Russian than that of the infan- 
 try, but their horse regiments are neverthe- 
 less excellently trained, and have uniformly 
 behaved well. 
 
 But the Cossacks are a species of force 
 belonging to Russia exclusively ; and al- 
 though subsequent events have probably 
 rendered every reader in some degree ac- 
 quainted with their natural character, they 
 make too conspicuous a figure in the histo- 
 ry of Napoleon, to be passed over without a 
 Mief description here. 
 
 The natives on the banks of the Don and 
 the Volga, hold their lands by military ser- 
 vice, and enjoy certain immunities and pre- 
 scriptions, in consequence of which each 
 individual is obliged to serve four years in 
 the Russian armies. They are trained from 
 early childhood to the use of the lance and 
 sword, and familiarized to the management 
 of a horse peculiar to the countrj- ; far from 
 handsome ia appearance, but tractable, har- 
 dy, swift, and sure-footed, beyond any breed 
 perhaps in the world. At home, and with 
 his family and children, the Cossack is kind, 
 gentle, generous, and simple ; but when in 
 arms, and in a foreign country, he resumes 
 the predatory, and sometimes the ferocious 
 habits of his ancestors, the roving Scythi- 
 ans. As the Cossacks receive no pay, plun- 
 der is generally their object ; and as prison- 
 ers were esteemed a useless encumbrance, 
 they granted no quarter, until .\lexander 
 promised a ducat for every Frenchman 
 whom they brought in alive. In the actual 
 field of battle, their mode of attack is sin- 
 gular. Instead of acting in line, a body of 
 Cossacks about to charge, disperse at the 
 word of command, very much in the man- 
 ner of a fan suddenly flung open, and join- 
 ing in a loud yell, or ftourra, rush, each act- 
 ing individually, upon the object of attack, 
 whether infantry, cavalry, or artillery, to 
 all of which they have been in this wild 
 way of fighting formidable assailants. But 
 it is as light cavalry that the Cossacks are 
 perhaps unrivalled. ' They and their horses 
 have been known to march one hundred 
 miles in twenty-four hours without halting. 
 They plunge into woods, swim rivers, 
 
 thread passes, cross deep morasses, and 
 penetrate through deserts of snow, without 
 undergoing material loss, or suffering from 
 fatigue. No Russian army, with a large body 
 of Cossacks in front, can be liable to sur- 
 prise ; nor, on the other hand, can an enemy 
 surrounded by them ever be confident 
 against it. In covering the retreat of their 
 own army, their velocity, activity, and 
 courage, render pursuit by the enemy's cav- 
 alry peculiarly dangerous ; and in pursuing 
 a flying enemy, these qualities are still more 
 redoubtable. In the campaign of 1806-7, 
 the Cossacks took the field in great num- 
 bers, under their celebrated Hettman, or 
 Attaman, Platow, who, himself a Cossack, 
 knew their peculiar capacity for warfare, 
 and raised their fame to a pitch which it 
 had not attained in former European wars. 
 The Russians had also in their service 
 Tartar tribes, who in irregularity resem- 
 bled the Cossacks, but were not to be com- 
 pared with them in discipline or courage, 
 being, in truth, little better than hordes of 
 roving savages. 
 
 It remains only to be mentioned, that at 
 this time the Russian commissariat was 
 very indifferent, and above. all, deficient in 
 funds. The funds of tlie Imperial treasury 
 were exhausted, and an aid, amounting only 
 to eighty thousand pounds, was obtained 
 from England with difficulty. In conse- 
 quence of these circumstances, the Russians 
 were repeatedly, during the campaign, ob- 
 liged to fight at disadvantage for want of 
 provisions. — We return to the progress of 
 the war. 
 
 On the 25th of December, the Russian 
 army of Bennigsen, closely concentrated, 
 occupied a position behind Pultusk; their 
 left, commanded by Count Ostreman, rest- 
 ing upon the town, which is situated on the 
 river Narew. A corps occupied the bridge, 
 to prevent any attack from that point. The 
 right, under Barclay de Tolly, was strongly 
 posted in a wood, and the centre was under 
 the orders of General Zachen. A consid- 
 erable plain extended between the town of 
 Pultusk and the wood, which formed the 
 right of the Russian position. They had 
 stationed a powerful advanced guard, had 
 occupied the plain with their cavalry, and 
 established a strong reserve in their rear. 
 On the 2Cth, the Russian position was at- 
 tacked by the French divisions of Lannea 
 and Davoust, together with the French 
 guards. After skirmishing some time in the 
 centre, without making the desired impres- 
 sion, the battle appeared doubtful, when, 
 suddenly assembling a great strength on 
 their own left, the French made a decisive 
 effort to overwhelm the Russians, by turn- 
 ing their right wing. The attack prevail- 
 ed to a certain extent. The accumulated 
 and superior weight of fire, determined 
 I Barclay de Tolly to retreat on his reserves, 
 which he did without confusion, while the 
 I French seized upon the wood, and took 
 1 several Russian guns. But Bennigsen, in 
 I spite of Kaminskoy's order to retreat, waa 
 I determined to abide the brunt of battle, and 
 } to avail himself of the rugged intrepidity of 
 , the troops which he commanded. Order«
 
 452 
 
 LIFE OF KAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 ing Barclay de Tolly to continue his retreat, 
 and thus throwing back his right wing, he 
 enticed the French, confident in victory, to 
 pursue their success until the Russian caval- 
 ry, which had covered the manoeuvre, sud- 
 denly withdrawing, they found themselves 
 under a murderous and well-directed fire 
 from one hundred and twenty guns, which 
 extending along the Russian front, played 
 on the French advancing columns with the 
 utmost success. The Russian line at the 
 same time advanced in turn, and pushing 
 the enemy before them, recovered the 
 ground from which they had been driven. 
 The approach of night ended the combat, 
 which had been both obstinate and bloody. 
 The French lost near eight thousand men, 
 killed and wounded, including General 
 Lannes and fiv 2 other general oflicers among 
 the latter. Tlie Russian loss amounted to 
 five thousand. The French retreated after 
 nightfall with such rapidity, that on the next 
 day the Cossacks could not find a rear-guard 
 in the vicinity of Pultusk. 
 
 The action of Pultusk raised the reputation 
 of Bennigsen, and the character as well as 
 the spirits of the Russian army ; but its 
 moral effect on the soldiers was its only 
 important consequence. Had Bennigsen 
 been joined during the action by the divis- 
 ion of Buxhowden or D'Anrep, of whom 
 the former was only eight miles distant, 
 the check might have been converted into 
 a victory, highly influential on the issue of 
 the campaign. But either the orders of 
 Kaminskoy, or some misunderstanding, pre- 
 vented either of these corps from advancing 
 to support the efforts of Bennigsen. It be- 
 came impossible for him, therefore, notwith- 
 standing the advantages he had obtained, to 
 retain his position at Pultusk,where he must 
 have been surrounded. He accordingly fell 
 back upon Ostrolenka, where he was joined 
 by Prince Galitzin who had been engaged in 
 action at Golymin upon the day of the battle 
 of Pultusk, had like Bennigsen driven back 
 the enemy, and like him had retreated, for 
 the purpose of concentrating his forces 
 with those of the grand army. The French 
 evinced a feeling of the unusual and obsti- 
 nate nature of the contest in which they 
 had been engaged at Pultusk and Golymin. 
 Instead of pressing their operations, they 
 retreated into winter-quarters ; Napoleon 
 withdrawing his guard as far as Warsaw, 
 while the other divisions were cantoned in 
 the towns to the eastv/ard, but without at- 
 tempting to realize the prophecies of the 
 bulletins concerning the approaching fate of 
 the Russian army. 
 
 The conduct of Kaminskoy began now to 
 evince decided tokens of insanity. He was 
 withdrawn from the supreme command, 
 which, with the general approbation of the 
 soldiers, was conferred upon Bennigsen. 
 This general was not equal in military 
 genius to Suwarrow, but he seems to have 
 been well fitted to command a Russian army. 
 He was active, hardy, and enterprising, 
 and showed none of that peculiarly fatal 
 hesitation, by which officers of other na- 
 tions opposed to the French generals, and 
 to Buonaparte in particular, seem often to 
 
 have been affected, as with a sort of moral 
 palsy, which disabled them for the com- 
 bat at the very moment when it seemed 
 about to commence. On the contrary, Ben- 
 nigsen, finding himself in the supreme com- 
 mand of ninety thousand men, was resolved 
 not to wait for Buonaparte's onset, but de- 
 termined to anticipate his motions ; wisely 
 concluding, that the desire of aesisting 
 from active operations, which the French 
 Emperor had evinced by cantoning his 
 troops in winter-quarters, ought to be a 
 signal to the Russians again to take the 
 field. 
 
 The situation of the King of Prussia tend- 
 ed to confirm that determination. This 
 unfortunate monarch — well surely did 
 Frederick William then deserve that ep- 
 ithet — was cooped up in the town of Kon- 
 igsberg, only covered by a small army of a 
 few thousand men, and threatened by the 
 gradual approach of the divisions of*^ Ney 
 and Bernadotte ; so that the King's personal 
 safety appeared to be in considerable dan- 
 ger. Graudenfz, the key of the Vistula, 
 continued indeed to hold out, but the Prus- 
 sian garrison was reduced to distress, and 
 the hour of surrender seemed to be ap- 
 proaching. To relieve this important for- 
 tress, therefore, and at the same time pro- 
 tect Konigsberg, were motives added to 
 the other reasons which determined Ben- 
 nigsen to resume offensive operations. A 
 severe and doubtful skirmish was fought 
 near Mohringen, in which the French sus- 
 tained considerable loss. The Cossacks 
 spread abroad over the country, making nu 
 merous prisoners ; and the scheme of the 
 Russian general succeeded so well, as to 
 enable the faithful L'Estocq to relieve 
 Graudentz with reinforcements and provis- 
 ions. 
 
 By these daring operations, Buonaparte 
 saw himself forced into a winter campaign, 
 and issued general orders for drawing out 
 his forces, with the purpose of concentrat- 
 ing them at Willenberg, in the rear of the 
 Russians, (then stationed at Mohringen,) 
 and betwixt them and their own country. 
 He proposed, in short, to force his enemies 
 eastward towards the Vistula, as at Jena ho 
 had compelled the Prussians to fight with 
 their rear turned to the Rhine. Bernadotte 
 had orders to engage the attention of Ben- 
 nigsen upon the right, and detain him in hia 
 present situation, or rather, if possible, 
 induce him to advance eastward towards 
 Thorn, so as to facilitate the operation he 
 meditated. 
 
 The Russian general learned Buona- 
 parte's intention from an intercepted dis- 
 patch, and changed his purpose of advanc- 
 ing on Ney and Bernadotte. Marches and 
 counter-marches took place, through a 
 country at all times difficult, and now 
 covered with snow. The experience and 
 dexterity of the French secured some ad- 
 vantages, but these were fully counter- 
 balanced by the daily annoyance and loss 
 which they in turn sustained from Platovr 
 and his Cossacks. In cases where the 
 French retreated, the Scythian lances 
 were always on their rear ; and when the
 
 Chap. LI v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 453 
 
 Rassians retired in turn, and were pursued 
 by the French, with the s^me venturous 
 spirit which they had displayed against 
 others, the latter seldom failed to suffer for 
 their presumption. There was found in the 
 spearmen of the Don and Wolga a natural 
 and instinctive turn for military stratagem, 
 ambuscade, and sudden assault, which com- 
 pelled the French light troops to adopt a 
 caution, very different from their usual 
 habits of audacity. 
 
 Bennigscn was aware that it v. as the in- 
 terest of Russia to protract the campaign 
 in this manner. He was near his reinforce- 
 ments, the French were distant from theirs 
 —every loss, therefore, told more in pro- 
 portion on the enemy, tlian on his army. 
 On the other hand, llie Ilussian army, im- 
 patient of protracted hostilities, became 
 clamorous for battle ; for the hardships of 
 their situation were such as to give them 
 every desire to bring the war to a crisis. 
 We have noticed the defects of the Rus- 
 sian commissariat. They were especially 
 manifest during those campaigns, when the 
 leader was obliged more than once, merely 
 from want of provisions, to peril the fate 
 of the war upon a general battle, which 
 prudence would have induced him to avoid. 
 In those northern latitudes, and in the month 
 of February, the troops had no resource but 
 to prowl about, and dig for tlie hoards ol' 
 provision concealed by the peasants. This 
 labour, added to their military duty, left 
 them scarcely lime to Ho down ; and when 
 they did so, they had no bed but the snow, 
 no shelter but the wintry heaven, and no 
 covering but their rags.* The distres.ses 
 of the army were so extreme, that it induced 
 General Bennigsen, against his judgment, to 
 give battle at all risks, and for this purpose 
 
 re-occupy Preuss-Eylau. They found the 
 French already in possession, and, although 
 they dislodged them, were themselves 
 driven out in turn by another division of 
 Frencli, to whom Buonaparte had promised 
 the plunder of the town. A third division 
 of Russians was ordered to advance ; for 
 Bennigsen was desirous to protract the con- 
 test for the town until the arrival of his 
 heavy artillery, which joined him by a dif- 
 ferent route. When it came up, he would 
 have discontinued the struggle for posses- 
 sion of Preuss-Eylau, but it was impossible 
 to control the ardour of the Russian col- 
 umns, who persevered in advancing with 
 drums beating, rushed into the town, and, 
 surprising the French in the act of sacking 
 it, put many of them to the bayonet, even 
 in the acts of license which they were prac- 
 tising. Preuss-Eylau, however, proved no 
 place of shelter. It was protected by no 
 works of any kind ; and the French advanc- 
 ing under cover of the hillocks and broken 
 ground which skirt the village, threw their 
 lire upon the streets, by which the Russians 
 sustained some loss. General Barclay de 
 Tolly was wounded, and his forces again 
 evacuated the town, which was once more 
 and finally occupied by the French. Night 
 fell, and the combat ceased, to be renewed 
 with treble fury on the next day. 
 
 The position of the two armies may be 
 easily described. That of Russia occupied 
 a space of uneven ground, about two miles 
 in length and a mile in depth, with the vil- 
 lag<; of Serpallen on their left ; in the front 
 of their army, lay the town of Preuss-Eylau, 
 situated in a hollow, and in possession of 
 the French, it was watched by a Russian 
 division; which, to protect the Russian 
 centre from being broken by an attack 
 
 to concentrate his forces at Preuss-Eylau, from that quarter, was strongly reinforced, 
 which was pitched on as the field on which though by doing so the right wing was con- 
 he proposed to await Buonaparte. siderably weakened. This was thought of 
 In marching through Landsbergto occupy the less consequence, that L'Estocq, with 
 the selected ground, the Russian rear-guard his division of I'russians, was hourly expect- 
 was exposed to a serious attack by the ed to join the Russians on that point. The 
 
 French, and was only saved from great loss 
 by the gallantry of Prince Bagration, who 
 redeemed, by sheer dint of fighting, the loss 
 sustained by want of conduct in defiling 
 through the streets of a narrow village. 
 
 Frencii occupied Eylau with their left, 
 while their centre and right lay parallel to 
 the Russians, upon a chain of heights which 
 commanded in a great measure the ground 
 possessed by the enen>y. They also ox- 
 
 while pursued by an enterprising enemy. | pected to be reinforced by the division 
 The Russian army lost 3000 men. On the j of Ney, which had not come up, and 
 7th February, the same gallant prince, with which was destined to form on the extreme 
 the Russian rear-guard, gained such deci- 
 ded advantages over the F'rencii van as 
 nearly balanced the loss at Landsberg, and 
 gavC' time for the whole army to march 
 through the town of Preuss-Eylau, and to 
 take up a position behind it. It had been 
 intended to maintain the town i'self, and a 
 
 left. 
 
 The space betwixt the hostile armies was 
 open and flat, and intersected with frozen 
 lakes. They might trace each other's posi- 
 tion by the pale glimmer of the watch- 
 lights upon the snow. The difference of 
 numerical force was considerably to the 
 
 body of troops had been left for that pur- i advantage of the French. .Sir Robert Wil 
 pose ; but in the confusion attending the son rates them at 90.000 men, opposed to 
 movement of so large an army, the orders , 60,000 only ; but the disproportion is proba- 
 isaued had been misunderstood, and the di- bly considerably overrated. 
 vision designed for this service evacuated The eventful action commenced with 
 the place so soon as the rear-guard had day-break on the 8th of P'ebruary. Two 
 passed through it. i strong columns of the French advanced. 
 
 A Russian division was hastily ordered to with the purpose of turning the right, and 
 storming the centre, of the Russians, at one 
 
 • Sir Robert WiUon'e Skolch of the Campaigns ] and the same time. But they were driven 
 taPolaod, ia 130i>-7, p 94. i bick iu great disarJer by tb.e heavy and
 
 454 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 SQstained fire of the Russian artillery. An 
 attack on the Russian left was equally un- 
 successful. The Russian infantry stood 
 like stone ramparts — they repulsed the en- 
 emy — their cavalry came to their support, 
 pursued the retiring assailants, and took 
 standards and eagles. About mid-day, a 
 heavy storm of snow began to fixU, which 
 the wind drove right in the face of the 
 Russians, and which added to the ob- 
 scurity caused by the smoke of the burn- 
 ing village of Serpallen, that rolled along 
 the line. 
 
 Under cover of the darkness, sLy columns 
 of the French advanced with artillery and 
 cavalry, and were close on the Russian po- 
 sition ere they were opposed. Bennigsen, 
 at the head of his staff, brought up the re- 
 serves in person, who, uniting with the 
 first line, bore the French back at the 
 point of the bayonet. Their columns, 
 partly broken, were driven again to their 
 own position, where they rallied with diffi- 
 culty. A French regiment of cuirassiers, 
 which, during this part of the action, had 
 gained an interval in the Russian army, 
 were charged by the Cossacks, and found 
 their defensive armour no protection against 
 the lance. They were all slain except 
 eighteen. 
 
 At the moment when victory appeared to 
 declare for the Russians, it was on the 
 point of being wrested from them. Da- 
 voust's division had been manoeuvring 
 since the beginning of the action to turn 
 the left, and gain tlie rear, of the Russian 
 line. They now made their appearance on 
 the field of battle with such sudden effect, 
 that Serpallen was lost, the Russian left 
 wing, and a part of their centre, were 
 thrown into disorder, and forced to retire 
 and change their front, so as to form almost 
 at right angles with the right, and that part 
 of the centre which retaiued their original 
 position. 
 
 At this crisis, and while the French wore 
 ga-ning ground on the rear of the Russians, 
 L'Estocq, so long expected, appeared in 
 his turn suddenly on the field, and, passing 
 the left of the French, and the right of the 
 Russians, pushed down in three columns to 
 redeem the battle on the Russian centre 
 and rear. The Prussians under that loyal 
 and gallant leader, regained in this bloody 
 field their ancient military reputation. 
 They never fired till within a few paces of 
 the enemy, and then used the bayonet with 
 readiness and courage. They redeemed 
 the ground which the Russians had lost, 
 and drove back in their turn the troops of 
 Davoust and Bernadotte, who had been 
 lately victorious. 
 
 Ney, in the meanwhile, appeared on the 
 field, and occupied Schloditten, a village 
 on the road to Konigsberg. As this en- 
 dangered the communication of the Rus- 
 sians with that town, it was thought neces- 
 sary to carry it by storm ; a gallant resolu- 
 tion, which was successfully executed. 
 This was the last actoftliat bloody day. 
 It was ten o'clock at night, and the combat 
 was ended. 
 
 Fifty thousand men perished in this 
 
 dreadful battle— the best contested in which 
 Buonaparte had yet engaged, and by far 
 the most unsuccessful. He retired to the 
 heights from which he had advanced in the 
 morning, without having gained one point 
 for which he had struggled, and after having 
 suffered a loss considerably greater than 
 that which he had inflicted on the enemy. 
 But the condition of the Russian army was 
 also extremely calamitous. Their generals 
 held a council of war upon the field of bat- 
 tle, and without dismounting from their 
 I horses. The general sentiment which pre- 
 vailed among them was, a desire to renew 
 the battle on the next day, at all hazards. 
 Tolstoy undertook to move forward on the 
 Frencli lines — L'Estocq urged the same 
 counsel. They offered to pledge their 
 lives, that, would Bennigsen advance, Na- 
 poleon must necessarily retire ; and they 
 urged the moral effect which would be pro- 
 duced, not on their army only, but on Ger- 
 many and on Europe, by such an admission 
 of weakness on the part of him who had 
 never advanced but to victory. But Ben- 
 nigsen conceived that the circumstances of 
 his army di 1 not permit him to encounter 
 the hazard of being cut off from Konigsberg, 
 and endangering the person of the King of 
 Prussia ; or that of risking a second general 
 action, with an army diminished by at least 
 20,000 killed and wounded, short of ammu- 
 nition, and totally deprived of provisions. 
 The Russians accordingly commenced their 
 retreat on Konigsberg that very night. The 
 division of Count Ostreman did not move 
 till the nest morning, when it traversed the 
 field in front of Preuss-Eylau, without the 
 slightest interruption from' the French, who 
 still occupied the town. 
 
 The battle of Preuss-Eylau was claimed 
 as a victory by both parties, though it was 
 very far from being decided in favour of 
 either. Bennigsen had it to boast, that he 
 had repelled the attacks of Buonaparte 
 along the whole of his line, and that the 
 fighting terminated unfavourably to the 
 French. He could also exhibit the unusual 
 spectacle of twelve Imperial eagles of 
 France, taken in one action. For many days 
 after the battle, also, the Cossacks continu- 
 ed to scour the country, and bring into Kon- 
 igsberg great numbers of French prisoners. 
 On the other hand, the subsequent retreat 
 of the Russians was interpreted by the 
 French into an acknowledgment of weak- 
 ness ; and they appealed to their own pos- 
 session of the field of battle, with the dead 
 and wounded, as the usual testimonials of 
 victory. 
 
 But there were two remarkable circum- 
 stances, by which Napoleon virtually ac- 
 knowledged that he had received an un'isual 
 check. On the 13th February, four divs af- 
 ter the battle, a message was despatched to 
 the King of Prussia by Buonaparte, propos- 
 ing an armistice, on grounds far more fa- 
 vourable to the Prince than those Freder- 
 ick ^V'illiam miglit iiave been disposed to 
 accept, or which Buonaparte would harn 
 been inclined to grant, after the battle of 
 Jena. It was even intimated, that in case 
 of agreeing to ipake a separate peace, tha
 
 Chap. LIV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOJ^J BUONAPARTE. 
 
 455 
 
 Pnissian King might obtain from the French 
 Emperor the restoration of his whole do- 
 minions. True to his ally the Emperor of 
 Russia, Frederick William, even in the ex- 
 tremity of his distress, refused to accede to 
 any save a general peace. The proposal of 
 an armistice was also peremptorily refused, 
 and the ground on which it was offered was 
 construed to indicate Buonaparte's con- 
 scious weakness. 
 
 Another decisive proof of the loss which 
 Napoleon had sustained in the battle of 
 Preuss-Eylau, was his inactivity after the 
 battle. For eight days he remained without 
 making any movement, excepting by means 
 of his cavalry, which were generally worst- 
 ed, and on the 19th February he evacuated 
 the place, and prepared himself to retreat 
 upon the Vistula, instead of driving the Rus- 
 sians, as he had threatened, behind the Pre- 
 gel. Various actions took place during his 
 retreat with different fortunes, but the Rus- 
 sian Cossacks and light troops succeeded in 
 making numbers of prisoners, and collect- 
 ing much spoil. 
 
 The operations of Napoleon, when he 
 had again retired to the line of the \'istula, 
 intimated caution, and tlie sense of a dilfi- 
 cult task before him. He appeared to feel, 
 that the advance into Poland had been pre- 
 mature, while Dantzic remained in the hands 
 of the Prussians, from whence the most 
 alarming operations might take place in his 
 rear, should he again advance to the\'istula 
 without subduing it. The siege of Dantzic 
 w.as therefore to be formed without delay. 
 The place was defended by General Kal- 
 kreuth to the last extremity. After many 
 unsuccessful attempts to relieve it. Dantzic 
 finally surrendered in the end of May 1807, 
 after trenches had been opened before it for 
 fifly-two days. If the season of the year 
 had admitted, a British expedition to Dant- 
 zic might, if ably conducted, have operated 
 in the rearof Ihe Emperor Napoleon the re- 
 lief of Prussia, and perhaps effected the lib- 
 eration of Europe. 
 
 The utmost care was also taken, to sup- 
 ply the loss which Napoleon's armies had 
 sustained in these hard-fought campaigns. 
 He raised the siege of C'olbers', drew the 
 nreater part of his forces out of Silesia, or- 
 dered a new levy in Switzerland, urged the 
 march of bodies of troops from Italy, and, to 
 complete his means, demanded a new con- 
 scription of the year 1808, which was in- 
 stantly complied with by the Senate as a 
 matter of coutse. At length, as summer ap- 
 proached, the surrender of Dantzic enabled 
 him to unite the besieging division, twenty- 
 t ve thousand strong, to his main army, aiid 
 to prep.are to resume offensive operations. 
 A large levy of Poles was made at the same 
 time : and they, with other light troops of 
 the French, were employed in making 
 strong recognizances, with various fortune, 
 but never wi'hout the exchange of hard 
 blows. It became evident to all Europe, 
 that whatever might be the end of this 
 bloody conflict, the French Emperor was 
 contending with a general and troops, 
 against whom it was impossible to irain 
 those overpowering and irresistible advan- 
 
 tages, which characterized his campaigns in 
 Italy and Germany. The bulletins, it is 
 true, announced new successes from day to 
 day ; but as the geographical advance upon 
 the Polish territory was by no means in pro- 
 portion to the advantages claimed, it was 
 plain that Napoleon was as often engaged in 
 parrying as in pushing, in repairing losses 
 as in improving victories. The Russian 
 generals composed plans with skill, and ex- 
 ecuted them with activity and spirit, for cut- 
 ting off separate divisions, and disturbing 
 the French communications. 
 
 The Russian army had received reinforce- 
 ments ; but they were deficient in numeri- 
 cal amount, and only made up their strength, 
 at the utmost, to their original computation 
 of 90,000 men. This proved unpardonable 
 negligence in the Russian government, con- 
 sidering the ease with which men can there 
 be levied to any extent by the mere will of 
 the Emperor, and the vital importance of the 
 war which they were now waging. It is 
 said, however, that the poverty of the Rus- 
 sian administration was the cause of this 
 failure to recruit their forces ; and that the 
 British being applied to, to negotiate a loan 
 of six millions, and advance one million to 
 account, had declined the transaction, and 
 thereby given great offence to the Emperor 
 Alexander. 
 
 Napoleon, so much more remote from his 
 own territories, had already, by exertions 
 unparalleled in the history of Europe, as- 
 sembled two hundred and eighty thousand 
 men between the Vistula and iVIemel, in- 
 cluding the garrison of Dantzic. With such 
 unequal forces the war recommenced. 
 
 Tlie Russians were the assailants, making 
 a combined movement on Ney's division, 
 wliich was stationed at Gutstadt, and in the 
 vicinity. They pursued him as far as Dep- 
 pen, where there was some fighting; but 
 upon the 8th of June, Napoleon advanced 
 in person to extocate his Marshal, andBen- 
 nigsen was obliged to retreat in his turn. He 
 was hardly pressed on the rear by the Grand 
 Army of France. But even in this moment 
 of peril, Platow, with his Cossacks, made a 
 charge, or, in their phrase, a hourra, upon 
 the French, with such success, that they 
 not only dispersed the skirmishers of the 
 French vanguard, and the advanced troop* 
 destined to support them , but compelled the 
 infantry to form squares, endangered the 
 personal safety of Napoleon, and occupied 
 the attention of the whole French cavalrv, 
 who bore down on them at full speed. Mus- 
 ketry and artillery were all turned on them 
 I at once, but to little or no purpose : for, 
 ! having once gained the purpose of checking 
 I the advance, which was all they aimed at, 
 [ the cloud of Cossacks dispersed over the 
 [ field, like mist before the sun, and united 
 ' behind the battalions whom their demon- 
 stration had protected. 
 
 By this means Platow and his followers 
 had ^t before the retreating division of the 
 Russian army under Bagration. which they 
 were expected to support, and had reached 
 first a bridje over tlie Aller. The Cossacks 
 were alarn\ed by the immense display of 
 force demonstrated against them, and show-
 
 45(i 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. UV. 
 
 ed a disposition to throw themselves con- 
 fusedly on the bridge, which must certainly 
 have been attended with the most disastrous 
 consequences to the rear-guard, who would 
 thus have been impeded in their retreat by 
 the very troops appointed to support them. 
 The courage and devotion of Platow pre- 
 vented that great misfortune. He threw 
 himself from his horse. " Let the Cossack 
 that is base enough,'" he exclaimed, " de- 
 sert his Hettman !" The children of the 
 wilderness halted around him, and lie dis- 
 posed of them in perfect order to protect 
 the retreat of Bagration and the rear-guard, 
 End afterwards achieved his own retreat 
 with trifling loss. 
 
 The Russian army fell back upon Heils- 
 berg, and there concentrating their forces, 
 made a most desperate stand. A very hard- 
 fought action here took place. The Rus- 
 sians, overpowered by superior numbers, 
 and forced from the level ground, continu- 
 ed to defend with fury their position on the 
 heights, which the French made equally 
 strenuous efforts to carry by assault. The 
 combat was repeatedly renewed, with cav- 
 alry, infantry, and artillery ; but without 
 the fiery valour of the assailants making 
 »«ny effectual impression on the iron ranks 
 of the Russians. The battle continued, till 
 the approach of midnight, upon terms of 
 equality ; and when the morning dawned, 
 tlie space of ground between the position 
 of the Russians and that of the French, was 
 not merely strewed, but literally sheeted 
 over, with the bodies of the dead and 
 wounded. The Russians retired unmolest- 
 ed after the battle of Heilsberg, and, cross- 
 ing the river Aller, placed that barrier be- 
 tvi'i.xt them and the arm> of Buonaparte, 
 which, though it had suffered great losses, 
 had, in consequence of the superiority of 
 numbers, been less affected by them than 
 the Russian forces. In the condition of 
 Bennigsen's army, it was his obvious poli- 
 cy to protract the war, especially as rein- 
 forcements, to the number of thirty thou- 
 sand men, w-ere approaching the frontier 
 from the interior of the empire. It was 
 probably with this view that he kept his ar- 
 my on the right bank of the Aller, with the 
 exception of a few bodies of cavalry, for the 
 sake of observation and intelligence. 
 
 On the 13th, the Russian army reached 
 Friedland, a considerable town on the west 
 side of the Aller, communicating with the 
 eastern, or right bank of the river, by a long 
 wooden bridge. It was the object of jN'apo- I 
 leon to induce the Russian general to pass ' 
 by this narrow bridge to the left bank, and 
 then to decoy him into a general action, in 
 a position where the difficulty of defiling 
 through the town, and over the bridge, must ! 
 render retreat almost impossible. For this i 
 purpose he showed such a proportion only i 
 of his forces, as induced General Bennigsen I 
 to believe that the French troops on the j 
 western side of the Aller consisted only of i 
 Oudinot's division, wliich had been severe- 
 ly handled in the battle of Heilsberg, and 
 which he now hoped altogether to destroy. | 
 Under this deception he ordered a Russian j 
 division to pass the bridge, defile through j 
 
 I the town, and march to the assault. Th« 
 I French took care to offer no such resistance 
 as should intimate their real strength. Ben- 
 nigsen was thus led to reinforce this divis- 
 ion with another — the battle thickened, and 
 the Russian general at length transported 
 I all his army, one division excepted, to the 
 i left bank of the .\ller, by means of the 
 wooden bridge and Uiree pontoons, and ar- 
 rayed them in front of the town of Fried- 
 land, to overpower, as he supposed, the 
 crippled division of the French, to which 
 alone he believed himself opposed. 
 
