# Napoleon (O'Connor 1896)/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
THE ESTIMATE OF AN OFFICIAL
So much for the estimate of Napoleon by an enemy and by a friend. Let us now take the more impartial estimate of a somewhat frigid official. While ready to do full justice to Napoleon's extraordinary genius as an administrator, Chancellor Pasquier had not Méneval's gift of admiration. Before giving those portions of Pasquier's memoirs which deal with Napoleon, I shall quote several passages of Pasquier's early life partly because they are intensely interesting in themselves, and partly because they help one to understand the secret of Napoleon's long tenure of power, by describing the anarchic con ditions to which his undisputed authority put an end.
I.
THE PASQUIER DYNASTY.
The Pasquiers had been a family of officials for generations. They belonged to that curious and ​hereditary race of judicial officers, which is a peculiarity of French official life. Young Pasquier, born in 1767, seemed destined to follow in the same track as his ancestors to pass from office to office, from salary to salary through all the well-ordered gradations which belong to such a class. But even in his early years he found himself surrounded by the signs of the coming strife. His mother, for instance, had passed, like other people, under the spell of the new gospel, preached by Jean Jacques Rousseau. Like so many other great ladies of the period, she had succeeded in obtaining an interview with that rather morose and shy philosopher by bringing him some music to copy, and it was under the influence of Rousseau that young Pasquier, while still an infant, was sent half naked into the garden of the Tuileries; "the result of this system," is his melancholy comment, "was to make me one of the most chilly of mortals."
II.
THE OLD REGIME.
The Pasquiers had been able to acquire a pleasant country place near Le Mans, and we have several delightful glimpses of their career of prosperous public employment, and of what the old life of the provinces used to be before the storm burst. For instance, here is a very instructive picture of that ​kind of prelate who helped to make life agreeable for those who were prosperous, and still more intolerable to those who were at the other end of the social scale:
"The bishopric of Le Mans was one of those most coveted. Its revenues were considerable; the episcopal palace was a very fine one, which had, as a dependency, a charming country seat about one league distant from the town. This seat had for some time been occupied by prelates of high birth, grave men who scrupulously fulfilled the duties of their holy ministry. Upon its becoming vacant in the last years of the reign of Louis XV., it was given to the Abbé Grimaldi, a young ecclesiastic, the scion of a great house, distinguished by his agreeable personality, his intellect, and his remarkably graceful manner. A very pleasant companion, he showed himself capable of a devoted friendship to those whom he honoured by selecting as his friends, and he proved his judgment by the choice of the vicars-general with whom he surrounded himself. They were, generally speaking, younger sons whom fortune had not favoured much, and who had entered the Church merely as a way to a happier condition of affairs. While on terms of friendship with them during the years he spent at the Seminary of Saint-Sulpice, he had promised to summon them to his side as soon as he should be a bishop. He made good his promise, ​and on his arrival at Le Mans, he was accompanied by a flock of vicars-general, who set the bishopric on a footing entirely different from that to which the people had hitherto been accustomed. They contracted acquaintances in the various social circles, specially attaching themselves to those with whom they could enter into the most agreeable relations. The bishop viewed this life of excitement, if not with a complacent, at least with a very indulgent eye. His pastoral excursions through his diocese were few and far between, and long did he tarry in the châteaux where he found society to his taste."
III.
PARIS BEFORE THE STORM.
I will pass over M. Pasquier's account of those conflicts between the old Parliament of Paris and the Court which were among the first heralds of the Revolution; I go on to quote a passage which is remarkable, though I do not think it can be correct. One of the disputed points in French history and in French political life to this hour, is the state of France before the Revolution. One can easily see why Conservatives are ready to proclaim that the country was progressing; while the Radical, who dates human progress from 1789, should draw just as black pictures of the ante-Revolutionary times. M. Pasquier was a Conservative, with certain Liberal leanings; and to that extent one must take his account as somewhat partial: but still here is his description, for what it is worth, of the appearance of Paris just before the breaking of the storm. The interest of the picture is largely enhanced by the contrast it suggests between Paris and its aristocracy in the days which preceded and those which followed the outbreak of the storm:
"I saw the splendours of the Empire. Since the Restoration I see daily new fortunes spring up and consolidate themselves; still, nothing so far has in my eyes equalled the splendour of Paris ​during the years which elapsed between 1783 and 1789. Magnificent residences stood then in the Marais quarter and in the He Saint-Louis. What is the Faubourg Saint-Germain of to-day compared with the Faubourg Saint-Germain of that period? And then with regard to outdoor luxury, let those who can remember a field day or a race day at Longchamps, or merely the appearance of the boulevard, ask themselves if the stream of equipages with two, four, or six horses, all vying in magnificence, and closely packed together at these places of rendezvous, did not leave far behind the string of private or livery coaches, among which appear a few well-appointed turn-outs, that are to be seen in the same localities nowadays?"
Similarly, Pasquier holds that the exactions of the Crown, and the abuses of power, were much exaggerated; and summing up the answer to the question, "Whence came that passion for reform, that desire to change everything?" he says, "it was due rather to a great stirring up of ideas than to actual sufferings.," a statement I can hardly think correct. It is a statement, besides, in direct conflict with Taine, another very strong Conservative writer, one of whose points against the Revolution is the invasion of Paris by hordes of hungry and desperate men. Hungry and desperate men do not rush to a metropolis merely because there is "a great stirring up of ideas."
IV.
THE TAKING OF THE BASTILLE.
