Citizen Emperor Page 3
Not all the newspapers, however, were in favour of either Bonaparte or the new regime. On the contrary. That problem was easily solved. Two months after Brumaire, on 17 January 1800, a decree was published that suppressed sixty of the seventy-three Paris newspapers.72 The motive given – some of them were ‘instruments in the hands of the enemies of the Republic’73 – was not an exaggeration; forty of the suppressed newspapers passed for royalist, but the republican press was also eliminated, with the exception of the Moniteur universel, which became the official organ of the state. Over the next few months, a further three newspapers disappeared. Between 1800 and 1804, two more papers would be silenced. By the end of 1811, only four newspapers would be left in Paris with a run of around 34,000 copies, their content strictly controlled. In the provinces, the number would be reduced to one newspaper per department, a measure that led to the creation of a good number of newspapers in departments that did not have them.74
The suppression of newspapers in France was little short of spectacular, another kind of coup, except that instead of getting rid of the journalists, the regime got rid of the newspapers they wrote for.75 The press was to present a uniform façade so that anything that might contradict the image propagated by the authorities, such as resistance to conscription and news of suicides, was eliminated from its columns. It is easy to interpret this attack on the press as an attack on freedom of speech, but it elicited little or no public protest, which leads one to suggest that either the public was indifferent or it approved of the measure. In part, this was a return to the system employed by ancien régime governments to control the press and public opinion. The monarchy had a monopoly over political news, and newspapers had to pay to get access to it. Moreover, there was never more than one newspaper in each major town. But the desire to restrict press freedom was also a reaction to the excesses experienced during the Revolution when anything and everything had been permitted, from the incitement to massacre in 1792 to rabid populist newspapers such as L’Ami du peuple (The Friend of the People) and Le Père Duchesne (The Father Duchesne), in which sentences were punctuated with the word foutre (an approximation of the English word ‘fuck’).76 This freedom, moderates believed, had been in part responsible for the radicalization of the Revolution and had enabled factions to flourish. That is the reason why the press suffered a number of restrictions after the fall of Robespierre when forty-odd newspapers were banned.77 Total freedom of the press was again introduced after the fall of Robespierre, but within a short time the Directory found itself assailed by an orgy of invective from neo-Jacobin as well as royalist newspapers. Bonaparte’s decision to shut down so many newspapers was about controlling the flow of information, but it was also about national reconciliation as touted by the Brumairians. Journalists, contemporaries believed, had usurped the role of the elected authorities, had sustained the factionalism that had riven French society and had become inimical to ‘public order’.78
Newspapers then did not serve the same purpose as we have come to expect of the press today. Eighteenth-century French newspapers were outlets of particular political viewpoints.79 The press as an instrument of radical politics, something contemporaries were all too familiar with from the Revolution, inspired fear and was therefore considered dangerous.80 Bonaparte was unwilling to see a repeat of the revolutionary years and believed that freedom of the press would lead to a proliferation of both Jacobin and royalist views.81 The Consulate was above all about restoring order. To do that, the control of the press was considered essential to put an end to the political upheavals that had plagued France.
