Part Two

Napoleon: A Builder in Love with Peace

Upon his accession to power, Bonaparte, in a letter addressed to British King George III, wrote: “Peace is the most basic of necessities and the first of glories.” This noble maxim expresses the purest essence of the policy of Napoleon Bonaparte.

His elevation to the rank of the greatest captain of all time, as well as the inevitability of the wars he fought, have eclipsed the peaceful creative genius that was his primary characteristic. Clichéd caricatures have blurred his image, beginning with his personality.

A Fundamentally Peaceful Nature

The strong and abrasive character of Napoleon is indisputable. He rejected demagoguery and formed the most contemptible of prejudices, as does any self-respecting politician. Confronted by intolerable duplicity he did not always control his natural impulsiveness. It was to this that he owed the implacable enmity that cost him so much, notably with regard to major officials such as Talleyrand and Fouché. Anger caused him to make several unfortunate decisions, of which the most fatal was on the catastrophic question of Spain. Yet one must note that his public tantrums were sometimes deliberately calculated to obtain a political effect.

That said, contrary to appearances, Napoleon was a sensitive soul as opposed to the “Corsican ogre,” the image produced by false propaganda often based on fallacies.

Consider this remark that he confided to Pierre Louis Roederer: “There are within me two distinct men: the man of the mind and the man of the heart. At my core, I am a man of the heart.”

Numerous witnesses, both public and private, to this aspect of Napoleon Bonaparte’s personality support this idea.

Napoleon was severely traumatized by the atrocities of the Revolution, notably the horrible massacre of the Swiss Guards at the Tuilleries Palace, which he witnessed on August 10, 1792. From that day onward he contracted a severe aversion to all forms of uncontrolled popular violence and to any system of extremist government.

We know many other examples of the tenderness of his soul. He always exhibited an unfeigned nausea at the spectacle of a battlefield after the fight. At Austerlitz he was to express the great suffering he felt at the deaths of so many humble soldiers, whether French or enemy. “May all this misfortune rebound on the perfidious island dwellers [i.e., the British] who caused it.”

His horror of war caused him on at least three occasions to commit the same serious strategic error. At Wagram, at Borodino, and after Bautzen, despite the pleas of his marshals he gave up the pursuit of the vanquished in order to halt the bloodshed. “Enough blood has been spilled!” he exclaimed after Wagram. In these three circumstances, he knowingly violated his own unchanging goal in war, which was to destroy the enemy’s army so as to discourage him from recommencing the conflict.

In visiting the battlefield of the dreadful butchery of Eylau, a battle he could not have avoided, the tears, which ran down his cheeks, did not escape General Billon, who heard him say, “What a massacre! And for what result? A spectacle well formed to inspire in princes the love of peace, the horror of war…. A father who loses his children finds no charm in victory. When the heart speaks, even glory has no more illusions.” When speaking of his intrepid veterans, he frequently used the expression “my children,” containing a true affection that accentuated his legendary ear pinching. Once could repeat many examples of this type of remark.

We possess testimonies of his unfathomable sadness at the loss in combat of the best of his companions, such as Desaix at Marengo (1800), Lannes at Essling (1809), or Duroc at Markersdorf (1813).

Upon his return from the island of Elba, Napoleon fainted with emotion at the news of the suicide of his former chief of staff, Berthier, even though that general had abandoned him. He endured the torture of never again seeing his four-year-old son, the tragic Eaglet, of whom he had been inhumanly deprived. He tried to let nothing show, but Carnot found him in tears before the child’s portrait. Still, he did not attempt to trade the child for the Duke d’Angouleme, whom he had at his mercy in the Rhone Valley. Such an act of gangsterism was repugnant to Napoleon’s morals.

Yet many critics will argue that Bonaparte acted like a true barbarian at Jaffa in March 1799, during the expedition to Egypt. Well, let us not avoid this question.

In that ill-fated circumstance, Bonaparte was forced, in violation of his conscience, to submit to the horrible way of that ferocious war by replying in kind to the frightful military customs of his enemies.

He confronted the Ottoman army of Pasha al Jezzar, whose nickname “the butcher” summed up his legendary cruelty. One of his pastimes was the decapitation of Christians. In war, he took no prisoners. When Bonaparte sent a negotiator to the garrison of Jaffa to offer the defenders their lives in exchange for surrender, the only reply was the decapitated head of the emissary. Thus, matters were clear in all their frightful simplicity. Neither side would grant quarter to the other. Such requests were unlikely to encourage compassion in the hearts of Bonaparte’s soldiers, who retained the abominable memory of the horrible massacre of several hundred of their comrades during the insurrection in Cairo a few months before. The French also knew that any straggler or stray would be mercilessly killed after frightful tortures and mutilations.

Jaffa fell after two days of furious combat. Despite Bonaparte’s instructions to spare the population, even those who were actively involved with the defenders, the sack of the city was atrocious, involving odious crimes despite the intervention of officers. Among these, General Robin did not hesitate to risk his life while cutting down his own soldiers.

An appalling misunderstanding occurred with regard to the last defenders who had taken refuge in the citadel. Their fate normally would have been sealed by their original refusal to surrender. Yet, to “calm as much as possible the fury of the soldiers” with regard to women, children, and the elderly, Bonaparte sent his aides de camp, Eugene de Beauharnais and Crozier. Listening only to their hearts, the two young officers violated the mutually accepted rule against offering pardon to combatants. They accepted the surrender of some 1,500 combatants, mainly Albanian, in exchange for their lives.

Confronted with a fait accompli, Bonaparte found himself in a nightmarish issue of conscience. Already suffering from a shortage of provisions for his soldiers, he was unable to feed this additional mass of humanity under any circumstances. Nor could he spare sufficient soldiers to guard them, being cruelly undermanned as a result of operations. Simply to abandon these men to their fate would be to condemn them to a slow and horrible death in the desert. Finally, in the rigid oriental mindset, any measure of clemency would be perceived as a weakness of will that would probably encourage even more ferocious resistance in future combats.

It was thus that Bonaparte was obliged to resolve his moral crisis by taking the terrible decision to exterminate the prisoners under indescribable conditions. He at least made the decision with the backing of his principal subordinates, after a very long deliberation. When waging war, one must have the force to overcome one’s scruples or else change one’s profession.

This is the tragic reality of the Jaffa affair. It undoubtedly reinforced Bonaparte in his horror of war.

By the same token, we need to wring the neck of another misconception that clings to Napoleon, that which labels him as a slaver because he reestablished slavery on Guadeloupe on May 20, 1802. Let us examine this matter more closely.

It is important to remember first that at that time France had already been engaged for several months in a slave rebellion in the colony of Santo Domingo. A former black slave, the phenomenal Toussaint Louverture, had led the island in an uprising and seized power. At first, Bonaparte succeeded in concluding with him a form of protectorate, and named Louverture captain general in March 1801. Very quickly, however, Toussaint Louverture’s dictatorial and violent conduct endangered the future of the colony. An expeditionary force debarked on the island in January 1802 to reestablish the situation.

The key here is not to know the outcome of this affair but the conditions that prompted the intervention itself. The French navy, which controlled the colonies, had recommended the expedition. The lobby of sugar and coffee traders had pressed the First Consul closely to reestablish slavery, abolishing the convention of 1194. Bonaparte was fiercely opposed.

In the spring of 1802 the affair shifted to the Antilles. The Treaty of Amiens, signed on March 25, 1802, with Britain, returned to France both Martinique and Guadeloupe.

Therein lay the problem. Because the British had occupied it, Martinique had not benefited from the previous abolition measure. The competition between the two islands had been shifted to the detriment of Guadeloupe, to the point of provoking a collapse in production and an extremely serious social crisis that was resolved only with difficulty.

Bonaparte’s first impulse was to give it in turn the benefits of abolition. The navy and business circles counseled strongly against this. Because the neighboring British colonies had remained slave economies, the same cause would produce the same ill-fated effects in Martinique. Bonaparte therefore sought a solution by maintaining the status quo on Martinique, but the Senate vetoed this in the same of the sacrosanct “republican” equality.

Bonaparte thus found himself confronted with a terrible dilemma, a sort of choice between cholera and the plague, between misery in economic chaos and a return to some more temperate form of slavery. Shouldering his responsibilities as a statesman, he decided against his own conscience to choose the latter measure advocated by the government.

These are the facts that no fallacious argument can twist.

Can one in good faith criticize the First Consul for having chosen the lesser evil? Does one accuse of infanticide the physician who, in a tragic childbirth, must sacrifice the life of the child to save that of the mother?

Can one dare to accuse Bonaparte, the heir of the Revolution and the emancipator of peoples, of slavery?

In truth, inveterate detractors depict him as the scapegoat in this affair. Bonaparte is less guilty of slavery than the king of England or the tsar of Russia, who did not abolish slavery in their colonies or serfdom in Europe. Napoleon at least suppressed serfdom in Poland in 1807, and during the Hundred Days of 1815 he proposed to abolish slavery. It is also worth remembering that President Thomas Jefferson had not sought an abolition law so as to avoid ruining the American economy, because slavery still existed in most of the Americas. As for Guadeloupe, Bonaparte shared the responsibility for this decision with the representatives of the people who voted without soul-searching to reestablish slavery. This measure was supported by all the governments that followed Napoleon until 1848, the year of definitive abolition. And, for good measure, let us add that serious historians barely mention this event if they do not neglect it completely.

Crimes, even crimes of state, were always repugnant to Napoleon. The abominable accusation that he was responsible for the “assassination” of the Duke d’Enghien on March 21, 1804, is completely unfounded. Napoleon had legitimately ordered the arrest of the Duke d’Enghien because of severe allegations against him. His past service fighting in enemy ranks against the French army did not argue in his favor. His abduction in Baden outside French borders is a ridiculous criticism given the severity of the offense. The arrest was ordered on the basis of legitimate right of pursuit. A legally constituted independent court judged him. Capital punishment was voted unanimously on the basis of laws then in force, not for his unproven participation in the Cadoudal conspiracy but rather for five other counts of treason and dealing with the enemy, all subject to the death penalty. Savary directed the odious summary execution alone. Owing nothing to Napoleon’s will, this decision had been inspired by the regicides in his entourage to stop definitely the temptations to restore the monarchy, as General Monck had done in Britain a century and a half earlier. On the contrary, the First Consul had reserved to himself the political power of clemency, which he undoubtedly would have granted were it not for the strange “sleeping” failure of his State Counselor Real.

By contrast, Napoleon had miraculously survived an uncounted number of assassinations organized almost openly by the British government or the Count of Artois, the future Charles X. He ultimately succumbed on Saint Helena to arsenic poisoning, now scientifically proven, perpetuated by the same people who accused him of assassinating the Duke d’Enghien.

But Napoleon, the Corsican, never gave in to the temptation for vendetta. He repeatedly rejected offers for contract killings that could rid him of his mortal enemies.

He did not even indulge in easy vindictive measures. At Tilsit, for example, he did not ask Tsar Alexander I (who could have denied him nothing) for the head of the Corsican Charles Pozzo di Borgo, an enraged intriguer who spouted his hatred of Napoleon at the court of Saint Petersburg.

Napoleon’s great tolerance often reached the stage of weakness. Josephine abused his patience for years. He pardoned many corrupt acts by his companions in the name of long friendship, including Bourrienne, for example. He refused to try for high treason senior officials such as Talleyrand, reported to have “betrayed all those who had bought him,” or even the detestable Fouché, who said to Talleyrand after becoming vice chancellor that “this [ruthlessness] is the sole vice that he lacks.” What a poor “jailer” Napoleon was.

And what can one say about Napoleon’s excessive patience with the constant disloyalty of that criminal, Bernadotte, who ended by using the Swedish army to fight against France?

Napoleon even made some exceptions to the sacrosanct reasons of state. It was thus that, on two occasions, he succumbed to the pleadings of women at his feet to pardon their husbands, Polignac for the Cadoudal conspiracy in 1804 and the prince of Hatzfeld for felony at Berlin in 1806.

Contrary to appearances, political moderation was a constant in Napoleon’s behavior. As early as the Italian campaign, he restrained the “bitter end” policy of the Directory, which was determined to strike down the Hapsburgs and the papacy. At Campoformio, he allowed the court of Vienna to have a reasonable way out, while he spared the pope in the central Italian states.

Upon his accession to the Consulate, his first concern was to avoid any institutional excess. His famous motto was “Ni talons rouges, ni bonnets rouges” (neither aristocrats nor revolutionaries.) He was not a man for historic ruptures, but rather wished to continue the traditional France. The Empire was a synthesis of the republican ideas of the Revolution and the heritage of the Ancien Régime. It is striking today to compare the result to the somewhat monarchical and imperial character of the Fifth French Republic.

To avoid bloody revolutions, Napoleon did not seek to inspire people to rise against their despots, something those despots attempted in vain against him. Except for the justifiable exception of the Bourbons in Naples, even when he occupied their capitals Napoleon did not attempt to overthrow the old absolute monarchies. The state of servitude, in effect semi-slavery, that the arrogant aristocracy of Saint Petersburg imposed on the Russian peasantry would certainly have justified a campaign of social liberation.

The primary cause of Napoleon’s final fall undoubtedly traces back to his excessive benevolence with regard to the ruling dynasties. He acknowledged as much later while biting his nails on Saint Helena: “Although many people speaking in the name of their sovereigns have called me the ‘modern Attila’ or ‘Robespierre on horseback,’ deep down they all know better. If I had been what they claimed, I might still be ruling, whereas those monarchs would definitely no longer be on their thrones!”

In all the wars that were forced upon him, Napoleon displayed a restraint for which one might well reproach him. More than once he failed to achieve victory because he wished to halt the bloodshed, naively believing that the enemy would be grateful for his clemency. This was true, for example, at Austerlitz, Friedland, Wagram, the Moskva River (Borodino), and Bautzen. At the Tilsit negotiations after Friedland, one could not distinguish between the speech of the conqueror and that of the conquered. The truce accorded to the Coalition members after the victory of Bautzen became an obvious fool’s paradise.

Out of horror of violence, Napoleon abdicated twice, in 1814 and again in 1815, to protect the people, who remained loyal and determined to defend the country from the throes of civil and foreign war.

Is this the portrait of the “bloody ogre” that a hideous propaganda has attempted to portray?

The Consulate’s Prodigious Work of Peace

The extraordinary balance sheet of the Consulate merits consideration here because it eloquently illustrates the overarching peaceful preoccupations of the First Consul.

Extinction of the Hotbeds of War

As previously discussed, the deceptive treaties of Lunéville and Amiens, those forced fruits of the first war imposed on Bonaparte, constituted the most spectacular conquest of peace by the Consulate. But they did not lead to the general peace to which all France aspired after nine years of incessant conflict. Other hotbeds of war persisted in continental Europe, in the Mediterranean, in the Iberian Peninsula, and in the Atlantic.

In continental Europe, a first treaty of friendship between France and Bavaria, signed on August 14, 1801, opened the era of French influence in Germany.

The Treaty of Paris, concluded on October 8 of the same year, ended a state of war with Russia. After joining the Second Coalition, Russia’s army had suffered a grave reverse in Switzerland during the summer of 1799. The First Consul had magnanimously returned home 6,000 Russian prisoners held in France, along with their arms and new uniforms. At a stroke, Tsar Paul I had become a fervent admirer of Bonaparte. He had taken the initiative to form a league of neutrals with Sweden, Denmark, and Prussia, thereby restricting British commerce in Germany and the Baltic. He paid for his reversal of attitude with his assassination under horrible conditions on March 24, 1801. With at least the passive complicity of his son and heir, Alexander I, Britain took the necessary steps to strangle at birth a Franco-Russian alliance that would have been catastrophic for British interests. To leave future opportunities open, Bonaparte nonetheless proved generous: France renounced its claims to the Ionian Islands and, to please Alexander, spared the hostile Kingdom of Naples, which had participated in the Second Coalition.

In the Italian peninsula, the Treaty of Florence of March 18, 1801, put an end to war with Naples. The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies closed its ports to the British and permitted French occupation of Taranto, Otranto, and Brindisi.

In the Mediterranean, France was at war with the Regencies of Algiers and Tunis, who supported Turkey since the Egyptian expedition. Negotiations with Algiers led to an accord on December 17, 1801. The Regency restored to France its trading posts and accorded special rights to the Compagnie d’Afrique. All the same, the acts of piracy on the coast of Provence did not completely end, because of a sad issue of payment for wheat supplied by the Directory.

