by Alan Schom
Finally came sister Maria Anna, or Elisa, as brother Lucien had dubbed her, who because of her complete lack of physical charms was not overwhelmed with handsome young generals. At first she seemed fortunate enough to find Capt. Felix Bacciochi, marrying him precipitously at Marseilles on May 1, 1797, with her mother’s full approval but before Napoleon even learned of their engagement. Bacciochi, a member of an old titleless Corsican family that was a traditional political opponent of the Bonapartes, was an incompetent officer who had remained a captain for an embarrassing number of years and was generally described as being neither honest nor intelligent — indeed, as having no redeeming traits or qualifications of any kind. Although Napoleon reluctantly gave it his blessing, ex post facto, this union too soon proved a disaster.[587]
For Napoleon, then, reaching the archbishop’s palace just before 11:00 A.M. on this coronation day, the moment was fraught with many conflicting emotions and nagging, unresolved problems. “The Emperor is truly rendered unhappy by his family,” Madame Desvaisnes confided to Gen. Antoine Thibaudeau. “They are all acting like a pack of devils deliberately bent on tormenting him.”[588]
Moreover the situation had been aggravated in a most embarrassing manner by Letizia Bonaparte’s unexpected rebellion and departure from the capital, in order to join and support the “outlawed” Lucien, her favorite son, in his Roman exile, which she preferred to attending this coronation. There was little love lost between Napoleon and his mother, and she had already been given a residence of her own at Pont-sur-Seine, far from the Tuileries. She preferred to spend most of her time with her brother, the mild-mannered Cardinal Fesch, who provided her with a separate set of apartments in his Paris mansion, where he could at least speak her Corsican dialect. In addition she was personally upset with Napoleon for not giving her a title of her own, she instead finally accepting the designation “Madame Mère.” Nor did it help matters that Letizia detested the French, and that her vendetta against Josephine and then her children was bitter, ruthless, and relentless, and Napoleon, caught in the middle, in turn could not forgive either his mother’s ill will or her interference in this matter.
But Napoleon somehow cast these personal problems aside now:
I mount the throne to which I have been called by the unanimous voice of the Senate, people, and the army,” Napoleon had informed the Senate just the day before, “my heart filled with the feeling of the great destinies of the people whom I first greeted from the midst of our army camps...I must say here that my only pleasures and pains now are those involving the happiness or unhappiness of the people...My descendants will hold this throne for long hereafter. They will remain ever vigilant to prevent any disregard of our laws and the threat to the social order that inevitably result from weak and uncertain princely rule.[589]
He for one would not imitate the weak Bourbons. He had brought order out of the revolutionary chaos and had restored a national stability unknown for more than a decade. The economy had begun to revive, with new markets in newly acquired satellite republics — and their number was growing, although they were now hesitating over the stalemated invasion of England and unpaid government bills to a variety of contractors. Napoleon had also introduced a sweeping new educational system and the first of a series of new law codes, while putting the law courts back on a firm foundation after years of corruption and destructive incompetence. What is more, most of the rebellion in the West and the South was being put down.
But a price had to be paid for this stability — powerful one-man rule — and mass conscription was about to begin in earnest (Napoleon drafting legislation to call up eighty thousand young men in the following year). There was little public freedom of movement, little freedom of self-expression, as newspaper after newspaper was closed or heavily censored. Thirty theaters in the capital would soon be reduced to eight, their productions personally censored by Napoleon, resulting in the growing mediocrity of the French stage. Anyone who criticized Napoleon in public risked immediate imprisonment, often without trial. Private communications weren’t safe either. Mail was intercepted by the police, sometimes resulting in the expulsion of Napoleon’s critics from the capital, including the controversial and outspoken Madame de Stael (to her mountain retreat of Coppet, in distant Switzerland).