 But no sooner had he taken this irre- 
 trievable step than the mask was dropped. 
 The French skirmishers advanced in force ; 
 heavy columns of infanty began to show 
 themselves; batteries of cannon were got 
 into position ; and all circumstances con- 
 curred, with the report of prisoners, to as- 
 sure Bennigsen, that he, with his enfeebled 
 forces, was in presence of the grand French 
 army. His position, a sort of plain, sur- 
 rounded by woods and broken ground, was 
 dillicult to defend; with the town and a 
 large river in his rear, it was dangerous to 
 attempt a retreat, and to advance was pre- 
 vented by the inequality of his force. Ben- 
 nigsen now became anxious to maintain his 
 communication with Wehlau, a town on 
 the Pregel, which was the original point of 
 retreat, and where he hoped to join with 
 the Prussians under General L'Estocq. If 
 the enemy should seize the bridge at Aller- 
 berg, some miles lower down the Aller 
 than Friedland, this plan would become im- 
 possible, and he found hiniselt' therefore 
 obliged to diminish his forces, by detaching 
 six thousand men to defend that point. 
 With the remainder of his tbrce he resolv- 
 ed to maintain his present position till 
 night. 
 
 The French advanced to the attack about 
 ten o'clock. The broken and wooded coun- 
 try which they occupied, enabled them to 
 maintain and renew their efforts at pleasure, 
 while the Russians, in their exposed situa- 
 tion, co\ild not make the slightest movement 
 without being observed. Yet they fought 
 with such obstinate valour, that about noon 
 the French seemed sickening of the con- 
 test, and about to retire. But this was on- 
 ly a feint, to repose such of their forces as 
 had been engaged, and to bring up rein- 
 forcements. The cannonade continued till 
 about half past four, when Buonaparte 
 brought up his full force in person, for the 
 purpose of one of those desperate and gen- 
 erally irresistible efforts to which he was 
 wont to trust the decision of a doubtful day. 
 Columns of enormous power, and extensive 
 depth, appeared partially visible among the 
 interstices oftl^e wooded country, and seen 
 from the tov.n of Friedland, the hapless 
 Russian army looked as if surrounded by a 
 deep semicircle of clittcring steel. The 
 attack upon all tlie line, with cavalry, in- 
 fantry, and artillery, was general and simul- 
 taneous, the French advancing with shouts 
 of assured victory ; while the Russians, 
 weakened by the loss of at least twelve 
 thousand lulled and wounded, were obliged 
 to attempt that most dispiriting and danger-
 
 Chap. LI v.] 
 
 LIFE OF XAPOLEOX BUONAPARTE. 
 
 457 
 
 0U8 of movements — a retreat through en- 
 cumbered defiles, in front of a superior en- 
 emy. The principal attack was on the left 
 wing, where the Russian position was at 
 length forced. The troops which composed 
 it streamed into the town, and crowded the 
 bridge and pontoons ; the enemy thundered 
 on their rear, and w.lhout the valour of 
 Alexanders Imperial Guard, the Russians 
 would have been utterly destroyed. These 
 brave soldiers charged with the bayonet 
 the corps of Xey, who led the French van- 
 iniard, disordered his column, and, though 
 Uiey were overpowered by numbers, pre- 
 vented the total ruin of the left wing. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bridge and pontoons 
 were set on iSre, to prevent the French, 
 who had forced their way into the town, 
 from taking possession of them. The smoke 
 rolling over the combatants, increased the 
 horror and confusion of the scene ; yet a 
 considerable part of the Russian infantry 
 escaped through a ford close by the town, 
 which was discovered in the moment of de- 
 feat. The Russian centre and right, who 
 remained on the west bank of the .\ller, ef- 
 fected a retreat by a circuitous route, leav- 
 ing on the right the town of Friedland, with 
 its burning bridges, no longer practicable 
 for friend or foe, and passing the Aller by a 
 ford considerably farther down the river. 
 This alsftjuas found out in the very mo- 
 ment of extremity, — was deep and danger- 
 ous. — took the infantry up to the breast, 
 Hnd destroyed what ammunition was left in 
 the tumbrils. 
 
 Thns were the Russians once more united 
 on the right bank of the Aller, and enabled 
 to prosecute their march towards Wehlau. 
 Amid the calamities of defeat, they had 
 saved all their cannon except seventeen, 
 and preserved their baggage. Indeed, the 
 Ktubborn character of their defence seems 
 to have paralyzed the energies of the victor, 
 who. after carrying the Russian position, 
 showed little of that activity in improving 
 his success, which usually characterized 
 him upon such occasions. He pushed no 
 troops over the .\ller in pursuit of the re- 
 treating enemy, but suffered Bennigsen to 
 rally his broken troops without interrup- 
 tion. Neither, when in possession of F'ried- 
 land. did he detach any force down the left 
 bank, to act upon the flank of the Russian 
 centre and right, and cut them off from the 
 river. In short, the battle of Friedland, 
 according to the expression of a French 
 general, was a battle gained, but a victory 
 lost. 
 
 Yet the most important consequences 
 resulted from the action, though the French 
 success had been but partially improved. 
 Konigsberg, which had been so long the 
 refuge of the King of Prussia, was evacuat- 
 ed by his forces, as it became plain his 
 Russian auxiliaries could no longer maintain 
 the war in Poland. Bennissen retreated to 
 Tilsit, towards the Russian frontiers. But j 
 the moral consequences of the defeat were i 
 of far greater consequence than could have j 
 been either the capture of guns and prison- | 
 ere, or the acquisition of territory. It had | 
 the effect, evidently desired by Napoleon, ■ 
 Vol. I. U 
 
 of disposing the Emperor Alexander to 
 peace. The former could not but feel that 
 he was engaged with a more obstinate 
 enemy in Russia, than any he had yet en- 
 countered. After so many bloody battles, 
 he was scarce arrived on the frontiers of an 
 immense empire, boundless in its extent, 
 and almost inexhaustible in resourcesj while 
 the French, after suffering extremely in de- 
 feating an army that was merely auxiliary, 
 could scarce be supposed capable of under- 
 taking a scheme of invasion so gigantic as 
 that of plunging into the vast regions of 
 Muscovy. 
 
 Such an enterprize would have been pe- 
 culiarly hazardous in the situation in which 
 the French Emperor now stood. The Eng- 
 lish expedition to the Baltic was daily ex- 
 pected. Gustavus was in Swedish Pomera- 
 nia, at the head of a considerable armv, 
 which had raised the siege of Stralsund. A 
 spirit of resistance was awakening in Prus- 
 sia, where the resolute conduct of Blucher 
 had admirers and imitators, and the nation 
 seemed to be reviving from the consterna- 
 tion inflicted by the defeat of Jena. The 
 celebrated Schill, a partizan of great cour- 
 age and address, had gained many advanta- 
 ges, and was not unlikely, in a nation bred 
 to arms, to acquire the command of a numer- 
 ous body of men. Hesse, Hanover, Bruns- 
 wick, and the other provinces of Germany, 
 deprived of their ancient princes, and sub- 
 jected to heavy exactions by the conquerors, 
 were ripe for insurrection. All these dan- 
 gers were of a nature from which little 
 could be apprehended while the Grand Ar- 
 my was at a moderate distance ; but were 
 it to advance into Russia, especially were 
 it to meet with a check there, these 
 sparks of fire, left in the rear, might be ex- 
 pected to kindle a dreadful conflagration. 
 
 Moved by such considerations. Napoleon 
 had fully kept open the door for reconcilia- 
 tion betwixt the Czar and himself, abstain- 
 ing from all those personal reflections 
 against him, which he usually showered 
 upon those who thwarted his projects, and 
 intimating more than once, by different 
 modes of communication, that a peace, 
 which should enable Russia and France to 
 divide the world betwixt them, should be 
 placed within Alexander's reach so soon 
 as he was disposed to ac<;ept it. 
 
 The time was now arrived when the Em- 
 peror of Russia was disposed to listen to 
 terms of accommodation with France. He 
 had been for some time dissatisfied with 
 his allies. Against Frederick William, in- 
 deed, nothing could be objected, save his 
 bad fortune ; but what is it that so soon de- 
 prives us of our friends as a constant train 
 of bad luck, rendering us alwavs a burthen 
 more than an aid to iliem ? The King of 
 Sweden was a feeble ally at best, and had 
 become so unpopular with his subjects, that 
 his dethronement was anticipated ; and it 
 was probablv remembered, that the Swedish 
 province of Finland extended so near to .St. 
 Petersburgh, as to Le a desirable acquisition, 
 which, in the course of a treat>' with Buona- 
 parte, might be easily attained. 
 
 The principal ally of the Czar had beej|
 
 458 
 
 LIFE OF N-VTOLEON liUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 Britain. But he was displeased, as we have 
 already noticed, with the economy of the 
 English cabinet, who had declined, in his in- 
 stance, the loans and subsidies, of which they 
 used to be liberal to allies of far less impor- 
 tance. A subsidy of about eighty thousand 
 pounds was all which he had been able to ex- 
 tract from them. England had, indeed, sent 
 aa army into the north to join the Swedes, 
 in forming the siege of Stralsund ; but this 
 was too distant an operation to produce any 
 effect upon the Polish campaign. Alexan- 
 der was also affected by the extreme suffer- 
 ings of his subjects. His army had beea to 
 him, aa to most young sovereigns, a particu- 
 lar object of attention; and he was justly 
 proud of his noble regiments of Guards, 
 which, maltreated as they had been in the 
 desperate actions of which we have given 
 some account, remained scarce the shadow 
 of themselves, in numbers and appearance. 
 His fame, moreover, suffered little in with- 
 drawing from a contest in which he was en- 
 gaged as an auxiliary only, and Alexander was 
 no doubt made to comprehend, that he migjht 
 do more in behalf of the King of Prussia, 
 his ally, by negotiation than by continuation 
 of the war. The influence of Napoleon's 
 name, and the extraordinary splendour of his 
 talents and his exploits, must also have had 
 an effect upon the youthful imagination of 
 the Prussian Emperor. He might be allow- 
 ed to feel pride (high as his own situation 
 was) that the Destined Victor, who had sub- 
 dued so many princes, was willing to ac- 
 knowledge an equality in his case ; and he 
 might not yet be so much aware of the 
 nature of ambition, as to know that it holds 
 the world as inadequate to maintain two co- 
 ordinate sovereigns. 
 
 The Russian Emperor's wish of an armis- 
 tice was first hinted at by Bennigsen, on 
 the 21st of June, was ratified on the 23d of 
 the same month, and was soon afterwards 
 followed, not only by peace with Russia 
 and Prussia, on a basis which seemed to 
 preclude the possibility of future misunder- 
 standing, but by the formation of a personal 
 intimacy and friendship between Napoleon 
 and the only sovereign in Europe, who had 
 the poNver necessary to treat with him on 
 an equal footing. 
 
 The negotiation for this important pacifi- 
 cation was not conducted in the usual style 
 of diplomacy, but in that which Napoleon 
 had repeatedly shown a desire to substitute 
 for the conferences of inferior agents, by 
 the intervention, namely, of the high-con- 
 tracting parties in person. 
 
 The armistice was no sooner agreed upon, 
 than preparations were made for a personal 
 interview betwixt the two Emperors. It 
 took place upon a raft prepared for the pur- 
 pose, and moored in the midst of the river 
 Niemen, which bote an immense tent or 
 pavilion. At half past nine, 25th June 1807, 
 the two Emperors, in the midst of thou- 
 sands of spectators, embarked at the same 
 moment from the opposite banks of the 
 river. Buonaparte was attended by Murat, 
 Berthier, Bessieres, Duroc. and Caulain- 
 court •, Alexander, by his brother the Arch- 
 duke Constantine, Generals Bennigsen and 
 
 Ouwarow.with the Count de Lieven, one 
 of his aides-de-camp. Arriving on the raft, 
 they disembarked and embraced amid the 
 shouts and acclamations of both armies, 
 and entering the pavilion which had been 
 prepared, held a private conference of two 
 hours. Their officers, who remained at a 
 distance during the interview, were then 
 reciprocally introduced, and the fullest 
 good understanding seemed to be establish- 
 ed between the sovereigns, who had at 
 their disposal so great a portion of the uni- 
 verse. It is not to be doubted, that on this 
 momentous occasion Napoleon exerted all 
 those personal powers of attraction, which, 
 exercised on the part of one otherwise so 
 distinguished, rarely failed to acquire the 
 good-will of all with whom he had inter- 
 course, when he was disposed to employ 
 them.* He possessed also, in an emi- 
 nent degree, the sort of eloquence which 
 can make the worse appear the better rea- 
 son, and which, turning into ridicule the 
 arguments derived from general principles 
 of morality or honesty, which he was accus- 
 tomed to term idiosyncrasy, makes all rea-- 
 soning rest upon existing circumstances. 
 Thus, all the maxims of truth and honour 
 might be plausibly parried by those arising 
 out of immediate convenience ; and the 
 direct interest, or what seemed the direct in- 
 terest, of the party whom he wished to gain 
 over, was put in immediate opposition to 
 the dictates of moral sentiment, and of 
 princely virtue. In this manner he might 
 plausibly represent, in many points, that 
 the weal of Alexander's empire might re- 
 quire him to strain some of the maxims of 
 truth and justice, and to do a little wrong 
 in order to attain a great national advan- 
 tage. 
 
 The town of Tilsit was now declared 
 neutral. Entertainments of every kind fol- 
 lowed each other in close succession, and 
 the French and Russian, nay, even the 
 Prussian officers, seemed so delighted with 
 each other's society, that it was difficult to 
 conceive that men, so courteous and amia- 
 ble, had been for so many months drenching 
 trampled snows and muddy wastes with 
 each otRer's blood. The two Emperors 
 were constantly together in public and in 
 private, and on those occasions their inti- 
 macy approached to the character of that 
 of two young men of rank, who are com- 
 rades in sport or frolic, as well as accus- 
 tomed to be associates in affairs, and upon 
 occasions, of graver moment. They are 
 well known to have had private and confi- 
 dential meetings, where gaiety and even 
 gallantrv seemed to be the sole purpose, 
 
 * The imprrssion which Ruonaparte's presenca 
 anil conversation, aided by the jire-conceived ideas 
 of liis talent<!, maMe on all who approached k'« 
 person, was of the most atrikinj kind. The cap- 
 tain of a British man-of-war, who was present at 
 Ilia occupying the island of Elba, disturbed on that 
 occasion the solemnity and gravity of a leveo, at 
 which several British functionaries attended, by 
 hearing a homely, but certainly a striking testi- 
 mony to his powers of attraction, while lie ex- 
 claimed, that " Bony was a d— d g.)od fellow, aftac 
 I all'"
 
 Chap. LI v.] 
 
 LIFE OF iS'.\POLEOi\ BUONAPARTE. 
 
 459 
 
 but where politics were not entirely forgot- 
 ten. 
 
 Upon the more public occasions, there were 
 gueSts at the imperial festivities, for which 
 they contamed small mirth. On the 23th, 
 the unfortunate King of Prussia arrived at 
 Tilsit, and was presented to his formidable 
 victor. Buonaparte did not admit him to 
 the footing of equality on which he treated 
 the Emperor Alexander, and made an early 
 intimation, that it would only be for the 
 purpose of obliging his brother of the 
 North, that he might consent to relax his 
 grasp on the Prussian territories. Those 
 in the King's own possession were reduced 
 to the petty territory of Memel, with the 
 foi tresses of Colberg and Graudentz. It 
 was soon plain, that the terms on which he 
 was to be restored to a part of his dominions, 
 would deprive Prussia of almost all the ac- 
 cessions which had been made since 1773, 
 under the svsteni and by the talents of the 
 Great Fre(ierick, and reduce her at once 
 from a first-rate power in Europe to one of 
 the second class. 
 
 The beautiful and unfortunate Queen, 
 whose high spirit had hastened the war, 
 was anxious, if possible, to interfere with 
 such weight as female intercession might 
 use to diminish the calamities of the peace. 
 It was but on the first day of the foregoing 
 April, that when meeting the Emperor 
 Alexander at Konigsberg, and feeling the 
 full differeocp betwixt that interview, and 
 those at Berlin which preceded the war, 
 Alexander and Frederick William had re- 
 mained locked for a time in each other's 
 arms; the former shedding tears of com- 
 passion, the latter of grief On the same 
 occasion, the Queen, as she saluted the 
 Emperor, could only utter amidst her tears 
 the words. " Dear cousin '." intimating at 
 once the depth of their distress, and their 
 affectionate confidence in the magnanimity 
 of their ally. This scene was melancholy, 
 but that wliich succeeded it at Tilsit was 
 more so, for it was embittered by degrada- 
 tion. The Queen, who arrived at the place 
 of treaty some days after her husband, was 
 now not only to support the presence of 
 Napoleon, in whose official prints she was 
 personally abused, and who was the author 
 of all the misfortunes which had befallen 
 her country ; but if she would in any de- 
 gree repair these misfortunes, it could only 
 be by exciting his compassion, and propiti- 
 ating his favour. "Forgive us," she said, 
 • this fatal war — the memory of the Great 
 Frederick deceived us — we thought our- 
 selves his equals because we are his de- 
 scendants — alas, we have not proved such ! " 
 With a zeal for the welfare of Prussia, 
 which must have cost her own feelings ex- 
 quisite pain, she used towards Napoleon 
 , those arts of insinuation, by which women 
 j possessed of high rank, great beauty, wit, 
 1 and grace, frequently exercise an important 
 ' influence. Desirous to pay his court. Na- 
 poleon on one occasion offered her a rose 
 1 of uncommon beauty. The Queen at first 
 ■ seemed to decline receiving the courtesy 
 — then accepted it, adding the stipulation 
 j — " .\t least with Magdedurg." Buona- 
 
 parte, as he boasted to Josephine, was 
 proof against these lady-like artifices, as 
 wax-cloth is against rain. "Your Majesty 
 will be pleased to remember," he said, 
 " that it is I who offer, and that your Majes- 
 ty has only the task of accepting." 
 
 It was discourteous to remind the un- 
 fortunate princess how absolutely she was 
 at the mercy of the victor, and unchival- 
 rous to dispute that a lady, accepting a 
 courtesy, has a right to conceive herself as 
 conferring an obligation, and is therefore 
 entitled to annex a condition. But it is 
 true, on the other hand, as Napoleon him- 
 self urged, that it would have been playing 
 the gallant at a high price, if he had ex- 
 changed towns and provinces in return for 
 civilities. It is not believed that the Queen 
 of Prussia succeeded to any extent in ob- 
 taining a modification of the terms to which 
 her husband was subjected ; and it is cer- 
 tain, that she felt so deeply the distress into 
 which her country was plunged, that her 
 sense of it brought her to an untimely 
 grave. The death of this interesting and 
 beautiful Queen, not only powerfully af- 
 fected the mind of her husband and family, 
 but the Prussian nation at large ; who, re- 
 garding her as having died a victim to licr 
 patriotic sorrow for the national misfor- 
 tunes, recorded her fate as one of the 
 many injuries, for which they were to call 
 France and Napoleon to a severe accomot- 
 ing. 
 
 The terms imposed on Prussia by the 
 treaty of Tilsit, were brieriy these : — 
 
 That portion of Poland acquired by Prus- 
 sia in the partition of 1772, was disunited 
 from that kingdom, and erected into a 
 separate territory, to be called the Great 
 Duchy of Warsaw. It was to be held by 
 the King of Saxony, under the character of 
 Grand Duke ; and it was stipulated that he 
 was to have direct communication with this 
 new acquisition by means of a military 
 road across Silesia, a privilege likely to oc- 
 casion constant jealousy betwixt the courts 
 of Berlin and Warsaw. Thus ended the 
 hope of the Poles to be restored to tUe 
 condition of an independent nation. They 
 merely exchanged the dominion of one 
 German master for another — Prussia for 
 Saxony, Frederick William for .Augustus — 
 the only difference being, that the latter 
 was descended from the ancient Kings of 
 Poland. They were, however, subjected 
 to a milder and more easy yoke than that 
 which they had iiitherto borne ; nor does 
 it appear that the King (as he liad been cre- 
 ated) of Saxony derived any real addition of 
 authority and consequence from the Grand 
 Duchy of Warsaw, It seems indeed prob- 
 able, that the erection of this sovereignty 
 was the effr-ct of a composition bet\ver-K 
 the Emperors; Napoleon on the one hand, 
 renouncing all attempts at the liberation of 
 Poland, which he could not have persever- 
 ed in without continuinr the u;ir with Rus- 
 sia, and perhaps with .\ustria also; an. I 
 .Alexander consenting that Prussia should 
 be deprived of her Polish dominion?, im. 
 der the stipulation that they were to be 
 transferred to Saxony, from whose vicinj
 
 460 
 
 LIFE OF -\.\POLi:ON CL'OiVAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 ty his empire could apprehend little dan- 
 ger. 
 
 The constitution arranged for the Grand 
 Duchy, also, was such as was not liable to 
 lead to disturbances among those provinces 
 of Poland which were united with Austria 
 and Russia. Slavery was abolished, and the 
 equality of legal rights among all ranks of 
 citizens was acknowledged. The (irand 
 Duke held the executive power. A Senate, 
 or Upper House, of eighteen members, and 
 a Lower House of Nuncios, or Deputies, 
 amounting to a hundred, passed into laws, 
 w rejected at their pleasure, such proposi- 
 tions as the Duke laid before them. But 
 the Diets, the Pospolite, the Liberum Veto, 
 and all the other turbulent privileges of the 
 Polish Nobles, continued abolished, as they 
 had been under the Prussian government. 
 
 Buonaparte made it his boast that he had 
 returned the Prussian territories not to the 
 House of Brandenburgh, but to Alexander; 
 so that if Frederick William yet reigned, it 
 was only, he said, by the friendship of Alex- 
 ander, — " a term," he added, •' which he 
 himself did not recognize in the vocabulary 
 of sovereigns, under the head of state af- 
 fairs." Alexander, however, was not alto- 
 gether so disinterested, as Buonaparte, with 
 something like a sneer, thus seemed to 
 insinuate. There was excepted from the 
 Grand Duchy of Warsaw, and added to the 
 territory of Russia at the expense of Prus- 
 sia, the Province of Bialystock, serving ma- 
 terially to improve the frontier of the em- 
 pire. Thus the Czar, in some degree, pro- 
 fited by the distress of his ally. The apol- 
 ogy for his conduct must rest, first, on the 
 strength of tlie temptation to stretch his em- 
 pire towards the Vistula, as a great natural 
 boundary ; secondly, on the plea, that if he 
 had declined the acquisition from a point 
 of delicacy, Saxony, not Prussia, would have 
 profited by his self-denial, as the territory 
 of Bialystock would in that event have gone 
 to augment the Duchy of Warsaw. Russia 
 ceded the Lordship of Jever to Holland, as 
 an ostensible compensation for her new ac- 
 quisition. 
 
 Dantzic, with a certain surrounding terri- 
 tory, was by the treaty of Tilsit recognized 
 as a free city, under the protection of Prus- 
 sia and Saxony. There can be little doubt, 
 that the further provision, that France 
 should occupy the town until the conclusion 
 of a maritime peace, was intended to se- 
 cure for the use of Napoleon a place of 
 arms, so important in case of a new breach 
 betwixt him and Russia. 
 
 It followed, as a matter of course, that 
 the Emperor Alexander, and the King of 
 Prussia, ratified all the changes which Na- 
 poleon had wrought on Europe, acknowl- 
 edged ',he thrones wliich he had erected, 
 and recognized the leagues which he had 
 formed. On the other liaud, out of defer- 
 ence to the Emperor. Buonaparte consent- 
 ed that the Dukes of .Saxe-Cobourg, Olden- 
 burg, and Mecklenburg-Schwerin, German 
 Princes connected with Alfxander, should 
 remain in possession of their territories ; 
 the French, however, continuing to occupy 
 the sea-ports of the two countries last nani- 
 
 i ed, until a final peace betwixt France and 
 England. 
 I AVhile these important negotiations were 
 I proceeding, a radical change took place in 
 the councils of the British nation ; what 
 was called the Fox and Grenville adminis- 
 tration being dissolved, and their place sup- 
 plied by one formed under the auspices of 
 the Duke of Portland, and comprehending 
 Lords Liverpool, Castlereagh, Mr. Cannincf, 
 and other statesmen, professing the princi- 
 ples of the late William Pitt. It was an 
 anxious object with the new cabinet to re- 
 concile the Czar to the alliance of England, 
 and atone for the neglect with which ho 
 considered himself as having been treated 
 by their predecessors. With this purpose, 
 Lord Leveson Gower (now Lord Viscount 
 Granville) was despatched, with power to 
 make such offers of conciliation as might 
 maintain or renew an amicable intercourse 
 between Britain and Russia. But the Em- 
 peror Alexander had taken his part, at least, 
 for the present ; and, being pre-determined 
 to embrace the course recommended by his 
 new ally Buonaparte, he avoided giving au- 
 dience to the British ambassador, and took 
 his .measures at Tilsit, without listening to 
 the offers of accommodation which Lord 
 Gower was empowered to propose. 
 
 By the treaty of Tilsit, so far as made 
 public, Russia offered her mediation be- 
 twixt Britain and France, on condition that 
 the first-named kingdom should accept the 
 proffer of her interference within a month. 
 So far, therefore, the Czar appeared to a 
 certain extent careful of the interest of his 
 late ally. But it is now perfectly well un- 
 derstood, that among other private articles 
 of this memorable treaty, tliere existed one, 
 by which the Emperor bound himself, in 
 case of Britain's rejecting the proposed me- 
 diation, to recognize and enforce what Buo- 
 naparte called the Continental System, by 
 shutting his ports against British vessels, 
 and engaging the Northern Courts in anew 
 coalition, having for its object the destruc- 
 tion of English maritime superiority. In a 
 word, the armed Northern Neutrality, ori- 
 ginally formed under the auspices of Cathe- 
 rine, and in an evil hour adopted by the un- 
 fortunate Paul, was again to be established 
 under the authority of Alexander. Denmark, 
 smarting under the recollections of the 
 battle of Copenhagen, only waited, it was 
 thought^ the signal to join such a coalition, 
 and would willingly consent to lend her still 
 powerful navy to its support ; and Sweden 
 was in too weak and distracted a state to 
 resist the united will of France and Russia, 
 either regarding war with Britain, or anv 
 other stipulations which it might be intend- 
 ed to impose upon her. But as there is no 
 country of Europe to which the commerce 
 of England is so beneficial as Russia, whose 
 gross produce she purchases almost exclo- 
 sively, it was necessary to observe strict 
 secrecy upon these further objects. The 
 ostensible proposal of mediation was there- 
 fore resorted to, less in the hope, perhaps, 
 of establishing peace betwixt France and 
 England, than in the expectation of afford- 
 ing a pretext, which might justify in the
 
 Chap. LI V.} 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 461 
 
 eye of the Russian nation a rupture with the 
 latter power. But, in spite of every pre- 
 caution which could be adopted, the address 
 of the Britisli ambassador obtained posses- 
 sion of the secret which France and Russia 
 deemed it so important to conceal ; and 
 Lord Gower was able to transmit to his 
 court an exact account of this secret arti- 
 cle, and particularly of the two Emperors 
 having resolved to employ the Danish fleet 
 in the destruction of tiie maritime rights of 
 Britain, which had been so lately put upon 
 a footing, that, to Alexander at least, had till 
 his recent fraternization with Buonaparte, 
 Beemed entirely satisfactory. 
 
 There were no doubt other secret arti-' 
 clea named in the treaty of Tilsit, by which 
 it seems to have been the object of these 
 two great Emperors, as they loved to term 
 themselves, of the North and of the South, 
 to divide the civilized world between them. 
 It may be regarded as certain, that Buona- 
 parte opened to Alexander the course of 
 unprincipled policy which he intended to 
 pursue respecting the kingdom of Spain, and 
 procured nis acquiescence in that daring 
 usurpation. And it nas been afiirmed, that 
 he also stipulated for the aid of Russia to 
 take Gibraltar, to recover Malta and f>gypt, 
 and to banish the British flag from the Med- 
 iterranean. All these enterprises were 
 more or less directly calculated to the de- 
 pression, or rather the destruction of Great 
 Britain, the only formidable enemy who 
 etill maintained ihe strife against France, 
 and so far the promised co-operation of Rus- 
 sia must have been in the highest degree 
 grateful to Napoleon. But Alexander, how- 
 ever much lie might be Buonaparte's per- 
 sonal admirer, did not follow his father's 
 simplicity in becoming his absolute dupe, 
 but took care, in return for his compliance 
 with the distant, and in some degree vis- 
 ionary projects of Buonaparte's ambition, 
 ito exact his countenance and co-operation 
 iin gaining certain acquisitions of the high- 
 est importance to Russia, and which were 
 found at a future period to have added pow- 
 erfully to her means of defence when she 
 once more matched her strength with that 
 of France. To explain this, we must look 
 back to the ancient policy of France and of 
 Europe, when, by supporting the weaker 
 states, and maintaining their independence, 
 it was the object to prevent the growth of 
 any gigantic and overbearing power, who 
 might derange the balance of the civilized 
 world. 
 
 The growing strength of Russia used in 
 former times to be the natural subject of 
 jealousy to the French government, and 
 they endeavoured to counterbalance these 
 apprehensions by extending the protection 
 of France to the two weaker neighbours of 
 I Russia, the Porte and the kingdom of Swe- 
 Iden, with which powers it had always been 
 Ithe policy of France to connect herself, 
 jand which connexion was not only hon- 
 ourable to that kingdom, but useful to Eu- 
 rope. But at the treaty of Tilsit, and in 
 I Buonaparte's subsequent conduct relating 
 to these powers, he lost sight of this nation- 
 
 al policy, or rather sacrificed it to his own 
 personal objects. 
 
 One of the most important private articles 
 of the treaty of Tilsit seems to have provid- 
 ed, that Sweden should be despoiled of 
 her provinces of Finland in favour of the 
 Czar, and be thus, with the consent of Buo- 
 naparte, deprived of all effectual means of 
 annoying Russia. A single glance at the 
 map will show, how completely the pos- 
 session of Finland put a Swedish army, or 
 the army of France as an ally of Sweden, 
 wiiiiin a short march of St. Petersburgh ; 
 and liow, by consenting to Sweden's being 
 stripped of that important province. Napo- 
 leon relinquished the grand advantage to be 
 derived from it, in case of his ever being 
 again obliged to contend with Russia upon 
 Russian ground. Yet there can be no 
 doubt, that at the treaty of Tilsit he became 
 privy to the war which Russia shortly after 
 waged against Sweden, in which Alexander 
 deprived that ancient kingdom of her fron- 
 tier province of Finland, and thereby ob- 
 tained a covering territory of the last and 
 most important consequence to his own 
 capital. 
 
 The Porte was no less made a sacrifice 
 to the inordinate anxiety, which, at the trea- 
 ty of Tilsit, Puonaparte seems to liave en- 
 tertained, for acquiring at any price the ac- 
 cession of Russia to his extravagant desire 
 of destroying England. By the public trea- 
 ty, indeed, some care seems to have been 
 taken of the interests of Turkey, since it 
 provides that Turkey was to have the 
 benefit of peace under the mediation of 
 France, and that Russia was to evacuate 
 Moldavia and Wallachia, for the acquisition 
 of which she was then waging an unprovok- 
 ed war. But by the secret agreement of 
 the two Emperors, it was unquestionably 
 understood, that Turkey in Europe was to 
 be placed at the mercy of Alexander, as 
 forming naturally a part of the Russian Em- 
 pire, as Spain, Portugal, and perhaps Great 
 Britain, were, from local position, destined 
 to become provinces of France. At the 
 subsequent Congress betwixt the Emperors 
 at Erfurt, their measures against the Porte 
 we-e more fully adjusted. 
 