With Tunis, the peace was signed February 23, 1802. Taxes on merchandise were reduced to three percent.

This normalization of relations with Algiers and Tunis was made possible by the Peace Treaty with Turkey, concluded at Paris on October 9, 1801, and ratified on June 25, 1802. France restored Egypt, militarily lost since September, and recognized Turkish suzerainty over the Ionian Islands. Another treaty signed on June 26, 1802, established most favored nation status and reestablished former concessions, opening the Black Sea to French commerce.

In the Iberian Peninsula, the question assumed a completely different form. Bourbon Spain constituted a key piece on the diplomatic chessboard. Alliance with it carried a valuable aid against the British in three theaters: the Mediterranean, Portugal, and the Americas.

The Treaty of Lunéville initiated the consolidation of Franco-Spanish friendship. To please the Spanish king Charles IV, Bonaparte transformed the Grand Duchy of Tuscany into the Kingdom of Etruria and offered it to a Bourbon de Parma, a relative of Charles IV. This friendly gesture encouraged Spain to sign the Treaty of Alliance of Aranjuez on March 21, 1801. The crown princess of Spain, married to the King of Etruria, was proclaimed “Queen of Etruria.” Spain ceded Louisiana to France and Charles IV confirmed the Franco-Spanish convention of January 29, 1801. He then prepared to wage war against Portugal, the faithful ally of Britain.

What followed was a sham confrontation, known in history as the “War of the Oranges.” On April 16, 1801, General Leclerc entered Spain at the head of an army corps. On May 19 Spanish troops crossed the Portuguese frontier. Three days later the Regent of Portugal yielded to the councils of London even though Britain could provide no aid. The Treaty of Badajoz of June 6, 1801, ratified at Madrid on September 29, granted to France an enlargement in Guiana, an indemnity of 20 million francs, and most favored nation status. The moderation of these provisions must be emphasized. Bonaparte had made no effort to conquer Portugal, but solely to close to Britain the port of entry into the Iberian Peninsula, a port that could form a second front to take France from the rear. We shall see, unfortunately, how this moderation did not pay.

In the Atlantic, Bonaparte sought two peaceful actions: the reestablishment of the former Franco-American friendship and the resolution of the question of Santo Domingo.

The Alliance of 1778 linking France to the young United States of America had suffered under a wartime rivalry, encouraged by Britain.

Bonaparte seized the occasion of George Washington’s death in December 1799 to initiate a process of improving relations between the two nations. He decreed ten days of national mourning. Touched by this tactful gesture, the United States sent a delegation to Paris. Long negotiations culminated in the Treaty of Mortefontaine of October 3, 1800, which normalized relations between the two countries and included significant clauses concerning maritime rights. These clauses favored the neutral powers against the British blockade.

The Alliance of 1778 could not be restored fully because of Louisiana, ceded to France by Spain. The loss of this strategic province blocked American expansion to the west. This contained the seed of a major conflict in which France could not afford to indulge. Realist and follower of a general policy of appeasement, Bonaparte defused this time bomb in a deft manner. On April 30, 1803, he sold Louisiana to President Thomas Jefferson, putting an end to a bone of Franco-American contention.

Also in the Atlantic, there remained the difficult problem of Santo Domingo, the “sugar island,” a French possession avidly sought by Britain. The situation of this colony has been previously described in the section on slavery. We had left the story at the military intervention of January 1803. Commanded by Leclerc, the expeditionary force of 35,000 ended the dictatorship of Toussaint Louverture after bloody struggles. The deportation of Louverture to captivity in the Fort de Joux, where he would die in 1803, did not suffice to end the uprising. The black revolt continued, fueled in part by the fear of a reestablishment of slavery. Decimated by tropical diseases, the expeditionary corps was unable to deal with the situation. Leclerc himself found death, a victim of yellow fever. His successor Rochambeau was unable to reverse the course of events. He was forced to yield on November 19, 1803, putting a final end to the French era in Santo Domingo.

Thus, as a result of an outpouring of sixteen treaties or conventions concluded between 1800 and 1803, France was no longer at war with anyone, a situation unknown since April 20, 1792. Bonaparte, “the soldier who knows how to make war but even better how to make peace,” in the words of a popular song, delivered the unexpected and priceless gift of a general foreign peace. The nation dedicated itself to him as if to a cult.

Yet, international peace, no matter how precious, was not sufficient to achieve perfect happiness in France. It was equally important to the First Consul to bring domestic peace to the French, tragically divided since the Revolution.

The Achievement of Internal Pacification

The France that the Directory left to Bonaparte was not only distressed by war outside its borders. It suffered equally from deep internal injuries, the heritage of the violent sociological upheaval of 1789. A large number of its sons had emigrated; some had gone so far as to commit the crime of carrying arms against their country in enemy armies. In the west, the Chouan uprising went on interminably, endangering the unity of France. On the religious plane, the bitter struggle over the Civil Constitution of the Clergy continued to promote a climate of hatred between Frenchmen. Bonaparte’s first duty as First Consul was thus to complete the reunification of the country.

But on what institutional basis could he accomplish this? He chose to build the new France on the values of the single, indivisible Republic.

The Republic and the Bloody Test of the Reaction

Stunted child of the Directory, the Consulate was politically fragile at birth. Emanating from the tumultuous 18 Brumaire, which many attempted to depict as a coup d’etat, the new regime was challenged by the political minorities while lacking major public support. Many observers did not think it would survive a year.

Bonaparte’s first concern was thus to assert boldly that the choice of the Republic was the new regime that would henceforth rule the country. Around this regime, and it alone, all Frenchmen must reconcile. Henceforth, the sole sovereign recognized in France would be the French people. Bonaparte soon began the habit of ending his toasts with “To the French People, our sovereign in everything!” But many people were only half listening to him.

The most violent opponents were located, as always, at the two extremities of the political continuum.

To the left, Jacobins nostalgic for the Revolution suspected Bonaparte of despotism or, to the contrary, of tepid democracy. The most enraged were labeled “Exclusives.” Once the First Consul announced officially “the Revolution is fixed on the principles which began it. It is finished,” the Jacobin extremists turned a hostile ear, unconvinced of the moderation declared by Bonaparte.

Fortunately isolated, these extremists plotted without success, although not without violence, to overthrow the regime. In September 1800 the police got wind of preparations for a terroristic attempt on the person of the First Consul. They discovered a barrel of gunpowder packed with large nails, the fuse already in place. A handful of “Exclusives” were rendered incapable of further injury. At the same time, one of their accomplices denounced another assassination project against Bonaparte. This had been scheduled for October 10, during a show at the Theater of the Republic in the Rue de la Loi. Well informed concerning the First Consul’s schedule, the plotters intended to stab him on that occasion, hence the name “Conspiracy of the Knives.” They were arrested in the corridor of the theater, in possession of the knives, condemned to death, and guillotined on January 31, 1801. A short time later, Fouché’s efficient police aborted another attempt, this time with an infernal bomb instigated by a certain chevalier.

In the spring of 1802, the police discovered a shabby military putsch. Opposed to the Concordat and to pardoning the émigrés, some Jacobin generals who knew how to strike quickly prepared to march on Paris with the Army of the West, commanded by Bernadotte, to be synchronized with the assassination of the First Consul at Notre Dame Cathedral, on the occasion of an April 18 Te Deum to celebrate the Concordat. The plotters were quickly rendered incapable of damage. The soul of the plot was undoubtedly Bernadotte, but he fiercely denied the accusations of his apprehended subordinates. In the absence of proof, he could not be implicated any more than could his probable accomplices, generals Augereau, Moreau, Massena, and Macdonald.

For the moment, the radical Jacobins were neutralized. But, those Jacobin officials who had rallied to the new regime continued to fear that Bonaparte would initiate a return to monarchy, at least until the sad affair of the Duke d’Enghien cut Bonaparte off definitively from the Bourbons.

On the right, the inconsolables of the Ancien Régime would show themselves even more ferocious that the “exclusives” after Bonaparte refused to support their plans for a restoration.

From the installation of the Consulate, the Count de Provence, brother of the deceased Louis XVI and future Louis XVIII himself, had the First Consul sounded out by Hyde de Neuville, the young head of the royalist agency in Paris. In exchange for the restoration, Bonaparte would become Constable of France, invested with great powers and immense honors, including an equestrian statue on the arch of triumph of the Carrousel. This approach obviously received no response.

From his place of exile at Mitau in Courland, the Count de Provence declared himself directly in a letter in which naiveté struggled with servility:

I have had my eye on you for a long time. For years, it seemed to me that the victor of Lodi, of Castiglione, of Arcole, the conqueror of Italy and of Egypt, would be the savior of France. A passionate lover of glory, he would wish that glory to be unalloyed. He would wish that all our descendants would bless his triumphs. Yet, despite the fact that I saw you as the greatest of generals, despite the fantasy that would increase your laurels, I have had to keep my feelings to myself. Today, when you combine power with talents, it is time that I reveal the ambitions I have cherished for you. If I were speaking to anyone other than Bonaparte, I would specify rewards. A great man may determine his own fate and that of his friends. Tell me what you desire for yourself and for them, and all your wishes will be satisfied at the moment of my restoration.

In this proposition, this claimant to the throne flattered like a servile courtesan. He was also being hypocritical. In a letter written to Cadoudal at the same time, the Count described Bonaparte as a “tyrant.”

The contemptuous silence of the First Consul did not discourage the count from returning to the same theme in a letter sent by way of the Abbot de Montesquieu, his secret agent in Paris. Bonaparte’s response did not permit any ambiguities:

I have received the letters of His Royal Highness. I have always taken a lively interest in his misfortunes and those of his family. He need not give any thought to his return to France, something that could only occur over a hundred thousand dead bodies. Otherwise, I will always be happy to do whatever is possible to soften his destiny and to help him forget his woes.

After this irrevocable refusal, the royalist party entered into an opposition that went as far as terrorism. A hateful campaign against the “Corsican usurper,” including even graffiti, developed in the streets of Paris. It was conducted by those labeled as “blades,” wearing blond wigs and black collars.

But the ultra royalists did not confine themselves to verbal opposition. Paid by the British cabinet with the approval of the Count d’Artois, future Charles X who was exiled in London, the royalists redoubled their attempts to assassinate the First Consul. Among these attempts, the most famous were the attack in the Rue Saint-Nicaise and the Cadoudal-Pichegru-Moreau conspiracy.

The barbaric attack in the Rue Saint-Nicaise occurred on the evening of December 24, on the drive transporting the First Consul from the Tuilleries to the Opera, where an oratorio of Haydn was to be performed. In the Rue Saint-Nicaise, his convoy passed a stopped cart, harnessed to a mare whose bridle was held by a little girl. An enormous explosion occurred several seconds later. The cart burst under the effects of a large bomb whose fuse had not functioned at the exact instant that Bonaparte passed. There were unfortunately several victims in the convoy, but the surrounding area was a massacre. Twenty-two dead and fifteen wounded were carried away. They found the remains of the little girl, who had been paid with a piece of bread to hold the cart. The material damage was considerable and several dozen houses were destroyed. The monstrosity of this terrorist act was unimaginable. The life of the First Consul had dangled by a thread.

Immediately after this attack, Bonaparte suspected the “exclusives,” while Fouché argued for a royalist plot. As a precaution while waiting for the results of an inquiry, 130 ultra Jacobins were arrested and deported to the Seychelles. The inquiry proved Fouché to be correct. Acting at the instigation of Cadoudal, the principal authors of the attack were three royalists: the Chevalier de Limoelan, Saint-Regent, and Carbon. Limoelan succeeded in fleeing to the United States. To expiate his abominable crime he took priestly orders. Carbon and Saint-Regent were condemned to death, the latter asking the court to send him to the scaffold as soon as possible. The execution took place on April 20, 1801, to the applause of the crowd.

The Cadoudal-Moreau-Pichegru conspiracy was of a completely different nature. Its failure had a considerable consequence: the advent of the Empire.

The extremely unpopular carnage of the Rue Saint-Nicaise did not deter the royalist killers from their criminal designs on Bonaparte’s person. Learning a lesson from the failure, they simply modified their methods. Instead of a blind terrorist attack, they planned to substitute a spectacular military coup de main on the First Consul during his movements between the Tuileries, La Malmaison, and Saint Cloud, where he went frequently. Neutralizing the numerous and formidable escort of the First Consul was a major obstacle to overcome, requiring detailed preparation and significant resources. But that didn’t stop them. The British government of Pitt generously funded the recruitment of thugs and the organization of an imposing logistical network extending from the cliffs of Biville as far as Paris. For Great Britain, the game was worth the candle, and it was eager to execute the plan. The terrible “Boney,” as Bonaparte was jokingly called, was actively preparing to invade the country, and was quite capable of succeeding. The equation was simple: no more Bonaparte, no more invasion.

For the Count d’Artois and his entourage, the issue was no less clear: eliminate Bonaparte, and the door to restoration would open. Thus, hand in hand, Pitt and Artois plotted this criminal conspiracy.

The executor of black operations was already identified. Once again it was the fanatical Cadoudal, aided and informed by General Pichegru, who had gone over to the enemy, and the dubious General Moreau in Paris. Cadoudal could also count on the active complicity of the clandestine royalist circle in Paris.

Yet, Fouché’s efficient police were alert for danger, notably the political branch headed by Desmarets, who detected the snake in the grass during the summer of 1802 and never lost sight of the conspiracy thereafter. Matters came to a head at the end of 1803. Two of Cadoudal’s henchmen, Querelle and Sol de Grisolle, were arrested in Paris. Attempting to avoid the death penalty, Querelle did not hesitate to unburden himself. He indicated the presence in Paris of Cadoudal and Pichegru, the former since August 1803. They were in contact with Moreau.

The danger to the life of the First Consul became pressing. Yet, it was important to put Cadoudal, Pichegru, and their henchmen out of action as quickly as possible. An informal state of siege was declared in Paris. The Counselor of State Real took the entire affair in hand under the judicial direction of chief judge Regnier. Murat, military commander of Paris, and Savary, commanding the gendarmerie d’Elite, were required to give Real their complete support.

Real quickly obtained decisive results. He arrested Picot, a servant of Cadoudal, and more importantly Cadoudal’s right-hand man, Bouvet de Lozier, former adjutant general of the army of the princes.

Terrified by what awaited him and deceived by his partners, Lozier revealed the essentials of the plot. He confirmed Querelle’s revelations. He provided details of the relations between Cadoudal, Pichegru, and Moreau, who were in disagreement, fortunately for Bonaparte’s life. The ambitious Moreau was quite willing to overthrow the First Consul, but only to profit for himself rather than to benefit the Bourbons. Taking this idea very badly, Cadoudal had retorted that he “would rather have Bonaparte than Moreau,” which spoke volumes for the esteem in which he held Bonaparte.

The arrest of Moreau, living quietly in his estate at Grosbois, was decided in Council on February 13, 1804. The Council intended to try him before a civilian tribunal.

During the night of February 26 to 27, 1804, the police achieved a major stroke. They accomplished the tumultuous arrest of Pichegru, of the Marquis de Ribiere et d’Armand, and of Jules de Polignac, as well as several associates. Their confessions confirmed the elements previously revealed, but carried a new piece of critical information: an unknown “prince” was part of the conspiracy. He was supposed to rally the country after the assassination of Bonaparte.

The affair’s scenario was thus revealed. Cadoudal was to eliminate the First Consul, Pichegru and Moreau would rally the army, and the mysterious prince would appear to reestablish the monarchy with the assistance of the others and the blessings of Britain.

The fierce Cadoudal was captured on March 9, 1804, not without violence. In the course of his arrest, he killed one police inspector and wounded another. Remaining true to his natural arrogance, he proudly proclaimed his plan to assassinate Bonaparte. He also confirmed the involvement of a “prince” in the plot, but did not go so far as to reveal his identity.

The conspiracy collapsed after the neutralization of Cadoudal. Pichegru committed suicide in prison on April 6, 1804, thereby evading the shame of being condemned to death for treason.

In court, Cadoudal acknowledged and even emphasized his role as principal executioner in all the meanings of that term. Moreau claimed that he had known of the conspiracy but had not participated. Cadoudal, Armand de Polignac, and twenty thugs were condemned to death on June 10. Jules de Polignac, Leridant, and Moreau received only two years of prison, although they deserved death for complicity in a plot on the life of the head of state.

