Worlds Best Histories France Vol 7 by M. Guizot and Madame Guizot De Witt

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The public interest was lively, and openly shown, in spite of the evident
annoyance of the emperor. The friends of the royalist prisoners were
numerous and ardent; and, whether from admiration or indifference, the
public believed General Moreau innocent of all conspiracy, and made excuse
for the dissatisfaction or ambition which he might have manifested. The
sharers of his renown--Dessoles, Gouvion St. Cyr, Macdonald, Lecourbe--
were faithfully present at every sitting. I borrow from the interesting
recollections of Madame Recamier the picture of the spectacle then seen in
the hall of the Palace of Justice, every approach to which was choked by
the crowd. "The prisoners, of whom there were forty-seven, were for the
most part unknown to each other, and filled the raised seats facing those
where the judges sat. Each prisoner was seated between two gendarmes;
those near Moreau were full of respect. When I raised my veil the general
recognized me, and rose to salute me. I returned his salute with emotion
and respect. I was deeply touched at seeing them treat as a criminal that
great general whose reputation was then so glorious and unstained. It was
no longer a question of republic and republicans. Excepting Moreau, who I
am certain was an entire stranger to the conspiracy, it was the royalist
loyalty that alone was on its defence against the new power. This cause of
the ancient monarchy had as its head a man of the people, Georges
Cadoudal.

"That fearless Georges! We looked at him with the thought that that head,
so freely and energetically devoted, must fall on the scaffold; or that he
alone, probably, would not escape death, as he did nothing for that
purpose. Disdaining to defend himself, he only defended his friends; and
when they tried to persuade him to ask for pardon, as the other prisoners
had done, he replied, 'Do you promise me a fairer opportunity of dying?'

"In the ranks of the accused, Polignac and Riviere were still noticeable,
interesting from their youth and devotion. Pichegru, whose name will
remain historically united with Moreau's, was missing at his side--or
rather, one believed his shade was visible there, because it was known
that he also was not in the prison.

"Another recollection, the death of the Duc d'Enghien, increased the
sorrow and terror of many minds, even among the most devoted partisans of
Bonaparte."

Taken as a whole, and in spite of the embarrassment caused by the
persistence of two or three of the accusers, the public judicial
examination was favorable to General Moreau. On being accused of having
agreed to a reconciliation with the traitor Pichegru, he replied, "Since
the beginning of the Revolution there have been many traitors. There were
some who were traitors in 1789, without being so in 1793; there were
others who were so in '93 but were not in '95, others who were so in '95
but have not been so since. Many were republicans who are not so now.
General Pichegru may have had an understanding with Conde in the year IV.;
I believe that he had; but he was included in the proscription of
Fructidor, and must be considered as one of those who were then
proscribed. When I saw other Fructidorians at the head of the authorities
of state--when Conde's army filled the Parisian drawing-rooms and those of
the First Consul, I might very well take a share in restoring to France
the conqueror of Holland. I am credited with the absurd idea of making use
of royalists in the hope of regaining power if they were successful. I
have made war for ten years, and during those ten years I am not aware of
having done absurd things." When they laid emphasis on his interview with
Pichegru and Georges, he said, "A quarter of an hour is but little for the
discussion of a plan of government. It is said that Pichegru was
dissatisfied; probably we were not of the same mind." On the president
regretting that he had not denounced Pichegru and the royalists, saying
that he owed it to a government that loaded him with benefits, Moreau
exclaimed, "The conqueror of Hohenlinden is not a denouncer, M. le
President. Do not put my services and my fortune in the same balance, for
there is no possible comparison between the things. I should have fifty
millions to-day, had I made the same use of victory which many others have
done!"