You will get some idea of all the momentous and picturesque sights which Pasquier saw, from this simple beginning of one of the chapters in his book: "I was present at the taking of the Bastille." His account differs very materially from that which one has formed in one's mind of that historic day. It makes the whole affair rather a playful and light burlesque than a hideous and portentous tragedy. Here is what M. Pasquier says:
"What has been styled the fight was not serious, for there was absolutely no resistance shown. Within the stronghold's walls were neither provisions nor ammunition. It was not even necessary to invest it.
"The Regiment of Gardes Françaises, which had led the attack, presented itself under the walls on the Rue Saint-Antoine side, opposite the main entrance, which was barred by a drawbridge. There was a discharge of a few musket-shots, to which no reply was made, and then four or five discharges from the cannon. It had been claimed that the latter broke the chains of the drawbridge. I did not notice this, and yet I was standing close to the point of attack. What I did see plainly was the action of the soldiers, the invalides, or ​others grouped on the platform of the high tower, holding their musket-stocks in air, and expressing by all means employed under similar circumstances their desire of surrendering.
"The result of this so-called victory, which brought down so many favours on the heads of the so-called victors, is well known. The truth is that this great fight did not for a moment frighten the numerous spectators who had flocked to witness its result. Among them were many women of fashion, who, in order to be closer to the scene, had left their carriages some distance away."
V.
THE GIRONDISTS.
Pasquier saw the arrival of the Girondists in Paris; and it is interesting and pathetic to read his account of the hopes with which these men entered on their duties, when one knows how most of them ended on the guillotine. Pasquier had a friend in the Revolutionary party, a M. Ducos, and M. Ducos induced him to remain to breakfast with his fellow deputies from the Gironde. This breakfast is very different from the last supper of the Girondists with which history is familiar—the supper before the wholesale execution of the group:
"All of them were intoxicated with visions of future successes, and they did not take the trouble ​of hiding from me, although I had been introduced to them as an out-and-out Royalist, if not their plans, at least their ideas, which were of the Republican order. I was none the less struck with their madness. The eloquence of Vergniaud made itself felt even in the course of ordinary conversation, and it seemed to me destined to become the most formidable weapon of the party whose cause he was embracing."
VI.
THE ADVANCE OF THE STORM.
One of the curious things brought out in these Memoirs, is the strength of the hold the King and Queen had on many sections of the population, even at the moment when they were steadily advancing to their doom. Taine has proved pretty conclusively that the Jacobins, at the moment when they captured supreme power in the State, were in a minority; Pasquier's testimony tends to confirm this.
Here, for instance, is a scene in which the Queen figured:
"During these last months, I saw the unfortunate Queen at a performance of Italian opera, greeted with the cheers of a society audience which was eager to give her such small consolation. I saw this audience go wild when Madame Dugazon sang with Mermier the 'Evènements ​imprèvus' duo, which ends with the following words, 'Oh, how I love my master! Oh, how I love my mistress!' And upon her return to the Tuileries, there were those who did not hesitate to tell her that she had just listened to a genuine expression of the feelings of her subjects towards her."
Pasquier plainly shows that indecision was one of the main causes of the downfall of the Throne. For instance, there was no proper preparation for defending the Tuileries, though there were plenty of gallant young men ready to die in defending the entrance to the palace. Pasquier himself was of the number, and he gives a very vivid though brief picture of the dangers of the period by the following anecdote:
"The King had still at his disposal a regiment of the Swiss Guards and a few battalions of the National Guard, whose loyalty was undoubted. These ready means of defence were increased by a number of devoted followers, to whom free access to the château had been granted, and who had firmly resolved to make a rampart of their bodies in defence of the Royal Family.
"Together with the Prince de Saint-Maurice I resolved upon joining this faithful band. On the morning of August 9th we wrote to M. de Champcenetz to ask him for cards of admission. They had not reached us by evening, and during the night between August 9th and 10th we made several ​vain attempts to get into the château, which was then being threatened. If I make a note of this fact it is not because of its actual importance, but because of a couple of circumstances pertaining thereto, one of which was of a fatal nature, while the other was fortunate to a degree. The card which I had asked for on August 9th reached me by the local post two days later, when all was over. How was it that it should have been so long delayed in transmission without being intercepted? How was it that it did not then bring about my arrest? It was a piece of good luck which I have never been able to explain. Fate was not equally kind to the Prince de Saint-Maurice. His readiness to serve the King had no other result than mine, with the exception that his card did not reach him, and that he never discovered any trace of it. He lost his head on the scaffold, under the accusation of having been one of the defenders of the Tuileries."
VII.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
The following picture gives even a more vivid glimpse of the perils which every friend of the Old Order ran at this period. It took place after the King had been compelled to take refuge in the Assembly:
"The inevitable consequences of this event were a fearful state of confusion and an actual ​dissolution of society. No longer did any one feel safe. No one expected to see the next day. My own safety was most seriously compromised by an imprudent detail of costume. On the morning of the 11th I made the mistake of going out with my hair trimmed and gathered up with a comb. I had forgotten that this mode of wearing the hair formed part of the uniform of the Swiss Guards. This slight indication was sufficient for two or three hundred angry men to pounce upon me on the Boulevard de la Madeleine. I was unable to make myself heard, and so was dragged to the Place Vendôme, where the mob was stringing up to lamp-posts all the Swiss and other fugitives from the château they could lay their hands on.
VIII.
A TERRIBLE PLAN.
