NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.

(From Madame de Stael's "Considerations on the French Revolution.")

of the army of the Rhine to join the army of Italy. There was a sort of contrast between the no

ble poverty of the one, and the irregular riches of the other: they resembled only in bravery. The

republic, those of the Rhine and of Italy, were almost constantly victorious, to the treaty of Campo Formio, which, for a short time suspended the long continental war. The army of the Rhine, of which Moreau was general, had preserved all the republican simplicity; the army of Italy, commanded by general Buonaparté, dazzled by its conquests, but was every day deviating further from the patriotic spirit, which till then had animated the French armies. Personal interest was taking the place of a patriotic spirit, and attachment to one man was prevailing over a devotion to liberty. The generals of the army of Italy, likewise, sought ere long to enrich themselves, thus proportionally diminishing that enthusiasm for austere principles without which a free state cannot exist.

General Bernadotte, of whom I shall have occasion to speak in the sequel, came with a division

Buonaparté, that of the Rhine was the army of the French republic. Yet nothing was so brilliant as the rapid conquest of Italy.

Doubtless the desire, which the enlightened Italians have always felt, to unite themselves into one state, and thus to possess so much national strength as to have nothing either to fear or to hope from strangers, contributed much to favour the progress of general Buonaparte. It was with the cry of Italy for ever!' that he passed the bridge of Lodi; and it was to the hope of independence, that he owed his reception among the Italians. But the victories which subjected to France countries beyond her natural limits, far from favouring liberty, exposed it to the danger of military government.

Buonaparté was already much talked of in Paris; the superiority of his capacity in business, joined to the splendor of his talents as a general, gave to his name an importance

importance which no individual had ever acquired from the commencement of the revolution. But although in his proclamations he spoke incessantly of the republic, attentive men perceived that it was in his eyes, a mean, and not an end. It was in this same light that he viewed all things and all men. A rumour prevailed, that he meant to make himself king of Lombardy. One day I met general Augereau, who had just returned from Italy, and who was cited, I believe then with reason, as a zealous republican, I asked him whether it was true that general Buonaparté was thinking of becoming a king. "No, assuredly," replied he; "he is a young man of too good principles for that." This singular answer was in exact conformity with the ideas of the moment. The sincere republicans would have regarded it as a degradation for a man, however distinguished he might be, to wish to turn the revolution to his personal advantage. Why had not this sentiment more force and longer duration among French

the Directory, that he had made the surrender of these monuments one of the conditions of the peace with the pope. I have particularly insisted, said he, on the busts of Junius and Marcus Brutus, which I wish to send to Paris before the rest. Buonaparté, who afterwards removed these busts from the hall of the legislative body, might have spared them the trouble of the journey.

Buonaparté made himself remarkable by his character and capacity as much as by his victories, and the imagination of the French was beginning to attach itself warmly to him. His proclamations to the Cisalpine and Ligurian republics were quoted. In the one this phrase was remarked: You were divided, and bent down by tyranny; you were not in a situation to conquer liberty. In the other, True conquests, the only conquests which cost no regret, are those which we make from ignorance. In his style there reigned a spirit of moderation and dignity, which formed a contrast with the revolutionary bitterness of the civil leaders of France. The warrior then spoke like a magistrate, while magistrates expressed themselves with military violence. Buonaparté in his army had not enforced the laws against emigrants. He was said to be much attached to his wife, whose character was full of gentleness; it was asserted that he was feelingly alive to the beauties of Ossian; people took delight in ascribing to him all the generous qualities which give a pleasing relief to extraordinary talents. Besides, the nation was so weary of op

pressors

pressors who borrowed the name of liberty, and of oppressed persons who regretted the loss of arbitrary power, that admiration knew not what to attach itself to, and Buonaparté seemed to unite all that was fitted to take it captive.

It was with this sentiment at least that I saw him for the first time at Paris. I could not find words to reply to him, when he came to me to say, that he had sought my father at Coppet, and that he regretted having passed into Switzerland without seeing him. But when I was a little recovered from the confusion of admiration, a strongly-marked sentiment of fear succeeded. Buonaparté, at that time, had no power; he was even believed to be not a little threatened by the captious suspicions of the Directory; so that the fear which he inspired was caused only by the singular effect of his person upon nearly all who approached him. I had seen men highly worthy of esteem; I had likewise seen monsters of ferocity: there was nothing in the effect which Buonaparté produced on me, that could bring back to my recollection either the one or the other. I soon perceived, in the different opportunities which I had of meeting him during his stay at Paris, that his character could not be defined by the words which we commonly use; he was neither good nor violent, nor gentle, nor cruel, after the manner of individuals of whom we have any knowledge. Such a being had no fellow, and therefore could neither feel nor excite sympathy; he was more or less than man.

His cast of character, his underderstanding, his language, were stamped with the impress of an unknown nature;—an additional advantage, as we have elsewhere observed, for the subjugation of Frenchmen.

