Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)

Their manner of administering and taking the oath was very different from ours.45 The French had, from the period of the revolution, very justly conceived that an oath of any description would not be one atom more binding on the party if taken upon a book than if trust were reposed in their mere word of honour. On the present occasion, each person, as his name was called over, arose, and holding out his right arm to its extent, (the palm of the hand uppermost,) deliberately pronounced, “Je jure fidélité à l’Empereur, et obédience à la Constitution.” The reader will easily believe that it was a source of the utmost interest to watch the countenances of these dignitaries of France while they were engaged in performing this important ceremonial. My physiognomical observation was kept fully on the stretch, and was never, before or since, so sated with materials to work on. The emperor, meanwhile, sat almost immovable. He did not appear exhilarated: indeed, on the other hand, I think he was indisposed. His breast heaved at times very perceptibly; an involuntary convulsed motion agitated his lip; but never did I see an eye more indefatigable and penetrating! As each man’s name was called, and the oath administered, its regard was fixed upon the individual; and nothing could be more curious to the spectator than to transfer his gaze alternately from the party taking the oath to the emperor himself. Some of the peers and deputies Napoleon’s eye passed over with scarcely a look; while others he regarded as though disposed to penetrate their very souls, and search there for proofs of a sincerity he considered doubtful. Some seemed to excite a pleasurable, others a painful sensation within him; though this was difficult to recognise, inasmuch as his features seldom, and never more than slightly, changed their expression. The countenances of the members themselves were more easily read, and afforded in many instances good clews whereby, if not the real feelings, at least the tendency of the parties might be deciphered. Some stood boldly up, and loudly, and without hesitation took the oath; while others, in slow, tremulous voices, pledged themselves to what they either never meant, or were not quite certain of their ability to perform; and a few displayed manifest symptoms of repugnance in their manner: – but the scene was of a nature so splendid, so generally interesting, that few persons, except those whose habits had long led them to the study of mankind, or such as might have some especial interest in the result, would have attended to these physiognomical indications, which were of course not suffered in any instance to become prominent.

One of the first persons who took the oath was Fouché, Duke of Otranto. I had been in this nobleman’s office on my first arrival in Paris, had marked his countenance, and have already given my judgment of him. He had originally been a monk, (I believe a Jesuit,) and was on all hands admitted to be a man of the utmost talent, but at the same time without moral principle; – a man who, in order to attain his ends, would disregard justice, and set opinion at insolent defiance. But, above all, Fouché’s reigning character was duplicity: in that qualification of a statesman he had no rival. Napoleon knew him thoroughly; but, circumstanced as he was, he had (fatally for himself) occasion for such men.

Yet even Fouché I really think was, on this day, off his guard. He was at the time, there can be little doubt, in actual communication with some of Napoleon’s enemies; and he certainly appeared, whether or no from “compunctious visitings of conscience,” to be ill at his ease. I kept my eye much on him; and it was quite obvious to me that some powerful train of feeling was working within his breast. On his name being called, there was nothing either bold, frank, or steady in his appearance or demeanour. He held out his hand not much higher than his hip, and, in a tone of voice languid, if not faltering, swore to a fidelity which he was determined, should he find it convenient, to renounce. I really think (and my eye and glass were full upon him) that Fouché, at the moment, felt his own treachery: a slight hectic passed over his temples, and his tongue seemed to cleave to his mouth. I cannot account for my impression further than this, but from that instant I set down the man as a traitor! Napoleon for the first time turned his head as Fouché tendered his allegiance. I could perceive no marked expression in the emperor’s countenance, which remained placid and steady; but I could not help thinking that even that complacent regard (which certainly indicated no confidence, if it was free from agitation) seemed to say, “I know you!” The ceremony proceeded; and after awhile the name was called of a person whom I had before seen – Count Thibaudeau. The contrast between this gentleman and Fouché was very remarkable. He stood up quickly, and with great firmness stepped a little forward, and held his arm higher than his shoulder: – “Je jure,” exclaimed Count Thibaudeau, “Je jure,” repeating the words with emphasis, “fidélité à MON Empereur et obédience à la Constitution!” I watched Napoleon’s look: it was still serene, but a ray of gratification was not absent, and shot rapidly across his features. – The business at length terminated. I treasured up in my mind the impressions made upon it that day, and in very few of my forebodings was I eventually mistaken.