Press censorship in Napoleonic France was less harsh than in the three absolutist eastern European powers – Austria, Prussia and Russia – although by no means as liberal as in Britain. True, there was now far more censorship than there had been in pre-revolutionary France, but Bonaparte’s measures were the continuation of a trend; censorship had become increasingly more rigorous in France towards the end of the century, and he had inherited from the Directory censorship laws empowering the police to suppress newspapers. However, despite what some historians have asserted, the press under Napoleon was not entirely docile.82 Between 1800 and 1804, Bonaparte used the tensions between different newspapers to his advantage.83 An opposition journalism existed and persisted throughout the Consulate and into the Empire.84 Debate was certainly restricted, and authors might have been unable to find a publisher for their work when they touched on issues the government preferred to avoid, but opposition pamphlets and songs continued to circulate in Paris.85
The Vessel of State Arrives in Port
With the government in place, Bonaparte and his conspirators now had to convince the French people they were legitimate, and in the process come up with some sort of programme. This was slowly formulated over the coming weeks and months, but in the initial stages a number of texts were produced that vaguely define the political concepts with which Bonaparte (and his colleagues) wanted to be associated. The first is a proclamation to the French people announcing the Consular regime on 15 December 1799 – order, justice, stability, force and above all moderation were some of the key words emphasized in the text, in which it was clearly stated that ‘the Revolution is fixed on the principles with which it began. It is finished.’86 That word ‘Consular’ was meant to assure the political elite, well versed in ancient history, that the Republic would continue and would be consolidated vaguely following a Roman model.87
Everything that emanated from Paris from that time on deliberately promoted the image of a unifying government. At the same time, the regime disseminated an image of a Directorial France left in ruin, its roads and ports in a poor state, law and order a shambles, and public confidence in the institutions of government destroyed. One pamphlet that caused quite a stir when it appeared was written by the editor of one of Bonaparte’s Italian newspapers, Marc-Antoine Jullien (although published anonymously). It took the form of a dialogue between two people identified as ‘A’ and ‘B’, the latter immediately recognized as Bonaparte. Jullien lays the groundwork by lamenting the deplorable state of affairs in France before Bonaparte came on the scene:
There was no national representation, no government, no constitution. Our conquests lost, our laurels tarnished, peace impossible except on dishonourable terms, our armies destroyed, the French name reviled by both enemies and allies, the republic fallen into the utmost debasement and misery, the aims of the revolution miscarried, the fruits of our labours, sacrifices and victories annihilated, the dregs of faction agitating and disputing with foreigners over the shreds of our country – that is what struck the observer.88
And that is only the beginning of a long list of complaints, many of them either false or grossly exaggerated, perpetuated in the press of the day.89 The point was to show just how bad things were so that Bonaparte looked as though he had dragged France from the edge of the abyss. It is a theme commonly found in some paintings, often using allegories, depicting Brumaire in the months and years after the coup.
In Antoine-François Callet’s Tableau allégorique du 18 Brumaire (Allegorical painting of 18 Brumaire), for example, the forces of light drive away the forces of darkness.90 At the bottom of the painting, one can see a boat that is meant to be, according to the description in the catalogue of the Salon for that year, ‘the vessel of State’ arriving in port. This was a reference to the plebiscite of February 1800, which legitimated Brumaire (see below). On board the vessel one can see a number of the best-known pieces of art pillaged from Italy – the Horses of St Mark, the Laocoön, the Apollo of Belvedere, the Transfiguration by Raphael – next to which are piles of enemy flags. France is represented by a woman holding an olive branch and supported by fifteen Renommées (figures of Renown) that represent the armies of the Republic. Especially prominent is a figure in Egyptian headdress standing in for the Army of Egypt (which Bonaparte had commanded in 1798–9). One art historian has suggested that these two combined figures represent Bonaparte. It is po
ssible; peace and the army are together, so to speak. One should not forget that on the eve of Brumaire – an allusion to which can be seen in the sign of Sagittarius depicted in the sky – Bonaparte declared, ‘I alone am the representative of the people.’ In other words, Bonaparte and the people are one, and the government, embodied in the Hercules-like figure in the foreground holding a fasces – representing the departments of France – resting on a rock, is below France/Bonaparte. Beneath the foot of Hercules/the government are the enemies of peace and order, including a leopard symbolizing Great Britain. The people and democracy are thus portrayed in an inferior position to Bonaparte.91
Antoine-Francois Callet, Tableau allégorique du 18 Brumaire an VIII ou La France sauvée (Allegorical painting of 18 Brumaire year VIII or France is saved), 1800. The painting was executed in the weeks following Brumaire, and then presented in a larger format at the Salon of 1801.
