Worlds Best Histories – France Vol 7 by M. Guizot and Madame Guizot De Witt (page 4)

present to the young monarch, humiliated and conquered, wishing to display it before his eyes in order to blind him more completely.

The Russians and Prussians were equally irritated against England. She had granted them money, but her military efforts had not corresponded with her promises; and it was to her obstinate hatred of France that the two monarchs attributed the origin of their defeats. “If you have a grudge against England,” said Alexander, “we shall easily understand each other, for I have myself to complain of her as much as you have.” It was in this first interview the sole effort of Napoleon to develop in the mind of Alexander the sentiments of anger and weariness by which he had been inspired by the selfishness which he imputed to Great Britain and the inability and weakness which he recognized in Prussia, and to engage the Russian emperor to become friendly with the only power which could offer him a glorious and profitable alliance. In the mind of the emperor, we have already said, the necessity for a continental alliance had long since made itself felt. “Austria or Russia,” he had said to Talleyrand. Napoleon offered his hand to the Emperor Alexander.

The city of Tilsit was neutralized, and the two emperors established their quarters there. Before quitting the opposite shore of the Niemen, Alexander presented the King of Prussia to Napoleon in that floating pavilion on the river which flowed between the two nations. Honest, moderate, and dignified even in his profound abasement, Frederick William neither experienced nor exercised in any degree the seductiveness to which the Emperor Alexander succumbed, and which he was in his turn capable of displaying. He entreated his ally to make constant and persevering efforts in his behalf, which Alexander felt himself compelled to do not without a secret ill feeling. It was with an ostentatious display of graciousness and condescension that Napoleon ceaselessly reminded the young Czar that he accorded no favor to the King of Prussia except out of regard for his entreaties.

“In the midst of the war in which Russia and France have been engaged,” wrote Napoleon, on the 4th of July, 1807, “both sovereigns, enlightened as to the situation and the true policy of their empires, have desired the re-establishment not only of peace, but of a common accord, and by the force of reason and truth have wished to form an alliance, and to pass in a single instant from open war to the most intimate relations. The boundless amity and confidence which the high qualities of the Emperor Alexander have inspired in the Emperor Napoleon have caused his heart to seal that which his reason had already approved and ratified. The protection of the emperor will result in the King of Prussia being allowed to re-enter into the possession of all the countries which border on the two Haffs, extending from the sources of the Oder to the sea. Solely with a desire of pleasing the Emperor Alexander, a large number of fortified towns will be restored to the King of Prussia. The policy of the Emperor Napoleon is that his immediate influence should be bounded by the Elbe; and he has adopted this policy because it is the only one which can be reconciled with the system of sincere and constant amity which he wishes to maintain with the great empire of the north.”

Under the veil of this apparent moderation the pretensions or resolutions of the Emperor Napoleon were thus summed up: King Frederick William recovered Old Prussia, Pomerania, Brandenburg, Upper and Lower Silesia; he would abandon all the provinces to the left of the Elbe, which were to constitute, with the Grand Duchy of Hesse, a kingdom of Westphalia, destined for Joseph Bonaparte. The Duchies of Posen and Warsaw, snatched from Russian Poland, were to form a Polish State under the title of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, of which the Elector of Saxony, recently elevated to the royal dignity, received the gift, on condition of maintaining a military road across Silesia. All the States founded by Napoleon were to be recognized. Russia was charged with the mediation between France and England; France became arbitrator between Russia and the Porte.

It was much, and indeed too much, for Prussia, torn asunder without being completely destroyed, reduced to the half of its territory, and deprived of its most important towns–for Dantzig became a free city, and Magdeburg formed part of the new kingdom of Westphalia. When these hard conditions were revealed to Frederick William by the Emperor Alexander, the unfortunate king protested against a ruin so complete. He conceived, for a moment, the vain hope of obtaining from Napoleon some concessions, by bringing to bear on him the influence of the genius and beauty of Queen Louisa. This princess quitted Memel to present herself at Tilsit. “She is charming,” wrote Napoleon to the Empress Josephine; but this cold appreciation of the accomplishments of the woman exercised no influence upon the resolutions of the conqueror and the politician. The queen in vain brought into play all the resources of her intellect and her charming graces; in vain presenting to the conqueror a rose which she had just plucked, she ventured to ask for Magdeburg in exchange for her flower. “It is you who have offered it to me, madame,” said Napoleon, roughly. Queen Louisa quitted Memel, humiliated and sorrowful down to the very depths of her soul. Her children and her people were never to pardon us for their wrongs.

Alexander had loyally defended his friend, and felt assured of having obtained for him all that it was possible to obtain; in his secret thoughts he consoled himself for the concessions he had been constrained to make for others as well as for himself, by the dazzling prospects which Napoleon knew so well how to open brightly to his view. To the north and south the young Czar believed himself master of new territories, long objects of ambition to the Russian Empire. The Sultan Selim had just fallen at Constantinople before a revolt of the Janissaries; he was a prisoner in his own palace, and the government which was about to succeed him would naturally be hostile to French influence. Napoleon then found himself free to abandon to Russia a large part of that Ottoman Empire always coveted by her. “Constantinople! never!” Napoleon had said, in exclamation to himself, heard by one of his secretaries; “the empire of the world is at Constantinople!” But the _débris_ of the Turkish power were of a character to satisfy all the claimants; and in case Turkey should not accept the peace, the secret treaty concluded between France and Russia assured to the Czar all the European provinces, with the exception of Constantinople and Roumelia. In case of the cabinet of London refusing the mediation of Russia, Alexander engaged himself to declare war against England. Should Portugal and Sweden, equally subject to European influence, participate in the same refusal, it was agreed that the Emperor Napoleon should send an army into Portugal, and that the Emperor Alexander should enter Sweden. Finland lay very convenient for the Russian Empire. “The King of Sweden is in truth your brother-in-law and your ally,” said Napoleon; “let him follow the changes in your policy, or let him undergo the consequences of his ill-will. Sweden is the geographical enemy of Russia. St. Petersburg finds itself too near to Finland. The good Russians must no longer hear from their palaces at St. Petersburg the cannon of the Swedes.”

The treaty of Tilsit was concluded on the 7th of July, 1807, and was signed on the 8th. The King and Queen of Prussia departed immediately, full of bitter sorrow and discouragement. The two emperors separated on the 9th, with a cordiality at that time sincere in its ostentatious display. More than once they had together passed their troops in review; yet once again they showed themselves to the two armies. Napoleon decorated, with his own hand, a soldier of the Russian army, who had been pointed out to him by the Czar. At last he accompanied Alexander to the shores of the Niemen, waiting upon the bank until his friend and ally had reached the farther shore. Then entering his carriage, he took the road to Königsberg, and immediately afterwards that to France, charging Berthier and Marshal Kalbreuth with the regulation of the details of the evacuation of Prussia, and the payment of the war contributions with which the conquered countries were to be crushed down. On the 27th of July, at six o’clock in the morning, the emperor re-entered Paris, which he had quitted the preceding year, and which, since then, he had so many times intoxicated with the report of his victories. The military glory was brilliant and even dazzling; the political work remained precarious, by its nature as well as by its immensity. Empires founded upon conquest are necessarily fragile, even when the war has been undertaken from serious and legitimate motives. When the war is carried on through the ambition of a man or a people, in scorn of right or justice–when it injures at once the interests, the pride, and the repose of all nations–no genius or brightness of glory can succeed in assuring its duration, or legitimatizing its success. France perceived this in the midst of the enthusiasm of victory. England repeated it with malicious confidence, in the hope of confirming the courage of its people. Once more the latter power found itself alone, in face of the ever-increasing might of France and the incomparable genius of its sovereign.

It is the mournful effect of a weakening of the moral sense in the chief of a state, to enfeeble that moral sense at the same time, and by an inevitable contagion, amongst his rivals and adversaries. In presence of the continental blockade, and of the resolution which the Emperor Napoleon had announced of imposing it upon the whole of Europe, the English cabinet, henceforth directed by the inheritors of the policy of Pitt, by Canning and Lord Castlereagh, resolved upon using violence in its turn. Fearful of seeing the maritime forces of Denmark pass into the power of Napoleon, England violated the neutrality of this little kingdom, and forestalled the secret conditions of the treaty of Tilsit. Lord Cathcart, at the head of a considerable squadron, was charged with the duty of summoning the Prince Regent to deliver to him the Danish fleet, as a pledge of the loyal intentions of his country; he offered at the same time to defend the Danish territory and all its colonies. The prince responded with bitter irony, “Your protection? Have we not seen your allies waiting for succor more than a year, without receiving it?” Copenhagen was bombarded; Sir Arthur Wellesley, whose name, for the first time, became known in Europe, effected his disembarkation with a corps of 10,000 men. The prince saw himself compelled to capitulate, and deliver to the English his fleet, with all the materiel of his arsenals. Vehemently did Europe reprobate this act of violence. The English cabinet made public the article of the Treaty of Tilsit, which had furnished the motive for its aggression. But any effort at mediation was now ridiculous. The Emperor Alexander perceived it to be so. On the 11th of November, Lord Leveson Gower, then Ambassador of England at St. Petersburg, received his passports, and the Czar haughtily adhered to the French alliance. “I deem it prudent to close one’s eyes against the orders which English mercantile vessels have received to quit Russian ports,” said General Savary, whom Napoleon had accredited to the Emperor Alexander. The latter treated the French envoy with distinction, but the court and world of St. Petersburg had not forgotten the part that Savary had taken in the murder of the Duke d’Enghien; he remained isolated in his palace, and even in the saloons of the emperor. The Russian declaration of war was responded to by the manifesto of England. “Publish the treaty of Tilsit, with the secret articles,” said Canning; “they have not been communicated to England, but we are acquainted with them, nevertheless; they will explain to Europe our conduct and our fears, as well as the change of attitude on the part of Russia.” The Emperor Napoleon was already regretting the magnificent prospect which he had opened before the Czar on the side of Turkey; the government of the Sublime Porte had adroitly accepted the mediation of France. Napoleon sought to excite the covetousness of the Russians towards the north; M, de Caulaincourt, who had replaced Savary at St. Petersburg, pushed forward with ardor the war against Sweden, and the conquest of Finland. As a consequence of the English aggression, Denmark had cast itself into the arms of France; it accordingly became easy to close against England the passage of the Sound. The Czar and his favorite counsellor, M. de Romanzoff, returned ceaselessly to the hopes that Napoleon had led them to conceive. “The ancient Ottoman Empire is played out,” said the Russian minister; “unless the Czar lays his hand on it, the Emperor Napoleon will be soon obliged to announce in the _Moniteur_ that the succession of the Sultans is open, and the natural heirs have only to present themselves.”

In the meantime, and as a constant menace against an ally whom he was not completely satisfying, Napoleon was prolonging his occupation of the Prussian territory, under the pretext of the alleged slowness of payment of the war contributions; he was organizing provisionally the government of Hanover, which he had reserved as a future bait for the English government; and he was treating with Spain for the passage of troops necessary for the invasion of Portugal. This power, constantly faithful to the English alliance, having refused to give in its adhesion to the continental blockade, the emperor had sent against it General Junot with 26,000 men. The negotiations with Madrid had not been completed, and the French soldiers had already entered Spanish territory. A second army was preparing to follow them. Austria remained disquieted, and ready to take offence; a convention favorable to her was signed at Fontainebleau, on October 10th. On the 27th the eventual and provisional partition of Portugal was accepted by the Spanish envoy, Yzquierdo. A kingdom of Southern Lusitania was assigned to the Queen of Etruria, who renounced her Italian possessions; the independent principality of Algarve was to be constituted for the Prince de la Paix; the emperor reserved for himself the centre of the country, conquered by anticipation. A Spanish corps was to join the French troops for the invasion of Portugal. General Junot marched upon Lisbon. Vast projects, unjustifiable in their nature, were linked with this invasion of the Peninsula, necessarily entailing blunders and crimes as dangerous as lamentable. Napoleon had resolved upon driving the Bourbons from all the thrones of Europe, in order to replace them with Bonapartes. He set out for Italy with the view of completing one part of his work before laying his hand on Spain.

Quitting Paris on November 16th, the Emperor surprised Eugène Beauharnais (whom he was about solemnly to adopt) by assuring to him the succession of the crown of Italy. He ran through the north of the Italian peninsula, reorganizing at Venice the public services, which had fallen into desuetude; decreeing the creation of a commune on Mont Cenis; and providing for the needs of travellers by the new route which he had opened. At Mantua he had an interview with his brother Lucien, whom he would have wished to place upon the throne of Portugal, but that the latter remained obstinately rebellious against the authority of his all- powerful brother, who required of him the rupture of an already old union with Madame Jouberthon. Having returned to Milan on the 13th of December, Napoleon published there, on the 17th, a decree destined to aggravate the rigors of the continental blockade. By reprisals as unjust as awkward, directed against decree of Berlin, the English Cabinet had promulgated, on the 11th of November, 1807, an Order in Council which compelled the ships of all neutral nations to touch at an English port to import or export merchandise, paying custom-house dues averaging 25 per cent. The ships which neglected this precaution were to be declared lawful prizes. In response, the Emperor Napoleon decreed that any vessel touching at an English port, or submitting to inspection from an English ship, should be by that very fact deneutralized, and become in its turn a lawful prize. In this insensate rivalry, which ruined at the same time the commerce of England and of the world, the Cabinet of London had taken no care to modify, in favor of the United States, the rigor of its ordinances. This was for England the occasion of grave difficulties, and of a war at one time dangerous. Arbitrary interference and violence were the rule on all the seas.

