ON Bonaparte’s arrival in town, the Prefect of the Palace was directed to summon the various persons in authority, that they might be presented to him. The prefect, the mayor, the bishop, the presidents of the tribunals, would read an address to him, and then, turning to Mme. Bonaparte, make her a little speech also. According to the mood he happened to be in, Bonaparte would listen to these discourses to the end, or interrupt them by questioning the deputation on the nature of their respective functions, or on the district in which they exercised them. He rarely put questions with an appearance of interest, but rather with the air of a man who desires to show his knowledge, and wants to see whether he can be answered. These speeches were addressed to the Republic; but any one who reads them may see that in almost every respect they might have been addressed to a sovereign. Indeed, the mayors of some of the Flemish towns went so far as to urge the Consul to “complete the happiness of the world by exchanging his precarious title for one better suited to the lofty destiny to which he was called.” I was present the first time that happened, and I kept my eyes fixed upon Bonaparte. When these very words were uttered, he had some difficulty in checking the smile that hovered about his lips; but, putting strong control upon himself, he interrupted the orator, and replied, in a tone of feigned anger, that it would be unworthy of him to usurp an authority which must affect the existence of the Republic. Thus, like CÆsar, he repudiated the crown, though perhaps he was not ill pleased that they were beginning to offer it to him. The good people of the provinces we visited were not very far wrong; for the splendor that surrounded us, the sumptuousness of that military yet brilliant court, the strict ceremonial, the imperious tone of the master, the submission of all about him, and, finally, the expectation that homage should be paid the wife of the first magistrate, to whom the Republic certainly owed none—all this strongly resembled the progress of a King.

After these audiences, Bonaparte generally rode out on horseback; he showed himself to the people, who followed him with acclamations; he visited the public monuments and manufactories, but always in a hurried way, for he could never get over that precipitation which gave him an ill-bred air. Afterward he would give a dinner, or attend a fÊte which had been prepared for him, and this was always the most wearisome part of the business to him. “I am not made for pleasure,” he would say, in a melancholy tone. Then he would leave the town, after having received petitions, attended to complaints, and distributed alms and presents. He was accustomed, when on a journey of this sort, to inform himself at each town he went to what public establishments were wanting there, and he would order them to be founded, in commemoration of his visit. The inhabitants would load him with blessings for this munificence. But shortly afterward a mandate from the Minister of the Interior would arrive, drawn up in this form: “In conformity with the gracious permission of the First Consul” (later it was “the Emperor”), “you are directed, citizen mayors, to have such and such a building constructed, taking care that the expenses shall be defrayed by the funds of your commune.” Thus these towns would suddenly find themselves obliged to alter the disposition of their funds, very often at a moment when they were not sufficient for necessary expenses. The Prefect took care, however, that the orders were executed, or at least the most useful portion of them; and it must be admitted that, from one end of France to the other, everything was being embellished, and that the general prosperity was such that new works, even of the most important nature, might safely be undertaken everywhere.

At Arras, at Lille, and at Dunkirk, we had similar receptions; but it seemed to me that the enthusiasm cooled down when we got beyond the former boundaries of France. At Ghent, especially, we detected some coldness in the popular greeting. In vain did the authorities endeavor to stir up the zeal of the inhabitants; they were curious, but not enthusiastic. Bonaparte was a little annoyed, and inclined to proceed without delay. He thought better of this, however, and said in the evening to his wife: “These people are bigoted and under the influence of the priests; we must remain a long time at church to-morrow, and propitiate the clergy by some favor. In this way we shall regain lost ground.” Next day he attended high mass with every appearance of devoutness; he talked to the Bishop, whom he completely captivated, and by degrees he obtained the popular acclamations he desired. At Ghent he met the daughters of the Duc de Villequier, formerly one of the four Gentlemen of the Chamber to the King. These ladies were nieces of the Bishop, and Bonaparte restored to them the beautiful estate of Villequier, with its large revenues. I had the happiness of contributing to this restitution, by urging it with all my might, both upon Bonaparte and upon his wife. The two amiable young ladies have never forgotten this to me. When I assured Bonaparte of their gratitude, “Ah,” said he, “gratitude! That is a poetic word which has no meaning in times of revolution; and what I have just done would not prevent your friends from rejoicing if some Royalist emissary should succeed in assassinating me during this journey.” And, as I betrayed the surprise with which I heard him, he continued: “You are young; you do not know what political hatred is. It is like a pair of spectacles: one sees everybody, every opinion, or every sentiment only through the glass of one’s passions. Hence, nothing is bad or good of itself, but simply according to the party to which one belongs. In reality, this mode of seeing is convenient, and we profit by it; for we also have our spectacles, and, if we do not see things through our passions, we see them through our interests.”