At their request, Bonaparte granted clemency to Armand de Polignac, the Marquis de Ribiere, and to Bouvet de Lozier.

Cadoudal ostentatiously refused to ask for mercy, not wishing to owe his life to Bonaparte. He was executed with his remaining accomplices on June 26, 1804. Upon mounting the scaffold, he exclaimed with a sense of humor tinged with grandeur: “We came to give Paris a King, but instead we have given it an emperor!” In fact, a month earlier, on May 18, Bonaparte had become the emperor Napoleon. What an extraordinary flash of lucidity at the moment of death!

The celebrated affair of the Duke d’Enghien, previously discussed, was grafted onto the Cadoudal conspiracy just before the latter’s execution.

The Pardon to the Emigrés, or the Peace of the Heart

Following the revolutionary convulsions, the expatriation of a large number of Frenchmen, both noblemen and others, constituted a human hemorrhage that if left unchecked would prove as ruinous for France as that caused by the exodus of Protestants after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. To Bonaparte, the rapid reintegration into French society of this precious human substance appeared to be a national imperative.

The emigration phenomenon had begun at the same time as the Revolution. The troubles of July 1789 prompted a number of nobles to flee the country to escape the popular anger. The Count d’Artois, youngest brother of Louis XVI, the Prince de Condé and his family, as well as a number of grand aristocrats, took refuge in Turin. With the support of numerous European monarchs, these noblemen attempted in vain to raise the south of France, which remained largely faithful to the monarchy.

The movement expanded with the growth of revolutionary violence and the decree nationalizing the property of the nobility and clergy. It redoubled with the promulgation of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy, constraining the priests to swear loyalty to the revolution.

Until 1791 Louis XVI appeared to disapprove of emigration, but his failed flight to Varennes gave a new impulse to the movement.

From Turin, the leadership of the emigration moved to Coblenz. In July 1791 the king’s two brothers, the Counts de Provence and d’Artois, established themselves there and formed a sort of court, a center of various intrigues, a money pit, and even a site of corruption.

What was the estimated number of émigrés? Historians have agreed on an approximate number of 200,000 out of 30,000,000 Frenchmen. What is striking about that mass, contrary to general belief, is its diversity. Alongside great names and coats of arms were found representatives of every social layer: almost 30,000 priests who had refused to accept the Civil Constitution, plus soldiers who had followed their officers, large numbers of country squires, middle class people, and even frontier residents fleeing misery, such as the 10,000 in the Lower Rhine, etc.

Scattered to all the countries of Europe, this émigré diaspora divided into clans and coteries while remaining French to the point of insisting on national dignity, much to the irritation of their hosts.

As long as these émigrés confined themselves to political actions, nothing irreparable occurred. Matters changed completely as soon as some of them took up arms against their own country.

At first scattered and under-strength, these military formations organized themselves and regrouped into three corps by the time that France went to war in April 1792. The most important of these corps, under the orders of the two princes, grew to 10,000 men, poorly equipped, poorly fed, and without pay.

The damage was irreversible when these lost soldiers became engaged as a supplement to Brunswick’s Prussian army at Valmy. The retreat of the Coalition armies was transformed for the army of the princes into a ghastly rout that ended in its dissolution. Left in reserve, the army of de Condé escaped this disaster. It continued the war against France in the pay of Austria, Britain, and Russia until 1801.

Defeated and humiliated, the émigrés also found themselves the subject of a series of revolutionary decrees that condemned them to death if they returned to France or were captured abroad. They were thus reduced to a nomadic existence, pursued across Europe by the armies of the Republic. In countries beyond the reach of the Revolution, such as the United States, Britain, or Russia, some of them made brilliant careers such as the Duke de Richelieu, founder of Odessa, or the Count de Langeron, a brilliant general in the Russian army. Others, less illustrious, continued to serve as individuals in foreign armies.

Disgusted or weary, after 1795 a large number of émigrés believed they could return to France. The movement abruptly halted in 1797 by the events of 18 Fructidor (the September 4, 1797, purge of Royalists and other conservatives from the government), which also provoked a last wave of emigration. A new decree condemned to death any émigré apprehended on French territory. A terrible special list of all émigrés was developed for this purpose at the end of 1799.

This was the situation that Bonaparte found upon his arrival in power. The question of emigration constituted one of the “great evils of the state,” he remarked.

Somewhat reassured by the change in regime, a goodly number of émigrés risked the dangerous decree, returning to France with borrowed identities and false passports. The opportunity to remove names from the fatal list gave rise to a base corruption. The better-financed émigrés purchased certificates of accommodation. A traffic in false papers developed. This state of affairs had to be ended immediately.

In the higher interests of the country, it was urgent to bring the two Frances together in concord. But the First Consul soon realized that the accumulated hatreds made this operation very difficult. Some time had to pass before political leaders and public opinion would accept the idea of a pardon. He therefore needed to force the hand of some republican officials. He had to reassure those who had purchased “national property” and who feared to lose it to the original owners. Bonaparte’s refusal to absolve those who had carried arms against France eventually gained the support of the majority.

After a temporary order to eliminate certain categories of émigrés from the list, a general amnesty was finally voted on April 26, 1802. As promised, it excluded those who had fought against the armies of the Republic. “National property” that had already been sold would not be returned under any circumstances, although those properties not yet sold would be restored on a case-by-case basis.

In massive numbers the children of France, briefly separated, rejoined the mother country, which in most cases they had never ceased to love. An estimated 100,000 crossed the frontiers in the first days after the amnesty. They hesitated at first upon approaching the control points, but in general all went well. Rarely spiteful, the French pardoned those who had strayed, provided that there was no French blood on their hands. Consider, for example, the testimony of one émigrée, the “former” Madame de Boigne. When she entered the French border post, she felt trapped. An employee began his routine interrogation of identity. His boss interrupted: “Forget that! Write down simply ‘as beautiful as an angel.’” Madame de Boigne thus understood that she had indeed returned home.

Let us also consider the particular case of the Alsatians who had fled to the right bank of the Rhine less for political motivations than to escape the troubles. After Brumaire, they felt no need to obtain authorization before returning home. Arrested by the gendarmes, they manifested a touching patriotism, which was reported to the First Consul by the prefect concerned:

They invoked justice and loyalty to the present government. Women, children, and old people were with them and declared that one might shoot them but not force them to leave France again. ‘Take us to the great Bonaparte and you will see that we are good citizens.’

Those émigrés excluded for treason from the amnesty law reassembled in England around the future Louis XVIII and his brother the Count of Artois, waiting patiently for the hour of restoration but not without continuing to intrigue, to plot, and even to carry arms against France. They had to wait another ten years for the law known as the “émigrés billion” to be reimbursed for their losses during the revolution.

Poorly drafted, the clause concerning the restoration of unsold “national property” encountered several inextricable difficulties in implementation. Bonaparte was forced to annul it. As a result, it accomplished nothing.

The essential point was that the virulent plague of emigration could be considered at an end. Many former émigrés rallied to the new institutions, served in the army at all levels of the hierarchy, and even frequented the corridors of power. Much like those who had been called the chouans.

The Reduction of the Chouannerie, or the Peace of the Brave

This operation was conducted in parallel with the restoration of exterior peace and with the pardon of the émigrés, because the three questions were interrelated.

Since 1792 France had been prey to a true civil war at the same time as a foreign war.

The first excesses of the Revolution clashed directly with the royalist and religious beliefs of the rural regions, where the nobility and the Catholic clergy exercised great influence, especially in the west of the country but also in the center and south. The opposition aroused by the fall of the Bastille on July 14, 1789, developed in parallel with the decline of the monarchy and the policy of de-Christianization.

On November 2, 1789, the property of the clergy had been “left at the disposition of the Nation,” that is, nationalized. On February 13, 1790, a decree forbad lifetime monastic vows. July 12, 1790, produced the act most hostile to the Catholic Church: the passage of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy, which literally set the powder ablaze. Priests had to take an oath of fidelity to the constitution. A large number of them refused. Having become outlaws under sentence of death, some of them emigrated as we have seen, while others joined the armed struggle alongside the peasants who were revolted.

The inevitable papal condemnation of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy encouraged the rebellion. The Constituent Assembly replied by annexing Avignon, the papal city of the Middle Ages located inside southern France. The Legislative Assembly organized the hunt for “refractory priests” by two special decrees of November 29, 1791, and May 27, 1792. The king vetoed these decrees on June 11, 1792. Between September 2 and 6 abominable massacres occurred in the prisons of Paris, killing for the most part former noblemen and clergymen. This was the bloodiest single act of the Revolution. Two weeks later, on September 20, the government instituted the secularization of civil marriage and divorce. The next day, the newly convened Convention abolished the monarchy. The condemnation of the king and his execution on January 21, 1793, further inflamed the conflict.

The armed insurrection of rural areas in the west is generally called the “Chouannerie,” coming from the nickname of Jean Cottereau, known as Jean Chouan because of his perfect imitation of the cry of a barn owl (chouette), the rallying cry of the insurgents.

The Breton royalist conspiracy of La Rouerie marked the start of the revolt during the first quarter of 1792. In coming years the revolt spread to different areas, alternating violent moments with rare periods of calm. A true civil war brought thousands of peasants into conflict with the armies of the Republic in a war without mercy.

The Chouans failed before Granville on November 13, 1793. They were crushed at Mons in a street battle on December 12. In turn, they achieved several successes in horrible ambushes. The army of the Republic replied with the mournfully famous “infernal columns.” The cruelty of these conflicts was indescribable. The Representative of the Republic, Carrier, distinguished himself in horror at Nantes. His terroristic excesses offended even his most extreme friends, who condemned him to death and executed him on November 23, 1794.

The insurgents suffered a severe defeat at Savenay on December 23, 1793. This was followed by a relatively calm period. Peace appeared to be at hand with the pacification action of La Jaunaye. An amnesty with freedom of belief was accorded to the Vendéens on February 17, 1795.

Unfortunately, the Chouannerie returned in full strength as a result of the Quiberon Bay Affair. Several thousand émigrés, transported and officered by the British, disembarked on the peninsula on July 15, 1795. General Hoche threw them back into the sea or dispersed them into the countryside, where the Chouans accepted them.

After defeating the royalists, Hoche pursued an effective campaign of pacification, combining firmness with religious appeasement. The insurgent leaders were captured and shot, Stofflet at Angers on February 25, 1796, and Charrette at Nantes on March 29, 1796. By the summer of 1796 the submission was almost complete.

The anti-royalist repression of 18 Fructidor revived the rebellion once again. The ineffectual Rochecotte accomplished interregional coordination of the Chouannerie. In August 1799 came the “war of principal towns” in the Vendée, Anjou, and Normandy. Chatillon took Nantes, Bourmont Le Mans, Mercier Saint Brieuc, and de Sol seized La Roche Bernard. Frotté went as far as the suburbs of Versailles. But these locations were lost quickly. The calm along the borders after the victories of Brune and Massena over the Second Coalition permitted the Directory to regain the initiative at home.

Putting an end to this civil war was obviously a priority for the First Consul.

He began by demonstrating his clemency in goodwill gestures. He abolished the revolutionary holiday commemorating the January 21 anniversary of the execution of Louis XVI. He also abolished the law of hostages, an abolition initiated by the Directory three months earlier, and ostentatiously traveled to the Temple Prison to liberate the detainees involved. He offered a general amnesty to the Chouans and promised to reconsider the question of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy.

Convinced, the Abbot Bernier, a priest of Anjou, summoned a number of meetings throughout the west and played a considerable role in peacemaking.

Yet, the pardon and other generosity were insufficient. Regrettably, the work of pacification had to be finished by reducing the remaining pockets of resistance through the efforts of Generals Brune, Gardanne, Chabot, and d’Arnaud. The First Consul recommended that they use great firmness along with “a great tolerance for priests.” He knew that those priests held the solution to the problem.

Results came quickly. The entire area south of the Loire submitted. The capture of Bourmont led to the fall of Maine and the associated territory. That unusual person would again cause great difficulty at the time of Waterloo.

The death, in conditions resembling an assassination, of Frotté after a serious misunderstanding led to the surrender of Normandy.

A general treaty of peace could finally be signed. It was in effect a pact of honor, granting pardon to insurgents in return for surrendering their arms, although that agreement was implemented very liberally.

Even the indomitable Georges Cadoudal agreed to halt hostilities, although he refused to stack arms. Bonaparte received him twice at the Tuileries in the hope of gaining his full support. Despite generous offers, he obstinately maintained his opposition. As we have already seen, he moved from guerrilla to terrorist action.

In addition to Bourmont, a number of notable Chouans rallied to the new regime, including Generals de Piré and de Scépaux.

To finish with the subject of the Chouannerie, there were later several local, short-lived uprisings with de Bar, d’Aché, Arnaud de Chateaubriand and Louis de la Rochejaquelein. These actions were connected more to clandestine operations than to armed confrontations. Thereafter the Chouan spirit continued to manifest itself in electoral opposition.

After the peace of hearts and the peace of the brave, let us turn to the peace of souls.

The Concordat, or the Peace of the Souls

We have glossed over the unusual relationship of Napoleon with religion and especially with the critical action of the Concordat, which brought religious peace to the country and put an end to the bloody trauma of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy.

On Saint Helena, Napoleon confided extensively to Las Cases about his religious beliefs. Brought up in the Catholic faith, he never completely disavowed it. The first words of his testament were to affirm this fidelity of conscience. “I die in the same apostolic and Roman Catholic faith in which I was born.”

If Napoleon refrained throughout his life from assiduous religious practices, this was not due to atheism, because he affirmed, “everyone on earth proclaims the existence of God.” Rather, he was influenced by the debatable rationalism of some pre-revolutionary philosophers. Undoubtedly, he felt contempt for certain clergymen whose hypocritical conduct constituted a grave offense to the faith.

Facing the difficulties of his life and in metaphysical anguish, he conceded that, for an individual, “religious sentiment is such a consolation that it is a gift from heaven to possess… atheism is destructive of all morale, if not in individuals, then at least in nations.”

As head of state, he considered religion from an angle more political than spiritual. “It [religion] is in my eyes the support of good morale, of true principles and of good morals.” He always gave religion its place in society, but no more than that, and without favoritism to any one confession.

Napoleon’s experience in Egypt only served to reinforce in him this justified political conception of religion. On balance, his apparent atheism served him when he had to arbitrate between religious factions. It was impossible to be both judge and party in such a dispute.

Upon his accession to power, the religious question continued to tear France apart. The violent convulsions provoked by the Civil Constitution of the Clergy persisted, as already discussed with regard to the Chouannerie. To reconcile the French on this burning question, the pernicious religious quarrel had to be ended as quickly as possible.

Obviously, this was not the first time that France had been torn apart by religious wars, such as the Lutheran schism of the sixteenth century. The conflict between the temporal power of the king and the spiritual power of the pope traces back to the Middle Ages. This phenomenon affected all the major kingdoms. In England it carried the name of Anglicanism, in France of Gallicanism. Before proceeding, it would be useful to recall briefly the tempestuous relations between France and the Holy See.

The antagonism between royalty and papacy underwent many fluctuations in the course of the centuries. The first notable manifestation of Gallicanism brought Philip the Fair into violent opposition with Pope Boniface VIII in 1303. The “iron king” put an end to the theocratic ambitions of Rome. The papacy even passed under the influence of the French king, who installed it at Avignon.

On the occasion of the Hundred Years’ War, Roman influence regained the initiative. In 1438 the king and clergy of France accepted in the “Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges” the decisions of the Council of Basel. Cathedral chapters and convents regained the right to elect their bishops and abbots.

The Concordat of 1516 marked a new victory for Gallicanism. The king’s nomination of candidates to major benefices became the legal institutions. The Council of Trent in 1563 constituted a return to the domination of papal authority. Beginning in 1635 Gallicanism regained its own identity under the influence of Cardinal Richelieu, who hoped to become “the Patriarch of the Gauls and of the West.”

The sovereign authority of the kings of France over the national church was reestablished under Louis XIV, who violently opposed Rome with regard to the regalian rights. This was the “right of the King to control the revenues of a vacant Episcopal seat and to name holders of benefices and of prebends relating to that seat.”