Through difficulties and sufferings which threatened to destroy the army placed under his orders, General Junot arrived at the gates of Lisbon. He had to struggle with no other enemy than the bad roads and the want of provisions. Terror had seized upon the royal house of Portugal. The _Moniteur_ of November 13th already contained an article upon the fall of the illustrious house of Braganza. “The Prince Regent of Portugal loses his throne,” said the official journal; “he loses it influenced by the intrigues of the English; he loses it for not having been willing to seize the English merchandise at Lisbon. What does England do.–this ally so powerful? She regards with indifference all that is passing in Portugal. What will she do when Portugal shall be taken? Will she go to seize Brazil? No; if the English make this attempt the Catholics will drive them out. The fall of the House of Braganza will remain another proof that the fall of whatever attaches itself to the English is inevitable.”

The Prince Regent of Portugal had thought it possible to arrest the march of General Junot by sending to him emissaries charged to make all the submissions required by Napoleon. The envoys had not been able to meet the French army, scattered and decimated by the ills it had undergone; it advanced, however, and the news of its approach drove the Court of Portugal on board the ships which were still to be found at the mouth of the Tagus. On November 27th the mad queen, her son the prince regent, her daughters, and nearly all the families of distinction in Lisbon, accompanied by their servants, crowded on board the Portuguese fleet, resolved to take their flight to Brazil. From seven to eight thousand persons, with all their portable property, thus obstructed the mouth of the Tagus, protected by the English fleet; on the 28th a favorable wind permitted them to sail. When General Junot entered Lisbon, on the 30th of November, at eight o’clock in the morning, the treasures which he was charged to seize were beyond his reach. He established himself without resistance in the capital, soon overwhelmed with confiscations and war contributions. “Everything is more easy in the first moment than afterwards,” wrote the Emperor to Junot on the 13th of December, 1807. “Do not seek for popularity at Lisbon, nor for the means of pleasing the nation; that would be failing in your aim, emboldening the people, and preparing misfortunes for yourself. The hope that you conceive of commerce and prosperity, is a chimera with which one is lulled asleep.”

Jerome Bonaparte had been declared King of Westphalia on the 8th of December. On the 10th the act announced by the treaty of Fontainebleau was consummated. The Queen Regent of Etruria, Maria Louisa of Bourbon, declared to her subjects, in the name of her son, that she was called upon to reign over a new kingdom. Tuscany then fell directly into the hands of the Emperor Napoleon, who confided its government to his sister, Eliza Baciocchi, to whom he had already given the principality of Lucca and Piombino.

Submission or flight! such was the only alternative that seemed to remain to continental sovereigns in presence of the exactions and the imperious will of Napoleon. The Pope alone, as already for two years past, was still resisting his demands, and was evincing an independence with regard to him which was every day irritating more and more the all-powerful master of Europe. Sadly disabused of the illusions and the hopes which had drawn him to Paris for the coronation of Napoleon, Pius VII. had preserved in his personal communications with the emperor a paternal and tender graciousness. He had much to obtain and much to fear on the part of the conqueror. Returning to Italy in the month of June, 1805, he said, in his allocution to the cardinals: “We have clasped in our arms at Fontainebleau this prince, so powerful and so full of love for us. Many things have already been done, and are only the earnest of that which is yet to be accomplished.”

Meanwhile, the Code Napoleon had been applied to Italy, authorizing divorce, and taking the place of the Italian Concordat, which declared the Catholic religion to be the religion of the State. The Pope had complained of it, not without warmth, and had received on the part of the emperor assurances which were as vain as they were futile. But already the conflict was becoming personal and more pressing; the refusal of the Holy Father to dissolve the marriage of Jerome Bonaparte with Miss Paterson (June, 1805), at once produced antagonism between the conscience of the Pope and the views of Napoleon as to the elevation of his family to the new or ancient thrones which he destined for them in Europe. Pius VII. had long studied canonical interdictions; he consulted neither his ministers nor his doctors; it was a personal reply he addressed to the emperor. “It is out of our power.” said he, “to pronounce the judgment of nullity; if we were to usurp such an authority that we have not, we should render ourselves culpable of an abominable abuse before the tribunal of God; and your Majesty yourself, in your justice, would blame us for pronouncing a sentence contrary to the testimony of our conscience and to the invariable principles of our Church.”

Napoleon’s anger remained warm, but he had surmounted the difficulty by dissolving by an imperial decree the marriage of his brother, and by causing him soon after to marry a princess of Wurtemberg. The disagreement with the Court of Rome, which was soon to break forth, depended on his all-powerful will, and caused him no care. In the movement of the troops, necessitated in October, 1805, by his campaign against Austria, the emperor had charged General Gouvion St. Cyr to traverse the States of the Church in order to take up a position in Lombardy. Upon the route lay the town of Ancona. The French troops received an order to seize the place and establish a garrison there, an order which was immediately executed.

In spite of the difficulties which had recently arisen between the emperor and himself, the Pope thought that Napoleon and the French Revolution were much indebted to him personally. Europe took this view, and frequent reproaches had been addressed to the Court of Rome by the powers who were enemies or rivals of France. It was, then, with astonishment, mingled with indignation, that Pius VII. learnt the news of the occupation of Ancona; he wrote, on the 13th November, 1805, a personal and secret letter to the emperor:–“We avow frankly to your Majesty the keen chagrin that we experience in seeing ourselves treated in a way that we do not think we have in any degree merited. Our neutrality has been recognized by your Majesty, as by all other powers. The latter have fully respected it, and we had especial motives for thinking that the sentiments of amity which your Majesty professed with regard to us would have preserved us from such a cruel affront. We will tell you frankly, since our return from Paris we have experienced only bitterness and trouble, and we do not find in your Majesty a return of those sentiments which we think ourselves warranted in justly expecting from you. That which we owe to ourselves is to ask from your Majesty the evacuation of Ancona, and, if met with a refusal, we should not see how to reconcile therewith a continuation of a good understanding with the French minister.”

It was from Munich, on the morrow of the battle of Austerlitz and of the peace of Presburg, that Napoleon at length responded, on the 7th of January, 1806, to the letter of the Pope, in the midst of the concert of adulations and transports which were lavished on him by the vanquished as well as by his courtiers. The protest of Pius VII. recalled to him the disagreeable remembrance of an independent authority, and one which he had not been always able to submit to his will; the anger of the despot broke forth with violence at once spontaneous and measured: “Your Holiness complains that since your return from Paris you have had nothing but causes of sorrow. The reason is, that since then all those who were fearing my power and testifying their friendship have changed their sentiments, thinking themselves authorized to do so by the power of the coalition; and that since the return of your Holiness to Rome I have experienced nothing but refusals to all my designs, even those that were of the utmost importance to religion; as, for example, when it was a question of hindering Protestantism from raising its head in France. I look upon myself as the protector of the Holy See, and by this title I have occupied Ancona. I look upon myself, like my predecessors of the second and third dynasty, as the eldest son of the Church, as alone bearing the sword to protect it and to shelter it from being defiled by Greeks and Mussulmans. I should ever be the friend of your Holiness, if you would only consult your heart and the true friends of religion. If your Holiness wishes to send away my minister, you are free to do so. You are free to receive in preference the English and the Caliph of Constantinople. God is the judge who has done most for the religion of all the princes who reign.”

Napoleon had excluded his brother Jerome from the succession to the Empire, but he affected to dread for France the possibility of a Protestant sovereign. It was with an increase of coarse violence that he wrote on the same day to his uncle, Cardinal Fesch: “Since these imbeciles think there will be no inconvenience in a Protestant occupying the throne of France, I will send them a Protestant ambassador. I am religious, but I am not a bigot. Constantine separated the civil from the military, and I also may appoint a senator to command in my name at Rome. Tell Consalvi– tell even the Pope himself–that since he wishes to drive my minister from Rome, I should be well able to re-establish him there. For the Pope, I am Charlemagne, because, like Charlemagne, I unite the crown of France with that of the Lombards, and my empire borders on that of the East. I expect then that his conduct towards me shall be regulated from this point of view. Otherwise I shall reduce the Pope to the position of Bishop of Rome.”

The French troops did not evacuate Ancona, and the French minister remained at Rome. But soon new subjects of disagreement arose between Napoleon and the Pope, always a scrupulous observer of the neutrality which he thought due from him to all the powers. The emperor had already required that all the ports of his allies should be closed against English commerce; in proportion as his enemies became more numerous and his arbitrary power more oppressive, he extended his pretensions even over the countries neutral by situation and by state obligations. Joseph Bonaparte had just been proclaimed King of Naples; the house of Bourbon occupied in Italy only the ridiculous throne of Etruria, already on the point of being taken from them. Napoleon wished to exact from the Pope an interdiction of his ports and his territory to the exiles or the refugees who had from time immemorial been accustomed to seek an asylum in Rome. “Your Holiness would be able to avoid all these embarrassments by going forward in a straight road,” wrote Napoleon to Pius VII., on February 22, 1806. “All Italy will be subject to my laws. I will not touch in any way the independence of the Holy See; I will even repay it for the injuries which the movements of my armies may occasion to it; but it must be on the condition that your Holiness will show the same regard for me in temporal affairs as I show for you in spiritual ones, and that you will cease your useless consideration for the heretical enemies of the Church, and for the powers who can do nothing for you. Your Holiness is sovereign of Rome, but I am its emperor. All my enemies ought to be yours. It is not proper then that any agent of the King of Sardinia, any Englishman, Russian, or Swede, should reside at Rome or in your states, neither that any ship belonging to these powers should enter your ports. Those who speak any other language to your Holiness deceive you, and will end by drawing down upon you misfortunes that will be disastrous.” He added in his letter to Cardinal Fesch: “Say plainly that I have my eyes open, that I am not deceived any more than I choose to be; that I am Charlemagne, the sword of the Church, the emperor; and that they ought not to know that there is an empire of Russia. I make the Pope acquainted with my intentions in a few words. If he does not agree, I shall reduce him to the same position which he occupied before Charlemagne.”

It was against Cardinal Consalvi, formerly the clever and firm negotiator of the Concordat, that the emperor, assisted by Cardinal Fesch, nursed his suspicions and his anger; he regarded him as systematically hostile to France; but the attachment of the Pope for his minister remained unshakable; it was from Consalvi alone that a voluntary submission might be hoped for. “If he loves his religion and his country, tell Consalvi, plainly,” wrote the emperor to his uncle, “that there are only two courses to select from–either to do always what I wish, or to quit the ministry.”

The moderation and prudent resolutions of the Roman ministry showed itself in the response of the Pope to the requirements of Napoleon. Already an obscure Englishman–Mr. Jackson, for a long time accredited to the King of Sardinia–had excited the mistrust of Napoleon, who insulted him in official documents. “An English minister, the disgrace of his country, found in Rome an asylum. There he organized conspiracies, subsidized brigands, hatched perfidies, bribed assassins; and Rome protected the traitor and his agents–becoming a theatre of scandal, a manufactory of libels, and an asylum of brigandage.” The only crime of Jackson had been to keep his court _au courant_ with the state of affairs in Rome. Quietly, and with all the respect his character merited, Cardinal Consalvi prevailed on Mr. Jackson to quit Rome. The cardinals were assembled in secret Consistory. Cardinal Fesch was not summoned; he was informed that they were aware of his opinions, and that his station as ambassador disqualified him for the Council of the holy father.

The Consistory did not deceive itself for a single instant as to the consequences that the concessions demanded by Napoleon would forcibly draw in their train. “We all saw,” says Cardinal Consalvi in his memoirs, “that far from admitting the neutrality of the Holy See, Bonaparte expected it in the capacity of feudatory and vassal to take up the quarrels of France in no matter what war the latter might subsequently be engaged. The Holy See might then see itself, any morning or evening, attacked by Austria or Spain, or by all the Catholic or non-Catholic powers. What! the sole ambition or greed of France was to have the right of despoiling the holy father of his title of the common father of the faithful, and of compelling the representative of a God of Peace and the head of the religious world, to sow everywhere desolation and ruin, by keeping in a perpetual state of war the nations owing fealty to the tiara.”

