by Emil Ludwig
Weeks of waiting. What answer will come from Paris? Here is the courier at last. The island is to be a French province, having the same rights as the other provinces; in accordance with Mirabeau's proposal, Paoli and all the champions of liberty are free to return home. The lieutenant is taken aback. A province ? In spite of the new ideas, and indeed because of them, the Corsicans are to remain Frenchmen ? A strange form of liberty! But there, already, is the procession, headed by the
The Roman
authorities, on its way to the cathedral, where the decree from Paris is to receive a blessing. Buonaparte is prompt to seize the rope which all are seizing. He pens fiery manifestoes to his fellow-citizens, seeks supporters in the new political club, and engineers his elder brother's election to the town council. Meanwhile he continues to work at his history of Corsica, and reads to his mother choice passages of what he is writing.
" Can this be the great Paoli ? " That is the question Buonaparte asks himself, when, after twenty years' exile, the hero of his youthful enthusiasms returns amid popular acclamations. "His talk and his appearance are so humdrum, so politic, so unsoldierly." But it was expedient to keep on good terms with Paoli, for he was to be the commander of the National Guard. In the mountains, the young artillery officer was for some time closely associated with the man who had been his father's chief just before his own coming into the world.
When they were sitting together or riding together— the tried veteran and the darkly aspiring young Corsican—the latter would eagerly expound to the former his plans for an armed rising, and even for the forcible severance of the island from the new France. On these occasions, Paoli would look at Buonaparte with mingled pride and alarm. He could not but feel that the author of the Letters on Corsica really had a claim upon him. But the young fellow had the devil in his body ; and (which was worse) in his brain, for in the man's brain was the image of the world throne in solitary splendour. Shaking his head, Paoli would exclaim :
" There is nothing modern about you, Napolione. You come from the age of Plutarch ! "
For the first time in his life young Napoleon felt that he was understood. The Roman heroes of Plutarch were alone adequate to his aspirations. Paoli was the first to recognise the Roman in Buonaparte.
At length he has a phrase upon which his self esteem can
The First Place Is Occupied
luxuriate. Now, from his country retreat, when at Paoli's instigation he writes a manifesto, the superscription penned by his fevered imagination runs as follows : " 23rd day of January in the 2nd year, from my study at Midilli." Ridiculous or sublime ? However this may be, as soon as he has issued the dictatorial pronunciamento the young man has to hasten back to his military duties in France, for his furlough, though renewed again and again, has finally expired. Is he to sacrifice this last firm standing-ground ? To what end ? Why should he stay in the island any longer ? The first place is occupied !
VII
" I am in a peasant's hut writing to you, after a long talk with the good folk. ... It is four in the afternoon; the weather is fresh but mild ; I thoroughly enjoyed walking. No snow yet, but there is snow in the air—Everywhere I have found the peasants staunch; . . . they are all ready to die for the constitution—The women are royalists almost without exception. No wonder for that, seeing that Liberty is fairer than they, and eclipses them. In Dauphine, the priests have taken the oath of fealty to the constitution ; they laugh at the bishops. —' Good society,' as it is called (three out of four are aristocrats), affects admiration for the British constitution. It is true that Peretti threatened Mirabeau with a dagger. This is little to our credit. The Patriotic Society must make Mirabeau a present of our national costume: biretta, vest, knee-breeches and hose, cartridge pouch, stiletto, pistol, and musket. It will certainly have a good effect."
Everything in this letter to Napoleon's maternal uncle, the abbe Joseph Fesch, bears witness to observation and calculation, the elements upon which the politician's influence is based: the weather, the State, travelling on foot, the conciliation of a man in high position, men's motives—all have been the objects of careful consideration. Vanity and avarice, these are the weaknesses to which an appeal can be successfully directed. We see deep into his soul when, in a
Eighty-five Francs
bluntly-worded letter dating from those weeks, he arraigns an opponent thus:" Your study of human nature has taught you the price of every man's enthusiasm ; for you, the difference between people's characters was summed up in a few gold pieces more or less ! "
Gold pieces! Where were they to be had ? Louis, the brother of thirteen, had come back to France with him. When Lieutenant Buonaparte (he had the full rank now) and his brother got back to Valence, they had no more between them than eighty-five francs, to provide for food, clothing, and the boy's education. They had to brush their own clothes.
