As the words of the first consul appeared to intimate, preparations were resumed on the French coast for the invasion of Great Britain. Boulogne, and every harbour along the coast, was crowded with flat-bottomed boats, and the shores covered with camps of the men designed apparently to fill them. We need not at present dwell on the preparations for attack, or those which the English adopted in defence, as we shall have occasion to notice both, when Buonaparte, for the last time, threatened England with the same measure. It is enough to say, that, on the present occasion, the menaces of France had their usual effect in awakening the spirit of Britain.

The most extensive arrangements were made for the reception of the invaders should they chance to land, and in the meanwhile, our natural barrier was not neglected. The naval preparations were very great, and what gave yet more confidence than the number of vessels and guns, Nelson was put into command of the sea, from Orfordness to Beachyhead. Under his management, it soon became the question, not whether the French flotilla was to invade the British shores, but whether it was to remain in safety in the French harbours. Boulogne was bombarded, and some of the small craft and gun-boats destroyed—the English admiral generously sparing the town; and not satisfied with this partial success, Nelson prepared to attack them with the boats of the squadron. The French resorted to the most unusual and formidable preparations for defence. Their flotilla was moored close to the shore in the mouth of Boulogne harbour, the vessels secured to each other by chains, and filled with soldiers. The British attack in some degree failed, owing to the several divisions of boats missing each other in the dark; some French vessels were taken, but they could not be brought off; and the French chose to consider this result as a victory, on their part, of consequence enough to balance the loss at Aboukir;—though it amounted at best to ascertaining, that although their vessels could not keep the sea, they might, in some comparative degree of safety, lie under close cover of their own batteries. Meantime, the changes which had taken place in the British administration, were preparing public expectation for that peace which all the world now longed for.

Mr. Pitt, as is well known, left the Ministry, [Feb. 1801,] and was succeeded in the office of first Minister of State by Mr. Addington, now Lord Sidmouth. The change was justly considered as friendly to pacific measures; for, in France especially, the gold of Pitt had been by habit associated with all that was prejudicial to their country. The very massacres of Paris, nay, the return of Buonaparte from Egypt, were imputed to the intrigues of the English minister; he was the scape-goat on whom were charged as the ultimate cause, all the follies, crimes, and misfortunes of the Revolution.

A great part of his own countrymen, as well as of the French, entertained a doubt of the possibility of concluding a peace under Mr. Pitt's auspices; while those who were most anti-Gallican in their opinions, had little wish to see his lofty spirit stoop to the task of arranging conditions of treaty on terms so different from what his hopes had once dictated. The worth, temper, and talents of his successor, seemed to qualify him to enter into a negotiation to which the greater part of the nation was now inclined, were it but for the sake of experiment.

Buonaparte himself was at this time disposed to peace. It was necessary to France, and no less necessary to him, since he otherwise must remain pledged to undertake the hazardous alternative of invasion, in which chances stood incalculably against his success; while a failure might have, in its consequences, inferred the total ruin of his power. All parties were, therefore, in a great degree inclined to treat with sincerity; and Buonaparte was with little difficulty brought to consent to the evacuation of Egypt, there being every reason to believe that he was already possessed of the news of the convention with Menou. At any rate, the French cause in Egypt had been almost desperate ever since the battle of Alexandria, and the first consul was conscious that in this sacrifice he only resigned that which there was little chance of his being able to keep. It was also stipulated, that the French should evacuate Rome and Naples; a condition of little consequence, as they were always able to reoccupy these countries when their interest required it. The Dutch colony of the Cape of Good Hope was to be restored to the Batavian republic, and declared a free port.

