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nobody. They love themselves and themselves only. All their outward demonstrations of attachment refer only to themselves. The hope of their own happiness alone occupies them, and if the object of their hope changed ten times a day, as often would they change their salutations. France by an inconceivable blindness, has suffered Paris to usurp the privilege of originating every movement, so that if Paris commits an error, all France repeats it. .....Without Paris, Bonaparte would have never reigned. Did then Paris love Bonaparte? No; but the Parisians were tired of the directory, as they had been previously tired of the convention, tired of Louis XVI., tired of Louis XV., and as we shall presently see them become tired of Bonaparte, and so on to the end of time, unless kings should have the good sense to remember that Paris is not France.'
However all this may be, Paris at least was frantic with delight. The slightest movements of Bonaparte were watched and attended by the people; he was drawn in triumph, he was the object of universal adoration, and the people, as well as the soldiery, bore him to the throne. The directory went quietly out of the way; the council of five hundred was somewhat restive, but the bayonet settled the dispute, and Bonaparte, under the modest title of consul, became virtually king of France. The popular government which had more or less prevailed hitherto, was destroyed in the dispersion of the five hundred, and France became subject to military power.
“The 18th Brumaire was to the different factions, the head of Medusa. The commotion ceased, but they were still frozen. Is then my work finished? No.-I have still to paint the faction of one man against Europe, and of Europe against one man. Human enmities from this time, assume a character of grandeur till now unknown. We shall no more witness the ignoble contests of a Robespierre, or of a Marat. Their scaffolds are too narrow for the number of victims; Death requires plains and provinces for its theatre, and its voracity demands whole nations. The ambition of a single man is about to sacrifice generations en masse, and hence. forward infants in their cradles will be marked with these words For Battle and for Death.
It seemed as if nature in forming him (Bonaparte) designed to try how far the power of man and the power of heaven could go; the power of man to dare, the power of heaven to confound. ..... Ambition was always the vanguard of his thoughts. He mingled it with every thing, even with his misfortunes. The most celebrated conquerors, the most famous devastators of the world, were contented with one fall; he required two......Not choosing to resemble any one, he began his catastrophe over again, in order that he might finish it in his own way. One day I saw him examining the crowns of some ancient rulers. He took the crown of Attila, and placed it on his head." How! his head was bigger than mine
7 could not have believed it,” he said harshly, but with a smile; the smile was a bitter one.'
Sieyes, it should seem, had calculated upon the consulship, and was extremely mortified at the exaltation of Bonaparte. He had, however, only depended upon his individual superiority, while his antagonist gave broad hints of his popularity with the army: Sieyes sullenly gave way, and on the 25th of December, 1799, the consuls were installed,
6 and the constitution presented to the French people, was, according to custom, accepted. At this same period Washington was sinking into the grave. Thus by a singular contrast, a great people in the New World wept the loss of the founder of their liberties, whilst at the same time a great nation on the Old Continent hailed the destroyer of its freedom.'
During the commotions of the 18th Brumaire the five per cents were only at nine francs. Many took advantage of this to purchase largely, and among others Talleyrand. Many years after, the emperor, when somewhat out of humour, asked him how he had contrived to be so rich. “Sire,' said the dexterous courtier, ‘ I put my trust in the 18th Brumaire.'
In less than two months after his installation, the first consul took up his residence in the palace of the Tuilleries. Sieyes expressed his apprehension at this bold step. Never fear, said Napoleon, if I had been Louis XVI. I should never have left it.' About a year after his accession, the celebrated infernal machine plot, exposed his life to the most imminent hazard. The particulars of this detestable event are well known, we shall not therefore repeat them. His life was saved by the dexterity of his favourite coachman Germain, who passed the machine with amazing rapidity, and without touching it; though the space left was barely the width of the carriage.
