In England the wonderful triumph of Napoleon spread consternation and bitter disappointment. So much hard cash had been wasted, so many well-laid plans smashed, so much blind hatred brought to nothing! Other faces besides Pitt’s took on “the Austerlitz look.” That most arrogant of ministers had offered money to all who would unite against France, had encouraged Austria to attack Bavaria because of the refusal of Bavaria to enter the coalition against France, had landed English troops in Calabria to stir up the priest-ridden peasantry to insurrection, and had pledged himself to the task of driving the French from Germany, from Switzerland, from Italy and Holland. A mightier ruin had never fallen upon haughtier plans. The French were now masters of more territory than ever; Napoleon’s power greater than ever; England’s allies were being dismembered to strengthen the friends of France; and the British troops which had been sent to Calabria, and which had won the battle of Maida (July, 1806), abandoned the enterprise, and left the peasantry to suffer all the vengeance of the French. Whether Mr. Pitt’s last words were, “My country! How I leave my country!” or, as Mr. D’Israeli used to relate, “I think I could now eat one of Bellamy’s pork pies,” it is certain that he took the news of Austerlitz as Lord North took Saratoga, “like a ball in the breast.” On the Continent Napoleon was supreme, and he used his advantage vigorously. The Bourbons of Naples had played him false, and he dethroned them. In western Germany was organized the Confederation of the Rhine, composed of Bavaria, Baden, WÜrtemberg, and thirteen smaller principalities, and containing a population of eight million. Created by Napoleon, it looked to him for protection, put its military forces at his service, and became, practically, a part of his imperial system.

By these changes the Emperor of Austria was reduced to his hereditary dominions, and his shadowy Holy Roman Empire ceased to exist, August 6, 1806.

Following Austerlitz came a grand distribution of crowns and coronets. Brother Joseph condescended to become King of Naples, with the distinct understanding that he waived none of his “rights” to the throne of France, and that he should be treated as an “independent ally” of the Emperor.

Holland was turned into a subject kingdom, and Louis Bonaparte put upon its throne.

To his sister Elisa, Napoleon gave additional territory in Italy; and to Pauline, who had married Prince Borghese, was given Guastalla. Madame Bacciochi, who was morally another Caroline of Naples, was a good ruler, and her government of her little kingdom was excellent. As to Pauline, she cared for nothing but pleasure; and not knowing very well what else to do with her Guastalla, she sold it.

Caroline Bonaparte, importunate in her demands for imperial recognition, was offered the principality of NeufchÂtel. She haughtily declined it. Such a petty kingdom was obviously, even glaringly, less than her share. Yielding to this youthful and self-assertive sister, Napoleon had to create the Grand Duchy of Berg to satisfy her and her no less aspiring husband, Murat.

The scapegrace Jerome Bonaparte, one of whose numberless freaks was that of paying $3,000 for a shaving outfit long prior to the arrival of his beard, was made to renounce his beautiful young American wife, Miss Patterson; and was kept in imperial tutelage till such time as he should be made king of Westphalia, with a WÜrtemberg princess for queen.

EugÈne Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, was married to the daughter of the king of Bavaria; and Stephanie Beauharnais, Josephine’s niece, was wedded to the son of the Elector of Baden.

In these grand arrangements for the Bonaparte family, Lucien was left out. He and Napoleon had quarrelled, the cause being, chiefly, that Lucien would not discard his wife, as the pusillanimous Jerome had done. Napoleon was offended because Lucien at his second marriage had selected a woman whose virtue was far from being above suspicion. “Divorce her,” demanded Napoleon; “she is a strumpet.”

“Mine is at least young and pretty,” retorted Lucien, with sarcastic reference to Josephine, who was neither young nor pretty. Angrily the brothers parted: the elder insisting on the divorce, and offering a kingdom as a bribe: the younger scornfully spurning the bribe, and cleaving to his wife. This manly and independent attitude was the easier to maintain since Lucien had already amassed a fortune in Napoleon’s service. Taking up his residence in a grand palace in Rome, surrounded by rare books, paintings, and statuary, comforted by the preference and the presence of Madame Letitia, a favorite of the Pope because an enemy of Napoleon, Lucien cultivated letters, wrote the longest and the dullest epic of modern times, and called it Charlemagne.

While elevating to thrones the members of his family, the Emperor could not forget those who had served him in the army and in civil affairs. From the conquered territories he carved various principalities, duchies, and so forth, for distribution among the Talleyrands, Bernadottes, and Berthiers, who were to betray him later. A new order of nobility sprang up at the word,—a nobility based upon service, and without special privilege, but richly endowed, and quick to arrogate to itself all the prestige ever enjoyed by the old.

Surrounded as he was by hostile kings, Napoleon felt the need of supports. In creating the Confederation of the Rhine, in putting his brothers upon adjacent thrones, in bestowing fiefs upon his high officials, he believed himself to be throwing out barriers against foreign foes, and propping his empire with the self-interest and resources of all these subject princes whom he had created, never dreaming that in the day of adversity his own brothers and sisters would think of saving themselves at his expense.

On the very night of Napoleon’s return to Paris from the army, he summoned his council. The finances were in confusion; there had been something of a panic, and only the victory of Austerlitz restored confidence. The minister, who had brought about this state of things by his mismanagement, was BarbÉ-Marbois, a royalist whom Napoleon had recalled from banishment and elevated to high office. During the Emperor’s absence the minister had allowed the contractors and speculators to become partners in the management of the treasury, had allowed these speculators to use public funds, and had carried his complaisance to such an extent that they now owed the government more than $25,000,000. Under the Old RÉgime it was quite the usual thing to allow contractors and speculators to use and misuse public funds. In our own day it is the universal rule. No well-regulated Christian government would think of issuing a loan, undertaking public improvements, or refunding its debt without giving to some clique of favored capitalists a huge share of the sum total: just as it would shock a modern government to its foundation if the principle were enforced that public funds should be rigidly kept in public depositories to be used for public purposes only.

Napoleon, however, was neither a ruler of the ancient Bourbon type, nor a Christian governor of the modern sort. He would not float loans, levy war taxes, nor allow his treasury to become the hunting-ground of the Bourse. England was fighting Napoleon with paper money, was floating loan after loan, was giving to speculators and contractors golden opportunities to enrich themselves. In the end, England’s paper money, loans, and war taxes were to whip the fight; but in the meantime Napoleon believed himself right and England wrong. He honestly believed that England would sink under her debt, taxes, and worthless currency. When he saw her grow in strength year by year, her manufactures increase, her trade increase, her wealth, power, and population increase, he was unable to comprehend the mystery. Mr. Alison, the Tory historian, who chronicles the facts, explains, kindly, that this growth of England was illusive and fictitious. To Napoleon, sitting desolately on the rock at St. Helena, housed in a remodelled cow barn and tormented by rats, it must have seemed that this paper-money growth of English power was not quite so illusive as Mr. Alison declared.

Sternly adhering to his own system, Napoleon called the erring minister and the greedy speculators to account. Marbois was dismissed from office, the speculators thrown into jail, the property of the syndicate seized, and the debt due the treasury collected. The Bank of France was overhauled, the finances put into healthy condition, and the public funds advanced until they commanded a higher price than ever before, nearing par.