Money! Not for enjoyment (he despises trivial pleasures), but to help him make his way in the world ! Lyons Academy has offered a prize for an essay. Twelve hundred francs; one could for that sum equip half Corsica with weapons. " What truths and sentiments is it most important to inculcate upon men for their happiness ? " The lieutenant smiles. The subject suits him very well. First of all, so to say, he leaves his card on the academicians who have chosen the theme. They are disciples of Rousseau. Our essayist opens by extolling the joys of nature, friendship, ardent idleness—three things which he neither knew nor prized. Suddenly the argument takes a political turn, against kings, and on behalf of the universalisation of the free enjoyment of possessions and rights. Then comes a sinister tone, as if the writer were contemplating in a mirror his own image as the pallid student of a few years before : " The ambitious man, pale of countenance, laughing sardonically, plays with crime, and intrigue is his chosen instrument. ... If, at length, he gets his hand on the rudder of power, he soon wearies of the adulation of the crowd. . . . Men of great ambition have sought happiness, and have found fame."
Sublime forebodings, worthy of any of the characters in Plutarch. Soon the author expresses himself more plainly.
"Only the Strong Man Is Good "
His ideal is Sparta; courage and strength are the outstanding virtues. A Spartan moved through life as a man moves in the plenitude of his powers. " He was happy because he lived in accordance with his nature. Only the strong man is good; the weakling is evil." Another presage glows in the following utterance : " Men who are truly great are like meteors : they shine and consume themselves, that they may lighten the darkness of the earth."
This was too much for the Lyons Academy, which declared the essay " unworthy of commendation." A fresh disappointment ! The effort had brought neither money nor renown. With indefatigable assiduity, none the less, he resumes work on his Corsican novel, and pens a dialogue on love.
What ? Does this word, too, shed its lustre into the youth's sombre mind ? Are we to have an outpouring in the Rousseau-ist vein ? Hearken to the words of our lieutenant, now twenty-two years of age : " I, too, was in love once, and learned enough of it to despise definitions, which only confuse the issue. I deny its justification ; nay, more, I regard it as injurious tc society and destructive to the happiness of the individual. Men could bless heaven if they were quit of it."
Fanfares interrupt these political and social musings, fanfares from Paris ! Louis XVI, attempting to escape, had been caught at Varennes and brought back. The people had triumphed, and the revolutionary movement was intensified. On the second anniversary of the taking of the Bastille, the Red lieutenant proposed a toast to the patriots. From the island came to him sounds of confusion, the heart-beats of anarchy-for during these wild years the ripples of turbulence spread from Paris in widening circles, to reach distant shores. Corsica, too, civil war is imminent. Back there, for a second venture !
A Corsican Election!
VIII
Now the lieutenant has to play the part of Coriolanus. Catch voices, catch men; for, since the people have come into power, it is
necessary to cultivate popularity. Archdeacon Lucien Buonaparte has chosen this convenient hour for dying, and the family is in easier circumstances. Mother's brother Fesch, another cleric, has been prevailed upon to join the Jacobin Club. Joseph can influence opinion in the town council. Is there any other man in the island competent to direct a battery ? Of course the leader of the National Guard would have the real power in his hands. But suppose one should fail to secure election ?
This time his furlough lasts only till the new year. Better be careful! He writes to his commanding officer : " Urgent circumstances have forced me to outstay my leave. But I have nothing to reproach myself with : more sacred duties, tenderer obligations, are my excuse." He hopes that he will not be cashiered. No answer! Well, he must take the risk.