Given the effort the new regime put into convincing people that France had been on the brink of collapse, it is hardly surprising that it became the dominant interpretation. ‘Those who have not lived through the epoch of which I speak’, wrote the Duc de Broglie many years later of the period before Brumaire, ‘can form no idea of the profound misery into which France fell. We were plunging back under full sail into the abyss of the Terror without a gleam of consolation or hope.’92 People came to assume that Bonaparte alone had pulled France out of the morass into which the Revolution and especially the Directory had plunged the country.
‘The End of our Suffering’
Article 95 of the new Constitution indicated that a plebiscite would take place, in keeping with the practice adopted by the revolutionaries in 1793 and again in 1795. Bonaparte insisted on implementing the measure, against the advice of Sieyès, and justified his decision by citing the pre-revolutionary philosopher Rousseau: any law that was not ratified by the people was null and void. The plebiscite was a genuine attempt to consult the people, but it was also a political strategy to cut the ground from under the feet of the opposition.93
Any male over the age of twenty-five could vote. The polling took place from the end of December 1799 to the end of January 1800. It was the first time since the beginning of the Revolution that individuals had been able to vote directly, without having to go through primary and secondary assemblies.94 Every man could register his vote in writing, and if he chose to do so explain his reasons, followed by a signature. The procedure was meant to avoid fraud, but it was designed to put pressure on citizens to vote for the regime. It took a certain amount of courage to vote no. The registers were to be burnt after the votes had been counted, but fortunately for historians they were kept. Some of the comments that people made in voting, limited in number it is true, are revealing of what people thought of the new regime, the Constitution and Bonaparte. In Paris, for example, one voter wrote, ‘I can at last see the end of our suffering.’ He considered the new Constitution to be a ‘social act’ that would inevitably lead to the ‘happiness of France’.95 In the Aube, on the other hand, some thought they were voting not for Bonaparte but simply for a new constitution.96 In the Var, another voter accepted the new Constitution on the grounds that it would be the ‘grave of factions’ and that it would lead to ‘order, peace, and respect for people and property’. It is evident that peace, and the desire to put the Revolution to bed once and for all, were the overwhelming preoccupations expressed by those sympathetic towards the coup.
The results were not as good as the regime either expected or publicly asserted. Many thought Brumaire was just another political upheaval brought about by the same people responsible for past upheavals. The presence of Bonaparte did not change that view.97 Given the short time in which it was organized, however, the lack of information that circulated and the unusually cold weather for that time of year, the plebiscite was still a resounding success for the regime. True, only about 25 to 30 per cent of the electorate turned out, or about 1.5 million real ‘yes’ votes.98 That was not unusual, nor was the result dishonourable. In the previous ten years, the turnout had ranged from 60 per cent during the heady days of the first election of the Revolution (1789 and 1790), to between less than 10 and 30 per cent, depending on the department, for the election to the Legislative Assembly (1791), and between 4 and 27 per cent for the election to the Convention (1792). As for the previous two plebiscites (1793 and 1795), their rate of participation was, respectively, around 50 per cent (1.8 million votes), and between 14 and 17 per cent (1 million votes).99
The voting numbers were, therefore, consistent with the low participation rate of the electorate, and consistent with the general indifference to national politics that had resulted from war, economic upheaval and religious persecution. But that was not good enough for Lucien Bonaparte, who ‘corrected’ the results by systematically exaggerating the figures, and by counting the army – 500,000 votes – as a whole.100 We simply do not know the extent to which Bonaparte was involved, or if not, whether he was aware of the manipulation. By presenting the results of the plebiscite as an overwhelming endorsement of the coup, the country’s new political rulers were legitimized.