“But,” I replied, “where, in such a system, do you place the applause which you do care to win? For what class of men do you spend your life in great and often perilous enterprises?”

“Ah,” he answered, “one can not avoid one’s destiny; he who is called can not resist. Besides, human pride finds the public it desires in that ideal world which is called posterity. He who believes that, a hundred years hence, a fine poem, or even a line in one, will recall a great action of his own, or that a painting will commemorate it, has his imagination fired by that idea. The battle-field has no dangers, the cannon roars in vain; to him it is only that sound which, a thousand years hence, will carry a brave man’s name to the ears of our distant descendants.”

“I shall never be able to understand,” I continued, “how a man can expose himself to every sort of danger for fame’s sake, if his own inward sentiment be only contempt for the men of his own time.”

Here Bonaparte interrupted me quickly. “I do not despise men, madame—that is a thing you must never say; and I particularly esteem the French.”

I smiled at this abrupt declaration, and, as he guessed why, he smiled also; and approaching me and pulling my ear, which was, as I have already said, a trick of his when he was in a good humor, he repeated, “Do you hear, madame? you must never say that I despise the French.”

From Ghent we went to Antwerp, where we were received with a special ceremony. On occasions of visits from kings and princes, the people of Antwerp are in the habit of parading through their streets a giant, who never makes his appearance except on such solemn festivals. Although we were neither king nor prince, we were obliged to yield to the people’s wish in this matter, and it put Bonaparte in good humor with the town of Antwerp. He occupied himself much while there with the important extension which he designed for its harbor, and gave orders for the commencement of the great works which have since been executed there.

On the way from Antwerp to Brussels we stopped at Malines for a few hours, and there we saw the new Archbishop, M. de Roquelaure. He was Bishop of Senlis under Louis XVI., and had been the intimate friend of my great-uncle, the Count de Vergennes. I had seen a great deal of him in my childhood, and I was glad to meet him again. Bonaparte talked to him in a very insinuating manner. At this period he affected great esteem for the priests, and care for their interests. He knew how steadily religion supports royalty, and he hoped that through the priests he might get the people taught that catechism which we have since seen, in which all who did not love and obey the Emperor were threatened with eternal condemnation. For the first time since the Revolution, the clergy found the Government occupying itself with their welfare, and giving them rank and consideration. They showed themselves grateful, and were useful to Bonaparte until the moment came when he endeavored to impose his ever-growing despotism on their consciences, and the priests had to choose between him and their duty. At this time, however, the words, “He has reËstablished religion,” were in every pious mouth, and told immensely in his favor.

Our entry into Brussels was magnificent. Several fine regiments awaited the First Consul at the gate, where he mounted his horse. Mme. Bonaparte found a superb carriage, presented to her by the city, awaiting her; the streets were lavishly decorated, cannon were fired, the bells were rung; the numerous clergy were assembled in great pomp on the steps of all the churches; there was an immense crowd of the population, and also many foreigners, and the weather was beautiful. I was enchanted. Our stay in Brussels was a succession of brilliant fÊtes. The French ministers, Consul Le Brun, the envoys from the foreign courts who had business to arrange, came to meet us there. At Brussels I heard M. de Talleyrand reply in an adroit and flattering manner to a question suddenly put to him by Bonaparte, who asked him how he had so rapidly made his great fortune? “Nothing could be more simple,” replied M. de Talleyrand; “I bought stock on the 17th Brumaire, and I sold it again on the 19th.”

