Napoleon
Page 8
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On July 12, 1790, the National Assembly passed the Civil Constitution of the Clergy, providing for government control over the Church and abolishing the monastic orders. The demand for priests to take the Constitutional Oath of loyalty to the state split the First Estate between juring (that is, oath-taking) and non-juring priests, and was denounced by Pope Pius VI the following March. Hostility to Christianity in general, and to the Roman Catholic Church in particular, animated many of the revolutionaries. By November 1793, Notre-Dame Cathedral had been re-dedicated to the Cult of Reason, and six months later the Jacobin leader Maximilien Robespierre passed a decree establishing the pantheist Cult of the Supreme Being. As well as tens of thousands of aristocrats being stripped of their possessions and forced into exile to become émigrés abroad, several thousand priests left the country too.
Napoleon supported the Civil Constitution of the Clergy in a pamphlet that was sufficiently inflammatory for him and Joseph only narrowly to avoid a lynching when they happened to walk near a religious procession in Ajaccio soon after its publication. (They were saved by a bandit named Trenta Coste, who was duly rewarded when Napoleon became First Consul.)11 July 1790 saw the sixty-five-year-old Paoli’s return to Corsica after twenty-two years in exile. Napoleon and Joseph were on Ajaccio’s reception committee to welcome him. He was immediately and unanimously appointed Lieutenant of Corsica and elected to the presidencies of Corsica’s assembly and its recently constituted National Guard.
Paoli saw the Bonaparte boys as the children of a collaborator, and made minimal effort to retain their loyalty, despite Napoleon’s patent eagerness for his approbation. One of his first acts was to move the capital from Corte to Bastia, to the irritation of Ajaccio’s inhabitants, such as the Bonapartes. According to local legend, Paoli was infuriated by Napoleon’s criticism of his troop dispositions when they toured the battlefield of Ponte Nuovo together (though Joseph’s memoirs suggest that Napoleon confined his critical remarks to his brother alone).12 Paoli had been a revered figure in progressive circles in Europe in the later decades of the Enlightenment; the Bonapartes would go to great lengths to accommodate him.
Joseph was elected as one of Ajaccio’s deputies to the Corsican assembly on September 15, and later became president of the city’s executive government, known as the Directory, but Napoleon failed to be elected either as a deputy or to a senior position in the National Guard. ‘This city is full of bad citizens,’ he wrote to Charles-André Pozzo di Borgo, a member of the island’s government. ‘You’ve no idea of their craziness and meanness.’ He proposed that three members of the town council be removed from office. ‘This measure is violent, possibly illegal, but essential,’ he wrote, ending with a quotation from Montesquieu: ‘Laws are like the statues of certain divinities which on some occasions must be veiled.’13 In this instance, he didn’t get his way.
The following month the National Assembly, now effectively the sovereign parliament of France, passed a motion proposed by the Comte de Mirabeau that although Corsica was now a part of France and would be subject to its laws, she would henceforth be governed solely by Corsicans. Huge celebrations greeted the news across the island, Te Deums were sung in every church and Napoleon hung a huge banner from the Casa Bonaparte which read: ‘Vive la Nation, Vive Paoli, Vive Mirabeau’.14 To Raynal he trumpeted, with characteristic (if on this occasion pardonable) hyperbole, ‘The sea no longer separates us.’15 Yet Paoli had no place for Napoleon in his new political order. As the Paolists started to fall out with the Paris government, the Bonapartes stayed loyal to the National Assembly – and after September 1792 its successor, the Convention. Their split from the Paolists was gradual, and involved both accelerations and reverses, but by spring 1793 it was complete.
