Napoleon Bonaparte, John S. C. Abbott [room on the broom read aloud txt] 📗

despair of successful resistance and fearing vengeance they hastened to the Tuileries to find Napoleon. They were introduced to him surrounded by Sieyes, Ducos, and a brilliant staff. Napoleon received them cordially.

“I am glad to see you,” said he. “I doubt not that you will both sign. Your patriotism will not allow you to appose a revolution which is both inevitable and necessary.” “I do not yet despair,”

said Gohier, vehemently, “aided by my colleage, Moulins, of saving the Republic.” “With what will you save it?” exclaimed Napoleon.

“With the Constitution which is crumbling to pieces?” Just at that moment a messenger came in and informed the Directors that Santeree, the brewer, who, during the Reign of Terror, had obtained a bloody celebrity as leader of the Jacobins, was rousing the mob in the faubourgs to resistance. “General Moulins,” said Napoleon, firmly, “you are the friend of Santerre. Tell him that at the very first movement he makes, I will cause him to be shot.” Moulins, exasperated yet appalled, made an apologetic reply. “The Republic is in danger,”

said Napoleon. We must save it. It is my will . Sieyes, Ducos, and Barras have resigned. You are two individuals insulated and powerless. I advise you not to resist.” They still refused. Napoleon had no time to spend in parleying. He immediately sent them both back into the Luxembourg, separated them and placed them under arrest. Fouche, * occupying the important post of Minister of Police, though not in Napoleon’s confidence, yet anxious to display his homage to the rising luminary, called upon Napoleon and informed him that he had closed the barriers, and had thus prevented all ingress or egress. “What means this folly?” said Napoleon. “Let those orders be instantly countermanded. Do we not march with the opinion of the nation, and by its strength alone? Let no citizen be interrupted. Let every publicity be given to what is done.”

 

“Fouche,” said Napoleon, is a miscreant of all colors, a terrorist, and one who took an active part in many bloody scenes of the Revolution. He is a man who can worm all your secrets out of you, with an air of calmness and unconcern. He is very rich; but his riches have been badly acquired. He never was my confidant. Never did he approach me without bending to the ground. But I never had any esteem for him. I employed him merely as an instrument.”

 

The Council of Five Hundred, in great confusion and bewilderment, assembled at eleven o’clock. Lucien immediately communicated the degree transferring their session to St. Cloud. This cut off all debate. The decree was perfectly legal. There could therefore be no legal pretext for opposition. Napoleon, the idol of the army, had the whole military power obedient to his nod. Therefore resistance of any kind was worse than folly. The deed was adroitly done. At eleven o’clock the day’s work was accomplished. There was no longer a Directory. Napoleon was the appointed chief of the troops, and they were filling the streets with enthusiastic shouts of “Live Napoleon.” The Council of Ancients were entirely at his disposal.

An a large party in the Council of Five Hundred were also wholly subservient to his will. Napoleon, proud, silent, reserved reserved, fully conscious of his own intellectual supremacy, and regarding the generals, the statesmen, and the multitude around him, as a man contemplates children, ascended the grand staircase of the Tuileries as it were his hereditary home. Nearly all parties united to sustain his triumph. Napoleon was a solider. The guns of Paris joyfully thundered forth the victory of one who seemed the peculiar favorite of the God of war. Napoleon was a scholar, stimulating intellect to its mightiest achievements. The scholars of Paris, gratefully united to weave a chaplet for the brow of their honored associate and patron. Napoleon was, for those days of profligacy and unbridled lust, a model of purity of morals, and of irreproachable integrity. The proffered bribe of millions could not tempt him.

The dancing daughters of Herodias, with all their blandishments, could not lure him from his life of Herculean toil and from his majestic patriotism. The wine which glitters in the cup, never vanquished him. At the shrine of no vice was he found a worshiper.

The purest and the best in France, disgusted with that gilded corruption which had converted the palaces of the Bourbons into harems of voluptuous sin, and still more deeply loathing that vulgar and revolting vice, which had transformed Paris into a house of infamy, enlisted all their sympathies in behalf of the exemplary husband and the incorruptible patriot. Napoleon was one of the most firm and unflinching friends of law and order. France was weary of anarchy and was trembling under the apprehension that the gutters of the guillotine were again to be clotted with blood. And mothers and maidens prayed for God’s blessing upon Napoleon, who appeared to them as a messenger sent from Heaven for their protection.

 

During the afternoon and the night his room at the Tuileries was thronged with the most illustrious statesmen, generals, and scholars of Paris, hastening to pledge to him their support. Napoleon, perfectly unembarrassed and never at a loss in any emergency, gave his orders for the ensuing day. Lannes was intrusted with a body of troops to guard the Tuileries. Murat, who, said Napoleon, “was superb at Aboukir,” with a numerous cavalry and a crops of grenadiers was stationed at St. Cloud, a thunderbolt in Napoleon’s right hand. Woe betide the mob into whose ranks that thunderbolt may be hurled. Moreau, with five hundred men, was stationed to guard the Luxembourg, where the two refractory Directors were held under arrest. Serrurier was posted in a commanding position with a strong reserve, prompt for any unexpected exigence. Even a body of troops were sent to accompany Barras to his country seat, ostensibly as an escort of honor, but in reality to guard against any change in that venal and versatile mind. The most energetic measures were immediately adopted to prevent any rallying point for the disaffected.