 It may seem strange, that the shrewd and 
 jealous Napoleon should have suffered him- 
 self to be so much over-reached in his trea- 
 ty with Alexander, since the benefits stipu- 
 lated for France, in the treaty of Tilsit, 
 were in a great measure vague, and subjects 
 of hope rather than certainty. The British 
 naval force was not easily to be subdued — 
 Gibraltar and Malta are as strong fortress.es 
 as the world can exhibit — the conquest of 
 Spain was at least a doubtful undertaking, 
 if the last war of the Succession was care- 
 fully considered. But the Russian objects 
 were nearer, and were within her grasp 
 Finland was seized on with little difficulty, 
 nor did the conquest even of Constantino- 
 ple possess anything very difficult, to a Rus- 
 sian army, if unopposed save by the undis- 
 ciplined forces of the Turkish empire. 
 Thus it is evident, that Napoleon exchang- 
 ed for distant and contingent prospects, his
 
 462 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LIV. 
 
 acquiescence in the Russian objects, which 
 were near, essential, and, in comparison, of 
 easy attainment. Tlie effect of this policy 
 we shall afterwards advert to. Meanwhile, 
 the two most ancient allies of France, am! 
 who were of the greatest political impor- 
 tance to her in case of a second war with 
 Russia, were most unwisely abandoned to 
 the mercy of that power, wlio failed not to 
 despoil Sweden of Finland, and, but for 
 intervening causes, would probably have 
 seized upon Constantinople with the same 
 ease. 
 
 If the reader should wonder how Buona- 
 parte, able and astucious as he was, came to 
 be over-reached in the treaty of Tilsit, we 
 believe the secret may be found in a piece 
 of private history. Even at that early period 
 Napoleon nourished the idea of fi.'fing, as 
 he supposed, the fate of his own family, 
 or dynasty, by connecting it by marriage 
 with the blood of one of the established 
 monarchies of Europe. He had hopes, 
 even then, that he might obtain the hand 
 of one of the Archduchesses of Russia, nor 
 did the Emperor throw any obstacle in the 
 way of the scheme. It is well known that 
 his suit was afterwards disappointed by the 
 Empress Mother, who pleaded the differ- 
 ence of religion ; but at the time of the treaty 
 of Tilsit,Napoleon was actually encouraged, 
 or deceived himself into an idea that he re- 
 ceived encouragement, to form a perpetual 
 family-conne.\ion with Russia. This induc- 
 ed him to deal easily with Alexander in 
 the matters which they had to discuss to- 
 gether, and to act the generous, almost the 
 prodigal friend. And this also seems to 
 have been the reason why Napoleon fre- 
 quently complained of Alexander's insin- 
 cerity, and often termed him The Greek, 
 according to the Italian sense of the name, 
 which signifies a trickster, or deceiver. 
 
 But we must return from the secret ar- 
 ticles of the Tilsit treaty, which opened 
 Buch long vistas in futurity, to the indis- 
 putable and direct consequences of that 
 remarkable measure. 
 
 The treaty betwixt Russia and France 
 was signed upon the 7th — that betwixt 
 France and Prussia on the 9th July. Fred- 
 erick William published upon the 24-th of 
 the same month one of the most dignified 
 and at the same time the most affecting 
 proclamations, that ever expressed the grief 
 of an unfortunate sovereign. 
 
 " Dear inhabitants of faithful provinces, 
 districts, and towns," said this most inter- 
 esting document, " my arms have been un- 
 fortunate. The efforts o*" the relics of my 
 army have been of no avail. Driven to 
 the extreme boundaries of my empire, and 
 having seen my powerful ally conclude an 
 armistice, and sign a peace, no choice 
 remained for me save to follow his exam- 
 ple. That peace was necessarily purchas- 
 ed upon terms corresponding to imperious 
 circumstances. It has imposed on me, 
 and on my house — it has imposed upon 
 the whole country, the most painful sacri- 
 fices. The bou.nd3 of treaties, the recipro- 
 calities of love and duty, the work of ages, 
 have been broken asunder. My efforts 
 
 have proved in vain. Fate ordains it and 
 a father parts from his children. I re- 
 lease you completely from your alle- 
 giance to myself and to my house. My 
 most ardent prayers for your welfare will 
 always attend you in your relations to your 
 new sovereign. Be to him what you have 
 ever been to me. Neither force nor fate 
 shall ever efface the remembrance of you 
 from my heart." 
 
 To trace the triumphant return of the 
 victor is a singular contrast to those melan- 
 choly effusions of the vanquished monarch. 
 The treaty of Tilsit had ended all appearance 
 of opposition to France upon the continent. 
 The British armament, which had been 
 sent to Pomeraniatoo late in the campaign, 
 was re-embarked, and the King of Sweden, 
 evacuating Stralsund, retired to the domin- 
 ions which he was not very long destined 
 to call his own. After having remained 
 together for twenty days, during which they 
 daily maintained the most friendly inter- 
 course, and held together long and secret 
 conferences, the two Emperors at last sep- 
 arated, with demonstrations of the highest 
 personal esteem, and each heaping upon 
 the other all the honours which it was in 
 his power to bestow. The Congress broke 
 up on the 9th July ; and on his return to 
 France, Napoleon visited Saxony, and was 
 there met at Bautzen (doomed for a very 
 different reason to be renowned in his his- 
 tory) by King Augustus, who received him 
 with the honours due to one who had, in 
 outward appearance at least, augmented 
 the power which he might have over- 
 thrown. 
 
 On 27th July, Napoleon, restored to his 
 palace at St. Cloud, received the homage 
 of the Senate and other official and consti- 
 tutional bodies. The celebrated naturalist 
 Lacepede, as the organ of the former body, 
 made a pompous enumeration of the mira- 
 cles of the campaign ; and avowed that the 
 accomplishment of such wonderful actions 
 as would seemingly have required ages, 
 was but to Napoleon the work of a few 
 months ; while at the same time his ruling 
 genius gave motion to all the domestic 
 administration of his vast empire, and, al- 
 though four hundred leagues distant from 
 the capital, was present with and observant 
 of the most complicate as well as extensive 
 details. " We cannot," concludes the ora- 
 tor, •' offer to your Majesty praises worthy 
 of you. Your glory is too much raised 
 above us. It will be the task of posterity, 
 removed at a distance from your presence, 
 to estimate with greater truth its real degree 
 of elevation. Enjoy, sire, the recompense 
 the most worthy of the greatest of mon- 
 arclis, the happiness of being beloved by 
 the greatest of nations, and may our great- 
 grandchildren be long happy under your 
 Majesty's reign." 
 
 So spoke the President of the French 
 Senate ; and who, that wished to retain the 
 name of a rational being, dared have said, 
 that within the period of seven years, the 
 same Senate would be carrying to "the down- 
 fallen and dejected King of Prussia their 
 congratulations on his share in the over-
 
 CAop. L v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 463 
 
 throw of the very man, whom they were 
 BO V adoring as a demigod ! 
 
 The fortunes and fame of Napoleon were, 
 indeed, such as to excite in the highest de- 
 gree the veneration with which men look 
 npon talents and success. All opposition 
 seen ed to sink before him, and Fortune 
 seemed only to have looked doubtfully up- 
 on him during the last campaign, in order 
 to render still brighter the auspicious aspect 
 by which he closed it. JMany of liis most 
 confirmed enemies, who, from their proved 
 attachment to the House of Bourbon, had 
 secretly disowned the authority of Buona- 
 parte, and doubted the continuance of his 
 success, when they saw Prussia lying at 
 
 his feet, and Russia clasping his hand in 
 friendship, conceived they should be strug- 
 gling against the decrees of Providence, did 
 they longer continue to resist their predes- 
 tined master. Austerlitz had shaken their 
 constancy ; Tilsit destroyed it : and with 
 few and silent exceptions, the vows, hopes, 
 and wishes of France, seemed turned on 
 Napoleon as her Heir by Destiny. Perhaps 
 he himself, only, could finally have disap- 
 pointed their expectations. But he was 
 like the adventurous climber on tlie .\lps, 
 to wliom the surmounting the most tremen- 
 dous precipices, and ascending to the most 
 towering peaks, only shows yet dizzier 
 heights and higher points of elevation. 
 
 CHAP. Z.V. 
 
 British Expedition to Calabria, under Sir John Stuart.— Character of the People. — 
 Opposed by General Reenter. — Battle ofMaida, 6th July IS06.— Defeat of the French. 
 — Calabria evacuated by the British. — Erroneous Commercial Views, and Military 
 Plans, of the British jlinistry. — Unsuccessful Attack on Buenos Ayres. — General 
 Whitelocke—is cashiered. — Expedition against Turkey, and its Dependencies. — Ad- 
 miral Duckworth's Squadron sent against Constantinople. — Passes and repasses the 
 Dardanelles, without accomplishing any tuing.— Expedition agaiiist Alexandria.— It 
 ia occupied by General Eraser. — Rosctta attacked. — British Troops defeated — and 
 withdrawn from Egypt, September IQOT. —Curaqoa and Cape of Good Hope taken 
 by England. — Assumption of more energetic Measures on the part of the British Gov- 
 ernment. — Expedition against Copenhagen — its Causes and Objects — its Citadel, 
 Forts, and Fleet, surrender to the British.— Effects of this Proceeding upon France— 
 and Russia. — Coalition of France. Russia, Au-Hria, and Prussia, against British 
 Commerce. 
 
 The treaty of Tilsit is an important point 
 IB the history of Napoleon. At no time did 
 hia power seem more steadfastly rooted, 
 more feebly assailed. The canker-worm 
 by which it was ultimately to be destroyed, 
 was, like that of the forest-tree, entrench- 
 ed and hidden in the bosom of him whom it 
 was destined to sap and consume. It is a 
 fitting time, therefore, to take a general sur- 
 vey of the internal character of his govern- 
 ment, when the arrangements seemed to be 
 at his own choice, and ere misfortune, hith- 
 erto a stranger, dictated his course of pro- 
 ceeding, which had before experienced no 
 control save his own will. We propose, 
 therefore, in the next chapter, to take a 
 brief review of the character of Buona- 
 parte's government during this the most 
 nourishing period of his power. 
 
 But ere doing so, we must shortly no- 
 tice some circumstances, civil and military, 
 which, though they had but slight immedi- 
 ate effect upon the general current of events, 
 yet serve to illustrate the character of the 
 parties concerned, and to explain future 
 incidents whicli were followed by more 
 important consequences. These we have 
 hitnerto omitted, in order to present, in a 
 continuous and uninterrupted form, the 
 history of the momentous warfare, in the 
 course of which Prussia was for the time 
 subjugated, and Russia so far tamed by the 
 eventful struggle, as to be willing to em- 
 brace the relation of an ally to the conquer- 
 or, whose course she had proposed to stem 
 and to repel. 
 
 Among these comoaratively minor inci- 
 
 dents, must be reckoned the attempt made 
 by the British government to rescue the 
 Calabrian dominions of the Neapolitan 
 Bourbons from the intrusive government of 
 Joseph Buonaparte. The character of the 
 inhabitants of that mountainous country is 
 well known. Bigots in their religion, and 
 detesting a foreign yoke, as is usual with 
 natives of a wild and almost lawless region ; 
 sudden in their passions, and readily having 
 recourse to the sword, in revenge whether 
 of public or private injury ; enticed also by 
 the prospect of occasional booty, and re- 
 taining a wild species of attachment to 
 Ferdinand, whose manners and habits were 
 popular with the Italians, and especially 
 with those of the inferior order, the Cala- 
 brions were readily excited to take arms by 
 the agents sent over to practise among 
 them by the Sicilian court. Lawless at 
 the same time, cruel in their mode of con- 
 ducting war, and incapable of being subject- 
 ed to discipline, the bands which they form- 
 ed among themselves, acted rather in the 
 manner, and upon the motives, of banditti, 
 than of patriots. They occasionally, and 
 individually, showed much courage, and 
 even a sort of instinctive skill, which 
 taught them how to choose their ambushes, 
 defend their passes, and thus maintain a 
 sort of predatory war, in which the French 
 sustained considerable losses. Yet if their 
 efforts remained unassisted by some regular 
 force, it was evident that these insurrec- 
 tionary troops must be destroyed in detail 
 by the disciplined and calculated exertions 
 of the French soldiers. To prevent this
 
 464 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUOx\APARTE. 
 
 IChap.LV. 
 
 and to gratify, (it the same time, the anx- 
 ious wishes of tlie Court of Palermo, Sir 
 John Stuart, who commanded the British 
 troops which had been sent to defend Sicily 
 undertook an expedition to the neighbour- 
 ing shore of Italy, and disembarked in the 
 Gulph of St. Euphemia, near the frontier of 
 Lower Calabria, in the beginning of July 
 1806, with something short of five thousand 
 men. 
 
 The disembarkation was scarce made, 
 ere the British commander learned that 
 General Regnier, who commanded for Jo- 
 seph Buonaparte in Calabria, had assembled 
 a force neaHy equal to his own, and had 
 advanced to Maida. a town about ten miles 
 distant from St. Euphemia, with the pur- 
 pose of giving him battle. Sir John Stuart 
 lost no time in moving to meet him, and 
 Regnier, confident in the numbers of his 
 cavalry, the quali-ty of his troops, and his 
 own skill in tictics, aba.idoned a strong po- 
 sition on the further bank of the river Ama- 
 ta, anr* on the 6th July came down to meet 
 the British in the open plain. Of all Buona- 
 parte's generals, an Englishman would have 
 desired, in especial, to be opposed to this 
 leader, who had published a book on the 
 evacuation of Egypt, in which he denied ev- 
 ery claim on the part of the British, to skill 
 or courage, and imputed the loss of the pro- 
 vince exclusively to the incapacity of Me- 
 nou, under whom Regnier. the author, had 
 served as second in command. He was now 
 to try his own fate with the enemy, for 
 whom he had expressed so much contempt. 
 
 At nine in the morning, the two lines 
 were apposite to each other, when the 
 British light infantry brigade, forming the 
 right of the advanced line, and the 1^'^ Le- 
 gere on the French left, a favourite regi- 
 ment, found themselves confronted. As if 
 by mutual consent, when at the distance of 
 about one hundred yards, the opposed corps 
 threw in two or three close fires reciprocal- 
 ly, and then rushed on to charge each other 
 with the bayonet. The British command- 
 ing officer, perceiving that his men were 
 embarrassed by the blankets which they 
 carried at their backs, halted the line that 
 tbey might throw them down. The French 
 saw the pause, and taking it for the hesita- 
 tion of fear, advanced with a quickened pace 
 and loud acclamations. An officer, our in- 
 former, seeing their veteran appearance, 
 moustached countenances, and regularity 
 of order, could not forbear a feeling of anx- 
 iety as he glanced his eye along the British 
 line, which consisted in a great measure of 
 young and beardless recruits. But disem- 
 barrassed of their load, and receiving the 
 order to advance, they cheered, and in 
 their turn hastened towards the enemy with 
 
 rapid pace and levelled bayonets. The 
 French officers were now seen encouraging 
 their men, whose courage began to falter 
 when they found they were to be the assail- 
 ed party, not the assailants. Their line 
 Aalted; they could not be brought to ad- 
 vance by the utmost efforts of their officf>rs, 
 and when the British were within bayonet's 
 length, they broke and ran ; but too late for 
 safety, for they were subjected to the most 
 
 dreadful slaughter. An attempt made by 
 Regnier to redeem the day with his caval- 
 ry, was totally unsuccessful. He was beat- 
 en on all points, and in f uch a manner aa 
 left it indisputable, that the British soldier, 
 man to man, has a superiority over his ene- 
 my, similar to that which the British sea- 
 man possesses upon bis peculiar element. 
 
 It would be in vain to inquire whether 
 this superiority, which we do not hesitate 
 to say has been made manifest, with very 
 few exceptions, wherever the British have 
 met foreign troops upon equal terms, arises 
 from a stronger conformation of body, or a 
 more determined turn of mind ; but it seems 
 certain that the British soldier, inferior 
 to the Frenchman in general intelligence, 
 and in individual acquaintance with the 
 trade of war, has a decided advantage in the 
 bloody shock of actual conflict, and espe- 
 cially when maintained by the bayonet, bo- 
 dy to body. It is remarkable also, that the 
 charm is not peculiar to any one of the 
 three united nations, but is common to the 
 natives of all, different as they are in habits 
 and education. The Guards, supplied by the 
 city of London, may be contrasted with a 
 regiment of Irish recruited among their rich 
 meadows, or a body of Scotch from their 
 native wildernesses ; and while it may be 
 difficult to assign the palm to either over 
 the other two, all are '"ound to exhibit that 
 species of dogged and desperate courage, 
 which, without staying to measure force or 
 calculate chances, rushes on the enemy as 
 the bull-dog upon the bear. This great 
 moral encouragement was the chief advan- 
 tage derived from the battle of Maida; for 
 such was the tumultuous, sanguinary, and 
 unmanageable character of the Calabrian 
 insurgents, that it was judged impossible 
 to contiime the war with such assistants. 
 The malaria was also found to affect the 
 British troops ; and Sir John Stuart, re-em- 
 barking his little army, returned to Sicily, 
 and the efforts of the British were confined 
 to the preservation cf that island. But the 
 battle of Maida was valuable as a corollary 
 to that of Alexandria. We have not learn- 
 ed whether General Regnier ever thought 
 it equally worthy of a commentary. 
 
 The eves of the best-informed men in 
 Britain were now open to the disadvantage- 
 ous and timid policy, of conducting this mo- 
 mentous war by petty expeditions and ex- 
 perimental armaments, too inadequate to 
 the service to be productive of anything 
 but disappointment. The paltry idea of 
 making war for British objects, as it was 
 called, that is, withholding from the gener- 
 al cause those efforts which might have 
 saved our allies, and going in search of 
 some petty object in which Britain might 
 see an individual interest, was now univer- 
 sally acknowledged; although it became 
 more difficult than ever to select points of 
 attack where our limited means might com- 
 mand success. It was also pretty distinctly 
 seen, that the plan of opening a market for 
 British manufactures, by conquering dis- 
 tant and unhealthy provinces, was as idle 
 as immoral. In the latter quality, it some- 
 what resembled the proceedings of the sur-
 
 Chap-LV.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 465 
 
 geon mentioned in Le Sage's satirical 
 novel, who converted passengers into pa- 
 tients by a stroke of his poniard, and then 
 hastened, in his medical capacity, to cure 
 the wounds he had inflicted. In point of 
 profit, we had frequently to regret, that the 
 colonists whom we proposed to convert by 
 force of arms into customers for British 
 goods, were too rude to want, and too poor 
 to pay for them. Nothing deceives itself 
 EO willingly as the love of gain. Our prin- 
 cipal merchants and manufacturers, among 
 other commercial visions, had imagined to 
 themselves an unlimited market for British 
 commodities, in the immense plains sur- 
 rounding Buenos Ayres, which are in fact 
 peopled by a sort of Christian savages call- 
 ed Guachos, whose principal furniture is 
 the sculls of dead horses, whose only food 
 is raw beef and water, whose sole employ- 
 ment is to catch wild cattle, by hampering 
 them with a Guacho's noose, and whose 
 chief amusement is to ride wild horses to 
 death.* Unfortunately, they were found to 
 prefer their national independence to cot- 
 tons and muslins. 
 
 Two several attempts were made on this 
 miserable country, and neither redounded 
 to the honour or advantage of the Britisli 
 nation. Buenos Ayres was taken posses- 
 sion of by a liandful of British troops on the 
 27th June liJOG, who were attacked by the 
 inhabitants and by a few Spanish troops 5 
 and, surrounded in the market place of the 
 town, under a general and galling fire, were 
 compelled to lay down their arms and sur- 
 render prisoners of war. A small remnant 
 of the invading forces retained possession 
 of a town on the coast, called Maldonado. 
 In October 180G an expedition was sent out 
 to reinforce this small body, and make some 
 more material impression upon tlie conti- 
 nent of South .\merica, which the nation 
 were under the delusion of considering as 
 a measure e.ttremely to the advantage of 
 British trade. Monte Video was taken, and 
 a large body of troops, under command of 
 General Whitelocke, a man of factitious 
 reputation, and who liad risen higli in the 
 army without having seen much service, 
 marched against Buenos Ayres. This per- 
 son proved botli fool and coward. He 
 pushed his columns of attack into the 
 streets of Buenos Ayres, knowing that the 
 flat roofs and terraces were manned by ex- 
 cellent though irregular marksmen ; and, 
 that the British might have no means of 
 retaliation, they were not permitted to load 
 their muskets, — as if stone walls could have 
 been carried by the bayonet. One of the 
 columns was obliged to surrender ; and al- 
 though another had. in spite of desperate 
 opposition, possessed themselves of a strong 
 position, and that a few shells might have 
 probably ended the sort of defence which 
 had been maintained, Wliitelockc thought 
 It best to conclude a treaty with the enemy 
 for recovery of the British prisoners, and so 
 to renounce all further attempts on the 
 
 • See the very extraordinary account of the 
 Pampas, published by Captain Head of the Engi- 
 rwr*. 
 
 Vol. J V2 
 
 colony. For this misconduct he was 
 cashiered by the sentence of a court-mar- 
 tial. 
 
 An expedition against Turkey and its de- 
 pendencies, was as little creditable to the 
 councils of Britain, and eventually to hcf 
 arms, as were her attempts on South Amer- 
 ica. It arose out of a war betwixt England 
 and the Porte, her late ally against France ; 
 for, so singular had been the turns of 
 chance in this extraordinary conflict, that 
 allies became enemies, and enemies return- 
 ed to a state of close alliance, almost before 
 war or peace could be proclaimed between 
 them. The time was long past when the 
 Sublime Ottoman Porte could regard the 
 quarrels and wars of Christian powers, with 
 the contemptuous indift'erence with which 
 men look on the strife of the meanest and 
 most unclean animals.* She was now in 
 such close contact with them, as to feel a 
 thrilling interest in their various revolu- 
 tions. 
 
 The invasion of Egypt excited the Porte 
 against France, and disposed them to a close 
 alliance with Russia and England, until 
 Buonaparte's assumption of the Imperial 
 dignity ; on which occasion the Turks, 
 overawed by the pitch of power to which 
 he had ascended, sent an embassy to con- 
 gratulate his succession, and expressed a 
 desire to cultivate his friendship. 
 
 iVapoleon, whose eyes were sometimes 
 almost involuntarily turned to the East, and 
 who besides desired, at that period, to 
 break off the good understanding betwixt 
 the Porte and the cabinet of St. Peters- 
 burgh, despatched Sebastiani as his envoy 
 to Constantinople; a man well known for 
 his skill in Oriental intrigues, as was dis- 
 played in the celebrated report which had 
 so much influence in breaking through the 
 peace of Amiens. 
 
 The effect of this ambassador's promises, 
 threats, and intrigues, was soon apparent. 
 The Turks had come under an engagement 
 that they would not change the Hospodars, 
 or gover'-ors, of Moldavia and Wallachia. 
 Sebastiani easily alarmed Turkish pride on 
 the subject of this stipulation, and induced 
 them to break through it. The two Hos- 
 podars were removed, in defiance of th? 
 agreement made to the contrary ; and al 
 though the Turks became aware of the ris-k 
 to which they had exposed themselves, 
 and offered to replace the governors whom 
 they had dismissed, Russia, with preciju- 
 tate resentment, declared war, and invaded 
 the two provinces in question. They over- 
 ran and occupied them, but to their own 
 cost; as an army of fifty thousand men thus 
 rashly engaged against the Turks, might 
 have been of the last consequence in tb«! 
 fields of Eylau, Heilsberg, or Friedland. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Great Britain sent a, 
 
 * In the li.Tie of Louis XIV., when the Frencli 
 eiivoy at the court of Constant inoplo came, in a 
 great liurry, to intimate as important intelligence, 
 some victory of his master over the PrusBi<in«, 
 " Can you suppose it of consonuence to his Serene 
 Highness," said the Grand Vizier, with infinite 
 contempt, " whether the dog bites the hog, or tin 
 hog bites the dog f"
 
 4G6 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.LV. 
 
 squadron, under Sir Thomas Duckworth, to 
 compel the Porte to dismiss the French am- 
 bassador, and return to the line of politics 
 which Sebastiani had induced them to aban- 
 don. Admiral Duckworth passed the Dar- 
 danelles in spite of the immense cannon by 
 ■which they are guarded, and which hurled 
 from their enormous muzzles massive frag- 
 ments of marble instead of ordinary bullets. 
 But if ever it was intended to act against 
 the Turks by any other means than intimi- 
 dation, the opportunity was suifered to es- 
 cape ; and an intercourse by message and 
 billet was permitted to continue until the 
 Turks had completed a line of formidable 
 fortifications, while the state of the weath- 
 er was too unfavourable to allow even an 
 effort at the destruction of Constantinople, 
 which had been the alternative submitted 
 to the Turks by the English admiral. The 
 English repassed the Dardanelles in no very 
 creditable manner, hated for the threats 
 which they had uttered, and despised for 
 not having attempted to make their menaces 
 good. 
 
 Neither was a subsequent e.tpedition to 
 Alexandria more favourable in its results. 
 Five thousand men, under General Fraser, 
 were disembarked, and occupied the town 
 with much ease. But a division, despatched 
 against Rosetta, was the cause of renewing 
 in a different part of the world the calamity 
 of Buenos Ayres. The detachment was, in- 
 cautiously and unskilfully on our part, de- 
 coyed into the streets of an Oriental town, 
 where the enemy, who had manned the 
 terraces and the flat roofs of their houses, 
 slaughtered the assailants with much ease 
 and little danger to themselves. Some sub- 
 sequent ill-combined attempts were made 
 for reducing the same place, and after sus- 
 taining a loss of more than a fifth of their 
 number, by climate and combat, the British 
 troops were withdrawn from Egypt on the 
 23d of September 1807. 
 
 It was no great comfort, under these re- 
 peated failures, that the British were able 
 to secure the Dutth island of Curacoa. But 
 the capture of the Cape of Good Hope was 
 an object of deep importance ; and the more 
 80, as it was taken at a small e.xpense of 
 lives. Its consequence to our Indian trade 
 is so great, that we may well hope it will 
 be at no future time given up to the enemy. 
 Lfpon the whole, the general policy of Eng- 
 land was, at this period, of an irresolute 
 and ill-combined character. Her ministers 
 showed a great desire to do something, but 
 as great a doubt what that something was to 
 be. Thus, they either mistook the impor- 
 tance of the objects which they riimed at, 
 or, undertaking them without a sulficient 
 ibrce, failed to carry them into c.veciition. 
 If the wealth and means, more especially 
 the brave troops, frittered away in the at- 
 tempts at Calabria, Buenos Ayres, Alexan- 
 dria, and elsewhere, iiad been united with 
 the forces sent to Stralsund, i'.nd thrown in- 
 to the rear of the F'rcncli army before the 
 fatal batvle of F-iiedland, Europe miL;hl, in 
 all probability, have escaped that severe, 
 an-j for a time, decisive blow. 
 
 T c evil of this error, which had pervad- 
 
 ed our continental efiforts from the beginning 
 of the original war with France down to the 
 period of \\ hich we are treating, began now 
 to be felt from experience. Britain gained 
 nothing whatever by her partial efforts, not 
 even settlements or sugar-islands. The 
 enemy maintained against her revenues and 
 commerce a constant and never-ceasing war 
 — her resistance was equally stubborn, and 
 it was evident that the strife on both sides 
 was to be mortal. Ministers, were, there- 
 fore, called upon for bolder risks, the nation 
 for greater sacrifices, than had yet been de- 
 manded ; and it became evident to every 
 one. that England's hope of safety lay in her 
 own exertions, not for petty or selfish ob- 
 jects, but such as might have a decided in- 
 fluence on the general events of the war. 
 The urgent pressure of the moment was felt 
 by the new administration, whose princi- 
 ples being in favour of the continuance of 
 the war, their efforts to conduct it with en- 
 ergy began now to be manifest. 
 
 The first symptoms of this change of 
 measures were exhibited in the celebrated 
 expedition to Copenhagen, which manifest- 
 ed an energy and determination not of late 
 visible in the military operations of Britain 
 on the continent. It can hardly be made 
 matter of serious doubt, that one grand ob- 
 ject by which Buonaparte meant to enforce 
 the continental system, and thus reduce the 
 power of England without battle or invasion, 
 was the re-establishment of the great alli- 
 ance of the Northern Powers, for the de- 
 struction of Britain's maritime superiority. 
 This had been threatened towards the con- 
 clusion of the American war, and had been 
 again acted upon in 1801, when the unnatu- 
 ral compact was dissolved by the cannon of 
 Nelson, and th,e death of the Emperor Paul. 
 The treaty of Tilsit, according to the infor- 
 mation which the British ambassador had 
 procured, certainly contained an article to 
 this purpose, and ministers received from 
 other quarters the most positive informa- 
 tion of what was intended. Indeed, the 
 Emperor Alexander had shown, by many in- 
 dications, that in the new friendship which 
 he had formed with the Emperor of the 
 East, he was to embrace his resentment, 
 and further his plans, against England. The 
 unfortunate Gustavus of Sweden could 
 scarce be expected voluntarily to embrace 
 t!ie proposed northern alliance, and his ru- 
 in was probabh' resolved upon. But the ac- 
 cession of Denmark was of the utmost con- 
 sequence. That country still possessed a 
 fleet, and the local situation of the island 
 of Zealand gave her the key of the Baltic. 
 Her confessed weakness could not have 
 permitted her for an instant to resist the 
 joint influence of Russia and France, even 
 if her angry recollection of the destruction 
 of her fleet by Nelson, had not induced her 
 inclinations to lean in that diiection. It 
 was evident that Denmark would only be 
 permitted to retain her neutrality, till it suit- 
 ed the purposes of the more powerful par- 
 ties to compel her to throw it off". In thin 
 case, and finding the French troops ap- 
 proaching Holstein, Jutland, and Fiumc, the 
 British government^ acting on the infer wi-
 
 Chop. L v.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUON.\PARTE. 
 
 467 
 
 tjon wbich they had received of the pur- 
 pose of their enemies, conceived them- 
 selves entitled to require from Denmark a 
 pledge as to the line of conduct which she 
 proposed to adopt on the approach of hostili- 
 
 However this reasoning may be admitted 
 to justify the British demands, we cannot 
 wonder that it failed to enforce compliance 
 on the part of the Crown Prince. There 
 was something disgraceful in delivering up 
 
 ties, and some rational security that such a | the fleet of the nation under a menace that 
 pledge, when given, should be redeemed. I violence would otherwise be employed ; 
 A formidable expedition was now fitted I and although, for the sake of his people and 
 
 out, humanely, as well as politically, calcu 
 lated on a scale of such magnitude, as, it 
 might be expected, would render impossible 
 the resistance which the Danes, as a high- 
 spirited people, might offer to such a harsh 
 species of erpostulation. Twenty-seven 
 sail of the line, and twenty thousand men, 
 under the command of Lord Cathcart. %vere 
 sent to the Baltic, to support a negotiation 
 with Denmark, which it was still hoped 
 might terminate without hostilities. The 
 fleet was conducted with great ability 
 through the intricate passages called the 
 Belts, and was disposed in such a manner, 
 that ninety pendants flying round Zealand, 
 entirely blockaded the shores of that island. 
 Under these auspices the negotiation was 
 commenced. The British envoy, Mr. Jack- 
 eon, had the delicate task of stating to the 
 Crown Prince in person, the e-vpectation of 
 England that his Royal Highness should ex- 
 plain une'iuivocally his sentiments, and de- 
 clare the part which he meant to take be- 
 tween her and France. The unpleasant 
 condition was annexed, that, to secure any 
 protestation which might be made of friend- 
 ship or neutrality, it was required that the 
 fleet and naval stores of the Danes should 
 be delivered into the hands of Great Britain, 
 not in right of properly, but to be restored 
 so soon as the state of aflairs, which induc- 
 ed her to require possession of them, should 
 be altered for more peaceful times. The 
 closest alliance, and every species of pro- 
 tection which Britain could afford, was prof- 
 fered, to obtain compliance with these pro- 
 posals. Finally the Crown Prince was giv- 
 en to understand, that so great a force was 
 sent in order to atibrd him an apology to 
 France, should he choose to urge it, as hav- 
 ing been compelled to submit to the Eng- 
 lish demands ; but at the same time it was 
 intimated, that the forces would be actually 
 
 his capital, he ought, in prudence, to have 
 forborne an ineffectual resistance, yet it was 
 impossible to blame a high-minded and hon- 
 ourable man for making the best defence in 
 his power. 
 
