We had not yet seen the tyrant. Hence we did not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity offered us by the public exhibition of his personage on Easter Sunday. The ceremonial had been pompously announced in the Parisian Gazettes; and M. Chaptal, the Minister of the Interior, displayed great skill in making arrangements for giving a fine stage effect to the pious exhibition of the Church Militant. Bonaparte himself is also very clever at such work, and I have it on unquestionable authority that he himself actually arranged the plan of the procession, as well as that of the solemn farce acted afterwards in Nôtre Dame. A person with whom I am acquainted related to me a conversation he overheard between the First Consul and the various underlings who were to carry out his orders, a conversation which shows the little man can take as much interest in a puppet show as in a victory. When the leader of the orchestra waited upon him to mention the arrangements he had made for placing the music in front of the Consuls, Bonaparte desired him to change the position, for he was determined a battalion of soldiers should stand in front and behind. The conductor observed the effect of the music would be totally lost by this scheme; but the reply was, “N’importe, il me faut toujours des bataillons.” Another instance of his taking upon himself the business of stage manager was his order to Monsieur de Talleyrand that the latter should write to the different foreign Ambassadors and Ministers requesting that they would repair to the Palace of the Tuileries with four horses to their carriages, instead of two. All the foreign envoys, in consequence, clapped on an additional pair of animals, which should by right have been jackasses, to their coaches. The Consuls’ own Ministers also, not only drove four horses, but their domestics sported, by order, the same liveries—yellow turned up with red. Their carriages were ranged to the right of the door, exactly opposite the Ambassadors. Soon after arrived the Councillors of State, Senators, the Legislative Body, the Tribunats, the Prefets and the Generals in their respective costume. All this time the foreign Ministers were in a room below, called Salle des Ambassadeurs, waiting until his Highness should be graciously pleased to condescend to admit them to his presence. Count Cohentzel, the Austrian Minister, stood near the door in full view of the spectators. I could not refrain from a feeling of disgust and rage at beholding the representative of the once proud house of Austria standing like a suppliant upon the threshold of the Corsican adventurer.
The whole of the day’s exhibition was humiliating to every one concerned, save to Bonaparte and his satellites. After all the carriages were ranged in their places and the different regiments of horse and foot taken their positions in front of the Palace, a signal gun was fired, and a little thing leaped with uncommon agility upon the back of a white horse, superbly caparisoned, and set off at full trot along the line, followed by a numerous train of generals and aides-de-camp. Upon inquiry I learnt that the white horse was called Marengo, and its rider was Napoleon Bonaparte, First Consul of France.
Nothing was now heard but trumpets and kettledrums, and the whole spectacle was certainly an imposing one; as Bonaparte passed along the officers saluted and the men presented arms. He never returned a single salute.
His dress was very plain but extremely neat, in the uniform of the Consular Guard—a blue coat, faced with white, gold epaulettes, white kerseymere breeches and waistcoat, a small hat with a tri-colour bow.
None of the portraits or engravings which I have seen in England purporting to resemble this man are exactly like him. The picture by Masquier, representing him on his return from reviewing the Consular Guard, though the best likeness we have, is nevertheless a feeble representation of what is one of the most penetrating and animated countenances in the world. The complexion of Bonaparte is sallow, his face oval and his chin long, his eyes are of a dark blue, so dark as to appear black at a distance, they are keen and piercing, long in form and sunk deeply in his head. His black hair is cut short and he wears no powder. His smile is sweet and fascinating, but his visage terrible when ruffled with anger. His voice deep-toned, rather coarse and disfigured by a provincial accent.[5] He looks extremely well on horseback, his carriage thereon remarkably erect, and not unlike that of a riding master or cavalry drill sergeant. The lineaments of his face bespeak a violent nature, it is marked with the expression of dark and unruly passions. Upon the whole I do not hesitate to acknowledge he possesses the most interesting countenance I ever beheld.
After the First Consul had reviewed his troops “au trot” he hastily dismounted, shot like an arrow into the Palace, and soon after the general procession to Nôtre Dame began to form, and commenced with the slow march of the infantry towards the Cathedral.
The cavalry followed and the foreign Ministers and Ministers of State. Madame Letitia Bonaparte,[1] the Consul’s mother, a truly good, respectable woman, and Madame Bonaparte,[1] the reigning Queen, with Madame Louis Bonaparte,[1] her daughter, proceeded by another route (not taking part in the procession). They occupied with their suite two splendid coaches and four, each horse led by a running footman in green and gold livery and escorted by a squadron of Hussars. The corps of Mamelukes, leading six beautiful chargers of the First Consul, each horse caparisoned to the tune of £2500, preceded the state coach, which contained the three Consuls, attired in their consular garb of scarlet velvet, embroidered with gold. These rulers were drawn by eight bay horses and followed by a regiment of Hussars. Discharges of artillery continued from their departure from the Palace till their arrival at the Cathedral Church of Paris.
Three chairs of state were placed in front of the altar for the Consuls, that of Bonaparte’s was advanced a little in front of the other two, and he drew it still further forward before he seated himself. He sat erect during the whole ceremony, except during the Consecration of the Host and Communion, when he stood. At the elevation of the Host he crossed himself with the most sanctified composure, using that same hand which in Egypt had signed his abjuration of the Christian faith. The Consul le Brun[1] sat on his right hand and Cambacères[1] on his left. When High Mass was over, the Bishops approached in turn to take the oath of allegiance: as each mitred apostle knelt before Bonaparte he gave a gentle nod; but one poor old prelate, almost blind by age and too weak to kneel, having by mistake, directed his obeisance to Cambacères, the First Consul gave such a frown that the poor old man was almost terrified out of his wits.
To form a just idea of the feelings of those present one must remember that the greater part of the company consisted of the Senate, the Corps Législatif, the Tribunalate and the Generals, nearly all of whom had been or were avowed atheists, notorious for murders, thefts and atrocities they had perpetrated, while the Chief Magistrate had a few years earlier worshipped at the altar of atheism in Paris and embraced the religion of Mahomet in Africa. These persons were now assembled together to adore a God in whom they had no faith and to propose a religion they despised merely that they might be enabled to preserve their authority over the people and retain their lucrative places and appointments. To my mind this is an occurrence in the history of pious fraud only equalled by the action of Judas Iscariot.
I may safely affirm that with exception of the Bishops and clergy, there was not a single official personage in the church who quitted this religious mockery with a sentiment of piety in his heart, nor one who did not perfectly see through the whole object of the ceremony.
When the bowing, kneeling and swearing were ended the First Consul and his two scarlet supporters departed. Fresh discharges of cannons accompanied their return journey to the Tuileries.
The opinion entertained by the people of this day of ceremony was that of indignation, mixed with contemptuous ridicule.
In the evening Madame Bonaparte gave a grand rout to the ladies of the constituted authorities, and the city was illuminated. The illuminations were poor indeed, a few farthing rushlights stuck in paper lanterns hung out from every third or fourth house in the streets, and were called general illuminations, and even of those the greater part was put out by the wind. The Palace of the Tuileries was handsomely illuminated à la chinoise with variegated lamps. Cambacères, the Second Consul, also illuminated his house with great taste and splendour.
Vast numbers of people filled the streets and walks—great decorum and sobriety were everywhere observed, a circumstance which practically always distinguishes Frenchmen on such occasions.
In the midst of all these pompous festivities the minds of the people are still greatly divided respecting the future. They are gratified by the return of peace—but they are suspicious of its continuation. To this may be added the general apprehension of some fresh changes in France, from the restless character of its present ruler, and his disposition to interfere in the internal economy of other States.