The general assembly of the French clergy in 1680 sided with the king. Reproaching Rome for its interference in the affairs of the French Church in violation of the Concordat of 1516, this assembly officially proclaimed the “Liberties of the Gallican Church,” drafted by Bossuet. Temporal power over the church in France belonged to the king. The pontiff retained only the spiritual power. A rupture loomed. Thereafter, the Gallican opposition declined somewhat until the Revolution. The last transformation of Gallicanism, the Civil Constitution of the Clergy of 1790, completed the rupture with the papacy.

At the start of the year 1800, total anarchy reigned in the French Church. Certainly it was no longer subject to the Revolutionary Terror, but it was still in a pitiful state. Only forty-five dioceses survived of the previous 135. Priestly vocations were very rare. A number of priests who had refused to swear loyalty to the Civil Constitution of the Clergy had been guillotined. Traditional Catholics scorned the “juring” priests, those who had taken the oath and whom Rome did not recognize. As a whole, the population no longer knew to which saint it should pray, so to speak.

In attempting to square the circle, the First Consul had to resolve the problem by achieving a triple reconciliation: the clergy with itself, the French with their religion, and the whole with Rome.

Bonaparte immediately rejected the nationalistic temptation to declare himself head of an independent Gallican Church, in the manner of Henry VIII of England in 1534. He was not afflicted with any tendency for brutal historic ruptures, all the more so because that would be contrary to his convictions and did not correspond to the dominant mind set of the French, traditionally attached to the pope.

He desperately needed to reach a general accord with Pope Pius VII, but on condition that the pope accept, as the price of reintegrating the French Catholics into the Roman Church, a renunciation of all claims to French Church properties that had become national property, as well as the complete renewal of the French bishops. In fact, this last measure implied the right of the First Consul to nominate all bishops.

To obtain such enormous concessions from the pope, negotiations would be long, bitter, and sprinkled with multiple incidents that approached rupture, in a sort of liar’s poker. In addition, it was not an easy matter to convince those who were nostalgic for the Revolution of the necessity of an official return to religion. Out-of-work generals proved to be the most difficult.

To prepare the ground, Bonaparte took several measures of toleration as soon as he came to power. All holy places had to be reopened to the faithful, regardless of their religious affiliation. He restored freedom of religion by the treaty of pacification with the Vendée. He reestablished refractory priests in their functions, which provoked some friction with the Constitutional or juring priests. He also encouraged the abandonment of the tenth day cult of the Revolutionary religion in favor of the “Catholic cult.” As a spectacular proof of his favorable disposition toward Rome, on January 18, 1800, he issued a decree to render military honors to the mortal remains of Pius VI, prisoner of the Directory at Valence.

Talleyrand authorized the Spanish ambassador, Labrador, to make the first overtures to Pius VII, newly elected pope. Yet, soon thereafter the war in Italy gave the First Consul an opportunity to make the contact himself.

The victory of Marengo reinforced Napoleon’s authority over the atheists of Paris and placed military pressure on the Roman court. He had the opportunity to use initiative and surprise, two factors of success in politics as well as in warfare.

At Milan, the victory gave rise to a grandiose Te Deum in the Cathedral dome. All the clergy welcomed the victor upon his entry and conducted him in state to the place of honor.

At the reception of Italian priests that followed, Bonaparte spoke to them in very encouraging terms, unmistakably directed at the papal authority: “No society may exist without morals, and there are no good morals without religion. Religion must therefore provide firm and durable support to the state. A society without religion is like a ship without a compass….” The message could not have been clearer.

On the road back to France, Napoleon halted at Verceil, where he had arranged a meeting with Cardinal Martiniani, who had access to the Holy See. Knowing that he was communicating directly with the pope, Bonaparte initiated the subject of restoring Catholicism in France under the spiritual authority of Saint Peter, but also under the general conditions described above. For his part, he promised to use his power to reestablish the pope’s compromised sovereignty in the Papal States.

Upon his return to Paris, the First Consul noted the first signs of internal opposition, which he had to overcome. He focused on this on August 1, 1800, before the Council of State:

My policy is to govern men in the manner that the majority wish to be ruled. This is a means to recognize the sovereignty of the people. When I won the battle of the Vendée I was Catholic; when I took over in Egypt I was Muslim; and when I succeeded in Italy I was ultramontaine. If I governed the Jewish people, I would reestablish the Temple of Solomon.

These lines contained Napoleon’s entire political philosophy. Henry IV said the same thing with his remark that “Paris is worth a mass.”

A pope full of benevolence, carried more by the spiritual than by the temporal, Pius VII did not receive Bonaparte’s propositions positively but instead equivocated for a long time. He had difficulty reconciling spiritual concessions in exchange for guarantees of his temporal power. In the end, however, he resigned himself to negotiating, and even accepted the choice of location for negotiations as Paris rather than Rome.

The papal negotiator, Monsignor Spina, did not reach Paris until November 6, 1800. To represent himself, the First Consul selected the Abbot Bernier, a subtle diplomat skilled in double-dealing, but very competent in the issue, having just rendered eminent services in the Vendéen question. To avoid offending the pope’s sensibilities, Bernier was chosen over Talleyrand, a defrocked priest living in concubinage.

Complicated by the intrigues of Talleyrand and Fouché, the negotiations dragged on. Spina was not decisive. A diplomat of quality, Francois Cacault, was sent to the Holy See with a directive to gain the pope’s signature in five days. When the pope refused to sign, the skillful Cacault persuaded him to send to Paris a proxy agent in the person of Cardinal Consalvi, received on June 22 with the greatest consideration possible.

Consalvi proved to be as difficult as Spina. Joseph Bonaparte therefore took over the negotiations, assisted by Bernier.

On July 14, 1801, the First Consul brusquely rejected a draft accord that contained too many concessions on the part of France. He therefore hurried matters to a conclusion. That same evening, he publicly addressed Consalvi at an official dinner given at the Tuileries:

Well, Cardinal, you want negotiations to fail! Very well. I have no further need of the pope. If Henry VIII, who lacked even one-twentieth of my power, succeeded in changing the religion of his country, imagine how much more I could do. In changing the religion in France I would change it in almost all of Europe. Rome would then see the losses it suffered. It might weep, but it would have no remedy. You may leave, because that is what we will do instead. You wanted a rupture, well, then, have it your way.

Those present were shocked. Various people, notably the Austrian ambassador Cobenzl, urged Bonaparte to give negotiations one more chance. He consented, but in the form of an ultimatum: “I agree that the commissioners will meet for the last time. If they fail to reach a conclusion, we will regard the rupture as definitive, and the cardinal may depart.”

This threat of a Gallican schism acted like magic to speed negotiations. The Concordat was finished on the night of July 15-16, 1801. France became again the eldest daughter of the church.

In front of a frustrated Council of State, the First Consul made only one simple comment: “The Concordat is not the triumph of any one party but the consolidation of all parties.”

Without entering into details, the principal clauses of the Concordat constituted a reasonable compromise between the rights of the church, the ideas of the Revolution, and the Gallicanism of the Ancien Régime. The Catholic religion was no longer the official religion of the state but simply “the religion of the majority of Frenchmen.” Bishops and priests were to be named by the government, after which the pope would grant investiture. The clergy would obey the pope’s directives, but also must take an oath to the government that paid it. There would be no revision of the sale of church property. If nothing else, with the Concordat Bonaparte established the basis of laicism, a principle of all modern society.

After obtaining the approval of the College of Cardinals, the pope signed the treaty in Rome on August 15. The First Consul signed on September 8.

To render the treaty applicable as well to the two Protestant denominations, in the ensuing days it was complemented by organic articles, included in the implementing decrees. The pope was offended because this reinforced the Gallican aspect of the accord, but he did not protest.

This history of the Concordat would make a grave omission if it did not consider the Jewish question as well. Everywhere in Europe, Jews were considered pariahs, subjected to a degrading system of apartheid in the ghettos. In France, the Revolution had slightly reduced the severity of their discriminatory treatment. During the first war in Italy, however, Bonaparte truly became aware of their distress and of the need to restore their dignity. Within the limits of his power, he tried to improve their local conditions.

It is little known that, at Saint Jean d’Acre in April 1799, Bonaparte came close to creating a Jewish state in Palestine, 150 years before the foundation of the state of Israel. Only the lack of military success prevented him from implementing this plan that perhaps would have changed the face of the world.

During the Concordat negotiations, Napoleon attempted to extend to Judaism the beneficial measures of toleration and to reconcile it with the Christian religions. He encountered an insurmountable hostility both in France and abroad, however, and therefore had to delay what he considered to be the crowning achievement of his work of religious and social justice.

Once his imperial authority was asserted, in July 1806 Napoleon felt able to summon to Paris an assembly of Jews, including some of the most distinguished in France, to develop measures to assist their community.

With great solemnity, on February 9, 1807, Bonaparte brought together in Paris the Great Sanhedrin, supreme religious authority of the Hebrew people. This organization had governed Israel from 170 B.C. to A.D. 70. Since then, it had never again been assembled. Napoleon had to overcome a fierce national and international opposition, notably by the tsar of Russia and the Orthodox Church. As a sort of Jewish Concordat, the resolution of the Great Sanhedrin of 1807 made Judaism into the third official faith of France. These resolutions still constitute the foundation of French Judaism.

Unfortunately, Napoleon was forced, after Tilsit, to restrain the liberties accorded to the Jews because of the requirements of foreign and domestic politics. However, over the next several years he progressively reestablished those rights in their entirety. In 1811 Judaism was recognized as one of the three religions of France. Throughout the empire, all the Jews benefited equally from liberties granted to their French coreligionists.

Napoleon’s policy of tolerance with regard to the Jews only increased the malignant hostility of Rome and the Catholic Church, with fatal political consequences. As we will see later, this opposition took a violent turn in Spain. Given Napoleon’s label as “antichrist,” the local clergy, who were as fanatical as they were unenlightened, preached a ghastly holy war against him.

As the first head of state to achieve a policy of integration for the Jews, Napoleon paid an exorbitant price. After his fall, the Jews returned to their humiliating conditions of life. They did not regain their rights in France until 1830, and until much later elsewhere in Europe.

Let us return to the Concordat. After its signing, the treaty still needed to be approved by the legislative chambers in order to be ratified. The opposition was in the majority at the Corps Legislatif. Bonaparte had to wait until some of the members were replaced before he could present the package of texts in the form of a Law of Religions, called the Law of Germinal of the Year X. Brilliantly presented by Portalis, the bill was adopted on April 8, 1802, by a crushing majority of 228 to 21.

As a gesture of his gratitude to the church, the First Consul decided to place under French protection the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, the churches in Constantinople, and all the Christians in Syria. He signified his gratitude to Pius VII by the dispatch of two ships, the “Colibri” and the “Speedy,” rechristened as “Saint Peter” and “Saint Paul.”

Napoleon chose the symbolic date of Passover, feast of the resurrection of Christ, on April 18, 1802, to celebrate the promulgation of the Concordat. A grand Te Deum occurred in Notre Dame Cathedral in a great liturgical show. For the first time in ten years, amid great emotion Parisians heard the bell of Notre Dame. Moreover, by a happy coincidence, that same day they celebrated the Treaty of Amiens.

This April 18, 1802, counted among the most significant dates in the history of France. The peace of arms, the peace of hearts, the peace of the brave, and the peace of spirits reigned together in the country after a bloody eclipse of thirteen years.

But in this sky that had become so bright, one cloud troubled Bonaparte’s joy. In his eager attempts to please the faithful, those who were known as the country’s elite provided more passive resistance than the papacy itself. The higher military leaders described the Concordat as “monkish.” The situation exhibited a disquieting political myopia, at least insofar as people placing their personal interests before the public interest.

Few political officials recognized at the time the importance of the Concordat, a sort of new Edict of Nantes. It did not, however, escape Talleyrand’s notice. He later described it very favorably, contrary to his customary cynical viewpoint. “When in 1802 Napoleon reestablished religion in France, it was an act not simply of justice but of great vision. The Napoleon of the Concordat was the truly great Napoleon, guided by his genius.” Later, several other lucid observers did not hesitate to describe the Concordat as a political monument and a diplomatic masterstroke.

In sum, by a religious toleration unprecedented in a head of state, Napoleon had courageously introduced religious freedom in France, ushering the country into cultural modernity. He surely did not realize that one day he would pay a high price for this.

Yet, France—finally calmed by the intelligent and generous action of Bonaparte—remained an orphan from its past, in the still-smoking ruins of the Revolution. An immense reconstruction process awaited the First Consul.

The Architect of Modern France

“I formed and implemented a law code that will cause my name to be passed to the most distant posterity.”

—Memorial of Saint Helena

Napoleon is almost universally praised for the great work of reconstructing France. His quotation above refers to what many historians believe was his greatest accomplishment, namely the unified system of law that eventually became known as the Code Napoléon. Napoleon’s reforms and improvements went far beyond the legal system and touched virtually all aspects of society. We will look at some of the most important of these reforms.

For the sake of clarity, this description will be organized according to function: General Administration, Law and Justice, Learning and Culture, Economy and Finances, Public Works, and Society. The essential work of reorganizing the country took place during the four years of the Consulate, from 1800 to 1804. Still, to discuss the subject completely, we will include the later work of the Empire.

General Administration

“I want to cast several granite blocks on the soil of France”

—Bonaparte, First Consul

At the moment that the Revolution exploded, Capetian France had not yet attained perfect unity. The troubles that followed revealed latent centrifugal forces, pulling the country to the brink of dissolution. The revolt of the Vendée constituted the most bloody and dangerous manifestation of these forces.

Immediately after Brumaire, the most urgent task was therefore to reinforce the unity of the country by administrative centralization. Yet, effectiveness demanded that administration be located as closely as possible to the citizenry. Thus, government had to be dispersed down to the village level. These two principles, centralization and dispersal, inspired the fundamental law of administration of the country passed in Pluviose, Year VIII (February 1800). No time had been wasted!

Locally elected representatives, too often tending to pointless chattering and inclined to demagoguery and favoritism, were relegated to the warehouse of accessories of the Revolution. The Departmental prefect became the privileged, all-powerful representative of the government in Paris, invested locally with all the government’s authority and serving under the direct orders of the Minister of the Interior. Under his tutelage were the subordinate echelons, boroughs and villages, for which the mayors were appointed. The prefect took advice from a borough council, composed of prominent persons chosen by him from a list of such notables.

Short of decentralizing jurisdictions, which was inconceivable in the circumstances of the time, these dispositions contrived nothing less than an administration of proximity corresponding to the real needs of the population. The citizens were directly associated with their administration.

There was nothing of a military dictatorship, with which people tend to reproach Napoleon. On the contrary, he took great care to subordinate the army to civil authority, which earned him the description of being “the most civilian of soldiers.”

Napoleon has also been criticized for putting the various branches of the state into uniform. But this he did essentially to increase their authority and prestige, and not at all to militarize them. All the corps wanted the uniforms. Originally omitted from this measure, the Institute agitated frantically to obtain the superb dress uniform that it still retains. Moreover, Napoleon did nothing more than follow an old tradition, and no one since him has renounced it.

Law and Justice

“My glory is not to have won forty battles. What will never disappear, what will live eternally, is my Civil Code and the records of the Council of State.”

—Memorial of Saint Helena

The great master of this gigantic construction project was the Council of State, created by Article 52 of the new constitution. It was composed of jurists hand-picked not for their political beliefs but for their legal abilities. The council’s function was to draft the laws and codes before presenting them to the parliamentary assemblies.

The cardinal work of the Council of State was the Civil Code. From the formation of the council, the First Consul had instituted a special commission that absorbed all his attention. He appointed Jean Jacques de Cambacéres, peerless jurist, as the president of this commission, assisted by other eminent legal authorities, including Roederer, Portalis, Bigot, and de Préameneu.

Bonaparte participated assiduously in the discussions, and surprised more than one by his knowledge and especially his common sense. The former minister of Louis XVI, de Molleville, of whom Bonaparte had asked a complex question, could not help exclaiming one day, “But where the devil did he learn all that?”

