World's Best Histories — Volume 7: France

by François Guizot; Madame de Witt

With more calmness and pride than the courtiers, Moreau and the royalist conspirators waited in prison for their verdict. Napoleon was as eager as they were, being in haste to rid himself of an embarrassment which could become a danger. In proportion as the trial proceeded, Moreau's case was more and more kept distinct from that of the other prisoners. The mode of defence adopted by the royalists tended entirely to prove his innocence. "We entered France," they said, "deceived by false reports, and with the hope of securing our restoration: General Moreau refused us his assistance, and our project failed." The general did not appear disturbed by the irregular jurisdiction to which his case was to be referred. "Strive," he wrote to his wife, "to make sure that those who are to judge me are just men, incapable of betraying their conscience. If I am judged by persons of honor, I cannot complain, although they have apparently suppressed the jury."

The public interest was lively, and openly shown, in spite of the evident annoyance of the emperor. The friends of the royalist prisoners were numerous and ardent; and, whether from admiration or indifference, the public believed General Moreau innocent of all conspiracy, and made excuse for the dissatisfaction or ambition which he might have manifested. The sharers of his renown—Dessoles, Gouvion St. Cyr, Macdonald, Lecourbe— were faithfully present at every sitting. I borrow from the interesting recollections of Madame Récamier the picture of the spectacle then seen in the hall of the Palace of Justice, every approach to which was choked by the crowd. "The prisoners, of whom there were forty-seven, were for the most part unknown to each other, and filled the raised seats facing those where the judges sat. Each prisoner was seated between two gendarmes; those near Moreau were full of respect. When I raised my veil the general recognized me, and rose to salute me. I returned his salute with emotion and respect. I was deeply touched at seeing them treat as a criminal that great general whose reputation was then so glorious and unstained. It was no longer a question of republic and republicans. Excepting Moreau, who I am certain was an entire stranger to the conspiracy, it was the royalist loyalty that alone was on its defence against the new power. This cause of the ancient monarchy had as its head a man of the people, Georges Cadoudal.

"That fearless Georges! We looked at him with the thought that that head, so freely and energetically devoted, must fall on the scaffold; or that he alone, probably, would not escape death, as he did nothing for that purpose. Disdaining to defend himself, he only defended his friends; and when they tried to persuade him to ask for pardon, as the other prisoners had done, he replied, 'Do you promise me a fairer opportunity of dying?'

"In the ranks of the accused, Polignac and Rivière were still noticeable, interesting from their youth and devotion. Pichegru, whose name will remain historically united with Moreau's, was missing at his side—or rather, one believed his shade was visible there, because it was known that he also was not in the prison.

"Another recollection, the death of the Duc d'Enghien, increased the sorrow and terror of many minds, even among the most devoted partisans of Bonaparte."

Taken as a whole, and in spite of the embarrassment caused by the persistence of two or three of the accusers, the public judicial examination was favorable to General Moreau. On being accused of having agreed to a reconciliation with the traitor Pichegru, he replied, "Since the beginning of the Revolution there have been many traitors. There were some who were traitors in 1789, without being so in 1793; there were others who were so in '93 but were not in '95, others who were so in '95 but have not been so since. Many were republicans who are not so now. General Pichegru may have had an understanding with Condé in the year IV.; I believe that he had; but he was included in the proscription of Fructidor, and must be considered as one of those who were then proscribed. When I saw other Fructidorians at the head of the authorities of state—when Condé's army filled the Parisian drawing-rooms and those of the First Consul, I might very well take a share in restoring to France the conqueror of Holland. I am credited with the absurd idea of making use of royalists in the hope of regaining power if they were successful. I have made war for ten years, and during those ten years I am not aware of having done absurd things." When they laid emphasis on his interview with Pichegru and Georges, he said, "A quarter of an hour is but little for the discussion of a plan of government. It is said that Pichegru was dissatisfied; probably we were not of the same mind." On the president regretting that he had not denounced Pichegru and the royalists, saying that he owed it to a government that loaded him with benefits, Moreau exclaimed, "The conqueror of Hohenlinden is not a denouncer, M. le President. Do not put my services and my fortune in the same balance, for there is no possible comparison between the things. I should have fifty millions to-day, had I made the same use of victory which many others have done!"