The fanaticism of the Revolutionary party—the strange mixture of the exaltation and self-sacrifice of a religious faith, and of a readiness to appeal to the most unscrupulous means for gaining their end—all this is brought out by the following story. If we did not know what times these were, the story would be incredible; as it is, M. Pasquier only confirms what has appeared in the memoirs of the Revolutionary leaders. This is his story of an interview with his Revolutionary friend, Ducos:
"In the exultation of his triumph he revealed everything, and he told me a thing which the 'Memoirs of Madame Roland' have since confirmed, namely, the resolution reached at one of their caucuses to sacrifice one of their number, and to have him murdered, in order to impute his assassination to the Court, if no other means were forthcoming to excite the people against it. One Grangeneuve, I believe, had offered to sacrifice his life, and was to be the victim."
IX.
THE DEATH OF THE KING.
Pasquier saw the execution of the King—unwillingly and accidentally. This is what happened:
​ "I lived in a house which faced on the Boulevard at the corner of the Madeleine Church. My father and I sat opposite each other all the morning buried in our grief, and unable to utter a word. We knew the fatal procession was wending its way by the Boulevards. Suddenly a somewhat loud clamour made itself heard. I rushed out under the idea that perhaps an attempt was being made to rescue the King. How could I do otherwise than cherish such a hope to the very last? On reaching the goal I discovered that what I had heard was merely the howling of the raving madmen who surrounded the vehicle. I found myself sucked in by the crowd which followed it, and was dragged away by it, and, so to speak, carried and set down at the scaffold's side. So it was that I endured the horror of this awful spectacle.
"Hardly had the crime been consummated when a cry of 'Long live the nation!' arose from the foot of the scaffold, and, repeated from man to man, was taken up by the whole of the vast concourse of people. The cry was followed by the deepest and most gloomy silence; shame, horror, and terror were now hovering over the vast locality. I crossed it once more, swept back by the flood which had brought me thither. Each one walked along slowly, hardly daring to look at another. The rest of the day was spent in a state of profound stupor, which spread a pall over the whole ​city. Twice was I compelled to leave the house, and on both occasions did I find the streets deserted and silent. The assassins had lost their accustomed spirit of bravado. Public grief made itself felt, and they were silent in the face of it."
X.
THE REIGN OF TERROR.
One cannot help breathing hard while reading, amid all its baldness, many passages of this work, and especially those which give us pictures of the Reign of Terror. Poor young Pasquier had abundant opportunity of realising all the perils of that terrible time. Nearly all the old members of the Paris Parliament were classed as aristocrats and reactionaries; and to have been one of them, unless Revolutionary fervour or atrocities came as a defence and an obliteration, amounted to a certainty of imprisonment, and an almost equal certainty of condemnation and death.
Pasquier's father was arrested with many of his colleagues, and was ultimately guillotined. Nothing can give a better idea of the horrors of the time than the simple narrative which Pasquier unfolds of his father's and his own adventures at this epoch. Here, for instance, is a curious picture of the state of mind which constant peril produced—the feeling that im​prisonment was more welcome than liberty—a gaol safer than any other refuge:
"My father and I, therefore, went in different directions after a fond embrace, and with hardly the strength of uttering a word. We were never to meet again. I returned to Champigny. My father hid himself at La Muette, where he had dwelt during the course of the previous summer. Two days later he gave himself up, fearing that my mother might be arrested in his stead. Hardly was he within the walls of his prison, which had as inmates M. de Malesherbes, all the members of the Rosambo family, and a large number of his friends, when he experienced a feeling of relief. Indeed, outside of prison, one dared not meet, see, speak, nay, almost look at anybody, so great was the fear of mutually betraying each other. Relatives and the most intimate friends dwelt apart in the most absolute isolation. A knock at the door, and one supposed at once that the commissioners of the Revolutionary Committee had come to take one away. When once behind the bolts it was different. One found oneself, in a certain sense, once more enjoying social life, for one was in the midst of one's relations, of one's friends, whom one could see without hindrance, and with whom one could freely converse. The great judicial massacres (I am speaking of the month of January, 1794) had ​not yet taken place. Few days, however, went by without some victims, but the number of those behind the bars was so great, that to each one of them all danger seemed somewhat distant; and lastly, no sooner were many of them in gaol than they ended in believing that they were safer there than out of doors. One could no longer (so at least they imagined) accuse them of conspiring; and, were the foreign armies to make great progress, as there were good grounds for supposing, they would while in prison be more out of the reach of popular frenzy than elsewhere. So powerful a hold did these impressions take on the mind of my father, that having a few days later found the means of reaching me by letter, he urged me to reflect upon my situation, to well consider if the life that I was leading, and which he knew from experience, was not a hundred times worse than his own. Then, assuming that I would determine to get myself arrested, he informed me of an agreement that he had entered into with the porter of the prison to reserve for him alone, for a few days longer, the room which he occupied, so that we could dwell together."
XI.
ANOTHER NARROW ESCAPE.
But young Pasquier did not take this advice, and kept himself in hiding. However, he was ​not always to remain concealed, for if he did so he would have been denounced as an èmigre, and his father, as the parent of an émigre, would have been more certain than ever of condemnation; and so, says Pasquier, "I was compelled to send to my mother, every three months, certificates of residence, which she might produce in case of need." Let me pause for a moment in my extracts to point out how the beauty, devotion, self-sacrifice of French family life shine out in all the darkness of those hideous times. It is well to note the fact amid so much that is corrupt, unwholesome, and perilous in French society, that this beautiful ideal of a united and affectionate home has been preserved. Unhappy and hopeless, indeed, would France be if that pillar and groundwork of her national safety were imperilled or weakened.
