The Companions of Jehu

Two hours later they were still waiting for Barras.

Talleyrand and Bruix had been admitted to Barras’ bathroom just after Gohier and Moulins had left it, and in talking with them Barras forgot his appointment.

We will now see what was happening in the Rue de la Victoire.

At seven o’clock, contrary to his usual custom, Bonaparte was up and waiting in full uniform in his bedroom. Roland entered. Bonaparte was perfectly calm; they were on the eve of a battle.

“Has no one come yet, Roland?” he asked.

“No, general,” replied the young man, “but I heard the roll of a carriage just now.”

“So did I,” replied Bonaparte.

At that minute a servant announced: “The citizen Joseph Bonaparte, and the citizen General Bernadotte.”

Roland questioned Bonaparte with a glance; was he to go or stay? He was to stay. Roland took his stand at the corner of a bookcase like a sentinel at his post.

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed Bonaparte, seeing that Bernadotte was still attired in civilian’s clothes, “you seem to have a positive horror of the uniform, general!”

“Why the devil should I be in uniform at seven in the morning,” asked Bernadotte, “when I am not in active service?”

“You will be soon.”

“But I am retired.”

“Yes, but I recall you to active service.”

“You?”

“Yes, I.”

“In the name of the Directory?”

“Is there still a Directory?”

“Still a Directory? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see the troops drawn up in the streets leading to the Tuileries as you came here?”

“I saw them, and I was surprised.”

“Those soldiers are mine.”

“Excuse me,” said Bernadotte; “I thought they belonged to France.”

“Oh, to France or to me; is it not all one?”

“I was not aware of that,” replied Bernadotte, coldly.

“Though you doubt it now, you will be certain of it tonight. Come, Bernadotte, this is the vital moment; decide!”

“General,” replied Bernadotte, “I am fortunate enough to be at this moment a simple citizen; let me remain a simple citizen.”

“Bernadotte, take care! He that is not for me is against me.”

“General, pay attention to your words! You said just now, ‘Take care.’ If that is a threat, you know very well that I do not fear them.”

Bonaparte came up to him, and took him by both hands.

“Oh, yes, I know that; that is why I must have you with me. I not only esteem you, Bernadotte, but I love you. I leave you with Joseph; he is your brother-in-law. Between brothers, devil take it, there should be no quarrelling.”

“Where are you going?”

“In your character of Spartan you are a rigid observer of the laws, are you not? Well, here is a decree issued by the Council of Five Hundred last night, which confers upon me the immediate command of the troops in Paris. So I was right,” he added, “when I told you that the soldiers you met were mine, inasmuch as they are under my orders.”

And he placed in Bernadotte’s hands the copy of the decree which had been sent to him at six o’clock that morning. Bernadotte read it through from the first line to the last.

“To this,” said he, “I have nothing to object. Secure the safety of the National Legislature, and all good citizens will be with you.”

“Then be with me now.”

“Permit me, general, to wait twenty-four hours to see how you fulfil that mandate.”

“Devil of a man!” cried Bonaparte. “Have your own way.” Then, taking him by the arm, he dragged him a few steps apart from Joseph, and continued, “Bernadotte, I want to play above-board with you.”

“Why so,” retorted the latter, “since I am not on your side?”

“Never mind. You are watching the game, and I want the lookers-on to see that I am not cheating.”

“Do you bind me to secrecy?”

“No.”

“That is well, for in that case I should have refused to listen to your confidences.”

“Oh! my confidences are not long! Your Directory is detested, your Constitution is worn-out; you must make a clean sweep of both, and turn the government in another direction. You don’t answer me.”

“I am waiting to hear what you have to say.”

“All I have to say is, Go put on your uniform. I can’t wait any longer for you. Join me at the Tuileries among our comrades.”

Bernadotte shook his head.

“You think you can count on Moreau, Beurnonville, and Lefebvre,” resumed Bonaparte. “Just look out of that window. Who do you see there, and there? Moreau and Beurnonville. As for Lefebvre, I do not see him, but I am certain I shall not go a hundred steps before meeting him. Now will you decide?”

“General,” replied Bernadotte, “I am not a man to be swayed by example, least of all when that example is bad. Moreau, Beurnonville, and Lefebvre may do as they wish. I shall do as I ought!”

“So you definitively refuse to accompany me to the Tuileries?”

“I do not wish to take part in a rebellion.”

