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  Jean d’Ormesson

  The Conversation

  THE NIGHT NAPOLEON

  CHANGED THE WORLD

  Translated by Timothy Bent

  ARCADE PUBLISHING • NEW YORK

  Copyright © 2013 by Jean d’Ormesson

  Translation copyright © 2013 by Skyhorse Publishing

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  ISBN: 978-1-62872-297-0

  Printed in the United States of America

  Tout arrive par les idées; elles produisent

  les faits, qui ne leur servent que d’enveloppe.

  Chateaubriand

  Mon admiration pour Bonaparte a toujours été

  grande et sincère alors même que j’attaquais

  Napoléon avec le plus de vivacité.

  Chateaubriand

  PROLOGUE

  CROSSING THE RUBICON

  There are moments when historical events seem poised to reveal their full significance: Alexander the Great at the head of his army, on the verge of taking on the vast and inexhaustible Persian Empire; Hannibal preparing to cross the Alps with his elephants, to strike at the heart of Rome; Caesar, of course, standing on the banks of the Rubicon; dawn on June 17, 1940, in Bordeaux, that instant before General Charles de Gaulle climbed into General Edward Spears’ plane—bound for London, and for what appeared a hopeless, if glorious, act of resistance.

  The moment I will try to capture here involves Napoleon Bonaparte, at the height of his adoration by the French people, whom he has pulled back from the abyss created by years of chaos and misrule. He is on the brink of declaring himself Emperor of France.

  We must keep in mind what led up to this moment. In November 1799, the thirty-year-old Bonaparte, just returned from conquering Egypt, triumphed over the Vicompte de Barras, head of the Directory, and, with assistance from his brother, Lucien, and Abbé Sieyès, succeeded in his coup d’état on 18 Brumaire in the Revolutionary Year VIII, ending the Directory’s four-year rule. The five directors (only the first two really counted)—Barras, Sieyès, Louis-Jérôme Gohier, Roger Ducos, and Jean-François Moulin—were replaced by a Consular Committee (commission consulaire), consisting of three members—Sieyès, Ducos, and Bonaparte himself. This would itself soon be replaced, following the terms of a new Constitution, by yet another triumvirate: Bonaparte, who was to be called First Consul; Jean-Jacques Régis de Cambacérès, Second Consul; and Charles-François Lebrun, Third Consul. The First Consul held the true power. The others were mainly advisers.

  At the start of the Consulate, France was in a perilous state. Business and industry were a shambles. Industrial output had diminished by 60 percent in Paris, and by 85 percent in Lyon. The ports of Marseille and Bordeaux were effectively closed. The network of roads had been destroyed. Coach service had become completely unreliable. Everywhere, and especially in Provence and in the West, roving bands of brigands operated almost uncontested. The forests and fields were devastated. The currency had been devalued by 99 percent. The state’s coffers were empty; soldiers and government employees complained they were due a year’s-worth of salary. There were no taxes, no budget, no balance sheets. The country had lost its way and become victim to every form of excess and abuse. For four years, from Revolutionary Year VIII until XII, meaning from the end of 1799 until the beginning of 1804, Bonaparte worked tirelessly to get France back on its feet.

  In February 1800, three months after the coup of 18 Brumaire, a referendum on the Consulate resulted in more than three-million Frenchmen voicing their support for Bonaparte; a mere 1,500 opposed him. The First Consul moved into the former royal palace in the Tuileries, then into the one in Saint-Cloud. He founded the Banque de France; sealed the borders and declared amnesty for those who had already immigrated; stage-managed the Concordat of 1801, restoring to the Roman Catholic Church its civil status; revamped public education; created the lycée school system and the Légion d’honneur; and minted the first French franc—in his own image. He also crossed the Grand-Saint-Bernard alpine pass and won a victory over the Austrians at the Battle of Marengo; and in 1802 he signed the Treaty of Amiens, establishing diplomatic relations with England, Spain, and Holland. In that same year of 1802, Bonaparte, who had already been elected for another tenyear term, appointed himself First Consul for Life and established a new Constitution, which was duly approved by an overwhelming majority and which further extended his powers.

  When did the idea of becoming emperor—of joining the ranks of the Merovingians, the Carolinians, the Capetians, the Valois, and the Bourbons—first take hold in Bonaparte’s mind? It is hard to say. By the early months of 1804, with the execution of Georges Cadoudal, a leader of the Royalist Chouannerie uprising, and the suicide of General Jean-Charles Pichegru, and especially the seizure of German territory and the execution of the Louis Antoine de Bourbon, Duc d’Enghien, the last descendant of the House of Condé, Bonaparte had fulfilled enough pledges of the Revolution—fulfilled in every possible sense of the word—to aspire openly to an imperial throne. I have therefore set the action of this book, a decisive conversation between Bonaparte and Cambacérès, slightly earlier, during the course of the winter of 1803–1804.