So many reasons, human and divine, as evident to common sense as to conscience, decided the response of the Pope. He was moderate, tender, prudent; but he replied categorically to the requirements of the emperor. Pius VII wished to remain neuter, and not to drive from his states the English or the Russians; he did not admit the claim of the emperor to exercise over Rome a supreme protectorate. “The Pope does not recognize, and never has recognized, any power superior to himself. Your Majesty is infinitely great; you have been elected, crowned, consecrated, recognized emperor of the French, but not emperor of Rome. There exists no emperor of Rome.”

There was a good deal of boldness in repelling so haughtily the imperial pretensions; the Pope and Cardinal Consalvi were soon involved in a still more dangerous course. The accession of the new King of Naples had been announced to the court of Rome, by Cardinal Fesch, in arrogant terms: “The throne of Naples being vacant by a penalty incurred by the most scandalous perfidy of which the annals of nations have ever made mention, and his Majesty having found himself under the necessity of shielding this country, and the whole of Italy, from the madness of an insensate court, has judged it suitable to his dignity to confide the destinies of this country, which he loves, to a prince of his own house. The undersigned doubts not but that the Pontifical Government will see in this happy event a new guarantee of the system of order, justice, and consistency, which he has always had at heart to establish in all the places which have submitted to his influence.”

To this circuitous demand for the recognition of Joseph Bonaparte, the Pope replied by urging his ancient feudal rights over the kingdom of Naples–“agreements,” said Cardinal Consalvi, “which have always been observed, especially in the case of conquests; not only at the establishment of a new dynasty, but also at the commencement of each new reign.”

It was going very far back into history to reclaim doubtful rights. Napoleon keenly criticised the pretension: “His Majesty needs to make no researches to become aware of the fact that in times of ignorance the court of Rome usurped the right of giving away crowns and temporal rights to the princes of the earth; but if we found that in other ages the court at Rome dethroned sovereigns, preached crusades, and laid entire kingdoms under interdict, we should also discover that the Popes have always considered their temporal power as springing from the French emperors; and the court of Rome, without doubt, does not claim that Charlemagne received from it the investiture of his kingdom. If this is to go on,” added Napoleon, brusquely abandoning his historic researches, “I shall cause Consalvi to quit Rome, and make him responsible for what he is trying to do, because he is evidently bought by the English. He will see whether or not I have the power to maintain my imperial crown. Lay stress on that word _imperial_, and not royal, and upon the fact that the relations of the Pope with me must be those of his predecessors with the emperors of the west.” [Footnote: Draft of a note sent to Talleyrand by the emperor.]

At the same time, and as the thunder follows the lightning, the court of Rome learnt that the threat had been followed by performance. Upon the express order of the Emperor Napoleon, Civita Vecchia had been occupied by two regiments of the Neapolitan army. The districts of Benevento and Ponte-Corvo, surrounded by the kingdom of Naples, and belonging to the Holy See, were erected into principalities in favor of Talleyrand and Marshal Bernadotte. Cardinal Fesch was recalled. He quitted Rome after a warm altercation with the Pope. A few days later, and in the vain hope of ameliorating political relations becoming more and more difficult, Cardinal Consalvi gave in his resignation. He wrote to Cardinal Caprara, perpetual papal legate at Paris and completely subject to the imperial authority: “If any one had told me when I was negotiating the Concordat that in a short time I should appear to the French Government in the light of an enemy, I should have thought I was dreaming. But I am too much attached to the Holy See, to my sovereign, to my benefactor, and to my country, not to consider myself as compelled to dispel by my retirement the evils which might result from my presence. His Holiness consents to my resignation. His object has been to satisfy the emperor, and give him a proof of his desire to preserve harmony with his government by removing everything that might compromise it.”

The sacrifice of Cardinal Consalvi was useless, and passed unnoticed. Napoleon required from the Holy See not only submission to his will, but the acceptance of his principles. The caution of the court of Rome irritated him more and more. He frightened Cardinal Caprara with a violent scene: “Write that I demand from his Holiness a declaration without ambiguity, stating that during the present war, and any other future war, all the ports of the pontifical states shall be closed to all English vessels, either of war or commerce. Without this I shall cause all the rest of the pontifical states to be occupied, I will have the eagles fixed up over the gates of all its cities and domains, and, as I have done for Benevento and Ponte Corvo, I shall divide the provinces possessed by the Pope into so many duchies and principalities, which I shall confer upon whomsoever I please. If the Pope persists in his refusal, I will establish a senate at Rome; and when once Rome and the pontifical states shall be in my hands, they will never be out of them again.” Already the revenues of Civita Vecchia had been seized by Generals Lemarrois and Duhesme. “By what right do you do this?” demanded an employé of the pontifical treasury. “You serve a little prince and I serve a great sovereign,” replied the officer; “in that you can see all my right.” Such was throughout Europe the foundation of the right of the Emperor Napoleon. The governor of Civita Vecchia, Mgr. Negreta, had been seized by force in his residence, and sent back to Rome without an escort. Personal communication no longer existed between the Pope and the emperor. The letter of Pius VII., sent by the hands of Cardinal Caprara, remained unanswered. Alquier alone, who had succeeded Cardinal Fesch at Rome, still informed Napoleon as to the state of feeling there. An old Conventional, intelligent and moderate, the Minister of France, reported to Talleyrand, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, “People are strangely mistaken as to the character of the sovereign pontiff, if they have thought his apparent flexibility was yielding to all that they were striving to impress upon him. In all that pertains to the authority of the head of the Church, he takes counsel with himself alone. The Pope has a mild character, but very irritable, and susceptible of displaying a firmness proof against any trial; already they are openly saying, ‘If the emperor overturns us, his successor will re- establish us.'”

On the morrow of the battle of Jena, when the ruin of the Prussian monarchy had added new lustre to the splendor of Napoleon’s victories, the emperor wished to make one last effort in order to establish an absolute dominion over that little corner of Italy which still preserved an independent sovereignty. For more than a year he had not accepted any direct communication with the court of Rome: he commanded the attendance of Mgr. Arezzo, Bishop _in partibus_ of Seleucia, formerly papal nuncio in Russia, and who then happened to be at Dresden. The prelate was admitted to the emperor at Berlin, in the cabinet of the great Frederick: he has preserved a textual account of his conversation with Napoleon. “What did you have to do with Russia?” “Your Majesty is aware that there are in Russia 4,000,000 of Catholics. It is for that reason that the Pope maintains a representative there.” “The Pope ought not to have a minister at St. Petersburg; the Greeks have always been the enemies of Rome, and I do not know by what spirit of madness Rome can be possessed to desire the good of its enemies rather than of its friends. You are about to quit Dresden, and repair to Rome. You are my enemy. In the first place, you are not a Sicilian for nothing. I do not mean by that that you have spoken abusively of me, but you have desired that I should come to nothing, that my armies should be beaten, and that my enemies should triumph. You are not the only one to wish me evil; at Rome people think no better than elsewhere. The Pope is a holy man, whom they make believe whatever they please. They represent my demands to him under a false aspect, as Cardinal Consalvi has done, and then the good Pope is roused up to say that he will be killed rather than yield. Who thinks of killing him, _bon Dieu_? If he will not take the course I wish, I will certainly deprive him of his temporal power at Rome, but I shall always respect him as the head of the Church. There is no necessity that the Pope should be sovereign of Rome. The most holy Popes were not so. I shall secure him a good appanage of three millions, upon which he can properly keep up his position; and I shall place at Rome a king or a senator, and I shall divide his states into so many duchies. In reality, the main point of the matter is, that I wish the Pope to accede to the confederation; I expect him to be the friend of my friends, and the enemy of my enemies. In fifteen days you will be at Rome, and will peremptorily signify this to him.” “Your Majesty will permit me to repeat to him that which has been already said to him so many times: that the Pope, being the common father of the faithful, cannot separate himself from some to attach himself to others; and his ministry being a ministry of peace, he cannot make war against anybody, nor declare himself the enemy of any one whatever without failing in his duties and compromising his sacred character.” “But I do not claim at all that he should make war against anybody. I wish him to shut his ports against the English, and that he should not receive them into his states, and that not being able to defend his ports and fortresses he should permit me to defend them. Rest assured that at Rome they have lost their heads. They have no longer there the great men of the time of Leo X. Ganganelli would not have conducted himself in this style. I wish to be in safety in my own house. The whole of Italy belongs to me by right of conquest. Let the Pope do what I wish, and he will be recompensed for the past and for the future. I only forewarn you that all must be completed before the 1st of January: if the Pope will consent, he will lose nothing; if he will refuse, then I shall take away his states. Excommunications are no longer in fashion, and my soldiers will not refuse to march wherever I send them. Call to mind Charles V., who kept the Pope prisoner, and who made him recite prayers for him at Madrid. I shall take the same course if I am brought to bay.”

Mgr. Arezzo having asked for some prolongation of the delay: “Ah well! I give you till February,” replied the emperor; “but let everything be finished before February.” “And where will it be necessary to send the ambassador of the Pope? to Berlin, to Warsaw, to St. Petersburg? Your Majesty moves so quickly!” Napoleon began to laugh. “No, to Paris,” said he.

It was in fact at Paris, in the month of October, 1807, when the victory of Friedland had delivered Russia, like Prussia, to the influence of Napoleon, that the envoy of the Pope succeeded in obtaining an audience– not of the emperor, but of Champagny, his new Minister of Foreign Affairs. New difficulties had aggravated the bitterness of the relations between France and Rome. Pius VII., however, had perceived that the requirements of the emperor, so absolute in their harshness, would not yield to his moderate and passive resistance. He had authorized his French representative, the Cardinal de Bayanne, to make an important concession. “The last demands of his Imperial Majesty,” wrote Cardinal Casoni, Minister of State, on the 14th of October, “are limited as regards the English to the closure of the ports. The holy father has every reason to think that his adherence ought to be limited to this closure; but if anything else is required of him he will consent to it, provided that it does not compel him to engage in actual war, and that it does not injure the independence of the pontifical sovereignty. It will he desirable then that your Eminence and the cardinal legate, to whom this despatch is common, should be on your guard, to concert the explanation and import of these words in order to satisfy his Imperial Majesty as the holy father desires, but at the same time not to impose upon his Holiness an obligation opposed to his duties and his honor.”

This was a good deal to grant, and it curtailed considerably the formal declarations of neutrality so often repeated by the court of Rome. Napoleon required still more, and his secret thoughts were not in accord with his public declarations. The obstacles to the free choice of an ambassador; the requirements with regard to the full powers which were to be conferred on Cardinal de Bayanne; the forcible hindrance to the journey of the latter, arbitrarily detained at Milan; the systematic neglect of his requests for an audience–clearly proved the decision taken to obtain all or nothing–to subjugate or break the pontifical power. The last offers of the Pope fully satisfied the demands of the emperor, as expressed by Cardinal Fesch, Talleyrand, and Napoleon himself again and again. Champagny declared that these concessions were no longer sufficient. The Pope was to engage himself to make common cause with the Emperor Napoleon, and to unite his land and sea forces with those of France in all wars against England. The ports closed against the English; the care of the ports of Ostia, Ancona, and Civita Vecchia confided to France; 2000 men of the French troops maintained at Ancona at the cost of the Holy See; and concessions without reserve on the subject of the number of French cardinals, as of the consecration of Italian bishops–such were the conditions of the convention presented to the Cardinal de Bayanne by Champagny. A few other articles, treating of the spiritual power, and which had been abandoned at the request of Cardinal Fesch, remained as a menace suspended over the head of the negotiator, in case his submission should not be sufficiently prompt and complete. General Lemarrois had already taken possession of the duchy of Urbino, of the province of Macerata, of Fermo, and Spoleto. The Cardinal de Bayanne was still negotiating, but the order for his recall had been sent from Rome (9th of November, 1807). “God and the world will do us justice against the proceedings of the emperor, let them be what they may,” wrote Pius VII.

The exactions of Champagny had heaped up a measure which was already overflowing. In full Consistory, and without any hesitation on the part of either Pope or cardinals, the proposals were unanimously rejected. “This is the fruit of our journey to Paris, of our patience, of the forbearance which has led us to make so many sacrifices, to suffer so many humiliations. If such pretensions are persisted in, you must immediately demand your passport, and come away.” Such were the instructions sent on the 2nd of December to the Cardinal de Bayanne by the holy father. The orders sent by the emperor to his agents did not wait long for a response. Already for some time past very considerable forces had been grouped to the north and south of the pontifical states, under the orders of General Miollis. Six thousand Frenchmen were destined for this expedition. A Neapolitan column of 3000 men was to occupy Terracina. All the movements of the troops had been carefully calculated and foreseen; the care of watching over their execution was confided to Prince Eugène and the King of Naples. The emperor wrote to Champagny on the 22nd of January, 1808:

“On the 25th of January the French army will be at Perugia; on the 3rd of February it will be at Rome. The express, setting out on the 25th, will arrive at Rome on the 1st of February, and will thus carry your orders to Signer Alquier two days before the troops arrive. You ought to make known to Signer Alquier that General Miollis, who commands my troops, and who appears to be directing his course towards Naples, will stay at Rome and take possession of the castle of St. Angelo. When Signer Alquier shall become aware that the troops are at the gate of Rome, he shall present to the Cardinal Secretary of State the subjoined note: ‘The arrival of General Miollis has for its aim the protection of the rearguard of the army of Naples. On his way, he presents himself at Rome to give force to the measures which the emperor has resolved on taking to purge this city of the scoundrels to whom it has given asylum, and consequently to all the enemies of France.’ You will put in cipher in your despatch the following paragraph: ‘The intention of the emperor is to accustom by this note, and by these proceedings, the people of Rome and the French troops to live together, in order that if the court of Rome should continue to show itself as insensate as it now is, it might insensibly cease to exist as a temporal power without any notice being taken of it.’ Nevertheless, whilst desiring to avoid disturbance, and to leave things _in statu quo_, I am prepared to take strong measures the first time the Pope indulges in any bull or manifesto; for a decree shall be immediately published, revoking the gift of Charlemagne, and reuniting the states of the Church to the kingdom of Italy, furnishing proofs of the evils that religion has suffered through the sovereignty of Rome, and making apparent the contrast between Jesus Christ dying on the cross and His successor making himself a king!”

