Bonaparte tackled this mounting problem with a judicious combination of “the stick and the carrot.” Seizing what he thought to be an ideal opportunity of settling old scores with his most dangerous rival, Bonaparte caused Moreau to be haled before the courts on charges of treason arising out of the abortive Cadoudal plot. In the event, however, the trial did not go according to plan. Moreau’s popularity survived his public disgrace; many important lawyers refused to share in the prosecution, and to his alarm Bonaparte learned that the sentries at the court were presenting arms every time the prisoner made an appearance. The members of the packed court proved almost equally unhelpful, and it took the heaviest governmental pressure to produce even a light sentence of banishment which the First Consul had no alternative but to confirm. Charles Pichegru was not so fortunate; he was found dead in his cell under suspicious circumstances and pronounced a suicide, although many accused the Government of committing a political murder.
The ruthless elimination of suspected or potential plotters continued with all the normal apparatus of police state “terror,” reaching its culmination in the notorious kidnapping and killing of the Duc d’Enghien in March 1804. This unfortunate Bourbon prince was seized by a troop of French cavalry at Ettenheim in neutral Baden, whisked off to the Chateau de Vincennes, tried on trumped-up charges of complicity in the Cadoudal plot and shot before dawn on March 21. In his eagerness to give the Royalists a lesson they would never forget, Bonaparte in this case resorted to a vindictive ruthlessness reminiscent of the massacres of Jaffa and the Cairo citadel. Even the cynical Fouché attempted to remonstrate with his master—or so he claimed long after the event: “ ‘I know what brings you here,’ he [Bonaparte] said. ‘Today I am striking a great blow that is absolutely necessary.’ I pointed out that the deed would raise wrath in France as well as in Europe unless he could produce irrefutable proof that the Duke was conspiring against his person at Ettenheim. ‘What need is there of proof?’ he exclaimed. ‘Isn’t he a Bourbon, and the most dangerous one of them at that?’ I insisted on pointing out that in this case political considerations should overrule reasons of State. It was in vain…. ‘It is more than a crime,’ I said; ‘It is a mistake.’”1 However, the Corsican was determined to pursue his vendetta with the House of Bourbon and inflict a salutary lesson on the opposition.
Bonaparte remained unrepentant to the end of his life. “What? The Enghien affair?” he exclaimed at St. Helena. “Bah! Of what importance is one man after all?”2 The sad business is inexcusable from any moral standpoint, but the affair served Bonaparte well on two counts. In the first place it gave stern warning to all French aristocrats, whether at home or abroad, that none was too high to escape Napoleon’s vengeance; in the second place it silenced the diehard Republicans who were ceaselessly accusing the First Consul of plotting to restore the House of Bourbon. Nevertheless, the fell deed was to have widespread repercussions abroad, and the news was heard with horror within France as well as in the rest of Europe. The Marquise de Nadaillac described the “universal revulsion” and set down a subversive ballad being hawked around the very streets of Paris in 1804;
“Je vécus tres longtemps de l’emprunte et l’aumone,
De Barras, vil flatteur, J’epousai le catin;
J’etranglai Pichegru, J’assassinai Enghien,
Et pour tant de forfaits, J’obtim une couronne”3*
It would be wrong, however, to ignore the reverse of the medal. If Bonaparte was often utterly ruthless, he was even more frequently lenient with his opponents. He repealed the infamous Law of Suspects and restored the property (providing it was still unsold) of those émigrés who would return to France. As many as 40,000 availed themselves of this offer, and their talent was rapidly directed into the ranks of the army officer corps or into court life. Bonaparte’s astutest move in this matter was to identify himself with the underlying current of monarchical (though not necessarily Bourbonist) sympathy widely felt throughout the country, and in due course this was one factor that led him to assume the Imperial crown.