Far from recovering my confidence by seeing Buonaparté more frequently, he constantly intimidated me more and more. I had a confused feeling that no emotion of the heart could act upon him. He regards a human being as an action or a thing, not as a fellow creature. He does not

hate more than he loves; for him nothing exists but himself: all other creatures are ciphers. The force of his will consists in the impossibility of disturbing the calculations of his egotism; he is an able chess-player, and the human race is the opponent to whom he proposes to give check-mate. His successes depend as much on the qualities in which he is deficient as on the talents which he possesses. Neither pity nor allurement, nor religion, nor attachment to any idea whatsoever, could turn him aside from his principal direction. He is for his self-interest what the just man should be for virtue; if the end were good, his perseverance would be noble.

Every time that I heard him speak, I was struck with his superiority; yet it had no similitude to that of men instructed and cultivated by study or society, such as those of whom France and England can furnish examples. But his discourse indicated a fine perception of circumstances, such as the sportsman has of the game which he pur

sucs.

sues.

Sometimes he related the political and military events of his life in a very interesting manner; he had even somewhat of Italian imagination in narratives which allowed of gaiety. Yet nothing could triumph over my invincible aversion for what I perceived in him. I felt in his soul a cold, sharp-edged sword, which froze the wound that it inflicted; I perceived in his understanding a profound irony, from which nothing great or beautiful, not even his own glory, could escape; for he despised the nation whose suffrages he wished, and no spark of enthusiasm was mingled with his desire of astonishing the hu

man race.

It was in the interval between the return of Buonaparté and his departure for Egypt, that is to say, about the end of 1797, that I saw him several times at Paris; and never could I dissipate the difficulty of breathing which I experienced in his presence. I was one day at table between him and the abbé Sieyes;-a singular situation, if I had been able to foresee what afterwards happened. I examined the figure of Buonaparté with attention; but whenever he discovered that my looks were fixed upon him, he had the art of taking away all expression from his eyes, as if they had been turned into marble. His countenance was then immovable, except a vague smile which his lips assumed at random, to mislead any one who might wish to observe the external signs of what was passing within.

The abbé Sieyes conversed during dinner unaffectedly and fluently, as suited a mind of his

degree of strength. He expressed himself concerning my father with a sincere esteem. "He is the only man," said he, "who has ever united the most perfect precision in the calculations of a great financier to the imagination of a poet." This eulogium pleased me, because it characterized him. Buonaparté, who heard it, also said some ob. • liging things concerning my father and me; but like a man who takes no interest in individuals whom he cannot make use of in the accomplishment of his own ends.

His figure, at that time thin and pale, was rather agreeable; he has since grown fat, which does not become him; for we can scarcely tolerate a character which inflicts so many sufferings on others, if we do not believe it to be a torment to the person himself. As his stature is short, and his waist very long, he appeared to much more advantage on horseback than on foot. In every respect it is war, and only war, which suits him. His manners in society are constrained, without timidity; he has an air of vulgarity when he is at his ease, and of disdain when he is not: disdain suits him best, and accordingly he indulges in it without scruple.

By a natural vocation to the regal office, he already addressed trifling questions to all who were presented to him. Are you married? was his question to one of the guests. How many children have you? said he to another. How long is it since you arrived? When do you set out? and other interrogations of a similar kind, which establish the superiority of

him who puts them over those who submit to be thus questioned. He already took delight in the art of embarrassing, by saying disagreeable things;-an art which he has since reduced into a system, as he has every other mode of subjugating men by degrading them. At this epoch, however, he had a desire to please, for he ⚫ confined to his own thoughts the project of overturning the Directory, and substituting himself in its stead; but in spite of this desire, one would have said that, unlike the prophet, he cursed involuntarily, though he intended to bless.

I saw him one day approach a French lady distinguished for her beauty, her wit, and the ardour of her opinions. He placed himself straight before her, like the stiffest of the German generals, and said to her, "Madam, I don't like women to meddle with politics." "You are right, general," replied she; " but in a country where they lose their heads, it is natural for them to desire to know the reason." Buonaparté made no answer. He is a man who is calmed by an effective resistance; those who have borne his despotism deserve to be accused as much as he himself.

The Directory gave general Buonaparté a solemn reception, which in several respects should be considered as one of the most important epochs in the history of the revolution. The court of the palace of the Luxembourg was chosen for this ceremony. No hall would have been large enough to contain the multitude which it attracted: all the wine

The

dows and all the roofs were crowded with spectators. five directors, in Roman costume, were seated on a platform at the further end of the court, and near them the deputies of the two councils, the tribunals, and the institute. Had this spectacle occurred before the subjugation of the national representation to military power on the 18th Fructidor, it would have exhibited an air of grandeur: patriotic tunes were played by an excellent band; banners served as a canopy to the Directors, and these banners brought back the recollection of great victories.

Buonaparté arrived, dressed very simply, followed by his aides-de-camp, all taller than himself, but nearly bent by the respect which they displayed to him. In the presence of whatever was most distinguished in France, the victorious general was covered with applauses: he was the hope of every one: republicans, royalists, all saw the present or the future in the sup. port of his powerful hand. Alas! of the young men who then cried, "Long live Buonaparté!" how many has his insatiable ambition left alive?

M. de Talleyrand, in presenting Buonaparté to the Directory, called him " the liberator of Italy, and the pacificator of the continent." He assured them that general Buonaparté detested luxury and splendor, the miserable ambition of vulgar souls, and that he loved the poems of Ossian, particularly because they detach us from the earth." The earth would have required nothing better, I think, than to let