One Sunday we were to visit the cathedral in great state. M. de RÉmusat went early in the morning to the church, to arrange the ceremony. He had been directed not to object to any honor which the clergy might propose to pay to the First Consul on this occasion. As, however, it was arranged that the priests should go to the great doors with the canopy and the cross to receive the First Consul, a question arose whether Mme. Bonaparte was to share this distinction with him, and Bonaparte did not venture to bring her so prominently forward. She was, therefore, placed in a tribune with the Second Consul. At twelve o’clock, the hour agreed upon, the clergy left the altar, and proceeded to the grand entrance of the magnificent Church of Sainte Gudule. They awaited the arrival of the First Consul, but he did not appear. At first they were astonished, then alarmed; but they presently perceived that he had slipped into the church, and seated himself on the throne which was prepared for him. The priests, surprised and disconcerted, returned to the sanctuary, and commenced divine service. The fact was, just as he was setting out, Bonaparte was told that, at a similar ceremony, Charles V. had preferred to enter the Church of Sainte Gudule by a little side-door which had ever after been called by his name; and it seemed he had taken a fancy to use the same entrance, hoping, perhaps, that henceforth it would be called the door of Charles V. and of Bonaparte.

One morning the numerous and magnificent regiments which had been brought to Brussels were reviewed by the Consul, or, as on this occasion I ought to call him, the General. His reception by the troops was nothing short of rapturous. It was well worth seeing how he talked to the soldiers—how he questioned them one after the other respecting their campaigns or their wounds; taking particular interest in the men who had accompanied him to Egypt. I have heard Mme. Bonaparte say that her husband was in the constant habit of poring over the list of what are called the cadres of the army, at night, before he slept. He would go to sleep repeating the names of the corps, and even those of some of the individuals who composed them; he kept those names in a corner of his memory, and this habit came to his aid when he wanted to recognize a soldier, and to give him the pleasure of a cheering word from his General. He spoke to the subalterns in a tone of good fellowship, which delighted them all, as he reminded them of their common feats of arms. Afterward, when his armies became so numerous, when his battles became so deadly, he disdained to exercise this kind of fascination. Besides, death had extinguished so many remembrances, that in a few years it became difficult for him to find any great number of the companions of his early exploits; and, when he addressed his soldiers before leading them into battle, it was as a perpetually renewed posterity, to which the preceding and destroyed army had bequeathed its glory. But even this somber style of encouragement availed for a long time with a nation which believed itself to be fulfilling its destiny while sending its sons year after year to die for Bonaparte.

I have said that Bonaparte took great pleasure in recalling his campaign in Egypt; it was, indeed, his favorite theme of discourse. He had taken with him, on the journey I am describing, M. Monge the savant, whom he had made a senator, and whom he liked particularly, for the sole reason that he was among the number of the members of the Institute who had gone with him to Egypt. Bonaparte often talked to him of that expedition—“that land of poetry,” he would say, “which was trodden by CÆsar and Pompey.” He would speak with enthusiasm of the time when he appeared before the amazed Orientals like a new Prophet; for the sway he exercised over imagination, being the most complete of all, he prized more highly than any other. “In France,” he said, “one must conquer everything at the point of demonstration. In Egypt we did not require our mathematics; did we, Monge?”