The First Consul presided over fifty-seven of the 102 meetings devoted to the Civil Code. Although cloaked in a certain solemnity, the debates occurred in complete freedom of expression. Neither Royalists nor Jacobins were prevented from speaking, and Bonaparte listened to everyone with patience. On more than one occasion, he changed his point of view in the face of a convincing argument to the contrary. The Count de Plancy has left a testimony of the tolerant spirit that presided over the work of the Council of State:

Because the First Consul always presided over the Council of State, some people have attempted to infer that that assembly was submissive, and obeyed him in all things. I can affirm to the contrary that the best informed men in France, in all the specialties which composed the Council, deliberated in complete freedom, and that nothing every hampered their discussions. Bonaparte was much more interested in their ideas than in their political opinions.

All of which is perfectly true.

After four years of unremitting labor, annoyed and impeded by a rarely constructive opposition from one part of the legislature, the Civil Code was finally promulgated on March 2, 1804. It consisted of thirty-six laws totaling 2,281 articles. The dispositions it established in essence continue to regulate the lives of Frenchmen in our time. In 1807 these laws were renamed the Napoleonic Code.

In the intervening years, the country has used and discarded many constitutions, but the Civil Code remains. By longevity, it represents the truly “granite” constitution of the French people.

This monument in law represented a magisterial judicial synthesis, first between the Ancien Régime and the Revolution, and next between the different customary rights of the various regions of the country, melded in the same unifying crucible. There again, Napoleon continued the history of France.

Family and property are at the center of the Civil Code. After having denounced the administrative “Jacobinism” of Napoleon, the waiting ideologues have confused time periods and found in the Civil Code a sort of charter of the middle class. We will not become involved in this inept argument, leaving the perennial nature of the Civil Code to reply to such criticism.

Under the empire, other more limited codes followed the Civil Code: Codes of Civil Procedure in 1806, of Commerce in 1807, of Criminal Instruction in 1808, plus the Penal Code in 1810 and the Rural Code in 1814. These individual codes reflected a complete and total reform of judicial organization. From the installation of Justices of the Peace to the Supreme Court of Appeals, passing by way of the statutes of the Notary Publics and the creation of Wise Men, an entire chain of new judiciary, both civil and penal, saw the light of day.

Then again, the objective was to bring justice close to those under its jurisdiction and to adapt it to the evolution of society and government at the time.

The coincidence of administration and judicial jurisdictions was maintained. However, because it was important for justice to become independent, the judicial power was confided to magistrates appointed for life, and no longer subject to election, except for justices of the peace until 1802.

In order to deal with new requirements, special tribunals could be instituted, destined notably to reestablish public order on the roads or in the countryside.

At the summit of the state, the Council of State, a sort of legal Janus, constituted the supreme court of administration, responsible simultaneously to draft the laws, ensure their application, and arbitrate as a last resort for administrative conflicts.

Learning and Culture

The reform of instruction was as broad and deep as the other changes. It was the subject of the Law of 11 Floreal, Year X (May 1, 1802).

Within this legislative framework, the creation of high schools constituted the cornerstone of the educational edifice. The new France, still convalescing from the revolutionary convulsion, needed to reconstitute its cadres and to mold them to meet the responsibilities of the new regime. The high schools were to be the crucible, thanks to an instruction without demagoguery, based on morals, discipline, civics, and merit.

Critics do not wish to see in the institution of the high schools anything except a desire to structure the population. To what absurd lengths will this obsession to condemn extend?

To facilitate access to high schools by the most modest strata of the population, numerous scholarships were offered to the most deserving students of primary schools. In a spirit of liberty, religious congregations retained their right to teach in primary schools and private secondary schools, but only in conformity with the official programs of public instruction.

Replacing the decrepit structures of the Ancien Régime, the Law of 11 Floreal Year X (May 1, 1802) founded the Special Military School, a new institute to prepare officers, with the perennial and fierce motto “They study to conquer.” Established first at Fontainebleau, the school moved to Saint-Cyr in 1808. After the Second World War, it was to move to Coetquidan in Brittany. But the officers who graduate from the Special Military School still carry the prestigious designation of “Saint Cyrian.”

The Foundation of the University by the Law of May 10, 1806, completed by the decree of March 17, 1808, represented the crowning achievement of the educational edifice. It took under its unifying control all the public schools, the secondary colleges, the high schools, and the faculties of the Ecolé Normale, nursery of teachers. The competitive teaching examination was reestablished in 1808.

In short, the system instituted the freedom of instruction with secularism. The proof of its soundness is that we continue today to live essentially under the same system, though obviously modified because of the evolution of society.

To demonstrate his interest in culture, the indispensable complement to instruction, Bonaparte saw to the erection of statues of illustrious men and the construction of historical monuments, such as the columns of the Chatelet and of the Place Vendome, as well as the Arches of Triumph of the Carrousel and of the Star, completed after him.

The arts were not forgotten. They were promoted by the establishment of the Musée Napoleon, which eventually became the incomparable Louvre Museum.

Even while on campaign, culture remained on the mind of the emperor. Do you know how he entertained his astonished companions in the course of a frugal meal on the eve of Austerlitz? Literature. Also, he signed the decree creating the Comedie-Francaise at Moscow on October 15, 1812, on the eve of the catastrophic retreat from Russia.

Economy and Finances

The metamorphosis of France under the Consulate and Empire was equally spectacular in the domain of economy and finances. The country attained an unprecedented prosperity despite the war. The great originality of the period was to make the economy an instrument of war by the installation of a continental blockade to force Britain to the peace table. In these conditions, the economy could not be directed in this manner without discouraging the process of free trade.

The economic and financial structures were suffocated by the creation of the Bank of France, the Stock Exchange, the Court of Accounts, the Treasury, the Direction of Imports, the General Direction of Customs, the Chambers of Commerce, the Land Registry, the Statistics Office, and the General Council of Agriculture and Commerce.

Financial policy was based on a strict ceiling for the public debt, a wise limitation on borrowing, and the systematic stimulation of all economic activity. The creation of the Franc of Germinal was an incontestable success.

Fiscal reform was again dedicated to a change in the midst of continuity. Direct taxes were reduced, alleviating the burden on farmers and industrial workers. In compensation, indirect taxes increased, the sign of a modern economy.

In this work of rehabilitating the public finances, one must render homage to two remarkable ministers in succession: Gaudin and Mollien.

Agriculture remained the foundation of the French economy and the constant object of solicitude of the head of state. It experienced a phenomenal development, favored by the acquisition of national properties.

From a subsistence agricultural economy, France shifted to a market agricultural economy. Fallow ground diminished, while cultivated surfaces and animal husbandry increased considerably. Lesser cereal crops gave way to wheat. New crops were introduced: vines, woad, and especially sugar beets, which were planted on up to 100,000 hectares.

Horse, beef, and sheep breeding also progressed in a spectacular manner in relationship with the extension of planting. To encourage merino sheep, prized for their wool, imperial sheepfolds appeared. All the animal breeds were improved by crossbreeding. Horse races were initiated to improve the horse breeds.

Manufacturing activity experienced an enormous progress, a prelude to the industrial revolution, as France began to make up its deficiencies with the rival Britain. By 1809, French industry had increased production by fifty percent in comparison to 1800.

France entered all the European markets, the continental blockade providing a major encouragement for all of its manufacturers and their products. Among these, textiles, notably cotton, took the lion’s share. In Alsace, Flanders, and Normandy, workshops sprang up for spinning, weaving, and printing cotton. Textile production grew at an exponential rate. Enjoying a strong reputation, French furnishings followed the same growth pattern.

The former annual exposition of industrial products was revived in the courtyard of the Louvre. Sevres porcelain, Conté’s crayon, glazed fabrics of Deharme and Duhaux, colored paper by Jacquemart and Benard, the cotton thread of Bauwens, etc.

Obviously, commerce could only profit from the development of agriculture and industry and, in addition, from the continental blockade, which closed markets to British products.

Paradoxically, trade grew the most with the United States, representing fourteen percent of imports and only six percent of exports. This imbalance was due to the facts that the United States was outside the blockade zone and above all that the majority of imports were tropical and other exotic products.

The visible growth in exports of agricultural and especially industrial products (more than twenty percent) helped visibly reduce the imbalance in French commercial trade, always hampered by heavy yet indispensable imports of raw materials and tropical commodities.

On balance, France’s economic position improved in a spectacular fashion in Europe at the same time that promising commercial relations were opened with the United States.

Public Works

In support of economic development, an immense program of public works was executed. Bonaparte (as he was known during the Consulate) and then Napoleon (as he was known during the Empire) personally invested in them, not neglecting the countries attached to the Empire. Paris benefited from a special effort.

The development of lines of communication, a necessity of economic growth, took priority. Existing routes were improved and new ones built to open France to communication with the surrounding countries: routes from Bordeaux to Bayonne, from Mainz to Metz, from Amiens to Amsterdam; passes to Simplon, Montcenis, Montgenevre, and to the Mediterranean cliffs. Without counting those in Paris, numerous bridges were built almost everywhere: at Tours, Roanne, Lyons, Bordeaux, Rouen, on the Isere and Durance Rivers, but also at Turin, etc.

Canals were a matter of special attention. The idea was to develop them sufficiently to free France from the oceans, where the British fleet ruled: thus, for example, the canal that connected the Rhine to the Rhone by way of Doubs, thereby connected the Mediterranean to the North Sea, or the canal that connected Holland to the Baltic by way of the Weser, the Ems, and the Elbe. Two other projects were designed in Italy, one joining Venice to Genoa by the Po River, the other Sagone to Alexandria across the Apennines. In France itself, two important canals were dug, that of Arles and that which connects Nantes to Brest. The draining of the Pontins Marsh was also planned.

The ports were not neglected, notably those opposite Great Britain, including Amiens, Flessingue, Terneuzen on the North Sea and especially Cherbourg on the channel, which in Napoleon’s mind was of primordial strategic importance.

The restoration of chateaux, palaces, and other buildings of the country was not ignored, notably at Fontainebleau, which the emperor preferred to Versailles, a structure too nonfunctional and gaudy for his taste.

We have saved the public works of the capital for last. Napoleon’s ambition was to make Paris into the first capital of the universe, starting with a semi-medieval, stifling city. New arteries that were wide and airy, bordered by handsome buildings with high roofs, stone facades, supplemented by pleasant arcades, replaced the old, narrow streets with buildings that were too tall. The connection between the two banks of the Seine was improved by the construction of the footbridge of the arts and the bridges of Austerlitz, Jena, and the city, later demolished.

Concerning comfort, considerable progress was achieved: the installation of sewers and fountains, framing of palaces, markets, quays, and hills, without mentioning the public cemeteries instituted by Napoleon. With the addition of sidewalks and curbs, the streets received a numerical designation in 1805, at the same time as public lighting.

When considering Napoleon’s record on public works, it can be said that never has so much been done in so short a time.

Society

The French Society of the Consulate and Empire no longer bore much resemblance to that of 1789. The gigantic split of the Revolution was naturally reflected in the fratricidal divisions that Napoleon valiantly attempted to overcome. For him, there were no longer good and bad Frenchmen. There were only citizens of a recast nation whom he wished to make one and indivisible.

One of the great unifying acts of the Consulate was the creation of the Legion of Honor on May 19, 1802 (29 Floreal, Year X in the Revolutionary Calendar). In origin, it was simply a “corps,” to avoid imitating the Order of Saint Louis. Later reorganized into structures and grades, it became the National Order of the Legion of Honor that we know today. Its unifying symbolism resided in its universal character. It rewarded merit, whether military or civil, without distinction as to social class.

The First Consul had to make a significant effort to impose this order. The legislature wanted nothing to do with this “rattle.” The aristocracy made ironic comments about this “knightly order of the Revolution.” The military hierarchy opposed mixing military glory with civil merit, as well as sharing the decoration with the enlisted men.

Two centuries later, the institution of the Legion of Honor is going better than ever, and no one doubts its permanence. Frenchmen dream of adding that red rosette to their lapels. Nonetheless, one may deplore some abuses as to who receives the award.

The nobility of the Ancien Régime had not disappeared, and Napoleon made an effort to perpetuate that nobility. These great names belonged to the history of France, which Napoleon wished to continue. The reconstructed France could not afford to deprive itself of anyone’s skills or talents. This was the meaning of the hand generously extended to the émigrés, overcoming a dangerous “Republican” opposition. A minority of aristocrats rallied to the new regime and served their country loyally in the new administration or under arms. To encourage this movement, in September 1806 Napoleon created the “Guards of Honor,” a military institution opened to “those who have been estranged from their country by the circumstances of the Revolution.”

On the other extreme, another tiny minority of noblemen, distressed by the disappearance of the Ancien Régime and its privileges, threw themselves into the criminal monarchist traditionalism of which we already have spoken so sadly. The great majority of noblemen remained in a sterile mode of “wait and see,” focusing on the perspective of a restoration of the Bourbons. They therefore avoided any cooperation that might appear to legitimize the Consulate or the Empire. Napoleon tolerated this irritating neutrality.

It was a shortsighted calculation. As the old adage states, “The gods render blind those whom they have decided to destroy.” In refusing to accept the parliamentary monarchy of the Empire as a replacement to the former absolute monarchy, the nobles were betting “double or nothing.” Soon they would have an illusion of having won this gamble, an illusion that to them probably survived for some years. In fact, they had sacrificed the parliamentary monarchy about which their grandchildren could only dream.

A new nobility, founded on bravery and merit, would emerge from the Revolutionary wars and the advent of the new France. Its members came from all strata of society. Every soldier did indeed carry a marshal’s baton in his knapsack.

Once the Empire had replaced the Consulate and the political regime of France became a parliamentary monarchy, the new monarchy needed to become official by founding its own nobility. On March 1, 1808, the Imperial nobility was officially created. Napoleon’s objective was not simply to reward his best companions, but also to attach to the regime the great notables and even the pre-1789 nobility, those who were referred to by the label “former.” It must be emphasized that the new nobility was deprived of all privileges, contrary to the old. Despite all his efforts, Napoleon never succeeded in reconciling the two nobilities. In effect, they could never see the benefit of such reconciliation.

Over time, the Empire named forty-two princes and dukes, some five hundred counts, 1,550 barons, and 1,500 knights. If the purpose was to tie these men to the emperor, many of them did not stand the test. The exhaustion of a war without end, an unavoidable tendency to become middle class in their outlook, and above all the political speculations about the future caused a large number of the Imperial nobility to drift away. Some ended by openly betraying Napoleon as well as their country.

Between these two nobilities, the two highest categories of French society, a new elite established itself and flourished, fed by economic development. Named the bourgeoisie, its sometimes-ostentatious opulence and its somewhat egotistical conduct attracted the hostility of the poor and the intellectuals alike. Marxist ideologues have tried to make this group the scapegoat for the evils of the world. Over time, the very term “bourgeoisie” has taken on a pejorative connotation. Thus, we prefer to use the term “middle class” to denote them.

The existence of a middle class in a society brings with it a certain balance as well as vitality. This class is the mark of a society’s development. The France of the Consulate and Empire entered into the then-restricted circle of developed countries. To seek one’s fortune is only undesirable if the society draws no benefit from that search. In a letter to Roederer, Napoleon distinguished between the sterile wealth coming from landed property and the active wealth of work: “A wealthy person is often a lazybones with no value. I want the wealthy as a means of ensuring the existence of the poor.” By this, he intended to say that only the rich have the power to create employment for the poor. To penalize the rich based on ideology is thus an indirect blow against the poor. This idea has also been expressed by the eloquent metaphor: “To make the fat people thin is to kill the thin ones!” These considerations are addressed to the self-appointed moralists who, thinking to strike a low blow against Napoleon, have reproached him for favoring the “contemptible bourgeoisie.”

The new French middle class included another branch, dedicated not to business but to the service of the state: the functionaries generated by the new institutions.

These two social categories supported the regime for different reasons. The businessmen were grateful to it for a return to order and for an economic climate favorable for business. The functionaries could expect to rise socially only through merit. Their zeal is thus theoretically assured. Yet, loyalty is like all other human emotions: it is inclined to opportunism.

We should not be surprised by the existence of an intellectual caste that sought to strongly influence public thought. If a simple demonstration of Napoleon’s interest was sufficient to encourage artists, he had to use extreme aggressiveness to motivate many writers, whom he sometimes called “scribblers” or “advocates.” Often lacking in talent, with the clear exception of Chateaubriand, these men wanted to impose their mental dictatorship on everyone. They thus invented the modern concept, if not the name, of “political correctness,” which is with us today.