 So soon as the object of the Danes was 
 found to be delay and evasion, while they 
 made a hasty preparation for defence, the 
 soldiers were disembarked, batteries erect- 
 ed, and a bombardment commenced, which 
 occasioned a dreadful conflagration. Some 
 forces which had been collected in the in- 
 terior of the island, were dispersed by the 
 troops under Sir Arthur Weliesley, a name 
 already famous in India, but now for the first 
 time heard in European warfare. The un- 
 availing defence was at last discontinued, 
 and upon the 8th September the citadel 
 and forts of Copenhagen were surrendered 
 to the British general. The Danish ships 
 were fitted out for sea with all possible de- 
 spatch, together with the naval stores, to a 
 very large amount; which, had they fallen 
 into the hands of the French, must have 
 afforded them considerable facility in fitting 
 out a fleet. 
 
 As the nature and character of the attack 
 upon Copenhagen were attended by cir- 
 cumstances which were very capable of be- 
 ing misrepresented. France — who, through 
 the whole war, had herself shown the most 
 total disregard for the rights of neutral na- 
 tions, with her leader Napoleon, the inva- 
 der of Egypt, when in profound peace with 
 the Porte ; of Hanover, when in amity with 
 the German empire ; and who was at this 
 very moment meditating the appropriation 
 of Spain and Portugal — France was filled 
 w'ith extreme horror at the violence prac- 
 tised on the Danish capital. Russia was 
 also offended, and to a degree which show- 
 ed that a feeling of disappointed schemes 
 mingled with her affectation of zeal for the 
 
 employed to compel the demands, if they rights of neutrality. But the daring and 
 should be refused. energetic spirit with which England had 
 
 In the ordinary intercourse betwixt na- formed and accomplished her plan, struck 
 Uons. these requisitions, on the part of Brit- ! a wholesome terror into other nations and 
 ain, would have been, with respect to Den- I showed neutrals, that if while assuming 
 mark, severe and unjustifiable. The apolo- I that character, they lent their secret coun- 
 gy arose out of the peculiar circumstances of tenance to the enemies of Great Britain, 
 the times. The condition of Kngland wa.s ' they were not to expect that it was to be 
 that of an individual, who, threatened by done with impunity. This was indeed no 
 the approach of a superior force of mortal ; small hardship upon the lesser powers, 
 enemies, sees close beside him, and with ' many of whom would no doubt have been 
 arraa in his hand, one, of whom he had a ' well contented to have observed a strict 
 right to be suspicious, as having co-operated j neutrality, but for the threats and influence 
 against him on two former occasions, and i of France, against whom they had no means 
 who, he has the best reaion to believe, is at { of defence ; but the furious conflict of such 
 the very moment engaged in a similar alii- two nations as France and England, is lik.> 
 ance to his prejudice. The individual, in the struggle of giants, in which the smaller 
 the case supposed, would certainly be war- ; and more" feeble, who have the misfortuno 
 ranted in requiring to know this third par- to be in the neighbourhood, are sure to be 
 ty's intention, nay, in disarming him, if he j borne down and trodden upon by one or 
 bad strength to do so, and retaining his both parties, 
 weapons, as the best pledge of his neutrality. ; The extreme resentment expressed by
 
 468 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. LVl. 
 
 Saonaparte, when he received intelligence 
 of this critical and decisive measure, might 
 serve to argue the depth of his disappoint- 
 ment at such an unexpected anticipation 
 of his purposes. He had only left to him 
 the comfort of railing against Britain in the 
 Moniteur ; and the breach of peace, and 
 of the law of nations, was gravely imputed 
 to England as an inexpiable crime by one, 
 who never suffered his regard either for 
 his own word, or the general good faith 
 observed amongst nations, to interfere with 
 any wish or interest he had ever enter- 
 tained. 
 
 The conduct of Russia was more singular. 
 An English officer of literary celebrity was 
 employed by Alexander, or those who were 
 supposed to share his most secret councils, 
 to convey to the British ministry the Empe- 
 ror's expressions of the secret satisfaction 
 which his Imperial Majesty felt, at the skill 
 and dexterity which Britain had displayed 
 in anticipating and preventing the purposes 
 of France, by her attack upon Copenhagen. 
 Her ministers were invited to communicate 
 freely with the Czar, as with a prince, who, 
 though obliged to give way to circumstan- 
 ces, was, nevertheless, as much attached as 
 ever to the cause of European indepen- 
 dence. Thus invited, the British cabinet 
 entered into an explanation of their views 
 for establishing a counterbalance to the ex- 
 orbitant power of France, by a northern con- 
 federacy of an offensive and defensive char- 
 acter. It was supposed that .Sweden would 
 enter with pleasure into such an alliance, 
 and that Denmark would not decline it if 
 encouraged by the example of Russia, who 
 was proposed as the head and soul of the co- 
 alition. 
 
 Such a communication was accordingly 
 made to the Russian ministers, but was 
 received with the utmost coldness. It is 
 impossible now to determine, whether 
 there had been some over-confidence in 
 the agent 5 whether the communication had 
 been founded on some hasty and fugitive 
 idea of a breach with France, which the 
 
 Emperor had afterwards abandoned; or 
 finally, whether, as is more probable, it ori- 
 ginated in a wish to fathom the extent of 
 Great Britain's resources, and the purposes 
 to which she meant to devote them. It is 
 enough to observe, that the countenance 
 with which Russia received the British 
 communication, was so difterent from that 
 with which she had invited the confidence 
 of her ministers, that the negotiation prov- 
 ed totally abortive. 
 
 Alexander's ultimate purpose was given 
 to the world, so soon as Britain had declin- 
 ed the offered mediation of Russia in her 
 disputes with France. In a proclamation, 
 or manifesto, sent forth by the Emperor, he 
 expressed his repentance for having entered 
 into agreements with England, which he 
 had found prejudicial to the Pi.ussiau trade ; 
 he complained (with justice) of the manner 
 in which Britain had conducted the war by 
 petty expeditions, conducive only to her 
 own selfish ends ; and the attack upon Den- 
 mark was treated as a violation of the rights 
 of nations. He therefore annulled every 
 convention entered into between Russia 
 and Britain, and especially that of 1801 ; 
 and he avowed the principles of the Armed 
 Neutrality, which he termed a monument 
 of the wisdom of the Great Catherine. In 
 November 1806, a ukase, or imperial de- 
 cree, was issued, imposing an embargo on 
 British vessels and property. But, by the 
 favour of the Russian nation, and even of 
 the officers employed by government, the 
 ship-masters were made aware of the im- 
 pending arrest; and not less than eighty 
 vessels, setting sail with a favourable wind, 
 reached Britain with their cargoes in safe- 
 ty. 
 
 Austria and Prussia found themselves un- 
 der the necessity of following the example 
 of Russia, and declaring war against British 
 commerce ; so that Buonaparte had now 
 ! made an immense stride towards his prin- 
 ' cipal object, of destroying every species of 
 intercourse which could unite England with 
 the continent. 
 
 CHAP. I.VI. 
 
 View of the Internal Government of Napoleon at the period of the Peace of Tilsit. — 
 The Tribunate abolished. — Council of State. — Prefectures — Their nature and object* 
 described. — The Code Napoleon — Its Provisions — Its Merits and Defects — Compari- 
 son betwixt that Code and the Jurisprudence of England. — Laudable efforts of Napo- 
 leon to carry it into effect. 
 
 .\t this period of Buonaparte's elevation, 
 when his povk'er seemed best established, 
 and most permanent, it seems proper to 
 takj a hasty view, not indeed of the details 
 of his internal government, which is a sub- 
 
 iect that would exhaust volumes ; but at 
 east of its general chara'-ter, of the means 
 by which his empire was maintained, and 
 the nature of the relations which it estab- 
 lished betwixt the sovereign and his sub- 
 jects. 
 
 The ruling, almost the sole principle on 
 which the government of Buonaparte rest- 
 ■•d, was the simple proposition upon which 
 
 despotism of every kind lias founded itself 
 in every species of society ; namely, that 
 the individual who is to exercise the aUr 
 
 ! thority and power of the state, shall, on the 
 one hand, dedicate himself and his talents 
 
 I exclusively to the public service of the em- 
 
 I pire, while, on the other, the nation sub- 
 jected to his rule shall requite this self- 
 
 I devotion on liis part by the most implicit 
 obedience to his will. Some despots have 
 rested this claim to universal submission 
 upon family descent, and upon their right, 
 according to Filmer's doctrine, of represent- 
 
 ! ing the original father of the tribe, aud be-
 
 Ck<^. L VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOiN' BUONAPARTE. 
 
 409 
 
 coming the legitimate inheritors of a patri- 
 archal power. Others have strained scrip- 
 lure and abused common sense, to establish 
 in their own favour a right through the spe- 
 cial decree of Providence. To the heredi- 
 tary title, Buonaparte could of course assert 
 no claim ; but he founded not a little on 
 the second principle, often holding himself 
 out to others, and no doubt, occasionally 
 considering himself, in his own mind, as an 
 individual destined by Heaven to the high 
 station which he held, and one who could 
 not therefore be opposed in his career, 
 without an express struggle being maintain- 
 ed against Destiny, who, leading him by 
 the hand, and at the same time protecting 
 him with her shield, had guided him by 
 paths as strange as perilous, to the post of 
 eminence which he now occupied. No 
 one had been his tutor in the lessons which I 
 led the way to his preferment — no one had 1 
 been his guide in the dangerous ascent to 1 
 power — scarce any one had been of so ' 
 much consequence to his promotion, as to 
 claim even the merit of an ally, however 
 humble. It seemed as if Napoleon had 
 been wafted on to this stupendous pitch 
 of grandeur by a power more effectual than 
 that of any human assistance, nay, which 
 surpassed what could have been expected 
 from his own great talents, unassisted by 
 the special interposition of Destiny in his fa- 
 rour. Yet it was not to this principle alone 
 that the general acquiescence in the un- 
 limited power which he asserted is to be 
 imputed. Buonaparte understood the char- 
 acter of the French nation so well, that he 
 could offer them an acceptable indemnifica- 
 tion for servitude, first, in the height to 
 which he proposed to raise their national 
 pre-eminence; secondly, in the municipal 
 establishments, by means of which he ad- 
 ministered their government ; and which, 
 though miserably defective in all which 
 would have been demanded by a nation ac- 
 customed to the administration of equal and 
 just laws, afforded a protection to life and 
 property that was naturally most welcome to 
 those who had been so long, under the re- 
 publican system, made the victims of cruel- 
 ty, rapacity, and the most extravagant and 
 unlimited tyranny, rendered yet more odi- 
 ous as exercised under the pretest of lib- 
 erty. 
 
 To the first of these arts of government 
 we have often adverted ; and it must be 
 always recalled to mind whenever the 
 sources of Buonaparte's power over the 
 public mind in France come to be treated 
 of. He himself gave the solution in a few 
 words, when censuring the imbecility of 
 the Directors, to whose power he succeed- 
 ed. " These men," he said, '' know not how 
 to work upon the imagination of the French 
 nation." This idea, which, in phraseology, 
 is rather Italian than French, expresses 
 the chief secret of Napoleon's authority. 
 Ho held himself out as the individual upon 
 whom the fate of France depended — of 
 whose hundred decisive victories France 
 enjoyed the glory. It was he whose sword, 
 hewing down obstacles which her bravest 
 nunarchs had accounted insurmountab'e, 
 
 had cut the way to her now undeniable 
 supremacy over Europe. He alone could 
 justly claim to be Absolute Monarch of 
 France, who, raising that nation from a peril- 
 ous condition, had healed her discords, 
 reconciled her factions, turned her defeats 
 into victory, and, from a disunited people, 
 about to become the prey to civil and exter- 
 nal war, had elevated her to the situation 
 of Queen of Europe. This had been all 
 accomplished upon one condition ; and as 
 we have stated elsewhere, it was that whicli 
 the Tempter offered in the wilderness, after 
 his ostentatious display of the kingdoms of 
 the earth — " All these will I give thee, if 
 thou wilt fall down and worship me." 
 
 Napoleon had completed the boastful 
 promise, and it flattered a people more de- 
 sirous of glory than of liberty ; and so much 
 more pleased with hearing of national con- 
 quests in foreign countries, than of enjoy- 
 ing the freedom of their own individual 
 thoughts and actions, that they unreluctant- 
 ly surrendered the latter in order that theit 
 vanity might be flattered by the former. 
 
 Thus did Napoleon avail himself of, or 
 to translate his phrase more literallj', play 
 upon the imagination of the French people. 
 He gave them public festivals, victories, 
 and extended dominion; and in return 
 claimed the right of carrying their children 
 in successive swarms to yet more distant 
 and yet more extended conquests, and of 
 governing, according to his own pleasure, 
 the bulk of the nation which remained be- 
 hind. 
 
 To attain this purpose, one species of 
 idolatry was gradually and ingeniously sub- 
 stituted for another, and the object of the 
 public devotion was changed, while the 
 worsliip v.as continued. France had been 
 formerly governed by political maxims — she 
 was now ruled by the name of an individual. 
 Formerly the Republic was everything — 
 Fayette, Dumouriez, or Pichegru, were 
 nothing. Now, the name of a successful 
 general was of more influence than the 
 whole code of tlie Rights of Man. Franco 
 had submitted to murder, spoliation, revo- 
 lutionary tribunals, and every species of 
 cruelty and oppression, while thoy were 
 gilded by the then talismanic expressions, 
 " Liberty and Equality — Fraternization — 
 the public welfare, and the happiness of the 
 people." She was now found equally com- 
 pliant, when the watchword was, " The 
 honour of his Imperial and Royal Majesty 
 — the interests of the Great Empire — the 
 splendours of the Imperial Throne." It 
 must be owned that the sacrifices under 
 the last form were less enormous ; they were 
 limited to taxes at the Imperial pleasure, 
 and a perpetual anticipation of the con- 
 scription. The Republican tyrants claim- 
 ed both life anu property ; the Em[)€ror 
 was satisfied with a tithe of the latter, and 
 the unlimited disposal of that portion of 
 the family who could best support the bur- 
 den of arms, for augmenting the conquests 
 of France. Such were the terms on which 
 this long-distracted country attained once 
 more, after its Revolution, the advantage 
 of a steady and effective government.
 
 470 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L VI. 
 
 The character of that gevernment, its 
 means and principles of action, must now 
 >e briefly traced. 
 
 It cannot be forgotten that Buonaparte, 
 khe heir of the Revolution, appropriated to 
 nimself the forms and modifications of the 
 Directorial government, altered in some 
 degree by the ingenuity of Sieves ; but they 
 subsisted as forms only, and were carefully 
 divested of all effectual impulse on the 
 government. The Senate and Legislative 
 Bodies became merely passive and pen- 
 sioned creatures of the Emperor's will, 
 whom he used as a medium for promul- 
 gating the laws which he was determined 
 to establish. The Tribunate had been in- 
 stituted for the protection of the people 
 against all acts of arbitrary power, whether 
 by imprisonment, exile, assaults on the lib- 
 erty of the press, or otherwise ; but after 
 having gradually undermined the rights 
 and authority of this body, after having 
 rendered its meetings partial and secret, 
 and having deprived it of its boldest mem- 
 bers, Buonaparte suppressed it entirely, 
 on account, as he alleged, of the expense 
 which it occasioned to the government. 
 It had indeed become totally useless 5 but 
 this was because its character had been alter- 
 ed, and because, originating from the Senate 
 and not from popular election, the Tribu- 
 nate never consistedof that class of persons, 
 w 10 are willing to encounter the frown of 
 power when called upon to impeach its 
 aggressions. Yet, as the very name of this 
 body, while it sub'-isted, recalled some 
 ideas of Republican freedom, the Emperor 
 thought fit altogether to abolish it. 
 
 The deliberative Council of the Empe- 
 ror existed in his own personal Council of 
 State, of whose consultations, in which he 
 himself presided, he made frequent use 
 during the course of his reign. Its func- 
 tions were of an anomalous character, 
 comprehending political legislation, or ju- 
 dicial business, according to the order of 
 the day. It was, in short, Buonaparte's re- 
 source, when he wanted the advice, or 
 opinion, or information, of others in aid of 
 his own ; he often took the assistance of 
 the Council of State, in order to form those 
 resolutions which he afterwards executed 
 by means of his ministers. Monsieur de 
 Las Cases, himself a member of it, has 
 dwelt with complaisance upon the freedom 
 which Buonaparte permitted to their de- 
 bates, and the good humour with which he 
 submitted to contradiction, even when ex- 
 pressed with obstinacy or vivacity ; and 
 would have us consider the Council as an 
 important barrier aff"orded to the citizens 
 against the arbitrary will of the Sovereign. 
 What he has said, however, only amounts 
 to this, — that Buonaparte, desirous to have 
 the advice of his counsellors, tolerated 
 their freedom of speech, and even of re- 
 monstrance. Mahmoud, or .\murath, seat- 
 ed in their divan, must have done the 
 same, and yet would not have remained 
 tlie less absolutely masters of the lives of 
 those who stood around them. We have 
 no doubt that Buonaparte, on certain occa- 
 sions, permitted his counsellors to take 
 
 considerable freedoms, and that he some- 
 times yielded up his opinion to theirs with- 
 out being convinced ; in such cases, at 
 least, where his own passions or interests 
 were no way concerned.* But we further 
 read of the Emperor's using, to extremely 
 stubborn persons, such language as plainly 
 intimated that he would not suffer contra- 
 diction beyond a certain point. " You are 
 very obstinate," he said to such a dispu- 
 tant ; " what if I were to be as much so as 
 you ? You are wrong to push the powerful 
 to extremity — you should consider the 
 weakness of humanity." To another he 
 said, after a scene of argumentative vio- 
 lence, •' Pray, pay some attention to ac- 
 commodate yourself a little more to my hu- 
 mour. Yesterday, you carried it so far as 
 to oblige me to scratch my temple. That 
 is a great sign with me — take care in fu- 
 ture not to drive me to such an extremity." 
 Such limits to the freedom of debate in 
 the Imperial Council of State, correspond 
 with those laid down in the festive enter- 
 tainments of Sans Souci, where the Great 
 Frederick professed to support and encour- 
 age every species of familiar raillery, but, 
 when it attained a point that was too per- 
 sonal, used to hint to the facetious guests, 
 that he heard the King's step in the gallery 
 There were occasions, accordingly, when, 
 not satisfied with calling their attention t; 
 the distant murmurs of '.bs. Imperial thun 
 der, Napoleon launched its bolts in the 
 midst of his trembling counsellors. Sue". 
 a scene was that ofPortalis. This states 
 man, a man of talent and virtue, had beet 
 eminently useful, as we have seen, in bring 
 ing about the Concordat, and had been ere 
 ated, in recompence, minister of religious 
 affairs, and counsellor of state. In the sub- 
 sequent disputes betwixt the Pope and 
 Buonaparte, a relation of the minister had 
 been accused of circulating the bulls, or 
 spiritual admonitions of the Pope ; and 
 Portalis had failed to intimate the circum- 
 stance to the Emperor. On this account. 
 Napoleon, in full council, attacked him in 
 the severest terms, as guilty of having bro- 
 ken his oath as a counsellor and minister 
 of state, deprived him of both offices, and 
 expelled him from the assembly, as one 
 who had betrayed his Sovereign. If any 
 of the members of the Council of State had 
 ventured, when this sentence rung in their 
 ears, to come betwixt the dragon and his 
 
 * Segur givc3 example of a case in which Buo- 
 naparte deferred his own opinion to that of the 
 Council. A female of AmsterJnm, tried for a 
 capital crime, had been twice acquitted by the Im- 
 perial Courts, and the Court of Appeal claimed 
 the right to try her a third time. Buonaparte 
 alone contended against the whole Council of 
 State, and claimed i'or the poor woman the immn- 
 nily which, in justice, she ought to have obtained, 
 considering the prejudices that must have beoo 
 excited against her. He yielded, at length to the 
 majority, but protesting he was silenced and not 
 convinced. To account for his complaisance, it 
 may be remarked, first, that Buonaparte was no 
 way personally interested in the decision of the 
 question ; and, secondly, if it concerned him at all, 
 the fate of the female waa in his hands, since ha 
 had only to grant her a pardon if she wi»s con<!«naiv- 
 ed by the Court of Appeal.
 
 Chap. L VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 47J 
 
 wrath, for the purpose of stating that a 
 hasty charge ought not instantly to be fol- 
 lowed with immediate censure and punish- 
 ment j that it was possible M. Portalis 
 might have been misled by false informa- 
 tion, or by a natural desire to screen the 
 offence of his cousin ; or, finally, that his 
 conduct might have been influenced by 
 views of religion, which, if erroneous, 
 were yet sincere and conscientious, — we 
 Bhould then have believed that the Council 
 of State of Buonaparte formed a body, in 
 which the accused citizen might receive 
 some protection against the despotism of 
 the government. But when, or in what 
 country, could the freedom of the nation be 
 intrusted to the keeping of the immediate 
 counsellors of the throne ? It can only be 
 safely lodged in some body, the authority 
 of which emanates directly from the nation, 
 and whom the nation therefore will protect 
 and support, in the existence of their right 
 of opposition or remonstrance. 
 
 The deliberations of the Council of 
 State, or such resolutions as Buonaparte 
 chose to adopt without communication 
 with them, (for it may be easily supposed 
 that they were not admitted to share his 
 more secret political discussions,) were, as 
 in other countries, adjusted with and exe- 
 cuted by the ostensible ministers. 
 
 But that part of the organization of the 
 Imperial government, upon which Buona- 
 
 fiarte most piqued himself, was the estab- 
 ishment of the prefectures, which certain- 
 ly gave facilities for the most effectual 
 agency of despotism that was ever exer- 
 cised. There is no mistaking the object 
 and tendency of this arrangement, since 
 Buonaparte himself, and his most bitter op- 
 ponents, hold up the same picture, one to 
 the admiration, the other to the censure, 
 of the world. These prefects, it must be 
 understood, were each the supreme gover- 
 nor of a department, answering to the old 
 lieutenants and governors of counties, and 
 representing the Imperial person within the 
 limits of the several prefectures. The in- 
 dividuals were carefully selected, as per- 
 sons whose attachment was either to be 
 secured or rewarded. They received large 
 and in some cases exorbitant salaries, some 
 amounting to fifteen, twenty, and even thir- 
 ty thousand francs. This heavy expense 
 Napoleon stated to be the consequence of 
 the depraved state of moral feeling in 
 France, which made it necessary to attach 
 men by their interests rather than their du- 
 ties ; but it was termed by his enemies one 
 of the leading principles of his government, 
 which treated the public good as a chimera, ] 
 und erected private and personal interest 
 into the paramount motive upon which 
 alone the state was to be served by efficient 
 functionaries. The prefects were chosen 
 in the general case, as men whose birth and 
 condition were totally unconnected with 
 that of the department in which each was 
 to preside ; les depayser, to place them in 
 a country to which ttiey were strangers, 
 t)eing an especial point of Napoleon's pol- 
 icy. They wrre entirely dependent on the 
 wLtj of the tmperor, who removed or cash- i 
 
 iered them at pleasure. The administration 
 of the departments was intrusted to these 
 important offices. 
 
 " With the authority and local resources 
 placed at their disposal," said Buonaparte, 
 " the prefects were themselves emperors 
 on a limited scale ; and as they had no 
 force excepting through the impulse which 
 they received from the throne, as they owed 
 their whole power to their immediate com- 
 mission, and as they had no authority of a 
 personal character, they were of as much 
 use to the crown as the former high agents 
 of government, without any of the incon- 
 veniences which attached to their prede- 
 cessors."* It was by means of the prefects, 
 that an impulse, given from the centre of 
 the government, was communicated with- 
 out delay to the extremities of the kingdom, 
 and that the influence of the crown, and 
 the execution of its commands, were trans- 
 mitted, as if by magic, through a population 
 of forty millions. It appears that Napoleon, 
 while describing with self-complacency 
 this terrible engine of unlimited power, 
 felt that it might not be entirely in unison 
 with the opinions of those favourers of lib- 
 eral institutions, whose sympathy at the 
 close of life he thought worthy of soliciting 
 " My creating that power," he said, "was 
 on my part a case of necessity. I was a 
 Dictator, called to that office by force of 
 circumstances. There was a necessity that 
 the filaments of the government v.-hich ex- 
 tended over the state, should be in com- 
 plete harmony with the key-note which wss 
 to influence them. The organization which 
 I had extended over the empire, required 
 to be maintained at a high degree of ten- 
 sion, and to possess a prodigious force of 
 elasticity, to enable it to resist the terrible 
 blows directed against it without cessa- 
 tion."* His defence amounts to this. '"The 
 men of my time were extravagantly fond of 
 power, exuberantly att.ached to place and 
 wealth. I therefore bribed them to be- 
 come my agents by force of places and 
 pensions. But I was educating the suc- 
 ceeding race to be influenced by better 
 motives. RIy son would have been sur- 
 rounded by youths sensible to the influence 
 of justice, honour, and virtue; and those 
 who were called to execute public duty, 
 would have considered their doing so as its 
 own reward." 
 
 The freedom of France was therefore 
 postponed till the return of a Golden .\ge, 
 when personal aggrandizement and person- 
 al wealth should cease to have any influ- 
 ence upon regenerated humanity. In the 
 meanwhile, she had the dictatorship and the 
 prefects. 
 
 The impulse, as Napoleon terms it, by 
 which the crown put in action these sub- 
 ordinate agents in the departments,, was 
 usually given by means of a circular letter 
 or proclamation, communicating the par- 
 ticular measure which government desired 
 to be enforced. This was subscribed by 
 the minister to whose department the af- 
 
 * Journal de la Vie privee de Napoleon, &« 
 vol. IV.
 
 472 
 
 LIFE OF JSAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.LVI. 
 
 fair belonged, and concluded with an in- 
 junction upon the prefect, to be active in 
 forwarding the matter enjoined, as he val- 
 ued the favour of the Emperor, or wished 
 to show himself devoted to the interests of 
 the crown. Thus conjured, the Prelect 
 transmitted the order to the sub-prefect 
 and mayors of the communities within his 
 department, who, stimulated by tlie same 
 motives that had actuated their principal, 
 endeavoured each to distinguish himself by 
 his active compliance with the will of the 
 Emperor, and thus merit a favourable re- 
 port, as the active and unhesitating agent 
 of his pleasure. 
 
 It was the further duty of tlie prefects; to 
 see that all honour was duly performed to- 
 wards the head of the state, upon the days 
 appointed for public rejoicings, and to re- 
 mind the municipal authorities of the ne- 
 cessity of occasional addresses to the gov- 
 ernment, declaring their admiration of the 
 talents, and devotion to the person, of the 
 Emperor. These effusions were duly pub- 
 lished in the Moniteur, and, if e.vamined 
 closely, would afford some of the most ex- 
 traordinary specimens of composition which 
 the annals of flattery can produce. It is suffi- 
 cient to say, that a mayor, we believe of 
 Amiens, affirmed in his ecstasy of loyal ado- 
 ration, that the Deity, after making Buona- 
 parte, musthave reposed, as after the crea- 
 tion of the universe. This, and similar flights 
 of rhetoric, may appear both impious and ri- 
 diculous, and it might have been thought 
 that a person of Napoleon's sense and taste 
 would have softened or suppressed them. 
 But he well knew the influence produced 
 on the public mind, by ringing the changes 
 to different time on the same unvaried sub- 
 ject. The ideas which are often repeated 
 in all variety of language and expression, 
 will at length produce an effect on the pub- 
 lic mind, especially if no contradiction is 
 permitted to reach it. A uniform v.'hich 
 may look ridiculous on a single individual, 
 has an imposing effect when worn by a 
 large body of men ; and the empiric, whose 
 extravagant advertisement we ridicule up- 
 on the first perusal, often persuades us, by 
 sheer dint of repeating his own praises, to 
 make trial of his medicine. Those who 
 practise calumny know, according to the 
 vulgar expression, that if they do but throw 
 dirt sufficient, some part of it will adhere ; 
 and acting on the same principle, for a con- 
 trary purpose, Buonaparte was well aware, 
 that the repetition of his praises in these 
 adulatory addresses was calculated finally 
 to make an impression on the nation at 
 large, and to obtain a degree of credit as 
 an expression of public opinion. 
 
 Faber, an author too impassioned to ob- 
 tiin unlimited credit, has given several in- 
 stances of ignorance amongst the prefects ; 
 many of whom, being old generals, were 
 void of the information necessary for the 
 oxercise of a civil office, and all of whom, 
 having been, upon principle, nominated to 
 a sphere of action with the local circun;- 
 (tances of which they were previously un- 
 acquainted, were sufficiently liable to error. 
 But the same author may bo fully trusted, 
 
 when he allows that the prefects could not 
 be accused of depredation or rapine, and 
 that such of them as improved their for- 
 tune during the date of their office, did so by 
 economising upon their legitimate allow 
 ances. 
 
 Such was the outline of Napoleon's pro- 
 vincial administration, and of the agency by 
 which it was carried on, without check or 
 hesitation, in every province of France at 
 the same moment. The machinery has 
 been in a great measure retained by the 
 royal government, to whom it appeared 
 preferable, doubtless, to the violent altera- 
 tions, which an attempt to restore the old 
 appointments, or create others of a dif- 
 ferent kind, must necessarily have occa- 
 sioned. 
 
 But a far more important change, intro- 
 duced by the Emperor, though not origina- 
 ting with him, was the total alteration of the 
 laws of the kingdom of France, and the in- 
 troduction of that celebrated code to which 
 Napoleon assigned his name, and on the 
 execution of which his admirers have rest- 
 ed his claim to be considered as a great 
 benefactor to the country v/hich he gov- 
 erned. Bacon had indeed informed ue, 
 that when laws have been heaped upon 
 laws, in such a state of confusion as to ren- 
 der it necessary to revise them, and collect 
 their spirit into a new and intelligible sys- 
 tem, those who accomplish such an heroic 
 task have a good right to be named amongst 
 the legislators and benefactors of mankind. 
 It had been the reproach of France before 
 the Revolution, and it v/as one of the great 
 evils which tended to produce that im- 
 mense and violent change, that the various 
 provinces, towns, and subordinate divisions 
 of the kingdom, having been united in dif- 
 ferent periods to the general body of tlie 
 country, had retained in such union the 
 exercise of their own particular laws and 
 usages 5 to the astonishment, as well as to 
 the great annoyance of the traveller, who, in 
 journeying through France, found that, in 
 many important particulars, the system and 
 character of the laws to which he was sub- 
 jected, were altered almost as often as he 
 changed his post-horses. It followed from 
 this discrepancy of lasvs and subdivision 
 of jurisdiction, that the greatest hardships 
 were sustained by the subjects, more espe- 
 cially when, the district being of small ex- 
 tent, those authorities who acted there were 
 likely neither to have experience, nor char- 
 acter sufficient for exercise of the trust re- 
 posed in them. 
 