It was at Brussels that I began to get accustomed to M. de Talleyrand, and to shake off the earlier impression made by his disdainful manner and sarcastic disposition. The idleness of a court life makes the day seem a hundred hours long, and it happened that we often passed many of those hours together in the salon, waiting until it should please Bonaparte to come in or to go out. It was during one of these weary waits that I heard M. de Talleyrand complain that his family had not realized any of the plans he had formed for them. His brother, Archambault de PÉrigord, had just been sent into exile for having indulged in the sarcastic language common to the family. He had, however, applied it to persons of rank too high to be ridiculed with impunity, and he had also offended by refusing to give his daughter in marriage to EugÈne de Beauharnais, to whom he had preferred Count Just de Noailles. M. de Talleyrand, who was quite as anxious as Mme. Bonaparte that his niece should marry Beauharnais, blamed his brother’s conduct severely, and I could perfectly understand that such an alliance would have been advantageous to his personal policy. One of the first things that struck me, when I had talked for a little while with M. de Talleyrand, was the entire absence of any kind of illusion or enthusiasm on his part with regard to all that was passing around us. Every one else was more or less under the influence of feelings of this kind. The implicit obedience of the military officers might easily pass for zeal, and, in the case of some of them, it really was devotion. The ministers affected or felt profound admiration; M. Maret paraded his worship of the First Consul on every occasion; Berthier was happy in the sincerity of his attachment; in short, every one seemed to feel something. M. de RÉmusat tried to like his post, and to esteem the man who had conferred it on him. As for myself, I cultivated every opportunity of emotion and of self-deception; and the calm indifference of M. de Talleyrand amazed me. “Good heavens!” I said to him on one occasion, “how is it possible that you can live and work without experiencing any emotion either from what passes around us, or from your own actions?” “Ah! what a woman you are, and how young!” he replied: and then he began to ridicule me, as he did every one else. His jests wounded my feelings, yet they made me laugh. I was angry with myself for being amused, and yet, because my vanity was pleased at my own comprehension of his wit, less shocked than I ought to have been at the hardness of his heart. However, I did not yet know him, and it was not till much later, when I had got over the restraint that he imposed on every one at first, that I observed the curious mixture of qualities in his character.

On leaving Brussels we went to LiÉge and Maestricht, and reËntered the former boundaries of France by way of MÉziÈres and Sedan. Mme. Bonaparte was charming during this journey, and left an impression on my mind of her kindness and graciousness which, as I found fifteen years afterward, time could not efface.

I was delighted to return to Paris, and to find myself once more among my family and free from the restraint of court life. M. de RÉmusat, like myself, was tired of the idle yet restless pomp of the last six weeks; and we rejoiced in the quiet of our happy home.

On his return to Saint Cloud, Bonaparte and Mme. Bonaparte received complimentary addresses from the Corps LÉgislatif, the tribunals, etc.; the First Consul also received a visit from the Corps Diplomatique. Shortly after this, he enhanced the dignity of the Legion of Honor by appointing M. de LacÉpÈde its Chancellor. Since the fall of Bonaparte, certain liberal writers, and among others Mme. de StaËl, have endeavored to stigmatize that institution by reviving the recollection of an English caricature which represented Bonaparte cutting up the bonnet rouge of the Revolution to make the crosses of the Legion. But, if he had not misused that institution as he misused everything, there would have been nothing to blame in the invention of a recompense which was an inducement to every kind of merit, without being a great expense to the State. What splendid deeds on the battle-field has that little bit of ribbon inspired! If it had been accorded to merit only in every walk of life, if it had never been given from motives of caprice or individual favor, it would have been a fine idea to assimilate all services rendered to the country, no matter of what nature, and to bestow a similar decoration upon them all. The institutions of Bonaparte in France ought not to be indiscriminately condemned. Most of them have a commendable purpose, and might have been made of advantage to the nation. But his insatiable greed of power perverted them. So intolerant was he of any obstacles, that he could not even endure those which arose from his own institutions, and he instantly set them aside by an arbitrary decision.

Having in the course of this year (1803) created the different senatorships, he gave a Chancellor, a Treasurer, and PrÆtors to the Senate. M. de Laplace was the Chancellor. Bonaparte honored him because he was a savant, and liked him because he was a skillful flatterer. The two PrÆtors were General Lefebvre and General Serrurier. M. de Fargues was the Treasurer.