Now comes the election of the commandant of the National Guard. Kinsmen everywhere, but that does not suffice. His mother keeps open house for party friends ; often sympathisers from the hills have to be put up for the night; this is the way to catch votes. " At that time," writes a comrade, " he would for a season be taciturn and reflective; then he would be genial once more, pleasant to all comers, conversationally inclined, prepared to visit any one who might be of use, and doing his utmost to win adherents." When the commissaries come, he has one of them forcibly detained in his house; and he arranges that the supporters of a rival shall have a thrashing. This is a Corsican election ! But when the palpitating day draws to a close, Napoleon has gained his end. He is second in command, with the rank of lieutenant colonel.
Shall he seize the opportunity, this Italian, of sending in his papers in France ? Shall he leave the French service ? Better be
Attempted Rising
careful, still! From the memoirs of great commanders he has learned that it is always wise to leave a line of retreat open. " In this difficult posture of affairs," he writes to Valence, " a good Corsican's post of honour is in his native country. That is why my own folk keep me from returning to France. Since, however, I am not one to compromise where duty is concerned, I had it in mind to resign my commission." But, far from sending in his papers, he asks for arrears of pay, and actually speaks of France as " your nation." In answer, he is cashiered by the French military authorities.
Thus he has become a soldier of fortune more speedily than he had wished. He is without firm standing-ground ; his only rights are the revolutionary rights of a National Guardsman, the member of a force which may go to pieces directly a reverse is sustained. Hie Rhodus ! He must take advantage of the| latent civil war between the townsfolk ofAjaccio and Guard; must fan the flames, so that, amid the general confusion, he may assume the role of saviour! Is not the citadel now occupied by the king's regular forces, a standing menace ? Did not Frederick and Caesar always begin by storming citadels? Seize the commander of the regulars, drive out well-born booby, and thus, at one stroke, free the island ! France, now involved in wars, will be unable to reconquer Corsica. The liberator will become a popular hero, and Paoli will be no more than a legend.
On Easter Sunday, 1792, an open struggle occurred. Was the National Guard provocative; were the townsfolk playing double ? Who began the affray ? An everlasting problem. This much is certain, that Buonaparte, at the head of his battalion, tried to seize the fortress. But the garrison was not to be intimidated. Guns were trained on his men, and he had to withdraw. A complaint against the young officer was in Paris ; he was accused of armed rebellion, and a trial for high treason was impending. His exculpatory phrases deceived no one. Paoli, who had from the outset been somewhat alarmed at
The Deserter
the zeal of his turbulent fellow-islander, hastened to proclaim his own loyalty to France, and to cashier the son of his old friend.
"If you turn against me, Paoli, I will turn against you," thought Buonaparte. " You had better be careful what you are about! To Paris, post-haste. Not for nothing is there a revolution there ! "
Through the streets of the French capital, these hot summer days, strolls our adventurer, for whom everything has gone awry. He has neither money nor position. In France, he is a lieutenant, but regarded more or less as a deserter; in Corsica, he is a cashiered lieutenant colonel. The gravest charges are likely to be brought against him, and to-morrow he may be actually starving. The Jacobins are his last hope, and he joins Robespierre's faction, for nothing can save him but the fall of the dynasty. To him, the complete break up of the old order has become essential.
Life in Paris is costly. He pawns his watch, and, in spite of this, gets into debt—a thing he has hitherto been sedulous to avoid. Fifteen francs due to a wine-dealer! He proposes to his friend Bourrienne that the pair shall become house-agents. Does he envy those who sit in high places ? No, he merely despises them. " Any one who sees at short range all that is going on, must admit that the peoples are hardly worth wooing for their favours. Here, human beings are perhaps even more base and calumniatory.—Enthusiasm is merely enthusiasm, and the French nation is outworn. No one seeks anything but his own advantage, and every one tries to push his way into the first rank.—Ambition undermines everything. To lead a quiet life, for oneself and one's family, that is the only lot worth having, with a fixed income of four or five thousand francs—if imagination would but cease to torment one, would quiet down ! " Woe to him who is thus plagued by a lively imagination ! What colossal possibilities may be cooling in this Parisian cauldron, may arise out of the chaos of this
Why Not Use Grape-Shot?
titanic time ! Being an Italian, a foreigner, he can contemplate with equanimity the destinies of these Frenchmen, and, as a cold-blooded adventurer, can seek to turn their fortunes to his own account. The Jacobins are already coming to the front.