Young Pasquier found several friends who were willing to conceal him during this period, and to run considerable risks in doing so. These friends also managed to get him the precious certificates, which protected both himself and his father. Several witnesses were required, and a Madame Tavaux, a mercer, who lived close to the house of the Pasquier family, and had been befriended by them, was the chief agent in getting these witnesses. Here is what happened one day:
"The greater number of those whom she thus brought together had no acquaintance with ​me whatever, and yet, on her mere word, they ventured to compromise themselves in the most dangerous fashion, so as to get me out of my difficulty. Thus did I reap the fruit of a few slight services rendered by my people in other days."
"I had just secured one of the precious certificates of residence which I had so eagerly sought. It had been granted to me by the General Assembly of the section, held in the church of the Trinité. I was about to depart when a little man approached me, and drew me aside under the pretence of saying a few words. I followed him without fear, believing him one of the witnesses procured on my behalf whom I did not know. He turned out to be a member of the Revolutionary Committee, and without further ado he handed me over to a guard close by. The latter was ordered to take me before the Committee, and I remained in his custody until the members of it had assembled. No sooner had I been questioned than it became an easy matter for them to elicit the fact that I was an ex-Councillor of the Paris Parliament, and that my father was already under arrest. There was consequently no room for doubt that I was a good capture, and I was notified, in spite of all my protestations, that I was to be taken to the Luxembourg prison."
XII.
A RESCUING ANGEL.
And then came a scene which is probably only possible in France. Whatever may be going on there—farce, comedy, the high tension of tragedy—woman steps in and asserts her right of control. I don't know anything which makes upon me so strange an impression as the frou-frou of these French petticoats in the midst of slaughter, terror, and universal chaos. I read a book some time ago which had Zola and his acolytes for its contributors. It was a series of stories, all associated with the terrible war of 1870. It is the book which contains Zola's own splendid and pathetic little story, "The Attack on the Mill," and, if I mistake not, it is in the same volume that one finds that weird, amusing, appalling sketch, "Boule de Suif," Maupassant's most powerful, thrilling, and most pessimistic contribution to contemporary literature. There was another story, which was the history of an intrigue between Trochu and a high-class demi-mondaine in the very midst of the siege, and the sense of awe, horror, disgust, which you feel at this odious episode in the midst of the crash of bombs and the submergence in awful suffering of a whole world, is something that you can never forget.
All this I think of as I read the episode Pasquier tells in the history of his imprisonment: ​"As it was necessary to make out a warrant for my arrest and order of committal, I was, while this was being done, taken into a room, where I was placed in custody of the same guard. Fortune willed that a young and rather good-looking woman should come into it just the same time. She was in a gay mood, and seeing me look rather disheartened, she could not resist the temptation of asking me the reason for being so downcast. I had no difficulty in enlightening her. As soon as I had told her my story, she exclaimed: 'What's that? There was no personal charge against you, and they are going to send you to prison because you are your father's son! What nonsense! Wait a bit, I will go and talk to them.' No sooner said than she knocked at the door of the Committee-room, imperiously demanded admittance, and walked in as if in her own house. Now this woman was no less a person than the Citoyenne Mottei, the wife of the President of the Committee, and she exercised a powerful influence over her husband, who, on his side, held absolute sway over his colleagues. I soon heard an animated discussion, wherein the voice of Madame Mottei rose above all others. She came out at last, told me that she had done her best, and that there was a chance of my case taking a favourable turn."
But even yet Pasquier's case was not decided, his danger not yet over. Final rescue came, partly ​through an old townsman—Levasseur, a Revolutionary leader, whom Pasquier and his family had known in happier days—partly again through female agency. Petticoats and the tumbril—a woman's smiles, blandishments, appeals to the family affection and sexual love of these unchained tigers on the one side; and the cold relentlessness of the Revolutionary tribunals and the constant swish of the guillotine on the other—it is only France which could produce a combination so grotesque, appalling, ironic.
XIII.
STILL THE REIGN OF TERROR.
I must give one or two other pictures of the Reign of Terror before I go on to another section of Pasquier's Memoirs. The very acidity and almost brutal terseness of the style help to increase one's sense of the horrors of the time. After the escape to which I have already alluded, Pasquier once more buried himself in the provinces. Here came the dreadful news that his father had been guillotined, and many others who had been friends and colleagues:
"I spent two months of mental suffering in the locality where I had received the awful news. It was, I can never forget it, in the midst of some of the first days of a beautiful spring. All these dreadful misdeeds were being perpetrated with ​impunity under the rays of a most glorious sun. Alone with my grief, I would often wander for whole days through the woods and among the hills surrounding our retreat. I looked up to heaven, calling upon it to avenge the crimes of the earth."
After months of unsuccessful attempts to cross the frontier, of hiding in all kinds of refuges, Pasquier and his wife were arrested at Amiens by some members of the Revolutionary Committee of Paris. In separate post-chaises they were brought back to Paris.
There is something very weird in the account of this strange journey. It gives a picture of the times as vivid as any that I have ever read. I know no passage, indeed, which leaves so vivid an impression, except the chapters in that wonderful but little-known book of Balzac, "Les Chouans." Pasquier's narrative is, of course, coloured by the prejudices of his class and of those awful times; but these things add point to the portraits he gives of the persons and the incidents. One sees, living before one and as it were in a microscope, the upheaval of classes, the strange transformation of parties, and the seething ideas of that terrible Revolution, in the following description of Pasquier's journey between Amiens and Paris:
"My companion was a little cripple, physically as hideous as his soul was perverse. He greatly enjoyed telling me that he had known me since ​childhood, and that he had leased chairs in our parish church. He took pains to add that he would ever remember the generosity of my grandfather and father who had often given him a louis by way of a New Year's gift. He was a fervent disciple of the new philosophy, and his memory was stuffed with passages from the works of Voltaire and Jean Jacques. Thus, on passing a certain château which was being demolished, he remarked, 'No château ever falls but one sees twenty cottages arise in its stead.'