The Republican year ended as usual in the middle of September, and the anniversary of the Republic was celebrated by popular fÊtes, and kept with royal pomp at the palace of the Tuileries. We heard at the same time that the Hanoverians, who had been conquered by General Mortier, had celebrated the First Consul’s birthday with great rejoicings. Thus, by degrees, by appearing at first at the head of all, and then quite alone, he accustomed Europe to see France in his person only, and presented himself everywhere as the sole representative of the nation.

Bonaparte, who well knew that he would meet with resistance from those who held by the old ways of thinking, applied himself early and skillfully to gain the young, to whom he opened all the doors of advancement in life. He attached auditors to the different ministries, and gave free scope to ambition, whether in military or in civil careers. He often said that he preferred to every other advantage that of governing a new people, and the youthful generation afforded him that novelty.

The institution of the jury was also discussed in that year. I have heard that Bonaparte himself had no liking for it; but, as he intended later on to govern rather by himself than with the assistance of assemblies which he feared, he was obliged to make some concessions to their most distinguished members. By degrees, all the laws were presented to the Council by the ministers, and were either changed into decrees, which, without any other sanction, were put in force from one end of France to the other; or else, having been received with the silent approbation of the Corps LÉgislatif, they were passed with no more trouble than that imposed upon reporters of the Council, who had to preface them by a discourse, so that they might have some show of necessity. Lyceums were also established in all the important towns, and the study of ancient languages, which had been abolished during the Revolution, was again made obligatory in public education.

It was at this time that the flotilla of flat-bottomed boats which was to be used for the invasion of England was being constructed. Day by day it was more confidently asserted that in fine weather it would be possible for the flotilla to reach the shores of England without being impeded by ships of war. It was said that Bonaparte himself would command the expedition, and such an enterprise did not seem to be beyond the bounds of his daring or of his good fortune. Our newspapers represented England as agitated and alarmed, and in reality the English Government was not quite exempt from fear on the subject. The “Moniteur” still complained bitterly of the English liberal journals, and the gauntlet of wordy war was taken up on both sides. In France the law of conscription was put in action, and large bodies of troops were raised. Sometimes people asked what was the meaning of this great armament, and of such paragraphs as the following, which appeared in the “Moniteur”; “The English journalists suspect that the great preparations for war, which the First Consul has just commenced in Italy, are intended for an Egyptian expedition.”

No explanation was given. The French nation placed confidence in Bonaparte of a kind like that which some credulous minds feel in magic; and, as his success was believed to be infallible, it was not difficult to obtain a tacit consent to all his operations from a people naturally prone to worship success. At that time a few wise heads began to perceive that he would not be useful to us; but, as the general dread of the Revolutionary Government still proclaimed him to be necessary, no opposition could be made to his authority without the risk of facilitating the revolt of that party, which it was believed he alone could control.

In the mean time he was always active and energetic; and, as it did not suit him that the public mind should be left to repose, which leads to reflection, he aroused apprehension and disturbance in every way that might be useful to himself. A letter from the Comte d’Artois, taken from the “Morning Chronicle,” was printed about this time; it offered the services of the ÉmigrÉs to the King of England, in case of a descent upon his coasts. Rumors were spread of certain attempts made in the eastern departments; and since the war in La VendÉe had been followed by the inglorious proceedings of the Chouans, people had become accustomed to the idea that any political movement set on foot in that part of France had pillage and incendiarism for its objects. In fact, there seemed no chance of quietness except in the duration of the established Government; and when certain friends of liberty deplored its loss—for the new liberal institutions were of little value in their eyes because they were the work of absolute power—they were met with the following argument, which was perhaps justified by circumstances: “After the storm through which we have passed, and amid the strife of so many parties, superior force only can give us liberty; and, so long as that force tends to promote principles of order and morality, we ought not to regard ourselves as straying from the right road; for the creator will disappear, but that which he has created will remain with us.”

