Promulgation of the French Constitution. Napoleon. Fouche.

Chapter LVII. **

Promulgation of the Constitution.** **

Apathy of the people - Temporary building in front of the Hotel des Invalides - Pont de Jena - Policy of Napoleon regarding Fouché - Procession to the Champ de Mars - Peculiar accoutrements of a regiment of cavalry - Reflections on some points in the history of Napoleon - His mistake in changing the Republican into a Monarchical Government - Coaches of ceremony of the French noblesse and officers of state

• The Emperor’s liberality to various members of his court - His personal dejection on this day - Rejoicings succeeding the Promulgation - Superiority of the French in matters of *embellishment - Gratuitous distribution of provisions and wine - Politeness of the lower orders of French - Display of fireworks - Mr. Hobhouse’s Second Reign of Napoleon.

The promulgation of the new Articles of the Constitution by Napoleon, at the Champ de Mars, promised to elicit much of the public sentiment. For my own part, I conceived that it would be the true touchstone of Parisian political feeling, but in that idea I was greatly disappointed.

It was natural to suppose that the modification of a constitution by a nearly despotic monarch, whereby his own power would be greatly contracted, would, even under Napoleon’s circumstances, be considered one of the measures best calculated to propitiate a long-trammelled population. But, in fact, the thing assumed no such character, the *spectacle *seemed indeed of the utmost value to the Parisians, but the *constitution *of little, if any. They had never possessed any regular constitution, and I really think had no settled or digested ideas upon the subject.

The extraordinary splendour of the preparations for this ceremony, and the admixture of civil and military pomp, were to me very interesting. The temporary buildings thrown up for the occasion might, it is true, be denominated *tawdry, *yet, strangely enough, there is no other people except the French who can deck out such gewgaws with anything like corresponding taste and effect.

The scene was on an immense scale. In an inconceivably short time, and almost as if by the effect of magic, a sort of amphitheatre was constructed in front of the Hotel des Invalides, and which was of magnitude sufficient to contain about 15,000 persons. In the centre arose an altar similar to those provided in ancient sacrifices for the *sacred fire *to descend upon; and at this altar Cardinal Cambaceres presided. A great proportion of the front of the hospital was covered with crimson velvet, and the imperial throne was placed on the platform of the first story, facing the altar; around it were seats for the princes. I was not present at the actual ceremony within the great temporary edifice.

I had on the occasion of the inauguration, as already stated, fully satisfied myself as to the demeanour both of the emperor and the senators; but I had not seen the grand *cortege *which had preceded, and on this occasion, as it was to be much more of a military procession, and the emperor’s last public appearance before he joined the army to decide the fate of Europe, I was desirous of witnessing the spectacle, and accordingly engaged a window on the quay for my family, in a house close to the Pont de Jena, over which the whole must pass on its way to the Hotel des Invalides. We had thence a close and full view of the Champ de Mars, of the Amphitheatre, and of the artificial mount whence the Constitution was to be proclaimed by the emperor in person to the people.

Napoleon well knew the great importance of leaving a strong impression on the public feeling. His posting from the coast to the Tuilleries without interruption was the most extraordinary event in history, ancient or modern; but it was not *immediately *followed up by any unusual circumstance, or any very splendid spectacle, to rouse or gratify Parisian volatility. The retired official life of the emperor, after his return, necessarily absorbed in business night and day, had altogether excited little or no stir, and still less expression of public feeling in the metropolis. In fact, the Parisians did not seem to feel so much interest about the state of affairs as they would have done upon the most unimportant occurrences; they made light of everything except their *pleasuré, *which always was and always will be the god of Paris; and never was any deity more universally and devoutly worshipped! The king’s flight to Ghent was then as little thought of or regarded as if he had gone to St. Cloud, and Napoleon’s arrival made as little stir as Louis’s departure. But the emperor was now about to go to battle, was well aware of the treachery which surrounded him, and that on his success or discomfiture depended its explosion.