A third source of potential opposition was the Church. Bonaparte was well aware of the deep-seated conservatism of the French peasantry in religious matters and he set himself to harness this loyalty for his own benefit by seeking a reconciliation with the Papacy. “The people must have a religion,” he once remarked, “and that religion must be in the hands of the Government.”4 This was probably the boldest decision of his life and in some ways was one of the heaviest blows he aimed against the Revolutionary settlement. Republican sympathizers in the Council of Ministers, freethinkers in the Tribunate and, most significantly of all, the violently secular partisans in the army, all raised a storm of protest at the proposed Concordat, and Bonaparte was forced to see it through virtually singlehanded. Although the formal treaty was signed with the Papal envoys in July 1801, Bonaparte only dared publish the articles a year later, and even then the matter called for great personal courage and determination. The advantages, however, far outweighed the risks involved. At one blow, the First Consul knocked away one of the Royalists’ most effective propaganda weapons; henceforward the Bourbons could no longer be represented as the sole defenders of the Christian traditions of France. At the same time it assisted the pacification of La Vendée, and improved the Consulate’s relations with Catholic Belgium and Italy. The First Consul also made ruthless use of the executive clauses of the Organic Articles to remove Bourbonist bishops and to turn the ordinary clergy into State stipendiaries and educationalists; he was to find the pulpit a most useful means of disseminating propaganda to the peasantry in the years that followed. Although the bulk of the population welcomed the return to the Papal fold, Bonaparte’s relations with the Vatican were not destined to remain cordial for long. He soon openly regarded the Pope as his “Imperial Almoner” and little more, and was prepared to brook no religious interference in the affairs of France. Nevertheless, “the altars were restored.”
Another source of difficulty in 1800 was the indifferent attitude of many of his senior servants and generals. The men at the top were clearly more concerned with assuring the continuation of their personal careers than in identifying themselves body and soul with their present leader. The preceding ten years had seen heads of government come and go, and many members of the upper-middle classes had become experts in survival after the manner of the Vicar of Bray. The problem of the “trimmers” in high places was tackled with customary Napoleonic zeal and cunning. Determined to make the most of the innate snobbery of the French bourgeoisie, the First Consul instituted an awards system in 1801, the first medals and titles of the Légion d’Honneur being distributed the following May. The proposal faced a new storm of protest from the legislative chambers on the grounds that it threatened to destroy the revolutionary principle of égalité, but the Government forced the measure through in the usual manner under the conviction that “it is with baubles that men are led.” Bonaparte was convinced that any society needs a definite social hierarchy to be truly prosperous and disciplined and he deliberately set out to re-create one in France, but the means to preferment was ability, not birth or station. The coveted white-enamel crosses on their strips of red ribbon proved a useful means of binding men to his service, although the returned aristocracy disdained the new decoration, considering it no substitute for the ancient Orders of St. Louis or St. Esprit.
Striving to achieve a stratified French society, Napoleon went a stage further in 1804 when he created the beginnings of a new nobility; at first the greater number of titles were awarded to his family, court functionaries and a few soldiers of distinction, being used to supplement the creation of the Marshalate in the same year. Each of the eighteen marshals was eventually given the title of duke and a large grant of lands and hard cash to enable them to keep up the standards of their new stations in life. The first dukedoms were awarded in 1806, but most of these honors dated from 1808. The rough soldiers were undoubtedly impressed by their new laurels; it was a far cry
from the Paris gutters for Marshal Augereau, Duke of Castiglione, or from the activities of smuggler for Marshal Massena, Duke of Rivoli.* The Gascon Murat and the ex-Jacobin Bernadotte were to advance their fortunes even further, and, in the fullness of time, to acquire kingdoms. In the following year after the coronation, princedoms were awarded to the immediate family, and in due course a crop of dukes, counts, barons and knights made their appearance to support the dignity of the Imperial (ex-Consular) Court. At first all the titles bore foreign names, but in 1808 a purely French nobility was created. By 1814 there were 31 dukes, 450 counts, 1,500 barons and as many more knights.