On January 6, 1791 Napoleon was present at the inauguration of the Globo Patriottico, a revolutionary club in Ajaccio that aped the political clubs that the Jacobins and the more moderate Girondins were establishing in Paris. Later that month he published a political pamphlet, ‘Letter to M. Buttafuoco’, which accused the man who had been appointed to rule the island twenty-three years earlier of being a traitor and supporter of ‘the absurd feudal regime’; it accused Paoli of being tricked by Buttafuoco and of being ‘surrounded by enthusiasts’, a reference to the returned exiles who tended to want a British-style constitution for Corsica, while Napoleon favoured the French revolutionary one. Paoli, who was working well with Buttafuoco at the time, responded aggressively to Napoleon’s pamphlet, refusing his offer of the dedication of his history of Corsica. ‘History should not be written in youth,’ he said, it requires ‘maturity and balance’.16 He added that he couldn’t return the manuscript, because he had no time to look for it, and turned down Napoleon’s request for documents. Any hopes Napoleon might have had of becoming a successful author were once again stymied, this time by the man he had spent his youth idolizing. When, later on, there were rumours – probably politically inspired, but quite possibly true – that Joseph had pilfered Ajaccio’s coffers, Paoli offered no support.17
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Although his leave had officially ended on October 15, 1790, Napoleon left Corsica for his regiment only on February 1 the following year, taking with him his twelve-year-old brother Louis, whose schooling at Auxonne he was going to pay for. He produced certificates for ill-health and even for the bad weather to his ever-patient commanding officer, who obligingly gave him three months’ back-pay. Louis nonetheless had to sleep on the floor in a closet next to Napoleon’s bed, with a single table and two chairs as their only furniture. ‘Do you know how I managed?’ Napoleon later recalled of this period of his life. ‘By never entering a café or going into society; by eating dry bread, and brushing my own clothes so that they might last the longer. I lived like a bear, in a little room, with books for my only friends . . . These were the joys and debaucheries of my youth.’18 He might have been exaggerating slightly, but not much. There was nothing he valued so much as books and a good education.
Between February and August 1791 Napoleon worked on a discourse for the Lyons Academy’s essay prize, on the subject: ‘What are the Most Important Truths and Feelings for Men to Learn to be Happy?’ The Academy and Abbé Raynal offered 1,200 francs – more than Napoleon’s annual salary – for the best submission. Napoleon took six months to write his essay. In it he denounced the vanity of ambition, even criticizing Alexander the Great for hubris: ‘What is Alexander doing when he rushes from Thebes into Persia and thence into India? He is ever restless, he loses his wits, he believes himself God. What is the end of Cromwell? He governs England. But is he not tormented by all the daggers of the Furies?’19 He also wrote, surely autobiographically: ‘You return to your homeland after an absence of four years: you wander round the sites, the places where you played in those first tender years . . . You feel all the fire of love for the homeland.’20
Napoleon would later claim that he had withdrawn the essay before it was judged, but that is not in fact true. The Academy’s examiners gave it low marks for its excessively inflated style. One judge described it as ‘of too little interest, too ill-ordered, too disparate, too rambling, and too badly written to hold the reader’s attention’.21 Years later, Talleyrand obtained the original from the Academy’s archives and presented it to Napoleon, who when he had re-read it said: ‘I found its author deserved to be whipped. What ridiculous things I said, and how annoyed I would be if they were preserved!’22 Instead he ‘flung it into the fire, and pushed it down with the tongs’, fearing that ‘It might have exposed me to ridicule.’23 Although he had comprehensively failed to win the prize, that he even entered a French language essay competition showed considerable confidence.
This formal production was only part of this twenty-two-year-old’s literary fecundity. He wrote a ‘Dialogue sur l’Amour’, in which the figure representing himself is called ‘B’ and a real-life friend and comrade from the garrison, Alexandre de M
azis, appears under his own name. How close a friend Mazis was might be questioned, since he’s depicted as boastful and impatient, compared to the serene, masterful ‘B’. The ‘Dialogue’ argues that love is an incubus both to society and to individual happiness, and that Providence should abolish it in order to make everyone happier. Another composition, ‘Reflections on the State of Nature’, argued that mankind had lived better before society existed, a concept lifted wholesale from Rousseau.
