Napoleon Bonaparte: A Life

by Alan Schom

  Napoleon had made his warning to Europe clear from the start. France could and would expand when and where it wished to do so. War would continue. Although the first consul had written to both King George III of England and the Austrian emperor on December 25, 1799, calling for peace, Napoleon not only did not expect a favorable response but did not even allow time for one to be sent. On that same day he had already issued his famous proclamation “To the French Soldiers” instructing them to prepare for a new war that would take them well beyond French frontiers “to invade the enemy states.”

  With his new government safely installed by New Year’s Day, 1800, Napoleon was moving with lightning speed and resolve to secure his regime before opponents could either protest or revolt. To demonstrate to the world, and to the French in particular, that his administration was not to prove another spineless, corrupt Directory but a resolute one-man rule, on February 19, in a symbolic move, he transferred the entire government, including cabinet ministers and State Council, in an enormous procession, escorted by three thousand troops, from the Directory’s headquarters in the Luxembourg Palace to the Tuileries. Thereafter his fellow consuls would have to seek shelter under their own roofs.[507] Napoleon was literally replacing the Bourbon kings of France, moving into the very palace where Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had resided and ruled the nation.

  In other spheres as well the diminutive first consul was soon proving himself a giant, not just another revolutionary politician. On Finance Minister Gaudin’s recommendation, he created the Banque de France to help bring order, stability, integrity, and sense of planning to the jumbled world of revolutionary finances and currency problems. He ordered the drawing up of new law codes that would ensure the respect, stability, and position of the propertied classes, while establishing and regularizing civil, criminal, and commercial legal codes. The State Council, assigned to draft the Civil Code, for instance, moved with remarkable rapidity, over great protestations by the Tribunate. It was duly published in March 1803 and went into full effect in January 1804. To Napoleon, who had literally discussed and debated every article of the proposed code with the Judicial Commission of the Council, it was of critical importance to the establishment of the new France he now envisaged. This was probably the first consul’s greatest single contribution, State Counselor de Fontanes congratulating the country on “the consummation of this great enterprise, which had defied Charlemagne himself.” Napoleon commented years later: “The great glory of my reign is not in having won forty battles...That which can never be denied, and that [which] will live on forever, is my Civil Code.”[508]

  On May 19, 1802, Bonaparte created the Legion of Honor, despite much anger on the part of frustrated Jacobins and much of the republican-dominated Tribunate. They wanted no more kings, no more one-man rule, nor did they want to see men separated and distinguished by rank, achievement, and distinction. All men were equal, they argued; all men had exactly the same talents and abilities. Therefore all achievements were of the same value, and there should be no artificial distinctions. Even Napoleon’s handpicked State Council balked at the idea, only fourteen of the twenty-four counselors voting for it. It was with considerable trouble that Napoleon crushed and overcame opposition from the Tribunate, which finally voted in its favor, and he now counted the days until such time as he could completely suppress this troublesome political institution altogether (which he did on August 16, 1807). “The noisy minority have not understood what I am attempting to do,” Napoleon argued.[509]

  Nor were the arts or education forgotten in this phenomenal blizzard of national legislation, which included the creation of the lycée system and the refounding of the national university, including special new schools for law, the sciences, art, military science, and three schools for girls. More than ten thousand national scholarships were created (of which the young Victor Hugo was among the recipients) to open the ranks of the nation’s best schools to the talented, regardless of their financial condition.[510] (After all, without a similar scholarship, First Consul Bonaparte himself would not then have been ruling France.) But this also involved the introduction of a new and insidious regimentation into all aspects of national life, one that has continued to this day. For the first time education was to be centrally directed by Paris — and Napoleon. All lycée students were to wear uniforms (to eliminate outward differences in individual students’ wealth) and march to class in measured step, literally at the drumbeat. The psychological left-right-left mentality of the soldier was instilled from youth. They would be ready to accept orders from Napoleon and the state to hasten to the colors when they were called up under the national conscription, which greatly expanded under Bonaparte. This in turn had to be reinforced by the same values and knowledge: Everyone must accept the same views, which must be held sacrosanct and unquestioned. “Education,” Napoleon insisted, “must impart the same knowledge and the same principles to all individuals living in the same society, in order to create a single, uniform body, informed with one and the same understanding, and working for the common good on the basis of uniformity of views and desire.” Differing or alternate views were unacceptable, inadmissible in Napoleonic schools; only the state’s interpretations of subjects and official views, dictated by the Tuileries, were permitted. Woe unto him or her who questioned them. There was no room for the individual or the independent thinker in Napoleon’s new France. There was no room, either, for politically incorrect thought or conduct, and naturally unacceptable works (in the view of Napoleon) were to be banned from every classroom and library of the land, including works by Montesquieu, Rousseau, and Tacitus. “Instead let youth read Caesar’s Commentaries [and] Corneille,” he ordered. Napoleon alone knew what was acceptable.[511]