In respect of the settlements which the British arms had conquered, England underwent a punishment not unmerited. The conquest of the enemy's colonies had been greatly too much an object of the English Ministry; and thus the national force had been frittered away upon acquisitions of comparatively petty importance, which, from the insalubrity of the climate, cost us more men to maintain them than would have been swept off by many a bloody battle. All the conquests made on this peddling plan of warfare, were now to be returned without any equivalent. Had the gallant soldiers, who perished miserably for the sake of these sugar-islands, been united in one well-concerted expedition, to the support of Charette, or La Rochejacquelein, such a force might have enabled these chiefs to march to Paris; or, if sent to Holland, might have replaced the Stadtholder in his dominions. And now, these very sugar-islands, the pitiful compensation which Britain had received for the blood of her brave children, were to be restored to those from whom they had been wrested. The important possessions of Ceylon in the East, and Trinidad in the West Indies, were the only part of her conquests which England retained. The integrity of her ancient ally, Portugal, was, however, recognised, and the independence of the Ionian islands was stipulated for and guaranteed. Britain restored porto Ferrajo, and what other places she had occupied in the isle of Elba, or on the Italian coast; but the occupation of Malta for some time threatened to prove an obstacle to the treaty. The English considered it as of the last consequence that this strong island should remain in their possession, and intimated that they regarded the pertinacious resistance which the first consul testified to this proposal, as implying a private and unavowed desire of renewing, at some future opportunity, his designs on Egypt, to which Malta might be considered as in some measure a key. After much discussion, it was at length agreed that the independence of the island should be secured by its being garrisoned by a neutral power, and placed under its guarantee and protection.

The preliminaries of peace were signed 10th October, 1801. General Law de Lauriston,[642] the school companion and first aide-de-camp of Buonaparte, brought them over from Paris to London, where they were received with the most extravagant joy by the populace, to whom novelty is a sufficient recommendation of almost any thing. But amidst the better classes, the sensation was much divided. There was a small but energetic party, led by the celebrated Windham, who, adopting the principles of Burke to their utmost extent, considered the act of treating with a regicide government as indelible meanness, and as a dereliction, on the part of Great Britain, of those principles of legitimacy, upon which the social compact ought to rest. More moderate anti-Gallicans, while they regretted that our efforts in favour of the Bourbons had been totally unavailing, contended with reason, that we were not so closely leagued to their cause as to be bound to sacrifice our own country, in a vain attempt to restore the exiled family to the throne of France. This was the opinion entertained by Pitt himself, and the most judicious among his followers. Lastly, there was the professed Opposition, who, while rejoicing that we had been able to obtain peace on any terms, might now exult in the fulfilment of their predictions of the bad success of the war. Sheridan summed up what was perhaps the most general feeling in the country, with the observation, that "it was a peace which all men were glad of, and no man could be proud of."

Amiens was appointed for the meeting of commissioners, who were finally to adjust the treaty of pacification, which was not ended till five months after the preliminaries had been agreed on. After this long negotiation, the treaty was at length signed, 25th March, 1802. The isle of Malta, according to this agreement, was to be occupied by a garrison of Neapolitan troops, while, besides Britain and France, Austria, Spain, Russia, and Prussia, were to guarantee its neutrality. The Knights of St. John were to be the sovereigns, but neither French nor English were in future to be members of that order. The harbours were to be free to the commerce of all nations, and the order was to be neutral towards all nations save the Algerines and other piratical states.

Napoleon, had he chosen to examine into the feelings of the English, must have seen plainly that this treaty, unwillingly acceded to by them, and only by way of experiment, was to have a duration long or short, in proportion to their confidence in, or doubt of, his own good faith. His ambition, and the little scruple which he showed in gratifying it, was, he must have been sensible, the terror of Europe; and until the fears he had excited were disarmed by a tract of peaceful and moderate conduct on his part, the suspicions of England must have been constantly awake, and the peace between the nations must have been considered as precarious as an armed truce. Yet these considerations could not induce him to lay aside, or even postpone, a train of measures, tending directly to his own personal aggrandisement, and confirming the jealousies which his character already inspired. These measures were partly of a nature adapted to consolidate and prolong his own power in France; partly to extend the predominating influence of that country over her continental neighbours.