This building of a new social élite undoubtedly represented a departure from the ideal of social equality enunciated by the leaders of the early Revolution, but equality of opportunity was retained. A man could rise by his merits, the proverbial baton was in every soldiers’ knapsack, and this applied equally to the opportunities of civil life. It was an age of opportunity for those willing to subordinate themselves to the Emperor’s will. Napoleon’s social measures stabilized French society after more than a decade of uncertainty and flux, and he undoubtedly established a relatively sound hierarchy of supporters closely bound to his fortunes. Only in 1814 did the system betray him when his much-decorated marshals, anxious to preserve their honors and wealth, forced their master to abdicate.
The greatest obstacle still standing in Napoleon’s way was the Constitution of 1799. At the highest executive level, there was no problem; of the three Consuls, the First was undoubtedly the most influential and Bonaparte experienced little trouble from either Lebrun or Cambacérès. He found certain of his ministers more difficult to control in the early days of the Consulate, but soon devised means for reducing their influence. Whenever possible he avoided holding ministerial councils, but made a point of interviewing his senior servants individually. With considerable cunning he played off ministers against one another or against the Council of State, further diminishing their power by subdividing and duplicating the ministries. This latter method proved exceptionally useful in keeping the indispensable but dangerous Fouché within bounds. As the years passed and the Consulate grew into the Empire, Napoleon increasingly surrounded himself with ambitious young men—carefully selected and carefully trained—considering that they would serve him more wholeheartedly than the older generation; one intendant of a Department was only twenty-two years of age when appointed. The Emperor also tended to appoint only second-rate men to the key ministries—Fouché and Talleyrand excepted—and for many years the amenable Maret filled the key post of secretary of state. Such measures kept the executive to heel, but as a general rule efficiency was maintained and improved.
The legislature presented a larger problem than the executive; by the Constitution of 1799 it was divided into three sections. First there was the 60-strong Senate, designated to serve as “the guardian of the constitution”; secondly, there were the 100 members of the Tribunate, charged with the task of preparing new legislation on suggestions passed down from the Council of State; thirdly, the Legislative Corps (300 deputies selected from lists submitted by the Departments), whose function was to vote on the proposed legislation without any right of initiative or even discussion. Of the three institutions, the Tribunate proved by far the most obstructive to Bonaparte’s wishes; it led the opposition to the Concordat with Rome and even had the temerity to reject the first draft of the Civil Code, and Napoleon lost little time in bringing it to heel. In 1803 he increased the size of the loyal Senate by a further 40 members, reducing the size, both by half, of the Tribunate and the Legislative Corps, and abrogating the power of appointing the presidents of the two assemblies to himself. Four years later, the Tribunate was completely abolished. However, before these radical measures could be put into force, the head of state devised three stratagems for bypassing awkward obstruction. In the first place he made increasing use of decrees Senatus Consultum, ignoring both Tribunate and Legislative Corps, to rush through his most unpopular measures; secondly he often employed arrêts or “Orders in Council” promulgated by the Council of State; and thirdly he had recourse on three separate occasions to plebiscites of the French people. In December 1799, the populace were invited to approve the Consular Constitution; in 1802, 3,500,000 voted in favor of the Life Consulate proposal compared to 8,000 who voted against; and in 1804, a similar number approved Napoleon’s assumption of the Imperial purple, there being only 2,500 dissenters. The first two plebiscites appear to have been genuine enough, but the third was at least partially “arranged,” for half a million favorable votes were recorded on behalf of the army and navy although neither service was ever given the opportunity of recording their opinion.