He determined, therefore, as he had not time to counteract, to dissemble, and I have no doubt that to this circumstance alone Fouché knew he owed his existence. The month preceding Napoleon’s departure from Paris he became thoroughly acquainted with the intrigues of his minister, and I firmly believe that each was determined on the destruction of the other upon the first feasible opportunity, as the only means of securing himself. I do believe that Fouché would not have survived Bonaparte’s successful return more than four-and-twenty hours, and I equally believe that Fouché had actually meditated and made some, progress in providing for Napoleon’s assassination. I made up my mind on these points, not from any *direct *information, but from a process yclept by our great grandmothers *spelling *and *putting together; *and if the reader will be good enough to bear in mind what I told him respecting the society at Dr. Marshall’s, as well as the intelligence acquired by my servant Thevenot, he will not be at a loss to understand *how *I got at my materials.

In truth, the army alone I suspect was sincerely attached to the reinstated monarch. By his soldiers Bonaparte was in every part of his career almost worshipped. They seemed to regard him rather as a demigod, and nobody could be deceived as to their *entire *devotion to the divinity which they had set up. But it was not so with the civil ranks of Paris.

I should tire myself and readers were I to describe the almost boyish anxiety which I felt when the firing of the ordnance announced the first movement of the emperor from the Tuilleries to the Champ de Mars. I shall leave to the supposition of the reader the impression I received from the passing of the *cortége. *Let him picture to himself an immense army pouring along the spacious quays of Paris, in battalions and squadrons - the enthusiasm of the soldiers, the bright cuirasses, the multitude of waving plumes, the magnificence of the marshals and their staff - these, set off by the glowing sun, combined to implant in the mind of a person unaccustomed to such a sight the idea of almost certain victory.

What struck me most was the appearance of a splendid but not numerous regiment in the costume of Turkish cavalry, mounted upon small barbs and dashingly accoutred. Their officers rode for the most part piebald horses, many of which were caparisoned with breast armour and decked with gaudy trappings. The uniform of the men was scarlet, with green Cossack trousers, immense turbans, and high plumes of feathers; the whole ornamented and laced in as splendid and glittering a style as ingenuity could dictate their stirrups were foot-boards, and they had very crooked sabres and long lances. I believe these men were accoutred en *Memeluck; *and I mention them the more particularly because I believe they did not go to Waterloo - at least not in that uniform.

In calling to my recollection this superb scene, the hundred bands of martial music seem even at this moment to strike my ear It seemed as if every instrument in Paris was in requisition! The trumpets and kettle-drums of the gaudy heralds, the deep sackbuts, the crashing cymbals, and the loud gongs of the splendid Mamelukes; bewildered both the ear and the imagination. At first they astonished, then gratified, and at length fatigued me.

About the centre of this procession appeared its principal object, who, had he lived in times of less fermentation, would, in my opinion, have been a still greater statesman than he was a warrior. It is indisputable that it was Bonaparte who definitely freed the *entire *continent of Europe from that democratic mania, of all other tyrannies the most cruel, savage, and unrelenting, and which was still in full though less rapid progress when he, by placing the diadem of France on his own brow, restored the *principle *of monarchy to its vigour, and at one blow overwhelmed the many headed monster of revolution.

It has been the fashion in England to term Napoleon a “Corsican usurper.” We should have recollected Paoli before we *reproached *him for being a Corsican, and we should have recurred to *our own *annals before we called him a usurper. He mounted a throne which had long been vacant; the decapitation of Louis, in which he *could *have had no concern, had completely overwhelmed the dynasty of Bourbon, and Napoleon in a day re-established that monarchical form of government which we had with so much expense of blood and treasure been for many years unsuccessfully attempting to restore. I cannot avoid repeating this pointed example of *our own inconsistency. *We actually made peace and concluded treaties with Napoleozi’ Bonaparte when he was acting as a republican, the very species of government against which we had so long combated, and we refused to listen to his most pacific demonstrations when he became a monarch. [Another observation I cannot but make on this subject. As events have turned out, Napoleon only sat down on the throne of France to *keep it for the Bourbons. *Had he remained a republican, as when we acknowledged and made peace with him, the names of the whole family of Louis Capet would still have appeared on the pension list of England.]