For the time being, however, the public knew little of the heavy censorship or of the forthcoming conscription (which was to be repeated incessantly, annually, in ever increasing numbers). On the other hand, the people could appreciate peace, at least within the nation’s frontiers. To be sure, the French treasury had been drained systematically since 1803 in order to build the Grande Armée forming along the coast and the mighty Boulogne flotilla, but Napoleon had a list of seemingly impressive military victories behind him, including Rivoli, Arcola, the Pyramids, Abukir, and Marengo. He had also lost two entire armies in foreign invasions, only one-third of the troops returning from Egypt, and then a mere three thousand of the original thirty-four thousand dispatched under Leclerc’s ill-fated Santo Domingo campaign (even as Napoleon was ordering the reestablishment of slavery in the colonies). An invasion of England therefore had to succeed now, or else he would have to be saved by his much vaunted “destiny,” that guiding star of his existence.
Finally, his kidnapping and summary execution of the duc d’Enghien earlier in 1804 had backfired, and Napoleon still could not understand why the world was in such an uproar. As far as he was concerned, Enghien had been a part of the royalist plot to destroy him, and he had simply retaliated. The Christmas Eve plot to assassinate him and his family had been financed and executed by the Bourbons, and the English, and Cadoudal, and the rest until Cadoudal himself had been captured and executed.[590] Napoleon had had a clear right to strike back at Enghien (though the Russian ambassador, among others, was not present at the coronation precisely because of that). Still, it had had to be done, despite public protests and utter shock: “I had the Duc d’Enghien arrested and judged,” Napoleon was to state later at St. Helena, “because that was necessary for the security, the interests, and honor of the French people...Under similar circumstances today, I would do the same thing all over again. After all, am I simply some miserable dog one can kill in the street with impunity, while my assassins are held sacrosanct? When they attack my person, I return blow for blow.”[591] There would be no weakness, no indecision, so long as Napoleon ruled the French Empire.
Toward 11:45 A.M. Napoleon and Josephine emerged in their ceremonial costumes, passing beneath the Gothic wooden arcade that had been specially built between the palace and Nôtre-Dame, Napoleon wearing a crimson velvet mantle, embroidered in gold and silver and lined in white satin, beneath it a jacket of crimson velvet topped by a crown of golden laurel offset by white feathers set in diamonds. Over a lace collar he wore the grand cordon of the Legion of Honor, while at his side he carried a ceremonial sword, its scabbard encrusted in diamonds, with the enormous Regent’s diamond in its hilt. His stockings were of white silk and his small ceremonial slippers of white velvet embroidered in gold. In his small, impeccably manicured hands, gloved in white, he carried Charlemagne’s scepter and the traditional Bourbon ceremonial symbol, the Hand of Justice.[592] All at a total cost of just over 99,000 francs.
The court ushers, in black and green, led the procession, followed by the heralds-at-arms in violet, followed in turn by the pages in green and gold. Next came the grand master of ceremonies, the comte de Ségur, in silver and violet, followed by his aides and assistants; and members of the empress’s household, including three field marshals — Sérrurier, bearing the cushion with the coronation ring; Moncey, carrying the golden basket for the empress’s train; and Murat, carrying her crown.
Empress Josephine was the focus of much scrutiny as she was escorted into the freezing cathedral by her first chamberlain and first equerry. She was beaming with joy and had never looked more beautiful, thought Laure Junot. Beneath a long embroidered crimson velvet train lined in Russian ermine, she wore a short
-sleeved white satin gown and white silk embroidered stockings, her other undergarments of velvet or tulle richly embroidered and covered with emeralds, while her white gloves were embroidered in gold. Her diadem, earrings, and necklace were of seemingly numberless diamonds. The cost of her costume and jewelry was some 101,000 francs.
If her closest friends and admirers were happy for her, not so four of the five princesses following in her wake, supporting her magnificent crimson train: Julie, Elisa, Caroline, and Pauline. Josephine’s only ally was her daughter, Hortense. After a last-minute battle at St.-Cloud, when the family harridans had confronted their brother en masse, Napoleon, who was by now quite fed up with the entire clan, had given the women an ultimatum. They would either hold Josephine’s train or be exiled with their husbands and lose their titles and wealth. Thus they sulked grimly now with the eyes of the nation on them.[593]
As the long procession of marshals and imperial officials finally approached the choir, the pope, who had been waiting for nearly two hours, became the center of attention. His tiara — a gift from Napoleon, considered a masterpiece, adorned with 4,209 diamonds, rubies, and emeralds — cost 181,931 francs. Total expenses for the superb costumes, designed principally by Isabey and David along with the architectural modifications to the Archbishop’s palace and to Nôtre-Dame Cathedral, totaled another seven hundred thousand francs.