“A rebellion! A rebellion! Against whom? Against a parcel of imbeciles who are pettifogging from morning till night in their hovels.”

“These imbeciles, general, are for the moment the representatives of the law. The Constitution protects them; they are sacred to me.”

“At least promise me one thing, iron rod that you are.”

“What is it?”

“To keep quiet.”

“I will keep quiet as a citizen, but – ”

“But what? Come, I made a clean breast of it to you; do you do likewise.”

“But if the Directory orders me to act, I shall march against the agitators, whoever they may be.”

“Ah! So you think I am ambitious?” asked Bonaparte.

“I suspect as much,” retorted Bernadotte, smiling.

“Faith,” said Bonaparte, “you don’t know me. I have had enough of politics, and what I want is peace. Ah, my dear fellow! Malmaison and fifty thousand a year, and I’d willingly resign all the rest. You don’t believe me. Well, I invite you to come and see me there, three months hence, and if you like pastorals, we’ll do one together. Now, au revoir! I leave you with Joseph, and, in spite of your refusal, I shall expect you at the Tuileries. Hark! Our friends are becoming impatient.”

They were shouting: “Vive Bonaparte!”

Bernadotte paled slightly. Bonaparte noticed this pallor.

“Ah, ha,” he muttered. “Jealous! I was mistaken; he is not a Spartan, he is an Athenian!”

As Bonaparte had said, his friends were growing impatient. During the hour that had elapsed since the decree had been posted, the salon, the anterooms, and the courtyard had been crowded. The first person Bonaparte met at the head of the staircase was his compatriot, Colonel Sebastiani, then commanding the 9th Dragoons.

“Ah! is that you, Sebastiani?” said Bonaparte. “Where are your men?”

“In line along the Rue de la Victoire, general.”

“Well disposed?”

“Enthusiastic! I distributed among them ten thousand cartridges which I had in store.”

“Yes; but you had no right to draw those cartridges out without an order from the commandant of Paris. Do you know that you have burned your vessels, Sebastiani?”

“Then take me into yours, general. I have faith in your fortunes.”

“You mistake me for Cæsar, Sebastiani!”

“Faith! I might make worse mistakes. Besides, down below in the courtyard there are forty officers or more, of all classes, without pay, whom the Directory has left in the most complete destitution for the last year. You are their only hope, general; they are ready to die for you.”

“That’s right. Go to your regiment, and take leave of it.”

“Take leave of it? What do you mean, general?”

“I exchange it for a brigade. Go, go!”

Sebastiani did not wait to be told twice. Bonaparte continued his way. At the foot of the stairs he met Lefebvre.

“Here I am, general!” said Lefebvre.

“You? And where is the 17th military division?”

“I am waiting for my appointment to bring it into action.”

“Haven’t you received your appointment?”

“From the Directory, yes. But as I am not a traitor, I have just sent in my resignation, so that they may know I am not to be counted on.”

“And you have come for me to appoint you, so that I may count on you, is that it?”

“Exactly.”

“Quick, Roland, a blank commission; fill in the general’s name, so that I shall only have to put my name to it. I’ll sign it on the pommel of my saddle.”

“That’s the true sort,” said Lefebvre.

“Roland.”

The young man, who had already started obediently, came back to the general.

“Fetch me that pair of double-barrelled pistols on my mantel-piece at the same time,” said Bonaparte, in a low tone. “One never knows what may happen.”

“Yes, general,” said Roland; “besides, I shan’t leave you.”

“Unless I send you to be killed elsewhere.”

“True,” replied the young man, hastening away to fulfil his double errand.

Bonaparte was continuing on his way when he noticed a shadow in the corridor. He recognized Josephine, and ran to her.

“Good God!” cried she, “is there so much danger?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I overheard the order you gave Roland.”

“Serves you right for listening at doors. How about Gohier?”

“He hasn’t come.”

“Nor his wife?”

“She is here.”

Bonaparte pushed Josephine aside with his hand and entered the salon. He found Madame Gohier alone and very pale.

“What!” said he, without any preamble, “isn’t the President coming?”

“He was unable to do so, general,” replied Madame Gohier.

Bonaparte repressed a movement of impatience. “He absolutely must come,” said he. “Write him that I await him, and I will have the note sent.”

“Thank you, general,” replied Madame Gohier; “my servants are here, and they can attend to that.”

