by Alan Schom
During Napoleon’s long absence, various parties, both at home and abroad, had reported Fouché’s intrigues. But Fouché was always playing the mouse during the cat’s absence, and the police minister got off with a mere lecture on this occasion. The situation regarding Talleyrand was, however, quite another matter. The foreign minister had been not only the most prestigious member of Bonaparte’s team since 18 Brumaire, but the most valuable, the most influential, and in the final analysis, the only one to attempt to guide the emperor directly away from his schemes of European expansion. To show his fury with, and contempt of, the most unobliging Talleyrand, Bonaparte had deliberately excluded him from most of the negotiations at Tilsit. Napoleon had rewarded Talleyrand with untold millions, then purchased for him one of the largest and richest estates in the whole of France, in Berri at Valençay, not to mention raising him to the title of prince of Benevento. He expected complete obedience in return. Instead Talleyrand had had the effrontery to give him sound advice. What is more, Talleyrand had mocked Bonaparte’s effort to create a whole new aristocracy out of a pack of working-class oafs who, as a rule, had only one real talent in common, the ability to kill large numbers of opposing troops on the field of battle. Not only that, Napoleon went on to reward Talleyrand “with the only vice he was missing” — as Fouché smirked — raising him to the position of vice-grand elector of the Empire, under brother Joseph, and after that, adding the title of grand chamberlain. Translated into reality this meant another 500,000 francs annually in salary. But why not? Bonaparte had forced the Poles “to fork up” 26,582,000 francs from their confiscated estates. There was no shortage of cash in Napoleon’s private coffers.[725] The misguided Polish peasantry considered Napoleon their friend; Finance Minister Gaudin and Treasury Minister Mollien knew otherwise.
Napoleon now had much evidence against Talleyrand, including a stack of private correspondence between him and some of the most influential men in Europe, even with Napoleon’s own closest officers and officials.
Talleyrand had returned very slowly to Paris after leaving Tilsit in the first week of July 1807, as he contemplated his own future following Bonaparte’s extraordinary contrariness on the Niemen. Flaving made his decision, Talleyrand handed Napoleon his resignation, the latter nevertheless reluctantly replacing him at the Foreign Ministry with the former interior minister, Nompère de Champagny, hardly of the stature of Talleyrand but at least someone who would not hamper him in his various plans for massive new territorial expansion. “One after another the emperor had defeated Austria, Prussia, and Russia, and now held the destiny of Europe in his hands. What a grand and noble role he could have then played,” Talleyrand later reminisced. “But that true glory he simply did not understand.” The folly of the Berlin Decrees had been magnified beyond belief at Tilsit when Napoleon had committed France to embroilment in central and eastern Europe to the very end, thereby ensuring the ultimate ruin of France and the total disruption of Europe for decades to come. As if that were not bad enough, on his return to France, Napoleon then dictated a policy that would irrationally involve France in still a further campaign, resulting in an entanglement in Iberia that would of its own right bring Napoleon and France to their knees.[726]
Talleyrand would have none of it: “I was indignant with everything I saw and heard, but I was obliged to conceal my indignation at Tilsit. I do not want to be, or rather, I no longer wish to be, the executioner of Europe...I liked Napoleon; I was even quite attached to him personally, despite his faults,” the ex-foreign minister reflected.
During the period when he was willing to accept the truth, I was loyally frank with him, and indeed, remained so later...I served Bonaparte as emperor with devotion so long as I felt he himself was solely devoted to the interests of France. But from the moment I saw him initiate the revolutionary enterprises [in Austria, Germany, Poland, and Spain], which resulted in losing France, I left the ministry, for which he never forgave me...By 1807 Napoleon had abandoned [the best foreign policy for France], which I clearly recognized, in fact, having done my utmost to adhere to it, but I was not in a position to leave my post until this point [after Tilsit]. In reality it was not as easy as it might at first appear to cease my active functions with him.