Two side altars and the choir screen had been removed in the cathedral, and enormous tapestries and a painted special-effects backdrop hung behind there now, while the orchestra and choir, over four hundred, provided with 17,738 pages of hand-copied music, under the direction of Jean François Lesueur, played and sang as Luigi Paisiello’s Mass and Te Deum filled the massive Gothic, 427-foot-long twelfth-to-thirteenth-century stone structure, startling pigeons and sparrows, their wings suddenly flapping 115 feet above the audience of thousands, as hawkers sold drinks, sausages, and rolls.
It was after one o’clock by the time the imperial couple reached the altar. Napoleon genuflected and received the triple papal unction, followed by the empress, which of course constituted a deviation from the traditional ceremony historically carried out by the archbishops of Reims (Napoleon declining to take the host). Then, taking the golden crown from the cushion, turning his back on the pope, according to earlier agreement, Napoleon crowned himself, to the astonishment of the audience before him. He next crowned Josephine as she genuflected at his feet, tears in her eyes as she looked up at a smiling Napoleon and then at the throne high on the platform behind him.
Napoleon was handed the imperial ring, consecrated by the pope, who explained it as representing “the sign of the Holy Faith, the proof of the strength and solidity of your empire, by means of which, as a result of its triumphant power, you will conquer your enemies and destroy heresies, on this imperial throne which Jesus the Christ, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords in his eternal kingdom, affirms your reign with him.”
The pope then embraced the emperor and turned to the audience, calling out: “Vivat imperator in aeternum!” his assistants responding: “Vivent l’Empereur et l’Emperatrice.” The presidents of the Senate, Tribunate, and Corps Législatif stepped forward to administer to Napoleon the singular Constitutional Oath, creating an empire based on a republic, which Napoleon now read out:
I swear to maintain the integrity of the territory of the Republic; to respect, and cause to be respected, the laws of the Concordat, the freedom of worship; to respect, and cause to be respected, the equality of rights, political and civil liberties, and the irrevocability of conveyances of national property; to levy no taxes or duties except as laid down by law; to maintain the institution of the Legion of Honor; and to govern with a view solely in the interests, happiness, and glory of the French people.
The heralds-at-arms then proclaimed in a united powerful voice: “The most glorious and most august Napoleon, Emperor of the French people, is anointed, crowned, and enthroned!” “Vive l’Empereur!” the assistant heralds-at-arms called out. “Vive l’Empereur!” the heralds-at-arms in turn echoed, only to be drowned out by the roar of hundreds of cannon up and down both banks of the Seine, the sudden shock waves reverberating through the vast stone basilica. The pope now led the Te Deum, as the parchment with the Imperial Oath was handed to Napoleon for his signature, thereby completing the coronation ceremony. The Empire was officially launched, stamped with the approval of the Vatican itself. Napoleon was satisfied.
The police estimated that some two million persons were present in the French capital, representing every department of the land and a dozen different countries.[594] The peal of hundreds and hundreds of church bells, large and small, rang out in a deafening din acclaiming the great event, which was followed by fireworks, festivities, formal balls, and dancing in the streets for the next fortnight. Hundreds of celebratory cannon thundered throughout the new imperial capital every hour on the hour until midnight, and through every city of the land, from Marseilles to the newly erected batteries overlooking Boulogne, and heard across the Channel as far away as Dover.