While more or less disturbance was thus kept up by his orders, Bonaparte himself maintained a peaceful attitude. He had returned to his usual orderly and busy life at Saint Cloud, and we passed our days as I have already described. His brothers were all employed—Joseph, at the camp of Boulogne; Louis, at the Council of State; JÉrome, the youngest, in America, whither he had been sent, and where he was well received by the Anglo-Americans. Bonaparte’s sisters, who were now in the enjoyment of wealth, vied with each other in the decoration of the houses which the First Consul had given them, and in the luxury of their furniture and equipment. EugÈne de Beauharnais occupied himself exclusively in his military duties; his sister lived a dull and quiet life.

Mme. Leclerc had inspired Prince Borghese (who had not long arrived in France from Rome) with an ardent attachment, which she returned. The Prince asked her hand of Bonaparte, but his demand was at first refused. I do not know what the motive of his refusal was, but think it may perhaps have been dictated by his vanity, which would have been hurt by the supposition that he desired to be relieved of any family claims; and probably, also, he did not wish to appear to accept a first proposal with alacrity. But, as the liason between his sister and the Prince became publicly known, the Consul consented at last to legitimize it by a marriage, which took place at Mortefontaine while he was at Boulogne.

He set out to visit the camp and the flotilla on the 3d of November, 1803. This time his journey was of an entirely military character. He was accompanied only by the generals of his guard, by his aides-de-camp, and by M. de RÉmusat.

When they arrived at Pont de Briques, a little village about a league from Boulogne, where Bonaparte had fixed his headquarters, my husband fell dangerously ill. So soon as I heard of his illness I set out to join him, and arrived at Pont de Briques in the middle of the night. Entirely occupied by my anxiety, I had thought of nothing but of the state in which I should find the invalid. But, when I got out of the carriage, I was rather disconcerted by finding myself alone in the midst of a camp, and not knowing what the First Consul would think of my arrival. I was reassured, however, by the servants, who told me I was expected, and that a room had been set apart for me two days before. I passed the remainder of the night there, waiting until daylight before I saw my husband, as I did not like to risk disturbing him. I found him greatly pulled down by illness, but he was so rejoiced to see me that I congratulated myself on having come without asking permission.

In the morning Bonaparte sent for me. I was so agitated that I could hardly speak. He saw this the moment I entered the room, and he kissed me, made me sit down, and restored me to composure by his first words. “I was expecting you,” he said. “Your presence will cure your husband.” At these words I burst into tears. He appeared touched, and endeavored to console me. Then he directed me to come every day to dine and breakfast with him, laughing as he said, “I must look after a woman of your age among so many soldiers.” He asked me how I had left his wife. A little while before his departure some more secret visits from Mlle. Georges had given rise to fresh domestic disagreements. “She troubles herself,” he said, “a great deal more than is necessary. Josephine is always afraid that I shall fall seriously in love. Does she not know, then, that I am not made for love? For what is love? A passion which sets all the universe on one side, and on the other the beloved object. I certainly am not of a nature to give myself up to any such exclusive feeling. What, then, do these fancies, into which my affections do not enter, matter to her? This,” he continued, looking at me seriously, “is what her friends ought to dwell upon; and, above all, they ought not to try to increase their influence over her by fostering her jealousy.” There was in his last words a tone of suspicion and severity which I did not deserve, and I think he knew that very well; but he never missed an opportunity of carrying out his favorite system, which was to keep one’s mind what he called “breathless”; that is to say, constantly anxious.

He remained at Pont de Briques for ten days after I arrived there. My husband’s malady was a painful one, but the doctors were not alarmed. With the exception of one quarter of an hour during which the First Consul’s breakfast lasted, I spent the morning with my dear invalid. Bonaparte went to the camp every day, reviewed the troops, visited the flotilla, and assisted at some slight skirmishes, or rather at an exchange of cannon-balls, between us and the English, who constantly cruised in front of the harbor and tried to molest our workmen.