Later minimizing the loss to the country in no longer having him as foreign affairs adviser and minister, he jested, “The only difference between [Foreign Minister] Champagny and myself is that, if the emperor ordered him to behead someone, he would execute that order within the hour, whereas, in my case, I should have delayed doing so for a month.[727]
With Talleyrand’s departure, Napoleon lost the only serious opponent to whom he would listen regarding his plans for the mass invasion of still other European and North African countries. After Tilsit, however, he was no longer in a mood to listen to anyone: He could do anything, and indeed he had just proved it.
The loss of Talleyrand was to prove a veritable catastrophe for Napoleon and France, and although Napoleon later pleaded on more than one occasion with the former minister to return, it was to no avail. For the superstitious Bonaparte, who knew that Talleyrand, like himself, backed only winners, it was a grave move of which he could never lose sight. Nor could he forgive Talleyrand the great embarrassment of his public abandonment, Napoleon avenging himself by giving out that he had “dismissed” the Prince of Benevento, just as he had earlier “dismissed” Bourrienne.
But the ministerial crisis continued. When Champagny was moved up to the Foreign Ministry in mid-August, Napoleon filled Champagny’s former place at the Interior Ministry with another party hack on whom he could always count, Emmanuel Crétet, governor of the Bank of France. This was not the end of this most unexpected cabinet reshuffle. Marshal Berthier, now given his own principality of Neuchâtel, in Switzerland, also had to be replaced as war minister, and Napoleon’s choice was again equally bad, Gen. Henri Clarke, the future duc de Feltre, known behind his back as the Desktop General and the Field Marshal of Ink. That said it all, or almost, for not only was Clarke unequal to Berthier in the post, but he was also of wavering loyalty, and in communication with the Bourbons, whom he would more faithfully serve.[728]
Nor was the ministerial turmoil finished with this appointment, for the minister for religious affairs, Count Joseph Portalis, died after a long illness and had to be replaced by someone who supported Bonaparte’s policy vis-à-vis the church in France while somehow maintaining diplomatic relations with Rome. Napoleon’s choice was State Counselor Bigot de Préameneu. Other appointments were also made, including a seemingly minor change when General Junot was removed as governor of Paris because of his notorious affair with Caroline Bonaparte Murat and ordered to command a newly forming Army of Observation of the Pyrenees, this indirectly reflecting a whole new policy of entanglement, beginning in Portugal and ending in Spain. That Napoleon chose such an erratic commander for such an important post hardly helped matters.
Before donning his military hat once again, rallying his troops, and leaving Paris for fresh fields of glory, Napoleon closed down the most vociferous, critical legislative assembly, the Tribunate, on August 19, 1807. There remained some muted criticism in the few remaining newspapers. Whether such criticism came from the left in the Tribunate, or the right in the press, it was totally unacceptable to Bonaparte. He suppressed one “because it was pro-English,” warning two others that if they did not desist from all criticism of his rule and actions they, too, would be shut down.[729] There were other matters to be dealt with as well, regarding the enforcement of his Continental System against England and of his revised policy against Pope Pius VII, and soon the little matter of Iberia, but the latter he could deal with at the head of his troops in the field.
In a half-hearted attempt to deceive Josephine, Napoleon had resumed his marital role on his return from Poland and the arms of Marie Walewska, although word of his great Polish affair was by now well known to everyone in imperial circles. Josephine — who had closed her eyes to the many dozens
of trysts and affairs that had taken place continuously since the beginning of the Consulate, including those with some of her own and Hortense’s school friends — on learning of her husband’s decision to leave for Italy in November had once again pleaded to accompany him, in vain.
Meanwhile Fouché and Talleyrand manipulated rumors through the French capital concerning the necessity that Bonaparte provide an imperial heir, thereby assuring his succession. In other words a divorce was in order. Fouché’s choice for a second bride was the czar’s sister, Catherine, and that autumn the police minister went so far as to appeal to Josephine to step down. Bewildered by this unexpected suggestion, she tearfully rushed to Napoleon, who dismissed the idea out of hand. “You know very well that I could not live without you,” he assured his wife, though of course they had just been separated for ten entire months without any heartbreak. But the fact is that Napoleon had been acting in a colder, more distant manner toward Josephine since his return from the delights of Finkenstein, and he certainly spent much less time with her, day and night, as the gossipy Austrian minister, Klemens von Metternich, gleefully noted.