When the sansculottes storm the Tuileries, Buonaparte is among the onlookers. What are the thoughts of the man under the harrow? "Thank God, we are free once more." But what does the army officer say ? "I saw soldiers threatened by civilians, and was terribly shocked.—Had the king shown himself on horseback, he would have gained the victory; such was the mood that morning. A few days earlier, when the king had been masquerading in the red cap of liberty, Napoleon had written : " What a fool! Why didn't he use grape-shot ? If a few hundred of the mob had been shot down, the others would have run away ! "
Still, his main feeling was one of liberation. His opponents had been overthrown. The day after the storming of the Tuileries, he wrote to his uncle : " You needn't worry about your nephews. They will know how to look after themselves." The new government does the handsome thing by Napoleon. Not merely is the deserter taken back into the service, but he is promptly raised to the rank of captain. He has, however, no inclination to hasten to his regiment. What does it matter to him that the king of Prussia is on the Moselle ? What does he care about the wars of France ? "I am a Corsican! Back to the island ! "
IX
Is it possible ? Has not the fresh wind from the sea, has not even the pure breeze from the mountains, been able to dispel that partisan spirit into which, everywhere, the struggle of ideas tends to degenerate ? Calumny, corruption, anarchy: these are the forms which the strife has assumed in the island. Saliceti, the Corsican delegate to the Convention in Paris, is Paoli's
The Island of Intrigues
mortal enemy, and is therefore friendly to the Buonapartes now that they have turned against Paoli. The Jacobin Club in Ajaccio is divided, but revolutionary feeling is in the ascendant; and Paoli, the only honest man in the island, is stigmatised as a traitor because he is a moderate.
Who holds the reins of power ? Every one and no one. Mutual suspicion is ripe, for in Paris the guillotine has been set up, the king has passed by that red road, and no one knows who will be the ruler there to-morrow. In Corsica, all go armed, and not the mountaineers alone; but orders from the coastland break unavailingly against the crags of the interior. Every one, here, is his own king; every one, his own avenger. Can there be a better field for this adventurer, who has nothing more to lose ? He makes a third attempt to be
come master of the island.
Brother Joseph, Brother Lucien, and Uncle Fesch, all have adherents, but Napoleon is the first to gather the scattered forces. He has the confidence of the deputy, who needs a skilled artillerist to help him in the next faction fight. For the same reason, the Club is inclined to court his favour. Might it not be a good move to accuse Paoli of treason against France ? We know that he has been influenced by his twenty years' enjoyment of British hospitality, and is it not in his mind to sell us to England ? If Lucien were to go to Marseilles, and whisper the suspicion in the commissary's ears, Saliceti would soon be shouting it in the Convention. A little island like Corsica is a hotbed of intrigue. Since public life is controlled by two or three families, family life becomes merged in public life.
Ere long the Convention sends representatives to Corsica. Officers are appointed and dismissed without Paoli's leave or advice. Buonaparte, now a captain in the French service, regains in the island his position as commander. Before this, his abilities and the affection of his soldiers have enabled him to usurp the command once more, and the official appointment is no more than an endorsement of an accomplished fact. His chances are improving.
Public Execration!
Then comes a terrible order from Paris. Paoli is to be arrested. But his opponents have overreached themselves. The hearts of the islanders warm towards the veteran hero. All rally to his support, and he defies the order.
Young Buonaparte is at a loss. Always he has had his ear at the heart of the people, not in the spirit of a lover, but in the investigatory mood of a physician. He tries to gain time, seeks a middle course, publicly proclaims himself on the side of the maligned Paoli; but also explains that he is a supporter of the sagacious Convention. Yet the Convention mistrusts this supporter, and now issues a warrant for his arrest also. Paoli likewise suspects him of wanting to have a foot in both camps. In a Paolist manifesto we read : " Since the brothers Buonaparte have supported the slander, and have sided with the commission, it would be beneath the dignity of the Corsican nation to have anything more to do with them. Enough to abandon them to remorse and public execration."