Moreau wished to plead himself the cause of his life and renown. "It is only by my counsel," he said, "that I wish to address justice"—here the illustrious general looked round upon the attentive multitude—"but I feel that both on your account and mine I ought to speak myself. Unfortunate circumstances, produced by chance or caused by hatred, may for an instant obscure the life of the most honorable man; and a clever criminal may keep off suspicion and the proof of his crimes. The whole life of a prisoner is always the most certain testimony against him and for him. I therefore set my whole life to witness against my accusers and prosecutors; it has been public enough to be known: I shall only recall a few of its epochs: and the witnesses whom I shall summon will be the French people, and the people whom France has conquered. I was devoted to the study of law at the beginning of that revolution which was to establish the liberty of the French people; and the object of my life being thus changed, I devoted it to arms. I became a warrior because I was a citizen: I bore this character beneath our standards, and have always preserved it. I was promoted quickly, but always from step to step without passing any; always by serving my country, never by flattering the committees. On being appointed commander, when victory obliged us to march through the countries of our enemies, I was as anxious that our character should be respected as that our arms should be dreaded. War, under my orders, was a calamity only on the battlefield. I have the presumption to think that the country has not forgotten my services then, nor the ready devotion which I showed when fighting as a subordinate; nor how I was appointed to the command-in-chief by the reverses of our arms, and, in one sense, named general by our misfortunes. It is still remembered how I twice recomposed the army from the fragments of those which had been scattered, and how, after having twice restored it to a condition of being able to cope with the Russians and Austrians, I twice laid down the command to take another of greater responsibility. I was not during that period of my life more republican than during the others, though I seemed so. It is well known that there was a proposal to put me at the head of a movement similar to that of the 18th Brumaire. I refused, believing that I was made to command armies, and having no desire to command a Republic. I did more; on the 18th Brumaire I was in Paris. That revolution, instigated by others, could not disturb my peace of mind; but directed by a man surrounded by great renown, I might have hoped for happy results from it. I took part in it to assist it, whilst some other parties urged me to lead them in opposing it. I received in Paris General Bonaparte's orders, and, in seeing them executed, I assisted in raising him to that high degree of power which circumstances rendered necessary. When, shortly afterwards, he offered me the command of the army of the Rhine, I accepted it from him with as much devotion as from the hands of the Republic itself. Never had my successes been more rapid, more numerous, or more decisive, than during that period; and their renown was reflected upon the government which accuses me. What a moment for conspiring, if such a scheme had ever entered my mind! Would an ambitious man, or a conspirator, have let slip the opportunity when at the head of an army of 100,000 men so often victorious? I only thought of disbanding the army before returning to the repose of civil life.

"During that rest, which has not been without glory, I enjoyed my honors (such honors as no human power can deprive me of), the recollections of what I had done, the testimony of my conscience, the esteem of my country and of foreigners, and, to be candid, the flattering and pleasant presentiment of the esteem of posterity. My mind and disposition were so well known, and I kept myself so far aloof from any ambitious project, that from the victory of Hohenlinden till my arrest my enemies were never able to accuse me of any crime except freedom in speaking. Do conspirators openly find fault with that which they do not approve? So much candor is scarcely reconcilable with political secrets and plots. If I had wished to adopt and follow the plans of any conspirators, I should have concealed my sentiments, and solicited every appointment which might have restored me to power. As a guide on such a route, in default of the political talent which I have never had, there were examples known to all the world and rendered imposing by success. I might have known that Monk retained command of his armies when he wished to conspire, and that Cassius and Brutus came nearer Caesar's heart in order to pierce it."

When the pleading was finished, the emperor and the public anxiously waited for the sentence. The fact of the royalist plot being proved, the condemnation of the prisoners was certain, and the inquietude and hopes of all were concentrated on Moreau. "Towards the close of the trial," said Madame Récamier, "all business was stopped, the entire population were out of doors, they talked of nothing but Moreau." The emperor had informed the judges that he would not demand that the general be condemned to death unless in the interest of justice, and as a salutary example, his fixed intention being to grant him pardon. One of the members of the tribunal, Clavier, a man of great virtue and learning, said, on hearing General Murat's proposition, "And who will pardon us ourselves, if we pass judgment and condemnation against our consciences?" At the first deliberation of the tribunal, seven judges out of twelve voted for acquittal pure and simple: being afraid of Napoleon's anger, they sentenced Moreau to two years' imprisonment. "Why, that's a punishment for a pickpocket!" exclaimed the emperor in a passion. By wise counsel he was induced to show a prudent clemency. Moreau, nearly ruined by the expense of the trial, and as annoyed by the sentence as Napoleon was, refused to ask any favor. "If it was certain that I took part in the conspiracy," he exclaimed, "I ought to have been condemned to death as a leader. I undergo the extremity of horror and disgrace. Nobody will believe that I played the part of a corporal."

His young and handsome wife, being near confinement, asked for and obtained permission to sail to America with her husband, and when delayed at Cadiz by child-birth, was urged to set out on the voyage through Fouché's influence in the Spanish court. "Four years ago about this time," wrote the general, "I gained the battle of Hohenlinden. That event, so glorious for my country, procured for my fellow-countrymen a repose which they had long wanted. I alone have been unable to obtain it. Will they refuse it me at the extremity of Europe, 500 leagues from my native land?"