Repression and Reconciliation
The Brumairians, however, did not wait for the results to enforce the Constitution and assert their power. One of the most important and difficult problems facing the Consulate, and therefore high on Bonaparte’s agenda, was the civil war in the west of France, a conflict that had raged since 1793 and had cost hundreds of thousands of lives. The rebels, variously described as Chouans or Vendéens, often with royalist or counter-revolutionary leanings, were relatively well organized and received wide support among the local populations. It was necessary, for the sake of the future stability of the government, as well as for Bonaparte’s image as the man above factions, to bring the civil war to a speedy conclusion. There were two ways Bonaparte went about this. The first was by meeting counter-revolutionary and royalist leaders. On 26 December 1799, for example, he met the Chouan leader Baron Hyde de Neuville.101 He was accompanied by the commandant of the Vendéens in the region of Angers, Fortuné d’Andigné. In the course of the interview, Bonaparte is supposed to have urged them to rally to his banner: ‘my government will be the government of youth and talent’. At the same time, and with a smile on his lips, he threatened to exterminate all who did not come over to him.102
Two days after that meeting, Bonaparte issued a ‘Letter to the inhabitants of the departments of the west’ in which he promised a pardon to rebels willing to repent, as well as undertaking, as we have seen, a number of measures that would help appease opponents of the regime.103 This was followed, however, by a second proclamation: anyone taken with arms in hand, or found inciting rebellion, would be summarily executed.104 This was no idle threat. The violent and often brutal repression against rebels practised by the revolutionary governments was continued under the new Consular regime.105
To drive the point home, examples were made of a number of individuals. The first was a young man by the name of Henri de Toustain, in Paris to visit his brother in the Temple by virtue of the armistice. He was nevertheless arrested, dragged before a military commission and, despite no evidence being brought to bear against him other than a few white cockades (symbols of the Bourbons) found in his hotel room, condemned to death. He was shot on the Plaine de Grenelle on 25 January 1800. On another occasion, Bonaparte promised the Chouan leader Louis de Frotté a personal amnesty, but when Frotté gave himself up he was summarily executed without so much as a trial.106 The news was announced to the Legislative Corps by a member of the Council of State and fellow conspirator, Pierre-Louis Roederer, who in a melodramatic gesture also presented the deputies with the counter-revolutionary items that had been taken with the capture of Frotté’s general staff: crosses of St Louis, fleurs de lys and the daggers emblematic of every eighteenth-century conspirator.107 Bonaparte liked to set examples – ‘Every day we shoot here five or six Chouans,’ he wrote to General Brune, the commander of the
Army of the West108 – and was capable of doing so at the expense of human life. After years of political upheaval and social unrest, the French appeared to be far less interested in the preservation of ‘liberty’ than in a return to law and order.109 The restrictions on the press meant that the repression was not widely reported, but there was a great deal of local support for these repressive measures.
If the politics of reconciliation was sometimes little more than rhetoric, the repression of unrest in France, whether counter-revolutionary or plain criminal, was ruthless. Bonaparte ordered General Brune to clean up the Vendée, and to ‘let the rebels of Morbihan begin to feel the whole weight and the horrors of war’.110 Brune’s tactics were brutal. On 25 January, republican troops took control of Pont-du-Loch, killed 500–600 rebels and were then unleashed on the surrounding villages.111 It was enough to decide an already flagging, dispirited resistance to abandon the royalist cause, for the moment, and begin to surrender. Bonaparte specified in a letter to one of his generals fighting in the west that any rebels caught should be ‘exterminated’.112 It was a word he had used before.113 Those under his command knew what was expected of them. Any town or village that harboured brigands would be burnt and reduced to cinders.114 Suspects were arrested, interrogated (that is, tortured) and secretly imprisoned, not only in the west of France, but in any region that resisted the centralizing, modernizing impulse from revolutionary Paris.
The violence in the west of France was by far the worst, but in at least ten other departments brigandage and assassinations (political or otherwise) continued through the months of March and April 1800, with varying degrees of intensity. In the south-east of France, for example, Catholic and royalist brigands were particularly active between 1796 and 1802, bringing the region to the verge of anarchy.115 The response from the Consular regime was to use repressive tactics similar to those that had been used by other revolutionary governments. Seven flying columns were formed – four in the Midi, three in Brittany – made up of gendarmes, National Guard and regular troops, attached to which were military commissions, whose task it was to arrest, try and execute any brigands caught.116 Thousands were arrested, and hundreds were executed by firing squad.