  Every word of Bonaparte’s part of this conversation, imaginary though it is, was actually said or written by the First Consul at one time or another, and taken from contemporary accounts, reports, and memoirs. Putting words into Bonaparte’s mouth would have been an absurd idea. Even the story of Josephine’s shawl, coveted by her sister-in-law Caroline Murat, appears in documents of the period.

  On the other hand I have taken liberties with Cambacérès, the future Duke of Parma. Cambacérès was a far less significant figure and what he has to say therefore carries less weight. I have made most of it up.

  Born in Montpelier, a counselor at the cour de comptes—the court of auditors—of that town, president of the criminal tribunal of Hérault, Cambacérès was fifteen years older than Bonaparte at the beginning of 1804. As an elected member of the Convention Nationale, he had voted “with reservation” for the execution of Louis XVI. Minister of Justice under the Directory, he was named Second Consul on the recommendation of Sieyès and Bonaparte. Compared to Lebrun, the more austere Third Consul, Cambacérès, in the eyes of his countrymen, was the very embodiment of the revolutionary tradition. He played an essential role in composing the Code civil, or Napoleonic Code, and, as president of the Senate and of the Conseil d’État, he would act as Bonaparte’s plenipotentiary during the emperor’s absence on military expeditions. His title was “Archchancellor of the Empire” (in addition to Duke of Parma). Cambacérès would later support the Bourbons in their bid to return to power in 1814, then shift his support back to Napoleon during the Hundred Days. He was exiled in 1815, eventually returning to France and dying in Paris in 1824.

  I chose Cambac
érès as Bonaparte’s interlocutor for several reasons. First, because he was Second Consul to Bonaparte’s First Consul. Each one naturally operated from a very different level of authority, but they were the two most important figures of the Consulate. Moreover, Cambacérès was highly intelligent, loyal, and flexible—perhaps a little too flexible—as well as politically adept—perhaps a little too adept. A republican and regicide (“with reservation”), Cambacérès also seemed to stand for the revolutionary spirit that seemed placed at risk by Bonaparte’s rise to power, a rise that he, Cambacérès, hoped to control. Little wonder that the First Consul would try to circumvent him.

  Lastly, I have chosen Cambacérès because Bonaparte was very often surrounded by the generals who were constantly at his side on the field of battle. These sabreurs, as he sometimes called them, were blindly loyal to him and less at home in the world of language and concepts than they were in the theater of war. The future Duke of Parma was perhaps the only civil figure to get close to the Victor of Marengo, the future Victor of Austerlitz, and, with Talleyrand—Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord—one of the few in Napoleon’s immediate entourage who could engage him in discourse over matters of state.

  Finally, why Bonaparte? The reasons are quite simple. Because he was a genius. Because he was the successor to Achilles, Caesar, and Alexander the Great. Because he changed the course of history and in the process helped shape the world in which we now live. He failed, but he failed in dazzling fashion, leaving a trail of powder across Europe. And most of all, because his was one of the most extraordinary historic and romantic adventures of all times. Most rulers who left their mark upon their time inherited power, ascending to power upon the death of their fathers, or brothers, or uncles. Napoleon was the child of his own achievements. He gave rise to himself. He was a living myth, a self-created legend, a self-made god. He was that rare element found at the source of greatness, whether in politics, art, literature, or science, for his ambitions were transformed into history, his dreams moved to the point of being realized. That intersection between dream and reality is what I am attempting to capture here, akin though it is to trying to pinpoint the origin of the Iliad, or what would later become the Roman Empire, or Michelangelo’s Moses, or the theory of gravitation.

  Nonetheless, it is not impossible, and not even unreasonable, to imagine that this conversation took place as recounted in these pages. The staff has struck the stage three times. The curtain rises.

  THE CONVERSATION

  (The action takes place in the Tuileries, where Bonaparte took up residence on the day after 18 Brumaire. Sometime around the beginning of the winter of 1803–1804, the First Consul was paid a visit by the Second Consul.)

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Citizen First Consul, I believe we have completed our business. With your permission I will now leave you, for I dine this evening with Talleyrand.

  BONAPARTE

  At his home on the Rue du Bac? Or at the Hôtel Gallifet?

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Neither. At my home in the Hôtel Elbeuf.

  BONAPARTE

  Are you comfortable there, at Elbeuf? I cannot help but notice that it is considerably smaller than the Hôtel Nouilles, where the Third Consul has taken up residence.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  You are well informed. Nouilles is located on Rue Saint-Honoré. Elbeuf faces the Carousel, or almost, and mere steps away from the Tuileries. Saints always find it to their advantage to be as close as possible to the object of their veneration.

  BONAPARTE

  Saint you may be, though I’ve heard that one dines well in your company.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  I trust that isn’t a reproach!

  BONAPARTE

  Merely a statement of fact.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  You reassure me.