The inauguration of the emperor was now complete, and the reflection was extremely solemn, that all the powers of Europe were armed to overthrow the business of that morning. Neither peace nor truce was to be made with Napoleon, who was, on his part, about to try the strength of France alone against a union of inveterate and inexorable foes. He was now about to inform his assembled legislators of this decision, and to make a declaration that should at once rouse the French people generally, and instil into the legislature a portion of his own energy.

I was all expectation; – the critical moment arrived: the occasion – the place – the subject, and more especially the effect expected to be produced – all combined in leading me to anticipate some speech more impressive than any I had ever heard.

The emperor rose from his throne rather quickly, raised his hat for a moment, and looked round him with a glance which, though probably meant to imply confidence, had to me the expression of scrutiny. Having done this, he re-seated himself, and commenced his speech. In language it was well adapted to the French soldiery; as a proclamation it might be considered admirable; but to a legislative assembly, it seemed to me (perhaps erroneously) ill adapted. I did expect, at all events, that it would be pronounced with that energy which was indicative of the speaker’s character; but miserably was I disappointed! Napoleon read it distinctly, but, to my mind, utterly without effect: there was no adequate ardour – no emphasis – no modulation of voice – no action, to enforce the sentiment. The delivery was monotonous and unimpressive; nor can I yet conceive how it was possible such a man could pronounce such a speech without evincing that warmth of feeling which the words, as well as the great subject itself, (to say nothing of his own situation,) were calculated to inspire. The French in general read extremely ill; and Napoleon’s style of elocution was a very humble specimen even of theirs. He ran the sentences into each other: in short, seemed to view the whole thing as a mere matter of course, and to be anxious to get through it. It put me more in mind of a solicitor reading a marriage-settlement than any thing else. Here and there, indeed, he appeared somewhat touched by the text, and most probably he himself felt it all; but he certainly expressed nothing in a manner that could make others feel it. The concluding words of the speech – “This is the moment to conquer or to perish,” though pronounced by Napoleon with little more energy than the preceding parts, (much as if he had been saying, “And your petitioner will ever pray,”) yet made a strong and visible impression upon the entire auditory. Two or three of the deputies, I observed, by (to all appearance) an involuntary movement, put their hands on their sword-hilts, and whispered those who sat next them; and among the military officers who were in the assembly there was evidently a very gallant feeling. I cast my eye at this moment on Fouché: he was looking upon the ground, seemingly in contemplation, and moved not a muscle.

At the conclusion of his speech Napoleon, whose languid manner had considerably damped my previous excitement, immediately descended from the throne, and, in the same state and amidst redoubled applauses, returned to the palace to make preparations for meeting his parliaments, and carrying into sudden execution what I have since heard denominated by English generals the finest military manœuvre of his whole life. Two things seem to be universally admitted: that the first object of that train of movements, namely the surprise and division of the allied troops, was completely successful; and that its second object – the defeat of those troops in a general engagement, was so near its accomplishment, that its failure may almost be regarded as miraculous.

I returned home full of reflection. I soon recounted all my impressions (particularly with respect to Fouché and Napoleon) to my family and two or three friends who dined with us. I did not hesitate to speak frankly my opinion of the game playing by the Duke of Otranto; nor did any long period elapse before my predictions were verified.