Napoleon always found the most generous of compensations in the unswerving fidelity of the French people, with whom he had contracted a sort of sacred pact. His infallible instinct was only dimly visible to the people, whose happiness was Napoleon’s primary objective. Thus, they gave him an unconditional and solid attachment that inspired in him the highest ambition and gave him a formidable energy to follow that ambition. For his part, Napoleon loved the people as his sovereign. He only considered himself as their incarnation. Could he have achieved a higher form of true democracy? If you do not take into consideration this blended relationship between a people and its representative, you will completely misunderstand the history of Napoleon.

The invaluable progress just described only increased hostility toward the new France. From now on, above all it was important not to risk the results of this progress in the hazards of war.

The Obsession with Peace

What was the state of Napoleon’s spirit at this stage in his career? Can one seriously accuse him of intending military conquest, he who had single-handedly accomplished the miracle of reestablishing general peace in Europe? He would had to have been insane to expose these achievements to the hazards of war! He was in any case so preoccupied, day and night, with his work of internal rebuilding that he had no time to spare for other things.

In reality, two nagging and complementary preoccupations occupied all his consciousness: the constant pursuit of reconstruction for France and the preservation of the country from the heavy threats imposed on her by the fatal belligerent situation that held her prisoner. If he had shown himself to be slightly naïve in signing the Treaty of Amiens, a year later Bonaparte had no more illusions concerning the hateful hostility of the European monarchies.

The principle of preventing war thus became the unchanging foundation of French foreign policy until 1815. Napoleon worked at this with an obstinacy that approached a mental fixation.

The Remorseless Race for Defensive Alliances

What could be more natural to avoid conflict than to assemble a major group of allies or at least neutrals? French diplomacy had never been as active as it was under the Consulate and Empire. There had never been so many negotiations as in this period, when France knew only four ministers of foreign affairs in sixteen years: Talleyrand (1799-1807), Champagny (1807-1811), Maret (1811-1813), and Caulaincourt (until 1815).

There had never been so many alliances, negotiations, and mutual agreements based on fluctuations in the general situation and the evolving balance of forces. An implacable diplomatic war prepared and accompanied the military campaigns and the economic war.

Napoleon’s diplomatic strategy followed the same principle that ruled his military strategy: prevent the assembly of multiple enemies of France into warlike coalitions. The weaker the coalitions, the easier they would be to disperse.

The bitter diplomatic competition that occurred between 1803 and 1815 may be divided into three matches:

— 1803-1807: The first match against Britain

— 1807-1812: The diplomatic apogee of the Empire

— 1813-1815: The tragic isolation of France.

1803-1807: Britain Wins the First Match

The year 1803 was that in which danger became evident, after Britain had given the first signs of its unwillingness concerning the implementation of the Treaty of Amiens. On February 25 it openly declared its intention to retain Malta, in violation of a clause in the treaty.

The sale of Louisiana to the United States of America prepared an alliance with that state of such promising future.

On June 1 Bonaparte received an Austrian diplomat related to Chancellor Cobenzl and made overtures to him. On July 23 it was Prussia’s turn. Bonaparte proposed a Franco-Prussian alliance to the private secretary of the King of Prussia, Lombard, whom he met in Brussels. Coveting Hanover but fearing the displeasure of Britain, the Prussian king Frederick William III began a long dance of hesitation.

A defensive alliance in good and due form was signed with Sweden on September 27.

On October 19 France obtained the benevolent neutrality of Spain, which engaged through the voice of Godoy to provide France with financial aid in its struggle against Britain.

On December 19 the neutrality of Portugal, over which Britain exercised a preponderant influence, was obtained.

While 1804 witnessed domestic good fortune with the inauguration of the Empire, storms were gathering abroad. On March 24 Frederick William tilted toward the tsar of Russia, Alexander I, who promised him an alliance if the French army crossed the Weser River. On September 3 Napoleon exchanged with Cobenzl at Aachen the mutual recognition of the French and Austrian empires, an action taken very badly by the other European monarchies.

Matters worsened on October 3 with the break in diplomatic relations with Russia, while Spain, struggling with Britain over encroachments on its colonies, declared war on December 3.

Marked by the return of hostilities in Europe, the year 1805 witnessed an acceleration in the drive of the belligerents to develop alliances. On January 4 France and Spain signed a naval convention unifying their two fleets under French command. But Britain succeeded in forming the Third Coalition. On April 11 it signed with Russia the Convention of Saint Petersburg, which Austria joined on August 9. The accord fixed the objective of the Coalition as returning France to its 1789 boundaries and imposing upon it a government of the Coalition’s choice. This alliance signified the rejection of the natural frontiers, which guaranteed French security, and was an intolerable interference in French domestic affairs.

France nonetheless succeeded in blocking the indecisive Frederick William from joining the Coalition. Prussia declared itself neutral but held itself ready to enter the war by a hypocritical “armed mediation,” signed with Russia on November 3.

In southern Germany, by contrast, France was more successful. Bavaria declared itself in alliance with France on August 25, followed by Württemberg and Baden on October 3.

In Italy, the French negotiators obtained the neutrality of the hostile kingdom of Naples until November 19, on which date it inconveniently joined the Third Coalition, an act that was to cost it dearly.

Yet, nothing stimulates diplomacy like a good military victory. On the morrow of Austerlitz when Prussia had failed to fight, its diplomatic chief Haugwitz signed at Schonbrunn a short-lived treaty of alliance with France, an action that was poorly received by the court in Berlin.

The situation in 1806 showed a promising period of good weather, unfortunately of short duration. At Paris on February 15 the Franco-Prussian Treaty of Schonbrunn was revised at the request of Frederick William. The unreasonable demands made by the evasive Prussians rebounded upon them. Ratified on February 23, the new pact obligated Prussia to close its ports to Great Britain and to break relations with London. All that remained was for the Prussian court to launch its foolish war that ended in October with the disaster of Jena-Auerstadt.

In regards to Britain, matters had never been so favorable. The prime minister, that inveterate Francophobe Pitt, died on January 23, according to some as a collateral victim of Austerlitz. Fox, the new occupant of the Foreign Office, displayed a more favorable disposition. On March 2 Napoleon seized this opportunity to send peace overtures to London, where they were well received. Lord Yarmouth arrived for official negotiations on June 14. Peace between France and Britain has never been so close, but unfortunately Fox died on September 13 and all hopes disappeared with his successor.

The same phenomenon occurred with Russia. Negotiations began on July 6. Baron Oubril, the plenipotentiary of the tsar, came to Paris to regulate the matter of Cattaro or Kotor, an Austrian territory ceded to France by the Treaty of Pressburg on December 26, 1805, but still occupied by Russia. Favored by the good will of the two parties, negotiations soon exceeded the limits of Cattaro to extend to the resolution of all Franco-Russian issues of contention. They resulted on July 20 in a draft accord for an unhoped-for peace. France agreed to withdraw its troops from Germany in return for a Russian withdrawal from Cattaro. Yet, influenced by his court and pressured by Prussia and Britain, on September 3 Tsar Alexander refused to ratify the agreement, much to Napoleon’s disappointment. The second great hope of peace had evaporated. Britain succeeded in forming the Fourth Coalition with Prussia, Russia, and Sweden.

The great diplomatic achievement of 1806 was the foundation of the Confederation of the Rhine, the details of which we will discuss below in the chapter on the “protective glacis.” By placing all of southern Germany under its influence, French diplomacy achieved a resounding double stroke. Not only did it push potential battlefields far from the country’s borders, but it also gained a defensive alliance with the states that composed the Confederation, states that promised to furnish a total of 63,000 soldiers to the emperor.

Matrimonial alliances helped shore up the diplomatic scaffolding. Napoleon’s stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais, married the daughter of the Elector of Bavaria. The emperor’s niece by marriage, Stephanie de Beauharnais, married the hereditary prince of Baden. Jerome Bonaparte prepared to ally himself with Katherine, daughter of Frederick I of Württemberg.

On the negative side, the Spanish alliance was waning. Playing a troubling game, on October 5 Godoy issued a declaration of neutrality.

The year ended with a diplomatic success against hostile Russia. The skillful French ambassador to Turkey, General Sébastiani, gained the confidence of Sultan Selim III. A personal letter from Napoleon addressed to the sultan on December 1 swung him to a French alliance. Turkey declared war on Russia on December 30. The tsar was forced to commit significant military forces to his southern frontier, which temporarily discouraged his warlike ambitions in Eastern Europe.

A few days later, the Elector of Saxony was declared king. He had joined the Confederation of the Rhine and by consequence the French alliance.

1807-1812: From the Grand Illusion to the Apogee

In 1807 French diplomacy achieved such striking successes that one could envision a lasting peace.

Spain returned to the French alliance and joined the continental blockade on February 19. On March 18, Austria proclaimed its friendly sentiments by offering its good offices to mediate between France and Russia. In fact, it was soon obvious that Vienna was playing a double game. On May 4, a Franco-Prussian alliance was signed at Finkenstein, putting another pebble in Alexander I’s shoes. But what was gained on one hand was lost on another. On May 27 a coup d’etat in Constantinople overthrew Selim III. His successor would continue the war against Russia for another four years.

The most important event occurred at the start of the summer of 1807. The severe military lesson inflicted on the tsar at Friedland on June 14 resulted on July 7 in the signing of the famous Treaty of Tilsit and the miraculous Franco-Russian friendship.

The conditions leading to the conclusion of this mythic treaty merit a detailed development. They illustrate Napoleon’s obsessive attachment to peace and the sacrifices he was willing to make for that purpose.

On June 19 Prince Lobanov-Rostovskii, the tsar’s representative, arrived crestfallen at Tilsit to seek an armistice after the disaster of Friedland five days earlier. Napoleon received him not as a vanquished foe but rather as a partner. He put him immediately at ease and showed him every consideration. The emperor invited Lobanov to dine and paid tribute to the bravery of the Russian soldiers who had been so much more difficult to defeat than the Prussians of the previous year. He immediately indicated that the conclusion of an armistice would present no difficulty, but that in his eyes it would be more important to conclude a durable peace. He was prepared to offer conditions with which the tsar would certainly be satisfied. He even indicated the general outline of such an agreement.

This encouraging beginning immediately obtained the happiest results. The day after the signature of an armistice on June 21, Alexander again sent Lobanov to Napoleon’s headquarters, carrying an equally encouraging message:

The union between France and Russia has been the constant objective of my desires and I am convinced that only such a union could ensure happiness and tranquility for the world. An entirely new system must replace that which has existed up to now, and I flatter myself that we could easily reach agreement in a few days with the Emperor Napoleon, provided that we dealt with each other without intermediaries.

This response gratified Napoleon. An alliance with a great power in the eastern portion of Europe had been a constant goal of French diplomacy. The existence of a threat in the rear of potential enemies, currently Austria and Prussia but at some future date a unified Germany, would be a capital advantage for the security of France.

The power that could best fulfill this role was obviously Great Russia, and it was equally in Russia’s highest interest to obtain a symmetrical advantage in the never-ending German-Slavic antagonism.

On June 25 the two sovereigns met in a theatrical fashion on a richly appointed raft in the middle of the Niemen River, at Tilsit. On the two opposing banks, the two Imperial Guards cheered. Napoleon assisted Alexander in boarding the raft and then embraced him. The cheers redoubled on the banks while the emperors met in private in one of the two sumptuous tents pitched on the raft.

The simplicity of their dealing was in jarring contrast to the majestic décor. Alexander declared bluntly, “Sire, I hate the English as much as you do.” Napoleon replied immediately, “In that case, the peace is made.” Alexander replied, “I will be your second in all that you do against them.” Napoleon repeated his compliments to the Russian army, causing Alexander to blush with pleasure by remarking, “[W]e are two great nations. To make peace we can divide the globe between us.” Decidedly, Russian autocrats have long been accustomed to the uncouth pattern at Yalta!

Another discussion occurred the following day at the same location, again in private, after which the negotiations continued in an enlarged fashion in the city of Tilsit, which was divided in half for this purpose. Pomp was not missing from these discussions, with cannon salutes and mutual reviews of Imperial Guards.

To please Alexander, Napoleon had agreed to the presence of the king of Prussia and of his very influential queen, Louise, whose beauty had a great effect on the tsar. She even tried to use her charm on Napoleon himself in order to obtain clemency for her country. Napoleon proved less resistant to this feminine offensive than to the assault at Friedland. But he conceded nothing to Louise, who had once styled her wig as an insult to him.

The Franco-Russian Treaty of Tilsit was signed on July 7, the Franco-Prussian agreement two days later.

The terms were astonishingly favorable to a Russia vanquished by arms. She lost only the trifles of Cattaro and the Ionian Islands. The tsar pledged to participate in the blockade against Britain, and even to declare war if the British did not accept his mediation of the Franco-British conflict. In return, he received a free hand to deal with Sweden and Finland and to act against Turkey, that is to say carte blanche to follow the expansionist policies of his grandmother Catherine II. In addition, in another exorbitant gift that spared Austria as well, Napoleon (to the great detriment of the Poles) reduced somewhat his plan to reconstitute Poland, a plan that had been close to his heart. The creation of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw under the king of Saxony affected only the Prussian portions of the former Polish state. Thus the conqueror’s concessions were significant. But, what would Napoleon not have sacrificed for peace?

Arrogantly responsible for the war, Prussia paid all the costs. Berlin deserved it!

As at Amiens, Napoleon sincerely believed that he had found a lasting peace at Tilsit. Sealed by an apparently sincere friendship between the two emperors, the Russian alliance would neutralize the other European monarchies who could not risk having to fight on two fronts.

This did not make them more friendly, however, as demonstrated by the bad temper of Gustaf IV of Sweden, who on July 8 denounced the Franco-Swedish Treaty concluded in April after Mortier’s victory at Anklam.

The reverberations of Tilsit contributed to a visible increase in the general system of alliances. On October 30 Denmark, violently assaulted by the British who savagely bombarded Copenhagen, aligned itself with France. The next day Spain confirmed its participation in the blockade. On November 7 Russia itself took another step by declaring war on Britain. That same day, Austria also joined the continental blockade.

The years that followed did not, unfortunately, resemble 1807. The pacifist euphoria of that year gave way to disenchantment in 1808.

After Tilsit, all of Napoleon’s efforts were focused on consolidating the existing alliances. Thwarted with regard to Constantinople by the overthrow of Sultan Selim III, he gave Austria the advantage on January 22, 1808, to expand its territories with respect to Turkey, Vienna’s hereditary enemy. Austria thus profited from the partition of the Ottoman Empire, which France and Russia had projected after their alliance.

Foreseeing in effect the chilling of Franco-Russian relations, Napoleon encouraged Alexander’s tendency to orient on the Ottoman Empire. On February 2, 1808, the emperor proposed a plan to partition Turkey, followed by a combined military mission in the direction of India “to bring England to her knees.” The tsar showed a very strong interest in the affair. Discussion began on March 2 between the representatives of the two countries, Caulaincourt and Rumyantsev. On March 31 Alexander willingly confirmed his agreement, but demanded Constantinople for Russia. Napoleon could not accept that exorbitant claim, which would have given Russia the strategic key to the Mediterranean.

Absorbed at the moment by a resurgence of the Spanish question, Napoleon waited until May 31 to propose a meeting with Alexander. Soon the unfavorable development of the Spanish situation definitively buried the project.

The fatal Spanish affair overthrew the diplomatic deal developing in the spring of 1808. The disastrous French involvement in the Spanish hornet’s nest and the opening of a new British front in the French rear encouraged its enemies to raise their heads again. Profiting from the inconveniences caused by tightening the blockade, Britain opened a bridgehead in Portugal. It actively supported the ancient kingdom of Naples. London also encouraged the deterioration of relations between France and the Roman Curia.

The initial military checks suffered by France in Spain emboldened Prussia to dream of an early revenge. Austria had already begun to rattle its arms. And Russia again turned a complacent ear to British advances.

In short, the desirable French diplomatic situation had deteriorated gravely in a few months. Napoleon needed to take the situation in hand quickly. Above all, he had to save the Franco-Russian alliance, keystone of peace. This was what he attempted desperately to accomplish in organizing an imposing conference at Erfurt from September 27 to October 14, 1808.

At stake at Erfurt was the military neutrality of Prussia and above all of Austria while France was engaged in Spain. To this end, Napoleon looked to obtain a guarantee from his Russian ally to go to war in the case of aggression against France.