  BONAPARTE

  A healthy appetite isn’t your own only flaw, Citizen Second Consul. Merely the one that one can discuss with greatest ease.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Good heavens, you do speak plainly! How are you going to keep your friends if you cannot focus on their good features? I have learned that the dinner table is the best place to influence men. Good politics go hand in hand with good food.

  BONAPARTE

  At least in your case. I’m told that diplomatic pouches are being used not only for dispatches but for delicacies, often from enemy countries.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  I must say that nothing escapes those henchmen Fouché surrounds himself with.

  BONAPARTE

  I have no need of Fouché to stay abreast of what goes on in Paris and in France. You would do well to consider that your partridges are roasted on one side and grilled on the other.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  What do you expect of me? You are the First Consul, I am but the Second. To each his strengths. You bring military victories. I serve memorable meals. A successful dinner party is my Marengo.

  BONAPARTE

  Have you heard that phrase going around Paris? “If you want to eat badly, dine with Lebrun. If you want to eat well, choose Cambacérès.”

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  “. . . and if you want to eat fast, dine with Bonaparte.” Yes, I’ve heard it.

  BONAPARTE

  That’s quite true, I do eat quickly. When I win battles it is due to the legs of my soldiers. In politics, where one always has to prepare for an event by means of conversation, I tend to go straight to the point. As for dining, I eat little. My lunch is served at half past nine on a small mahogany server perched on a little pedestal encrusted with mother of pearl and covered with a napkin. This reminds me of the drum I use at war. The fare is quite simple: two fried eggs, a string-bean salad, two or three olives, and a wedge of parmesan soaked in Chambertin. I eat rapidly. When I’m alone, the meal lasts only a few minutes. I have other things to do and I hate wasting time.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  And you haven’t. A junior lieutenant at sixteen, a lieutenant at twenty-two. . .

  BONAPARTE

  Six years to go from a junior to a full lieutenant. Yet my enemies accuse me of being a man in a hurry! Without Robespierre and the National Convention, without you, Cambacérès, and without those aligned with you, I would still be but a colonel in some obscure regiment. Perhaps that is where my impatience came into play.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  You caught up quickly: captain at twentythree, commander at twenty-four, and general at twenty-five. First Consul of the Republic at thirty. The sun rises more slowly that you do. One would almost say you lacked for time.

  BONAPARTE

  I always lack for time. Ah, Cambacérès! Where will we be in two years, in ten years, in twelve?

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  You’re young. I’m growing old. I’m a year older than Talleyrand, six older than Fouché, and sixteen older than you. I have just turned fifty. Like many of those around you—Junot, Duroc, Lannes, who would all die gladly for you—I have more than respect for who you are and something more than admiration for your genius. Something that perhaps resembles love.

  BONAPARTE

  Love!

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Veneration, at least. I am your Second Consul. I have no ambition other than to spend what time I have left as your second-in-command. (He gets up.) I’ve said too much. I should leave you. Permit me the honor of offering you my farewell.

  BONAPARTE

  Remain with me a little while longer, Citizen Second Consul. I am not against speaking a little more openly with you, and no, not about delicacies such as foie gras, mauviettes de Pithiviers, and pâté de Toulouse.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  With great pleasure. My time is yours. What is on your mind?

  BONAPARTE

  I would like to get your views, my dear colleague, on my current position.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  To be honest, Citizen First Consul, you have no reason to be concerned. Fouché, who by dint of his surveillance efforts knows
not only everything about me but about all of our fellow citizens, must have informed you before you escaped his clutches. France adores you. The glory brought by the wars in Italy and Egypt have thrilled them and the Peace of Amiens has reassured them. For the first time in years, a sliver of happiness and hope has supplanted anguish. And those outside our borders bend our way—and fear you.

  BONAPARTE

  Yes, yes, I know all this. The French love panache and have rediscovered a little of their merriment and carefree cheer. They have shown their devotion to me. And foreigners do treat me well. Yet to them nothing about our government seems stable. No one seems to know where they stand with France. I will tell you something. Nor do I.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  I’m not accustomed to hearing you sound so uncertain.

  BONAPARTE

  It is the nations around us that feel uncertain. They are hesitating about allying themselves more closely with me. I sense their reticence. They don’t know what dance-step to take with our odd form of governance.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Truly?

  BONAPARTE

  Truly. The ambiguities of the Consulate give them pause.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Nonetheless they have no choice but to attest to the order and security that now reign in our country. How different from how things were four years ago, on the eve of Eighteen Brumaire!

  BONAPARTE

  It was anarchy. Twenty-thousand criminals immersed Paris in fire and blood. And forty thousand Royalist Chouans were in control of the country in the West and intercepting communications between Paris and the sea.

  CAMBACÉRÈS

  Admiral Bruix told me at the time that it took him a month to reach Brest to take up his command.