France in eighteen hundred and two

I wish to describe a grand review of the Consular Guard, which took place on the Place du Carrousel, at this very Easter-tide—a review of which so much has been said all over Europe. It is really nothing more nor less than a parade, for not a single evolution is made. Indeed, if it were wished to make an evolution the size and situation of the Place du Carrousel would not admit it.

The order in which the troops are disposed shows the impossibility of manœuvring them, for the place in which 6000 men, horse and foot, besides artillery, are collected, is not so large as our Horse Guards Parade at Whitehall.

The review really consists in the First Consul, his generals, his aides-de-camp and his Mamelukes, trotting very fast through the lines. He then takes his station in front of the gates of the Tuileries, and the troops pass him in quick time, afterwards filing off to their respective quarters.

In order that I may give a clear idea of this military show, I will briefly state the order in which the troops take their positions and move from the ground.

A battalion of Grenadiers, with their band, is stationed from the left corner of the Tuileries to the Palace door, from the right corner to the same door is another battalion of Grenadiers, called the Column of Granite, because at the battle of Marengo, “firm as adamant,” they withstood the charges of Austrian cavalry. About sixteen paces in front the first line commences with a battalion of Invalids, without a band or even pipes, having only half a dozen drums attached to it. Next to these are two battalions composed of select troops from the line. An intervening space of thirty-six paces here occurs, when another line of infantry, composed of two heavy battalions without music, extend along the whole area. Behind these are two regiments of Hussars. A little on their side at the right two troops of flying Artillery, and then the famous regiment of Guides, commanded by Eugène de Beauharnais[1] (the Consul’s step-son) surnamed the Casse Cous, because they are said neither to give nor receive quarter. Opposite this corps, at the other extremity of the lines and under the Gallery of the Louvre, stands the corps of Mamelukes—they retain their national costume, and every means is employed to attach them to the interests of the French people—which they are made to believe are identical with those of their Mussulman Caliph.

Three generals of division commanded the Consular troops under Bonaparte, who reserves to himself the chief command.

As soon as the First Consul had mounted Marengo, the drums beat a tattoo, and the men shouldered arms.

Preceded by several Mamelukes and four aides-de-camp in superb Hussar uniforms, he rode at full trot through the lines. When he returned to the centre a detachment from an Artillery corps, now serving in Italy, marched up to the Consul to receive their standard. It was held by a sergeant. The Consul made them a short speech, ordering them to swear they would rather die than abandon it. The infantry guard then passed before the Consul, beginning with the battalion of Invalids and ending with the Column of Granite, then came the Flying Artillery, the regiments of Horse, and, last of all, the regiment of Guides, beyond comparison the finest corps, whether for men or horses, I ever beheld, their Colonel, Beauharnais, being the handsomest young man amongst them. This regiment is dressed in green, as Hussars, and wheeled with uncommon precision and velocity. The Column of Granite was the only battalion which seemed to pay any attention to distance or time; its sections wheeled and performed like a piece of machinery, but all the other battalions were remarkably deficient in this branch of discipline. I remarked to a French general upon the slovenly manner in which those battalions wheeled; he nodded assent to the observation, remarking shrewdly and wisely: “It is of no matter of consequence, they know how to fight.”

As soon as the last section had passed, the Consul, who seemed to be in a very ill-humour, rode to the door of the Palace, dismounted and disappeared. He was not in a general’s uniform, but wore the same dress as that in which he appeared on the morning of the procession to Nôtre Dame.

Upon the whole, I cannot say that this review answered my expectations. The troops were tall and well-clothed. The cavalry were magnificently mounted, and made a noble appearance, but still the tout ensemble did not excite my admiration to a very great extent.

While Bonaparte was passing the lines, one of my acquaintance exultingly turned to me and said: “Voilà le maître de la terre!” Several English gentlemen, who were not very distant from me, made themselves conspicuous by their ecstatic exclamations of adulation towards Bonaparte, one of them, a person of rank and fortune, bawling out loud enough to be heard by fifty people, “By G—d! this man deserves to govern the world!”

