Memoirs of the Empress Josephine, Vol. 1 of 2

by Madame de Rémusat

To return to the facts. Pichegru arrived in France on the 15th of January, 1804, and from the 25th of January was concealed in Paris. It was known that, in the year 5 of the Republic, General Moreau had denounced him to the Government for keeping up relations with the house of Bourbon. Moreau was supposed to hold Republican opinions; but he had probably then exchanged them for the idea of a constitutional monarchy. I do not know whether his family would now defend him as earnestly as they did then from the accusation of having aided the plans of the Royalists, nor do I know whether implicit confidence is to be placed on confessions made in the reign of Louis XVIII. The conduct of Moreau in 1813, and the honor paid to his memory by our princes, might, however, fairly lead us to believe that they had reason to count on him previously. At the period of which I am now speaking, Moreau was deeply irritated against Bonaparte. It has never been doubted that he visited Pichegru in secret; he certainly kept silence about the conspiracy. Some of the Royalists who were arrested at this time declared that he had merely displayed that prudent hesitation which waits to declare itself for the success of a party. Moreau, it was said, was a feeble and insignificant man, except on the field of battle, and overweighted by his reputation. “There are persons,” said Bonaparte, “who do not know how to wear their fame. The part of Monk suited Moreau perfectly. In his place I should have acted as he did, only more cleverly.”

It is not, however, in order to justify Bonaparte that I mention my doubts. Whatever was Moreau’s character, his fame was real; it ought to have been respected, and an old comrade in arms, grown discontented and embittered, ought to have been excused. A reconciliation with him, even if it had only been a result of that political calculation which Bonaparte discerned in the “Auguste” of Corneille, would still have been the wisest proceeding. But I do not doubt that Bonaparte was sincerely convinced of what he called Moreau’s moral treason, and he held that to be sufficient for the law and for justice, because he always refused to look at the true aspect of anything which was displeasing to himself. He was assured that proofs to justify the condemnation of Moreau were not wanting. He found himself committed to a line of action, and afterward he refused to recognize anything but party spirit in the equity of the tribunals; and, besides, he knew the most injurious thing which could happen to him would be that this interesting prisoner should be declared innocent. When he found himself on the point of being compromised, he would stop at nothing. From this cause arose the deplorable incidents of the famous trial. The conspiracy had been a subject of conversation for several days. On the 17th of February, 1804, I went to the Tuileries in the morning. The Consul was in the room with his wife; I was announced and shown in. Mme. Bonaparte was in great distress; her eyes were red with crying. Bonaparte was sitting near the fireplace, with little Napoleon on his knees. He looked grave, but not agitated, and was playing mechanically with the child.

“Do you know what I have done?” said he. I answered in the negative. “I have just given an order for Moreau’s arrest.” I could not repress a start. “Ah, you are astonished,” said he. “There will be a great fuss about this, will there not? Of course, it will be said that I am jealous of Moreau, that this is revenge, and other petty nonsense of the same kind. I jealous of Moreau! Why, he owes the best part of his reputation to me. It was I who left a fine army with him, and kept only recruits with myself in Italy. I wanted nothing more than to get on well with him. I certainly was not afraid of him; I am not afraid of anybody, and less of Moreau than of other people. I have hindered him from committing himself twenty times over. I warned him that there would be mischief made between us; he knew that as well as I did. But he is weak and conceited; he allows women to lead him, and the various parties have urged him.”

While he was speaking Bonaparte rose, approached his wife, and, taking her by the chin, made her hold up her head. “Ha!” he said, “every one has not got a good wife, like me. You are crying, Josephine. What for, eh? Are you frightened?” “No; but I don’t like to think of what will be said.” “What? How can that be helped?” Then, turning to me, he added, “I am not actuated by any enmity or any desire of vengeance; I have reflected deeply before arresting Moreau. I might have shut my eyes, and given him time to fly, but it would have been said that I did not dare to bring him to trial. I have the means of convicting him. He is guilty; I am the Government; the whole thing is quite simple.”