It was not without a certain uneasiness that the emperor was preparing thus to use violence against an unarmed sovereign, and historical decrees were not the only arms on which he expected to rely. “The slightest insurrection that may break out,” wrote he to Prince Eugène (February 7th, 1808), “must be repressed with grape-shot, if necessary, and severe examples must be made.”

No insurrection broke out; the Pope and his followers had resolved upon giving to the world a startling demonstration of the material powerlessness of the Holy See in presence of brute force. Whilst General Miollis was entering Rome, on February 2nd, 1808, at eight o’clock in the morning, disarming the pontifical troops in order to seize upon the Castle of St. Angelo, the Pope was officiating in the chapel of the Quirinal, surrounded by the Sacred College. The palace was invested by the troops, and cannon were pointed at the walls; the cardinals went forth without tumult or protest. The French officers were not a little surprised to see them get into their carriages and retire without letting any trace of annoyance be visible on their countenances. [Footnote: Memoirs of Cardinal Pacca.]

Only a protest by the holy father, conceived in the most moderate terms, was affixed to the walls of Rome: “Not having been able to comply with all the demands which have been made to him on the part of the French Government, because the voice of his conscience and his sacred duties forbade it, his Holiness Pius VII. has believed it his duty to submit to the disastrous consequences with which he has been threatened as the result of his refusal, and even the military occupation of his capital. Resigned in the humility of his heart to the unsearchable judgments of heaven, he commits his cause into the hands of God; but at the same time, unwilling to fail in his essential obligations to guarantee the rights of his sovereignty, he has given orders to protest, as he protests daily, against every usurpation of his dominions, his will being that the rights of the Holy See should be and remain always intact.”

The times of supreme violence had not yet come, and the emperor himself had not perhaps foreseen to what extremities he would be led, by the aggression he had just committed, and the underhand struggle he had been maintaining for three years against the conscientious will of an unarmed old man. However, the habitual roughness of his arbitrary proceedings did not fail to manifest themselves from the beginning. Champagny had been ordered to declare to the Cardinal de Bayanne that the French soldiers established at Rome would remain there until the Pope should have entered into the Italian Confederation, and should have consented to make common cause with the powers composing it, in every case and against all enemies. “This condition is the _sine qua non_ of his Majesty’s proposal. If the Pope does not accept it, his Majesty will not know how to recognize his temporal sovereignty. He has decided to transfer the power of Rome into secular hands.”

At the same time, and as a necessary commentary on these imperious injunctions, the foreign cardinals in the pontifical states received orders from Napoleon to quit Rome. The Neapolitan cardinals, to the number of seven, had up to that time refused to take an oath to King Joseph. At the first news of the measure which threatened them, the Pope ordered them to remain near himself, “for the service of the Holy See;” they were seized in their houses, and conducted to the frontiers of the kingdom of Naples by gendarmes. On March 10th the same order was addressed by the emperor to the vice-King of Italy for fourteen new members of the Sacred College. “Let Litta return to Milan; let the Genoese return to Genoa, the Italians to the kingdom of Italy, the Piedmontese to Piedmont, the Neapolitans to Naples. This measure is to be executed by fair means or foul. Since it is the cardinals who have lost the states of the Church by their evil counsels, let them return every one to his own place.” Cardinal Casoni, till recently Secretary of State to the Pope, and Cardinal Doria Pamphili, now officiating–the one born at Sarzana, the other a Genoese– were prevented by this interdiction from living in the Roman States. Alquier, the minister of France, was quietly recalled to Paris; a simple secretary of legation remained at Rome to represent the diplomatic service. General Miollis well seconded the intentions of the emperor with regard to the Holy See. Against the advice of his counsellors, the Pope sent to Cardinal Caprara an order to quit Paris. “Violence has been resorted to,” wrote Pius VII. to his easygoing legate, “even to laying hands on four of our cardinals and conducting them to Naples in the midst of an armed force; an excess which only requires the violation of our own personal freedom for the scandal to be complete. We cannot, by the residence of our representative with the French Government, give occasion for thinking any longer that we are not deeply wounded by the persecution we have been made to suffer, and the oppression manifested towards the Holy See. Our intention is, then, if our capital is not without delay evacuated by the French troops, that you should demand your passports, and that you should set out with the Cardinal de Bayanne, our legate extraordinary, in order to come and share with us and your brothers the lot which is reserved for us.”

I wished to tell in some detail the relations of Napoleon with the court of Rome, because they clearly point out the first steps decidedly taken along a path that grew more and more daring. Conquest had for a long time borne its bitter fruits. Conquered sovereigns had submitted to the yoke and to the haughty requirements of the conqueror; such was the absolute right of victory, and those who suffered from it recognized a power which in all time had belonged to the conqueror. The emperor henceforth went much further than this; he did not confine himself to fighting, conquering, and dispossessing those he had vanquished, and dividing their spoils. He began at Rome to impose his arbitrary caprices upon a prince who had never taken up arms against him. At the same time, and by a manoeuvre concocted in the most masterly manner, and yet most inexcusable, he was about to dethrone a king, his ally, humbly submissive to his power and his exactions. The throne of Spain was the only one still occupied by a prince of the house of Bourbon. Napoleon had resolved upon seating a Bonaparte upon it. Already the troops destined for this enterprise were quitting Paris, marching, without knowing it, towards long disasters. Yielding to the irresistible impulses of absolute power without limits and without a curb, Napoleon was led into having recourse to every description of violence, and making use of every kind of perfidy. He wished to be everywhere and always obeyed. For six years past no one had resisted his will without being crushed; he was at last about to meet with a check–at Rome, in the conscience of the Pope; in Spain, in the passions of an aroused people.

The situation of Spain had for a long time been sad and wretched. Governed by a favorite, whose crimes he ignored, King Charles IV. had abandoned power into the hands of the Prince de la Paix. At his side, and in a condition of suspicion which resembled captivity, the heir to the throne, Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, had become the idol of the people, as a consequence of the scorn and aversion inspired by the favorite. The young prince, weak and cunning, submissive in his turn to his old tutor, the Canon Escoiquiz, was carrying on underhand intrigues with a few great lords who were devoted to him. He had attached to himself Beauharnais, the ambassador of France, an upright and sincere man, with no great political penetration. The little council of the prince had thought themselves capable of concluding an alliance between Ferdinand and the all-powerful sovereign of France. On the 11th of October, 1807, the Prince of Asturias sent by Beauharnais a letter addressed to the “hero who threw into the shade all those who had preceded him;” Ferdinand solicited the hand of a princess of the imperial house.

It was the moment of the negotiation of the treaty of Fontainebleau and the anticipated partition of Portugal. On the same day on which the signatures were exchanged (October 27th, 1807) the Prince of Asturias, for a long time suspected of criminal intrigues, was arrested at Madrid, as well as his accomplices. On the 29th, King Charles IV. wrote to the emperor, in order to make him acquainted with the sad discovery which had just wounded all his paternal sentiments. “I pray your Majesty,” added the unfortunate monarch, “to aid me with your knowledge and advice.”

The troops that were to enter Spain were ready, and the first movement of Napoleon was to march them forward immediately. The trouble existing in the royal house afforded a ready excuse for an intervention entreated at once by both father and son. The King of Spain himself invoked assistance. The army of the Gironde was immediately reinforced and provisioned. A second corps was already preparing, but the Prince de la Paix discovered in the correspondence of Ferdinand the proof of his relations with Beauharnais. He did not wish to compromise his principality of Algarve by exciting the anger of Napoleon: the Prince of Asturias was exempted from the law, and his pardon solemnly proclaimed in an official decree by Charles IV. Only his accomplices were prosecuted, but the tribunals acquitted them. Meanwhile the army of the Gironde, under General Dupont, had entered Spain. The corps for watching the sea coasts, commanded by Marshal Moncey, followed in the same direction. Other detachments seized upon the fortresses of the frontiers. “On arriving at Pampeluna, General Duhesme will take possession of the town,” wrote the emperor to General Clarke, Minister of War (January 28th, 1808), “and without making any show he will occupy the citadel and the fortifications, treating the commandants and the inhabitants with the greatest courtesy, making no movement, and saying that he is expecting further orders.”

The orders were not long in arriving; 100,000 men of the grand army were effecting a backward movement, approaching France, and consequently Spain. At the same time, Joachim Murat, the living hero of hazardous and doubtful enterprises, had just been appointed general-in-chief of the armies in Spain. His instructions were all military. “Do not disturb in any manner the division of Duhesme,” wrote the emperor to his lieutenant, on the 16th of March, 1808; “leave that where it is. It guards Barcelona and holds that province, and fulfils its purpose sufficiently. When the 3000 men of the reinforcement who are about to rejoin this division, and who will be at Barcelona towards the 5th or 6th of April, shall have arrived, it will be another thing. Then he will have an army capable of carrying him anywhere. At the moment when you receive this letter, the head of General Verdier’s corps will touch the borders of Spain, and General Merle ought to find himself at Burgos. Continue to speak smooth words. Reassure the king, the Prince de la Paix, the Prince of Asturias, and the queen. The great thing is to arrive at Madrid, and there let your troops rest, and replenish their stores of provisions. Say that I am soon coming in order to reconcile and arrange matters; above all, do not commit any hostilities, if it can possibly be helped. I hope that everything may be arranged, and it would be dangerous to scare these folks too much.”

Murat had conceived intoxicating hopes which did not tend to the tranquillity of the Spanish court. He had asked for political instructions, which were refused to him. “What I do not tell you is what you ought not to know,” wrote Napoleon to his lieutenant. Uneasiness and fear reigned in the household of the king, under the outside show of welcome lavished on the French soldiers. Already the Prince de la Paix was preparing for the flight of the royal family. That which the house of Braganza had done by setting out for Brazil, the house of Bourbon could do by taking refuge in Peru. The departure of the court for Seville was announced; it was the first step in a longer journey, of which the project had not yet been revealed to Charles IV. The royal family were besides profoundly divided. The Prince of Asturias swore that he would not quit Aranjuez; his uncle Don Antonio supported him in resistance. A few of the ministers were seemingly throwing off the yoke of the Prince de la Paix. The Marquis of Caballero, the Minister of Justice, refused to sign the orders necessary for the departure. “I command it,” said the Prince de la Paix imperiously. “I only receive orders from the king,” said the Spanish nobleman in a tone to which the favorite was not accustomed.

Meanwhile the population of Madrid, and the peasants in the environs of Aranjuez, were stirred up by the reports of the departure which circulated in the country; the preparations carried on by the confidants of the Prince de la Paix, excited much anger and uneasiness. An agitated and inquisitive crowd ceaselessly surrounded the palace, carefully watching all the movements of the inmates: a proclamation of the King, promising not to withdraw, did not suffice to allay suspicion. On the night of March 17th, a veiled lady came forth from the house of the Prince de la Paix to a carriage which was waiting for her. The multitude thought they had discovered a prelude to the departure; all hands were extended to stay the fugitive. In the struggle a shot was fired; the crowd immediately rushed forward, forcing the gates, and overturning the guards who protected the palace of the favorite. In an instant his dwelling was pillaged, his art treasures destroyed, his tapestries torn up and scattered to the winds. We have been witnesses of the sorrowful results of popular fury. The Princess de la Paix alone, trembling for her life in the palace where her just pride had so often suffered, was spared by the vengeance of the multitude; they brought her in triumph to the house of the king. “Behold innocence!” cried the people. The Prince de la Paix had disappeared.