On our return from the parade, we went into a large party of ladies and gentlemen, among whom were several members of the Government. One of them took me aside; he questioned me as to the state of feeling in England on the subject of the peace, and asked me whether I read with attention the English papers. Upon my answering in the affirmative, he remarked that though the liberty of the Press was an essential principle of our British Constitution, persons in foreign countries were often exposed to the highest and most malignant censures from its abuse. I now understood the drift of his conversation and observed that natives of England, as well as foreigners, frequently had to smart under the lash of the British Press and that no one had been more severely handled (on some occasions) than myself. I explained that we in England never noticed those things, unless by retorting upon our opponents through the medium of the Press. He then said with some hesitation: “I have excellent authority for saying that the First Consul is incensed beyond measure at the liberties taken with his character and government in the English papers.” “If that be all,” I replied, “his anger will not go down with the sun, for I may venture to promise him an unceasing fire from the British Press as long as he discloses an ambition that is fatal to the security of Europe.” “And to France,” he exclaimed. Then taking me by the arms, he said with great energy, “When, my dear friend, you return to England, animate every person concerned in the public journals to give him no quarter. It is only through the medium of your papers that we know our situation; the sound philosophy of your principles (meaning the English nation’s) will finally rescue France from slavery.” Having uttered these words under strong symptoms of agitation, he left the room.

Thunderstruck and confounded at this unexpected termination of our discourse, I was for a moment at a loss what to think and how to act, when fortunately the ex-Director Barthélémi came up and asked whether I was pleased with the review. This made me recover my senses, and I was enabled to enter into genial conversation. I was introduced to Archbishop Faesh,[1] Bonaparte’s uncle; and to Visconti,[1] but the only news they communicated were the details of the operations in San Domingo, brought home by Jerome Bonaparte. We soon afterwards left the party. I conveyed the ladies back to the hotel, and then drove to the house of the person with whom I have been engaged in the conversation related above.

He received me with great consideration and politeness, and stated how happy he was to be able to confer with me alone, as it was not safe to enter into particular details in a mixed assembly. I agreed with him, and he immediately entered more fully into the subject.

He told me that there were at present in France several Englishmen employed by the First Consul to write against our Government and in support of his (Bonaparte’s) administration. That an Englishman named Joliffe was employed by Monsieur de Talleyrand to translate all the articles in our newspapers which had any reference to France, and that Talleyrand carried them to Bonaparte as regularly as he did his official despatches. He mentioned the names of several other Englishmen employed by the Consul for similar purposes, among whom were Messrs. Morgan, Stone and Dr. Watson.

The two objects he seemed extremely anxious to impress upon me were, first that the Government and person of Bonaparte ought to inspire us with extreme aversion, but secondly that we ought to abstain rigidly from involving ourselves in another war with him.

These points seemed rather paradoxical, and I asked how Great Britain would be compromised in case of a renewal of the war. To this he answered that 50,000 or 60,000 such military automatons as I had seen to-day were always ready to execute without reflection or care whatever orders the First Consul might issue. Then, again, the violent spirit of Bonaparte was greatly to be dreaded. In case of a war between England and France he would infallibly attack some of the weaker Powers of Europe under the pretext that they favoured our cause. Upon my expressing my astonishment that an enlightened nation should passively submit to a system of tyranny which they disapproved of, and that himself, who had so great an influence, together with many of his colleagues, were taking no steps to abridge the power of this Corsican, he observed with great feeling: “The Revolution was made for the people, but not by the people. The principles of philosophy upon which it was founded have been trampled under foot by the military, and under every form of our government they have been masters. Whoever got possession of the power of the sword ruled and rules the Republic. France is the prize of generals whom our folly has placed on too high an eminence.”

The conversation was next resumed on the dissatisfaction which the government of Bonaparte had occasioned throughout the Republic; and of my speaking favourably of the character, abilities and influence of Moreau,[1] he differed from me, and observed that General Moreau was a man of passive qualities, destitute of energy to undertake any grand political scheme. His chief employment consisted in reading all the military memoirs and books which had ever been written and playing with his pretty wife.

Upon the whole, after a conversation of about three hours, he ended the dialogue by observing that he was at a loss whether to think war or peace would be most favourable to the views of those who wished the destruction of Bonaparte. He urged me, however, on my return to England, that I should describe in the Press the horrible state of slavery to which “Le Petit Caporal” had reduced the French. After having solemnly enjoined me to be very guarded in my expressions during my stay in France, we took leave of each other. The sentiments I have detailed being those of a distinguished member of the Government, what must be those of the people?