  The national curriculum set for all schools and classes was almost entirely concentrated on the subjects required to make good citizens, future army officers, and heads of bureaucratic departments in the various government ministries. History was rewritten to suppress anything detracting from French and Napoleonic glory; knaves and crooked politicians, scandals, or defeats in the field of battle, were either hushed up or so altered as to defy historical recognition (a policy continued in French schools and universities to this day). Glory was extolled at the expense of truth, French leaders preferring to treat their citizens like children and leave them in ignorance, in a world of dreams. It was a move as pathetic as it was to prove destructive, stifling a need for integrity without which no nation can reach maturity or achieve respect at any level.

  This educational censorship was mirrored in everyday life. As already noted, several dozen of the nation’s newspapers were suppressed, and one quickly assumed official position as the vehicle for announcing Napoleon’s national policies: the Moniteur Universel. It was to be supplemented by the Journal des Déebats and other official administrative publications. Napoleon ordered the publishing of a new history of France, reflecting his views on the nation’s developments. Individual works by scholars had to be subjected to his censors (through the Ministry of Police and the prefect of Paris). This extended to the theater, Bonaparte announcing that historical themes and “historical tragedy” were too dangerous to be presented to the public: antigovernment opposition might easily be found or interpreted through such plays. The French needed only lighthearted works, “Give them comedy,” he insisted. When a new play was to be considered, the author or its leading dramatic actor was ordered to bring it to the Tuileries, Malmaison, or St.-Cloud for a reading. If an author did not please Napoleon, his career was finished, his works neither published nor produced. Napoleon alone was empowered to dictate censorship policy in the land, deciding what was fit for the public. Occasionally a few plays were actually produced in the provinces without his knowledge, but thanks chiefly to Fouché’s ever vigilant police, they were soon brought to Napoleon’s attention.

  As of 1802 the first consul spent most of his time at the Palace of St.-Cloud, which he had completely renovated and refurbished by Per
cier and Fontaine at a cost of six million francs.[512] Vandalized and then devastated by earlier revolutionary mobs, the entire interior of this spacious palace was gutted and restored. Malmaison, for its part, was difficult to get to, lacked a sweeping river perspective, and was simply too small, not to mention Napoleon’s loathing of Josephine’s English gardeners (with whom he was constantly at war) and gardens. St.-Cloud, more than any other palace, represented Napoleon and his tastes. Spacious new formal French gardens were laid out, as well as a theater and facilities of every kind, including accommodations and apartments for dozens of people. St.-Cloud also had the advantage of being situated overlooking the Seine in a heavily wooded area far from crowded, noisy Paris. Unlike the siuation at the Tuileries, the public could not stroll by and peer into the windows of the room where Napoleon and Josephine were sitting and talking. Napoleon despised and feared the masses and took appropriate measures to secure himself against them. No howling mob was going to break into the spacious but well-guarded estate of St.-Cloud, as had happened at the Louvre. And in later years Bonaparte would have massive gray-green-and-gold iron grilles and fencing erected around the Tuileries, the Luxembourg Palace, Fontainebleau, St.-Cloud, and dozens of government buildings, all bearing his imperial initial.