“Write, my dear friend, write,” said Josephine, offering her paper and pen and ink.

Bonaparte stood so that he could see over her shoulder what she wrote. Madame Gohier looked fixedly at him, and he drew back with a bow. She wrote the note, folded it, and looked about her for the sealing-wax; but, whether by accident or intention, there was none. Sealing the note with a wafer, she rang the bell. A servant came.

“Give this note to Comtois,” said Madame Gohier, “and bid him take it to the Luxembourg at once.”

Bonaparte followed the servant, or rather the letter, with his eyes until the door closed. Then, turning to Madame Gohier, he said: “I regret that I am unable to breakfast with you. But if the President has business to attend to, so have I. You must breakfast with my wife. Good appetite to you both.”

And he went out. At the door he met Roland.

“Here is the commission, general,” said the young man, “and a pen.”

Bonaparte took the pen, and using the back of his aide-de-camp’s hat, he signed the commission. Roland gave him the pistols.

“Did you look; to them?” asked Bonaparte.

Roland smiled. “Don’t be uneasy,” said he; “I’ll answer for them.”

Bonaparte slipped the pistols in his belt, murmuring as he did so: “I wish I knew what she wrote her husband.”

“I can tell you, word for word, what she wrote, general,” said a voice close by.

“You, Bourrienne?”

“Yes. She wrote: ‘You did right not to come, my dear; all that is happening here convinces me that the invitation was only a snare. I will rejoin you shortly.’”

“You unsealed the letter?”

“General, Sextus Pompey gave a dinner on his galley to Antony and Lepidus. His freedman said to him: ‘Shall I make you emperor of the world?’ ‘How can you do it?’ ‘Easily. I will cut the cable of your galley, and Antony and Lepidus are prisoners.’ ‘You should have done so without telling me,’ replied Sextus. ‘Now I charge you on your life not to do it.’ I remembered those words, general: ‘You should have done so without telling me.’”

Bonaparte thought an instant; then he said: “You are mistaken; it was Octavius and not Antony who was on Sextus’ galley with Lepidus.” And he went on his way to the courtyard, confining his blame to the historical blunder.

Hardly had the general appeared on the portico than cries of “Vive Bonaparte!” echoed through the courtyard into the street, where they were taken up by the dragoons drawn up in line before the gate.

“That’s a good omen, general,” said Roland.

“Yes. Give Lefebvre his commission at once; and if he has no horse, let him take one of mine. Tell him to meet me in the court of the Tuileries.”

“His division is already there.”

“All the more reason.”

Glancing about him, Bonaparte saw Moreau and Beurnonville, who were waiting for him, their horses held by orderlies. He saluted them with a wave of his hand, already that of a master rather than that of a comrade. Then, perceiving General Debel out of uniform, he went down the steps and approached him.

“Why are you in civilian’s dress?” he asked.

“General, I was not notified. I chanced to be passing along the street, and, seeing the crowd before your house, I came in, fearing you might be in danger.”

“Go and put on your uniform quickly.”

“But I live the other side of Paris; it would take too long.” But, nevertheless, he made as if to retire.

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t be alarmed, general.”

Debel had noticed an artilleryman on horseback who was about his size.

“Friend,” said he, “I am General Debel. By order of General Bonaparte lend me your uniform and your horse, and I’ll give you furlough for the day. Here’s a louis to drink the health of the commander-in-chief. To-morrow, come to my house for your horse and uniform. I live in the Rue Cherche-Midi, No. 11.”

“Will nothing be done to me?”

“Yes, you shall be made a corporal.”

“Good!” said the artilleryman; and he quickly handed over his uniform and horse to General Debel.

In the meantime, Bonaparte heard talking above him. He raised his head and saw Joseph and Bernadotte at a window.

“Once more, general,” he said to Bernadotte, “will you come with me?”

“No,” said the latter, firmly. Then, lowering his tone, he continued: “You told me just now to take care.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I say to you, take care.”

“Of what?”

“You are going to the Tuileries?”

“Of course.”

“The Tuileries are very near the Place de la Révolution.”

“Pooh!” retorted Bonaparte, “the guillotine has been moved to the Barrière du Trône.”

“Never mind. The brewer Santerre still controls the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and Santerre is Moulins’ friend.”

“Santerre has been warned that at the first inimical movement he attempts I will have him shot. Will you come?”

“No.”