• The night which followed was terrible. He did not go to bed. One of my friends who remained with him, has described to me this night, to which many a subsequent event may be referred. Sometimes plunged in gloomy silence, sometimes agitated, walking backward and forward with hasty strides the wretchesthe wretches_repeatedly uttered, were almost the only words which escaped his lips. Notwithstanding the time of year (December) the night was uncommonly fine. He often opened the windows that he might breathe the fresh air. Madame Bonaparte never left him. The second and third consuls had arrived, and he found them at the palace on his return from the opera. He met them with an assumed air of serenity Well, what say you of this extravagance? If I alone had been endangered, it would not have signified, but so many victim8!”—The consuls replied in those common phrases, which every body employs in similar circumstances; their presence was a restraint to him, and he dismissed them. The minister of police made his appearance: they conversed a few minutes in the recess of a window, and the minister retired. He returned at two in the morning; they were shut up in the consul's cabinet for a quarter of an hour, and then came out still in conversation. The consul held in his hand a quantity of bank bills, he gave them to the minister. Send immediately to the wounded, let me see the list; if that is not enough, give more; let them know that it comes from me.--His brothers came in; Lucien inquired particulars; he cut him short. He gave his hand in silence to Joseph. He spoke mildly to Louis-Sitting up will make you ill; go to bed.—They staid, however, some time in conversation with Mad. Bonaparte. She was close to the fire, as the night was cold. He sometimes, though rarely, sat down This is worse than Egypt,-said he repeatedly, to the friend from whom I have these details. They will have it so, they shall pay me this most dearly. At thr he was hungry. A fowl and some other little things were brought in.
You don't eat? said he to Mad. Bonaparte. Vo, said she, I prefer tea.-Tea!--are you an English-woman? Are you deaf? said he harshly to a valet de chambre, Tea for madame Bonaparte. He drank Bordeaux wine, this was an extraordinary thing, for his common drink was water. He asked for Port. Here, such a one, (I do not mention the person's name) drink some of this Port, they have none so good. I leave the reader to guess of whom he spoke. He approached the fire, threw himself into an arm chair, said, I am going to sleep, and was asleep in a moment. He always slept at pleasure, this was his peculiar faculty; but what will be with difficulty believed, and yet is most severely true, is the fact that this man, whose indefatigable activity has amazed the whole world, had the slowest pulse of any man living. At seven o'clock, when the day dawned, he mounted on horseback, followed by his Mameluke Rustan, and went to inspect some public works. At nine he returned, and entered on the usual labours of the day.'
M. Lavallee passes lightly over the various events, intrigues, conspiracies, and exhibitions of all kinds, which preceded the assumption of the imperial crown. He speaks with proper reprehension of the assassination of Pichegru, and of the still more atrocious murder of the duke D’Enghien, which he considers as exclusively the self-originated act of Napoleon. Of his abruptness and impatience we find some remarkable instances. On one occasion he turned a minister of state who wrote a vile cramp hand,' into his secretary; dictated a letter to the emperor of Austria, and sent it off by a courier, with all his own repeated alterations, and with all the erasures of the minister. This peculiar cast of character
occasioned scenes sometimeslaughable and sometimes touching. The employment of his confidential secretaries was, of all kinds of slavery, the least supportable. Day and night it was necessary to be on the spot. Sleep, meals, health, fatigue, nothing was regarded. A minute's absence would have been a crime. Friends, pleasures, public amusements, promenades, rest, all must be given up. The baron de Maineval, the baron Fain, knew this by hard experience. But at the same time they enjoyed his boundless confidence, the most implicit reliance on their discretion, and a truly royal liberality; they both deserved his confidence. One day at two o'clock the emperor went out to hunt. He will probably, as usual, be absent four hours. Maineval calculates: it is his father's jour de fete; he may surely venture to leave the palace for a short time. He has bought a little villa, and is desirous to present it to his beloved father, and to give him the title deeds. He sets out, the whole family is collected, he is warmly greeted, they see him so seldom. The present is given; the joy increases; dinner is ready, and he is pressed to stop. He refuses, the emperor may return and ask for me'-0, he won't be angry-you