Bills were everywhere posted, exhorting the citizens to be quiet, and assuring them that powerful efforts were making to save the Republic. These minute precaution were characteristic of Napoleon.

He believed in destiny. Yet he left nothing for destiny to accomplish.

He ever sought to make provision for all conceivable contingencies.

These measures were completely successful. Though Paris was in a delirium of excitement, there were outbreaks of lawless violence.

Neither Monarchist, Republican, nor Jacobin knew what Napoleon intended to do. All were conscious that he would do something. It was known that the Jacobin party in the Council of Five Hundred on the ensuing day, would make a desperate effort at resistance.

Sieyes, perfectly acquainted with revolutionary movements, urged Napoleon to arrest some forty of the Jacobins most prominent in the Council. This would have secured an easy victory on the morrow.

Napoleon, however, rejected the advice, saying, “I pledged my word this morning to protect the national representation. I will not this evening violate my oath.” Had the Assembly been convened in Paris, all the mob of the faubourgs would have risen, like an inundation, in their behalf, and torrents of blood must have been shed. The sagacious transferrence of the meeting to St. Cloud, several miles from Paris, saved those lives. The powerful military display, checked any attempt at a march upon St. Cloud. What could the mob do, with Murat, Lannes, and Serrurier, guided by the energies of Napoleon, ready to hurl their solid columns upon them!

 

The delicacy of attention with which Napoleon treated Josephine, was one of the most remarkable traits in his character. It is not strange that he should have won from her a love almost more than human. During the exciting scenes of this day, when no one could tell whether events were guiding him to a crown or to the guillotine, Napoleon did not forget his wife, who was awaiting the result, with deep solicitude, in her chamber in the Rue Chanteraine. Nearly every hour he dispatched a messenger to Josephine, with a hastily written line communicating to her the progress of events. Late at night he returned to his home, apparently has fresh and unexhausted as in the morning. He informed Josephine minutely of the scenes of the day, and then threw himself upon a sofa, for an hour’s repose.

Early the next morning he was on horseback, accompanied by a regal retinue, directing his steps to St. Cloud. Three halls had been prepared in the palace; one for the Ancients, one for the Five Hundred, and one for Napoleon. He thus assumed the position which he knew it to be the almost unanimous will of the nation that he should fill. During the night the Jacobins had arranged a very formidable resistance. Napoleon was considered to be in imminent peril. He would be denounced as a traitor. Sieyes and Ducos had each a post-chaise and six horses, waiting at the gate of St. Cloud, prepared, in case of reverse, to escape for life. There were many ambitious generals, ready to mount the crest of any refluent wave to sweep Napoleon to destruction. Benadotte was the most to be feared. Orders were given to cut down the first person who should attempt to harangue the troops. Napoleon, riding at the head of this imposing military display, manifested no agitation. He knew, however, perfectly well the capriciousness of the popular voice, and that the multitude in the same hour could cry “Hosanna!” and “crucify!” The two Councils met. The tumult in the Five Hundred was fearful. Cries of “Down with the dictator!” “Death to the tyrant!”

“Live the Constitution!” filled the hall, and drowned the voice of deliberation. The friends of Napoleon were swept before the flood of passion. It was proposed that every member should immediately take anew the oath to support the Constitution. No one dared to peril his life by the refusal. Even Lucien, the Speaker, was compelled to descend from his chair and take the oath. The Ancients, overawed by the unexpected violence of this opposition in the lower and more popular house, began to be alarmed and to recede. The opposition took a bold and aggressive stand, and proposed a decree of outlawry against Napoleon. The friends of Napoleon, remembering past scenes of earnage, were timid and yielding. Defeat seemed inevitable.

Victory was apparently turned into discomfiture and death. In this emergency Napoleon displayed the same coolness, energy, and tact with which so often, on the field of battle, in the most disastrous hour, he had rolled back the tide of defeat in the resplendent waves of victory. His own mind was the corps de reserve which he now marched into the conflict to arrest the rout of his friends.

Taking with him a few aids and a band of grenadiers, he advanced to the door of the hall. On his way he met Bernadotte. “You are marching to the guillotine, ” said his rival, sternly. “We shall see,” Napoleon coolly replied. Leaving the soldiers, with their glittering steel and nodding plumes, at the entrance of the room, he ascended the tribune. The hush of perfect silence pervaded the agitated hall. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are on a volcano. You deemed the Republic in danger. You called me to your aid. I obeyed.

And now I am assailed by a thousand calumnies. They talk of Caesar, of Cromwell, of military despotism, as if any thing in antiquity resembled the present moment.

 

Danger presses. Disaster thickens. We have no longer a government.

The Directors have resigned. The Five Hundred are in a tumult.

Emissaries are instigating Paris to revolt. Agitators would gladly bring back the revolutionary tribunals. But fear not. Aided by my companions in arms I will protect you. I desire nothing for myself, but to save the