 The evils attending such a state of thine* 
 had been long felt, and, at various periods 
 before the Revolution, it had been proposed 
 repeatedly to institute a uniform system of 
 legislation for the whole kingdom. But so 
 many different interests were compromised, 
 and such were, besides, the pressing occu- 
 pations of the successive administrations 
 of Louis XV'I., and his grandfather, that the 
 project w.as never seriously adopted or en- 
 tered upon. When, however, the whole 
 system of provinces, districts, and feudal 
 jurisdictions, great and small, had fallen at 
 the word of the Abbe Sieyes, like an en-
 
 Chap. L K/.] 
 
 LIFE OF N.VPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 473 
 
 chanted castle at the dissolution of a spell, 
 and their various laws, whether written or 
 consuetudinary, were buried in the ruins, all 
 France, now united into one single and in- 
 tegral nation, lay open to receive any legis- 
 lative code which tne National Assembly 
 might dictate. But the revolutionary spirit 
 was more fitted to destroy than to establish ; 
 and was more bent upon the pursuit of po- 
 litical objects, than upon affording the na- 
 tion the protection of just and equal laws. 
 Under the Directory, two or three attempts 
 towards classification of the lav.s had been 
 made in the Council of Five Hundred, but 
 never had gone farther than a preliminary 
 and general report. Cambaceres, an excel- 
 lent lawyer and en;ightened statesman, was 
 one of the first to solicit the attention of the 
 state to this great and indispensable duty. 
 The various successive authorities had been 
 content with passing such laws as affected 
 popular subjects of the day, and w'lich (like 
 that which licensed universal divorce) par- 
 took of the extravagance that gave them 
 origin. The project of Cambaceres, on the 
 contrary, embraced a general classification 
 of jurisprudence through all its branches, al- 
 though too much tainted, it is said, with the 
 prevailing revolutionary opinions of the pe- 
 riod, to admit its being taken for a basis, 
 when Buonaparte, after his elevation, de- 
 termined to supersede the Republican by 
 Monarchical forms of government. 
 
 After the revolution of the 13lh Bruraaire, 
 Napoleon saw no way more certain of assur- 
 ing the popularity of that event, and connect- 
 ing his own authority with the public inter- 
 ests of France, than to resume a task which 
 former rulers of the Republic had thought 
 too heavy to be undertaken, and thus, at once, 
 ehow a becoming confidence in the stabil- 
 ity of his own power, and a laudable desire 
 of exercising it for the permanent advan- 
 tage of the nation. .\n order of the Consuls, 
 dated 2-tt'.i Thermidor, in the year VIII., 
 directed the Minister of Justice, with a 
 committee of lawyers of eminence, to ex- 
 amine the several projects, four in number, 
 which had been made towards compiling 
 the civil code of national law, to give their 
 opinion on the plan most desirable for ac- 
 complishing its formation, and to discuss 
 the bases upon which legislation in civil 
 matters ought to be rested. 
 
 The preliminary discourse upon the first 
 project of the civil code, is remarkable for 
 the manner in which the reporters consider 
 and confute the general and illusory views 
 entertained by the uninformed part of the 
 public, upon the nature of the task to which 
 they had been called. It is the common 
 trnd vulgar idea, that the system of legisla- 
 tion may be reduced and simplified into a 
 few general maxims of equity, sufficient to 
 lead any judge of understanding and in- 
 tegrity, to a just decision of all questions 
 which can possibly occur betwixt man and 
 man. It follows, as a corollary to this 
 proposition, that the various multiplications 
 of authorities, exceptions, particular cases, 
 and especial provisions, which have been 
 introduced among civilized nations, by the 
 address of those of the legal profession, 
 
 are just so many expedients to embarrass 
 the simple course of justice with arbitrary 
 modifications and ref.aements, in order to 
 procure wealth and consequence to those 
 educated to the law, whose assistance must 
 be used as its interpreters, and who became 
 rich by serving litigants as guides through 
 the labyrinth of obscurity which had been 
 raised by themselves and their predeces- 
 sors. 
 
 Such were the ideas of the law and ita 
 professors, which occurred to the Parliament 
 of Praise-God Barebones when they propos 
 cd to Cromwell to abrogate the whole com- 
 mon law of England, and dismiss the law- 
 yers, as drones who did but encumber the 
 national hive. Such was also the opinion 
 of many of the French statesmen, who, aa 
 rash in judging of jurisprudence as in poli- 
 tics, imagined that a system of maxims, 
 modified on the plan of the twelve tables 
 of the ancient Romans, might serve all the 
 purposes of a civil code in modern France. 
 They who thought in this manner had en- 
 tirely forgotten, how soon the laws of these 
 twelve tables became totally insufficient 
 for Rome herself — how, in the gradual 
 change of manners, some laws became ob- 
 solete, some inapplicable — how it became 
 necessary to provide for emerging cases, 
 successively by the decrees of the Senate, 
 the ordinances of the people, the edicts of 
 the Consuls, the regulations of the Prastors, 
 the answers or opinions of learned Juris- 
 consults, and finally, by the rescripts, edicts, 
 and novels of the Emperors, until such a 
 mass of legislative matter was assembled, 
 as scarcely the efforts of Theodosius or 
 Justinian were adequate to bring into order, 
 or reduce to principle. But this, it may be 
 said, was the very subject complained of. 
 The simplicity of the old laws, it may be 
 urged, was gradually corrupted ; and hence 
 by the efforts of interested men, not by the 
 natural progress of society, arose the com- 
 plicated system, which is the object of 
 such general complaint. 
 
 The answer to this is obvious. So long 
 as society remains in a simple state, men 
 have occasions for few and simple laws. 
 But when that society begins to be subdi- 
 vided into ranks ; when duties are incur- 
 red, and obligations contracted, of a kind 
 unknown in a ruder or earlier perioo, these 
 new conditions, new duties, and new obli- 
 gations, must be regulated by new rules and 
 ordinances, which accordingly are introduc- 
 ed as fast as they are wanted, either by the 
 course of long custom, or by precise legia- 
 lative enactment. There is no doubt one 
 species of society in which legislation may 
 be much simplified ; and that is, where the 
 whole law of the country, with the power 
 of enforcing it, is allowed to reside in the 
 bosom of the King, or of the judge who is 
 to administe' justice. Such is the system 
 of Turkey, where the Cadi is bound by no 
 laws nor former precedents, save what his 
 conscience may discover from perusing the 
 Koran. But so apt arc mankind to abuRe 
 unlimited power, and indeed so utterly 
 unfit is human nature to possess it, that in 
 all countries where the judge is possessed
 
 474 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [CAop. L VI. 
 
 of such arbitrary jurisdiction, he is found 
 accessible to bribes, or liable to be moved 
 by threats. He has no distinct course pre- 
 scribed, no beacon on wluch to direct his 
 vessel ; and trims, therefore, his sails to 
 the Dursuit of his own profit. 
 
 The French legislative commissioners, 
 with these views, wisely judged it their 
 duty to produce their civil code, upon such 
 a system as might afford, as far as possible, 
 protection to the various kinds of rights 
 known and acknowledged in the existing 
 state of society. Less than this they could 
 not do; nor, in our opinion, is their code as 
 yet adequate to attain that principal object. 
 By the implied social contract, an individ- 
 ual surrenders to the community his right 
 of protecting and avenging himself, under 
 the reserved and indispensable condition 
 that the public law shall defend him, or 
 punish those by whom he has sustained 
 injury. As revenge has been said by Bacon 
 to be a species of wild justice, so the indi- 
 vidual pursuit of justice is often a modified 
 and legitimate pursuit of revenge, which 
 ought, indeed, to be qualified by the moral 
 and religioas sentiments of the party, but 
 to which law is bound to give free way, in 
 requital for the bridle which she imposes 
 on the indulgence of man's natural pas- 
 sions. The course of litigation, therefore, 
 cannot be stopt ; it can only be diminished, 
 by providing before-liand as many regula- 
 tions as will embrace the greater number 
 of cases likely to occur, and trusting to the 
 authority of the judges acting upon the 
 spirit of the law, for the settlement of 
 such as cannot be decided according to its 
 letter. 
 
 The organization of this great national 
 work was proceeded in with the caution and 
 deliberation which the importance of the 
 subject eminently deserved. Dividing the 
 subjects of legislation according to the usu- 
 al distinctions of jurisconsults, the commis- 
 sioners commenced by the publication and 
 application of the laws in general ; passed 
 from that preliminary subject to the consid- 
 eration of personal rights under all their va- 
 rious relations 5 then to rights respecting 
 property ; and, lastly, to those legal forms 
 of procedure, by which the rights of citi- 
 zens, whether arising out of personal cir- 
 cumstances, or as connected with property, 
 are to be followed forth, explicated, and as- 
 certained. Thus adopting the division, and 
 in some degree the forms, of the Institutes 
 of Justinian, the commission proceeded, ac- 
 cording to the same model, to consider each 
 subdivision of this general arrangement, and 
 adopt respecting each such maxims or bro- 
 cards of general law, as were to form the fu- 
 ture basis of French jurisprudence. Their 
 general principles being carefully connect- 
 ed and fixed, the ingenuity of the commis- 
 sioners was exerted in deducing from them 
 such a number of corollaries and subordi- 
 nate maxims, as might provide, so far as hu- 
 man ingenuity could, for the infinite num- 
 ber of questions that were likely to emerge 
 on the practical application of the general 
 principles to the varied and intricate trans- 
 actions of human life. It may be easily sup- 
 
 posed, that a task so difficult gave rise to 
 much discussion among the commissioners : 
 and as their Report, when fully weighed 
 among themselves, was again subjected to 
 the Council of State, before it was proposed 
 to the Legislative Body, it must be allowed, 
 that every means which could be devised 
 v.'ere employed in maturely considering and 
 revising the great body of national law, 
 which finally, under the name of the Code 
 Napoleon, was adopted by France, and con- 
 tinues, under the title of the Civil Code, to 
 be the law by which her subjects still pos- 
 sess and enforce their civil rights. 
 
 It would be doing much injustice to Na- 
 poleon, to suppress the great personal inter- 
 est, which, amid so many calls upon his 
 time, he nevertheless took in the labours of 
 the commission. He frequently attended 
 their meetings, or those of the Council of 
 State, in which their labours underv^xnt re- 
 vision ; and, though he must be supposed 
 entirely ignorant of the complicated system 
 of jurisprudence as a science, yet his acute, 
 calculating, and argumentative mind ena- 
 bled him, by the broad views of genius and 
 good sense, often to get rid of those subtle- 
 ties by which professional persons are occa- 
 sionally embarrassed ; and to treat as cob- 
 webs, difRculties of a technical or meta- 
 physical character, which, to the juriscon- 
 sults, had the appearance of bonds and fet- 
 ters. ,, 
 
 There were times, however, on the other 
 hand, when Napoleon was led, by the obvi- 
 ous and vulgar views of a question, to pro- 
 pose alterations which would have been fa- 
 tal to the administration of justice, and the 
 gradual enlargement and improvement of 
 municipal law. Such was liis idea, that ad- 
 vocates and solicitors ought only to be paid 
 in the event of the cause being decided in 
 favour of their client ; a regulation which, 
 had he ever adopted it, would have gone far 
 to close the gates of justice ; since, what 
 practitioner would have forfeited at once 
 one large portion of the means of his exist- 
 ence, and consented to rest the other upon 
 the uncertainty of a gambling transaction ? 
 A lawyer is no more answerable for not 
 gaining his cause, than a horse-jockey for 
 not winning the race. Neither can foretell 
 with any certainty the event of the struggltf^ 
 and each, in justice, can only be held liabje 
 for the utmost exertion of his skill and abili- 
 ties. Napoleon was not aware, that litiga- 
 tion is not to be checked by preventing 
 law-suits from coming into court, but by a 
 systematic and sage course of trying and de- 
 ciding points of importance, which, being 
 once settled betwixt two litigants, cannot, 
 in the same shape, or under the same cir- 
 cumstances, be again the subject of dispute 
 among others. 
 
 The Civil Code of Napoleon is accom- 
 panied by a code of procedure in civil cas- 
 es, and a code relating to commercial af- 
 fairs, which may be regarded as supplemen- 
 tal to the main body of municipal law. 
 There is, besides, a Penal Code, and a code 
 respecting the procedure against persons 
 accused under it. The whole forms a grand 
 system of jurisprudence, drawn up by the
 
 Chap LVI] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 475 
 
 most enlightened men of the age, having 
 access to all the materials which the past 
 and the present times afford ; and it is not 
 surprising that it should have been received 
 as a great boon by a nation, who, in some 
 sense, may be said, previous to its establish- 
 ment, to have been without any fixed or cer- 
 tain municipal law since the date of the 
 Revolution. 
 
 But, while we admit the full merit of the 
 Civil Code of France, we are under the ne- 
 cessity of observing, that the very symme- 
 try and theoretical consistency, which form 
 at first view its principal beauty, render it, 
 when examined closely, less fit for the ac- 
 tual purposes of jurisprudence, than a sys- 
 tem of national law, which, having never un- 
 dergone the same operation of compression, 
 and abridgment, and condensation, to which 
 that of France was necessarily subjected, 
 spreads through a multiplicity of volumes, 
 embraces an immense collection of prece- 
 dents, and, to the eye of inexperience, 
 seems, in comparison of the compact size 
 and regular form of the French Code, a 
 labyrinth to which no clue is afforded. It 
 is of the greater importance to give this sub- 
 
 1'ect some consideration, because it has of 
 ate been fashionable to draw comparisons 
 between the jurisprudence of England and 
 that of France, and even to urge the neces- 
 sity of new-modelling the former upon such 
 a concise and systematic plan as the latter 
 exhibits. 
 
 In arguing this point, we suppose it will 
 be granted, that that code of institutions is 
 the most perfect, which most effectually 
 provides for every difficult case as it emer- 
 ges, and therefore averts as far as possible 
 the occurrence of doubt, and, of course, of 
 litigation, by giving the most accurate and 
 certain interpretation to the general rule, 
 when applied to cases as they arise. Now, 
 in this point, which comprehends the very 
 essence and end of all jurisprudence, — the 
 protection, namely, of the rights of the 
 individual, — the English law is preferable 
 to the French in an incalculable degree ; 
 because each principle of English law has 
 been the subject of illustration for many 
 ages, by the most learned and wise judges, 
 acting upon pleadings conducted by the 
 most acute and ingenious men of each suc- 
 cessive age. This current of legal judg- 
 ments has been flowing for centuries, de- 
 ciding, as they occurred, every question of 
 doubt which could arise upon the applica- 
 tion of general principles to particular cir- 
 cumstances ; and each individual case, so 
 decided, fills up some point which was pre- 
 viously disputable, and, becoming a rule for 
 similar questions, tends to that extent to di- 
 minish the debateable ground of doubt and 
 argument with which the law must be sur- 
 rounded, like an unknown territory when it 
 is first partially discovered. 
 
 It is not the fault of the French juriscon- 
 sults, that they did not possess the mass 
 of legal authority arising out of a regular 
 course of decisions by a long succession 
 of judges competent to the task, and pro- 
 ceeding, not upon hypothetical cases sup- 
 posed by themselves, and subject only to 
 
 the investigation of their own minds, but 
 upon such as then actually occurred in 
 practice, and had been fully canvassed and 
 argued in open court. The French law- 
 yers had not the advantage of referring to 
 such a train of decisions ; each settling 
 some new point, or ascertaining and con- 
 firming some one which had been con- 
 sidered as questionable. By the Revolu- 
 tion the ancient French courts had been 
 destroyed, together with their records: 
 their proceedings only served as matter of 
 history or tradition, but could not be quo- 
 ted in support or explanation of a code 
 which had no existence until after their 
 destruction. The commissioners endeav- 
 oured, we have seen, to supply this defect 
 in their system, by drawing from their gen- 
 eral rules such a number of corollary prop- 
 ositions, as might so far as possible serve 
 for their application to special and particu- 
 lar cases. But rules, founded in imaginary 
 cases, can never have the same weight with 
 precedents emerging in actual practice, 
 where the previous exertions of the law- 
 yers have put the case in every possible 
 light, and where the judge comes to, the de- 
 cision, not as the theorist, whose opinion re- 
 lates only to an ideal hypothesis of his own 
 mind, but as the solemn arbiter of justice 
 betwixt man and man, after having attended 
 to, and profited by, the collision and con- 
 flict of opposite opinions, urged by those 
 best qualified to state and to illustrate them. 
 The value of such discussion is well 
 known to all who have experience of courts 
 of justice, where it is never thought sur- 
 prising to hear the wisest judge confess 
 that he came into court with a view of the 
 case at issue wholly different from that 
 which he was induced to form after having 
 given the requisite attention to the debate 
 before him. But this is an advantage 
 which can never be gained, unless in the 
 discussion of a real case ; and therefore the 
 opinion of a judge, given iota re cog^xita, 
 must always be a more valuable precedent, 
 than that which the same learned individu- 
 al could form upon an abstract and hypo- 
 thetical question. 
 
 It is, besides, to be considered, that the 
 most fertile ingenuity with which any legis- 
 lator can be endued, is limited within cer- 
 tain bounds ; and that when he has racked 
 his brain to provide for all the ideal cases 
 which his prolific imagination can supply, 
 it will be found that he has not anticipated 
 or provided for the hundredth part of the 
 questions which are sure to occur in ac- 
 tual practice. To make a practical appli- 
 cation of what we have stated, to the rela- 
 tive jurisprudence of France and England, 
 it may be remarked, that the Title V. of 
 the 1st Book of the Civil Code, upon the 
 subject of marriage, contains only one hun- 
 dred and sixty-one propositions respecting 
 the rights of parties, arising in different cir- 
 cumstances out of that contract, the most 
 important known in civilized society. If we 
 deduce from this gross amount, the great 
 number of rules which are not doctrinal, but 
 have only reference to the forms of pro- 
 cedure, the result will be greatly diminish-
 
 476 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 iChap.LVL 
 
 ed. The English law, on the other hand, be- 
 sides its legislative enactments, is guarded, 
 as appears from Roper's Index, by no less 
 than a thousand decided cases, or prece- 
 dents, each of which affords ground to rule 
 any other case in similar circumstances. 
 In this view, the certainty of the law of 
 England, compared to that of France, bears 
 the proportion rf ten to one. 
 
 It is, therefore, a vulgar, though a natural 
 and pleasing error, to prefer the simplicity 
 of an ingenious and philosophic code of ju- 
 risprudence, to a system which has grown 
 up with a nation, augmented with its wants, 
 extended according to its civilization, and 
 only become cumbrous and complicated, 
 because the state of society to which it ap- 
 plies has itself given rise to a complication 
 of relative situations, to all of which the 
 law is under the necessity of adapting it- 
 self. In this point of view, the Code of 
 France may be compared to a warehouse 
 built with much attention to architectural 
 uniformity, showy in the exterior, and 
 pleasing from the simplicity of its plan, but 
 too small to hold the quantity of goods ne- 
 essary to supply the public demand; while 
 the Common Law of England resembles 
 the vaults of some huge Gothic building, 
 dark indeed, and ill arranged, but contain- 
 ing an immense store of commodities, 
 which those acquainted with its recesses 
 seldom /ail to be able to produce to such 
 as have occasion for them. The practiques, 
 or adjudged cases, in fact, form a breakwa- 
 ter, as it were, to protect the more formal 
 bulwark of the statute law ; and although 
 they cannot be regularly jointed or dove- 
 tailed together, each independent decision 
 fills its space on the mound, and offers a 
 degree of resistance to innovation, and pro- 
 tection to the law, in proportion to its own 
 weight and importance. 
 
 The certainty of the English jurispru- 
 dence, (for, in spite of the ordinary opinion 
 to the contrary, it has acquired a compara- 
 tive degree of certainty,) rests upon the 
 multitude of its decisions. The views which 
 a man is disposed to entertain of his own 
 lights, under the general provisions of the 
 law, are usually controlled by some previ- 
 ous decision on the case ; and a reference 
 to precedents, furnished by a person of 
 skill, saves, in most instances, the expense 
 and trouble of a law-suit, which is thus sti- 
 fled in its very birth. If we are rightly in- 
 formed, the number of actions at common 
 law, tried in England yearly, does not ex- 
 ceed betwixt five-and-twenty and thirty on 
 an average, from each county ; an incredi- 
 bly small number, when the wealth of the 
 kingdom is considered, as well as the va- 
 rious and complicated transactions incident 
 to the advanced and artificial state of soci- 
 ety in which we live. 
 
 But we regard the multitude of prece- 
 dents in English law as eminently favour- 
 able, not only to the certainty of the law, 
 but to the liberty of the subject, and es- 
 pecially as a check upon any judge, who 
 might be disposed to innovate either upon 
 the rights or liberties of the lieges. If a 
 general theoretical maxim of law be pre- 
 
 sented to an unconscientious or partial 
 judge, he may feci himself at liberty, by 
 exerting his ingenuity, to warp the right 
 cause the wrong way. But if he is bound 
 down by the decisions of his wise and learn- 
 ed predecessors, that judge would be ven- 
 turous indeed, who should attempt to tread 
 a different and more devious path, than that 
 which is marked by the venerable traces of 
 their footsteps ; especially, as he well knows 
 that the professional persons around him, 
 who might be blinded by the glare of his 
 ingenuity in merely theoretical argument, 
 are perfectly capable of observing and con- 
 demning every departure from precedent.* 
 In such a case he becomes sensible, that, 
 fettered as he is by previous decisions, the 
 law is in his hands, to be administered in- 
 deed, but not to be altered or tampered 
 with ; and that if the evidence be read in 
 the court, there are and must be many pres- 
 ent, who know as well as himself, what 
 must, according to precedent, be the ver- 
 dict, or the decision. These are considera- 
 tions which never can restrain or fetter a 
 judge, who is only called upon to give his 
 own explanation of the general principle 
 briefly expressed in a short code, and sus- 
 ceptible therefore t)f a variety of interpreta- 
 tions, from which he may at pleasure se- 
 lect that which may be most favourable 
 to his unconscientious or partial purposes. 
 It follows, also, from the paucity of laws 
 afforded by a code constructed not by the 
 growth of time, but suggested by the inge 
 nuity of theorists suddenly called to the 
 task, and, considering its immense impor 
 tance, executing it in haste, that many pro- 
 visions, most important for the exercise of 
 justice, must, of course, be neglected in 
 the French Code. For example, the whole 
 law of evidence, the very key and corner- 
 stone of justice between man and man, has 
 been strangely overlooked in the French 
 jurisprudence. It is plain, that litigation 
 may proceed for ever, unless there be some 
 previous adjustment (called technically an 
 issue) betwixt the parties, at the sight of 
 the judge, tending to ascertaiAheir aver- 
 ments in point of fact, as also the relevancy 
 of those averments to the determination of 
 the cause. In England, chiefly during the 
 course of last century, the Law of Evidence 
 has grown up to a degree of perfection, 
 which has tended, perhaps more than any 
 other cause, at once to prevent and to 
 shorten litigation. If we pass from the civil 
 to the penal code of procedure in France, 
 the British lawyer is yet more shocked by 
 a course, which seems in his view totally 
 to invert and confound every idea which he 
 has received upon the law of evidence. 
 Our law, it is well known, is in nothing so 
 scrupulous as in any conduct towards the 
 prisoner, which may have the most indirect 
 tendency to entrap him into bearing evi- 
 dence against himself. Law sympathizes 
 
 * The intelligent reader will easily be aware, 
 that we mean not to say that every decision of 
 Iheir predecessors is necessarily binding on the 
 jiidges of the day. Laws themselves become obso- 
 lete, and so do the decisions which have maintain- 
 ed and enforced them.
 
 Chop. L VJ.] 
 
 in such a case with the frailties of humani- 
 ty, and, aware of the consequence which 
 judicial inquiries must always have on the 
 mind of the timid and ignorant, never push- 
 es the examination of a suspected person 
 farther than he himself, in the natural hope 
 of giving such an account of himself as may 
 procure his liberty, shall choose to reply to it. 
 
 In France, on the contrary, the whole 
 trial sometimes resolves into a continued 
 examination and cross-examination of the 
 prisoner, who is not only under the neces- 
 sity of giving his original statement of the 
 circumstances on which he founds his de- 
 fence, but is confronted repeatedly with 
 the witnesses, and repeatedly required to 
 reconcile his own statement of the case 
 with that which these nave averred. With 
 respect to the character of evidence, the 
 same looseness of practice exists. Xo dis- 
 tinction seems to be made between that 
 which is hearsay and that which is direct; 
 that which is spontaneously given, and that 
 which is extracted, or perhaps suggested, by 
 leading questions. All this is contrary to 
 what we are taught to consider as the es- 
 sence of justice towards the accused. The 
 use of the rack is, indeed, no longer admit- 
 ted to extort the confession, but the mode 
 of judicial examination seems to us a spe- 
 cies of moral torture, under which a timid 
 and ignorant, though innocent man, is very 
 likely to be involved in such contradictions 
 and inextricable confusion, that he may be 
 under the necessity of throwing away his 
 life by not knowing how to frame his defence. 
 
 We shall not protract these remarks on 
 the Code Napoleon ; the rather that we 
 must frankly confess, that the manners and 
 customs of a country make the greatest dif- 
 ference with respect to its laws, and that 
 a system may work well in France, and 
 answer all the purposes of jurisprudence, 
 which in England would be thought very 
 inadequate to tlie purpose. The humane 
 institution which allows the accused the 
 benefit of counsel, is a privilege which the 
 English law does not permit to the accused, 
 and may have its own weight in counter- 
 balancing some of the inconveniences to 
 which he is subjected in France. It seems 
 also probable, that tlie deficiencies in the 
 Code, arising from its recent origin and 
 compressed form, must be gradually reme- 
 died as in England, by the course of decis- 
 ions pronounced by intelligent and learned 
 judges ; and that what we now state as an 
 objection to the system, will gradually dis- 
 appear under the influence of time. 
 
 Considered as a production of human sci- 
 ence, and a manual of legislative sagacity, 
 the Code may challenge general admiration 
 for the clear and wise manner in which the 
 aiionis are drawn up and expressed. There 
 are but few peculiarities making a differ- 
 ence betwixt its principles and those of the 
 Roman law, which has in most contracts 
 claimed to be considered as the mother of 
 judicial regulation. The most remarkable 
 occurs, perhaps, in the articles regulating 
 what is called the Family Council ; a sub- 
 ject which does not seem of importance 
 ■ufGcient to claim much attention. 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUON.\PARTE. 
 
 Art 
 
 I The Civil Code being thus ascertained 
 1 provision was made for its regular admini»- 
 I tration by suitable courts ; the judges ot 
 which did not, as before the Revolution, 
 depend for their emoluments upon ffees 
 payable by the litigants, but were compen- 
 sated by suitable salaries at the expense of 
 the public. As France docs not supply that 
 class of persons who form what is called in 
 England the unpaid magistracy, the French 
 justices of peace received a small salary of 
 from 80 to 180 francs. Above them in rank 
 came judges in the first instance, whose 
 salaries amounted to 3000 francs at the ut- 
 most. The judges ofthe supreme tribunals 
 enjoyed about four or five thousand francs ; 
 and those ofthe High Court of Cassation 
 had not more than ten thousand francs, 
 which scarcely enabled them to live and 
 keep some rank in the metropolis. But, 
 though thus underpaid, the situation of the 
 i'rench judges was honourable in the eyes 
 ofthe country, and they maintained its char- 
 acter by activity and impartiality in their 
 judicial functions. 
 
 The system of juries had been introduced 
 in criminal cases, by the acclamation of the 
 Assembly, Buonaparte found them, how- 
 ever, scrupulously restive and troublesome. 
 There may be some truth in the charge, 
 that they were averse from conviction, 
 where a loop-hole remained for acquitting 
 the criminal ; and that many audacious 
 crimes remained unpunished, from the 
 punctilious view which the juries took of 
 their duty. But it was from other motives 
 than those ofthe public weal that Napoleon 
 made an early use of his power, for the pur- 
 pose of forniing special tribunals, invested 
 with a half-military character, to fry all swch 
 crimes as assumed a political complexion, 
 with power to condemn without the suffrage 
 of a jury. We have already alluded to this 
 infringement of the most valuable political 
 rights of the subject, in giving some ac- 
 count of the trials of Georges, Pichegru, 
 and Moreau. No jury would ever have 
 brought in a verdict against the latter, 
 whose sole crime was his communication 
 with Pichegru ; a point of suspicion cer- 
 tainly, but no proof whatever of positive 
 guilt. Political causes being out of the 
 field, the trial by jury was retained in the 
 French Code, so far as regarded criminal 
 questions ; and the general administration 
 of justice seems to have been very well cal- 
 culated for protecting the right, and punish- 
 ing that which is wrong. 
 
 The fiscal operations of Buonaparte were 
 those of which the subjects complained the 
 most, as indeed these are generally th^ 
 grievance to which the people in every 
 country arc the most sensible. High taxes 
 were imposed on the French people, ren- 
 dered necessary by the expenses of the gov- 
 ernment, whicii, with all its accompani- 
 ments, were very considerable ; and al- 
 though Buonaparte did all in his power to 
 throw the charge of the eternal wars which 
 he waged upon the countries which he ov- 
 erran or subdued, yet so far does the waste 
 of war exceed any emolument which tha 
 armed hand can wrest from the sufTerera
 
 478 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEOK BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chc^. LVl. 
 
 BO imperfecta proportion do the gains of the 
 victor bear to the losses of the vanquished, 
 that after all the revenue which was deriv- 
 ed from foreign countries, the continital 
 campaigns of the Emperor proved a con- 
 stant and severe drain upon the produce of 
 French industry. So rich, however, is the 
 soil of France, such is the extent of her re- 
 sources, such the patience and activity of 
 her inhabitants, that she is qualified, if not 
 to produce at once the large capitals which 
 England can raise upon her national credit, 
 yet to support the payment of a train of hea- 
 vy annual imposts for a much longer period, 
 and with less practical inconvenience. The 
 agriculture of France had been extremely 
 improved since the breaking up of the great 
 estates into smaller portions, and the abro- 
 gation of those feudal burdens which had 
 pressed upon the cultivators; and it might 
 be considered as flourishing, in spite of war 
 taxes, and, what was worse, the conscrip- 
 tion itself. Under a fixed and secure, 
 though a severe and despotic government, 
 property was protected, and agriculture re- 
 ceived the best encouragement, namely, the 
 certainty conferred on the cultivator of reap- 
 ing the crop which he sowed. 
 
 It was far otherwise with commerce, 
 which the maritime war, carried on so long 
 and with such unmitigated severity, had 
 very much injured, and the utter destruc- 
 tion of which was in a manner perfected by 
 Buonaparte's adherence to the continental 
 system. This, indeed, was the instrument 
 by which in the long run he hoped to ruin 
 the commerce of his rival, but the whole 
 weight of which fell in the first instance on 
 that of France, whose sea-ports showed no 
 other shipping save coasters and fishing- ves- 
 sels ; while the trade of Marseilles, Bour- 
 deaux, Nantes, and other great commercial 
 towns, had in a great measure ceased to ex- 
 ist. The government of the Emperor was 
 proportionally unpopular in those cities ; 
 and although men kept silence, because sur- 
 rounded by the spies of a jealous and watch- 
 ful despotism, their dislike to the existing 
 state of things could not entirely be con- 
 cealed. 
 