PROMULGATION OF THE CONSTITUTION

Apathy of the people – Temporary building in front of the Ecole Militaire– Pont de Jena – Policy of Napoleon regarding Fouché – Procession to the Champ de Mars – Peculiar accoutrements of a regiment of cavalry – Reflections on some points in the history of Napoleon – His mistake in changing the republican into a monarchical government – Coaches of ceremony of the French noblesse and officers of state – The Emperor’s liberality to various members of his court – His personal dejection on this day – Rejoicings succeeding the promulgation – Superiority of the French in matters of embellishment– Gratuitous distribution of provisions and wine – Politeness of the lower orders of French – Display of fire-works – Mr. Hobhouse’s Second Reign of Napoleon.

The next great act of Napoleon’s second reign was the promulgation of the new articles of the constitution, at the Champ de Mars, which promised to elicit much of the public sentiment. For my own part, I conceived it would be the true touchstone of Parisian political feeling; but in this idea I was greatly disappointed.

It was natural to suppose that the establishing a constitution, by a nearly despotic monarch, whereby his own power would be greatly contracted, would, even under Napoleon’s circumstances, be considered one of the measures best calculated to propitiate a long-tramelled population. But, in fact, the thing assumed no such character; the spectacle seemed, indeed, to be held in the utmost value by the Parisians; but the constitution itself in little, if any. They had never possessed any regular constitution, and, I really think, had no settled or digested ideas upon the subject: even as yet they are but wandering.

The extraordinary splendour of the preparations for this ceremony, and the admixture of civil and military pomp, were to me very interesting. The temporary buildings thrown up for the occasion might, it is true, be denominated tawdry; yet, strangely enough, there is no other people in the world who can deck out gewgaws with any thing like corresponding taste and effect.

The scene was on an immense scale. In an inconceivably short time, and almost as if by magic, a sort of amphitheatre was constructed in front of the Ecole Militaire, of magnitude sufficient to contain about 15,000 persons. Though only of planks and paper, it seemed of marble and bronze, and glowed with the richest velvets and most sumptuous gilding. In the centre arose an altar similar to those provided, in ancient sacrifices, for the sacred fire to descend on; and at this altar Cardinal Cambaceres presided. A great proportion of the front of the military school was covered with crimson velvet, and the imperial throne was placed on the platform of the first story, facing the altar: around it were seats for the princes. I was not present at the actual ceremony within the great temporary edifice.

I had, on the inauguration, (as already stated,) fully satisfied myself as to the demeanour both of the emperor and the senators; but I had not seen the grand procession which had preceded; and on this occasion, as it was to be much more of a military character, and the emperor’s last public appearance before he joined the army to decide the fate of Europe, I was desirous of witnessing the spectacle, and accordingly engaged a window on the quay for my family, in a house close to the Pont de Jena, over which the whole must pass. We had thence a full view of the Champ de Mars, of the amphitheatre, and of the artificial mount whence the constitution was to be proclaimed by the emperor in person to the people.

Napoleon well knew the great importance of leaving a strong impression on public feeling. His posting from the coast to the Tuileries without interruption was the most extraordinary event in history, ancient or modern: but it was not immediately followed up by any unusual circumstance, or any very splendid spectacle to rouse or gratify Parisian volatility. The retired official life of the emperor after his return (necessarily absorbed in business night and day) had altogether excited little or no stir, and still less expression of public feeling in the metropolis: in fact, the Parisians did not seem to feel so much interest about the state of affairs as they would have done upon the most unimportant occurrences: they made light of every thing except their pleasure, which always was and always will be the god of Paris: and never was any deity more universally and devoutly worshipped! The king’s flight to Ghent was then as little thought of or regarded as if he had gone to St. Cloud; and Napoleon’s arrival made as little stir as Louis’s departure. But the emperor was now about to go to battle; he was well aware of the treachery which surrounded him, and that on his success or discomfiture depended its explosion. He determined, therefore, as he had not time to counteract, to dissemble; and I have no doubt that to this circumstance alone Fouché knew he owed his existence. The month preceding Napoleon’s departure from Paris he became thoroughly acquainted with the intrigues of his minister; and I firmly believe that each was determined on the destruction of the other upon the first feasible opportunity, as the only means of securing himself. I do believe that Fouché would not have survived Bonaparte’s successful return more than four-and-twenty hours, and I equally believe that Fouché had actually meditated, and made some progress in providing for, Napoleon’s assassination. I made up my mind on these points, not from any direct information, but from a process yclept by our great-grandmothers spelling and putting together; and if the reader will be good enough to bear in mind what I have already told him, he will not be at a loss to understand how my suspicions were excited.