At six o’clock Bonaparte returned, and then I was summoned. Occasionally some of the officers of his household, the Minister of Marine or the Minister of Public Works, who had accompanied him, were invited to dinner. At other times we dined tÊte-À-tÊte, and then he talked on a multitude of subjects. He spoke of his own character, and described himself as having always been of a melancholy temperament—far more so than any of his comrades. My memory has faithfully preserved all he said to me. The following is a correct summary of it:

“I was educated,” he said, “at a military school, and I showed no aptitude for anything but the exact sciences. Every one said of me, ‘That child will never be good for anything but geometry.’ I kept aloof from my schoolfellows. I had chosen a little corner in the school-grounds, where I would sit and dream at my ease; for I have always liked reverie. When my companions tried to usurp possession of this corner, I defended it with all my might. I already knew by instinct that my will was to override that of others, and that what pleased me was to belong to me. I was not liked at school. It takes time to make one’s self liked: and, even when I had nothing to do, I always felt vaguely that I had no time to lose.

“I entered the service, and soon grew tired of garrison work. I began to read novels, and they interested me deeply. I even tried to write some. This occupation brought out something in my imagination which mingled itself with the positive knowledge I had acquired; and I often let myself dream, in order that I might afterward measure my dreams by the compass of my reason. I threw myself into an ideal world, and I endeavored to find out in what precise points it differed from the actual world in which I lived. I have always liked analysis; and, if I were to be seriously in love, I should analyze my love bit by bit. Why? and How? are questions so useful that they can not be too often asked. I conquered, rather than studied, history; that is to say, I did not care to retain, and did not retain, anything that could not give me a new idea; I disdained all that was useless, but took possession of certain results which pleased me.

“I did not understand much about the Revolution, but I approved of it. Equality, which was to elevate myself, attracted me. On the 20th of June I was in Paris, and I saw the populace marching upon the Tuileries. I have never liked popular movements, and I was indignant at the violent deeds of that day. I thought the ringleaders in the attack very imprudent, for I said to myself, ‘It is not they who will profit by this revolution.’ But, when I was told that Louis had put the red cap on his head, I came to the conclusion that he had ceased to reign; for in politics there is no resurrection.

“On the 10th of August I felt that, had I been called upon, I would have defended the King. I set myself against those who founded the Republic by the people. Besides, I saw men in plain clothes attacking men in uniform, and I could not stand that.

“One evening I was at the theatre; it was the 12th VendÉmiaire. I heard it said about me that next day du train might be looked for. You know that was the usual expression of the Parisians, who regarded the various changes of government with indifference, as those changes did not disturb their business, their pleasures, or even their dinners. After the Terror, people were satisfied with anything, so that they were allowed to live quietly.

“I heard it said that the Assembly was sitting in permanence; I went there, and found all confusion and hesitation. Suddenly I heard a voice say from the middle of the hall, ‘If any one here knows the address of General Bonaparte, he is begged to go and tell him that he is expected at the Committee of the Assembly.’ I have always observed with interest how chance interferes in certain events, and this chance decided me. I went to the Committee.

“There I found several terrified deputies, CambacÉrÈs among others. They expected to be attacked the next day, and they could not come to any resolution. They asked my advice; I answered by asking for guns. This proposition so alarmed them that the whole night passed without their coming to any decision. In the morning there was very bad news. Then they put the whole business into my hands, and afterward began to discuss whether they had the right to repel force by force. ‘Are you going to wait,’ I asked them, ‘until the people give you permission to fire upon them? I am committed in this matter; you have appointed me to defend you; it is right that you should leave me to act.’ Thereupon I left these lawyers to stultify themselves with words. I put the troops in motion, and pointed two cannons with terrible effect from Saint Roch; the army of citizens and the conspirators were swept away in an instant.

“But I had shed Parisian blood! What sacrilege! It was necessary to obliterate the effect of such a deed. I felt myself more and more urgently called upon to do something. I asked for the command of the army of Italy. Everything had to be put in order in that army, both men and things. Only youth can have patience, because it has the future before it. I set out for Italy with ill-trained soldiers, who were, however, full of zeal and daring. In the midst of the troops I had wagons placed, and escorted on the march, although they were empty. These I called the treasure-chests of the army. I put it in the order of the day that shoes should be distributed to the recruits: no one would wear them. I promised my soldiers that fortune and glory should await us behind the Alps; I kept my word, and ever since then the army would follow me to the end of the world.