Nevertheless, Napoleon always regarded himself as “the expression of general will of France,” and based his claim to a legal tenure of power on the overwhelming support of the ordinary people in much the same way as Hitler and Mussolini were to do 130 years later. The basis of this apparent popularity in the country at large was undoubtedly Napoleon’s confirmation of the revolutionary land settlement. The peasant remained the secure owner of the acres originally wrested from the Church and the nobility, and Napoleon always took great pains to reassure the tillers of the soil that he was their protector, and that their recently acquired land and property would remain inalienable. There is little wonder that the canny French peasantry accorded him their massive support, and this alliance between the head of state and the populace formed the bedrock of Napoleon’s power. Only when the full rigors of conscription depopulated the countryside in the later years of the Empire did this relationship deteriorate.
In addition to giving the people the heady illusion of deciding France’s form of government, Napoleon spared no pains to impress the urban populace with magnificent spectacles. He was a master showman, and the sumptuous military parades in the capital served to overawe public opinion and whipped up a superficial appearance of hysterical national loyalty. The German author Kotzebue attended the “most imposing spectacle” of a parade on the Place Carrousel; he noticed the deliberate contrast between Napoleon and his staff: “… he made his appearance surrounded by generals and aides-de-camp in magnificent uniforms, but Bonaparte himself wore only a very simple, unembroidered uniform with a plain, plumeless hat.” The observer also noted the degree of attention the First Consul lavished on each military unit that appeared before him, “making each regiment perform several evolutions.”5
Following the examples of the rulers of Imperial Rome, Bonaparte took great pains to provide the people with “bread” as well as “circuses,” and no account of his reign would be complete without a summary of the great civil achievements which brought France an unparalleled degree of prosperity and internal order until at least as late as 1812. The work he undertook was not wholly of a disinterested or idealistic nature; much sprang from his fundamental fear of the populace. He once said, “I fear a revolt caused by lack of bread more than a great battle,” and the great reconstruction of France was intended to smother the voice of opposition to his rule as well as to provide a firm basis for the wars that the Emperor regarded as inevitable while Great Britain remained unconquered.
Financial reform was one of the first tasks undertaken. His predecessors had already done much to sweep away the anachronistic taxation system of the Ancien Régime, and the Directory had gone so far as to abolish the worthless assignats which at their nadir were exchanged at a rate of 12,000 for a single 24-franc gold piece. Aided by the financiers Gaudin, Barbé-Marbois and Mollieu, the First Consul increased the efficiency of tax assessment and collection. Bonaparte was very anxious to avoid raising taxation rates and thus run the risk of alienating the French peasantry and bourgeoisie, and the improved yield of the ordinary imposts, together with rigid economy of governmental-expenditure (except on the army), the use of the accumulated loot often years of war, and the sale of the remaining state lands, enabled the Government to get by in time of peace without recourse to heavi
er taxation., Obviously this was made possible only by using national capital, windfalls and blatant financial expedients; as Chaptal, the able Minister of the Interior, noted: “Napoleon feared the people, he dreaded insurrections, and this fear constantly led him into taking false measures.”6 In time of full European war, new taxes had to be imposed, most particularly the Droit Réunie which proved singularly unpopular. Nevertheless, constructive financial measures included the creation of the Bank of France in 1800, which was given full control over the interest of the national debt and made the sole issuer of paper currency, steps which did much to stabilize the French economy.
Apart from the fiscal system, the economic policy of the Consulate and Empire was based on the principle of full employment and the opening of large foreign markets. French merchants soon found lucrative opportunities opening to them on the Continent, but sea-borne trade proved an abysmal failure after the reopening of hostilities with Great Britain. Nevertheless, rigid governmental supervision led to a high degree of material prosperity in both the industrial and agricultural spheres. The French wool industry improved its yield by as much as 400 per cent and came to rival the prosperity of the traditional silk enterprises of the south, while agricultural growth was encouraged by governmental bounties, the opening of research institutes, the holding of exhibitions and the awarding of prizes. A tight—and to many economists an unrealistic—control was kept on grain prices, and for many years these were kept far below their true level owing to the Emperor’s preoccupation with the need to keep on good terms with the mass of the people.
The Campaigns of Napoleon Page 41