"On our passing through the village of Sarcelles, he gave me a curious example of the regeneration of morals towards which he and his compeers daily worked so zealously. On my pointing out to him a country residence of somewhat finer appearance and better kept than those we had seen so far, for everything in those days presented an appearance of decay and neglect, he replied, 'I should well think so. It is the house of our friend Livry. We often visit him. He still possesses, it is true, an annual income of fifty thousand livres, but he is a first-class fellow. We have just married him to the Citoyenne Saulnier, with whom he had so long cohabited. (She was première danseuse at the Opéra.) "Come now," we said to him, "it is time that this disgraceful state of affairs should cease. To the winds with family prejudice! The ci-devant marquis must marry the dancer." So he married ​her, and did wisely, for he might otherwise have already danced his last jig, or at the very least be rusticating in the shade of the walls of the Luxembourg prison.' Happily, our two guards combined with the lofty sentiments of which I have just given an idea a passionate fondness for money; and this was our salvation."
XIV.
A PRISON SCENE.
Pasquier and his wife were confined for some days in a house in Paris before they were sent to the prison of Saint-Lazare; this was done with a view of abstracting from them all their remaining money; and official avarice saved their lives.
"Had I been imprisoned there two days earlier, I might possibly have been taken away in one of those carts which, during those two days, carried over eighty people from the prison to the foot of the scaffold. Every one connected with the Paris Parliament, one of my brothers-in-law, and several of my friends, perished on the day of my entering the prison. Had I arrived earlier, I could not have escaped their fate."
This is a sufficiently terrible picture, but a sentence that follows is even more terrible as a revelation of how families were swept off by the guillotine. "In this prison," says Pasquier, "were ​still two of my brothers-in-law and a brother, hardly more than a child, but who had, in spite of this, been a prisoner for eight months." Just fancy it—a father guillotined, a brother-in-law guillotined, two brothers-in-law standing under the shadow of the scaffold, a brother, likewise, who is still a child; and Pasquier and his wife threatened with the same fate!
More terrible than almost any passage in these Memoirs is the description of a prison personage who played a prominent part in the economy of the gaols. One of the many grounds given for getting rid of obnoxious persons was a professed belief in prison conspiracies. "What added," says Pasquier, "to the horror of this mendacious invention was the means employed for giving practical effect to the principle." Here was the means:
"In every one of the large prisons were a certain number of scoundrels, apparently detained as prisoners like the others, but who were really there to select and draw up a list of the victims. Several of them had become known as spies, and, incredible as it may seem, their lives were spared by those in the midst of whom they fulfilled their shameful duty. On the contrary, the prisoners treated them gently and paid them court. I had scarcely passed the first wicket, and was following the jailer who was taking me to the room I was to occupy, when I found myself face to face with ​M. de Montrou, already notorious through a few somewhat scandalous intrigues, and whose adventures have since created such a stir in society. He came close to me, and not pretending to notice me, whispered into my ear the following salutary bit of advice: 'While here do not speak a word to anybody whom you do not know thoroughly.'"
XV.
A PRISON TERRORIST.
And now, here is a type of the creature which such a system produced. The picture is sufficiently appalling; but still more appalling to me is that of the state of terror and humiliation to which the proudest names in France were reduced:
"On reaching, with Madame Pasquier, the lodging destined for our use, and which had been vacated by the two victims of the previous day, we were soon surrounded by our relations and by a few friends who hastened to offer us all the assistance they could. We were enjoying, as far as one can enjoy anything when in a similar position, these proofs of kindly interest and friendship, when one of my brothers-in-law, who was looking out of the window, exclaimed, 'Ah, here is Pépin Dègrouttes about to take his daily walk. We must go and show ourselves. Come along with us.' 'Why so?' I queried, whereupon I was told that he was the principal ​one among the rascals whose abominable rôle I have described. They were designated by the name of 'moutons,' a name consecrated by prison slang. Every afternoon he would thus take a turn in the yard, and it was for him the occasion of passing in review, so to speak, the flock which he was gradually sending to the slaughterhouse. Woe unto him who seemed to hide or to avoid his look! Such a one was immediately noted, and he could be sure that his turn would come next. Many a gallant man's death became a settled thing because he was a few minutes late in coming down into the yard and passing under the fellow's notice. The surrendering of oneself to his discretion was apparently a way of imploring mercy at his hands. We went through the formality, and it constituted a scene which I can never forget. I can still see him, a man four feet seven or eight inches high, hump-backed and twisted form, bandy-legged, and as red-headed as Judas. He was completely surrounded by prisoners, some of whom walked backward in his presence, earnestly soliciting a look from him."
XVI.
NAPOLEON.
The extracts I shall now take from Pasquier will mainly refer to Napoleon. It is in this part of the narrative that the faults of these Memoirs come out most prominently. Here was an official, brought into almost daily contact with the most interesting figure in all human history; and yet he hardly adds anything to our knowledge of Napoleon's temperament or character. Pasquier does certainly give us an excellent account of the official workings of the Napoleonic machine. In all such descriptions there is nothing left unrecorded; the narrative is lucid, tranquil, and complete. But after all, it is Napoleon we want to hear about—Napoleon the man, not Napoleon the Emperor and the official; and for that information we mostly ask in vain. However, I must do my best to piece together passages from the Memoirs which bear on Pasquier's great master, and see if I can manage to get some addition to our knowledge of that intensely absorbing personality.