In truth, the army alone was sincerely and unanimously attached to the reinstated monarch. By his soldiers Bonaparte was, in every part of his career, almost worshipped. They seemed to regard him rather as a demigod; and nobody could be deceived as to their entire devotion to the divinity which they had set up. But it was not so with the civil ranks of Paris.

I should tire myself and readers were I to describe the almost boyish anxiety which I felt when the firing of the ordnance announced the first movement of the emperor from the Tuileries to the Champ de Mars. I shall leave to the supposition of the reader the impression I received from the passing of the cortége. Let him picture to himself an immense army pouring along the spacious quays of Paris, in battalions and squadrons: – the enthusiasm of the soldiers, the bright cuirasses, the multitude of waving plumes, the magnificence of the marshals and their staff: – these, set off by the glowing sun, combined to implant in the mind of a person unaccustomed to such a sight the idea of almost certain victory.

What struck me most, was the appearance of a splendid, but not numerous regiment, in the costume of Turkish cavalry, mounted upon small barbs and dashingly accoutred: their officers rode, for the most part, piebald horses, many of which were caparisoned with breast armour, and decked with gaudy trappings. The uniform of the men was scarlet, with green cossack trowsers, immense turbans, and high plumes of feathers; the whole ornamented and laced in as splendid and glittering a style as ingenuity could dictate: their stirrups were foot-boards, and they had very crooked sabres and long lances. I believe these men were accoutred en Mamelück, and I mention them the more particularly, because I believe they did not go to Waterloo – at least not in that uniform. In calling to my recollection this superb scene, the hundred bands of martial music seem even at this moment to strike my ear. It seemed as if every instrument in Paris was in requisition! The trumpets and kettle-drums of the gaudy heralds; the deep sackbuts; the crashing cymbals; and the loud gongs of the splendid Mamelukes, bewildered both the ear and the imagination: at first they astonished, then gratified, and at length fatigued me. About the centre of this procession appeared its principal object, who, had he lived in times of less fermentation, would, in my opinion, have been a still greater statesman than he was a warrior. It is indisputable that it was Bonaparte who definitively freed the entire continent of Europe from that democratic mania, of all other tyrannies the most cruel, savage, and unrelenting; and which was still in full, though less rapid progress, when he, by placing the diadem of France on his own brow, restored the principle of monarchy to its vigour, and at one blow overwhelmed the many-headed monster of democratic revolution.

It has been the fashion, in England, to term Napoleon a “Corsican usurper.” We should have recollected Paoli before we reproached him for being a Corsican, and we should have recurred to our own annals and our great King William, who dethroned his father, before we called Napoleon a usurper. He mounted a throne which had long been vacant; the decapitation of Louis, in which he could have had no concern, had completely overwhelmed the dynasty of Bourbon, and Napoleon in a day re-established that monarchical form of government which we had, with so much expense of blood and treasure, been for many years unsuccessfully attempting to restore. I cannot avoid repeating this pointed example of our own inconsistency. We actually made peace and concluded treaties with Napoleon Bonaparte when he was acting as a republican (the very species of government against which we had so long combated); and we refused to listen to his most pacific demonstrations when he became a monarch!46