 On the other hand, capitalists, who had 
 sums invested in the public funds, or who 
 were concerned with the extensive and ben- 
 eficial contracts for the equipment and sup- 
 ply of Napoleon's large armies, with all the 
 numerous and influential persons upon 
 whom any part of the gathering in or expen- 
 diture of tlie public money devolved, were 
 necessarily devoted to a government, under 
 which, in spite of the Emperor's vigilance, 
 immense profits were often derived, even 
 after tliosc by whom they were made had 
 rendered to the ministers, or perhaps the 
 generals, by whom they were protected, a 
 due portion of the spoil. Economist and 
 calculator as he was, to a most superior de- 
 gree of excellence. Napoleon seems to have 
 been utterly unable, if he really sincerely 
 desired, to put an end to the peculations of 
 those whom he trusted with power. He fre- 
 quently, during his conversations at St. Hel- 
 ena, alludes to the venality and corruption 
 of such as he employed in the highest offi- 
 
 ces, but whose sordid practices seemed nev- 
 er to have occurred to him in the way of 
 objection to his making use of their talents. 
 Foucho, Talleyrand, and others, are thua 
 stigmatized ; and as we well know how long, 
 and upon how many diflerent occasions, he 
 employed those statesmen, we cannot but 
 supp<jse that whatever may have been his 
 sentiments as to the men, he was perfectly 
 willing to compound with their peculation, 
 in order to have the advantage of their abili- 
 ties. Even when practices of this kind 
 were too gross to be passed over, Napo- 
 leon's mode of censuring and repressing 
 them was not adapted to show a pure sense 
 of morality on his own part, or any desire to 
 use extraordinary rigour in preventing them 
 in future. Tliis conclusion we form l>ora 
 the following anecdote which he communi- 
 cated to Las Cases: — 
 
 Speaking of generals, and praising the dis- 
 interestedness of some, he adds, Massena, 
 Augereau, Bruiie, and others, were undaunt- 
 ed depredators. Upon one occasion, the 
 rapacity of the firstof these generals had ex- 
 ceeded the patience of the Emperor. His 
 mode of punishing him was peculiar. He 
 did not dispossess him of the command, of 
 which he had rendered himself unworthy 
 by such an unsoldier-like vice — he did not 
 strip tlie depredator by judicial sentence of 
 his ill-won gains, and restore them to those 
 from whom they were plundered — but, in 
 order to make tlie general sensible that he 
 had proceeded too far, Buonaparte drew a 
 bill upon the banker of the delinquent, for 
 the sum of two or three millions of francs, 
 to be placed to Mas.sena's debit, and the 
 credit of the drawer. Great was the embar- 
 rassment of the banker, who dared not re- 
 fuse the Imperial order, while he numbly 
 hesitated, that he could not safely honour it 
 without the autliority of his principal. " Pay 
 the money," was the Emperor's reply, 
 " and let Massena refuse to give you credit 
 at his peril." The money was paid accord- 
 ingly, and placed to that general's debit, 
 without his venturing to start any objections. 
 This was not punishing peculation, but par- 
 taking in its gains ; and the spirit of the 
 transaction approached nearly to that de- 
 scribed by Le Sage, where the Spanish min- 
 ister of state insists on sharing the bribes 
 given to his secretary. 
 
 Junot, in like manner, who, upon his re- 
 turn from Portugal, gave general scandal by 
 the display of diamonds, and other wealth, 
 which he had acquired in that oppressed 
 country, received from Buonaparte a friend- 
 ly hint to be more cautious in such exhibi- 
 tions. But liis acknowledged rapacity was 
 never thought of as a reason disqualifying 
 him for being presently afterwards sent to 
 the government of Illyria. 
 
 We are infos med in another of the Em- 
 peror's communications, that his Council of 
 State was of admir.ible use to him in the se- 
 vere inquisition wliich he was desirous of 
 making into the public accounts. The pro- 
 ceedings of this Star Chamber, and the fear 
 of being transmitted to the cognition of the 
 Grand Judge, usually brought the culprits to 
 cohaposition ; and when they had disgorged
 
 Chap. L V/.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 479 
 
 one, two, or three millions, the govern- 
 ment was enriched, or, according to Buona- 
 parte's ideas, the laws were satisfied.* The 
 truth seems to be, that Buonaparte, though 
 he contemned wealth in his own person, 
 was aware that avarice, which, after all, is 
 but a secondary and sordid species of ambi- 
 tion, is the most powerful motive to mean 
 and vulgar minds ; and he willingly advanc- 
 ed gold to those who chose to prey upon it, 
 80 long as their efforts facilitated his pos- 
 sessing and retaining the unlimited authori- 
 ty to which he had reached. In a country 
 where distress and disaster of every kind, 
 public and private, had enabled many to 
 raise large fortunes by brokerage and agio- 
 tage, a monied interest of a peculiar char- 
 acter was soon formed, whose liopes were 
 of course rested on the wonderful ruler, by 
 whose gigantic ambition new schemes of 
 speculation were opened in constant suc- 
 cession, and whose unrivalled talents seem- 
 ed to have found the art of crowning the 
 most difficult undertakings with success. 
 
 It might be thought that the manufactur- 
 ing interest must have perished in France, 
 ftom the same reasons which so strongly and 
 unfavourably afflicted the commerce of that 
 country. In ceasing to import, there must 
 indeed have been a corresponding diminu- 
 tion of the demand for goods to be exported, 
 whether these were tlie growth of the soil, 
 or the productions of French labour. Ac- 
 cordingly, this result had in a great degree 
 taken place, and there was a decrease to 
 a large amount in those goods which the 
 French were accustomed to export in ex- 
 change for the various commodities suppli- 
 ed to them by British trade. But, though 
 the real and legitimate stimulus to manufac- 
 tures had thus ceased, Napoleon had sub- 
 stituted an artificial one, which had, to a 
 certain extent, supplied the place of the 
 natural trade. We must remark, that Na- 
 poleon, practically and personally frugal, 
 was totally a stranger to the science of Po- 
 litical Economy. He never received oracl- 
 ed upon the idea, that a liberal system of 
 commerce operates most widely in diffusing 
 the productions which arc usually the sub- 
 jects of exchange, and in affording to every 
 country the greatest share of the bounties 
 of nature, or the produce of industry at the 
 easiest rates. On the contrary, he had pro- 
 ceeded to act against the commerce of Eng- 
 land, as, in a military capacity, he would 
 have done in regard to the water which sup- 
 plied a besieged city. He strove to cut it 
 ofT, and altogether to destroy it, and to sup- 
 ply the absence of its productions by such 
 substitutes as France could furnish. Hence, 
 the factitious encouragement given to the 
 French manufactures, not by the natural 
 demand of the country, but by the bounties 
 and prohibitions by which they were guard- 
 ed. Hence, the desperate efforts made to 
 produce a species of sugar from various sub- 
 stances, especially from the beet-root. To 
 this unnatural and unthrifty experiment, 
 Buonaparte used to attach so much conse- 
 quence, that a piece of the new composi- 
 
 * Las Casea, Tom. I. partie 2de, p. -270. 
 
 tion, which, with much time and trouble, 
 had been made to approximate the quality 
 of ordinary loaf-sugar, was preserved in a 
 glass-case over the Imperial mantle-piece ; 
 and a pound or two of beet-sugar, highly re- 
 fined, was sent to foreign courts, to illus- 
 trate the means by which Napoleon consol- 
 ed his subjects for the evils incumbent on 
 the continental system. No way of flatter- 
 ing or gratifying the Emperor was so cer- 
 tain, as to appear eager in supporting these 
 views ; and it is said that one of his gener- 
 als, when tottering in the Imperial good gra- 
 ces, regained the favour of his master, by 
 planting the whole of a considerable estate 
 with beetroot. In these, and on similar 
 occasions. Napoleon, in his eager desire to 
 produce the commodity desiderated, be- 
 came regardless of those considerations 
 which a manufacturer first ascertains when 
 about to commence his operations, namely, 
 the expense at which the article can be pro- 
 duced, the price at which it can be disposed 
 of', and its fitness for the market which it is 
 intended to supply. The various encour- 
 agements given to the cotton manufacturers, 
 and others, in France, by whicli it was de- 
 signed to supply the want of British goods, 
 proceeded upon a system equally illiberal 
 and impolitic. Still, however, the expen- 
 sive bounties, and forced sales, which the 
 influence of government afforded, enabled 
 these manufacturers to proceed, and furnish- 
 ed employment to a certain number of men, 
 who were naturally grateful for the protec- 
 tion which they received from the Empe- 
 ror. In the same manner, although no arti- 
 ficial jet-d'eau, upon the grandest scale of 
 expense, can so much refresh the face of 
 nature, as the gentle and general influence 
 of a natural shower, the former v.'ill never- 
 theless have the effect of feeding and nour- 
 ishing such vegetable productions as are 
 within the reach of its limited influence. It 
 was thus, that the efforts of Napoleon at en- 
 couraging arts and manufactures, though 
 proceeding on mistaken principles, produc- 
 ed, in the first instance, results apparently 
 beneficial. 
 
 We have already had occasion to observe 
 the immense public works which were un- 
 dertaken at the expense of Buonaparte's 
 government. Temples, bridges, and aque- 
 ducts, are, indeed, the coin with which 
 arbitrary princes, in all ages, have endeav- 
 oured to compensate for the liberty of 
 which the people are deprived. Such 
 monuments are popular v, ith the citizens, 
 because the enjoyment of them is common 
 to all, and the monarch is partial to a style 
 of expenditure promising more plausibly 
 than any other, to extend tljc memory of 
 liis present greatness far into the bosom of 
 futurity. Buonaparte was not. and could 
 not be, insensible to either of these mo- 
 tives. His mind was too much enlarged to 
 seek enjoyment in any of the ordinary ob- 
 jects of exclusive gratification; and un- 
 doubtedly , he who had done so much to die- 
 tinguish himself during his life above ordi- 
 nary mortals, must have naturally desired 
 th.it his public works should preserve hi^a 
 fame to futuie »ges Accoidingtv, he un
 
 480 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L VI. 
 
 dertook and executed some of tlie most 
 splendid labours of modern times. Tlie 
 road over the Simplon, and the basins at 
 Antwerp, may be always appealed to as 
 gigantic specimens of his public spirit. 
 
 On the other hand, as we have before hint- 
 ed, Napoleon sometimes aimed at producing 
 immediate effect, by proposals and plans 
 hastily adopted, as hastily decreed, and 
 given in full form to the government jour- 
 nal ; but which were either abandpned im- 
 mediately after having been commenced, 
 or perhaps, never advanced farther than 
 the plan announced in the Moniteur. Buo- 
 naparte's habits of activity, his powers of 
 deciding with a single glance upon most 
 points of either military or civil engineer- 
 ing, were liberally drawn upon to strike liis 
 Bubjects with wonder and admiration. Dur- 
 ing the few peaceful intervals of his reign, 
 his impatience of inaction found amuse- 
 ment in traversing, with great rapidity, and 
 often on the shortest notice, the various de- 
 partments in France. Travelling with in- 
 credible celerity, though usually accom- 
 panied by the Empress Josephine, he had 
 no sooner visited any town of consequence, 
 than he threw himself on horseback, and, 
 followed only by his aid-de-camp and his 
 mameluke Rustan, who with difficulty kept 
 him in view, he took a flying survey of the 
 place, its capacities of improvement, or the 
 inconveniences which attached to it. With 
 this local knowledge, thus rapidly acquired, 
 he gave audience to the municipal authori- 
 ties, and overwhelmed them very often 
 with liberal and long details concerning tiie 
 place rou^id which he had galloped for the 
 first time, but in which they had spent their 
 days, .\mazement at the extent and facili- 
 ty of the Emperor's powers of observation, 
 was thus universally excited, and his hints 
 v/ere recorded in the Moniteur, for the 
 admiration of France. Some public work, 
 solicited by the municipality, or suggested 
 by the enlightened benevolence of the Em- 
 peror himself, was then projected, but 
 which, in many, if not most cases, remain- 
 ed unexecuted ; the imperial funds not be- 
 ing in all circumstances adequate to the 
 splendour of Napoleon's undertakings, or, 
 which was the more frequent case, some 
 new absorbing war, or project of ambition, 
 occasioning exery other object of expendi- 
 ture to be postponed. 
 
 Even if some of Buonaparte's most mag- 
 nificent works of public splendour had 
 been completed, there is room to doubt 
 whether they would have been attended 
 with real advantage to hie power, bearing 
 he least proportion to the influence which 
 their grandeur necessarily produces upon 
 the imagination. We look with admira- 
 tion, and indeed with astonishment, on the 
 splendid dockyards of the Scheldt ; but had 
 they been accomplished, what availed the 
 building of first-rates, which France could 
 hardly find sailors to man ; which, being 
 manned, dared not venture out of the river j 
 or, hazarding themselves upon the ocean, 
 were sure to become the prizes of (he first 
 British men-of-war with whom they chanc- 
 ed to encounter? Almost all this profuse 
 
 expense went to the mere purposes of vain- 
 glory ; for more mischief would have been 
 done to British commerce, which Buona- 
 parte knew well was the assailable point, by 
 six privateers from Dunkirk, than all the 
 ships of the line which he could build at the 
 new and most expensive dock-yard of Ant- 
 werp, with Brest and Toulon to boot. 
 
 In such cases as these. Napoleon did, in 
 a most efficient manner, thatwhich he ridi- 
 culed the Directory for being unable to do 
 — he wrought on the imagination of the 
 French nation, which indeed had been al- 
 ready so dazzled by the extraordinary things 
 he had accomplished, that, had he promised 
 them still greater prodigies than were im- 
 plied in the magnificent works which he 
 directed to be founded, they might still 
 have been justified in expecting the per- 
 formance of his predictions. And it must 
 be admitted, looking around the city of 
 Paris, and travelling through the provinces 
 of France, tliat Buonaparte has, in the 
 works of peaceful grandeur^ left a stamp of 
 magnificence, not unworthy of the soaring 
 and at the same time profound spirit, 
 which accomplished so many wonders in 
 warfare. 
 
 The persona! and family life of Napoleon 
 was skilfully adapted to his pre-eminent 
 station. If he had foibles connected with 
 pleasure and passion, they were so careful- 
 ly veiled as to remain unknown to the 
 world — at If^ast, they were not manifested 
 by any. of those weaknesses which might 
 serve to lower the Emperor to the stamp 
 of common men. His conduct towards the 
 Empress Josephine was regular and exem- 
 plary. From their accession to grandeur 
 till the fatal divorce, as Napoleon once 
 termed it, they shared the privacy of tlio 
 same apartment, and tor many years par- 
 took the same bed. Josephine is said, in- 
 deed, to have given her husband, upon 
 whom she had many claims, some annoy- 
 ance by her jealousy, to which he patiently 
 submitted, and escaped the reproach thrown 
 on so many heroes and men of genius, that, 
 proof to every thing else, they are not so 
 against the allurements of female seduction. 
 VVhat amours he had were of a passing 
 character. No woman, excepting Jose- 
 phine and her successor, who exercised 
 their lawful and rightful influence, was ever 
 known to possess any power over him. 
 
 The dignity of his throne was splendidly 
 and magnificently maintained, but the ex- 
 pense was still limited by that love of or- 
 der which arose out of Buonaparte's pow- 
 ers of arithmetical calculation habitually 
 and constantly employed, and the trusting 
 to which, contributed, it may be. to that 
 external rogularity and decorum which he 
 always supported. In speaking of his own 
 peculiar taste. Buonaparte said that his fa- 
 vourite work was abook of logarithms, and 
 his choicest amusement was working out 
 the problems. The individual to whom the 
 Emperor made this singular avowal men- 
 tioned it with surprise to an officer ncir 
 his person, wljo assured him. that not only 
 did Napoleon amuse himself with arithme- 
 tical ciph'jrs, and the theory of conjputa-
 
 Chap. L VI.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 ^J'l 
 
 tion, but that he frequently brought it to 
 bear on his domestic expenses, and diverted 
 himself with comparing the price at which 
 particular articles were charged to him, 
 with the rate which they ought to have cost 
 at the fair market price, but which, for rea- 
 sons unnecessary to state, was in general 
 greatly exceeded. Las Cases mentions his 
 detecting sjch an overcharge in the gold 
 fringe which adorned one of his slate 
 apartments. A still more curious anec- 
 dote respects a watch which the most em- 
 inent artist of Paris had orders to finish with 
 his utmost skill, in a style which might be- 
 come a gift from the Emperor of France to 
 his brother the King of Spain. Before the 
 watch was out of the artist's hands, Napo- 
 leon received news of the battle of Vitto- 
 ria. " All is now over with Joseph," were 
 almost his first words after receiving the in- 
 telligence. " Send to countermand the or- 
 der for the watch."* 
 
 Properly considered, this anecdote indi- 
 cates no indifierence as to his brother's fate, 
 nor anxiety about saving a petty sum 5 it 
 was the rigid calculation of a professed ac- 
 countant, whose habits of accuracy induce 
 him to bring every loss to a distant balance, 
 however trivial the off-set may be. But al- 
 though the Emperor's economy descended 
 to minute trifles, we are not to suppose 
 that among such was its natural sphere. 
 On the contrary, in the first year of the 
 Consulate, he discovered and rectified an 
 error in the statement of the revenue, to 
 tne amount of no less than two millions of 
 francs, to the prejudice of the state. In 
 another instance, with the skill which only 
 a natural taste for calculation brought to 
 excellence by constant practice could have 
 attained, he discovered an enormous over- 
 charge of more than sixty thousand francs 
 in the pay-accounts of the garrison of Pa- 
 ris. Two such discoveries, by the head ma- 
 gistrate, must have gone far to secure regu- 
 larity in the departments in which they 
 were made, in future. 
 
 Attending to this remarkable peculiarity 
 throws much light on the character of 
 Buonaparte. It was by dint of his rapid 
 and powerful combinations that he suc- 
 ceeded as a general ; and the same laws of 
 calculation can be traced through much of 
 hi8 public and private life. 
 
 Tne palace charges, and ordinary expen- 
 ses of the Emperor, were completely and 
 aocurately re^rulated by his Imperial Ma- 
 
 i'esty's own calculation. He boasted to 
 lave so simplified the expenditure of the 
 ancient Kings of France, that his hunting 
 establishmeut, though maintained in the ut- 
 most splendour, cost a considerable sum less 
 than that of the Bourbons. But it must be 
 recollected, first, that Napoleon was free 
 from the obligation which subjected the 
 Boar'v.ons to the extravagant expenses which 
 attended the high appointments of their 
 household; secondly, that under the Im- 
 perial government, the whole establishment 
 
 • The watch, half completed, remained in the 
 haodi of the artist, and is now the property of the 
 Dtike of Wellington. 
 
 Vol. I. W 
 
 of falconry was abolished ; a sport which 
 is, in the opinion of many, more strikingly 
 ! picturesque and interesting than any other 
 I variety of the chase ; and which, as it infers 
 ; a royal expense, belongs properly to sovo 
 I reign princes. 
 
 j The Imperial court was distinguished not 
 I only by a severe etiquette, but the gran- 
 dees, by whom its principal duties were 
 discharged, were given to understand, 
 that the utmost magnificence of dress and 
 equipage was required from them upon 
 public occasions. It was, indeed, a sub- 
 ject of complaint amongst the servants of 
 the Crown, that though Buonaparte was in 
 many respects attentive to their interests, 
 gave them opportunities of acquiring wealth, 
 invested them with large donations and en- 
 dowments, and frequently assisted them 
 with an influence not easily withstood i;i 
 the accomplishment of advantageous mar- 
 riages ; yet still the gceat expenditure r.t 
 which they were required to support their 
 appearance at the Imperial court, prevented 
 their realizing any fortune which could pro- 
 vide effectually for their family. The ex- 
 pense Buonaparte loved to represent, ns a 
 tax which he made his courtiers pay to sup- 
 port the manufactures of France ; but it was- 
 extended so far as to show plainly, that, 
 determined as he was to establish his no- 
 bility on such a scale as to grace his court, 
 it was far from being his purpose to percut 
 them to assume any real power, or to form 
 an existing and influential bai-rier between 
 the crown and the people. The same in- 
 ference is to be drawn from the law of 
 France concerning succession in landed 
 property, which is in ordinary cases equal- 
 ly divided amongst the children of the de- 
 ceased ; a circumstance which must effect- 
 ually prevent the rise of great hereditary 
 influence. And although, for the support 
 of dignities granted by the Crown, and rn 
 some other cases, an entail of a portion of 
 the favoured person's estate, called-a Ma--^ 
 jorat, is permitteJ to follow the title, yet 
 the proportion is so small as to give no con- 
 siderable weight to those upon- whom it de- 
 volves. 
 
 The composition of Buonaparte's court 
 was singular. Amid his military Dukes 
 and Mareschals were mingled many de- 
 scendants of tlic old noblesse, who had 
 been struck out of the lists of emigration. 
 On these Buonaparte spread the cruel re- 
 proach, "1 offered them rank in wy arriu 
 — they declined the service; — 1 opened 
 my antichanibers to them — they rushed in 
 and filled them." In this \.h-: Emperor did 
 not do justice to the aneie.nt noblesse of 
 P'rance. A great many resumed tlieir nui- 
 ural situation in the military ranks of their 
 country, and a still greater number declin- 
 ed, in any capacity, to bend the knee to hi.ti 
 whom they could only consider :js a suc- 
 cessful usurper. 
 
 The ceremonial of theTuillerics was up- 
 on the most splendid scale, the public festi- 
 vals were held with the utmost magnifi- 
 cence, and the etiquette w;is of the most 
 strict and indefeasible character. To all 
 this Buonaparte himself Jttached conse-
 
 482 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L VI. 
 
 quencc, as ceremonies characterizing the 
 spirit and dignity of his government; and 
 he had drilled even his own mind into a 
 veneration for all those outward forms con- 
 nected with royalty, as accurately as if 
 Iney had been during his whole life the 
 special subject of his attention. There is a 
 curious example given by Monsieur Las 
 Cases. Buonaparte, in good-humoured tri- 
 fling, had given his tbllower the titles of 
 your highness, your lordship, and so forth, 
 amidst which it occurred to him, in a fit 
 of abstraction, to use the phrase, "Your 
 Majesty." The instant that the word, sa- 
 cred to his own ears, had escaped him, the 
 humour of frolic was ended, and he resum- 
 ed a serious tone, with the air of one who 
 feels that he his let his pleasantry trespass 
 upon an unbecoming and almost hallowed 
 subject. 
 
 There are many of Buonaparte's friends 
 and followers, bred, like himself, under the 
 influence of the Revolution, who doubted 
 the policy of his entering into such a strain 
 of imitation of the ancient courts of Europe, 
 and of his appearing anxious to emulate 
 them in the only points in which he must 
 .".ccessarUy fail, aa'^jquity and long observ- 
 ance giving to ancient usageS an effect up- 
 on the imagination, which could not pos- 
 sibly attach to the same ceremonial intro- 
 duced into a court of yesterday. These 
 would willingly have seen the dignity of 
 their master's court rested upon its real 
 nnd pre-eminent importance, and would 
 hive desired, that though Republican prin- 
 ciples were abandoned, something of the 
 severe and manly simplicity of Republican 
 manners should have continued to charac- 
 terize a throne whose site rested upon the 
 Revolution. The courtiers who neld such 
 'ipinions were at liberty to draw consola- 
 tion from the personal appearance and hab- 
 its of Napoleon. Amid the gleam of em- 
 broidery, of orders, decorations, and all 
 that the etiquette of a court demands to 
 render ceremonial at once accurate and 
 splendid, the person of the Emperor was to 
 be distinguished by his extreme simplicity 
 of dress and deportment. A plain uniform, 
 •with a hat having no other ornament than 
 a small three-coloured cockade, was the 
 ^Jr-^ss of him who bestowed all these gor- 
 ■geous decorations, and in honour of whom 
 these costly robes of ceremonial had been 
 exhibited. Perhaps Napoleon might be of 
 opinion, that a person under the common 
 size, and in his latter days somewhat cor- 
 pulent, was unfit for the display of rich 
 ■dresses; or it is more likely he desired to 
 intimate, that although he exacted from 
 others the strict observance of etiquette, 
 he held that the Imperial dignity placed 
 h>m above any reciprocal obligation towards 
 them. 
 
 Perhpps, also, in limiting his personal ex- 
 penses, and avoiding that of a splendid roy- 
 al wardrobe, Buonaparte mignt indulge that 
 love of calculation and order, which we 
 have noticed as a leading point of his char- 
 acter. But his utmost efforts could not car- 
 ry a similar spirit of economy among the fe- 
 male part of his Imperial family ; ood it may 
 
 be a consolation to persons of less conse 
 quence to know, that in tiiis respect the Em« 
 peror of half the world was nearly as pow-' 
 erless as they may feel themselves to be. 
 Josephine, with all her amiable qualities, 
 was profuse, after the general custom of 
 Creoles, and Pauline de Borghese was no, 
 less so. The efforts of Napoleon to limit 
 their expenses, sometimes gave rise to sin- 
 gular scenes. Upon one occasion, the Em- 
 peror found in company of Josephine a cer-. 
 tain milliner of high reputation and. equal^^ 
 expense, with whom he had discharged hial 
 wife to have any dealings. Incensed at; 
 this breach of his orders, he directed the 
 marchande des modes to be conducted tor 
 the Bicetre ; but the number of carriages 
 which brought the wives of his principal 
 courtiers to consult her in captivity, con- 
 vinced him that the popularity of the milli- ^ 
 ner was too powerful even for his Imperial 41 
 authority ; so he wisely dropped a conten- ■ 
 tion which must have seemed ludicrous to I 
 the public, and the artist was set at liberty, I 
 to charm and pillage the gay world of Paris I 
 at her own pleasure. 
 
 On another occasion, the irregularity of 
 Josephine in the article of expense, led to 
 an incident which reminds us of an anec- 
 dote in the history rf some Oriental Sultan. 
 A creditor of the Empress, become despe 
 rate from delay, stopped the Imperial ca 
 leche, in which the Emperor was leaving St. 
 Cloud, with Josephine by his side, and pre 
 sented his account, with a request of pay- 
 ment. Buonaparte did as Saladin woulc 
 have done in similar circumstances — he for 
 gave the man's boldness in consideration of 
 the justice of his claim, and caused the debt 
 to be immediately settled. In fact, while 
 blaming the expense and irregularity which 
 occasioned such demands, his sense of jus- 
 tice, and his family affection equally inclin- 
 ed him to satisfy the creditor. 
 
 The same love of order, as a ruling prin- 
 ciple of his government, must have render- 
 ed Buonaparte a severe censor of all public 
 breaches of the decencies of society. Pub- 
 lic morals are in themselves the accom- 
 plishment and fulfilment of all laws ; they 
 alone constitute a national code. Accord- 
 ingly, the manners of the Imperial court 
 were under such regulation as to escape 
 public scandal, if they were not beyond se- 
 cret suspicion.* In the same manner, 
 gambling, the natural and favourite vice of 
 a court, was not practised in that of Buona- 
 parte, who discountenanced high play by 
 every means in his power. But he suffered 
 it to be licensed to an immense and fright- 
 ful extent, by the minister of his police; 
 nor can we give him the least credit when 
 he affirms, that the gambling-houses which 
 paid such immense rents to Fouche, existed 
 without his knowledge. Napoleon's own 
 assertion cannot make us believe tiiathe. 
 was ignorant of the principal source ofreT* 
 
 * We again repeat, that we totaUy disl)elie*» 
 the gross infamies imputed to Napoleon within hit 
 own family, although sanctioned by the evidcnM 
 of tlie Memoirs of Fouche. Neither Buonapart«*i 
 propensities nor his faults were those of a ro|a^ 
 tuarjr.
 
 Chap. L VII.^ 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 483 
 
 enue which supported his police. He com- 
 pounded, on this as on other occasions, 
 with a good will, in consideration of the 
 personal advantage which he derived from it. 
 
 In the public amusements of a more gen- 
 eral kind, Buonaparte took a deep interest. 
 He often attended the theatre, though com- 
 monly in private, and without eclat. His 
 own taste, as well as political circumstan- 
 ces, led him to encourage the amusements 
 of the stage ; and the celebrated Talma, 
 whose decided talents placed him at the 
 head of the French performers, received, 
 as well in personal notice from the Empe- 
 ror, as through the more substantial medi- 
 um of a pension, an assurance, that the 
 kindness which he had shown in early youth 
 to the little Corsican student had not been 
 forgotten. The strictest care was taken 
 that nothing should be admitted on the stage 
 which could awaken feelings or recollec- 
 tions unfavourable to the Imperial Govern- 
 ment. When the acute wit of the Parisian 
 audience seized on some expression or inci- 
 dent which had any analogy to public affairs, 
 the greatest pains were taken, not only to 
 prevent the circumstance from recurring, 
 but even to hinder it from getting into gen- 
 eral circulation. This secrecy respecting 
 what occurred in public, could not be attain- 
 ed in a free country, but was easily accom- 
 plished in one where the public papers, the 
 general organs of intelligence, were under 
 the strict and unremitted vigilance of the 
 government. 
 
 There were periods when Buonaparte, in 
 order to gain the approbation and sympathy 
 of those who claim the exclusive title of 
 lovers of liberty, was not unwilling to be 
 thought the friend of liberal opinions, and 
 was heard to express himself in favour of 
 the liberty of the press, and other checks 
 upon the executive authority. To reconcile 
 his opinions (or rather what he threw out as 
 his opinions) with a practice diametrically 
 opposite, was no easy matter, yet he some- 
 times attempted it. On observing one or 
 two persons, who had been his silent and 
 surprised auditors on such an occasion, un- 
 able to suppress some appearance of incre- 
 dulity, he immediately entered upon his de- 
 fence. " I am," he said, " at bottom, and 
 naturally, for a fixed and limited govern- 
 ment. You seem not to believe me, per- 
 haps because you conceive my opinions and 
 practice are at variance. But you do not 
 consider the necessity arising out of persons 
 and circumstances. Were I to relax the 
 
 reins for an instant, you would see a gener- 
 al confusion. Neither you nor I, probably 
 would spend another night in the Tuille 
 ries." 
 
 Such declarations have often been found 
 in the mouths of those, who have seized up- 
 on an unlawful degree of authority over 
 their species. Cromwell was forced to dis- 
 solve the Parliament, though he besought 
 the Lord rather to slay him. State necessi- 
 ty is the usual plea of tyrants, by which 
 they seek to impose on themselves and oth- 
 ers ; and, by resorting to such an apology, 
 they pay that tribute to truth in their lan- 
 guage, to which their practice is in the 
 most decided opposition. But if there are 
 any to whom such an excuse may appear 
 valid, what can be, or must be, their senti- 
 ments of the French Revolution, which, in- 
 stead of leading to national liberty, equality, 
 and general happiness, brought the country 
 into such a condition, that a victorious sol- 
 dier was obliged, contrary to the conviction 
 of his own conscience, to assume the des- 
 potic power, and subject the whole empire 
 to the same arbitrary rules which directed 
 the followers of his camp 1 
 
 The press, at no time, and in no civilized 
 country, was ever so completely enchainod 
 and fettered as at this period it was in 
 France. The public journals were prohib- 
 ited from inserting any article of public 
 news which had not first appeared in the 
 Moniteur, the organ of government ; and 
 this, on all momentous occasions, was per- 
 sonally examined by Buonaparte himself. 
 Nor were the inferior papers permitted to 
 publish a word, whether in the way ofrs- 
 planation, criticism, or otherwise, which did 
 not accurately correspond with the tone- 
 observed in the leading journal. They 
 might, with the best graces of their elo- 
 quence, enhance the praise, or deepen the 
 censure, which characterized the leading 
 paragraph; but seizure of their paper, cen- 
 fiscation, imprisonment, and sometimes ex- 
 ile, were the unfailing reward of 5ny attempt 
 to correct what was erroneous in point of 
 fact, or sophistical in point of reasoninsi. 
 The Moniteur, therefore, was the sole guide 
 of public opinion ; and by his constant at- 
 tention to its contents, it is plain that Na- 
 poleon relied as much on its influence to di- 
 rect the general mind of the people of 
 France, as he did upon the power of his 
 arms, military reputation, and extensive re- 
 sources, to overawe the other nations of F.ik- 
 rope. 
 