We get a first and rather amusing glimpse of Napoleon at the moment of his return after his victories in Italy. In this picture also we see beside Napoleon a man, his relations to whom form one of the most striking portions of this narrative:
​"The General was presented to the Directoire in the courtyard of the Petit Luxembourg, where an autel de la patrie had been erected. He was introduced to the five directors by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, M. de Talleyrand, who took occasion to deliver a speech wherein, honouring in Bonaparte ' his undying love of country and humanity/ he praised 'his contempt of luxuriousness and pomp, this miserable ambition of ordinary souls! The day was at hand when it would become necessary to entreat him to tear himself away from the quiet peace of his studious retreat.' It was noticed that General Bonaparte hardly partook of any dish at the dinner which followed this ceremony. This abstinence was attributed to his feeling unwell, but I learned since from a confidential aide-de-camp, M. de La Valette, that Bonaparte had considered this precaution necessary in the face of the dangers which he believed threatened his existence. Whether or not his suspicions were based on any foundation, one cannot help recording them, for they must have greatly affected the resolution he was about to take."
XVII.
THE RETURN FROM EGYPT.
Pasquier draws a different picture of the state of French feeling towards Napoleon on his ​ return from Egypt from that which is generally accepted.
"Fate led me one evening to the theatre next to a box occupied by two very pretty women who were unknown to me. During the performance a message was brought to them. I noticed that it caused great and joyous commotion. They left, and I soon afterwards learnt that they were the sisters of Bonaparte, and that he had landed on French soil."
But Pasquier goes on to declare: "The effect produced on me by the knowledge of this fact, and on the greater number of those who received it simultaneously with me, was in no way prophetic of the consequences which were to follow." For at this period Napoleon was not thought so much of. "The expedition to Egypt, which has since appealed so strongly to the imagination, was then hardly looked upon as anything but a mad undertaking."
"What had especially struck people in these bulletins was a certain declaration in favour of the Mohammedan creed, the effect of which, though it might be somewhat great in Egypt, had in France only called forth ridicule. I state all this because a number of people, believing, apparently, that they were adding to their hero's greatness, have since sought to represent him as ardently and impatiently expected. I am of opinion that they have not spoken truly, and deceived themselves ​with regard to the effect which they have sought to produce. To my mind, Bonaparte is far greater when he is considered as arriving when no one expects him or dreams of him, when he faces the disadvantages of a return bearing resemblance to a flight, when he triumphs over the prejudices which this return raises against him, and when in the space of a month he lays hand on every form of power. He is far greater, I maintain, when surrounded by all the obstacles he has triumphed over, than when an attempt is made to present him as the cynosure of all eyes, and having but to come forward to be lord of all."
XVIII.
NAPOLEON'S MOMENT OF FEAR.
It was while he was breaking down the Legislative Assembly, which stood between him and power, that Napoleon—as I have already told—displayed one of the few moments of terror in his whole lifetime. Curiously enough, his brother, from the sheer fact of being a Parliamentarian, was strong when the soldier was weak; and it was the courage of the Parliamentarian that saved the cowardice of the soldier.
"It is a known fact that on the 19th, at Saint-Cloud, the firmness of General Bonaparte, so often tested on the battle-field, was for a moment shaken by the vociferous yells with which he was ​greeted by the Conseil des Cinq Cents, in the face of which he deemed it prudent to beat a retreat. His brother Lucien was President of the Council, and the firmness of the Parliamentarian was in this instance more stable than that of the warrior. Lucien weathered the storm, and prevented the passing of a decree of outlawry. Bonaparte soon returned, supported by a military escort commanded by Generals Murat and Leclerc. The soldiers had been electrified by a rumour that the life of Bonaparte had been attempted in the Council Chamber. The appearance and the attitude of this faithful armed band quickly cut the Gordian knot. The Chamber was soon evacuated, and many of the members of the Council, anxious to take the shortest road, fled by the windows."
XIX.
TALLEYRAND.
I have already said that the story of the relations between Napoleon and Talleyrand is one of the most interesting chapters in these Memoirs. Talleyrand, indeed, is sometimes a more prominent figure on M. Pasquier's canvas than Napoleon. It is a pity that M. Pasquier did not give us a full-length portrait of this extraordinary and repulsive personality; he gives instead somewhat disconnected glimpses. However, let us take ​M. Pasquier as we find him; here is his first mention of the great diplomat:
"This is the place to dwell once more on the strange position of this man, who always seemed to enjoy the greatest confidence, and this at the time when, in reality, he did not inspire any, and did not really obtain it; who, on his side, appeared animated with the most sincere zeal, when it was impossible for those who had any intercourse with him to have any doubt as to his discontent. I often saw him in those days at the house of one of my relations, a woman of intellect, who, for some months past, had become very intimate with him, and in whose salon he spent many of his evenings; her social circle was small, and consequently no restraint was put upon him. Owing to this kind of intimacy, his actual frame of mind was readily penetrated, and I easily observed that, consumed as he was with a desire for fault-finding, he considered himself but little bound by any engagements, the result of his former deeds and utterances."
XX.
TALLEYRAND'S TREACHERY.
It was during the negotiations at Erfurt that Napoleon reached the very zenith of his glory and his power. How often must he have looked back on those golden moments! M. Pasquier ​willingly recognises all the supreme skill happily displayed at this eventful hour.
