Most of the hierarchy welcomed anything that could consolidate the rule of the man who had restored France to the Church. The Imperial Catechism treated him as the representative of God on earth, and the clergy would celebrate his victories, read out his Bulletins from the pulpit and condemn desertion from the army as a sin. Bishops referred to him as ‘a Hero preordained by Providence’, an ‘instrument of Divine mercy’, ‘another Moses’, and even in one case described his return from Egypt as being ordained by God.9
‘It was a unique moment in our history!’ wrote the twenty-four-year-old hussar officer Philippe-Paul de Ségur, an aristocrat who had defied his family to join up, and only reluctantly accepted Bonaparte’s offer of the prestigious post of aide-de-camp. He had wept when he heard of the death of Enghien, and condemned Napoleon. Yet he was swept along by enthusiasm for the enterprise of restoring France to greatness. ‘We were living in a state of exaltation as though in a world of miracles. On that day of 18 May in particular, what enthusiasm, what splendour, what power!’10
‘Today at last one can say that the Happiness of France is made forever!’ ran a letter addressed to Napoleon by a group of soldiers of all ranks on 19 June 1804. ‘Today the resounding Glory which envelops this Great Nation has been made imperishable […] Your glory is immense: the Universe is barely great enough to contain it and posterity would find it difficult to believe the real deeds of your illustrious career if faithful history had not graven them.’ Contemporary observers and historians of the times alike agree that these overblown addresses were not mere flattery or the docile mantras of a populace manipulated by Napoleonic propaganda, but the genuine expression of collective exaltation. Many believed he was so favoured by the gods that the sun always came out when he held a parade or some other outdoor ceremony.11
In 1807 the philosopher Claude-Henri de Saint-Simon would write that while there had been geniuses of action such as Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Caesar, Charlemagne and Mohammed on the one hand, and geniuses of the mind such as Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Bacon and Descartes on the other, Napoleon was a miraculous conflation of both. This extraordinary combination of creativity with action and power meant that he made things happen, things that others could only dream of. He was the ultimate creator, a kind of human God. Seven years of propaganda had built up a sense of his superhuman nature and of his being the darling of fortune, providence, fate or the gods. Paintings such as that by Gros of him visiting the plague victims in Jaffa, in which he is seen touching them while his aides cover their faces with kerchiefs, conveyed a subliminal message of his divine untouchability. And, as he pointed out himself, even the name ‘Napoleon’, unheard-of as it was, added to the mystique.12
Ironically, that mystique would be undermined by his attempts to institutionalise what had existed hitherto in the realms of the imagination. As Cambacérès had predicted, Napoleon was now at odds with himself. But the son of the parvenu noble Carlo Maria had been captivated by another mystique – a Romantic vision of a chivalric past. The constitution was amended by the addition of 142 clauses, and the words ‘nation’ and ‘people’ disappeared; Napoleon was emperor ‘by the Grace of God and the constitutions of the Republic’. He was to be succeeded by his male heirs, natural or adopted, and failing that by Joseph or Louis. A point was made of guaranteeing the possession of property acquired during the revolutionary period. The Senate, which became the dominant body, was swelled by the addition of the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris and grandees of the ancien régime. Its members received grants of land with a significant income, so as to create a new senatorial aristocracy grounded in the regions but connected to Paris, turning it into a kind of étatiste version of the British House of Lords.