Other changes were noticeable following his return from Tilsit. Napoleon now enforced a rigorous court etiquette that kept everyone literally at arm’s length, unable to approach him without the approval of Duroc, who among other titles held the post of grand marshal of the palace (or lord high steward). And thus when Napoleon reopened the completely refurbished Fontainebleau Palace for the annual autumn hunt season in 1807, he ordered twelve hundred “guests” to be present, including his ministers, all in formal attire. And when in the evenings, following an equally formal dinner, the inner court gathered in a circle of chairs, scarcely a word was exchanged, the lighthearted nights of cards, billiards, and music at Malmaison during the Consulate already but a fleeting memory. When Napoleon arrived, everyone would stand up, not daring to say a word until the emperor gave permission. The stark change and self-imposed isolation, even amid hundreds of people, was evident to all. Nevertheless Josephine was in tears when Bonaparte left for Italy without her, confessing to her son, Eugène: “My ambitions now are limited to but one, the possession of his heart.”
Following a difficult crossing of Mont Cenis, Napoleon reached the Viceroy’s Palace in Milan on November 23, 1807, with the specific purpose of expanding and consolidating his power in Italy. Holding only the northern and southern thirds of the country, Bonaparte wanted the middle. His aim was to break the pope’s clerical and secular powers, which would among other things permit him to gain control of all the Papal States. Thus Napoleon seized both Ancona and Venice and then the Kingdom of Etruria (which he had earlier given to the Spanish royal house). In fact “Etruria” now disappeared as abruptly as it had first appeared, Napoleon rebaptizing it the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, with its capital at Florence, all of which he handed over to his sister Elisa, with the title of governor, and eventually grand duchess, of Tuscany, keeping it, however, as annexed French territory.
While in Milan, on December 17, Bonaparte extended his Continental System by declaring any ship of any nation submitting to search by a British vessel, or paying any British fees, fines, or taxes, to be a French prize. This he extended on April 1, 1808, by ordering the pope to enter into a military alliance with him, to arrest British diplomatic officials in Rome, and to close it and all ports (for example, Leghorn) to the British. But even before the pope received this command, on April 2 French troops invaded and occupied Rome. With the seizure of the remaining Papal States that same year, followed by the annexation of Istria the year after, Bonaparte effectively closed the entire Italian coastline — apart from Sicily — to the British. When, however, on June 10, 1809, French troops hauled down the papal flag in Rome, the long-suffering Pius VII took action at last, issuing a bull excommunicating Napoleon Bonaparte from the Roman Catholic church. One month later Bonaparte retaliated by invading the Quirinal Palace, kidnapping the pope at bayonet point, whisking him off first to Grenoble, then to Avignon, and finally to Savona.[730] No one, not even the Holy Father, could defy Napoleon and get away with it. Nevertheless the excommunication remained in effect. Napoleon could never again enter a Roman Catholic church, attend cathedral services, or receive Catholic sacraments. He was forever expelled from the Christian community, and even the Grande Armée — all six hundred thousand of them — could not alter that fact.
Bonaparte could close off much of Italy to the British navy and commerce, but British trade still managed to reach the Continent secretly through French-annexed Belgium and Holland, as well as through Denmark and Sweden. As part of the Tilsit agreements, Napoleon had also demanded the closure to the British of all Scandinavian ports, naming Copenhagen in particular. If that major port were closed, along with the narrow Kattegat Sound separating Denmark and Sweden, Napoleon could at one blow deny all British vessels access to the Baltic. Needless to say London was not pleased by such a threat them. To be sure, Britain’s astute foreign secretary, George Canning, although receiving general news of the Tilsit meetings, had no precise knowledge of the various clauses, which were kept secret for the next seventy-four years. Nevertheless Canning had before him Napoleon’s numerous declarations regarding his intent both to crush England militarily and to apply the Continental System to close all Continental ports and markets to Britain. The actual wording of Article 5 of the secret Treaty of Alliance enjoined the three signatories “to act in concert, and at the same moment summoned the three Courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm and Lisbon, to close their ports to the English, to recall their ambassadors from London and to declare war upon England.” Accordingly the duke of Portland’s government, following Bonaparte’s rejection of Fox’s and Talleyrand’s sweeping draft peace treaty of August 1806, immediately dispatched a powerful British fleet under Vice Adm. James Gambier to Copenhagen, while instructing Foreign Secretary Canning on August 12 to order the Prince Regent of Denmark to hand over the war fleet of fifteen vessels to the British for the duration of the war and to cease hostilities against England. With French troops at his back, however, that gentleman refused, and a small British force of marines was landed on Zealand as Gambier’s powerful fleet began a lethal bombardment of the Danish capital on September 2, resulting in the burning of most of the city by the fifth, when the Danes capitulated.[731] A sorely-taxed English government was finally reacting with vigor against the enormous French noose tightening around it.