At 6:00 A.M. on December 3 the cannon resumed their explosive fortissimo. By 11:00 musicians were again playing in the squares and at street corners everywhere, and at noon, despite the freezing temperature, a formal concert was given in the Carrousel as golden balloons were launched and exploded against a gray sky. Wine flowed, and soon thousands were dancing in the Place de la Concorde, over paving stones still stained red by the blood of their relatives and of their late king and queen, where an obelisk of fire supporting a twenty-five-foot star exploded in a dazzling illumination. Sideshows and hawkers of food and drink tempted the celebrants, while that evening fireworks again lighted up the skies against low-lying clouds, and crowds passed beneath hundreds of Chinese lanterns strung along the streets and gardens leading to Catherine de Medici’s monumentally long sixteenth-century palace. Heralds-at-arms, still in their violet uniforms, worked their way through the teeming masses around the Tuileries to distribute nearly ninety thousand bronze coronation medallions, and another twelve thousand golden ones given to the Imperial Guard — all at a cost of 229,642 francs. Another 276,000 francs were distributed by the interior minister as dowries for the poor.
Napoleon personally distributed eagles for the regimental flags to army and National Guard deputations in the Champ de Mars, during a long ceremony carried out before the court, Senate, State Council high court judges, officers, and the entire diplomatic corps, despite a terrible rainstorm mixed with snow. A young student, intent on putting a bloody premature end to the day’s events by assassinating Napoleon, managed to shout out: “Freedom or death!” before he was intercepted by the Imperial Guard and whisked away as the five-hour-long ceremony continued. “Soldiers, here are your colors!” Napoleon addressed the thousands of troops before him. “These eagles will always serve as a rallying point. They will be found everywhere your emperor judges them to be necessary for the defense of his throne and people. You will now swear to sacrifice your lives to defend them through your courage, on the road to victory.”[595]
The festivities continued in full swing over the next ten days, the Senate offering military music, fireworks, and a feast in the Luxembourg Gardens, the deputy mayors of Paris offering one of their own, followed by an even more sumptuous affair for thousands presented at the Hôtel de Ville by “the City of Paris.” Murat did the honors in the newly proclaimed “Salle des Victoires,” at the unbelievable cost of 1,745,646 francs. Similar celebrations were given by the newly created marshals in the Opéra, and another later on by the Corps Législatif, while at the Opéra-Comique, Marie-Joseph Chénier’s latest production, Cyrus, calling on Napoleon to end all war and bestow justice and love — “The first requisite of the people and support of good kings” — on France.” The next day an irate Napoleon ordered the police to close down that theater.
Nor could the many hundreds of thousands of visitors to the city at this time forget, as they passed the Place de Grève for th
e festivities at the Hôtel de Ville, that Georges Cadoudal, royalist general and “rebel,” had been executed on this very spot earlier that year, and that just a few miles to the east, another Frenchman, the duc d’Enghien, lay buried in a shallow grave in the drained moat of the dungeon of Vincennes.
French tributary and satellite states, meanwhile, were — at bayonet point — continuing to send boats, troops, supplies, and gold for the Channel army camps preparing for the invasion of England, as French troops of occupation beefed up garrisons already in place in Holland and Belgium, on the left bank of the Rhine, and in Geneva, Turin, Milan, and Genoa. Napoleon’s imperial purple mantle was beginning to cast a pall across Europe, not to mention his gradual closure of all trade with Great Britain, which resulted in commercial and financial hardship and ill will on both sides of the Channel.
The costs of creating and maintaining the new Empire were to prove staggering, including the expense of creating an entirely new aristocracy and rewarding the nation’s top soldiers on a most munificent scale. Even more expensive was the cost of maintaining and training an inactive “peace” army, the 167,500 men at Montreuil, St.-Omer, and Bruges, along with the maintenance costs of the invasion flotilla to keep boats manned, fully supplied daily with fresh food and ammunition, and seaworthy. Unknown to the French general public, Napoleon continued to extort the vast sums needed for this war effort from not only foreign bankers and merchants at Amsterdam, The Hague, Mainz, Brussels, Genoa, Milan, Lisbon, and Madrid, but also from those of Paris, Lyons, Marseilles, and Bordeaux. The large armed convoys of gold had to be kept moving in the direction of Paris, although Napoleon did not always repay major contractors and bankers supplying the French armies, thereby reinforcing a growing nationwide lack of trust in him and the government. But increasing restlessness in the soldiers encamped along the Channel and the pressing finances required to keep them there persuaded Napoleon that this situation could not endure. To relieve all sources financing the “war effort,” the only real answer was another war and more conquests.