Moreau wished to plead himself the cause of his life and renown. "It is
only by my counsel," he said, "that I wish to address justice"--here the
illustrious general looked round upon the attentive multitude--"but I feel
that both on your account and mine I ought to speak myself. Unfortunate
circumstances, produced by chance or caused by hatred, may for an instant
obscure the life of the most honorable man; and a clever criminal may keep
off suspicion and the proof of his crimes. The whole life of a prisoner is
always the most certain testimony against him and for him. I therefore set
my whole life to witness against my accusers and prosecutors; it has been
public enough to be known: I shall only recall a few of its epochs: and
the witnesses whom I shall summon will be the French people, and the
people whom France has conquered. I was devoted to the study of law at the
beginning of that revolution which was to establish the liberty of the
French people; and the object of my life being thus changed, I devoted it
to arms. I became a warrior because I was a citizen: I bore this character
beneath our standards, and have always preserved it. I was promoted
quickly, but always from step to step without passing any; always by
serving my country, never by flattering the committees. On being appointed
commander, when victory obliged us to march through the countries of our
enemies, I was as anxious that our character should be respected as that
our arms should be dreaded. War, under my orders, was a calamity only on
the battlefield. I have the presumption to think that the country has not
forgotten my services then, nor the ready devotion which I showed when
fighting as a subordinate; nor how I was appointed to the command-in-chief
by the reverses of our arms, and, in one sense, named general by our
misfortunes. It is still remembered how I twice recomposed the army from
the fragments of those which had been scattered, and how, after having
twice restored it to a condition of being able to cope with the Russians
and Austrians, I twice laid down the command to take another of greater
responsibility. I was not during that period of my life more republican
than during the others, though I seemed so. It is well known that there
was a proposal to put me at the head of a movement similar to that of the
18th Brumaire. I refused, believing that I was made to command armies, and
having no desire to command a Republic. I did more; on the 18th Brumaire I
was in Paris. That revolution, instigated by others, could not disturb my
peace of mind; but directed by a man surrounded by great renown, I might
have hoped for happy results from it. I took part in it to assist it,
whilst some other parties urged me to lead them in opposing it. I received
in Paris General Bonaparte's orders, and, in seeing them executed, I
assisted in raising him to that high degree of power which circumstances
rendered necessary. When, shortly afterwards, he offered me the command of
the army of the Rhine, I accepted it from him with as much devotion as
from the hands of the Republic itself. Never had my successes been more
rapid, more numerous, or more decisive, than during that period; and their
renown was reflected upon the government which accuses me. What a moment
for conspiring, if such a scheme had ever entered my mind! Would an
ambitious man, or a conspirator, have let slip the opportunity when at the
head of an army of 100,000 men so often victorious? I only thought of
disbanding the army before returning to the repose of civil life.

"During that rest, which has not been without glory, I enjoyed my honors
(such honors as no human power can deprive me of), the recollections of
what I had done, the testimony of my conscience, the esteem of my country
and of foreigners, and, to be candid, the flattering and pleasant
presentiment of the esteem of posterity. My mind and disposition were so
well known, and I kept myself so far aloof from any ambitious project,
that from the victory of Hohenlinden till my arrest my enemies were never
able to accuse me of any crime except freedom in speaking. Do conspirators
openly find fault with that which they do not approve? So much candor is
scarcely reconcilable with political secrets and plots. If I had wished to
adopt and follow the plans of any conspirators, I should have concealed my
sentiments, and solicited every appointment which might have restored me
to power. As a guide on such a route, in default of the political talent
which I have never had, there were examples known to all the world and
rendered imposing by success. I might have known that Monk retained
command of his armies when he wished to conspire, and that Cassius and
Brutus came nearer Caesar's heart in order to pierce it."

When the pleading was finished, the emperor and the public anxiously
waited for the sentence. The fact of the royalist plot being proved, the
condemnation of the prisoners was certain, and the inquietude and hopes of
all were concentrated on Moreau. "Towards the close of the trial," said
Madame Recamier, "all business was stopped, the entire population were out
of doors, they talked of nothing but Moreau." The emperor had informed the
judges that he would not demand that the general be condemned to death
unless in the interest of justice, and as a salutary example, his fixed
intention being to grant him pardon. One of the members of the tribunal,
Clavier, a man of great virtue and learning, said, on hearing General
Murat's proposition, "And who will pardon us ourselves, if we pass
judgment and condemnation against our consciences?" At the first
deliberation of the tribunal, seven judges out of twelve voted for
acquittal pure and simple: being afraid of Napoleon's anger, they
sentenced Moreau to two years' imprisonment. "Why, that's a punishment for
a pickpocket!" exclaimed the emperor in a passion. By wise counsel he was
induced to show a prudent clemency. Moreau, nearly ruined by the expense
of the trial, and as annoyed by the sentence as Napoleon was, refused to
ask any favor. "If it was certain that I took part in the conspiracy," he
exclaimed, "I ought to have been condemned to death as a leader. I undergo
the extremity of horror and disgrace. Nobody will believe that I played
the part of a corporal."