The new constitution surrounded the throne with offices copied from the French monarchy and the Holy Roman Empire. On 18 May Napoleon’s brother Joseph became grand elector, Louis took the ancient title of Connétable, Cambacérès was named arch-chancellor, Lebrun arch-treasurer, Murat grand admiral. The following day fourteen generals were given the title of marshal of the empire, among them dissidents whom Napoleon wished to flatter such as Masséna, Augereau and Bernadotte. Talleyrand became grand chamberlain, Fesch grand almoner, Duroc grand marshal of the palace, Berthier grand huntsman, and so on. There was confusion as people struggled to remember how to address the bearers of these new charges, whether as Monseigneur, Votre Grandeur or Altesse Sérénissime, and their number did not cease to grow. An imperial maison was created, modelled on the former Maison du Roi, the official structure of the royal court. Napoleon had a maison civile, consisting of ninety-four officials, and a leaner maison militaire, to make up his court on campaign. Josephine had her own maison of twenty-seven officials, as well as twenty-nine dames du palais (Marie-Antoinette had twelve) and her own stables, a total of ninety-three people, including her grooms. Distinctive uniforms and liveries were designed, and a strict etiquette was established, as Napoleon believed that he must create greater distance between himself and other mortals in order to place his authority on a higher plane. The rules were published on 13 July, but people were still confused. Grand Chamberlain Talleyrand, who on being released from holy orders by the Pope was forced by Napoleon to marry his mistress, a lady of shady past, was firmly told that he could not bring his ‘whore’ to the Tuileries. The eminently sensible and tactful marshal of the palace Duroc was frequently called upon to deal with such delicate matters.13
The Legion of Honour, which had grown to a membership of some 6,000, was transformed into an order of chivalry which was to be a pillar of the throne. On 11 July it acquired insignia in the shape of a five-branched cross and was graded in five ranks: chevalier, officier, commandeur, grand officier and grand’croix. As well as attributing prestige, inclusion in the Legion brought remuneration and perks such as free education of daughters at a new school in Saint-Denis. On Sunday, 15 July, after a solemn mass at Notre Dame, Napoleon proceeded to the Invalides, where, under the dome where his remains now lie, he handed out the crosses to and took the oath of the first to have been honoured. ‘What I felt at that moment made me understand how a hundred thousand men went to their deaths to deserve it,’ recorded the returned émigré General Thiard on receiving his.14
Symbols and festivals associated with the Revolution, such as the commemoration of the execution of Louis XVI on 21 January, were phased out; the commemoration of the fall of the Bastille on 14 July was replaced by a national holiday on Napoleon’s birthday, 15 August, under the name of la Saint Napoléon – though there had never been any saint of that name. The Marseillaise was superseded by the bland Veillons au salut de l’Empire. Many wise heads were bowed over the problem of what insignia should distinguish the new state and dynasty; the lacklustre coat of arms awarded to Carlo Maria would not do. Lebrun suggested going back to the Bourbon fleur-de-lys, but was overruled. Among the proposals put forward were a resting lion, the cock of the Gauls, an owl, an elephant, an eagle and an ear of wheat. The cock was a favourite, but Napoleon would not have it. ‘The cock is a farmyard animal, it is too weak,’ he protested. The eagle was too closely associated with other royal houses, such as the Russian, Prussian and Austrian, but Napoleon was keen. He hesitated between that and the lion, but the association with ancient Rome prevailed, and the eagle became the emblem of the French Empire. It was Cambacérès who came up with the bee, a symbol of industry and community, as that of the dynasty.15
Napoleon had insisted that the change of regime be sanctioned, like the others, by a plebiscite to obtain the endorsement of the nation. The question related only to the hereditary nature of the monarchy, not to Napoleon’s elevation. The turnout was less than that for the previous one, around 35 per cent. The results were 3,572,329 for and 2,569 against. There was some vote-rigging, with possibly as many as half a million ‘yes’ votes being added, and it is also probable that many voted out of indifference or fear. But as far as Napoleon was concerned, it proved he held his position from the people. Having obtain
ed their endorsement, he wanted to sanctify the new state of affairs with an act of God, by means of a religious coronation.16
He believed that this would crown his policy of fusion, by bringing Church and state together, and grounding his throne in tradition, lending his rule added legitimacy. He meant to outdo the Bourbons. The founder of the first French dynasty, Pepin the Short, elected king by the Franks in 751, had been crowned by the Pope, as had his son Charlemagne and grandson Louis the Pious. Napoleon had sounded out Pius VII before his elevation, and the Pope was prepared to overcome his distaste in the hope of obtaining in return for his presence some concessions on the terms of the organic articles that Napoleon had foisted on the Concordat at the last moment.
Napoleon considered holding the coronation away from Paris, whose populace he regarded with a mixture of fear and contempt, and whose educated classes he disliked for their irreverence and open-mindedness. He considered Aix-la-Chapelle, associated with Charlemagne, and Lyon, which he saw as the model modern industrial city. If it did have to be Paris, he favoured the Invalides over Notre Dame. Discussion of such details continued up to the last moment.