They were seeking for him thirty-six hours, and the anxiety of the king and queen was becoming insupportable; both loudly demanded their favorite. With a view of turning away the anger of the people from his head, Charles IV. issued an edict depriving Emanuel Godoy, Prince de la Paix, of all his offices and dignities, and authorizing him to choose for himself the place of his retreat. The favorite had more correctly estimated the hatred excited against himself; he had sought no other retreat than a loft in his palace. There, rolled up in a mat, with a few pieces of gold in his hands, he waited for the moment to take his flight. On March 19th, at ten o’clock in the morning; as he attempted to escape secretly, he was perceived by a soldier of that guard to which he had formerly belonged; immediately arrested, he was dragged to a guard-house. When he at length reached this sad refuge he was bruised and bleeding, from the blows showered upon him by all those who could reach him through the crowding ranks of the multitude and the barriers formed by the soldiers. At the barracks where the Prince de la Paix lay on the straw, the Prince of Asturias came to seek him out in the name of his parents, and to promise him his life. “Art thou already king, that thou canst thus dispense pardon?” asked Godoy, with a bitter perception of the change which had been effected in the position of the prince as in his own. “No,” replied Ferdinand, “but I soon shall be.”

The royal uneasiness did not permit them long to leave the favorite in a guard-house, a prey to the insults and ill-usage of the populace; the king and queen remained obstinately faithful to their friend. A coach was got ready to take him away to a place of safety; as soon as it appeared, the people threw themselves upon the carriage and broke it up. When the noise reached the palace the old king burst into tears: “My people no longer love me!” cried he; “I will no longer reign over them. I shall abdicate in favor of my son.” The queen’s mind was occupied with no other thought than the safety of Godoy; she thought it assured by this renunciation of the throne, and willingly set her hands to it. The act of abdication was immediately made public, and saluted, at Madrid as at Aranjuez, by the transports of the multitude. Henceforth King Ferdinand VII. was alone surrounded by the courtiers; his aged father remained abandoned in the palace of Aranjuez. Murat was already approaching Madrid, and all eyes were turned towards him as towards the forerunner of the supreme arbiter. Ferdinand VII. hastened to send emissaries to him. The Queen of Etruria, who had only just reached her parents, wrote to him conjuring him to come to Aranjuez, to judge for himself of the situation. On March 25th, 1808, the French army made its entry into the capital.

The popular insurrection which had overthrown the Prince de la Paix and provoked the abdication of Charles IV., had thwarted the plans of Napoleon so far as his lieutenant was able to divine them. The flight of the royal family would have left the throne of Spain vacant, and Murat had cherished the hope of posing as a liberator of the Spanish nation, delivered from the yoke so long imposed on it by a miserable favorite. In the presence of a new and popular royalty, born of a patriotic sentiment, Murat comprehended for the first time the necessity of reserve and prudence. The distrust of the new monarch as regards fallen royalty, the anger and ill- will of the parents as regards the son who had dethroned them, were to bring both parties before the powerful protector who had been wise enough beforehand to effect a military occupation of their country. It was important to remain free, and to prepare for war with King Ferdinand VII. The popular passion naturally offered a point of support against Charles IV., his wife, and his favorite. Montyon, aide-de-camp to Murat, repaired to Aranjuez, counselling the old king to draw up a protest against the violence of which he had been the victim. Until then, the queen in the letters which she had addressed to Napoleon and to Murat, had only asked for a place in which to lay her head: “Let the grand duke prevail upon the emperor to give to the king my husband, to myself, and to the Prince de la Paix, sufficient for all three to subsist upon in a place good for our health, free from oppression or intrigues.” At the instigation of Murat, and not without some hesitation, Charles IV. declared that he had only abdicated in order to avoid greater evils, and to prevent the effusion of the blood of his subjects, “which rendered the act null and of no effect.” Murat at the same time made use of the friendship and confidence which had long existed between Beauharnais and Ferdinand VII., to suggest to this prince the idea of presenting himself before the emperor and asking sanction for his royal authority. The Spanish troops received orders to effect a retrograde movement, and the new monarch solemnly entered into Madrid on the 24th of March, amidst impassioned cries of joy from the populace.

The lieutenant had well divined the idea of the imperious master from whom he was separated by a distance that perilously retarded his orders. The emperor had heard the news of the royal departure for Seville and for America. He had written, on March 23rd, the same day upon which Murat had watered Madrid in the footprints of the revolutions: “I suppose I am about to receive the news of all that will have taken place at Madrid on the 17th and 18th of March.” Unforeseen events having occurred, he wrote to Murat on the 27th: “You are to prevent any harm from being done, either to the king or queen or to the Prince de la Paix. If the latter is brought to trial, I imagine that I shall be consulted. You are to tell M. de Beauharnais that I desire him to intervene, and that this affair should be hushed up. Until the new king is recognized by me you are to act as if the old king was still reigning; on that point you are to await my orders. As I have already commanded you, maintain good order at Madrid; prevent any extraordinary warlike preparations. Employ M. de Beauharnais in all this until my arrival, which you are to declare to be imminent. You are always saying that you have no instructions; I give you them every time; I tell you to keep your troops well rested, to replenish your commissariat, and not to prejudice the question in any way. It seems to me that you have no need to know anything more.”

The political instructions were to reach Murat through the agency of General Savary, often charged by the emperor with delicate missions requiring absolute and unscrupulous devotion. On seizing by stratagem the fortress of Pampeluna, General Darmagnac had frankly said, “This is dirty work.” General Savary obeyed without reserve, always absorbed in the enterprise confided to him, and never letting himself be turned aside by any obstacle. The emperor wrote on the 30th of March to the Grand Duke of Berg:–

“I received your letters with those of the King of Spain. Snatch the Prince de la Paix from the hands of these people. My intention is that no harm shall be done to him, since he is two leagues from Madrid and almost in your reach; I shall be much vexed to hear that any evil has happened to him.

“The king says that he will repair to your camp; I wait to know that he is in safety, in order to make known to you my intentions. You have done well in not recognizing the Prince of Asturias.

“You are to place King Charles IV. at the Escurial, to treat him with the greatest respect, to declare that he continues always to rule in Spain, until I shall have recognized the revolution.

“I strongly approve your conduct in these unforeseen circumstances. I suppose you will not have allowed the Prince de la Paix to perish, and that you will not have permitted King Charles to go Badajoz. If he is still in your hands, you must dissemble with Beauharnais, and say that you cannot recognize the Prince of Asturias, whom I have not recognized; that it is necessary to let King Charles come to the Escurial; that the first thing I shall require on my arrival will be to see him. Take all measures not to have his life in jeopardy. I hope the position in which you find yourself will have led you to adopt a sound policy.”

On the 27th of March, three days before ordering Murat to hold the balance suspended between father and son, Napoleon had written to the King of Holland, Louis Bonaparte: “My brother, the King of Spain has just abdicated; the Prince de la Paix has been thrown into prison. The commencement of an insurrection has broken forth at Madrid. On that occasion my troops were forty leagues away from Madrid. The Grand Duke of Berg was to enter on the 23rd with 40,000 men. Up to this time the people loudly call for me. Certain that I should have no solid peace with England except by effecting a great change on the continent, I have resolved to place a French prince upon the throne of Spain. The climate of Holland does not suit you. Besides, Holland would never know how to emerge from its ruins. In this whirlwind of the world, whether we have peace or not, there are no means by which Holland can sustain herself. In this state of things, I think of you for the throne of Spain. You will be the sovereign of a generous nation, of 11,000,000 of men, and of important colonies. With economy and activity, Spain could have 60,000 men under arms and fifty vessels in her ports. You perceive that this is still only a project, and that, although I have 100,000 men in Spain, it is possible, according to the circumstances that may arise, either that I may march directly, and that all may be accomplished in a fortnight, or that I may march more slowly, and that this may be a secret during several months of operations. Answer me categorically. If I appoint you King of Spain, do you agree? Can I count upon you? Answer me only these two words: ‘I have received your letter of such date; I answer Yes;’ and then I shall conclude that you will do what I wish; or, otherwise, ‘No,’ which will give me to understand that you do not agree to my proposition. Do not take anyone into your confidence, and do not speak to anyone whatever as to the purport of this letter, for a thing must be done before we confess to having thought of it.”

Full of these resolves, which he had not yet completely revealed to his most intimate confidants, the emperor quitted Paris on the 2nd of April. He was expected in Spain, and he had announced his arrival over and over again, but his purpose was not to push forward his journey so far. Already, at the instigation of General Savary, who knowingly seconded the advice innocently given by Beauharnais, the new king had resolved upon presenting himself before Napoleon. The latter was equally expecting the arrival of the Prince de la Paix, the bearer of messages from the king, Charles IV., and the queen. The emperor had written on his behalf to Marshal Bessières, recommending him to protect the progress of the formerly all-powerful favorite. “I have not to complain of him in any way,” said he; “he is only sent into France for his safety; reassure him by all means.” The counsellors of Ferdinand VII. refused to allow the Prince de la Paix to set out; he was regarded as a hostage. The young king had vainly solicited from his father a letter of introduction to Napoleon. “In this letter,” said he, “you will felicitate the emperor on his arrival, and you bear witness that I have the same sentiments with regard to him that you have always shown.” Anger and distrust remained very powerful in the little court of Aranjuez. Ferdinand VII. set out on the 10th of April, accompanied by General Savary, who lavished upon him the royal titles rigorously refused by Murat. The emperor had given similar instructions to Bessières. “Without entering into the political question, on those occasions on which you will be compelled to speak of the Prince of Asturias do not call him Ferdinand VII.; evade the difficulty by calling those who rule at Madrid the government.” A junta, or Council of State, had been formed at Madrid, under the presidency of the Infanta Don Antonio, in order to direct affairs in the absence of the new monarch. The latter had already arrived at Burgos.

Napoleon had not yet passed Bordeaux, where he remained a few days, designedly vying in delay with the Spanish court. He wrote on the 10th of April to Murat: “If the Prince of Asturias presents himself at Burgos and at Bayonne, he will have kept his word. When the end that I propose to myself, and with which Savary will have made you acquainted, is accomplished, you will be able to declare verbally and in all conversations that my intention is not only to preserve the integrity of the provinces and the independence of the country, but also the privileges of all classes, and that I will pledge myself to do that; that I am desirous of seeing Spain happy, and in such circumstances that I may never see it an object of dread to France. Those who wish for a liberal government and the regeneration of Spain will find them in my plan; those who fear the return of the queen and the Prince de la Paix may be reassured, since those individuals will have no influence and no credit. The nobles who wish for consideration and honors which they did not have in the past administration, will find them. Good Spaniards who wish for tranquillity and a wise administration, will find these advantages in a system which will maintain the integrity and independence of the Spanish monarchy.”

Perhaps some provision of the _system_ that the Emperor Napoleon was projecting had crossed the mind of Ferdinand VII. and of his counsellors; perhaps the Spanish pride was wounded by the little eagerness to set foot in Spain shown by the all-powerful sovereign of the French. Certain it is that General Savary, who had had much difficulty in persuading Ferdinand VII. to decide on pursuing his journey beyond Burgos, failed in his efforts to induce him to quit Vittoria. The behavior of the general became rude and haughty. “I set out for Bayonne,” said he; “you will have occasion to regret your decision.” Napoleon arrived, in fact, at Bayonne a few hours after his envoy.

Two days later General Savary retook the road to Vittoria, $he bearer of a letter from the emperor for the _Prince of Asturias_.

“My brother, I have received the letter of your Royal Highness. You ought to have found proof, by the papers which you have had from the king your father, of the interest I have always taken in him. You will permit me, under the circumstances, to speak to you freely and faithfully. On arriving at Madrid I was hoping to induce my illustrious friend to accept a few reforms necessary in his states, and to give some satisfaction to public opinion. The dismissal of the Prince de la Paix appeared to me necessary for his happiness and that of his subjects. The affairs of the north have retarded my journey. The events of Aranjuez have taken place. I am not the judge of what has passed, and of the conduct of the Prince de la Paix; but I know well that it is dangerous for kings to accustom their people to shed blood and do justice for themselves. I pray God that your Royal Highness may not one day have to make the experiment. How could you bring the Prince de la Paix to trial without including with him the queen, and your father the king? He has no longer any friends. Your Royal Highness will have none if ever you are unfortunate. The people willingly avenge themselves for the honor they render to us. I have often manifested a desire that the Prince de la Paix should be withdrawn from affairs; the friendship of King Charles has as often induced me to hold my tongue and turn away my eyes from the weakness of his attachment. Miserable men that we are! feebleness and error are our mottoes. But all this can be set right. Let the Prince de la Paix be exiled from Spain, and I will offer him a refuge in France. As to the abdication of Charles IV., it took place at a moment when my armies covered Spain, and in the eyes of Europe and of posterity I should appear to have despatched so many troops only to precipitate from the throne my ally and friend. As a neighboring sovereign it is permitted me to wish to become fully acquainted with this abdication before recognizing it. I say to your Royal Highness, to the Spaniards, to the entire world, If the abdication of King Charles is a spontaneous movement, if it has not been forced upon him by the insurrection and the mob of Aranjuez, I make no difficulty about admitting it, and I recognize your Royal Highness as King of Spain. I desire then to talk with you on this point. When King Charles informed me of the occurrence of October last I was sorrowfully affected by it.