"None of the seductions likely to impress favourably those whom it was necessary he should captivate had been neglected. The members of the Comédie Frangaise had been ordered to Erfurt, where they played alternately comedy and tragedy; and so for a fortnight this little town enjoyed French plays nearly every night. Extravagance and magnificence could hardly go beyond this; and great was the delight of all those invited to enjoy so unexpected a treat. Napoleon, when giving his orders to Talma, previous to his departure from Paris, had promised him a parterre full of kings, and it will be seen that he had kept his word. He might have added that never would any parterre show itself so well disposed. Among the actresses forming part of the troupe were several pretty women, and if the Court chroniclers are to be believed, their merits did not pass unnoticed. Nay, it has even been stated that one of them had for some little time engaged the attention of the most eminent one of the personages among those whom Napoleon wished to win over to his side. Judging from all appearances, the happy result of his efforts in this respect must have been undoubted, and it can well be supposed that the attractions of Erfurt greatly surpassed those of Tilsit. It was at Erfurt that, during the performance of ​Œdipe, the Emperor Alexander, by turning towards Napoleon, gave so pointed an application of the line: 'L'amitié d'un grand homme est un présent des dieux." On the part of Alexander, this meant not only a complete accord in political ideas, but a worship, and the devotion of the strongest friendship. On his side, Napoleon admirably exercised the art of deriving benefit from such demonstrations. His efforts ever tended towards not abating one jot of his pretensions to superiority, and he attained this object by caressing in a delicate manner the self-love of his powerful and august ally. His efforts in this direction were all the more constant for the fact that this superiority could alone explain and render secure the most astounding and most valuable of his triumphs. On no other occasion, perhaps, did the suppleness and craftiness of his Italian spirit shine to more brilliant advantage."
XXI.
HUMILIATION OF GERMANY.
One of the incidents of this time is narrated by Pasquier, and gives a very good idea of the dreadful humiliation to which Germany had been reduced by this successful conqueror.
"The fête given to Napoleon by the Duke of Saxe-Weimar during the Erfurt conferences cannot be passed over, for it characterises ​marvellously well the incredible obsequiousness of those on whom the burden of his omnipotence in Germany bore down. This Duke conceived the idea of inviting him to a hunting party on the very battle-field of Jena. The rout of the stags and deer represented that of the Prussians, and hecatombs of denizens of the forest took the place of human victims."
It is incidents like these that will explain to us the terrible revenge that Germany insisted on taking on France in 1870.
I return to Talleyrand's part in the conference at Erfurt. It throws a very curious light upon that diplomat. Talleyrand's "ardent desire was to attain personal importance," as Pasquier puts it. It will be understood, therefore, how miserable he was when Napoleon declared he would have no intermediary between himself and the Emperor Alexander of Russia, whom, as we have seen, Napoleon had so completely captured at this moment. Talleyrand, however, was equal to the occasion:
"Chance gave him the opportunity he was seeking. Having gone one day, after Napoleon had retired for the night, to the house of the Princess of Thurn and Taxis, where he intended to spend the rest of the evening, he met there the Emperor Alexander, who had come with the same intention. This chance meeting was a happy one for both of them; the conversation ​of the French courtier could not fail to be most agreeable to the Russian Sovereign. They soon contracted the habit of meeting in the evening, and this habit lasted as long as the conferences. M. de Talleyrand had neglected nothing to convince Napoleon of the fact that he was using to his advantage only the facilities afforded to him by so precious a habit."
Talleyrand, in his Memoirs, states that the use he made of these confidences between himself and Alexander was to betray Napoleon:
"When Napoleon handed to Alexander the draft of the agreement which he was asking him to sign, it was M. de Talleyrand who pointed out to him the serious objections to it, and drafted for him the memorandum which he (Alexander) handed to Napoleon."
The explanation of all this, as Pasquier has no hesitation in declaring, was that Talleyrand was in the pay of the Emperor of Austria, and also that he obtained from him, as part of the price of his treason, the rich alliance of his nephew, Edmond de Périgord, and the daughter of the Duchess of Courland.
XXII.
THE TALLEYRAND INTRIGUE.
When Napoleon embarked upon his Spanish campaigns, Talleyrand began to take means ​to have his revenge on his master. One of the first signs of the change in Talleyrand's feelings was the close of the almost lifelong struggle between himself and Fouché, Minister of Police.
"Both men had apparently begun to look at matters from the same stand-point, and losing all confidence in the fortunes of Napoleon, had said to themselves that if he were to disappear from the scene, they would alone be in a position to dispose of the Empire, and that it was consequently necessary that they should determine upon his successor, to their mutual and best advantage."
And now the confederates were so imprudent as to warn the whole world of their reconciliation:
"It must either have been that they believed themselves very powerful in their union, or that they felt pretty well secure of the downfall of the Emperor. I can still recall the effect produced at a brilliant evening party given by M. de Talleyrand by the appearance of M. Fouché on the occasion when he entered his former foe's drawing-room for the first time. No one could believe his eyes, and the wonder was far greater when the affectation of harmony was carried to the point of the two men linking arms and together walking from room to room during the whole course of the evening."
Meantime the relatives and adherents of Napoleon, whom he had left behind in Paris, ​warned him of what was taking place, with the result that he became alarmed, and returned to Paris.
"It was, indeed, impossible not to notice that the rapidity with which he generally covered distances had been much greater than was his wont, and that, in spite of the difficulties presented to the traveller. He had been compelled to make several parts of the journey on horseback."
XXIII.
NAPOLEON IN A PASSION.