“As you please. You are separating your fortunes from mine; I do not separate mine from yours.” Then, calling to his orderly, he said: “My horse!”

They brought his horse. Seeing an artillery private near him, he said: “What are you doing among the epaulets?”

The artilleryman began to laugh.

“Don’t you recognize me, general?” he asked.

“Faith, it’s Debel! Where did you get that horse and the uniform?”

“From that artilleryman you see standing there in his shirt. It will cost you a corporal’s commission.”

“You are wrong, Debel,” said Bonaparte; “it will cost me two commissions, one for the corporal, and one for the general of division. Forward, march, gentlemen! We are going to the Tuileries.”

And, bending forward on his horse, as he usually did, his left hand holding a slack rein, his right resting on his hip, with bent head and dreamy eyes, he made his first steps along that incline, at once glorious and fatal, which was to lead him to a throne – and to St. Helena.

CHAPTER XXIV. THE EIGHTEENTH BRUMAIRE

On entering the Rue de la Victoire, Bonaparte found Sebastiani’s dragoons drawn up in line of battle. He wished to address them, but they interrupted him at the first words, shouting: “We want no explanations. We know that you seek only the good of the Republic. Vive Bonaparte!”

The cortège followed the streets which led from the Rue de la Victoire to the Tuileries, amid the cries of “Vive Bonaparte!”

General Lefebvre, according to promise, was waiting at the palace gates. Bonaparte, on his arrival at the Tuileries, was hailed with the same cheers that had accompanied him. Once there, he raised his head and shook it. Perhaps this cry of “Vive Bonaparte!” did not satisfy him. Was he already dreaming of “Vive Napoleon?”

He advanced in front of the troop, surrounded by his staff, and read the decree of the Five Hundred, which transferred the sessions of the Legislature to Saint-Cloud and gave him the command of the armed forces.

Then, either from memory, or offhand – Bonaparte never admitted any one to such secrets – instead of the proclamation he had dictated to Bourrienne two days earlier, he pronounced these words:

“Soldiers – The Council of Ancients has given me the command of the city and the army.

“I have accepted it, to second the measures to be adopted for the good of the people.

“The Republic has been ill governed for two years. You have hoped for my return to put an end to many evils. You celebrated it with a unanimity which imposes obligations that I now fulfil. Fulfil yours, and second your general with the vigor, firmness and strength I have always found in you.

“Liberty, victory, and peace will restore the French Republic to the rank it occupied in Europe, which ineptitude and treason alone caused her to lose!”

The soldiers applauded frantically. It was a declaration of war against the Directory, and soldiers will always applaud a declaration of war.

The general dismounted, amid shouts and bravos, and entered the Tuileries. It was the second time he had crossed the threshold of this palace of the Valois, whose arches had so ill-sheltered the crown and head of the last Bourbon who had reigned there. Beside him walked citizen Roederer. Bonaparte started as he recognized him, and said:

“Ah! citizen Roederer, you were here on the morning of August 10.”

“Yes, general,” replied the future Count of the Empire.

“It was you who advised Louis XVI. to go before the National Assembly.”

“Yes.”

“Bad advice, citizen Roederer! I should not have followed it.”

“We advise men according to what we know of them. I would not give General Bonaparte the same advice I gave King Louis XVI. When a king has the fact of his flight to Varennes and the 20th of June behind him, it is difficult to save him.”

As Roederer said these words, they reached a window opening on the garden of the Tuileries. Bonaparte stopped, and, seizing Roederer by the arm, he said: “On the 20th of June I was there,” pointing with his finger to the terrace by the water, “behind the third linden. Through the open window I could see the poor king, with the red cap on his head. It was a piteous sight; I pitied him.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, I could do nothing; I was only a lieutenant of artillery. But I longed to go in like the others, and whisper: ‘Sire, give me four cannon, and I’ll sweep the whole rabble out.’”

What would have happened if Lieutenant Bonaparte had followed his impulse, obtained what he wanted from Louis XVI., and swept the rabble out, that is to say the people of Paris? Had his cannon made a clean sweep on June 20th, would he have had to make another the 13th Vendemiaire for the benefit of the Convention?

While the ex-Syndic; who had grown grave, was outlining in his mind the opening pages of his future “History of the Consulate,” Bonaparte presented himself at the bar of the Council of the Ancients, followed by his staff, and by all those who chose to do likewise. When the tumult caused by this influx of people had subsided, the president read over the decree which invested Bonaparte with the military power. Then, after requesting him to take the oath, the president added:

“He who has never promised his country a victory which he did not win, cannot fail to keep religiously his new promise to serve her faithfully.”