His young and handsome wife, being near confinement, asked for and
obtained permission to sail to America with her husband, and when delayed
at Cadiz by child-birth, was urged to set out on the voyage through
Fouche's influence in the Spanish court. "Four years ago about this time,"
wrote the general, "I gained the battle of Hohenlinden. That event, so
glorious for my country, procured for my fellow-countrymen a repose which
they had long wanted. I alone have been unable to obtain it. Will they
refuse it me at the extremity of Europe, 500 leagues from my native land?"

Moreau carried with him into exile the cruel recollection of the name
"brigand" (ruffian), which had been formerly abusively replied to him, and
that keen desire for vengeance which was one day to prove so fatal to his
renown.

Of the royalist prisoners, twenty were condemned to death. In spite of
Murat's eager pleading, eleven perished on the scaffold with Georges
Cadoudal, equal to him in the imperturbability of their political and
religious faith. Riviere and Polignac, General Lajolais, and four others
owed their lives to the supplications of their families, judiciously
assisted by the kindness of the Empress Josephine. They were all sent to
prison.

Napoleon felt with more justice than Moreau himself that the conscience of
the judges had been opposed to his supreme will. In spite of the silence
which he imposed upon the organs of the press, more and more roughly
treated by him, public opinion remained equally stirred up against the
murder of the Duc d'Enghien. A thought which had arisen in his mind from
the day of his elevation to the empire, gained fresh forces from the
feeling of silent disapprobation of all honorable men. He wished to place
a religious stamp upon his greatness, and instructed Cardinal Caprara to
ask the Pope to come to Paris to consecrate him. "It is most unlikely,"
said he, "that any power will make objection to it either in right or in
fact. Therefore broach the subject, and when you have transmitted the
reply, I shall make the suitable and necessary arrangements with the
Pope."

As in the case of the Concordat, the emperor's confidential advisers were
not favorable to the idea of consecration. The discussion in the Council
of State was lively, characterized by all the philosophical and
revolutionary suspicion as to the pretensions of a power being invited to
bestow the crown and thus probably believing it had the power to withdraw
it. Napoleon had formed a better judgment of the profound and permanent
effect of the condescension which he asked from the Pope. "Gentlemen,"
said he to his council, "you are deliberating in Paris in the Tuileries;
suppose that you were deliberating in London in the British cabinet, that
in a word, you were ministers of the King of England, and that you were
told that at this moment the Pope was crossing the Alps to consecrate the
Emperor of the French, would you consider that as a triumph for England or
for France?"

The council had not insisted, and the court of Rome felt their force of
resistance becoming weaker every day. The death of the Duc d'Enghien had
caused the Pope much sorrow:--"My tears now," said Pius VII., "at the
death of the one and the attempt upon the other." The French bishops who
had not resigned had renewed their protestations against the Concordat.
The Sacred College, when consulted as to the journey of the holy father,
were divided in their opinion. Five cardinals declared that by so doing
the Pope would ratify all the usurpations of which the new Emperor of the
French had rendered himself culpable; fifteen showed less severity, but
all insisted upon surrounding the solicited favor with numerous
conditions. "The actual advantage to religion expressly professed in the
invitation which his Holiness is about to accept, but actually injured in
the result, can alone excuse in the eyes of Catholics the temporary
abandonment of the holy seat," wrote Cardinal Consalvi to Cardinal
Caprara: "the dignity and honor of the head of religion both require it."
He also wrote, "The form of oath taken by the emperor raises great
difficulties. We cannot admit the oath _to respect and caused to be
respected the laws of the Concordat_, which is the same thing as saying
that one must respect the organic articles and cause them to be respected.
_To respect the liberty of worship_ supposes an engagement not to tolerate
and allow, but to sustain and protect, and extends not only to persons,
but to the thing, that is to say to all forms of worship. But a Catholic
cannot defend the error of false forms of worship."