When Napoleon came back he allowed his rage to slumber for a few days, but finally it burst, and there came one of the most repulsive scenes in history. The scene took place in presence of nearly all the Ministers and of several high officials, and lasted for over half an hour, during which Napoleon never ceased to violently declaim; and here are something like the terms of this remarkable address:
"You are a thief, a coward, a man without honour; you do not believe in God; you have all your life been a traitor to your duties, you have deceived and betrayed everybody; nothing is sacred to you; you would sell your own father. I have loaded you with gifts, and yet there is nothing you would not undertake against me. Thus, for the past ten months, you have been shameless enough, because you supposed, rightly ​or wrongly, that my affairs in Spain were going astray, to say to all that would listen to you, that you always blamed my undertaking there, whereas it was you yourself who first put it into my head, and who persistently urged it. And that man, that unfortunate (he was thus designating the Duc d'Enghien), by whom was I advised of the place of his residence? Who drove me to deal cruelly with him? What, then, are you aiming at? What do you wish for? What do you hope? Do you dare to say? You deserve that I should smash you like a wine-glass. I can do it, but I despise you too much to take the trouble."
M. Pasquier goes on to say:
"The foregoing is, in an abridged form, the substance of what M. de Talleyrand was compelled to listen to during this mortal half-hour, which must have been a frightful one for him if one is to judge of it by the suffering felt at it by those present, none of whom ever subsequently referred to it without shuddering at its recollection."
But the most curious part of the transaction, and what struck everybody who was present, was:—
"the seeming indifference of the man who had to listen to all this, and who, for nearly a whole half-hour, endured, without flinching, a torrent of invective for which there is probably ​no precedent among men in such high positions and in such a place."
And there was even this more remarkable fact:—
"This man, who was thus ignominiously treated, remained at Court, and preserved his rank in the hierarchy of the highest Imperial dignities. Although in less close connection with the Emperor than heretofore, he did not for that reason become completely a stranger to affairs of State, and we are soon to see him called upon once more to give advice to his Sovereign on an occasion of the highest importance."
One of the most remarkable facts in connection with the whole story is the patience with which Talleyrand waited for his revenge; but when it came, the revenge was striking. It was Talleyrand's hand more than any other that was accountable for the final blow to Napoleon's power.
XXIV.
A CURIOUS BONAPARTE TRAIT.
Pasquier confirms Taine's description of the character of Napoleon's family. The same strange self-confidence, the inflexibility of will, ran through them all.
"The Emperor had four brothers and three sisters. That indomitable stubbornness just referred to had already removed from his controlling power two of his brothers. The one ​known as Lucien, and afterwards as Prince de Canino, a title given to him by the Pope, had a fiery soul. He was ambitious and greedily fond of money. Public affairs had all the more attraction for him in that he had played an important part in them on the 18th Brumaire, and he could lay the flattering unction to himself that his firmness on that day so fraught with peril had greatly contributed to its success. He deserted the Court at the time his brother reached the summit of grandeur, and when he was in a position to promise the highest destinies to all the members of his family. On his becoming a widower, it was impossible to cause him to renounce his matrimonial views with a divorcée, who had been his mistress for some time past, and sooner than yield, he went into a voluntary exile, from which he did not return until after many trials, which finally led him to England, at the time of the misfortunes of 1815. During his stay in Italy, he seemed to make it a point of honour to show his loyalty to the Pontifical Government, whose subject he had become."
Joseph had exactly the same temperament:
"Joseph, the eldest of the family, had ascended the throne of Spain, after having occupied that of Naples. Witty, voluptuous, effeminate, although courageous, nothing in his incredible fortunes was to him a cause for surprise. I heard him in January, 1814, make the extraordinary claim that ​if his brother had not interfered with his affairs after his second entry into Madrid, he would be still governing Spain. This is explained by another striking trait of the character of the Bonapartes. No sooner had they set their feet on the path leading to Royal honours, than those most intimate with them were never to see them for a single instant belie the seriousness with which they took the highest positions; they even ended in believing that they had been called to them as a matter of course. They had the instinct of their greatness. Joseph displays at the very outset of the elevation of his brother such impatience to see himself in possession of a rank worthy of him that Napoleon was wont to say laughingly: 'I do believe that Joseph is sometimes tempted to think that I have robbed my eldest brother of the inheritance of the King, our father.'"
XXV.
THE FEMALE BONAPARTES.
And Napoleon's sisters behaved in a similar way:—
"Of the three sisters the eldest almost reigned in Tuscany under the title of Grand Duchess. She made herself beloved there, and this fortunate province owed to her a gentle treatment denied to all other countries then united with France. She has left a pleasant memory behind her, in spite of ​the irregularities of her private life, which she did not take sufficient care to conceal. The Princess Pauline, wife of Prince Borghese, was perhaps the most beautiful woman of her time, and she hardly dreamt of giving prominence to any other advantage than this one. She had been to Santo Domingo with her first husband, General Leclerc. The sun of the tropics had, they do say, been astonished at the ardour of her dissipation. The fatigue consequent upon such an existence shattered her health, and for a long time she was carried about in a litter. In spite of her poor health, she was none the less beautiful.
"It remains for me to speak of Caroline, the wife of Murat, and Queen of Naples, who bore a great resemblance to the Emperor. Less beautiful than Pauline, although endowed with more seductive charms, she possessed the art, without being any more scrupulous than her sisters, of showing a greater respect for the proprieties; besides, all her tastes vanished in presence of her ambition. She had found the Naples crown somewhat too small for her head, and greatly coveted the Spanish one, but in the end she became resigned to her fate, and wore with good grace that which had fallen to her lot. It may even be said that she did so with no little amount of dignity. She was insane enough to believe that her fortune could withstand the catastrophe which swept away that of Napoleon. ​In that extraordinary race, the most sacred engagements, the deepest affections, went for nothing as soon as political combinations seemed to advise it; nevertheless, each one of its members possessed in the highest degree the family spirit. Caroline took a hand in bringing about the downfall of her brother, to whom she owed all her grandeur. It is, perhaps, she who dealt the final blow."