 CHAP. I.VII. 
 
 Sf/tttm of Education introduced into France, by Napoleon. — National University — ilt 
 nature and objects. — Lyceums. — Proposed Establishment at Meudon. 
 
 Thb reputation of Buonaparte as a soldier, 
 wna the means which raised him to the 
 ImpeKal dignity ; and, unfortunately for 
 bimself, his ideas were so constantly asso- 
 ciated with war and victory, that peaceful 
 regulations of every kind were postponed, 
 u of inferior importance ; and thus war, 
 
 which in the eye of reason ought always, 
 even when most necessary and justifiable, 
 to be regarded as an extraordinary state in- 
 to v^hich a nation is plunged by compulsion, 
 was certainly regarded by Napoleon as al- 
 most the natural and ordinary condition of 
 humanity. He had been bred on the b-\t-
 
 484 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L VJJ. 
 
 tie-field, from which his glory first arose. 
 •'■ The earthquake voice of victory," accord- 
 ing to the expression of Britain's noble and 
 lost bard, '• was to him the breath of life." 
 And although his powerful mind was capa- 
 ble cf applying itself to all the various re- 
 lations of human affairs, it was with war 
 and desolation that he was most familiar, 
 and the tendency of his government ac- 
 cordingly bore an aspect decidedly mili- 
 tary. 
 
 The instruction of the youth of France 
 had been the subject of several projects 
 during the Republic ; which was the more 
 necessary, as the Revolution had entirely 
 destroyed all the colleges and seminaries 
 of public instruction, most of which were 
 more or less connected with the church, 
 and had left the nation almost destitute of 
 any public means of education. These 
 schemes were of course marked with the 
 wild sophistry of the period. In many 
 cases they failed in execution from want 
 of public encouragement ; in others, from 
 want of funds. Still, however, though no 
 fixed scheme of education had been adopt- 
 ed, and though the increasing vice and ig- 
 norance of the rising generation was suffi- 
 ciently shocking, there existed in France 
 two or three classes of schools for different 
 purposes; as indeed it is not to be sup- 
 posed that so great and civilized a nation 
 could, under any circumstances, tolerate a 
 total want of the means of educating their 
 youth. 
 
 The schemes to which we allude had 
 agreed in arranging, that each commune 
 (answering, perhaps, to our parish) should 
 provide a school and teacher, for the pur- 
 pose of communicating the primary and 
 most indispensable principles of education. 
 This plan had in a great measure failed, 
 •owing to the poverty of the communes on 
 whom the expense was thrown. In some 
 cases, however, the communes had found 
 funds for this necessary purpose ; and, in 
 others, the expense had been divided be- 
 twixt the public body, and the pupils who 
 received tlte benefit of the establishment. 
 So that these primary schools existed in 
 many instances, though certainly in a pre- 
 carious and languishing state. 
 
 The secondary schools were such as 
 qualified persons, or those who held them- 
 selves out as such, had established upon 
 speculation, or by the aid of private con- 
 tributions,^ for teachiag the learned and 
 modern languages, geography, and mathe- 
 matics. 
 
 There was besides evinced on the part 
 of the Catholic clergy, so soon as the Con- 
 cordat had restored them to some rank and 
 influence, a desire to resume the task of 
 public education, which, before the Revolu- 
 tion, had been chieHy vested in their hands. 
 Their seminaries had been supported by 
 the public with considerable liberality, and 
 being under the control of the bishop, and 
 destined chiefly to bring up young persons 
 intended for the church, they had obtained 
 ine name of Ecclesiastical Schools. 
 
 Matters were upon this footing when 
 Buonaparte brought forward his grand pro- 
 
 I ject of a National University, composed ol 
 I a Grand Master, a Chancellor, a treasurer, 
 ten counsellors for life, twenty counsellors 
 in ordinary, and thirty inspectors-general ; 
 I the whole forming a sort of Imperial coun- 
 j cil, whose supremacy was to be absolute 
 I on matters respecting education. All 
 teachers, and all seminaries of education 
 were subjected to the supreme authority 
 of the National University, nor could any 
 school be opened without a brevet or di- 
 ploma from the Grand Master, upon which 
 a considerable tax was imposed. It was in- 
 deed the policy of the government to di- 
 minish as far as possible the number of Sec- 
 ondary and of Ecclesiastical Schools, in 
 prder that the public education might be 
 conducted at the public seminaries, called 
 Lyceums, or Academies. 
 
 In these Lyceums the disciplme was 
 partly military, partly monastic. The mas- 
 ters, censors, and teachers, in the Lyce- 
 ums and Colleges, were bound to celibacy; 
 the professors might marry, but in that case 
 were not permitted to reside within the 
 precincts. The youth were entirely separat- 
 ed from their families, and allowed to cor- 
 respond with no one save their parents, and 
 then only through the medium, and under 
 the inspection, of the censors. The whole 
 system was subjected to the strict and > 
 frequent investigation of the University, j 
 The Grand Master might dismiss any per- f 
 son he pleased, and such a sentence of dis- 
 mission disqualified tjie party receiving it 
 from holding any civil employment. 
 
 In the general case, it is the object of a 
 place of learning to remove from the eyes 
 of youth that pomp and parade of war, by 
 which at an early age they are so easily 
 withdrawn from severe attention to their 
 studios. The Lyceums of Buonaparte 
 were conducted on a contrary principle ; 
 everything was done by beat of drum, all 
 the interior arrangements of the boys were 
 upon a military footing. At a period when 
 the soldier's profession held out the most 
 splendid prospects of successful ambition, 
 it was no wonder that young men soon 
 learned to look forward to it as the only 
 line worthy of a man of spirit to pursue. 
 Tlie devotion of the young students to the 
 Emperor, carefully infused into them by 
 their teachers, was farther excited by the 
 recollection, that he was their benefactor 
 for all the means of instruction afforded 
 them ; and tlius they learned from every 
 circumstance around them, that the first 
 •object of their lives was devotion to his 
 service, and that the service required of 
 them was of a military character. 
 
 There were in each Lyceum one hun- 
 dred and fifty exhibitions, or scholarships, 
 of which twenty were of value suflicient to 
 cover the student's full expenses, while, 
 tlie rest, of smaller amount, were calledj 
 half or three quarter bursaries, in which Ihej 
 pireiits or relations of the lad supplied al 
 portion of the charge. From these Lyce- 
 ums, two hundred and fifty of the most se- 
 lected youth were yearly draughted ioto 
 the more professional and special military 
 schools maintained by the Emperor ; and
 
 C.iap. L Vni.^ 
 
 LIFE OF XAPOLEOxN" BUO^.\PARTE. 
 
 485 
 
 to be included in this chosen number, was 
 th« prime object of every student. Thus, 
 everything induced the young men brought 
 up at these Lyceums, to look upon a mil- 
 iary life as the most natural and enviable 
 course they had to pursue ; and thus Buo- 
 naparte accomplished that alteration on the 
 existing generation, which he intimated, 
 when he said, " The clergy regard this 
 world as a mere diligence which is to con- 
 vey us to the next — it must be my business 
 to fill the public carriage with good recruits 
 for my army." 
 
 Of the whole range of national education, 
 that which was conducted at the Lyceums, 
 or central schools, was alone supported by 
 the state; and the courses there taught 
 were generally limited to Latin and mathe- 
 matics, the usual accomplishments of a 
 military academy. Undoubtedly Brienne 
 was in Napoleon's recollection ; nor might 
 he perhaps think a better, or a more enlarg- 
 ed course of education necessary for the 
 subjects of France, than that whicn had 
 advanced their sovereign to the supreme 
 government. But there was a deeper rea- 
 son in the limitation. Those who, under 
 another system of education, might have 
 advanced themselves to that degree of 
 knowledge which becomes influential upon 
 the mind of the public, or the fortunes of a 
 state, by other means than those of violence, 
 v?ere disqualified for the task by that which 
 they received in the Lyceums ; and the 
 gentle, studious, and peaceful youth, was 
 formed, like all the rest of the generation, 
 to the trade of war, to which he was proba- 
 bly soon to be called by the Conscription. 
 If the father chose to place his son at one 
 of the Secondary Schools, where a larger 
 sphere of instruction was opened, it was 
 BtiU at the risk of seeing the youth with- 
 dravm from thence and transfeired to the 
 nearest Lyceum, if the Directors of the 
 
 Academy should judge it necesscU-y for 
 the" encouragement of the schools which 
 appertained more properly to govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Yet, Napoleon appears to have been blind 
 to the errors of this system, or rather to 
 have been delighted with them, as tending 
 directly to aid his despotic views. " My 
 University," he was accustomed to say to 
 the very last, " was a master-piece of com- 
 bination, and would have produced the most 
 material effect on the public mind."" Ana 
 he was wont on such occasions to throw the 
 blame of its failure on Monsieur Fontanes, 
 the Grand Master, who, he said, afterwards 
 took merit with the Bourbons for having en- 
 cumbered its operation in some of its most 
 material particulars. 
 
 Buonaparte, it must be added, at a later 
 period, resolved to complete his system of 
 national education, by a species of Corinthi- 
 an capital. He proposed the establishment 
 of an institution at Meudon, for the educa- 
 tion of his son, the King of Rome, where he 
 was to be trained to the arts becoming a ru- 
 ler, in the society of other young princes 
 of the Imperial family, or the descendants 
 of the allies of Napoleon. This would have 
 been reversing the plan of tuition imposed 
 on Cyrus, -ind on Henry IV'., who were bred 
 up among the common children oft.'ie peas- 
 ants, that their future grandeur might not 
 too much or too early obscure the real views 
 of human nature and character. But it is 
 unnecessaryto speculate on a system which 
 never was doomed to be brought to experi- 
 ment : only, we may presume it was intend- 
 ed to teach the young Napoleon more re- 
 spect to the right of property which his 
 princely companions held in their toys and 
 playthings, than his father evinced towards 
 the crowns and sceptres of his brothers and 
 allies. 
 
 CHAP. LVIZI. 
 
 MUitary Details. — Plan of the Conseription — Its Nature— and Effects— Enforced loith 
 tttuparing rigour. — Its Influence upon the general Character of the French Soldiery. 
 — A'ieio mode of conducting Hostilities introduced by the Revolution. — Constitution 
 of the French Armies. — Forced Marches. — La Maraude — Its N'atttre — and Effects — on 
 Oie Enemy's Country, and on the French Soldiers themselves. — Policy of Napoleon, 
 in his personal conduct to his Officers and Soldiers. — Altered Character of the French 
 Soldiery during, and after, the Revolution— Explained. 
 
 "We have shown that the course of educa- 
 tion practised in France was so directed, as 
 to turn the thoughts and hopes of the youth 
 to a military life, and prepare them to obey 
 the call of the conscription. This means of 
 recruiting the military force, the most for- 
 midable ever established in a civilized na- 
 tion, was originally presented to the Coun- 
 cil of Five Hundred in 1793. It compre- 
 hended a series of lists, containing the 
 names of the whole youth of the kingdom, 
 from the age of twenty to twenty-five, and 
 empowering government to call them out 
 •occessively, in such numbers as the exi- 
 gencies of the state should require. The 
 
 classes w ere five in number. The first con- 
 tained those who were aged twenty years 
 complete, before the commencement of the 
 year relative to which the conscription was 
 demanded, and the same rule applied to the 
 other four classes of men, who had attained 
 the twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty- 
 third, twenty-fourth, and twenty-fifth years 
 successively, before the same period. In 
 practice, however, the second class of con- 
 scripts were not called out until the first 
 were actually in service, nor was it usual to 
 demand more than the first class in any one 
 year. But as the first class amounted tofiO 
 or 80,000, so forcible and general a levy prf-
 
 486 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. L Vm. 
 
 Bented immense facilities to the govern- 
 ment, and was proportionally burdensom'e 
 to the people. 
 
 This law, undoubtedly, has its gei eral 
 Drinciple in the duty which every one owes 
 to his country. Nothing can be more true, 
 than that all men capable of bearing arms 
 are liable to be employed in the defence of 
 the state ; and nothing can be more politic, 
 than that the obligation which is incumbent 
 upon all, should be, in the first instance, 
 imposed upon the youth, who are best quali- 
 fied for military service by the freshness of 
 their age, and whose absence from the ordi- 
 nary business of the country will occasion 
 the least inconvenience. But it is obvious, 
 that such a measure can only be vindicated 
 in defensive war, and that the conduct of 
 Buonaparte, who applied the system to the 
 conduct of distant offensive wars, no other- 
 wise necessary than for the satisfaction of 
 his own ambition, stands liable to the hea- 
 vy charge of having drained the very life- 
 blood of the people intrusted to his charge, 
 not for the defence of their own country, 
 but to extend the ravages of war to distant 
 and unoffending regions. 
 
 The French conscription was yet more 
 severely felt by the extreme rigour of its 
 conditions. No distinction was made be- 
 twixt the married man, whose absence 
 might be the ruin of his family, and the sin- 
 gle member of a numerous lineage, who 
 could be easily spared. The son of the 
 widow, the child of the decrepid and help- 
 less, had no right to claim an exemption. 
 TJiree sons might be carried off in three 
 successive years from the same desolated 
 parents ; there was no allowance made for 
 having already supplied a recruit. Those 
 unable to serve were mulcted in a charge 
 proportioned to the quota of taxes which 
 they or their parents contributed to the 
 state, and which might vary from fif'y to 
 twelve hundred francs. Substitutes might 
 indeed be offered, but then it was both dif- 
 ficult and expensive to procure them, as the 
 law required that such substitutes should 
 not only have the usual personal qualifica- 
 tions for a military life, but should be do- 
 mesticated within the same district as their 
 principal, or come within the conscription 
 of the year. Suitable persons were sure to 
 know their own value, and had learned so 
 well to profit by it, that they were not to be 
 bribed to serve without excessive bounties. 
 The substitutes also had the practice of de- 
 serting upon the road, and thu« cheated the 
 principal, who remained answerable for 
 them till they joined their colours. On the 
 whole, the difficulty of obtaining exemption 
 by substitution was so great, that very many 
 young men, well educated, and of respecta- 
 ble families, were torn from all their more 
 propitious prospects, to bear the life, dis- 
 charge the duties, and die the death, of 
 common soldiers in a marching regiment. 
 
 There was no part of Napoleon's govern- 
 ment enforced with such extreme rigour as 
 the levy of the conscriptions. The mayor, 
 upon whom the duty devolved of seeing the 
 number called for selected by lot from the 
 class to whom they belonged, was compel- 
 
 led, under the most severe penalties, to a- 
 void showing the slightest indulgence, — the 
 brand, the pillory, or the galleys awaited the 
 magistrate himself, if he was found to have 
 favoured any individuals on whom the law 
 of conscription had claims. The same law» 
 held out the utmost extent of their terrora 
 against refractory conscripts, and the public 
 functionaries were everywhere in search of 
 them. When arrested, they were treated 
 like convicts of the most infamous descrip* 
 tion. Clothed in a dress of infamy, loaded 
 with chains, and dragging weights which 
 were attached to them, they were'condenju* 
 ed like galley slaves to work upon the pub- 
 lic fortifications. Their relations did not 
 escape, but were often rendered liable for 
 fines and penalties. 
 
 But perhaps the most horrible part of 
 the f^ate of the conscript, was, that it was de* 
 termined for life. Two or three, even four 
 or five years spent in military service, might 
 have formed a n.ore endurable, though cer. 
 tainly a severe tax upon human life, with 
 its natural prospects and purposes. But the 
 conscription effectually and for ever chang- 
 ed the character of its victims. The yeuth, 
 when he left his father's hearth, was aware 
 that he was bidding it adieu, in all mortal 
 apprehension, for ever ; and the parents 
 who had parted with him, young, virtuous, 
 and ingenuous, and with a tendency, per- 
 haps, to acquire the advantages of educa- 
 tion, could only expect to see him again 
 (should so unlikely an event ever take place) 
 with the habits, thoughts, manners, and 
 morals, of a private soldier. 
 
 But whatever distress was inflicted on the 
 country by this mode of compulsory levy, 
 it was a weapon particularly qualified to 
 serve Buonaparte's purposes. He succeed 
 ed to the power which it gave the govern- 
 ment, amongst other spoils of the Revolu- 
 tion, and he used it to the greatest possible 
 extent. 
 
 The conscription, of course, comprehend- 
 ed recruits of every kind, good, bad, and in- 
 different ; but chosen as they were from the 
 mass of the people, without distinction, 
 they wero, upon the whole, much superior 
 to that description of persons among whom 
 volunteers for the army are usually levied 
 in other countries, which comprehends 
 chiefly the desperate, the reckless, the prof- 
 ligate, and those whose unsettled or viciooa 
 habits render them unfit for peaceful lire. 
 The number of young men of some educa- 
 tion who were compelled to serve in the 
 ranks, gave a tone and feeling to the French 
 army of a very superior character, and ex- 
 plains why a good deal of intellect and pow- 
 er of observation was often found amonOBt 
 the private sentinels. The habits of Uie 
 nation also being strongly turned towards 
 war, the French formed, upon the whole, 
 the most orderly, most obedient, most easi- 
 ly commanded, and best regulated troops, 
 that ever took the field in any age or coun- 
 try. In the long and protracted struggle of 
 battle, their fiery courage might sometimes 
 be exhausted before that of the determined 
 British ; but in all that respects the science, 
 practice, and usages of war, the French are
 
 Ckap.LVIlI.] LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 487 
 
 gonerally allowed to have excelled their 
 more stubborn, but less ingenious rivals. 
 They excelled especidly in the art of shift- 
 ing for themselves ; and it was one in which 
 the wars of Napoleon required them to be 
 peculiarly adroit. 
 
 The French Revolution first introduced 
 into Europe a mode of conducting hostili- 
 ties, which transferred almost the whole 
 biKden of the war to the country which had 
 the ill-fortune to be the seat of its opera- 
 tions, and rendered it a resource rather than 
 a drain to the successful belligerent. This 
 we shall presently explain. 
 
 At the commencement of a canfipaign, 
 nothing could be so complete as the arrange- 
 ment of a French army. It was formed in- 
 to large bodies, called cor/'s d'armees, each 
 commanded by a king, viceroy, mareschal, 
 or general officer of high pretensions, found- 
 ed on former services. Each corps d'armee 
 formed a complete army within itself, and 
 had its allotted proportion of cavalry, infan- 
 try, artillery, and troops of every descrip- 
 tion. The corps d'armee consisted of from 
 six to ten divisions, each commanded by a 
 general of division. The divisions, again, 
 were subdivided into brigades, of which 
 each, comprehending two or three regi- 
 ments, (consisting of two or more battal- 
 ions,) was commanded by a general of brig- 
 ade. A corps d'armee might vary in num- 
 ber from fifty to eighty thousand men, and 
 ipwards ; and the general of such a body 
 izercised the full military authority over it, 
 without the control of any one excepting 
 the Emperor himself. There were very 
 few instances of the Emperor's putting the 
 officers who were capable of this high 
 charge under command of each other ; in- 
 deed so very few, as might almost imply 
 ■ome doubt on his part, of his commands to 
 this effect being obeyed, had they been is- 
 sued. This system of dividing his collect- 
 ed forces into separate and nearly indepen- 
 dent armies, the generals of which were 
 each intrusted with and responsible for his 
 execution of some separate portion of an 
 immense combined plan, gave great celeri- 
 ty and efficacy to the French movements j 
 and, superintended as it was by the master 
 spirit which planned the campaign, often 
 contributed to the most brilliant results. 
 But whenever it became necessary to com- 
 bine two corps d'armee in one operation, it 
 required the personal presence of Napoleon 
 himself. 
 
 Thus organized, the French army v/as 
 poured into some foreign country by forced 
 marches, without any previous arrangement 
 of stores or magazines for their mainte- 
 nance, and with the purpose of maintaining 
 them solely at the expense of the inhabi- 
 tants. Buonaparte was exercised in this 
 system ; and the combination of great mass- 
 es, by means of such forced marches, was 
 one great principle of his tactics. This 
 •pecies of war was carried on at the least 
 possible expense of money to his treasury ; 
 DQt it was necessarily at the greatest possi- 
 ble expenditure of human life, and the in- 
 calculable increase of human misery. Na- 
 poleon's usual object waa to surprise the 
 
 enemy by the rapidity of his marches, de- 
 feat him in some great battle, and then 
 seize upon his capital, levy contributions, 
 make a peace with such advant.iges as he 
 could obtain, and finally return to Paris. 
 
 In these dazzling campaigns, the army 
 usually began their march with provisions, 
 that is, bread or biscuit, for a certain num- 
 ber of days, on the soldiers' backs. Cattle 
 also were for a time driven along with them, 
 and slaughtered as wanted. These articles 
 were usually provided from some large 
 town or populous district, in which the 
 troops might have been cantoned. The 
 horses of the cavalry were likewise loaded 
 with forage, for the consumption of two or 
 three days. Thus provided, the army set 
 forward on its expedition by forced march- 
 es. In a very short time the soldiers be- 
 came impatient of their burdens, and ei- 
 ther wasted them by prodigal consumption, 
 or actually threw them away. It was then 
 that the officers, who soon entertained just 
 apprehensions of the troops suSering scar- 
 city before another regular issue of provis- 
 ions, gave authority to secure supplies by 
 what was called la maraude, in other words, 
 by plunder. To ensure that these forced 
 supplies should be collected and distribut- 
 ed systematically, a certain number of sol- 
 diers from each company were despatched 
 to obtain provisions at the villages and 
 farra-liouses in the neighbourhood of the 
 march, or of the ground upon which the 
 army was encamped. These soldiers were 
 authorized to compel the inhabitants to de- 
 liver their provisions without receipt or pay- 
 ment 5 and such being their regular duty, it 
 may be well supposed that they did not con- 
 fine themselves to provisions, but exacted 
 money and articles of value, and committed 
 many other similar abuses. 
 
 It must be owasd, that the intellectual 
 character of the French, and the good-na- 
 ture which is the real ground of their nation- 
 al character, rendered their conduct more 
 endurable under the evils of this system than 
 could have been expected, provided always 
 that provisions were plenty, and the country 
 populous. A sortof order was then observ- 
 ed, even in the disorder of the maraude, and 
 pains were taken to divide regularly the 
 provisions thus irregularly obtained. The 
 general temper of the soldiery, when un- 
 provoked by resistance, made them not 
 wholly barbarous ; and their original good 
 discipline, the education which many had 
 received, with the habits of docility which 
 all had acquired, prevented them from 
 breaking up into bands of absolute banditti, 
 and destroying themselves by their own ir- 
 regularities. No troops except the French 
 could have subsisted in the same manner ; 
 for no other army is sufficiently under the 
 command of its officers. 
 
 But the most hideous features of this sys- 
 tem were shown when the army marched 
 through a thinly-peopled country, or when 
 the national character, and perhaps local 
 facilities, encouraged the natives and peas- 
 ants to offer resistance. Then the soldiers 
 became animated alike by the scarcity of 
 provisions, and irritated at the danger which
 
 488 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap.LVW. 
 
 they sometimes incurred in collecting them. 
 As their hardships increased, their temper 
 became relentless and reckless, and, be- 
 sides indulging in every other species of vi- 
 olence, they increased their own distresses 
 by destroying what they could not use. 
 Famine and sickness were not long of visit- 
 ing an army, which traversed by forced 
 marches a country exhausted of provisions. 
 These stern attendants followed the French 
 columns as they struggled on. Without 
 hospitals, and without magazines, every 
 straggler who could not regain his ranks fell 
 a victim to hunger, to weather, to \veari- 
 ness, to the vengeance of an incensed peas- 
 antry. In this manner, the French army 
 suffered woes, which, till these tremendous 
 wars, had never been the lot of troops in 
 hostilities carried on between civilized na- 
 tions. Still Buonaparte's object was gain- 
 ed ; he attained, amid these losses and sac- 
 rifices, and at the expense of them, the 
 point which he had desired ; displayed his 
 masses to the terrified eyes of a surprised 
 enemy ; reaped the reward of his despatch 
 i'l a general victory, and furnished new sub- 
 jects of triumph to the Moniteur. So much 
 lid he rely upon the celerity of movement, 
 ihat if an officer asked time to execute any 
 'f his commands, it was frequently his re- 
 jnarkable answer, — "Ask me for anything ex- 
 cept liins." That- celerity depended on the 
 uncompromising system of forced march- 
 es, without established magazines, and we 
 have described how wasteful it must have 
 been to human life. But when the battle 
 was over, the dead were at rest, and could 
 not complain ; the living were victors, and 
 soon forgot their sufferings ; and the loss of 
 the recruits who had been wasted in the 
 campaign, was supplied by another draught 
 upon the youth of France, in the usual 
 forms of the conscription. 
 
 Buonaparte observed, with respect to his 
 army, an adroit species of policy. His 
 mareschals, his generals, his officers of 
 high rank, were liberally honoured and re- 
 warded by him ; but he never treated them 
 with personal familiarity. The forms of 
 etiquette were, upon all occasions, strictly 
 maintained. Perhaps he was of opinion 
 that the original equality in which they had 
 stood with regard to each other, would have 
 been too strongly recalled by a more famil- 
 iar mode of intercourse. But to the com- 
 mon soldier, who could not misconstrue or 
 intrude upon his familiarity, Buonaparte 
 observed a different line of conduct. He 
 permitted himself to be addressed by them 
 on all suitable occasions, and paid strict at- 
 tention to their petitions, complaints, and 
 even their remonstrances. What they com- 
 plained of, was, in all instances, inquired 
 into and reformed, if the complaints were 
 just. After a battle, he was accustomed to 
 consult the regiments which had distin- 
 guished themselves, concerning the merits 
 of those who had deserved the Legion of 
 Honour, or other military distinction. In 
 these moments of conscious importance, 
 the sufferings of the whole campaign were 
 forgotten ; and Napoleon seemed, to the 
 -oldiery who srrrounded him, not as the 
 
 ambitious man who had dragged them from 
 their homes, to waste their valour in for- 
 eign fields, and had purchased victory at 
 the expense of subjecting them to every 
 privation, but as the father of the war. to 
 whom his soldiers were as children, ana to 
 whom the honour of the meanest private 
 was as dear as his own. 
 
 Every attention was paid, to do justice to 
 the claims of the soldier, and provide for his 
 preferment as it was merited. But with all 
 this encouragement, it was the remark of 
 Buonaparte himself, that the army no longer 
 produced, under the Empire, such distin- 
 guished soldiers as Pichegru, Kleber, Mo- 
 reau, Massena, Dessaix, Hoche, and he him- 
 self above all, who, starting from the ranks 
 of obscurity, like runners to a race, had as- 
 tonished the world by their progress. These 
 men of the highest genius, had been produc- 
 ed, as Buonaparte thought, in and by the fer- 
 vour of the Revolution ; and he appears to 
 have been of opinion, that, since things had 
 returned more and more into the ordinary 
 and restricted bounds of civil society, men 
 of the same high class were no longer cre- 
 ated. There is, however, some fallacy in 
 this statement. Times of revolution do 
 not create great men, but revolutions usual- 
 ly take place in periods of society when 
 great principles have been under discussion, 
 and the views of the young and of the old 
 hsve been turned, by the complexion of the 
 times, towards matters of grand and serious 
 consideration, which elevate the character 
 and raise the ambition. When the collision 
 of mutual violence, the explosion of the 
 revolution itself actually breaks out, it 
 neither does nor can create talent of any 
 kind. But it brings forth, (and in generu 
 destroys,) in the course of its progress, all 
 the talent which the predisposition to dis- 
 cussion of public affairs had already encour- 
 aged and fostered ; and when that talent has 
 perished, it cannot be replaced from a 
 race educated amidst the furies of civil war. 
 The abilities of the Long Parliament ceas- 
 ed to be seen under the Commonwealth, 
 and the same is true of the French Con- 
 vention, and the Empire which succeeded 
 it. Revolution is like a conflagration, which 
 throws temporary light upon the ornaments 
 and architecture of the house to which it at- 
 taches, but always ends by destroying them. 
 
 It is said also, probably with less authori- 
 ty, that Napoleon, even when surrounded by 
 those Imperial Guards, whose discipline 
 had been so sedulously carried to the nigh- 
 est pitch, sometimes regretted the want of 
 the old Revolutionary soldiers, whose war- 
 cry. " Vive la Republique !" identified each 
 individual with the cause which he main- 
 tained. Napoleon, however, had no cause 
 to regret any circumstance which referred 
 to his military power. It was already far 
 too great, and had destroyed the proper 
 scale of government in France, by givms 
 the military a decided superiortty over all 
 men of civil professions, while he himself, 
 with the habits and reasoning of a despotic 
 general, had assumed an almost unlimited 
 authority over the fairest part of Europe. 
 Over foreign countries, the military renown
 
 Chap. LIX] 
 
 LIFE OF INAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 489 
 
 of France streamed like a comet, inspiring departed from the earth for ever, and that 
 
 anivenal dread and distrust ; and, \vhilEt it 
 rendered indispensable similar preparations 
 for resistance, it seemed as if peace had 
 
 its destinies were hereafLer to be disposed 
 of according to the laws of brutal force 
 alone. 
 
 CHAP. Z.IX. 
 
 Effects of the Peace of Tilsit. — Napoleon's views of a State of Peace — Contratted with 
 those of England. — The Continental System — Its JVature — and Effects. — Berlin and 
 Milan Decrees. — British Orders in Council. — Spain — Retrospect of the Relations of 
 that Country \oith France since the Revolution. — Godoy — His Influence — Character 
 — and Political Views. — Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, applies to Napoleon for aid. 
 — Affairs of Portugal. — Treaty of Fontainbleau. — Departure of the Prince Regent 
 for Brazil. — Entrance ofJunot into Lisbon — his unbounded Rapacity. — Disturbances 
 at Madrid. — Ferdinand detected in a Plot against his Father, and imprisoned. — 
 King Charles applies to Napoleon. — lllly Policy of Buonaparte — Orders the French 
 Army to enter Spain. 
 
 The peace of Tilsit had been of that char- 
 acter, which, while it settled the points of 
 dispute between two rival monarchies, who 
 had found themselves hardly matched in 
 the conflict to which it put a period, left 
 both at liberty to use towards the nations 
 more immediately under the influence of 
 either, such a degree of discretion as their 
 newer enabled them to exercise. Such was 
 Napoleon's idea of pacification, which 
 amounted to this : — " I will work my own 
 pleasure with the countries over which my 
 power gives me not indeed the right, but the 
 authority and power; and you, my ally, 
 shall, in recompense, do what suits you in 
 the territories of other states adjoining to 
 you, but over which I have no such imme- 
 diate influence." 
 
 This was the explanation which he put 
 upon the treaty of Amiens, and this was 
 the species of peace which long afterwards 
 he regretted had not been concluded with 
 England. His regrets on that point were 
 expressed at a very late period, in language 
 which is perfectly intelligible. Speaking 
 of France and England, he said, " We have 
 done each other infinite harm — we might 
 have rendered each other infinite service by 
 mutual good understanding. If the school 
 of Foi had succeeded, we would have un- 
 derstood each other — there would only have 
 been in Europe one army and one fleet — 
 we would have governed the world — we 
 would have fixed repose and prosperity 
 everywhere, either by force or by persua- 
 sion. Yes — I repeat how much good we 
 might have done — how much evil we have 
 actually done to each otlier."' 
 