Cardinal Caprara, as papal legate in Paris, and Cardinal Fesch, as French
ambassador in Rome, explained away or avoided the difficulties. The
legate, always timid and easily persuaded, gave grounds for hopes which he
was not always able to realize; the cardinal, haughty and violent, divided
between devotion to his all-powerful nephew and his own restoration to
ecclesiastical practices and sentiments, was at Rome lavish of presents
and threats. He at the same time advised the court of Rome to claim the
Legations, whatever were the scruples of the Pope to confound temporal
questions with spiritual concessions. Skilful in making use of the real
Intentions or wishes which he was aware of, without compromising his
government by any formal engagement, Cardinal Fesch at last triumphed over
the repugnances of the Pope by avoiding most of the conditions of the Holy
College, and on the 30th September, 1804, he presented to Pius VII.
General Caffarelli, the emperor's deputy at Rome, instead of the two
bishops formerly insisted upon. Still less explicit than his ambassador,
Napoleon gave no hopes to the holy father of the important concessions
with which the latter was fondly flattering himself.

"Very Holy Father," said the emperor, "the happy result evinced in the
morality and character of my people by the re-establishment of the
Christian religion, leads me to pray your Holiness to give me a new proof
of the interest which your Holiness takes in my destiny and that of this
great nation, in one of the most important periods shown in the annals of
the world. I beg your Holiness to come and give a religious character of
the highest degree to the ceremony of the consecration and coronation of
the first Emperor of the French. That ceremony will acquire a new lustre
if done by your Holiness. It will bring upon us and our peoples the
blessing of God, whose decrees govern according to His will the lot of
empires and of families.

"Your Holiness knows the friendly feeling which I have long had towards
you, and must therefore infer the pleasure which I shall have in giving
you fresh proofs.

"Thereupon we pray God, most holy father, that He may keep you for many
years in the rule and government of our mother the holy Church.

"Your devoted son,

"Napoleon."

The Pope had determined to set out, being convinced that resistance was
impossible, and harassed by a serious inquietude the importance of which
was afterwards confirmed, and by the vague fears of a sickly old man. He
was offended by the contemptuous terms which the foreign ambassadors
applied to the condescension of him whom they called the "French emperor's
chaplain." His Italian subtilty was disturbed, and his natural kindness
chafed by the dryness of the emperor's message. "This is poison which you
have brought to me," said he to General Caffarelli, after reading
Napoleon's letter. He set out nevertheless, obstinately refusing to take
with him Cardinal Consalvi, in whose hands he had placed his abdication.
"If they keep me here," said he one day in Paris, "they will find that
they only have in their power a wretched monk called Barnabus
Chiaramonti."

The Pope's departure had been much hastened by the repeated urgency of the
emperor, and his journey was so also. The time for the ceremony was fixed
without consulting him. As Cardinal Consalvi said in his Memoirs, "they
made the holy father gallop from Rome to Paris like an almoner summoned by
his master to say mass."

On the 25th November, 1804, about mid-day, the emperor was hunting in the
forest of Fontainebleau, and went towards Croix St. Herem at the moment
when the Pope's carriage just reached that spot. The carriage stopped, and
"the holy father stepped out in his white dress; as the road was muddy he
could not soil his silk stockings by stepping on the ground." He got out,
however, whilst the emperor, leaping from his horse, advanced to him and
embraced him. The meeting had been skilfully arranged in order that the
new master of France might be spared the annoyance of a deference which he
considered excessive. Both doors of the emperor's carriage were opened at
once, and Napoleon entering by the right, Pius VII. naturally took the
left. The empress and imperial family were waiting for the Pope at the
great portico of the palace. The emperor seemed triumphant. The Pope was
full of emotion, affected by the kind reception he had met with by the
people during his journey. "I have passed through a population all on
their knees," said he.

The Emperor Napoleon was not on his knees, and Pius VII. was even sensible
of it. Several questions had remained undecided before the holy father's
departure for France: Napoleon had resolutely disposed of them, and
yielded only on one point. Still bandied about between his own
uncertainty, the love which he still felt for the Empress Josephine, the
intrigues of her family, who were opposed to him, and the passionate
longing to have a son to inherit his crown, he had been on the point of
demanding a divorce a few days previously, but on the empress making the
Pope her confidant their union was confirmed, and on the eve of the
coronation, with the greatest secrecy, the religious marriage of the
emperor with Josephine was celebrated by Cardinal Fesch. Pius VII.
declared that it was impossible for him to proceed with the ceremony of
the double consecration so long as that act of reparation remained
unaccomplished.