“Your Royal Highness has been much in the wrong: I did not require as a proof of it the letter you wrote to me, and which I have always wished to ignore. Should you be a king in your turn you would know how sacred are the rights of the throne; any application to a foreign sovereign on the part of an hereditary prince is criminal. As regards the marriage of a French princess with your Royal Highness, I hold it would be conformable to the interests of my people, and above all a circumstance which would attach me by new bonds to a family that has won nothing but praises from me since I ascended the throne. Your Royal Highness ought to mistrust the outbreaks of popular emotions; they may be able to commit a few murders on my isolated soldiers, but the ruin of Spain would be the result of it. Your Highness understands my thoughts fully; you see that I am floating between diverse ideas, that require to be fixed. You may be certain that in any case I shall comport myself towards you as towards the king your father.”

On receiving this letter, by turns menacing and caressing, and on listening to the commentaries with which General Savary accompanied it, the prince and his followers still hesitated to advance beyond the frontiers. The repugnance manifested by the population became every day more intense. Urquijo, one of the oldest and wisest counsellors of King Charles IV., insisted upon the advantages that Napoleon would realize by counterbalancing the claims of the son by those of the father, and by thus placing the peninsula under the laws of the general system of the French Empire. He asserted that the intention was already apparent under the words used, official and private, and that Ferdinand would lose himself, and lose Spain, in repairing to Bayonne. “What!” cried the Duc de l’Infantado, for a long time an accomplice in all the intrigues of the Prince of Asturias, “what! would a hero surrounded with so much glory descend to the basest of perfidies?” “You do not understand heroes,” replied Urquijo, bitterly. “You have not read Plutarch. The greatest amongst them have raised their greatness upon heaps of corpses. What did our own Charles V. do in Germany and Italy, and in Spain itself? I do not go back to the most wicked of our princes. Posterity takes no account of means.”

This counsel was too prudent and wise to prevail with minds at once headstrong and feeble. Ferdinand resolved to trust to the hopes that Napoleon caused to gleam before his eyes; he knew not that his retreat was cut off. “If the prince comes to Bayonne,” the emperor had written to Marshal Bessières, “it is very well; if he retires to Burgos, you will have him arrested, and conducted to Bayonne. You will inform the Grand Duke of Berg of this occurrence; and you will make it known at Burgos that King Charles has protested, and that the Prince of Asturias is not king. If he refuses the interview that I propose, it is a sign of his belonging to the English party, and then there will be nothing more to arrange.” On the 20th of April the prince and his suite crossed the little river of the Bidassoa. As he was leaving Vittoria, the crowd assembled in the streets became violent, and cut the traces of the horses. In order to avoid a popular riot, the squadrons of the imperial guard had to surround the carriage of the prince; he set out from his states as if already a prisoner.

It was as a suppliant that he arrived at Bayonne, and the sorrowful impression he had experienced on passing the frontier increased as he drew nigh to the end of his journey. There was no one on his road to meet him or compliment him, save the three Spanish noblemen whom he had himself sent to Napoleon, and who returned to their prince troubled with the gloomiest presentiments. Marshals Duroc and Berthier received him, however, with courtesy when he arrived at Bayonne, and the emperor soon had him brought to the chateau of Marac, in which he himself was installed. Carrying out his previous declaration, Napoleon would give to his visitor no other title than that of Prince of Asturias. At the end of the day, General Savary escorted Ferdinand to his apartment; the emperor kept beside himself Canon Escoiquiz.

The hour for revelations had arrived. Napoleon took the trouble to develop to the canon preceptor his reasons for depriving the house of Bourbon of the throne, and for placing upon it a prince of the Bonaparte family. “I will give Etruria to Prince Ferdinand in exchange,” said he; “it is a fine country; he will be happy and tranquil. The populace will perhaps rebel on a few points, but I have on my side religion and the monks. I have had experience of it, and the countries where there are plenty of monks are easy to subjugate.”

Napoleon paced to and fro in his room, sometimes stopping in front of the canon, whom he terrified by his flashing glances and by the extreme animation of his language, sometimes according to him one of those familiar and waggish gestures which were the signs of his favor. The unfortunate Escoiquiz sought in vain to defend the cause of his prince, making the most of his merits and his personal attachment to the emperor, and pledging his submission if he became sovereign of Spain and an ally of the imperial family. “You are telling me stories, canon,” replied Napoleon. “You are too well informed to be ignorant of the fact that a woman is too feeble a bond to determine the political conduct of a prince: and who will guarantee that you will be near him in six months’ time. All this is only bad politics. Your Bourbons have never served me except against their will. They have always been ready to betray me. A brother will be worth more to me, whatever you say about it. The regeneration of Spain is impossible in their hands; they will be always, in spite of themselves, the support of ancient abuses. My part is decided on; the revolution must be accomplished. Spain will not lose a village, and I have taken my precautions as to the colonies. Let your prince decide before the arrival of King Charles relative to the exchange of his rights against Tuscany. If he accepts, the treaty will be concluded; if he refuses, it is of little consequence, for I shall obtain from his father the cession that I require, Tuscany will remain in possession of France, and his royal highness will receive no indemnity.”

The canon covered his face with his hands. “Alas!” cried he, “what will be said of us who counselled our prince to come hither?” The emperor again reassured him. “Do not annoy yourself, canon,” said he; “neither you nor the others have any cause to afflict yourselves. You could not divine my intentions, for nobody was acquainted with them. Go and find your prince.”

General Savary displayed less eloquence and power of persuasion in announcing to the unfortunate Ferdinand the intentions of the emperor, whom he had on his part so adroitly served. The prince was utterly astounded when his old preceptor entered his room. The intimate counsellors were convoked; they persisted in seeing in the declaration of Napoleon a daring manoeuvre intended to terrify the house of Spain into some important cession of territory. The prince formally refused to accept the kingdom of Etruria; he maintained that the rights of the crown of Spain were unalienable; he possessed them by consent of his father Charles IV., who alone could dispute the throne with him. Two negotiators were successively commissioned to carry this reply to Champagny, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.

The latter had just drawn up a report for the emperor, deciding upon taking possession of Spain. “We must recommence the work of Louis XIV.,” it said. “That which policy counsels, justice authorizes. The present circumstances do not permit your Majesty to refrain from intervention in the affairs of this kingdom. The King of Spain has been precipitated from his throne. Your Majesty is called upon to judge between the father and son: which part will you take? Would you sacrifice the cause of sovereigns and of all fathers, and permit an outrage to be done to the majesty of the throne? Would you leave upon the throne of Spain a prince who will not be able to preserve himself from the yoke of the English, so that your Majesty will have constantly to maintain a large army in Spain? If, on the contrary, your Majesty is determined to replace Charles IV. on the throne, you know that it could not be done without having to overcome great resistance, nor without causing French blood to flow. Lastly, could your Majesty, taking no interest in these great differences, abandon the Spanish nation to its doom, when already a violent fermentation is agitating it, and England is sowing there the seeds of trouble and anarchy? Ought your Majesty then to leave this new prey to be devoured by the English? Certainly not. Thus your Majesty, compelled to undertake the regeneration of Spain, in a manner useful for her and useful for France, ought neither to re-establish at the price of much blood a dethroned king, nor to sanction the revolt of his son, nor to abandon Spain to itself; for in these two last cases it would be to deliver it to the English, who by their gold and their intrigues have succeeded in tearing and rending this country, and thus you would assure their triumph.

“I have set forth to your Majesty the circumstances which compel you to come to a great determination. Policy counsels it, justice authorizes it, the troubles of Spain impose it as a necessity. Your Majesty has to provide for the safety of your empire, and save Spain from the influence of the English.”

Even the most resolute and scrupulous men love to be bolstered up with words, and to surround themselves with vain pretexts. The Emperor Napoleon, resolved on robbing the house of Bourbon of a throne which had become suspected by him, had asked from Champagny an explanatory memoir, and took care to pose as an arbitrator between King Charles IV. and his son, in order to cover his perfidy with a mantle of distributive justice. He had already apprised Murat of his desire to see the old sovereign of Spain before him; the request of Charles IV. and his queen forestalled this proposal. The lieutenant-general had at last snatched away the Prince de la Paix from the hands which detained him. The favorite had taken refuge under the wing of Murat, in the most pitiable condition. “The Prince de la Paix arrives this evening,” wrote Napoleon to Talleyrand on the 25th of April; “he has been for a month between life and death, always menaced with the latter. Would you believe it that, in this interval, he has never changed his shirt, and has a beard seven inches long? The most absurd calumnies have been laid to his charge. Cause articles to be written, not justifying the Prince de la Paix, but depicting in characters of fire the evils of popular insurrections, and drawing forth pity for this unfortunate man. It will be as well for him not to delay his arrival in Paris.” On the 1st of May, after the arrival of the entire royal family: “The Prince de la Paix is here. King Charles is a brave man. I know not whether it is his position or circumstances, but he has the air of a frank and good patriarch. The queen has her heart and history on her countenance; that is enough to say to you; it surpasses everything that it is permitted to imagine. The Prince de la Paix has the air of a bull. He is beginning to feel himself again; he has been treated with unexampled barbarity. It will be well for him to be discharged from all false imputations, but it will be necessary to leave him covered by a slight touch of contempt.

“The Prince of Asturias is very stupid, very evilly disposed, very much the enemy of the French. You readily perceive that with my practice in managing men his experience of twenty-four years has not been able to impose upon me; and this is so evident to me, that it would take a long war to bring me to recognize him as King of Spain. Moreover, I have had it notified to him that I ought not to hold communications with him, King Charles being upon my frontiers. I have consequently had his couriers arrested. One of them was the bearer of a letter to Don Antonio: ‘I forewarn you that the emperor has in his hands a letter from Maria Louisa (the Queen of Etruria, his sister), which states that the abdication of my father was forced. Act as if you did not know this, but conduct yourself accordingly, and strive to prevent these accursed Frenchmen from gaining any advantage by their wickedness.'” All the correspondence of the Prince of Asturias passed under the eyes of Napoleon.

On their arrival at Bayonne on the 30th of April, King Charles IV. and his queen were received with all royal honors. The emperor had himself regulated the ceremonial. “All who are here, even the Infantado and Escoiquiz, came to kiss the hand of the king and queen, kneeling,” wrote Napoleon to Murat on May 1st. “This scene roused the indignation of the king and queen, who all the time regarded them with contempt. They proceeded to their apartments ushered by Marshal Duroc, when the two princes wished to follow them; but the king turning towards them, thus addressed them: ‘Princes, you have covered my gray hairs with shame and sorrow; you come to add derision also. Depart, that I may never see you again.’ Since this occurrence the princes appear considerably stunned and astonished. I know not yet upon what they have resolved.”

On arriving at the gate of the chateau of Marac the old king, Charles IV., fell weeping into the arms of Napoleon. “Lean upon me,” said the emperor; “I have strength enough for both.” “I know it well!” replied Charles: it was the genuine expression of his thoughts. The Prince de la Paix was not long in coming to the conclusion that all hope of his master’s restoration was lost. Repose, with an ample competency, was promised to him; Napoleon also enabled him to get a taste of the pleasure of vengeance. Charles IV. had given command to his son, requiring from him a pure and simple renunciation of the crown which he had usurped: the prince peremptorily refused. The old king rose up with difficulty, brandishing his cane above his head: “I will have you treated like the rebel emigrants,” cried he, “as an unnatural son who wished to snatch away my life and my crown.” They had to restrict themselves to written communications. A letter from Charles IV. reclaimed the crown, and presented to his son’s notice a mournful picture of his proceedings. “I have had recourse to the Emperor of the French,” said he, “no longer as a king, at the head of his army and surrounded with the splendor of a throne, but as an unfortunate and forsaken monarch. I have found protection and refuge in the midst of his camp. I owe him my life and that of my queen and of my First Minister. All now depends on the mediation and protection of this great prince. I have reigned for the happiness of my subjects; I do not wish to bequeath them civil war, rebellions, and the popular assemblies of revolution. Everything ought to be done for the people, and nothing for one’s self. All my life I have sacrificed myself for my people; and it is not at the age at which I have now arrived that I should do anything contrary to their religion, their tranquillity, and their happiness. When I shall be assured that the religion of Spain, the integrity of my provinces, their independence and their privileges, will be maintained, I shall descend into the tomb pardoning you the bitterness of my last years.”