 Now the fundamental principle of such a 
 pacification, which Buonaparte seems to the 
 ▼ery last to have considered as the mutual 
 basis of common interest, was such as could 
 not, ought not, nay, dare not, have been 
 adoDted by any ministry which England 
 could have chosen, so lon<r as she possess- 
 ed a free Parliament. Her principle of 
 pacification must have been one that ascer- 
 tained the independence of other powers. 
 not which permitted her own agcrrossions, 
 «nd gave way to those of France. Her 
 wealth, strength, and happiness, do. and 
 must always, consist in the national inde- 
 -pendence of the states upon the continent. 
 Vol. I. VV'2 
 
 She could not, either with conscience 5r 
 safety, make peace with a usurping con- 
 queror, on the footing that she herself wjis 
 j to become a usurper in her turn. She has 
 ■ no desire or interest to blot out other na- 
 ' tions from the map of Europe, in order that 
 , no names may remain save those of Britain 
 I and France ; nor is she interested in de- 
 ' priving other states of their fleets, or of 
 j their armies. Her statesmen must disclaim 
 , the idea of governing the world, or a moiety 
 i of the world, and of making other nations 
 ' either happy or unhappy by force of arms. 
 I The conduct of England in 1814 and in 
 j 1815, evinced this honest and honourable 
 policy ; since, yielding much to others, she 
 could not be accused of being herself influ- 
 I enced by any views to extend her own do- 
 I minion, in the general confusion and blend- 
 ing which arose out of the downfall of the 
 external power of France. That, however, 
 is a subject for another place. 
 
 In the meanwhile, France, who, with 
 I Russia, had arranged a treaty of pacification 
 on a very different basis, was now busied m 
 gathering in the advantages which she ex- 
 pected to derive from it. In doing so, it 
 t seems to have been Buonaparte's principal 
 \ object so to consolidate and enforce what 
 I he called his Continental System, as ultit 
 I mately to root out and destroy the remain- 
 j ing precarious communications, which Eng.. 
 ' land, by her external commerce, continued 
 I to maintain with the nations of the conti- 
 1 nent. 
 
 To attain this grand object, the treaty of 
 I Tilsit and its consequences had given him 
 ' great facilities. France was his own — Hol- 
 land was under the dominion, nominally, o< 
 his brother Louis, but in a great measure at 
 his devotion. His brother Jerome was cs, 
 \ tablished in the kingdom of Westphalia. It 
 followed, therefore, in tho course of bis 
 brother's policy, that he was to form an al' 
 liance worthy of his new rank. It has been 
 already noticed that he had abandoned, by 
 his brother's command, Elizabeth Patersoii, 
 I daughter of a respectable gentleman of Bal- 
 1 timore, whom he had married in 1803. H<-- 
 j was now married at the Tuilleries to Frf<!- 
 j erica Catherine, daughter of the King of 
 I Wirtemberg. 
 I Prussia, and all the once free ports of th<>
 
 490 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chaj>. LIX. 
 
 Hanseatic League, were closed against Eng- 
 lish commerce, so far as absolute military 
 power could effect that purpose. Russia 
 was not so tractable in that important mat- 
 ter as the terms of the treaty of Tilsit, and 
 Napoleon's secret engagements with the 
 Czar, had led him to hope. But Alexander 
 was too powerful to be absolutely dictated 
 to in the enforcement of this anti-commer- 
 cial system ; and, indeed, the peculiar state 
 of the Russian nation might have rendered 
 it perilous to the Czar to enforce the non- 
 intercourse to the extent which Napoleon 
 would have wished. The large, bulky, and 
 heavy commodities of Russia, — hemp and 
 iron, and timber and wax, and pitch and na- 
 val stores — that produce upon which the 
 Boyards of the empire chiefly depended for 
 their revenue, would not bear the expense 
 of transportation by land j and England, in 
 full and exclusive command of the sea, was 
 her only, and at the same time her willing 
 customer. Under various illusory devices, 
 therefore, England continued to purchase 
 Russian commodities, and pay for them in 
 her own manufactures? in spite of the de- 
 crees of the French Emperor, and in defi- 
 ance of the ukases of the Czar himself j and 
 to this Buonaparte was compelled to seem 
 blind, as what his Russian ally could not, or 
 would not, put an end to. 
 
 The strangest struggle ever witnessed in 
 the civilized world began now to be main- 
 tained, betwixt Britain and those countries 
 who felt the importation of British goods as 
 a subject not only of convenience, but of 
 vital importance, on the one hand, and 
 France on the other ; whose ruler was de- 
 termined that on no account should Britain 
 either maintain intercourse with the conti- 
 nent, or derive the inherent advantages of a 
 free trade. The decrees of Berlin were 
 reinforced by others of the French Empe- 
 ror, yet more peremptory and more vexa- 
 tious. By a decree dated at Hamburgh, 
 Ilth December, and another promulgated at 
 Milan, 17th December 1807, Napoleon de- 
 clared Britain in a state of blockade — all na- 
 tions whatever were prohibited not only to 
 trade with her, but to deal in any articles 
 of British manufacture. Agents were nam- 
 od in every sea-port and trading town on 
 the part of Buonaparte. There was an or- 
 Jindnce that no ship should be admitted in- 
 to any of the ports of the continent without 
 certificates, as they were called, of origin ; 
 the purpose of which was to show that no 
 part of their cargo was of British produce. 
 These regulations were met bv others on 
 the part of Britain, called the Orders in 
 Council. They permitted all neutrals to 
 
 species of deception by which the real 
 character of the mercantile transaction 
 could be disguised. False papers, false en- 
 tries, false registers, were everywhere pro- 
 duced ; and such were the profits attending 
 the trade, that the most trusty and trusted 
 agents of Buonaparte, men of the highest 
 rank in his empire, were found willing to 
 wink at this contraband commerce, and ob- 
 tained great sums for doing so. All along 
 the sea-coast of Europe, this struggle was 
 keenly maintained betwixt the most power- 
 ful individual the world ever saw, and the 
 wants and wishes of the society which he 
 controlled — wants and wishes not the less 
 eagerly entertained, that they were direct- 
 ed towards luxuries and superfluities. 
 
 But it was chiefly the Spanish peninsula, 
 iu which the dominion of its ancient and 
 natural princes still nominally survived, 
 which gave an extended vent to the objects 
 of British commerce. Buonaparte, inaeed, 
 had a large share of its profits, since Portu- 
 gal, in particular, paid him great sums to 
 connive at her trade with England. But at 
 last the weakness of Portugal, and the total 
 disunion of the Royal Family in Spain, 
 suggested to Napoleon the thoughts of ap- 
 propriating to his own family, or rather to 
 himself, that noble portion of the conti 
 nent of Europe. Hence arose the Spani^^h 
 contest, of which he afterwards said in bit- 
 terness, " That wretched war was my ruin 
 — It divided my forces — multiplied the ne- 
 cessity of my efforts, and injured my char- 
 acter for morality." But could he expect 
 better results from a usurpation, executed 
 under circumstances of treachery perfectly 
 unexampled in the history of Europe ? Be- 
 fore entering, however, upon this new and 
 most important aera of Napoleon's history, 
 it is necessary hastily to resume some 
 account of the previous relations between 
 France and the Peninsula since the Revo- 
 lution. 
 
 Manuel de Godoy, a favourite of Charles 
 IV. and the paramour of his profligate 
 Queen, was at the time the uncontrolled 
 minister of Spain. He bore the title of 
 Prince of the Peace, or of Peace, as it was 
 termed for brevity's sake, on account of his 
 having completed the pacification of Basle, 
 which closed the revolutionary war be- 
 twixt Spain and Fra.ice. By the subse- 
 quent treaty of Saint Udephonso, he had 
 established an alliance, offensive and de- 
 fensive, betwixt the two countries, in con- 
 sequence of which Spain had taken from 
 time to time, without hesitation, every 
 step which Buonaparte's interested policy 
 recommended. But notwithstanding this 
 
 trade with countries at peace with Great subservience to the pleasure of the French 
 
 Britain, providing they touched at a British ruler, Godoy seems in secret to have nour- 
 
 port, and paid the British duties. Neutrals ished hopes of getting free of the French 
 
 were thus placed in a most undesirable pre- yoke ; and at the very period when th 
 
 dicament betwixt the two great contending Prussian war broke out, without any ne 
 
 powers. If they neglected the British Or- cessity which could be discovered, he sud- 
 
 dere in Council, they were captured by denly called the .Spanish forces to arms, 
 
 the cruizers of England, with which the sea 
 VAB covered. If they paid duties at British 
 jiorti, they were confiscated, if the fact 
 f.ould be discovered, on arrival at any port 
 •loder Fwnch influence. This led to every 
 
 addressing to them a proclamation of 
 boastful, and, at the same time, a mysteri- 
 ous character, indicating that the countrj 
 was in danger, and that some great exertion 
 was expected from the Spanish armies ii^
 
 Chap. LIX.] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 491 
 
 her behalf. Buonaparte received this proc- 
 lamation on the field of battle at Jena, and 
 is said to have sworn vengeance against 
 Spain. The news of tha*. great victory soon 
 altered Godoy's military attitude, and the 
 minister could find no better excuse for it, 
 than to pretend that he had armed against 
 an apprehended invasion of the Moors. 
 Napoleon permitted the circumstance to 
 remain unexplained. It had made him 
 aware of Godoy's private sentiments in 
 respect to himself and to France, if he had 
 before doubted them ; and though passed 
 over without farther notice, this hasty ar- 
 mament of 1806 was assuredly not dismiss- 
 ed from his thoughts. 
 
 In the state of abasement under which 
 vhey felt their government and royal fami- 
 ly to have fallen, the hopes and affections 
 of the Spaniards were naturally turned on 
 the heir-apparent, whose succession to the 
 crown they looked forward to as a signal for 
 better things, and who was well understood 
 to be at open variance with the all-power- 
 ful Godoy. The Prince of the .\sturias, 
 however, does not seem to have possessed 
 any portion of that old heroic pride, and 
 love of independence, which ought to have 
 marked the future King of Spain. He was 
 not revolted at the sway which Buonaparte 
 held in Europe and in Spain, and far from 
 desiring to get rid of the French influence, 
 he endeavoured to secure Buonaparte's fa- 
 vour for his own partial views, by an ofier 
 to connect his own interests in an indisso- 
 luble manner with those of Napoleon and [ 
 his dynasty, .\ssistedby some of tlie gran- 
 dees, who were most especially tired of , 
 Godoy and his administration, the Prince | 
 wrote Buonaparte a secret letter, express- i 
 ing the highest esteem for his person ; in- , 
 timating the condition to which his father, j 
 whose too great goodness of disposition i 
 had been misguided by wicked counsellors, ; 
 had reduced the flourishing kingdom of | 
 Spain ; requesting the counsels and support i 
 of the Emperor Napoleon, to detect the ! 
 schemes of those perfidious men •, and en- I 
 treating, that, as a pledge of the paternal ■ 
 protection which he solicited, the Emperor ■ 
 would grant him the honour of allying him i 
 with one of his relations. 
 
 In this manner the heir-apparent of 
 Spain threw himself into the arms, or, more 
 properly, at the feet of Napoleon ; but he 
 did not meet the reception he had hoped 
 for. Buonaparte was at this time engaged 
 in negotiations with Charles W., and with 
 that very Godoy whom it was the object of 
 the Prince to remove or ruin ; and as they 
 could second his views with .ill the re- 
 maining forces of Spain, while Prince Fer- 
 dinand was in possession of no actual pow- 
 er or authority, the former were for the 
 time preferable' allies. The Prince's offer, 
 as what might be useful on some future oc- 
 casion, was for the present neither accept- 
 ed nor refused. Napoleon was altogether 
 •ilent. The fate of the Royal Family was 
 thus in the hands of the Stranger. Their 
 fate was probably already determined. But 
 before expelling the Bouroons from Spain, 
 
 I Napoleon judged it most politic to u^o 
 their forces in subduing Portugal. 
 
 The flower of the Spanish army, consiai- 
 , ing of sixteen thousand men, under tiie 
 Marquis de la Romana, had been mareinjil 
 into the north of Europe, under the cliarac- 
 I ter of auxiliaries of I- ranee. .Vnother de- 
 tachment had been sent to Tuscany, com- 
 manded by O'Farrel. So far the kingdom 
 was weakened by the absence of her own 
 best troops ; the conquest of Portugal was 
 to be made a pretext for introducing the 
 French army to dictate to the whole Pe- 
 ninsula. 
 
 Portugal was under a singularly weak 
 government. Her army was ruined ; the 
 soul and spirit of her nobility was lost ; 
 her sole hope for continuing in existence, 
 under the name of an independent kingdom, 
 rested in her power of purchasing the 
 clemency of France, and eome belief that 
 Spain would not permit her own territo- 
 ries to be violated for the sake of anni- 
 hilating an unofiending neighbour and ally. 
 
 Shortly after the treaty of Tilsit, the 
 Prince Regent of Portugal was required, 
 by France and Spain jointly, to shut his 
 ports against the English, to confiscate the 
 property of Britain, and to arrest the per- 
 sons of her subjects wherever they could 
 be found within his dominions. The 
 Prince reluctantly acceded to the first part 
 of this proposal ; the last he peremptorily 
 refused, as calling upon him at once to vio- 
 late the faith of treaties and the rights of 
 hospitality. And the British merchants re- 
 ceived intimation, that it would be wisdom 
 to close their commercial concerns, ail9 
 retire from a country which had no longer 
 the means of protecting them. 
 
 In the meantime, a singular treaty was 
 signed at Fontainbleau, for the partition of 
 itip ancient kingdom of Portugal. By this 
 agreement, a regular plan was laid for in- 
 vading Portugal with French and Spanish 
 armies, accomplishing the conquest of the 
 country, and dividing it into three parte. 
 The northern provinces were to form a 
 small principality for the King of Etruria 
 (who was to cede his Italian dominions to 
 Napoleon ;) another portion'was to be given 
 in sovereignty to Godoy, with the title of 
 King of the .\lgarves ; and a third was to 
 remain in sequestration till the end of the 
 war. By the treaty of Fontainbleau, Na- 
 poleon obtained two important advantages ; 
 the first, that Portugal should be conquer- 
 ed ; the second, that a great part of tho 
 Spanish troops should be employed on the 
 expedition, and their native country thus 
 deprived of their assistance. It is impossi- 
 ble to believe that he ever intended Godoy, 
 or the King of Etruria, should gain any- 
 thing by the stipulations in their behalf 
 
 Ju°not, one of the most grasping, extrava- 
 gant, and profligate of the French generaU-, 
 a man whom Buonaparte himself has sti|.'- 
 matized as a monster of rapacity, was »p 
 pointed to march upon Lisbon, and intrubt- 
 ed with the charge of rpconciling to the yoke 
 of the invaders, a nation v.ho had neither 
 provoked war, nor attempted reaiaUnce
 
 492 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 
 
 [Chap. LIX. 
 
 Two additional armies, consisting partly 
 of French and partly of Spaniards, supported 
 the attack of Junot. A French army, 
 amounting to 40,000 men, was formed at 
 Bayonne, in terms of the treaty of Fontain- i 
 bleau, destined, it was pretended, to act as j 
 an army of reserve, in case the English | 
 should land troops for the defence of Por- ( 
 tugal, but which, it had been stipulated, was I 
 on no account to enter Spain, unless such a 
 crisis should demand their presence. It 
 will presently appear what was the true 
 purpose of this army of reserve, and under 
 what circumstances it was really intended 
 to enter the Spanish territory. 
 
 Meantime Junot advanced upon Lisbon 
 with such extraordinary forced marches, as 
 Yery much dislocated and exhausted his ar- 
 my. But this was of the less consequence, 
 because, aware that he could not make an 
 effectual resistance, the Prince Regent had 
 determined that he would not, by an inef- 
 fectual show of defence, give the invaders 
 a pretext to treat Portugal like a conquered 
 country. He resolved at this late hour to 
 comply even with the last and harshest of 
 the terms dictated by France and Spain, by 
 putting the restraint of a register on British 
 subjects and British property ; but he had 
 purposely delayed compliance, till little 
 was left that could be affected by the meas- 
 ure. The British Factory, so long domicili- 
 ated at Lisbon, had left the Tagus on the 
 18th of October, amid the universal regret 
 of the inhabitants. The British resident 
 minister, Lord Strangford, although feeling 
 compassion for the force under which the 
 Prince Regent acted, was, nevertheless, un- 
 rter the necessity of considering these un- 
 friendly steps as a declaration against Eng- 
 land. He took down the British arms, de- 
 parted from Lisbon accordingly, and went 
 on board Sir Sidney Smith's squadron, then 
 lying off the Tagus. The Marquis of Mal- 
 rialva was then sent as an ambassador extra- 
 ordinary, to state to the courts of France 
 and Spain, that the Prince Regent had com- 
 plied with the whole of their demands, and 
 to request that the march of their forces 
 upon Lisbon should be countermanded. 
 
 Junot and his army had by this lime 
 crossed the frontiers of Portugal, entering, 
 he said, as the friends, allies, and protectors 
 of the Portuguese, come to save Lisbon from 
 the fate of Copenhagen, and relieve the in- 
 habitants from the yoke of the maritime ty- 
 rants of Europe. He promised the utmost 
 good discipline on the part of his troops, 
 while, at the same time, the constant plun- 
 der and exactions of the French were em- 
 bittered by wanton scorn and acts of sacri- 
 lege, which, to a religious people, seemed 
 peculiarly horrible. Nothing, however, re- 
 tarded the celerity of his march ; for he 
 was well aware that it was his master's 
 most anxious wish to seize the persons of 
 the Portuguese Royal Family, and especial- 
 ly that of the Prince Regent. 
 
 But the Prince, although his general dis- 
 position was gentle and compromising, had. 
 on this occasion, impressions not unworthy 
 of the heir of Braganza. He had determin- 
 ed that he would not kiss the dug' it the 
 
 feet of the invader, or be made captive to 
 enhance his triumph. The kingdom of Por- 
 tugal had spacious realms beyond the At- 
 lantic, in which its royal family might seek 
 refuge. The British ambassador offered 
 every facility which her squadron could af- 
 ford, and, as is now known, granted the 
 guarantee of Great Britain, that she would 
 acknowledge no government which the in- 
 vaders might establish in Portugal, to the 
 prejudice of the House of Braganza. The 
 Prince Regent, with the whole royal fami 
 ly, embarked on board the Portuguese ves- 
 sels of the line, hastily rigged out as they 
 were, and indifferently prepared for sea ; 
 and thus afforded modern Europe, for the 
 first time, an example of that species of 
 emigration, frequent in ancient days, when 
 kings and princes, expelled from their na- 
 tive seats by the strong arm of violence, 
 went to seek new establishments in distant 
 countries. The royal family embarked* 
 amid the tears, cries, and blessings of the 
 people, from the very spot whence \'asco de 
 Gama loosened his sails, to discover for 
 Portugal new realms in the East. The 
 weather was as gloomy as were the actors 
 and spectators of this affecting scene ; and 
 the firmness of the Prince Regent was ap- 
 plauded by the nation which he was leaving, 
 aware that his longer presence might have 
 exposed himself to insult, but could have 
 had no effect in ameliorating their own fate. 
 
 Junot, within a day's march of Lisbon, 
 was almost frantic with rage when he heard 
 this news. He well knew how much liie 
 escape of the Prince, and the resolution he 
 liad formed, would diminish the lustre of 
 his own success in the eyes of his master. 
 Once possessed of the Prince Regent's per- 
 son, Buonaparte had hoped to get him to 
 cede possession of the Brazils ; and trans- 
 marine acquisitions had for Napoleon all the 
 merit of novelty. The empire of the House 
 of Braganza in the new world, was now ef- 
 fectually beyond his reach ; and his general, 
 thus far unsuccessful, might have some rea- 
 son to dread the excess of his master's dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Upon the first of December, exhausted 
 with their forced marches, and sufficiently 
 miserable in equipment and appearance, the 
 French vanguard ipproached the city, and 
 their general might see the retreating sails 
 of the vessels which deprived him of so 
 fair a portion of his prize. Junot, however, 
 was soon led to resume confidence in hie 
 own merits. He had been connected with 
 Buonaparte ever since the commencement 
 of his fortunes, which he had faithfully fol- 
 lowed. Such qualifications, and his having 
 married a lady named Comnene, who affirm- 
 ed herself to be descended from the blood 
 of the Greek emperors, was sufficient, he 
 thought, to entitle him to expect the vacant 
 throne of Lisbon from the hand of his mas- 
 ter, In the mean time, he acted as if al- 
 ready in possession of supreme power. He 
 took possession of the house belonging to 
 the richest merchant in the city, and al- 
 though he received twelve hundred cn»- 
 
 •97th Noveinfer, 1807.
 
 Cht^. LIX] 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 493 
 
 eadoes a month for his table, he compelled 
 his landlord to be at the whole expense of 
 his establishment which was placed on the 
 most extravagant scaiC of splendour. His 
 inferior officers took the hint, nor were the 
 soldiers slow in following the example. The 
 extortions and rapacity practised in Lisbon 
 seemed to leave all former excesses of the 
 French army far behind. This led to quar- 
 rels betwixt the French and the natives ; 
 blood was shed ; public executions took 
 place, and the invaders, proceeding to re- 
 duce and disband the remnant of tiie Portu- 
 guese army, showed their positive inten- 
 tion to retain the kingdom under their own 
 exclusive authority. 
 
 This purpose was at last intimated by an 
 official documentor proclamation, issued by 
 Junot under Buonaparte's orders. It de- 
 clared, that, by leaving his kingdom, the 
 Prince of Brazil had in fact abdicated the 
 sovereignty, and that Portugal, having be- 
 come a part of the dominions of Napoleon, 
 should, for the present, be governed by the 
 French General- in-chief, in name of the 
 Emperor. The French flag was according- 
 ly displayed, the arms of Portugal every- 
 where removed. The property of the 
 Prince Regent, and of all who had followed 
 him, was sequestrated, with a reserve in fa- 
 vour of those who should return before the 
 15th day of February, the proclamation be- 
 ing published upon the nrst day of that 
 month. The next demand upon the unhap- 
 py country, was for a contribution of forty 
 millions of crusadoes, or four millions and a 
 half sterling; which, laid upon a population 
 -of something less than three millions, came 
 to about thirty shillings a-head; while the 
 share of the immense numbers who could 
 pay nothing, fell upon the upper and mid- 
 dling ranks, who had still some property re- 
 maining. There was not specie enough in 
 the country to answer the demand ; but 
 plate, valuables, British goods, and colonial 
 produce, were received instead of money. 
 Some of the French officers turned jobbers 
 ia these last articles, sending them off to 
 Paris, where they were sold to advantage. 
 Some became money-brokers, and bought 
 up paper-money at a discount. So little 
 does the profession of arms retain of its dis- 
 interested and gallant character, when its 
 professors become habituated and accus- 
 tomed depredators. 
 
 Tlie proclamation of 2d February, vesting 
 the government of Portugal in General Ju- 
 not, as the representative of the French 
 Empire, seemed entirely to abrogate the 
 treaty of Fontainbleau, and in fact really 
 did so, except ai? to such articles in favour 
 of Napoleon, as he himself chose should re- 
 main in force. .\s for tlie imaginary prince- 
 dom of Algarves, with which Godoy was to 
 have been invested, no more was ever said 
 or thought about it : nor was he in any con- 
 dition to assert his claim to it, however for- 
 mal the stipulation. 
 
 While the French were taking possession 
 of Portugal, one of those scandalous scenes 
 took place in the royal family at Madrid, 
 which are often found to precede the fall of 
 X ibaken throne 
 
 We have already mentioned the discon- 
 tent of the Prince of Asturias with his father, 
 or rather his father's minister. We bav« 
 mentioned that he had desired to ally him- 
 self with the family of Buonaparte, in order 
 to secure his protection, but that the Empe- 
 ror of France had given no direct encour- 
 agement to his suit. Still, a considerable 
 party, headed by the Duke del Infantado, 
 and the Canon Escoiquiz, who had been the 
 Prince's tutor, relying upon the general 
 popularity of Ferdinand, seem to have un- 
 dertaken some cabal, having for its object 
 probably the deposition of the old King and 
 the removal of Godoy. The plot was dis- 
 covered j the person of the Prince was se- 
 cured, and Charles made a clamorous appeal 
 to the justice of Napoleon, and to the 
 opmion of the world. He stated that the 
 purpose of the conspirators had been aimed 
 at his life, and that of his faithful minister : 
 and produced, in support of this unnatural 
 charge, two letters from Ferdinand, address- 
 ed to his parents, in which he acknowledges 
 (in general terms) having failed in duty to 
 his father and sovereign, and says, " that he 
 has denounced his advisers, professes re- 
 pentance, and craves pardon." The reality 
 of this alTair is not easily penetrated. That 
 there had been a conspiracy, is more than 
 probable ; the intendeo parricide was prob- 
 ably an aggravation, of which so weak a man 
 as Charles IV'. might be easily convinceil 
 by the arts of his wife and her paramour. 
 
 So standing matters in that distracted 
 house, both father and son appealed to Buo- 
 naparte, as the august friend and ally of 
 Spain, and the natural umpire of the dis- 
 putes in Its royal family. But Napoleon 
 nourished views which could not be served 
 by giving either party an effectual victorj 
 over the other. He caused his ambassador. 
 Beauharnois, to intercede in favour of the 
 Prince of Asturias. Charles IV. and his 
 minister were alarmed and troubled at find- 
 ing his powerful ally take interest, even to 
 this extent, in behalf of his disobedient son. 
 They permitted themselves to allude to the 
 private letter from the Prince of Asturias to 
 Napoleon, and to express a hope that the 
 Great Emperor would not permit a rebel- 
 lious son to shelter himself^ by an alliance 
 with his Imperial family. The touching 
 this chord was what Buonaparte desired. It 
 gave him a pretext to assume a haughty, 
 distant, and offended aspect towards the 
 reigning King, who had dared to suspect 
 him of bad faith, and had mentioned with 
 less than due consideration the name of » 
 lady of the Imperial house. 
 
 Godoy was terrified at the interpretation 
 put upon the remonstrances made by him- 
 self and his master, by the awful arbiter of 
 their destiny. Izquierdo, the Spanish am- 
 bassador, was directed to renew hia appU- 
 cations to the Emperor, for the especial 
 
 Eurpose of assuring him that a match with 
 is family would be in the highest degree 
 acceptable to the King of Spain. Charles 
 wrote with his own hand to the same pur- 
 pose. But it was Napoleon's policy to 
 appear haughty, distant, indifferent, and of- 
 fended ; and to teach the contending fatlker
 
 494 
 
 LIFE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
 
 [Chap. UX. 
 
 and son. who both looked to him as their 
 judge, the painful feelings of mutual sus- 
 pense. In the mean time, a new levy of 
 the conscription put into his hands a fresh 
 army ; and forty thousand men were station- 
 ed at Bayonne, to add weight to his media- 
 tion in the affairs of Spain. 
 
 About this period, he did not hesitate to 
 avow to the ablest of his counsellors, Tal- 
 leyrand and Fouche, the resolution he had 
 formed, that the Spanish race of the House 
 of Bourbons should cease to reign. His 
 plan was opposed by these sagacious states- 
 men, and the opposition on the part of Tal- 
 leyrand is represented to have been obsti- 
 nate. At a later period, Napoleon found it 
 more advantageous to load Talleyrand with 
 the charge of being his adviser in the war 
 with Spain, as well as in the tragedy of the 
 Due d'Enghien. In Fouche's Memoirs, 
 there is an interesting account of his con- 
 versation with the Emperor on that occa- 
 sion, of which we see room fully to credit 
 the authenticity. It places before us, in a 
 striking point of view, arguments for and 
 against this extraordinary and decisive mea- 
 sure. " Let Portugal take her fate," said 
 Fouch6, " she is, in fact, little else than an 
 English colony. Butthat King of Spain has 
 given you no reason to complain of him ; he 
 has been the humblest of your prefects. 
 Besides take heed you are not deceived in 
 the disposition of the Spaniards. You have 
 a party amongst them now, because they 
 look on you as a great and powerful poten- 
 tate, a prince, and an ally. But you ought 
 to be aware that the Spanish people possess 
 no part of the German phlegm. They are 
 attached to their laws ; their government ; 
 their ancient customs. It would be an er- 
 ror to judge of the national character by 
 that of the higher classes, which are there, 
 as elsewhere, corrupted, and indifferent to 
 their country. Once more, take heed you 
 do not convert, by such an act of aggression, 
 a submissive and' useful tributary kingdom, 
 into a second La Vendee." 
 
 Buonaparte answered these prophetic re- 
 marks, by observations on the contemptible 
 character of the Spanish government, the 
 imbecility of the King, and the worthless 
 character of the minister ; the common 
 people, who might be influenced to oppose 
 nim by the monks, would be dispersed, he 
 •aid, by one volley of cannon. " The stake 
 I play for is immense — I will continue in 
 my own dynasty the family system of the 
 Bourbons, and unite Spain for ever to the 
 destinies of France. Remember that the 
 ■un never sets on the immense Empire of 
 Charles V." 
 
 Fouche urged another doubt ; whether, 
 if the flames of opposition should grow vio- 
 lent in Spain, Russia might not be encour- 
 aged to resume her connexion with England, 
 
 and thus place the Empire of Napoleon be- 
 twi.xt two fires 7 This suspicion Buonaparte 
 ridiculed as that of a minister of police, 
 whose habits taught him to doubt the very 
 existence of sincerity. The Emperor of 
 Russia, he said, was completely won over, 
 and sincerely attached to him. Thus, 
 warned in vain of the wrath and evil to 
 come, Napoleon persisted in his purpose. 
 
 But, ere yet he pounced upon the tempt- 
 ing prey, in which form Spain presented 
 herself to his eyes, Napoleon made a hurri- 
 ed expedition to Italy. This journey had 
 several motives. One was, to interrupt his 
 communications with the royal family of 
 Spain, in order to avoid being pressed to ex- 
 plain the precise nature of his pretensions, 
 until he was prepared to support them by 
 open force. Another was, to secure the ut- 
 most personal advantage which could be ex- 
 tracted from the treaty of Fontainbleau, be- 
 fore he threw that document aside like 
 waste paper ; it being his purpoio that it 
 should remain such, in so far as its stipula- 
 tions were in behalf of any others than him- 
 self. Under pretext of this treaty, he ex- 
 pelled from Tuscany, or Etruria, as it was 
 now called, the widowed Queen of that ter- 
 ritory. She now, for the first time, learn- 
 ed, that by an agreement to which she was 
 no party, she was to be dispossessed of her 
 own original dominions, as well as of those 
 which Napoleon himself had guaranteed to 
 her, and was informed that she was to re- 
 ceive acompensation in Portugal. This in- 
 creased her affliction. •' She did not de- 
 sire," she said, '■ to share the spoils of any 
 one, much more of a sister and a friend." 
 Upon arriving in Spain, and having recourse 
 to her parent, the King of Spain, for redress 
 and explanation, she had the additional in- 
 formation, that the treaty of Fontainbleau 
 was to be recognised as valid, in so far as it 
 deprived her of her territories, but was not 
 to be of any effect in as far as it provided 
 her with indemnification. At another time, 
 or in another history, this would have been 
 dwelt upon as an aggravated system of vio- 
 lence and tyranny over the unprotected. 
 But the far more important affairs of Spain 
 threw those of Etruria into the shade. 
 
 After so much preparation behind the 
 scenes, Buonaparte now proposed to open 
 the first grand act of the impending drama. 
 He wrote from Italy to the King of Spain, 
 that he consented to the proposal which he 
 had made for the marriage betwixt the 
 Prince of Asturias and one of his kinswo- 
 men ; and having thus maintained to the 
 last the appearances of friendship, he gave 
 orders to the French army lying at Bayonne 
 to enter Spain on different points, and to 
 possess themselves of tlie strong fortresses 
 by which the frontier of that kingdom it 
 defended. 
 
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