In June 1791 Napoleon was promoted to lieutenant and transferred to the 4th Regiment of Artillery back at Valence. In the sixty-nine months he’d been with La Fère Regiment, he had spent no fewer than thirty-five on leave, and he had no intention of changing this pattern now. ‘Send me three hundred francs,’ he wrote to his uncle Joseph Fesch on arriving; ‘that sum will enable me to go to Paris. There, at least, one can cut a figure and surmount obstacles. Everything tells me I shall succeed. Will you prevent me from doing so for the want of 100 crowns?’24 The urgency and ambition are unmistakable, but either Fesch demurred or Napoleon in the meantime learned that four battalions of National Guards were going to be raised on Corsica, because he then asked for leave to go there instead. His new commanding officer, Colonel Compagnon, understandably refused permission on the grounds that he had been with the regiment for only two months.
In the closing days of June 1791, the royal family attempted to escape from France and were captured in their carriage at Varennes. They were forced to return to near-imprisonment at the Tuileries Palace. On July 10, Emperor Leopold II of Austria issued a request to all the other royal houses of Europe to come to the aid of his brother-in-law Louis XVI. By then Napoleon had become secretary of the Valence branch of the Society of Friends of the Constitution, and at a celebratory banquet on the second anniversary of the fall of the Bastille he proposed a toast ‘To the patriots of Auxonne’, who were petitioning for the King to be put on trial. ‘This country is full of zeal and fire,’ he wrote to a friend, adding that although the Revolution could count on only half his regiment’s officers, all the lower ranks supported it.25 ‘The southern blood runs through my veins with the rapidity of the Rhône,’ he added in a postscript; ‘you must therefore pardon me if you experience some difficulty in reading my scrawl.’
Refusing to take his commanding officer’s no for an answer, on August 30 Napoleon appealed to General du Teil, who afterwards told his daughter: ‘That is a man of great ability; his name will be heard of.’26 He was given four months’ leave to go to Corsica with the understanding that if he were not back with the colours by the time of the regimental parade on January 10, 1792 he would be considered a deserter.
Napoleon found Corsica in turmoil. There had been 130 murders since the Revolution began and no taxes had been collected. His family’s money worries, which had taken up so much of his time and effort since his father’s death six years earlier, abated somewhat on October 15, 1791 with the death of his great-uncle, Archdeacon Luciano Bonaparte, who left the Bonaparte family his fortune. This money certainly came in useful when, on February 22, 1792, Napoleon stood for election as adjutant, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, in the 2nd Battalion of the Corsican National Guard. There was a good deal of bribery involved, and one of the three election observers was even kidnapped on the day of the polls and detained in the Casa Bonaparte until the election was safely won. Napoleon’s chief opponent, the influential Corsican politician Charles-André Pozzo di Borgo’s brother Matteo, was shouted down from the hustings outside the church of San Francesco by Napoleon’s armed supporters. Corsican politics was always tough, but these tactics were a serious infringement of accepted practices and Paoli, who supported Matteo Pozzo di Borgo, demanded an official inquiry into what he called ‘corruption and intrigue’. He was blocked by Saliceti, who represented the Paris Convention on the island, so the result stood. The January deadline for Napoleon’s return to his regiment had meanwhile come and gone. A note in his war ministry file stated simply: ‘Has given up his profession and has been replaced on February 6 1792.’27
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Severe food riots in Paris between January and March 1792 sharpened the political crisis. Then in early February an alliance was announced between Austria and Prussia whose unavowed but hardly secret intention was to topple the revolutionary government in France and restore the monarchy. Although Britain was not part of this first coalition, her hostility to the Revolution was also clear. With war in the air, the revolution in Corsica took a radical turn. On February 28 Saliceti ordered the suppression of the ancient convents and monasteries of Ajaccio, Bastia, Bonifacio and Corte, with the proceeds going into the central government’s coffers. Paoli and the vast majority of Corsicans opposed this, and on Easter Sunday fighting broke out in Ajaccio between Napoleon’s National Guardsmen and local Catholic citizens who wanted to protect the monastery: one of Napoleon’s lieutenants was shot dead at his side. At one point in the four days and nights of confused urban brawling and ill-tempered standoffs between the townspeople and the National Guard, Napoleon tried, unsuccessfully, to capture the town’s well-fortified citadel from the French regular troops under the command of Colonel Maillard, who wrote a damning report to the war ministry effectively accusing him of treason. The roads to Ajaccio were filled with peasants carrying empty sacks, eagerly anticipating the pillaging of the town.