If he had agreed with apparent good will to participate in the conference, Alexander no longer showed Napoleon that warm friendship of Tilsit. His Francophobe court, together with British intriguers and French immigrants, had obviously taken the tsar in hand. Moreover, although he did not realize it until later, the emperor was badly betrayed by Talleyrand, whom he had been so weak as to employ after his banishment from foreign relations. In secret, this criminal unveiled a plan of French negotiations to encourage the tsar to “save Europe by standing up to Napoleon.”

Under these circumstances, Napoleon could only obtain a patchwork instead of the solid renewal of the Franco-Russian alliance. In spite of important concessions and even Napoleon’s request to marry the young sister of the tsar, Grand Duchess Anna, Alexander remained vague on the key point of the intervention of the Russian army in case of an attack by Austria.

With this lapse of French diplomacy, the grand illusion of the peace of Tilsit ended.

The failure of Erfurt translated in 1809 into the renewal of hostilities by Austria. Assured privately of Alexander’s neutrality, stimulated by the retention in Spain of a large portion of the French army, and encouraged by British military engagement in the Iberian Peninsula, the Austrian emperor believed that the hour of revenge had come. He once again underestimated the military genius of Napoleon, who again thrashed the Austrian army in the course of a brilliant campaign from April to July 1809, crowned by the decisive victory of Wagram and concluded by the Treaty of Vienna of October 14.

This war confirmed Alexander’s duplicity. He engaged his army only in a sham attack to justify his seizure of Galicia. This favor accorded to a suspect ally proves again Napoleon’s obsession with peace. Without trusting too much in illusion, he still wished to give the Russian alliance one last chance, a chance that in turn produced other vicious effects. Britain profited from this by signing a peace treaty with Turkey on January 5, 1809.

Another diplomatic disappointment of that year was the grave deterioration of relations with the Roman Curia caused by the holy Spanish war. Pressured by a traditionalist entourage, Pope Pius VII encouraged Catholics to rise up against Napoleon, whom they considered to be the “antichrist.” The emperor replied on May 17, 1809, by putting an end to the historic gift of Charlemagne to the pope: “The papal states are merged into the French Empire.” In compensation for the resulting loss of income, the pope was recompensed with a payment of two million francs and a guarantee of his religious independence. The Curia issued a bull of excommunication against “the authors of this plundering” without citing Napoleon by name. Orders were therefore issued to “confine” the pope and his advisors. Applied with an excessive zeal, this measure was interpreted as confining the pope to a residence at Savona. The Roman crisis was only deferred.

The remarriage of Napoleon to insure the succession of the Empire gave rise to a diplomatic tournament bordering on vaudeville between the Romanovs of Russia and the Hapsburgs of Austria. Napoleon, for whom everything was political, seized the occasion to try again in the battle of alliances. He therefore excluded out of hand any French woman or princess of the second order. Lacking a princess of marriageable age, the Hohenzollerns of Prussia were out of play. The choice came down to that between a young sister of Alexander, the Grand Duchess Anna, and the daughter of Francis I of Austria, the Archduchess Maria-Louisa.

Because of the friendship, however uncertain, that already linked him to Alexander, but above all because the empire of the tsars had a superior geographic weight, Napoleon preferred the grand duchess, about whom he had already sounded Alexander at Erfurt. He charged Caulaincourt, ambassador to Russia, to negotiate. On November 4 he sent the tsar an official marriage proposal, which plunged Alexander into the greatest quandary. He was personally in favor of the match but his mother, the Tsarina Maria, widow of Paul I, would not hear of it. To strong arguments about the difference in age and religion, she added her implacable hostility to Napoleon himself.

To overcome this opposition, the emperor made a significant concession concerning his official and private ties with Poland: the recognition of the partition of 1795. Knowing the high value that Russia attached to this question, he hoped in return to get an immediate agreement with Alexander. The tsar deceived him yet again. He could not succeed in convincing his august but cantankerous mother, and was in any case advised against the alliance by all the unrepentant French émigrés at the court of Saint Petersburg. The tsar continued to equivocate.

As for the Habsburg archduchess, it was not even necessary to initiate the matter. As early as November 29, 1809, in Vienna, Metternich suggested the possibility of a “marriage by the Emperor with a princess of this family” in a meeting with the French chargé d’affaires, Count de Laborde. Obviously the Viennese cabinet wanted to preempt the negotiations with Saint Petersburg.

Seeking to beat Russia to the punch, Metternich charged his ambassador Schwarzenberg to pursue the matter actively in Paris. After beating about the bush, the Court of Vienna gave its enthusiastic agreement.

On January 29, 1810, the emperor summoned a great council to announce his decision. The options were balanced. In a minority led by Murat, the advocates of a Russian marriage pointed out the inconvenience of placing the great niece of Marie Antoinette on the throne of France. On the other side, Cardinal Fesch warned against the schismatic effect of choosing an Orthodox princess at a moment when relations with Rome were at their worst. Talleyrand, whom the emperor continued to recognize despite his disgrace, advocated an Austrian alliance to “absolve France in the eyes of Europe and of itself, of a crime that was not its own and which belonged to only one faction [of regicides],” he claimed.

Having no remaining illusions with regard to Alexander, Napoleon settled on the Austrian marriage.

It was now important to appear very prudent in the formalization of the choice. First, one must protect the feelings of Alexander, who might feel himself slighted by a decision taken without even waiting for his formal response. Moreover, it was important to anticipate the negative reaction from Saint Petersburg so that the Austrian marriage would not appear as a replacement solution. One must after all consider the dignity of France as well as of Austria!

To this end, Napoleon addressed two letters to Alexander with an interval of twenty-four hours between them. In the first, the emperor renounced the hand of the tsar’s sister for the reasons he had already advanced, the age of the princess and her religion. Thus, no one could reproach him. In the second, Napoleon informed Alexander of his marriage with the Archduchess Maria-Louisa of Austria.

His haste was justified. En route to Saint Petersburg, these two missives crossed the negative response of the tsar, transmitted by Caulincourt. Alexander had not even felt it necessary to write personally.

The marriage occurred on April 2, 1810, at the Tuileries, to the great displeasure of Alexander, who had no one to blame but himself. Austria replaced Russia in the grand strategy of Napoleon.

Despite the subsequent political problems, the union of Napoleon with a descendant of the Emperor Charles V constituted a political masterstroke with two effects: it neutralized the hostility of the great powers of continental Europe and it was of a nature to calm the resentment of the monarchies. Its future failure would be a demonstration of the inevitability of wars imposed on Napoleon.

It was time for France to accept this revision of alliances. That with Russia fluttered farther and farther away since the Treaty of Vienna and the marriage negotiations. Alexander’s exorbitant pretensions with regard to Poland aggravated matters. In the pure Russian tradition, the tsar dreamed of reconstituting that country under his thumb. He had the effrontery to expect a part of Austrian Poland under the Treaty of Vienna, although he had failed to fulfill his military alliance. He returned to this effort on December 26, 1809, proposing a convention in which Napoleon would engage to “prevent forever the reconstitution of Poland.” Losing his head in the climate of the Court of Saint Petersburg and apparently ignorant that Poland represented a key piece in French security policy, the naïve ambassador Caulaincourt took it upon himself to sign this convention on January 4. Napoleon was constrained to disavow him on February 2. But, to prove his willingness to be accommodating, the emperor promised “never to give any assistance to any power or any interior uprising that attempted to reestablish the Kingdom of Poland.” This was an enormous concession that came close to abandoning his loyal Polish friends and allies. Alexander was still not satisfied and returned to his original proposition, which obviously went nowhere. From that point on the Russian alliance existed only in Alexander’s mind.

This was even more so because the tsar found another pretext for discontent in the election of Bernadotte by the Swedish diet on August 21, 1810, as hereditary prince of Sweden. Alexander knew that Napoleon had no hand in this unwanted affair, favored by the Franco-Swedish peace of January 6, 1810. He also knew that Bernadotte hated Napoleon and that he could be turned around at the first opportunity, which happened quite soon.

Meanwhile, Bernadotte succeeded in making himself the subject of much talk. This criminal in power played a disgusting game. At the same time that he was letting Alexander know of his bias in favor of Russia, on January 6, 1811, he proposed to Napoleon that the two conclude an alliance against Alexander, in return for which Bernadotte would be allowed to seize Norway from Denmark, then an ally of France. Napoleon refused this ignoble deal coming from a prince having “so much effervescence and loose ideas in his head.”

The year 1811 was very fertile with other disorderly diplomatic events.

On May 14, burned by previous disappointments and fearing to again become the bill-payer for a Franco-Russian understanding, Prussia made simultaneous overtures of alliance to both countries. It reiterated this offer to Russia on July 16. The tsar avoided the matter at first, but ended on October 17 by signing a convention that obligated Russia only to enter war to protect East Prussia. As for Napoleon, he surprised Berlin by accepting its offers on October 28. Frederick William III was very embarrassed and turned toward Francis of Austria. Reprimanded severely by France on December 24, Frederick William acquiesced on the 29th. Several days later, he discretely begged Alexander’s pardon for this disloyalty.

Austria was not absent from this strange diplomatic ballet. On December 17, it accepted in principle a French alliance against Russia and rejected Prussia on the 26th.

Marked by the crystallization of Franco-Russian antagonism, the diplomatic year 1811 ended thus in success for France.

The year 1812 marked the apogee of imperial diplomacy on the eve or a renewal of hostilities against a weakened Russia, supported only by Britain and Sweden.

On July 18 at Oerebro, in Sweden, Britain signed an alliance with Russia. On April 5 at Gatchina Russia concluded a treaty of understanding with Sweden, transformed into an alliance on August 30 at Abo. Alexander suggested to a somber Bernadotte that he might replace Napoleon in France, the beneficiary of this plan having no doubt of his capacity to perform.

France brought about the two major alliances prepared the previous year. The Franco-Prussian alliance was concluded on February 28. On March 4 the Franco-Austrian alliance was signed at Paris.

Henceforth expecting nothing more from an Alexander whose country was already on a war footing, Napoleon had no further reason to give him consideration in Poland. At the end of May the emperor instructed Pradt, his representative in Warsaw, to cease blocking the meeting of a Diet that would proclaim the reestablishment of the Kingdom of Poland. But the doubtful and incompetent Pradt bungled everything.

At the same time, Napoleon rejected with contempt the last propositions of Bernadotte, whose duplicity was now beyond doubt.

Frosting the cake of French diplomacy, the United States declared war on Britain on June 18 after various maritime incidents. But this decision was to have little practical effect for some time.

Russia did, however, have two successes. On May 28 at Bucharest it concluded a treaty of peace with Turkey, relieving pressure on its southern frontiers.

The French diplomatic dominance of the year 1812 would collapse with the disaster of the Russian campaign at the end of that year.

1813-1815: The Tragic Isolation of France

The year 1813 demonstrated that a diplomacy not supported by military power is doomed to failure. With the Grand Armeé engulfed in Russia, the supposed allies of France, who had been waiting for such an occasion, abandoned it and turned against it in the campaign of 1813.

Nonetheless, the year began with the ephemeral success of the signature of a new Concordat at Fontainebleau on January 25, resolving France’s disagreements with Rome. Napoleon achieved this result by negotiating head to head with the good Pius VII, released from the pernicious influence of the traditionalist and royalist Roman Curia, which was dominated by Cardinal Capra. But this last soon took the pope in hand and persuaded him on March 24 to retract his signature.

Secretly supported by the conspiratorial attitude of Austria, Prussia reversed its alliance on February 22 with the signature of the Russo-Prussian Treaty of Kalisch. Prussia immediately prepared to enter the field against France.

On April 12 the hesitant Austria declared itself to be in a state of “armed mediation,” towing in its wake a few days later the opportunistic king of Saxony.

The lightning success of Napoleon in the first part of the 1813 campaign constrained the Russo-Prussians on January 4 to conclude the false armistice of Pleiswitz. The resulting peace negotiations at Prague were intended only to gain the time necessary for the Russo-Prussians to refit militarily and for the Austrians to prepare their entry into the war

Britain manifested itself officially on June 14 by signing the Treaty of Reichenbach with Russia and Prussia, to whom it gave substantial subsidies. Austria joined in turn on June 27.

Austria declared war on France on August 12, the day after the expiration of the armistice and the end of the false Congress of Prague, which Vienna had been actively employed in undermining.

The poorly exploited French victory at Dresden on August 27 prompted the Coalition partners to tighten their alliance by the Treaty of Toeplitz, to which Britain adhered on October 30. Austria had the responsibility of rallying the south German rulers to the Coalition. Bavaria signed an armistice on September 17, followed by the Treaty of Ride on October 8.

The cruel defeat of Leipzig (October 16-19) marked the end of the French presence in Germany. The king of Württemberg rejoined the Coalition on November 3.

The brilliant campaign in France in 1814 so destabilized the Coalition that Britain had to reinforce it at Chaumont on March 8. The Coalition powers joined together for twenty years, each promising to mobilize 150,000 men. Yet, his victories did not save Napoleon, abandoned and even betrayed by the majority of his followers, from his first abdication on April 6, 1814, followed by his exile to the island of Elba.

The Treaty of Paris was signed May 30. France relinquished all of its acquisitions since the Revolution except Mulhouse, Avignon, part of Savoy and several border rectifications in the Saar and the north. Overseas, she lost the Ile de France, Saint Lucia, and Tobago.

Upon his return from Elba on March 1, 1815, amid an indescribable popular celebration, Napoleon forcefully affirmed his desire for peace, both domestically and especially abroad. Refusing any discussion, the European monarchs banned Napoleon on March 13 at Vienna. Because he was supported by almost the entirety of the French people, it was thus France that was banned by Europe. The true motive of the enemies of France was thus shown openly. Napoleon’s unpardonable crime was to have restored the sovereignty of the people, after having instituted it under the Consulate.

Beginning on March 25, 1815, the Seventh Coalition formed against France, alone against everyone. At Waterloo in 1815, the monarchist reaction was the second match of its ideological confrontation against the “democratic plague.” The reactionaries did not realize that in a few years absolute monarchy would lose its attraction. Even if it proved possible to defeat a genius incarnate, the reactionaries were unable to halt the march of universal aspirations.

On balance, Napoleon’s unbridled pursuit of defensive alliances to prevent armed conflict proved vain because the war was tragically and inevitably inscribed in history. We will find the confirmation of this in the failure of the other defensive effort conceived by Napoleon.

A Policy Founded on the Prevention of Conflicts

Napoleon was too realistic to entrust the security of France solely to treaties of alliance. While certainly useful, these documents were still too subject to the changing spirits and fluctuating interests of the signatories to offer absolute guarantees, as we have already witnessed.

Such abstract protection obviously did not suffice to guarantee the security of France. Therefore Napoleon added a vast territorial buffer, having two purposes: to better dissuade aggression, and if that failed to allow a greater strategic depth to defeat such aggression.

It was therefore a matter of applying the principle of precaution so common in our own days.

The achievement of this defensive arrangement required a gigantic geopolitical shift, prefiguring the unity of Europe. The arrangement was constantly changing and improving up until 1814. The obligations of the continental blockade were to contribute greatly to its construction.

Determined solely by the imperative of security, this “Continental System,” as it was known, owned nothing to a spirit of conquest. All the peoples involved had joined without compulsion, and those who did not belong to the French sphere of influence retained their autonomous governments.

The effectiveness of the system depended on a structure of three complementary entities, almost concentric rings arranged around a national sanctuary. We therefore find, in order from closest to farthest away: the rampart of lands integral to the Empire; the protective glacis of friendly or familial states; and the flank guard of family kingdoms.

Making the national territory into a sanctuary depended essentially on the maintenance of French sovereignty on the natural frontiers of the Rhine and the Alps, traditional routes of invasion. This old Gallic dream finally began to become reality with the Treaty of Campoformio on October 17, 1797, crowning Bonaparte’s victories in Italy. Austria recognized French possession of Belgium and of the left bank of the Rhine. At the Congress of Rastadt on December 1, Bonaparte, plenipotentiary of the Directory, had watched very attentively to ensure the confirmation of this critical clause of Campoformio. When he became First Consul, he did not deviate from this imperative in the Treaties of Lunéville (February 9, 1801) and Amiens (March 25, 1802). The great powers finally recognized the Rhine as the frontier of France.