  Napoleon, much influenced by the spectacular monuments he had seen in Egypt, from the very beginning planned to make major changes in Paris. Beginning with a series of new bridges — the Ponts des Arts, St.-Cloud, Sevres, and later Austerlitz and Jena — he ultimately had additions made to the Louvre and to the Invalides, then built the Bourse, later the new Foreign Ministry on the Quai Bonaparte (now Quai d’Orsay), barracks, broad new boulevards, including the Rue Imperiale, put up war trophies, had obelisks placed near the Tuileries and in the Place de la Révolution, and of course erected the massive Arc de Triomphe, which was to bear the names of his most famous generals and admirals. “The purpose of all these works,” he freely admitted to Bourrienne, “is to ensure that my name is indestructibly linked with the name of France.” “The destruction of men and the construction of men’s monuments seemed perfectly compatible in Bonaparte’s mind,” his secretary wryly commented, “and his passion for monuments almost equaled his passion for war.” Although Paris never witnessed structures as impressive as those that dominated Rome or Egypt, Napoleon did have more utilitarian projects in mind, including the extension of the St.-Quentin Canal, a new road built over the Simplon Pass for his armies — “there are no more Alps” — and a wide new military highway through the forests and swamps to link Metz and Mainz. But the monuments that really concerned Napoleon most were not those made of stone but rather of paper. His glory recorded in history books was in the last analysis the only “monument” that really counted. To ensure that his version of events was remembered, he falsified army reports and bulletins, as he had already done in Egypt, aided by numerous articles he personally inserted in the Moniteur throughout his career. He was less concerned with the present than with posterity.

  Bonaparte’s arrival on the scene was definitely different from that of any previous ruler, politician, or soldier, in France — or elsewhere, for that matter. “His incredible activity had something very catching about it, electrifying all those around him...even government employees,” Bourrienne remarked. “During these early days of the Consulate, it was really quite wonderful to see, the haste every individual seemed to make to help the First Consul in the execution of his projects for the regeneration of France. Everything seemed animated by a new spirit in the land, and everyone made an extra effort to contribute to it.” Napoleon insisted: “‘Impossible’ is not a French word.” “Bonaparte,” commented Schopenhauer, “is the finest example of a human destiny manipulated by sheer will power.” “We need a man of steel,” Champagny had said back in 1799, and now France had one.[513]

  This invigorating force also resulted in the will to restore stability and confidence in the country, a stability and confidence not seen since before the horrors of the Revolution. Gold coin, long buried or hidden, reemerged, commerce revived, new industries gradually developed, the small Paris stock exchange once again opened its doors, and government securities and investment funds rose dramatically. As Napoleon discouraged the informal “you” — the tu/toi — in public speech, and was to do the same for the revolutionary titles of “Citizen” and “Citizeness” that had replaced the traditional “Monsieur” and “Madame,” the people began to realize there was indeed to be a real change in the land. “The Revolution is over,” Bonaparte informed Chouan leader d’Andigné. “The revolutionary laws will not return to devastate the beautiful soil of France.”[514]

  Theaters and music halls opened throughout Paris. For the first time in eleven years the French people could sing and dance freely. It was a good start, and the new law codes — civil, criminal, and commercial — would secure the present while ensuring a stable future for their children and grandchildren. But instead of devoting most of the nearly six hundred million francs of the annual national budget in the reconstruction of a devastated land, instead of rebuilding the tens of thousands of buildings damaged or destroyed during the human firestorm known as the Revolution, instead of repairing the old canals and the sadly neglected but once superb national highways, instead of rebuilding the ports and putting money into the much-reduced merchant fleet, instead of building badly needed government facilities, schools, and hospitals throughout the land, First Consul Bonaparte unilaterally dedicated most of these funds for war.

  The French had been at war, internally and externally, since the execution of Louis XVI, and Napoleon realized he could not afford to undertake a long military campaign at this time. The people wanted peace, despite his own personal ambitions for expansion throughout Europe and even North Africa. Thus he set out to recapture the Austrian provinces of northern Italy and then conclude a fresh peace, if only a temporary one, with England.