Those who had charge of the arrangements for the great spectacle, the Abbe
Bernier, lately appointed Bishop of Orleans, and the Arch-chancellor
Cambaceres, had frequently discussed the ceremonial of the coronation
properly so-called. In France the peers, in Italy the bishops, formerly
held the crown above the head of the sovereign, who then received it from
the hands of the pontiff. "All the French emperors, all those of Germany
who have been consecrated by the popes were at the same crowned by them.
The holy father, in order to decide as to the journey, must receive from
Paris the assurance that in this case there will be no innovation contrary
to the honor and dignity of the sovereign pontiff." At Rome the replies
bad been vague; at Paris the emperor had calmed the zeal and inquietude of
his servants. "I shall arrange that myself," said he. On the 2nd December,
1804, the ceremony of consecration took place according to the solemn
ceremonial, and the emperor, after being anointed with the holy oil, held
out his hand towards the crown which the Pope had just taken from the
altar. Pius VII., completely taken by surprise, made no resistance, and
Napoleon himself placing on his head the emblem of sovereign power, then
crowned with his own hands the empress, who was in tears kneeling before
him. Mounting his throne whilst his brothers held up his robe, being
compelled to that act of humility by his imperious will, and their sisters
bore the train of the empress, the Pope pronounced the solemn formula,
"Vivat in aeternum Augustus!" And under the very eyes of the holy pontiff,
the Emperor Napoleon took the oath in the form which had been so much
opposed in Rome. His victory was complete: he triumphed over the old
revolutionary prejudices, whilst at the same time confirming in Notre
Dame, in spite of the scruples of the court of Rome, the principles of
liberty acquired by the French Revolution.

When the Pope, sad and discouraged, at last set out for Rome, 4th April,
1805, he had obtained none of the favors which he thought he had a right
to expect. The emperor was inflexible on the question of the "organic
articles," making no concession as to their application. The statement
presented by the Pope and drawn up by Cardinal Antonelli, the most
enthusiastic of his councillors, was on Napoleon's orders replied to by
Portalis, who was skilful in concealing the refusal under the grave
phraseology of legal and Christian language. Urged to extremity, Pius VII.
applied to the emperor himself to ask the restoration of the Legations.
Talleyrand wrote in reply, "France has very dearly bought the power which
she enjoys. It is not in the emperor's power to take anything from an
empire which is the fruit of ten years' war and bloodshed, continued with
an admirable courage and accompanied with the most unhappy agitation and
an unexampled constancy. It is still less in his power to diminish the
territory of a foreign state which, by entrusting him with the care of
governing, had laid upon him the duty of protecting it." A few sentences
added by the emperor to the diplomatic document left room for vague hopes
of certain consolations. The illusions of Pius VII. began to disappear;
without compensation or recompense, he had worked to consolidate for a
short time the throne of the conqueror; the conquests which he had won
were not of this world; the complete submission of the constitutional
bishops, and the genuine respect with which the French people constantly
surrounded him were due to the personal veneration which he inspired. When
at last he crossed the mountains the Emperor Napoleon had reached Italy
before him, as if to indicate more emphatically the condescension which
the sovereign pontiff had shown to him. It was at Turin that he finally
took leave of Pius VII., letting him return to Rome while he took in the
cathedral of Milan the iron crown of the Lombard kings, and placed it on
his head before an immense crowd of on-lookers, using the traditional
words of the ancient Lombard monarchy, "God has given it me, who dare
touch it?"

The Cisalpine Republic no longer existed, and the Emperor of the French,
King of Italy, boasted of the moderation he had evinced in keeping the two
crowns apart. At one time he intended raising his brother Joseph to the
new throne, but the latter was afraid of compromising his right to succeed
to the imperial crown. Louis Bonaparte refused to govern in the name of
the child which he had by Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter of the Empress
Josephine by her first marriage, whom he had married with regret.
Compelled to unite, on his own head, the two crowns of France and Italy,
Napoleon entrusted the care of the government to his son-in-law, Eugene de
Beauharnais. His protestations of respect for the independence of the
allied peoples did not prevent his annexing to the kingdom of Italy the
territory of Genoa, whilst forming the domains of Lucca and Piombino into
a principality in favor of his eldest sister, Elisa Baciocchi. The storm
was already threatening the feeble government of Naples: the queen,
obsequious in her alarm, had sent to Milan an ambassador to congratulate
the emperor and king. "Tell your queen," exclaimed Napoleon, "that her
intrigues are known to me, and that her children will curse her memory,
for I shall not leave in her kingdom enough of land to build her tomb
upon."