Later, Napoleon was to consolidate the Rhine frontier by the 1806 acquisition on the left bank of the fortified positions of Kehl and Wesel.

Yet, like all fortresses, the citadel of France thus achieved required the control of its surrounding areas.

The Rampart of Lands Integral to the Empire

This effort was first visible in Italy. Recognizing a situation of fact and responding to the wishes of its representatives, Piedmont joined with France by a Senatus Consultum of September 11, 1802. The island of Elba was added in August. On October 23 the Duke of Parma ceded his rights to France. At the insistent request of its senate, Genoa was incorporated into the Empire on June 30, 1805. For symbolic reasons related to the history of Corsica, Napoleon went to proclaim the event on the spot, in person. The Kingdom of Etruria and the Roman States followed in 1808-1809. The Empire received Ragusa, Fiume, Trieste, Croatia, and a portion of Carinthia. These territories joined with Dalmatia to form the Illyrian Provinces.

In Switzerland, the canton of Valais joined the Empire on November 10, 1810. In Germany, the extension of the Empire was dictated by the requirements of the blockade in order to control the North Sea coast, reaching in 1810 as far as the mouth of the Elbe River at Hamburg.

By 1811, the Empire consisted of 130 departments. This number reached its highest point (134) a few months later with the brief attachment of the four departments of Catalonia. The Empire thus included eighty-five million inhabitants, or almost three times the population of traditional France.

The Protective Glacis of Friendly Lands

Generally flanking the natural frontiers of France, the borders of the Empire were vulnerable to the recurring menace coming from the east. The Empire’s security was reinforced by the creation of a protective glacis of various states, providing both a defensive alliance and a strategic buffer in case of war.

This glacis may be divided into “family” states and friendly states. Among the former, the key piece was the Kingdom of Italy, the former Cisalpine Republic whose crown the emperor assumed personally at Milan on March 17, 1805, at the request of Italian representatives. He confided effective government of this kingdom to his stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais, with the title of viceroy. Peopled with seven million inhabitants, the Kingdom of Italy bordered: on the south, the Kingdom of Naples, the Papal States, and Tuscany (these latter two later joining the Empire); to the west, Piedmont; to the northwest, Valois; to the north, Switzerland; and on the east, the Illyrian Provinces.

In Italy one must also note the designation, on June 23, 1805, of Napoleon’s sister Elisa to be princess of Lucca. The following year she also received the duchies of Massa and Carrara.

The Helvetian Confederation protected the Alpine frontier. The construction of this sovereign territorial entity had been difficult. Hampered by serious internal troubles in 1801, the representatives of the Swiss canon asked for Bonaparte’s arbitration. The Act of Malmaison, first outline of a federal constitution, was signed on April 29, but it satisfied no one. The Swiss deputies again requested that Bonaparte mediate. From this on January 19, 1802, came the Act of Mediation of the Helvetic Confederation, establishing for Switzerland a federal constitution of nineteen cantons, with Bonaparte reserving to himself a continuing role as mediator.

The Holy Roman Empire of Germany controlled the great traditional invasion routes to France. Therefore, it was this empire that would experience the efforts of building a shield for France.

An ancient vestige of the agitated history of Germany, the Holy Roman Empire was a curious and complex political mosaic. Under the nominal authority of the Austrian emperor, it included a loose association of many little kingdoms, duchies, principalities, and free cities. A Diet meeting periodically held them together.

Napoleon’s actions were intended to simplify and restructure this puzzle in order to place it under French influence with the consent of the Diet.

This general reorganization was to occur in two phases: the Recess of 1803 and the formation of the Rhine Confederation in 1806.

The “Recess of the German Empire” took as its point of departure the Treaty of Teschen of 1779 between France and Russia. In this treaty, the two great powers asserted their role as coregents of the Empire. The tsar maintained a patronage in Germany with the princes of Hesse, Baden, and Württemberg. The Peace of Lunéville with Austria had opened the door of the Empire to France by major changes, which the peace made on both sides of the Rhine.

In the Franco-Russian peace treaty of October 10, 1801, a secret article provided for the mediation by the two powers in a sort of German reconstitution. The resulting diplomatic negotiations with a deputation of the Diet led to the “Recess” adopted by the Diet of Ratisbonne on March 24, 1803.

This “Recess” reorganized the map of Germany. One hundred twelve small states, all the ecclesiastical principalities except for Ratisbonne, and forty-five of fifty-one free cities were abolished. Overall, the Holy Roman Empire was reconfigured into three blocs: a northeastern Germany dominated by Prussia, a central portion left to the weakened influence of Austria, and a south Germany controlled by France. This last part included the principal states of Bavaria, Württemberg, and Baden.

The “Recess” pleased the great powers. Prussia received eight times more territory than it lost on the left bank of the Rhine. Austria was largely compensated for its losses in Italy: the Duke of Moderna was installed in Bresgau, while Ferdinand of Tuscany (Grand Duke Ferdinand III of Tuscany, brother of the Emperor Francis), received the territory of the archbishopric of Salzburg. Russia obtained the bishopric of Lubeck for its protégé, the duke of Oldenburg. Even Britain could be satisfied: occupied in 1801, Hanover returned to the British crown, expanded by the bishopric of Osnabruck.

As a rough sketch of the protective glacis of France in Germany, the “Recess” demonstrated its failing during the Third Coalition of 1805. In addition, Napoleon sought to consolidate his situation after Austerlitz. By the Treaty of Pressburg, he accomplished the first stage in the expansion of the Rhineland states. Baden received Ortenau and Bresgau while Württemberg obtained Constance and the Austrian possessions in Swabia. Bavaria took Vorarlberg and the Austrian Tyrol, as well as Trento and Bucine in Italy. Moreover, in his role as Holy Roman Emperor, the Austrian emperor recognized the full sovereignty of these three states. Bavaria and Württemberg became independent kingdoms and Baden became a grand duchy. Let us recall the matrimonial connections formed by Napoleon to affirm the attachment of these three states to France: the marriage of his stepson Eugene de Beauharnais with the daughter of the king of Bavaria, of his niece Stephanie de Beauharnais with the heir to Baden, and later of his brother Jerome with the daughter of the king of Württemberg.

In preparation for the constitution of the Confederation of the Rhine that was to follow, Murat was named Grand Duke of Berg on March 15, 1806.

A major supplemental step in the consolidation of the glacis was achieved with the creation on July 12, 1806, of the Confederation of the Rhine. This was an association of sixteen states in southern and southwestern Germany, including: the kingdoms of Bavaria (Maximilian Joseph) and of Württemberg (Frederick I), the grand duchies of Baden, Berg, and Hesse-Darmstadt, and various principalities of lesser importance. Monsignor Dahlberg, Prince Primate, was named arch chancellor of the new entity before becoming the Grand Duke of Frankfurt. He promptly proposed to Napoleon that the Confederation be transformed into a German empire with Napoleon assuming the crown. To indicate clearly that he was not a conqueror, Napoleon flatly refused this proposal. Preoccupied with security, he stated that he was satisfied with a military alliance with the Confederation. Threats coming from the east were thus pushed back by several hundred kilometers, but that did not prove sufficient to deter Prussia.

The Confederation of the Rhine officially separated from the Holy Roman Empire on August 1, 1806. Its Emperor Francis II relinquished the crown on August 6, becoming henceforth only Francis I, emperor of Austria.

After the 1806 war, the Confederation grew considerably to the east by the attachment of other territories, notably the Grand Duchy of Württemberg and Frederick-Augustus’s Saxony transformed into a kingdom. The Grand Duchy of Warsaw was attached to the Confederation when that duchy was created on July 22, 1807.

A new federal state was founded on August 16, 1807, with a portion of Hanover, a part of the territories taken from Prussia west of the Elbe, plus Brunswick and Hesse-Cassel. It was called the Kingdom of Westphalia and given to Joseph Bonaparte.

On October 14, 1808, the Duchy of Oldenburg in turn joined the Confederation of the Rhine.

Yet, the Empire also needed to cover the wings of the rampart and the protective glacis.

The Flank Guard of Familial Kingdoms

This flank guard completed the shield, and consisted of the kingdoms of Holland, Naples, and Spain.

Under the name of the Batavian Republic, the Netherlands had occupied a key strategic position with regard to Britain. It was a potential bridgehead against public enemy number one on both the strategic and economic planes. Although preferring neutrality, by 1800 it formed part of the network of French alliances arising from the Revolution. At the conclusion of the Treaty of Amiens, by which it had recovered Flushing (Vlissingen), the Batavian Republic had shown symptoms of neutralism that were reduced to nothing by the return of war in May 1803. The French alliance was tightened, marked by a new military convention by which the Netherlands engaged to furnish a contingent of 16,000 men and to provide supplies for a corps of 18,000 French soldiers. In addition, as a maritime power the Netherlands had to prepare its fleet to play an important role in the invasion of Britain then under preparation.

On the institutional plane, the Dutch threw themselves into the arms of Revolutionary France to escape the stadholders (governors of the country.) At the time, the Netherlands had a republican regime presided by the “Grand Pensioner” Schimmelpenninck. In 1806 the Batavian authorities took advantage of their leader’s illness to request of Napoleon that he give them his brother Joseph as king. Joseph had earned their respect the previous year while commanding a Franco-Dutch corps. The proclamation was issued on June 5.

This voluntary enthronement of a French king in the Netherlands in principle assured the security of France’s northern frontier. Yet, the relations between Louis and the emperor quickly soured. Louis took his crown too seriously, to the point of compromising the alliance with France, especially with regard to the application of the continental blockade. The relations between the two brothers reached the stage where Napoleon issued a decree severing commercial relations between the Netherlands and the Empire and occupying Oudinot, Breda, and Bergen-Op-Zoom. Louis ordered the governor of the latter city to resist, risking an armed confrontation. Louis finally gave in, but refused to renounce his crown as Napoleon asked. After a series of unfortunate episodes, on July 3, 1810, Louis further complicated his brother’s task by abdicating in favor of his son instead of simply abandoning the throne. What a low blow! Louis owed his crown to the emperor alone, and it was up to Napoleon to decide the fate of that crown. It was in this manner that the Netherlands became attached to the Empire on July 9, to the great satisfaction of the population, it must be emphasized. The country was organized into eight departments under the former consul Lebrun, who performed the functions of lieutenant-general of the emperor. Leaving the role of flank guard, the Netherlands was thus integrated into the territories of the “rampart.” As for Louis, he went into exile in Austria.

In southern Italy, the Kingdom of Naples became a flank guard by military conquest. This monarchy, also known as “the Two Sicilies,” extended on the southern end of the Italian boot and Sicily. The Bourbons who had reigned there had been consistently hostile to France since the first Italian war. One must note that the effervescent Queen Maria-Carolina was the sister of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. She dominated her unfortunate king consort, Ferdinand IV, known as “Nasone.”

Committing a serious error of judgment concerning the fate of the Third Coalition, on November 19, 1805, the Kingdom of Naples violated the treaty of neutrality with regard to France and declared war within a few days of Austerlitz. A corps of 20,000 British and Russian troops disembarked in the Kingdom of Naples on November 19, 1805, threatening the Kingdom of Italy and the rear of Massena’s army, which at that time was fully occupied in containing the Austrian forces of Archduke Charles.

Napoleon could not tolerate for long the persistence of this danger. The disloyalty of the queen of Naples justified him in not pulling any punches with her.

Made available by the victory of Austerlitz, Massena’s reinforced army crossed the Garigliano on February 8, 1806, and marched on Naples in three corps. On the right, Reynier marched on Gaeta and laid siege to it. In the center, Massena advanced to Capua, which fell on February 10, and entered Naples the 14th. On the left, Gouvion Saint-Cyr advanced toward the Gulf of Taranto. The British reembarked precipitously for Sicily, imperiling their Russian allies who in turn withdrew to Corfu. The court of Naples took refuge in Palermo. Joseph Bonaparte entered Naples with Massena’s army on February 15 and was proclaimed king of Naples. The population received him favorably. On February 25 Napoleon declared the fall of the Bourbons of Naples in these terms: “the leaden scepter of this modern Athalia has been broken beyond repair.”

Despite this, the conquest of the Italian boot was not yet complete. A few places resisted further, notably Gaeta, Reggio, and Scylla. The British responded offensively, taking Capri and Ponza. Landing 5,000 men near Saint Eufemia, they inflicted a severe defeat on Reynier’s division at Maida on July 4. But they did not persist, and Gaeta fell again on July 18.

Massena also had to confront the endemic banditry of Culebra. Much to everyone’s surprise, he brought it to an end in December 1806 by the capture and hanging of Fra Diavolo, the celebrated bandit chief who had passed into the service of Queen Maria-Carolina.

With this success in an unavoidable conflict, Napoleon pushed the specter of war a little farther back. The entire Italian boot was henceforth under his control. But, his security would never be total, because the British could not be expelled from Sicily.

With Spain, and more generally with the Iberian Peninsula, the idea of a flank security guard assumed a vital importance because of the openness of the frontiers. The question here turned into a nightmare due to a coincidence of fatal circumstances that were exploited by France’s enemies.

Paradoxically, Napoleon’s obsessive concern to avoid conflicts led to the most atrocious of wars. In this case, the prevention of war became intermingled with the war itself. To avoid repetition, we will develop the Spanish question below.

The Lost Dream of European Union

The construction of Napoleon’s defensive shield had more than just military significance. It also reflected the overarching political idea of a unification of the European continent.

One might be surprised to find no written trace of the emperor’s intent in this regard. The explanation is simple: he did not want to encourage yet another charge of conquering ambition by disclosing the project. He explained himself clearly at Saint Helena:

To open public discussion about such higher objectives would be to open them to partisan factions, to passions, intrigue, and gossip without obtaining a result that would discredit the opposition. I therefore calculated that I would obtain this great benefit in secret.

The European Union dream held an eminent position in his thoughts:

One of my greatest hopes was the unification, the concentration of the geographic peoples who had dissolved or broken up because of revolutions and politics. For example, in Europe there were well over 30 million Frenchmen, 15 million Spaniards, 15 million Italians, and 30 million Germans. I hoped to make of each of these peoples a single unified nation. It would have been marvelous to advance in posterity and the blessing of the centuries with such a pageant. I felt myself worthy of such glory…. Europe will soon be able to form a truly unified people. Each person, no matter where he travels, will always find himself in the common homeland. In such a state of affairs there would be more opportunities to provide everywhere a unit of laws, principles, opinions, feelings, and sense of self-interest. Thus, perhaps, by the light of universal ideas one might dream, for the great European family, of the application of the American Congress system, or that of the amphictyons [guardians of religion] in Greece. What a prospect of force, grandeur, delight, and prosperity that would be! What a great and magnificent spectacle!

Upon examining the map of Europe in 1812, one fact is immediately evident: the political union of the continent was practically accomplished! After Charlemagne, whose memory Napoleon often invoked, Europe now experienced its second attempt at unification. Unfortunately, like that which preceded it, this attempt was to fail.

In 1812, the organization of the empire prefigured a confederated European polity, with Paris as its capital. Economic Europe had progressed considerably, both in the enforcement of the blockade and the unification of currencies, weights and measures, and legislation. Administrative Europe was in the process of unification under the Napoleonic Code, which “might serve as the basis for a European code.” As for cultural Europe, the Imperial University could provide the model for a European University. “I had in mind the creation of a European Institute and European prizes to propel, direct, and coordinate all the learned societies of Europe,” Napoleon would explain on Saint Helena.

French became recognized as the common official language of Europe. On the battlefield of Waterloo, Wellington and Blücher communicated in French, as did the Austrians and Russians at Austerlitz. Had not the Grand Armeé, the “army of 20 nations,” already achieved the Europe of Defense?

The conservatism of the monarchies and, above all, by the hegemonic ambition of Great Britain shattered this great European dream. Two centuries later, we have not yet rediscovered the same degree of unification achieved during the Imperial era.

On balance, the pacifist obsession of Napoleon could not succeed against the reactionary obstinacy of the irreducible enemies of the new France, which came together in a moment of implacable conflict. At a minimum, one may state that war was a hideous intrusion into the great work of that inspired builder and peace lover, Napoleon.

It remains to demonstrate that Napoleon never caused a single one of the interminable wars that rendered the history of the Consulate and Empire so bleak.