This has, I confess, been a sad digression; but when I call to mind that last scene of Bonaparte’s splendour, I cannot altogether separate from it the prior portion of his history and that of Europe. I have mentioned that about the centre of the *cortége *the emperor and his court appeared. It was the custom in France for every person of a certain rank to keep a sort of state-coach gaudily gilded and painted, and, in addition to the footman, a chasseur to mount behind, dressed en *grande toilette, *with huge mustaches, immense feathers in his hat, and a large sabre depending from a broad-laced belt, which crossed his shoulder-he was generally a muscular, fine-looking man, and always indicated rank and affluence in his master. Napoleon liked this state to be preserved by all his ministers, &c. He obliged every man in office to appear at court and in public according to the station he held; and instances were not wanting where the emperor, having discovered that an officer of rank had not pecuniary means to purchase a coach of ceremony, had made him a present of a very fine one. He repeatedly paid the debts of several of his marshals and generals, when he thought their incomes somewhat inadequate; and a case has been mentioned where a high officer of his household had not money to purchase jewels for his wife, of Napoleon ordering a set to be presented to her, with an injunction to wear them at court.

On this day he commanded the twelve mayors of Paris to appear in their carriages of ceremony; and to do them justice, they were gilt and caparisoned as finely as time and circumstances could admit. Bonaparte himself sat alone in a state coach with glass all round it, his feathers bowed deeply over his face, and consequently little more than the lower parts of it were quite uncovered. Whoever has marked the countenance of Napoleon must admit it to have been one of the most expressive ever created. When I say this, I beg to be understood as distinguishing it entirely from what is *generally *called an expressive countenance - namely, one involuntarily and candidly proclaiming the feelings whereby its proprietor is actuated: the smile or the look of scorn, the blush or the tear, serving not unfrequently to communicate matters which the lips would have kept secret. Though that species of expressive countenance may be commonly admired, it is often *inconvenient *and would be perfectly unbefitting a king, a courtier, a gambler, an ambassador, or, in short, a man in any station of life which renders it incumbent on him to *keep his countenance. The lower portion of Bonaparte’s face (as I *have mentioned in speaking of my first glance at it) was the finest I think I ever saw, and peculiarly calculated to set the feelings of others on speculation without giving any decided intimation of his own.

On the day of the promulgation it occurred to me, and to my family likewise, as we saw him pass slowly under our window, that the unparalleled splendour of the scene failed in arousing him from that deep dejection which had apparently seized him ever since his return to Paris, and which doubtless arose from a consciousness of his critical situation and the hollow ground whereon he trod. There was ill-timed languor in his general look: he smiled not, and took but little notice of any surrounding object. He appeared, in fact, *loaded *with some presentiment, confined, however, to himself; for of all possible events his approaching and hidden fate was last, I believe, in the contemplation of any person amongst that prodigious assembly. I apprehend the intilligence of Murat’s defeat in Italy had reached him about that time.

Two marshals rode on each side of Napoleon’s coach, and his three brothers occupied the next. I thought these men all appeared cheerful - at any rate, no evil presentiments were visible in their countenances. After the emperor had passed my interest diminished. I was absorbed by reflection, and my mind was painfully diverted to the probable result of the impending contest, which would most likely plunge into a gory and crowded grave thousands of the gay and sparkling warriors who, full of the principle of life and activity, had that moment passed before me.

The crowds in the Champ de Mars: the firing of the artillery, the spirited bustle of the entire scene, and the return of the same *cortége *after the Constitution had been pro-claimed, left me in a state of absolute languor, every fresh idea supplanting its predecessor in my mind: and when I returned to my hotel it required more than a single bottle of *Chateau Margot *to restore the serenity of my over-excited nerves.