The king had already invested Murat with supreme power in the capacity of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. Ferdinand continually resisted– proposing, indeed, to make an act of renunciation, but only at Madrid, in presence of the Cortes, and under the condition that the king, Charles IV., should himself resume possession of the throne. The preliminary negotiations became each day more bitter. Napoleon pursued his aim without disturbing himself at the refusals of the prince, who, however, provoked in him some ill-humor. He had by a single stroke destroyed the illusions and hopes of Murat by writing to him on the 2nd of May, “I intend the King of Naples to reign at Madrid. I wish to give you the kingdom of Naples, or that of Portugal. Answer me immediately what you think of it, for it is necessary for this to be done in a day.” The very day on which Napoleon thus inflicted on his brother-in-law a stroke for which Murat never consoled himself, the insurrection which broke out at Madrid rendered impossible the elevation to the throne of Spain of the man whose duty it was so roughly to repress it. For a fortnight the excitement in the capital had been intense, carefully kept up by the reports which Ferdinand and his friends found the means of freely spreading amongst the population. An order had been sent to Murat to make all those princes of the royal house who were still at Madrid set out for Bayonne; when the Junta had been induced with great difficulty to give its consent to this measure, the populace opposed the departure. A certain number of soldiers were massacred, an aide-de-camp of Murat escaping by a miracle from the popular anger. The troops had for a long time been posted as a precaution against an insurrection, and all the streets were soon swept by charges of cavalry; cannon resounded in all directions. The Spanish troops, consigned to their quarters, only took part in the struggle at one point; a company of artillery gave up its pieces to the people. When the insurrection was suppressed a hundred insurgents were shot without any form of trial.

This was, in the capital, the last and feeble effort of a resistance which had not yet had time to become a patriotic passion. Henceforth Murat felt himself master of Madrid; he became President of the Junta. Don Antonio had accompanied to Bayonne his nephew, François de Paule, and his niece, the Queen of Etruria.

“Your Majesty has nothing more to do than to designate the king whom you destine for Spain,” mournfully wrote the lieutenant-general on the morning of the 3rd; “this king will reign without obstacle.” But lately he had repeated this proposal, heard on several occasions amongst the inhabitants of Madrid: “Let us run to the house of the Grand Duc de Berg, and proclaim him king.”

The news of the insurrection of Madrid precipitated at Bayonne the _denoûment_ of the tragi-comedy in which for several days the illustrious actors had been playing their parts. The emperor feigned great anger, and the terror of the old Spanish sovereigns was real.

“It is thou who art the cause of all this!” cried the king, Charles IV., violently apostrophizing his son. “Thou hast caused the blood of our subjects and of our allies to flow, in order to hasten by a few days the moment of bearing a crown too heavy for thee. Restore it to him who can sustain it.” The prince remained taciturn and sombre, limiting himself to protesting his innocence. His mother threw herself upon him. “Thou hast always been a bad son,” she cried with violence; “thou hast wished to dethrone thy father, to cause thy mother’s death; and thou art standing there before us insensible, without replying either to us or to our friend the great Napoleon: speak, justify thyself, if thou canst.” The emperor, who was present at this sorrowful scene, intervened: “If between this and midnight you have not recognized your father as the lawful king, and have not sent word to Madrid to that effect, you shall be treated as a rebel.”

This was too much for the courage of Ferdinand; he was in the hands of an irritated master, who had drawn him and his into a snare which was at this time impossible to be broken through. Weakness and cowardice in the present did not forbid far-off hopes; the prince yielded, counting on the future. “For any one who can see it, his character is depicted by a single word,” Napoleon had said; “he is a sneak.”

The treaty was concluded the same evening, through the mediation of the Prince de la Paix. King Charles IV., recognizing that he and his family were incapable of assuring the repose of Spain, of which he was the sole lawful sovereign, surrendered the crown to the Emperor of the French, for him to dispose of it at his will. Spain and her colonies were to form an independent state. The Catholic religion was to remain dominant, to the exclusion of all others. King Charles IV. was to enjoy during life the castle and forest of Compiègne; the castle of Chambord was to belong to him in perpetuity; a civil list of 7,500,000 francs was assured to him from the French Treasury. A particular convention accorded the absolute property of the castle of Navarre to Prince Ferdinand, with a revenue of 1,000,000 francs, and 400,000 livres income for each of the Infantas. When the emperor notified to Count Mollien, then Minister of the Treasury, the tenor of the treaty, he added: “That will make 10,000,000. All these sums will be reimbursed by Spain.” The Spanish nation was to pay for the fall of its dynasty and the pacific conquest upon which Napoleon counted. She reserved for him another price for his perfidious manoeuvres.

Already the Spanish princes were on the way to their retreats. Compiègne and Navarre not being ready for their reception, the old king was to inhabit Fontainebleau provisionally. The emperor ordered Talleyrand to receive the Infantas at Valençay, thus confiding to his vice-grand-elector the honorable functions of a jailer. “I desire,” he wrote to him on the 9th of May, “that the princes may be received with no external ceremony, but with respect and care, and that you do everything possible to amuse them. Be on Monday evening at Valençay. If you have a theatre there, and could get a few comedians to come, it would not be a bad idea; you might bring Madame de Talleyrand there, with four or five ladies. I have the greatest interest in the Prince of Asturias being prevented from taking any false steps. I desire, then, that he may be amused and occupied. Harsh policy would lead one to put him in the Bicêtre, or in some strong castle; but as he has thrown himself into my arms, and has promised me to do nothing without my orders, and as all goes on in Spain as I desire, I have decided to send him into a country place, surrounding him at the same time with pleasures and keeping him under strict surveillance. Let this last during the month of May and part of June; the affairs of Spain will have taken a turn, and I shall then see what part I shall take.

“As to you, your mission is honorable enough; to receive at your house these three illustrious personages, in order to amuse them, is altogether worthy of the nation and of your rank.”

The captivity of the Spanish princes was to be much longer and less cheerful than the Emperor Napoleon was depicting it beforehand. He had already provided for the government of Spain. Sorrowfully and with great difficulty, Murat had prevailed upon the Grand Council of Castile and the Indies to indicate a preference for the King of Naples. The Junta had absolutely refused to take part in any manifestations of this nature. On the 10th of May, Napoleon wrote to King Joseph, “King Charles, by the treaty I have made with him, cedes to me all the rights of the crown of Spain. The nation, through the medium of the Supreme Council of Castile, asks from me a king. It is for you that I destine this crown. Spain is not like the kingdom of Naples: it has 11,000,000 of inhabitants, more than a hundred and fifty millions of revenue, without counting the immense revenues and possessions of all the Americas. It is, besides, a crown which places you at Madrid, within three days of France, which entirely covers one of its frontiers. At Madrid you are in France; Naples is at the end of the world. I desire, then, that immediately you have received this letter you should confide the regency to whoever you will, and the command of the troops to Marshal Jourdan, and that you should set out for Bayonne by way of Turin, Mont Cenis, and Lyons. You will receive this letter on the 19th, you will set out on the 20th, and you will be here on the 1st of June. Withal, keep the matter secret; people will perhaps suspect something, but you can say that you have to go to Upper Italy in order to confer with me on important affairs.”

Napoleon had said, the moment when he concluded the treaty which deprived the house of Bourbon of its last throne, “What I am doing is not well in a certain point of view, I know. But policy demands that I should not leave in my rear, so near Paris, a dynasty inimical to my own.”

Justice and right possess lights of which the cleverest framers of human politics are at times ignorant. The Emperor Napoleon descended several steps towards his fall when he abused his power as regards Pope Pius VII., and used odious means to dethrone the feeble and ignorant princes who were ruling over Spain. Very slippery are the roads of universal power; in the steps of its master, France was rushing to disaster.

CHAPTER X.

THE HOME GOVERNMENT (1804-1808).

For more than twenty years the history of France was the history of Europe; for more than fifteen years the history of Napoleon was the history of France, but a history cruelly bloody and agitated, often adorned with so much glory and splendor, that the country might, and in fact did, indulge itself in long and fatal illusions which drew down bitter sufferings. All this life of our country, however, was not dissipated afar off in the train of its victorious armies, or its arrogant ambassadors; if old France was sometimes astonished to find herself so much increased that she ran the risk of becoming one of the provinces of the Empire, she always remained the centre, and her haughty master did not forget her. Carried beyond her territory by the wild instinct of ambition, he did not renounce the home government of his first and most famous conquest. Seconded by several capable and modest men to whom he transmitted peremptory orders, often modified by them in the execution, Napoleon founded again the French administration, formerly powerful in the hands of the great minister of Louis XIV., but destroyed and overthrown by the shocks of the Revolution. He established institutions, he raised monuments which have remained while all the dazzling trophies of his arms have disappeared, while all his conquests have been torn from us, after worn out France, bruised and bleeding, found herself smaller than at the end of the evil days of the French Revolution.

“Scarcely invested with a sovereignty, new both to France and to himself,” said Count Mollien in his memoirs, “Napoleon imposed upon himself the task of ascertaining all the revenues and expenses of the state. He had acquired patience for the details from the fact that, in his campaigns, he depended entirely upon himself for the care of securing food, clothing and pay of his armies.” On the eve of Austerlitz, after immense efforts made by the government as well as the public, to re-establish order and activity in a country so long agitated and weakened by incessant shocks, the measure of new enterprises had been exceeded; embarrassments extended from public to private fortunes, all the symptoms of a serious and impending crisis were already shown. Napoleon did not hide this from himself, but he saw and sought for no other remedy than victory. Passing before Mollien, when going to theatre, he said to him, “The finances are in a bad way, the Bank is embarrassed. I cannot put these matters right.” For a long time the fortune as well as the repose of France was to depend upon the ever doubtful chances of victory; long she submitted to it with a constancy without example. The day came when victory was not sufficient for our country, she had not strength enough to support the price of her glory. The Emperor Napoleon was deceived in seeking the sources of public prosperity in conquest; the blood which flows in the veins of a nation is not restored as soon as another nation, humiliated and vanquished, shall in its turn give up drop by drop its blood, its children, and its treasures. Society is exhausted unless war contributions and exactions definitively fill the coffers of the victor. The long hostilities of Europe, and our alternate successes and reverses, have sufficiently taught us this hard lesson. Victor or vanquished, France has never completely crushed her enemies, she has never been crushed by them. All have suffered, all still suffer from this outrage on the welfare of society, which is called a war of conquest. In the beginning of his supreme power, Napoleon thought to find in victory an inexhaustible source of riches. “It was the ideas of the ancients which Napoleon applied to the right of conquest,” said Mollien.

He learnt even on the morrow of the battle of Austerlitz that victory is not sufficient for the repose and prosperity of a state; the expenses necessitated by the preparations for war, the enormous sums which the treasury had had to pay, the general crisis in the commercial world had induced the minister of the treasury, Barbé Marbois, to have recourse to hazardous enterprises entrusted to unsafe hands. “You are a very honest man,” the emperor wrote [Footnote: The “Négociants réunis.”] to his minister, “but I cannot help believing that you are surrounded by rogues.” Six weeks after the battle of Austerlitz, on the 26th January, 1806, Napoleon arrived at Paris in the night and summoned a council of finance for the following morning. The emperor scarcely permitted a few words to be addressed to him on a campaign so promptly and gloriously terminated. “We have,” he said, “questions to deal with which are more serious; it appears that the greatest dangers of the state are not in Austria; listen to the report of the minister of the treasury.”

“Barbé Marbois commenced the report with the calm of a conscience which has nothing to reproach itself,” adds M. Mollien. He soon showed how the receipts, constantly inferior to the indispensable expenses, had obliged the treasury to borrow, first from the receivers-general, then from a new company of speculators at the head of whom was M. Ouvrard, a man of ability, but of doubtful reputation; the brokers as they were called, had in their turn engaged the state in perilous affairs with Spain, and the commissions upon the receivers-general, which had been conceded to them, enormously surpassed their advances. “The State is the sole creditor of the company,” Marbois said at last. The emperor got in a passion. His prompt and penetrating mind, always ready to distrust, discovered by instinct, and without penetrating into details, the fraud to which his minister was blind. He called before him the brokers, the principal clerks at the treasury, and confounding them all by the bursts of his anger, he forgot at the same time the respect he owed to the age and character of Marbois, who was suddenly dismissed, and immediately replaced by Mollien.

“I had no need to listen to the entire report to guess that the brokers had converted to their own use more than sixty millions,” said Napoleon to his new minister; “the money must be recovered.”

The debts of the brokers to the public treasury were still more considerable: Mollien had to find the proof and ward off in a great measure the dangers resulting to the treasury from this fatal association with a company of speculators.

Two years later the emperor placed Barbé Marbois at the head of the Court of Accounts which he had just founded. He did not admit the want of repose or a wish for retirement. For a moment Mollien had hesitated to accept the post imposed upon him by his master. He was director of the _caisse d’amortissement_ (bank for redemption of rents), and was satisfied with his place. “You cannot refuse a ministry,” said the emperor, suddenly, “this evening you will take the oath.” Count Mollien introduced important improvements into the management of the finances. The foundation of the bank of service, in current account with the receivers-general, book- keeping by double entry, formerly brought into France by Law, but which had not been established at the treasury, the publication of annual balance sheets, such were the improvements accomplished at that time by the minister of the treasury.