His physical environment had to be adapted. The area between the Tuileries and the old Louvre was being progressively cleared and turned into a monumental open space. Works began in the palace to accommodate his court, including a large chapel in which all its members would be expected to hear mass every Sunday. Saint-Cloud was also adapted, likewise acquiring a chapel large enough to accommodate not just the court but also a choir and orchestra, which Paisiello would conduct. The old royal palace of Fontainebleau, which had been turned into a military prison, was now restored so as to be able to receive the emperor and the court.17
If Paris was to be the seat of the new French Empire, the new Rome, it must reflect its glory and be turned into the most beautiful city in the world, as Napoleon had dreamed aboard the Orient on the way to Egypt. He had methodically bought up and demolished crumbling medieval hovels to create wide streets and prospects, with proper paving, guttering and lighting. Since coming to power he had had fifty-six fountains repaired and fifteen new ones built; hospitals had been refurbished, hospices for the terminally ill and shelters for the indigent had been built. New cemeteries had been established outside the city. Two new bridges had been started and the Seine’s banks were being cleared. A powerful impulse had been given to the arts, particularly painting and sculpture, with the biannual Salon showing works by David, Gros, Girodet, Fabre, Ingres, Isabey, Prudhon and others. The various museums, principally the Louvre, were a wonder the world had never seen before. Paris had also become the capital of music, with a conservatoire staffed by 115 teachers, three opera houses, and most of the prized composers of the day. There were also seventeen theatres, and despite censorship, literary life continued. The sciences flourished under the directorship of the Institute and the active encouragement of the state. Radiating out of the capital, utilities such as roads and bridges were being built. Since Paris was to be the centre of its universe, the telegraph, a system devised in the 1790s on the basis of a chain of wooden structures with moving arms which relayed messages by semaphore, was extended to carry news fast from the west coast, from the south, from Germany and Italy – and from Boulogne, where a giant one had been built to send signals across to the Army of England once it had landed.18
On 18 July, two months after becoming emperor, Napoleon left for Boulogne. Arriving at one o’clock the following afternoon, he immediately mounted up and rode about inspecting troops, harbour and ships, then insisted on sailing out on one of them, and after being fired on by the blockading Royal Navy, returned to port. He was keen to see the transport barges in action, so the following day he gave orders for some to put to sea. Admiral Bruix pointed out that the wind was shifting, making it dangerous. Napoleon insisted and rode off, but Bruix did not carry out the order. On his return, Napoleon was so angry he raised his riding crop as if to strike Bruix, whereupon the admiral put his hand to his sword. Napoleon lowered his arm, but dismissed him and commanded his second to order the operation to commence. The wind did shift, and the vessels were thrown onto the rocks. Napoleon directed the rescue operations through the night, and evidently found the experience exhilarating after months of ceremonial in Paris. ‘It was a grand sight: cannon firing warning shots, beacons lighting up the coast, the sea roaring with fury; the whole night spent anxiously anticipating whether we would save these poor wretches or see them perish!’ he wrote to Josephine. ‘At five o’clock in the morning the light came up, all was saved and I went to bed with the sensation of having lived through a romantic and epic dream.’ His Ossianic dream had cost seven ships and twenty-nine lives.19
He was in fighting spirit. To Cambacérès he reported that the army and the naval units were in good shape. To Chaptal’s successor as minister of the interior Jean-Baptiste Champagny he gave instructions for the Institute to study the American inventor Robert Fulton’s plans for steamships and submarines. To Brune in Constantinople he wrote that he had 120,000 men and 3,000 barges and armed galleys ‘only waiting for a favourable wind to carry the imperial eagle to the Tower of London’. When Marshal Soult told him that it was impossible to embark the whole army in under three days, he snapped back, ‘Impossible, sir! I do not know that word, it is not French, remove it from your vocabulary!’20
Napoleon spent the next six weeks with the Army of England. Although a pavilion had been erected for him in the camp, he took up quarters in a small château at Pont-de-Briques just outside Boulogne. The main camp, on the heights above the city, had been established over a year earlier, and the men had made themselves at home, with ‘very fine stone living quarters along regular lines to accommodate their officers, the administration, workshops, etc.’, according to the commander of the 26th Light Infantry, even building cafés and laying out gardens. This and the other encampments, strung out along the coast from Étaples to Ostend, contained around 150,000 men. There were a further two corps, one under Marmont in Holland and the other at Brest under Augereau, which brought the total number of troops facing Britain close to 200,000.21