This has I confess been a sad digression: but when I call to mind that last scene of Bonaparte’s splendour, I cannot altogether separate from it the prior portion of his history and that of Europe. I have mentioned that about the centre of the cortége the emperor and his court appeared. It was the custom in France for every person of a certain rank to keep a sort of state-coach gaudily gilded and painted, and, in addition to the footmen, a chasseur to mount behind, dressed en grande toilette, with huge mustaches, immense feathers in his hat, and a large sabre depending from a broad-laced belt, which crossed his shoulder: – he was generally a muscular, fine-looking man, and always indicated rank and affluence in his master. Napoleon liked this state to be preserved by all his ministers, &c. He obliged every man in office to appear at court and in public according to the station he held; and instances were not wanting where the emperor, having discovered that an officer of rank had not pecuniary means to purchase a coach of ceremony, had made him a present of a very fine one. He repeatedly paid the debts of several of his marshals and generals, when he thought their incomes somewhat inadequate; and a case has been mentioned, where a high officer of his household had not money to purchase jewels for his wife, of Napoleon ordering a set to be presented to her with an injunction to wear them at court.

On this day he commanded the twelve mayors of Paris to appear in their carriages of ceremony; and, to do them justice, they were gilt and caparisoned as finely as time and circumstances could admit. Bonaparte himself sat alone, in a state coach with glass all round it: his feathers bowed deeply over his face, and consequently little more than the lower parts of it were quite uncovered. Whoever has marked the countenance of Napoleon must admit it to have been one of the most expressive ever created. I have already spoken of it as affected on distinct occasions; but I beg to be understood as distinguishing it from what is generally called an expressive countenance; namely, one involuntarily and candidly proclaiming the feelings whereby its proprietor is actuated: the smile or the look of scorn, the blush, or the tear, serving not unfrequently to communicate matters which the lips would have kept secret. Though that species of expressive countenance may be commonly admired, it is often inconvenient, and would be perfectly unbefitting a king, a courtier, a gambler, a diplomatist, or, in short, a man in any station of life which renders it incumbent on him to keep his countenance. The lower portion of Bonaparte’s face (as I have mentioned in speaking of my first glance at it) was the finest I think I ever saw, and peculiarly calculated to set the feelings of others on speculation, without giving any decided intimation of his own. On the day of the promulgation, it occurred to me, and to my family likewise, as we saw him pass slowly under our window, that the unparalleled splendour of the scene failed in arousing him from that deep dejection which had apparently seized him ever since his return to Paris, and which doubtless arose from a consciousness of his critical situation, and the hollow ground whereon he trod. There was ill-timed languor in his general look: he smiled not, and took but little notice of any surrounding object. He appeared in fact loaded with some presentiment, confined however to himself; for of all possible events, his approaching and sudden fate was last, I believe, in the contemplation of any person among that prodigious assembly. I apprehend the intelligence of Murat’s defeat in Italy had reached him about that time, and made a great impression on him.

Two marshals rode on each side Napoleon’s coach, and his three brothers occupied the next. I thought they all appeared cheerful; at least, no evil presentiments were visible in their countenances. After the emperor had passed my interest diminished. I was absorbed by reflection, and my mind was painfully diverted to the probable result of the impending contest, which would most likely plunge into a gory and crowded grave thousands of the gay and sparkling warriors who, full of the principle of life and activity, had that moment passed before me.

The crowds in the Champ de Mars; the firing of the artillery; the spirited bustle of the entire scene; and the return of the same cortége after the new articles of the constitution had been proclaimed, left me in a state of absolute languor; and when I returned to my hotel, it required more than a single bottle of Château Margot to restore the serenity of my over-excited nerves.

The rejoicings which followed the promulgation of the constitution were in a style of which I had no previous conception. I have already observed, and every person who has been much on the continent will bear me out in the remark, that no people are so very adroit at embellishment as the French. Our carpenters, paper-hangers, &c. know no more about Parisian embellishments than our plain cooks do of the hundred and twenty-six modes of cooking an egg, whereof every French cuisinier is perfectly master.