The public works had not been neglected in this whirlwind of affairs which circled round Napoleon. He had ordered vast contracts in road and canal- making; in the intervals of leisure which he devoted to France and the home government, he conceived the idea of monuments destined to immortalize his glory and to fix in the spirit of the people the remembrance of the past, on which the new master of France, set much value. He repaired the basilica of St. Denis, built sepulchral chapels, and instituted a chapter composed of former bishops. He finished the Pantheon, restored to public worship under the old name of Sainte- Geneviève, ordered the construction of the arcs de triomphe (triumphal arches) of the Carrousel and l’Etoile, and the erection of the column in the Place Vendôme. He also decreed two new bridges over the Seine, those of Austerlitz and Jena. The termination of the Louvre, the construction of the Bourse, the erection of a temple consecrated to the memory of the exploits of the great army and which became the church of the Madeleine, were also decreed. In the great range of his thoughts, which constantly advanced before his epoch and the resources at his disposal, Napoleon prepared an enormous task for the governments succeeding him. All have laboriously contributed to the completion of the works which he had conceived.

At the same time that he constructed monuments and reorganized the public administration, Napoleon desired to found new social conditions. He had created kings and princes; he had raised around him his family and the companions of his glory, to unheard-of fortune; he wished to consolidate this aristocracy, which owed all its splendor to him, by extending it. He had magnificently endowed the great functionaries of the Empire; he wished to re-establish below and around them a hierarchy of subalterns, honored by public offices and henceforth, for this reason, to have themselves and families distinguished by hereditary titles. In the speech from the throne, by which he opened the session of the legislative body in 1807, Napoleon showed his intentions on this subject. “The nation,” said he, “has experienced the most happy results from the establishment of the Legion of Honor. I have created several imperial titles, to give new splendor to my principal subjects, to honor striking services by striking recompenses, and also to prevent the return of any feudal titles incompatible with our Constitution.”

Thus it was that, by a child of the Revolution, still possessed by most of its doctrines, a nobility was to be created in France. The country was not deceived. The emperor could make dukes, marquises, counts, barons; he could not constitute an aristocracy, that slow product of ages in the history of nations. The new nobles remained functionaries when they were not soldiers, illustrious by themselves as well as by the incomparable lustre of the glory of their chief.

The emperor gained battles, concluded treaties, raised or overthrew thrones; he founded a new nobility, and decreed the erection of magnificent monuments by the simple effort of his all-powerful will; he imagined that his imperial action had no limit, and thought himself able to command the master-pieces of genius as well as the movements of his armies. He was not, and had never been, indifferent to the great beauties of intellect, and his taste was shocked when he was extolled at the opera in bad verses.

In his opinion, mind had its place in the social state, and should be everywhere regulated as a class of that institute which he had reconstituted and completed. He had already laid the foundations of a great university corporation, which he was soon to establish, and which has since, in spite of some defects, rendered such important services to the national education and instruction. In the session of 1806, a project of law, drawn up by M. Fourcroy, Director of Public Instruction, had made the fundamental principles known. By the side of the clerical body, to whom Napoleon would not confide the public education, he had imagined the idea of a lay corporation, which should not be subject to permanent vows, while at the same time imbued with that _esprit de corps_ which he had come to look on as one of the great moral forces of society. Under the name of the Imperial University, a new body of teachers was to be entrusted with the public education throughout the empire; the members of this body of teachers were to undertake civil, special, and temporary obligations. The professional education of the men destined to this career, their examinations, their incorporation in the university, the government of this body, confided to a superior council, composed of men illustrious by their talents; all this vast and fertile scheme, due in a great measure to the aid of Fontanes, was afterwards to be developed in the midst of the storms which already commenced to gather around France. Napoleon had long conceived the project, but deferred the details to another time, waiting until he had created the nursery which should furnish France with learned men, whose duty was to educate the rising generation. The all-powerful conqueror, in the midst of his Polish campaign, and in his winter-quarters of Finkestein, prepared a minute on the establishment of Écouen, which had been recently founded for the education of poor girls belonging to members of the Legion of Honor. I wish to quote this document, which, though blunt and insolent, shows much good sense, in order to show how this infinitely active and powerful mind pursued at once different enterprises and thoughts, stamping on all his works the seal of his character and his personal will.

“This establishment must be handsome in all that relates to building, and simple in all that relates to education. Beware of following the example of the old establishment of St. Cyr, where they spent considerable sums and brought up the young ladies badly. The employment and distribution of time are objects which principally demand your attention. What shall be taught to the young ladies who are to be educated at Écouen? We must begin by religion in all its strictness. Do not admit on this point any modification. Religion is an important matter in a public institution for young ladies. It is, whatever may be said to the contrary, the surest guarantee for mothers and for husbands. Let us bring up believers, and not reasoners. The weakness of woman’s brain, the uncertainty of their ideas, their destiny in society, the necessity of constant and perpetual resignation, and a sort of indulgent and easy charity; all this cannot be obtained, except by religion, by a religion charitable and mild. I attached but small importance to the religious institutions of the military school of Fontainebleau, and I have ordained only what is absolutely necessary for the lyceums. It is quite the reverse for the institution of Écouen. Nearly all the science taught there ought to be that of the Gospel. I desire that there may proceed from it not very charming women, but virtuous women; that their accomplishments may be those of manners and heart, not of wit and amusement.

“There must, therefore, be at Écouen a director, an intelligent man, of middle age and good morals. The pupils must each day say regular prayers, hear mass, and receive lessons on the catechism. This part of their education must be most carefully attended to.

“The pupils must then also be taught arithmetic, writing, and the principles of their mother tongue, so that they know orthography. They must be taught a little geography and history, but be careful not to teach them Latin or any foreign tongue. To the eldest may be taught a little botany, or a slight course of physics or natural history, and even that may have a bad effect. They must be limited in physics to what is necessary to prevent gross ignorance or stupid superstition, and must keep to facts, without reasonings which tend directly or indirectly to first causes.

“It will afterwards be considered if it would be useful to give to those who attain to a certain class a sum for their clothing. They might by that get accustomed to economy, to calculate the value of things, and to keep their own accounts. But, in general, they must all be occupied during three fourths of the day in manual work; they ought to know how to make stockings, chemises, embroidery–in fact, all kinds of women’s work. These young girls ought to be considered as if they belonged to families who have in the provinces from fifteen to eighteen thousand francs a year, and be treated accordingly. You will therefore understand that hand-work in the household should not be indifferent to them.

“I do not know if it is possible to teach them some little of medicine and pharmacy, at least of that kind of medicine which is within the reach of a nurse. It would be well also if they knew a little part of the kitchen occupied by medicinal herbs. I wish that a young girl, quitting Écouen to take her place at the head of a small household, should know how to cut out her dresses, mend her husband’s clothes, make her baby-linen, and procure little comforts for her family by the means usually employed in a provincial household; nurse her husband and children when ill, and know on these points, because it has been early inculcated on her, all that nurses have learnt by habit. All this is so simple and trivial as scarcely to require reflection. As to dress, it ought to be uniform and of common material, but well made. I think that on that head the present female costume leaves nothing to be desired. The arms, however, must of course be covered, and other modifications adopted which modesty and the conditions of health require.

“As to the food, it cannot be too simple; soup, boiled beef, and a little _entrée_; there is no need for more.

“I do not dare, as at Fontainebleau, order the pupils to do their own cooking; I should have too many people against me; but they may be allowed to prepare their dessert, and what is given to them either for lunch or for holidays. I will dispense with their cooking, but not with their making their own bread. The advantage of all this is, that they will be exercised in all they may be called on to do, and find the natural employment of their time in practical and useful things.

“If I am told that the establishment will not be very fashionable, I reply that this is what I desire, because it is my opinion that of all educations the best is that of mothers; because my intention is principally to assist those young girls who have lost their mothers, and whose relations are poor. To sum up all, if the members of the Legion of Honor who are rich disdain to put their daughters at Écouen, if those who are poor desire that they shall be received, and if these young persona; returning to their provinces, enjoy there the reputation of good women, I shall have completely attained my end, and I am certain that the establishment will acquire a high and genuine reputation.

“In this matter we must go to the verge of ridicule. I do not bring up either dressmakers, or waiting-women, or housekeepers, but women for modest and poor households. The mother, in a poor household, is the housekeeper of the family.”

The spirit of the age and the fascinations of luxury in an agitated epoch were too strong for the determined and reasoned will of the legislator. The houses of the Legion of Honor were not destined to become the best schools for the mothers of families “in modest and poor households.” Napoleon had well judged the superior influence of daily example when he said, “My opinion is, that the best education is that of mothers.” The wisest and most far-seeing rules know not how to replace it. Religion cannot be taught by order, like sewing or cooking. The great lesson of daily virtue and devotion will ever remain the lot of mothers.

The delicate question of female education carried the mark of the Emperor Napoleon’s genius for organization. He had also sought to reduce to rules the encouragement that power owed to genius. Since the year 1805, he had instituted prizes every ten years, intended to recompense the authors of the best works on the physical sciences, mathematics, history, the author of the best theatrical piece, the best opera, the best poem, the best painters and sculptors; “so that,” according to the preamble of the decree, “France may not only preserve the superiority she has acquired in science, literature, and the arts, but that the age which commences may surpass those which have preceded it.”

It would be an arrogant pretension for the nineteenth century to assert its superiority over its illustrious predecessors, the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth century, in all that concerns literature or art. However, we have had the good fortune and the honor to be witnesses of a wonderful display of creative genius in France in all branches of literature and art; we have seen orators, poets, artists who could take rank with the most illustrious chiefs of the ancient schools; all this splendor, all this national and peaceful glory, has only taken root in regular liberty and constitutional order. The troubles of the French Revolution, the violent and continual emotions of the war, above all the rule of an arbitrary will, which opened or shut at pleasure both lips and printing-presses, had not been propitious to the expansion of human thought under the reign of the Emperor Napoleon. Those who possessed a spark of the admirable gift of genius, preserved at the same time in their hearts that passion for liberty which necessarily ranked them among the enemies or suspected persons. At the height of his supreme power, Napoleon could never suffer independence either of thought or speech. He long persecuted Benjamin Constant after he had taken his place among the members of the Tribunate; and he manifested a persecuting aversion towards Madame de Staël, which betrayed that littleness of character often lying hid under a greatness of mind and views. When I turn over the table of contents of that immense correspondence of Napoleon which reveals the entire man in spite of the prudence of the editors, I find continually the name of Madame de Staël, joined to rigorous measures of spiteful epithets. “I write to the Minister of Police to finish with that mad Madame de Staël,” he wrote on the 20th April, 1807, to the Count Regnault St. Jean d’Angely, who had apologized for his correspondence with the illustrious outlaw. “She is not to be suffered to leave Geneva, unless she wishes to go to a foreign country to write libels. Every day I obtain new proofs that no one can be worse than that women, enemy of the government and of France, without which she cannot live;” and several days previously he wrote to Fouché, “When I occupy myself with Madame de Staël, it is because I have the facts before me. That woman is a true bird of bad omen; she believes the tempest already arrived, and delights in intrigues and follies. Let her go to her Lake Leman. Have not the Genevans done us harm enough?”

Inspired from other sources than Madame de Staël was, but as ardent in his opposition to the sovereign master of the destinies of France, Chateaubriand supported, like her, the flag of an independent spirit and of genius against the arbitrary will of one man. He manifested this in a brilliant manner. Already famous by the publication of his _Genius of Christianity_, he was then writing in the _Mercure_. “Eighteen months before the publication of the _Martyrs_,” says M. Guizot, in his memoirs, “in August, 1807, I stopped several days in Switzerland, when going to visit my mother at Nîmes, and in the eager confidence of youth, as curious to see celebrated persons as I was unknown myself, I wrote to Madame de Staël to ask for the honor of an interview. She invited me to dinner at Ouchy, near Lausanne, where she then resided. I was seated by her side, and having come from Paris she questioned me on all passing there, what people were saying, what occupied the public and the salons. I spoke of an article by Chateaubriand in the _Mercure_, which attracted attention at the moment of my leaving. One sentence had particularly struck me, and I quoted it word for word, for it was fixed in my memory: ‘When in the abject silence the only sound heard is the chain of the slave, and the voice of the informer, when all tremble before the tyrant, and it is as dangerous to incur his favor as to merit his displeasure, it seems to be the historian’s duty to avenge the people. The prosperity of Nero is in vain, Tacitus is already born in the empire, he grows up unknown by the ashes of Germanicus, and already a just providence has delivered to an obscure child the glory of the master of the world.’ My accent was doubtless impressive and full of emotion, for I was impressed and moved myself. Madame de Staël seized me quickly by the arm, saying, ‘I am sure that you would act tragedy admirably; stop with us and take a part in _Andromaque_.’ That was her hobby and amusement of the moment.

“I resisted her kindly suggestion, and the conversation came back to Chateaubriand and his article, which was much admired, and caused some anxiety. There was reason to admire it, for the passage was truly eloquent; and also cause for anxiety, for the _Mercure_ was suppressed precisely because of that passage. Thus the Emperor Napoleon, conqueror of