They were to cross in a variety of craft, mostly flat-bottomed barges powered by sail, some supplemented by oars. Each vessel was to carry its complement of infantry, cavalry and artillery, so that the loss of one would merely diminish the strength of a corps without disabling it. Much thought had gone into their design: cannonballs making up the ballast were covered in sand on which horses could stand attached to posts, arms were stored in the deck above the men’s hammocks, gun carriages were suspended over the water fore and aft, while the gun barrels were mounted on deck so as to be able to fire. As it required five tides to get all the vessels out of harbour (which meant three days with ideal weather conditions and no interference by the Royal Navy), they were unlikely to be of much use. Yet over those six weeks Napoleon gave every sign of meaning to go ahead with the enterprise. He thought up an elaborate naval manoeuvre based on sending two fleets out to the Caribbean in order to draw off the Royal Navy, and then bringing all available ships into the Channel to shepherd the barges across. He was confident that once he had reached England he would sweep away any military defences he encountered and be in London within a couple of days. In that he was probably right, but given that the Royal Navy would by then have gathered in the Channel, he would have been completely cut off.
It seems extraordinary that Napoleon should have spent millions of francs on an enterprise he did not mean to carry out, yet everything points to that being the case. He had been actively engaged in the preparations, making frequent visits to Boulogne for over a year, but it was only in July and August 1804 that he busied himself with it most ostentatiously, telling all and sundry that he would be in London in a matter of days. By then he knew that Austria was in negotiations with Britain and Russia, which had massed a large army on its western frontier and was putting pressure on Prussia to join a new coalition against him. He could not possibly in
such circumstances take the bulk of his forces off to England, leaving France and Italy exposed. He said as much in a letter to Champagny on 3 August.22
Many in Napoleon’s entourage, beginning with Cambacérès, believed the exercise was a bluff aimed at draining British resources, which it did to a large extent, and drawing attention away from his real plans. Variants of this opinion can be found among the military and even foreign diplomats in Paris. But it is likely that there were moments when he did consider invading. His exasperation at the repeated attempts on his life and work, such as the recent conspiracy, may have acted as a spur to striking at what he saw as their source in Britain.23
Another spur to try a risky throw of the dice might have been the almost supernatural wave of success he was riding. According to Marmont, he was dreaming of achieving ever grander things. ‘One has to live up to one’s destiny,’ Napoleon told one of Josephine’s ladies-in-waiting. ‘He who has been chosen by destiny cannot refuse.’ He was so preoccupied with how he would go down in posterity that he had come to see his life as epic. It was as if the image he had so carefully been fashioning over the past years had begun to direct his behaviour. To Admiral Decrès he complained that he had reached a dead end where glory was concerned, as the modern world was too prosaic for truly transcendental acts. ‘Take Alexander [the Great]: having conquered Asia and announced that he was the son of Jupiter, […] the whole of the East believed him.’ Yet if he, Napoleon, were to announce that he was the son of God, every fishwife in Paris would laugh at him, he told the astonished admiral.24
He was in fine spirits, riding up and down the coast, inspecting troops, weapons and equipment, chatting with officers and men, putting them through their paces and basking in the reflected glory. On 16 August he held a ceremony in which he handed out decorations of the Legion of Honour. The massed troops looked magnificent, flags fluttered in the sea breeze and bands played martial airs. Against a backdrop of war trophies, surrounded by his men, Napoleon distributed the insignia to the brave. ‘No, never, in none of his grandest ceremonies was he so majestic!’ in the words of an army physician. ‘It was Caesar with his legions.’ According to Miot de Melito, Napoleon told his brother Joseph that he believed he had been ‘called to change the face of the world’. ‘Perhaps some notions of predestination have affected my thoughts,’ he admitted, ‘but I do not reject them; I even believe in them, and that confidence provides the means of success.’25
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