  First he would deal with the Austrian emperor. He appointed Moreau as commander in chief of the Army of the Rhine with orders to drive into southern Germany, and with Berthier as commander of the new Reserve Army, he was ready. But the armies as usual lacked everything, and the national treasury held only sixty-seven thousand francs when he seized the government in November 1799. He found the solution, however, as he usually did: extortion. He demanded vast sums from the merchants of Paris, Lyons, Marseilles, and Bordeaux. That not sufficing, he extorted at bayonet point more millions from Dutch merchants, the Swiss, the Italians, and even the Portuguese (from whom he demanded “8-9 million francs” to cover a portion of the costs of invading Italy.) He ordered General Augereau, the new commander of the French Army in Batavia, to demand that “the Hague...furnish us with a subsidy to help defray the costs of [France’s] forthcoming campaign” in Germany, part of it to go to Masséna in Italy as well. Moreau was ordered to threaten the Swiss. A few months later, on March 8 he extorted another 10 to 12 million francs from citizens and officials of Amsterdam. Still not satisfied, less than three months later he demanded more money from them, plus thousands of Dutch troops for the new war effort against Austria. “Imperiously insist on everything that government owes us!” he ordered Augereau. Neither the Portuguese nor the Dutch owed France one franc, quite the reverse; nor was this their war, but that was irrelevant. And he demanded the same from the Swiss. Explain “the circumstances of the war” to the Swiss government, and “our [France’s] wish to protect Helvetic territory,” Napoleon instructed Minister Reinhard on 11 May 1800.

  Nor were the French spared Napoleon’s demands for “loans.” “Summon the 12 most powerful merchants [of Paris] to demand the immediate payment of additional millions for the specific purpose of paying and supplying ‘the French army,’” he ordered Finance Minister Gaudin. Similar orders were issued to “the 12 most important merchants of Lyons and Marseilles. When these sizable sums still did not suffice, Napoleon had recourse to private individuals, even ordering the arrest of the wealthy financier Ouvrard along with t
he demand “to return” 62 million francs to the government. (At the same time Bonaparte refused to return the 24 million francs he had “borrowed” from another banker, Collot, who had financed the coup of 18 Brumaire, even having him thrown out of his house.)

  It was only as a result of his extortion of massive sums from these unwilling victims that he was finally able to launch his two principal armies across the Rhine and over the Great St. Bernard Pass. Setting out from Paris on May 5, 1800, the first consul enjoined Cambacérès and Lebrun to keep Paris calm during his absence, no matter how. “Strike vigorously at the first sign of trouble, at the first person, no matter who it is, who steps out of line.”[515]

  After the rapacity of his financial extortions to launch these armies — which he had kept secret from the public — the subsequent military campaign itself, usually so admired by soldiers and historians alike, takes on a different perspective altogether. General Moreau’s Army of the Rhine, 120,000 strong, was ordered to march in mid-April against the Austrian General Kray’s 100,000 men, while General Berthier (who had just stepped down as war minister, replaced by Carnot) led a newly created Reserve Army of almost 60,000 men over the Great St. Bernard Pass on May 20 (though in fact it took weeks to get all the troops, horses, supplies, and artillery through the deep mountain snow). General Masséna’s smaller Army of Italy was already operating in the northwest around Genoa, where it faced General Melas’s much larger Austrian force of 97,000 men.[516]

  The campaign held some nasty surprises for Napoleon, beginning with Moreau’s refusal to cross the four bridgeheads over the Rhine as instructed, followed by his overcautious dithering when he finally did obey instructions. His resentment at taking orders from the young Corsican general, whom he despised, clearly aggravated and even jeopardized the situation. Meanwhile General Melas took Napoleon by surprise when he went on the offensive and attacked Masséna, his aim to drive through Genoa and Nice, straight to Toulon, where he expected support from Admiral Lord Keith’s fleet and marines. Facing Melas in Italy were General Suchet’s 36,000 men and Masséna’s force of 15,000 to 18,000 (after leaving garrisons in Genoa, Gavi, and Novi). Masséna quickly found himself isolated in Genoa, cut off from the rest of the French troops.