“I made a splendid campaign; I became a person of importance in Europe. On the one hand, with the assistance of my orders of the day, I maintained the revolutionary system; on the other hand, I secretly conciliated the ÉmigrÉs by allowing them to form certain hopes. It is easy to deceive that party, because it starts always not from what exists, but from what it wishes to believe. I received magnificent offers of recompense if I would follow the example of General Monk; the Pretender even wrote to me in his vague and florid style; I conquered the Pope more effectually by not going to Rome than if I had burned his capital. In short, I became important and formidable; and the Directory, although I made them very uneasy, could not bring any formal accusation against me.

“I have been reproached with having favored the 18th Fructidor; they might as well reproach me with having supported the Revolution. It was necessary to take advantage of the Revolution, and to derive some profit from the blood that had been shed. What! were we to give ourselves up unconditionally to the princes of the house of Bourbon, who would have thrown in our teeth all the misfortunes we had suffered since their departure, and would have imposed silence upon us, because we had solicited their return? Were we to exchange our victorious flag for that white banner which had mingled with the standards of our enemies? Was I to content myself with a few millions and a petty dukedom? The part of Monk is not a difficult one to play; it would have given me less trouble than the Egyptian campaign, or even than the 18th Brumaire; but can anything teach princes who have never seen a battle-field? To what did the return of Charles II. lead the English, except the dethronement of James II.? Had it been necessary, I should certainly have dethroned the Bourbons a second time, so that the best thing they could have done would have been to get rid of me.

“When I returned to France, I found public opinion in a lethargic condition. In Paris—and Paris is France—people can never interest themselves in things if they do not care about persons. The customs of an old monarchy had taught them to personify everything. This habit of mind is bad for a people who desire liberty seriously; but Frenchmen can no longer desire anything seriously, except perhaps it be equality; and even that they would renounce willingly if every one could flatter himself that he was the first. To be equals, with everybody uppermost, is the secret of the vanity of all of you; every man among you must, therefore, be given the hope of rising. The great difficulty of the Directory was that no one cared about them, and that people began to care a good deal about me.

“I do not know what would have happened to me had I not conceived the happy thought of going to Egypt. When I embarked I did not know but that I might be bidding an eternal farewell to France; but I had no doubt that she would recall me. The charm of Oriental conquest drew my thoughts away from Europe more than I should have believed possible. My imagination interfered this time again with my actions; but I think it died out at Saint Jean d’Arc. However that may be, I shall never allow it to interfere with me again.

“In Egypt I found myself free from the wearisome restraints of civilization. I dreamed all sorts of things, and I saw how all that I dreamed might be realized. I created a religion. I pictured myself on the road to Asia, mounted on an elephant, with a turban on my head, and in my hand a new Koran, which I should compose according to my own ideas. I would have the combined experience of two worlds to set about my enterprise; I was to have ransacked, for my own advantage, the whole domain of history; I was to have attacked the English power in India, and renewed my relations with old Europe by my conquest. The time which I passed in Egypt was the most delightful part of my life, for it was the most ideal. Fate decided against my dreams; I received letters from France; I saw that there was not a moment to lose. I reverted to the realities of life, and I returned to Paris—to Paris, where the gravest interests of the country are discussed in the entr’acte of an opera.

“The Directory trembled at my return. I was very cautious; that is one of the epochs of my life in which I have acted with the soundest judgment. I saw the AbbÉ SiÉyÈs, and promised him that his verbose constitution should be put into effect; I received the chiefs of the Jacobins and the agents of the Bourbons; I listened to advice from everybody, but I only gave it in the interest of my own plans. I hid myself from the people, because I knew that when the time came curiosity to see me would make them run after me. Every one was taken in my toils; and, when I became the head of the State, there was not a party in France which did not build some special hope upon my success.”