Bonaparte stretched forth his hand and said solemnly:

“I swear it!”

All the generals repeated after him, each for himself:

“I swear it!”

The last one had scarcely finished, when Bonaparte recognized Barras’ secretary, that same Bollot of whom Barras had spoken that morning to his two colleagues. He had come there solely to give his patron an account of all that was happening there, but Bonaparte fancied he was sent on some secret mission by Barras. He resolved to spare him the first advance, and went straight to him, saying:

“Have you come on behalf of the Directors?” Then, without giving him time to answer, he continued: “What have they done with that France I left so brilliant? I left peace; I find war. I left victories; I find reverses. I left the millions of Italy, and I find spoliation and penury. What have become of the hundred thousand Frenchmen whom I knew by name? They are dead!”

It was not precisely to Barras’ secretary that these words should have been said; but Bonaparte wished to say them, needed to say them, and little he cared to whom he said them. Perhaps even, from his point of view, it was better to say them to some one who could not answer him. At that moment Sièyes rose.

“Citizens,” said he, “the Directors Moulins and Gohier ask to be admitted.”

“They are no longer Directors,” said Bonaparte, “for there is no longer a Directory.”

“But,” objected Sièyes, “they have not yet sent in their resignation.”

“Then admit them and let them give it,” retorted Bonaparte.

Moulins and Gohier entered. They were pale but calm. They knew they came to force a struggle, but behind their resistance may have loomed the Sinnamary. The exiles they sent there the 18th of Fructidor pointed the way.

“I see with satisfaction,” Bonaparte hastened to say, “that you have yielded to our wishes and those of your two colleagues.”

Gohier made a step forward and said firmly: “We yield neither to your wishes, nor to those of our two colleagues, who are no longer our colleagues, since they have resigned, but to the Law. It requires that the decree transferring the legislative body to Saint-Cloud shall be proclaimed without delay. We have come here to fulfil the duty which the law imposes on us, fully determined to defend it against all factious persons, whoever they may be, who attempt to attack it.”

“Your zeal does not astonish us,” replied Bonaparte; “and because you are a man who loves his country you will unite with us.”

“Unite with you! And why?”

“To save the Republic.”

“To save the Republic! There was a time, general, when you had the honor to be its prop. But to-day the glory of saving it is reserved for us.”

“You save it!” retorted Bonaparte. “How will you do that? With the means your Constitution gives you? Why, that Constitution is crumbling on all sides, and even if I did not topple it over, it could not last eight days.”

“Ah!” cried Moulins, “at last you avow your hostile intentions.”

“My intentions are not hostile!” shouted Bonaparte, striking the floor with the heel of his boot. “The Republic is in peril; it must be saved, and I shall do it.”

“You do it?” cried Gohier. “It seems to me it is for the Directory, not you, to say, ‘I shall do it!’”

“There is no longer a Directory.”

“I did indeed hear that you said so just a moment before we came in.”

“There is no longer a Directory, now that Sièyes and Ducos have resigned.”

“You are mistaken. So long as there are three Directors, the Directory still exists. Neither Moulins, Barras nor myself, have handed in our resignations.”

At that moment a paper was slipped in Bonaparte’s hand, and a voice said in his ear: “Read it.” He did so; then said aloud: “You, yourself, are mistaken. Barras has resigned, for here is his resignation. The law requires three Directors to make a Directory. You are but two, and, as you said just now, whoever resists the law is a rebel.” Then handing the paper to the president, he continued: “Add the citizen Barras’ resignation to that of citizens Sièyes and Ducos, and proclaim the fall of the Directory. I will announce it to my soldiers.”

Moulins and Gohier were confounded. Barras’ resignation sapped the foundations of all their plans. Bonaparte had nothing further to do at the Council of Ancients, but there still remained much to be done in the court of the Tuileries. He went down, followed by those who had accompanied him up. His soldiers no sooner caught sight, of him than they burst into shouts of “Vive Bonaparte!” more noisily and more eagerly than ever. He sprang into his saddle and made them a sign that he wished to speak to them. Ten thousand voices that had burst into cries were hushed in a moment. Silence fell as if by enchantment.