In this case the British successfully seized eight Danish ships of the line and frigates, sailing them to England. Marshal Bernadotte’s army of thirty thousand men in Hamburg, already preparing to invade Denmark, had been adroitly if narrowly forestalled. “If the English go on in this manner, it will be necessary to close all the ports of Europe to them!” Napoleon fulminated on receiving news of the fall of Copenhagen. He had anticipated closing the whole of Europe to all English trade in any event, beginning with the creation of the Confederation of the Rhine, enforced by the Continental System and of course by the secret Tilsit accords.[732] Copenhagen had in fact altered none of his prearranged plans for conquest; on the other hand there was no way in the world the French navy could effectively have patrolled Demark’s five hundred islands.
And Portugal was quite another matter. That sovereign state, England’s oldest Continental ally, dating back to Catherine of Braganza (daughter of the king of Portugal and wife of King Charles II) and the 1703 Treaty of Methuen, had simply ignored Bonaparte’s decrees and threats, giving the British navy and merchant marine full access to its ports and facilities. With the intention of sealing off Portugal from England and then using the presence of French troops in Portugal as the first wedge of French military occupation of the whole of the Iberian Peninsula, in the autumn of 1807 Bonaparte ordered General Junot and his newly created Army of Observation to cross Spanish territory to seize Lisbon and the Portuguese royal family, occupying the entire country in the process. The Spanish Bourbons, in a chaotic self-destructive struggle, went nicely along wit
h French plans. Or, as Metternich put it, “The catastrophes that overthrew the Spanish throne are certainly made to measure for the crafty, destructive, and criminal policy of Napoleon.” Manuel de Godoy, the “Prince of Peace” — de facto ruler of Spain — “is the rascal who will open the gates of Spain to us,”[733] Fouché predicted, and he proved to be right. The French offered nearly one-third of Portugal in exchange for Godoy’s cooperation, promised another third to Spain, and retained the remaining third for Bonaparte, all duly recorded, clause per clause, in the secret Franco-Spanish Treaty of Fontainebleau of October 27, 1807.[734] If Portugal did not close its ports to, and declare war on, England as Napoleon ordered, he promised that “the House of Braganza will not be reigning in Europe two months hence. I will no longer tolerate a single English envoy in Europe. I will declare war on any power that has one [in its capital].”[735]
Lord Strangford, the English ambassador to Portugal, unaware of the extent of French intentions in Iberia, consulted with Prince John, serving as regent for the Portuguese royal family, and informed London on August 13: “The Portuguese Ministers place all their hopes of being able to ward off this terrible blow...But I think that if France could be induced to give up this point [confiscation of British property] and limit her demands to the exclusion of British commerce from Portugal, the Government of this country would accede to them.”[736] Working closely together, Britain and Portugal hoped to defuse the situation. Naturally Napoleon was much discommoded by Portugal’s surprising compliance with almost every item of his ultimatum, informing Paris that it would declare war on England and close its ports to England’s naval and merchant shipping. Because he had hoped that Portuguese rejection of his demands would provide him with an excuse for occupying Portugal, a much-miffed Bonaparte ordered Junot to cross the Spanish frontier that November and invade Portugal anyway. For once the world could legally name Napoleon the aggressor.