The rejoicings which followed the promulgation of the Constitution were in a style of which I had no previous conception. I have already observed, and every person who has been much on the Continent will bear me out in the remark, that no people are so very adroit at embellishment as the French. Our carpenters, paper-hangers, &c. know no more about Parisian embellishments than our plain cooks do of the 126 modes of dressing a fresh egg, whereof every French *cuisinier *is perfectly master.

Many temporary stands had been erected in the Champs d’Elysée, whence to toss out all species of provisions to the populace. Hams, turkeys, sausages; &c., were to be had in abundance by scrambling for them. Twenty fountains of wine were set playing into the jars, cups, and pails of all who chose to adventure getting near them. A number of temporary theatres were constructed, and games started through-out the green. Quadrilles and waltzes were practised everywhere around: all species of music, singing, juggling-in’ fine, everything that could stamp the period of the emperor’s departure on the minds of the people were ordered to be put in requisition; and a scene of enjoyment ensued which, notwithstanding the bustle necessarily attendant, was conducted with the politeness and decorum of a drawing-room - with much more, indeed, than prevails at most of our public assemblies. No pickpockets were heard of; no disputes of any description arose; the very lowest orders of the French *canaille *appear on such occasions cleanly dressed, and their very nature renders them polite and courteous to each other. They make way with respect for *any *woman, even from a duchess to a beggar woman.

Stretching across the whole of the Place Louis Quinze was a transparent painting of Napoleon’s return from Elba, the mimic ship being of equal dimensions with the real one. Napoleon appeared on the deck, and the entire effect was most impressive.

The rejoicings concluded with a display of fireworks - a species of entertainment, by the by, wherein I never delighted. It commenced with a flight of 5,000 rockets of various colours, and was terminated by the ascent of a balloon loaded with every species of firework, which, bursting high in the air, illuminated with overpowering blaze the whole atmosphere. By midnight all, like an “unsubstantial pageant,” had faded, leaving the ill-starred emperor to pursue his route to partial victory, final defeat, and ruin.

[I have read with pleasure many parts of *Napoleon’s Second Reign, *by Mr. Hobhouse. Though I do not coincide with that gentleman in all his views of the subject (differing from him in *toto *as to some), I, admit the justice of a great portion of his observations, and consider the work, on the whole, as a very clever performance. In several matters of description and anecdote he has anticipated me, and I really think has treated them with as much accuracy and in a much more comprehensive manner than I should or perhaps *could *have done. Mine, in fact, is but a sketch: his, a history. In some matters of fact he appears to have been imperfectly informed; but they are not errors of a sufficiently important nature to involve any charge of general inaccuracy. I myself kept an ample diary of the events of the Hundred Days (of so much of them at least as I spent in Paris), and until the re-entry of Louis, and in fact subsequently, though less regularly. From these documents I have extracted what I now publish, but the whole may perhaps hereafter appear in its original shape.

I cannot but express my regret that Mr. Hobhouse did not remain in Paris until *after *Napoleon’s return from Belgium, when there was a far wider and fairer field presented for the exercise of his pen. I really conceive it will be a loss to literature if he does not recur to that recur to that period (materials cannot be wanting), take up his own work where he finished, and continue it until the evacuation of Paris by the allied forces. The events of that interval are richly worth recording, and it would fill up what is as yet nearly a blank in the history of Europe.]

One remark in conclusion. It was really extraordinary to witness the political apathy wherein the entire population, save the military, was bound. Scarce a single expression or indication of party feeling escaped in any direction. All seemed bent on pleasure, and on pleasure alone, careless whether the opportunity for its indulgence were afforded them by Napoleon or Louis - by preparations for peace or war - by the establishment of despotism or liberty. They were, I sincerely believe, absolutely weary of politics, and inclined to new any suggestion of that nature with emotions of bitterness. At all times, indeed, the Parisians prefer pleasure, to serious speculation; and the *wisest *king of France will ever be that one who contrives to keep his good citizens “constantly amused”

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