are never away.' The entreaties redouble. At last he yields, and time flows swiftly when we are surrounded by those we love. In the mean time the emperor returns, and even sooner than usual. He enters his cabinet-Maineval! Let him be called. They seek him in vain. Napoleon grows impatient-Well, Maineval! They fear to tell liim that he is absent, but at last it is impossible to conceal it. At length Maineval returns. “The emperor has inquired for you; he is angry.' • All is lost,' said Maineval to himself. He makes up his mind, however, and presents himself. His reception was terrible- Where do you come from? go about your busine88. I do not want men who neglect their duty. Maineval trembling retires, he did not sleep all night; he saw his hopes deceived, his services lost, his fortune missed, it was a dreadful night. Day at length came; he reflected—“ he did not give me a formal dismission." He dressed himself, and at the usual hour, went to the emperor's cabinet. Some moments after the emperor enters, looks at him, does not speak to him, writes a note, rises, and walks about. Maineval continues the task he has in band without lifting up his eyes. The emperor with his hands behind his back stops before bim, and abruptly asks-What is the matter with you? Are you
ill? No, sire,' timidly replies Maineval, rising up to answer. Sit down, you are ill, I don't like people to tell me faisehoods. I insist on knowing. • Sire, the fear of having forfeited the kindness of your majesty deprived me of sleep, it is possible that my countenance'. .... Where were you then yesterday? tell me. Where were you? Maineval told him the motives of his absence. "I thought this little property would gratify my father; his too grateful tenderness exacted from me tbe sacrifice of a few minutes, and I forgot myself'..... .And where did you get the money to buy this house?' — Sire, I had saved it out of the salary which your majesty condescends to assign me.'-The emperor after having looked at him steadily for a few minutes, said-Take a slip of paper and writem. The treasurer of my Civil List will pay to the bearer the sum of eighty thousand francs.”—He took the draft and signed it.— There, put that in your pocket, and now let us set about our regular busine88.'
• Napoleon took, or rather wasted, a great deal of snuff. One morning he was alone in his cabinet, he rang the bell. I was in waiting. (I relate the anecdote in the words of the valet de chambre, who told it me.) He rang; I went in. He was seated before his desk, writing. He rang a second time; he had neither seen nor heard me enter. That he might notice me, I pronounced the word Sire.' Without leaving off writing, or raising his eyes, he merely said, Some snuff. His snaff-box was on the desk; I took it and went to open a small cupboard in which the flask was kept. It was excellent, and I thought the emperor closely engaged. I filled his snuff-box, and took the opportunity of filling mine. Apparently, some treacherous glass betrayed me-Well this snuff! when am I to have it? He spoke in his angry voice. I started with fright; happily his back was towards me. I clapped my own snuff-box into my pocket, and presented him with his. Here it is, sire.'-Blockhead
said he sharply, almost snatching it out of my hand—when people take to stealing, they should be alert. I was sadly frightened, but the admonition made me laugh.'
A very lively and picturesque description is given of the ceremonies of the coronation, and some curious particulars of the reception of the pope. Napoleon and his good people of Paris, seem to have tried who should quiz his holiness most effectually. Napoleon invited him to court to witness voluptuous dances, and he was introduced to the empress by the reputed atheist Lalande; while the Parisians flocked round the balcony of his hotel, insisted on his showing himself, laughed heartily at him whenever he appeared, and when he gave them his benediction, shouted encore. In the return of the coronation train from Notre Dame to the Tuilleries, the pope and his attendants afforded infinite entertainment to the spectators. There was his holiness's crossbearer, a Monsignor Sproni, with a lengthened Jesuitical phiz, long, black, greasy hair, and a large broad brimmed hat, mounted on a mule. The mob were amused with this grave personage beyond all decency; and when his mule became restive, and the grooms who led the animal were about to urge it forward by blows, the priest calling out in great wrath, — Don't touch'it, -don't touch it; its consecrated,' their mirth was perfectly outrageous.
There is a great deal of whimsical speculation, in the third volume, respecting the invasion of Great Britain; M. Lavalleo thinks it very practicable, but seems doubtful of ultimate success. He appears to think it not exceedingly improbable that we might have taken a fancy to Napoleon, and then, the reign of a man like him must have established our dominion over