CHAPTER VII:  THE 19TH BRUMAIRE—­CONSUL—­THE TUILERIES—­CAROLINE 1799

“There is no question about my greatness now,” said Napoleon, as he meditated upon his position.  “Even if the Directory were not jealous and the people enthusiastic, the number of relatives I have discovered in the last ten days would show that things are going my way.  I have had congratulatory messages from 800 aunts, 950 uncles, and about 3800 needy cousins since my arrival.  It is queer how big a family a lonely man finds he has when his star begins to twinkle.  Even Joseph is glad see me now, and I am told that the ice-cream men serve little vanilla Napoleons at all the swell dinners.  Bourrienne, our time has come!  Get out my most threadbare uniform, fray a few of my collars at the edges, and shoot a few holes in my hat.  I’ll go out and take a walk along the Avenue de l’Opera, where the people can see me.”

“There isn’t any such street in Paris yet, General,” said Bourrienne, getting out his Paris guide-book.

“Well, there ought to be,” said Napoleon.

“What streets are there?  I must be seen or I’ll be forgotten.”

“What’s the matter with a lounge in front of the Luxembourg?  That will make a contrast that can’t help affect the populace.  You, the conqueror, ill-clad, unshaven, and with a hat full of bullet-holes, walking outside the palace, with the incompetent Directors lodged comfortably inside, will make a scene that is bound to give the people food for thought.”

“Well said!” cried Bonaparte.  “Here are the pistols go out into the woods and prepare the hat.  I’ll fray the collars.”

This was done, and the effect was instantaneous.  The public perceived the point, and sympathy ran so high that a public dinner was offered to the returned warrior.

“I have no use for pomp, Mr. Toast-master,” he said, as he rose to speak at this banquet.  “I am not a good after-dinner speaker, but I want the people of France to know that I am grateful for this meal.  I rise only to express the thanks of a hungry man for this timely contribution to his inner self, and I wish to add that I should not willingly have added to the already heavy tax upon the pockets of a patriotic people by accepting this dinner, if it were not for the demands of nature.  It is only the direst necessity that brings me here; for one must eat, and I cannot beg.”

These remarks, as may well be imagined, sent a thrill of enthusiasm throughout France and filled the Directory with consternation.  The only cloud upon Bonaparte’s horizon was a slight coldness which arose between himself and Josephine.  She had gone to meet him on his arrival at Frejus, but by some odd mistake took the road to Burgundy, while Napoleon came by way of Lyons.  They therefore missed each other.

“I could not help it,” she said, when Napoleon jealously chided her.  “I’ve travelled very little, and the geography of France always did puzzle me.”

“It is common sense that should have guided you, not knowledge of geography.  When I sail into Port, you sail into Burgundy—­you, the only woman I ever loved!” cried Napoleon, passionately.  “Hereafter, madame, for the sake of our step-children, be more circumspect.  At this time I cannot afford a trip to South Dakota for the purpose of a quiet divorce, nor would a public one pay at this juncture; but I give you fair warning that I shall not forget this escapade, and once we are settled in the—­the Whatistobe, I shall remember, and another only woman I have ever loved will dawn upon your horizon.”

Bonaparte was now besieged by all the military personages of France.  His home became the Mecca of soldiers of all kinds, and in order to hold their interest the hero of the day found it necessary to draw somewhat upon the possessions which the people were convinced he was without.  Never an admirer of consistency, France admired this more than ever.  It was a paradox that this poverty-stricken soldier should entertain so lavishly, and the people admired the nerve which prompted him to do it, supposing, many of them, that his creditors were men of a speculative nature, who saw in the man a good-paying future investment.

Thus matters went until the evening of the 17th Brumaire, when Napoleon deemed that he had been on parade long enough, and that the hour demanded action.

“This is the month of Bromide,” he said.

“Brumaire,” whispered Bourrienne.

“I said Bromide,” retorted Napoleon, “and the people are asleep.  Bromide has that effect.  That is why I call it Bromide, and I have as much right to name my months as any one else.  Wherefore I repeat, this is the month of Bromide, and the people are asleep!  I will now wake them up.  The garrisons of Paris and the National Guard have asked me to review them, and I’m going to do it, and I’ve a new set of tictacs.”

“Tactics, General, tactics,” implored Bourrienne.

“There is no use discussing words, Mr. Secretary,” retorted Bonaparte.  “It has always been the criticism of my opponents that I didn’t know a tactic from a bedtick—­well, perhaps I don’t; and for that reason I am not going to talk about tactics with which I am not familiar, but I shall speak of tictacs, which is a game I have played from infancy, and of which I am a master.  I’m going to get up a new government, Bourrienne.  Summon all the generals in town, including Bernadotte.  They’re all with me except Bernadotte, and he’ll be so unpleasant about what I tell him to do that he’ll make all the others so mad they’ll stick by me through thick and thin.  If there’s any irritating work to be done, let Joseph do it.  He has been well trained in the art of irritation.  I have seen Sieyes and Ducos, and have promised them front seats in the new government which my tictacs are to bring about.  Barras won’t have the nerve to oppose me, and Gohier and Moulin have had the ague for weeks.  We’ll have the review, and my first order to the troops will be to carry humps; the second will be to forward march; and the third will involve the closing of a long lease, in my name, of the Luxembourg Palace, with a salary connected with every room in the house.”

It is needless for us to go into details.  The review came off as Napoleon wished, and his orders were implicitly obeyed, with the result that on the 19th of Brumaire the Directory was filed away, and Napoleon Bonaparte, with Sieyes and Ducos as fellow-consuls, were called upon to save France from anarchy.