By the treaty of Luneville, and by that of Tolentino, the independent existence of the Cisalpine and Helvetian republics had been expressly stipulated; but this independence, according to Buonaparte's explanation of the word, did not exclude their being reduced to mere satellites, who depended on, and whose motions were to be regulated by France, and, by himself, the chief governor of France and all her dependencies. When, therefore, the Directory was overthrown in France, it was not his purpose that a directorial form of government should continue to subsist in Italy. Measures were on this account to be taken, to establish in that country something resembling the new consular model adopted in Paris.

For this purpose, in the beginning of January, 1802, a convention of 450 deputies from the Cisalpine states arrived at Lyons, (for they were not trusted to deliberate within the limits of their own country,) to contrive for themselves a new political system. In that period, when the modelling of constitutions was so common, there was no difficulty in drawing up one; which consisted of a president, a deputy-president, a legislative council, and three electoral colleges, composed, first, of proprietors; second, of persons of learning; and, third, of commercial persons. If the Italians had been awkward upon the occasion, they had the assistance of Talleyrand; and soon after, the arrival of Buonaparte himself at Lyons gave countenance to their operations. His presence was necessary for the exhibition of a most singular farce.

A committee of thirty of the Italian convention, to whom had been intrusted the principal duty of suggesting the new model of government, gave in a report, in which it was stated, that, from the want of any man of sufficient influence amongst themselves to fill the office of president, upon whom devolved all the executive duties of the state, the new system could not be considered as secure, unless Buonaparte should be prevailed upon to fill that situation, not, as it was carefully explained, in his character of head of the French government, but in his individual capacity. Napoleon graciously inclined to their suit. He informed them, that he concurred in the modest opinion they had formed, that their republic did not at present possess an individual sufficiently gifted with talents and impartiality to take charge of their affairs, which he should, therefore, retain under his own chief management, while circumstances required him to do so.

Having thus established his power in Italy as firmly as in France, Buonaparte proceeded to take measures for extending his dominions in the former country and elsewhere. By a treaty with Spain, now made public, it appeared that the duchy of Parma was to devolve on France, together with the island of Elba, upon the death of the present duke—an event at no distant date to be expected. The Spanish part of the province of Louisiana, in North America, was to be ceded to France by the same treaty. Portugal, too, though the integrity of her dominions had been guaranteed by the preliminaries of the peace with England, had been induced, by a treaty kept studiously private from the British court, to cede her province of Guiana to France. These stipulations served to show that there was no quarter of the world in which France and her present ruler did not entertain views of aggrandisement, and that questions of national faith would not be considered too curiously when they interfered with their purpose.

While Europe was stunned and astonished at the spirit of conquest and accumulation manifested by this insatiable conqueror, France was made aware that he was equally desirous to consolidate and to prolong his power, as to extend it over near and distant regions. He was all, and more than all, that sovereign had ever been; but he still wanted the title and the permanence which royalty requires. To attain these was no difficult matter, when the first consul was the prime mover of each act, whether in the Senate or Tribunate; nor was he long of discovering proper agents eager to gratify his wishes.

Chabot de L'Allier took the lead in the race of adulation.—Arising in the Tribunate, he pronounced a long eulogium on Buonaparte, enhancing the gratitude due to the hero by whom France had been preserved and restored to victory. He therefore proposed that the Tribunate should transmit to the Conservative Senate a resolution, requesting the Senate to consider the manner of bestowing on Napoleon Buonaparte a splendid mark of the national gratitude.

There was no misunderstanding this hint. The motion was unanimously adopted, and transmitted to the Convention, to the Senate, to the Legislative Body, and to the Consuls.

The Senate conceived they should best meet the demand now made upon them, by electing Napoleon first consul for a second space of ten years, to commence when the date of the original period, for which he was named by the Constitution, should expire.

The proposition of the Senate being reduced into the form of a decree, was intimated to Buonaparte, but fell short of his wishes; as it assigned to him, however distant it was, a period at which he must be removed from authority. It is true, that the space of seventeen years, to which the edict of the Senate proposed to extend his power, seemed to guarantee a very ample duration; and in point of fact, before the term of its expiry arrived, he was prisoner at Saint Helena. But still there was a termination, and that was enough to mortify his ambition.