Paoli took Maillard’s side, ordering Napoleon to leave Ajaccio and report to him at Corte, which he did. Fortunately for Napoleon, Maillard’s report of the messy affair was buried under a mountain of far more pressing war ministry paperwork. France had pre-emptively declared war on Austria and Prussia on April 20 and invaded the Austrian Netherlands (present-day Belgium) eight days later to forestall an expected invasion of France from the north-west, the Austrian and Prussian armies being headquartered in Coblenz. After the Ajaccio imbroglio Napoleon couldn’t stay in Corsica, but neither could he return to Valence, where he was officially a deserter. So he left for Paris.
When Napoleon reached the war ministry in the Place Vendôme in Paris he found it in turmoil: the new revolutionary government would go through six war ministers between May and October 1792. It was clear that no-one had had a chance to read Maillard’s report, or much cared about what had happened in a provincial backwater like Ajaccio, and no-one seemed to mind that Napoleon’s leave had officially expired in January, before his election to the Corsican National Guard. In July 1792 Napoleon was promoted to captain, ante-dated by a year with full pay, but without being assigned a new post. His cheeky demand that he be promoted to lieutenant-colonel in the regular army, on the ground that he was one in the Guard, was marked ‘SR’ (sans réponse) by the ministry.28
Napoleon was unimpressed by what he found in Paris. ‘The men at the head of the Revolution are a poor lot,’ he wrote to Joseph. ‘Everyone pursues his own interest, and searches to gain his own ends by dint of all sorts of crimes; people intrigue as basely as ever. All this destroys ambition. One pities those who have the misfortune to play a part in public affairs.’29 If the part of the honest soldier, detached from the muddy business of politics, sat poorly with the reality of the revolutionary intriguer of Ajaccio, it was nonetheless one that he played well, and strategically. By this time he was a fully-fledged revolutionary, as his support for the overthrow of the monarchy and the nationalization of Corsica’s monasteries attested. Politically he veered towards the Jacobin extremists, who moreover seemed to be on the winning side. Although he wasn’t personally involved in any of the acts of repression already taking place in Paris as the Revolution moved towards its climax, there is no evidence that he disapproved of them.
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Napoleon was in Paris on June 20, 1792 when the mob invaded the Tuileries, captured Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, and forced the king to wear a red cap of liberty on the palace balcony. Bourrienne had met him at a restaurant on the rue Saint-Honoré, and when they saw a heavily armed crowd marching towards the pa
lace, he claims that Napoleon said, ‘Let’s follow the rabble.’ Taking their place on the riverside terrace, they then watched with (presumably well-disguised) ‘surprise and indignation’ the historic scenes that followed.30 Two days later Napoleon described them to Joseph:
Between seven and eight thousand men armed with pikes, axes, swords, guns, spits, sharpened sticks . . . went to the king. The Tuileries gardens were closed and 15,000 National Guards were on guard there. They broke down the gates, entered the palace, pointed the cannon at the king’s apartment, threw four doors to the ground, and presented the king with two cockades, one white [the Bourbon colour] and the other tricolour. They made him choose. Choose, they said, whether you reign here or in Coblenz. The king presented himself. He put on a red bonnet. So did the queen and the royal prince. They gave the king a drink. They stayed in the palace for four hours . . . All this is unconstitutional and sets a dangerous precedent. It is hard to predict what will happen to the empire in such stormy circumstances.31