“Well, Josephine,” said Bonaparte, on the evening of the 19th, as he put his boots outside of the door of his new apartment in the Luxembourg, “this is better than living in a flat, and I must confess I find the feather-beds of the palace more inviting than a couch of sand under a date-tree in Africa.”

“And what are you going to do next?” asked Josephine.

“Ha!” laughed Napoleon, blowing out the candle.  “There’s a woman’s curiosity for you!  The continuation of this entertaining story, my love, will be found in volume two of Bourrienne’s attractive history, From the Tow-path to the Tuileries, now in course of preparation, and for sale by all accredited agents at the low price of ten francs a copy.”

With this remark Napoleon jumped into bed, and on the authority of M. le Comte de Q-, at this time Charge a Affaires of the Luxembourg, and later on Janitor of the Tuileries, was soon dreaming of the Empire.

The Directory overthrown, Bonaparte turned his attention to the overthrow of the Consulate.

“Gentlemen,” he said to his fellow-consuls, “I admire you personally very much, and no doubt you will both of you agree in most matters, but as I am fearful lest you should disagree on matters of importance, and so break that beautiful friendship which I am pleased to see that you have for each other, I shall myself cast a deciding vote in all matters, large or small.  This will enable you to avoid differences, and to continue in that spirit of amity which I have always so much admired in your relations.  You can work as hard as you please, but before committing yourselves to anything, consult me, not each other.  What is a Consul for if not for a consultation?”

Against this Sieyes and Ducos were inclined to rebel, but Bonaparte soon dispelled their opposition.  Ringing his bell, he summoned an aide-de-camp, whispered a few words in his ear, and then leaned quietly back in his chair.  The aide-de-camp retired, and two minutes later the army stationed without began shouting most enthusiastically for Bonaparte.  The General walked to the window and bowed, and the air was rent with huzzas and vivas.

“I guess he’s right,” whispered Sieyes, as the shouting grew more and more vigorous.

“Guess again,” growled Ducos.

“You were saying, gentlemen—?” said Bonaparte, returning.

“That we are likely to have rain before long,” said Sieyes, quickly.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” returned Napoleon, “and I’d advise you laymen to provide yourselves with umbrellas when the rain begins.  I, as a soldier, shall not feel the inclemency of the weather that is about to set in.  And, by-the-way, Sieyes, please prepare a new Constitution for France, providing for a single-headed commission to rule the country.  Ducos, you need rest.  Pray take a vacation until further notice; I’ll attend to matters here.  On your way down-stairs knock at Bourrienne’s door, and tell him I want to see him.  I have a few more memoirs for his book.”

With these words Bonaparte adjourned the meeting.  Sieyes went home and drew up the Constitution, and M. Ducos retired to private life for rest.  The Constitution of Sieyes was a clever instrument, but Bonaparte rendered it unavailing.  It provided for three consuls, but one of them was practically given all the power, and the others became merely his clerks.

“This is as it should be,” said Bonaparte, when by 4,000,000 votes the Constitution was ratified by the people.  “These three-headed governments are apt to be failures, particularly when two of the heads are worthless.  Cambaceres makes a first-rate bottle-holder, and Lebrun is a competent stenographer, but as for directing France in the line of her destiny they are of no use.  I will now move into the Tuileries.  I hate pomp, as I have often said, but Paris must be dazzled.  We can’t rent the palace for a hotel, and it’s a pity to let so much space go to waste.  Josephine, pack up your trunk, and tell Bourrienne to have a truckman here at eleven sharp.  To-morrow night we will dine at the Tuileries, and for Heaven’s sake see to it that the bottles are cold and the birds are hot.  For the sake of the Republic also, that we may not appear too ostentatious in our living, you may serve cream with the demi-tasse.”

Once established in the Tuileries, Bonaparte became in reality the king, and his family who had for a long time gone a-begging began to assume airs of importance, which were impressive.  His sisters began to be invited out, and were referred to by the society papers as most eligible young persons.  Their manner, however, was somewhat in advance of their position.  Had their brother been actually king and themselves of royal birth they could not have conducted themselves more haughtily.  This was never so fully demonstrated as when, at a ball given in their honor at Marseilles, an old friend of the family who had been outrageously snubbed by Caroline, asked her why she wore her nose turned up so high.

“Because my brother is reigning in Paris,” she retorted.

In this she but voiced the popular sentiment, and the remark was received with applause; and later, Murat, who had distinguished himself as a military man, desirous of allying himself with the rising house, demanded her hand in marriage.

“You?” cried the First Consul.  “Why, Murat, your father kept an inn.”

“I know it,” said Murat.  “But what of that?”

“My blood must not be mixed with yours, that’s what,” said Bonaparte.

“Very well, Mr. Bonaparte,” said Murat, angrily, “let it be so; but I tell you one thing:  When you see the bills Caroline is running up you’ll find it would have been money in your pocket to transfer her to me.  As for the inn business, my governor never served such atrocious meals at his table-d’hote as you serve to your guests at state banquets, and don’t you forget it.”

Whether these arguments overcame Bonaparte’s scruples or not is not known, but a few days later he relented, and Caroline became the wife of Murat.

“I never regretted it,” said Bonaparte, some years later.  “Murat was a good brother-in-law to me, and he taught me an invaluable lesson in the giving of state banquets, which was that one portion is always enough for three.  And as for parting with my dear sister, that did not disturb me very much; for, truly, Talleyrand, Caroline was the only woman I never loved.”