He thanked the Senate, therefore, for this fresh mark of their confidence, but eluded accepting it in express terms, by referring to the pleasure of the people. Their suffrages, he said, had invested him with power, and he could not think it right to accept of the prolongation of that power but by their consent. It might have been thought that there was now nothing left but to present the decree of the Senate to the people. But the second and third consuls, Buonaparte's colleagues at a humble distance, took it upon them, though the constitution gave them no warrant for such a manoeuvre, to alter the question of the Senate, and to propose to the people one more acceptable to Buonaparte's ambition, requesting their judgment, whether the chief consul should retain his office, not for ten years longer, but for the term of his life. By thus juggling, the proposal of the Senate was set aside, and that assembly soon found it wisest to adopt the more liberal views suggested by the consuls, to whom they returned thanks, for having taught them (we suppose) how to appreciate a hint.

The question was sent down to the departments. The registers were opened with great form, as if the people had really some constitutional right to exercise. As the subscriptions were received at the offices of the various functionaries of government, it is no wonder, considering the nature of the question, that the ministers with whom the registers were finally deposited, were enabled to report a majority of three millions of citizens who gave votes in the affirmative. It was much more surprising, that there should have been an actual minority of a few hundred determined Republicans, with Carnot at their head, who answered the question in the negative. This statesman observed, as he signed his vote, that he was subscribing his sentence of deportation; from which we may conjecture his opinion concerning the fairness of this mode of consulting the people. He was mistaken notwithstanding. Buonaparte found himself so strong, that he could afford to be merciful, and to assume a show of impartiality, by suffering those to go unpunished who had declined to vote for the increase of his power.[643]

He did not, however, venture to propose to the people another innovation, which extended beyond his death the power which their liberal gift had continued during his life. A simple decree of the Senate assigned to Buonaparte the right of nominating his successor, by a testamentary deed. So that Napoleon might call his children or relatives to the succession of the empire of France, as to a private inheritance; or, like Alexander, he might leave it to the most favoured of his lieutenant-generals. To such a pass had the domination of a military chief, for the space of betwixt two and three years, reduced the fierce democracy and stubborn loyalty of the two factions, which seemed before that period to combat for the possession of France. Napoleon had stooped on them both, like the hawk in the fable.

The period at which we close this chapter was a most important one in Napoleon's life, and seemed a crisis on which his fate, and that of France, depended. Britain, his most inveterate and most successful enemy, had seen herself compelled by circumstances to resort to the experiment of a doubtful peace, rather than continue a war which seemed to be waged without an object. The severe checks to national prosperity, which arose from the ruined commerce and blockaded ports of France, might now, under the countenance of the first consul, be exchanged for the wealth that waits upon trade and manufactures. Her navy, of which few vestiges were left save the Brest fleet, might now be recruited, and resume by degrees that acquaintance with the ocean from which they had long been debarred. The restored colonies of France might have added to the sources of her national wealth, and she might have possessed—what Buonaparte on a remarkable occasion declared to be the principal objects he desired for her—ships, colonies, and commerce.

In his personal capacity, the first consul possessed all the power which he desired, and a great deal more than, whether his own or the country's welfare was regarded, he ought to have wished for. His victories over the foes of France had, by their mere fame, enabled him to make himself master of her freedom. It remained to show—not whether Napoleon was a patriot, for to that honourable name he had forfeited all title when he first usurped unlimited power—but whether he was to use the power which he had wrongfully acquired, like Trajan or like Domitian. His strangely-mingled character showed traits of both these historical portraits, strongly opposed as they are to each other. Or rather, he might seem to be like Socrates in the allegory, alternately influenced by a good and a malevolent demon; the former marking his course with actions of splendour and dignity; while the latter, mastering human frailty by means of its prevailing foible, the love of self, debased the history of a hero, by actions and sentiments worthy only of a vulgar tyrant.