I can not tell whether the power of my old recollections is still upon me, but I confess that even at this moment I can hardly believe that when Bonaparte spoke thus he was not sincere. I have watched each stage of progress in the art of dissimulation, and I know that at that particular epoch he still retained certain accents of truthfulness, which afterward were no longer to be detected in his voice. Perhaps, however, it was only that at that time I still believed in him.

With the above words he left us, and Mme. Bonaparte told me that he remained up almost the whole of the night, debating whether or not he should have Moreau arrested, weighing the pros and cons of the measure, without any symptom of personal feeling in the matter; that then, toward daybreak, he sent for General Berthier, and after a long interview with him he determined on sending to Grosbois, whither Moreau had retired.

This event gave rise to a great deal of discussion, and opinion was much divided. General Moreau’s brother, a tribune, spoke with great vehemence at the Tribunate, and produced considerable effect. A deputation was sent up by the three representative bodies with an address of congratulation to the First Consul. In Paris, all who represented the liberal portion of the population, a section of the bourgeoisie, lawyers, and men of letters, were warmly in favor of Moreau. It was, of course, plain enough that political opposition formed an element in the interest exhibited on his behalf; his partisans agreed that they would throng the court at which he was to be brought up, and there was even a threatening whisper about what should be done if he were condemned. Bonaparte’s police informed him that there was a plot to break into Moreau’s prison. This irritated him, and his calmness began to give way. Murat, his brother-in-law, who was then Governor of Paris, hated Moreau, and took care to add to Bonaparte’s exasperation by his daily reports to him, he and Dubois, the Prefect of Police, combining together to pursue him with alarming rumors. Events, unhappily, came to the aid of their design. Each day a fresh ramification of the conspiracy was discovered, and each day Parisian society refused more obstinately than on the preceding to believe that there was any conspiracy at all. A war of opinion was being waged between Bonaparte and the Parisians.

On the 29th of February Pichegru’s hiding-place was discovered, and he was arrested, after a gallant struggle with the gendarmes. This event somewhat shook the general incredulity, but public interest still centered in Moreau. His wife’s grief assumed a rather theatrical aspect, and this also had its effect. In the mean time Bonaparte, who was ignorant of the formalities of law, found them much more tedious than he had expected. At the commencement of the affair, the Chief Judge had too readily undertaken to simplify and shorten the procedure, and now only one charge was distinctly made: that Moreau had held secret conferences with Pichegru, and had received his confidence, but without pledging himself positively to anything. This was not sufficient to secure a condemnation, which was becoming a necessity. In short, notwithstanding that great name which is mixed up in the affair, Georges Cadoudal has always been believed to have been, as at the trial he appeared to be, the real leader of the conspiracy.

It would be impossible to describe the excitement that pervaded the palace. Everybody was consulted; the most trifling conversations were repeated. One day Savary took M. de Rémusat aside, and said, “You have been a magistrate, you know the laws; do you think the details of this affair that we are in possession of are sufficient for the information of the judges?” “No man,” replied my husband, “has ever been condemned merely because he did not reveal projects with which he was made acquainted. No doubt that is a political wrong with respect to the Government, but it is not a crime which ought to involve the penalty of death; and, if that is your sole plea, you will only have furnished Moreau with evidence damaging to yourselves.” “In that case,” said Savary, “the Chief Judge has led us into making a great blunder. It would have been better to have had a military commission.”

From the day of Pichegru’s arrest, the gates of Paris were shut, while search was made for Georges Cadoudal, who eluded pursuit with extraordinary success. Fouché, who laid the foundations of his new reputation on this occasion, mercilessly ridiculed the unskillfulness of the police, and his comments enraged Bonaparte, who was already angry enough; so that, when he had incurred a real danger, and saw that the Parisians were disinclined to believe the statement of the facts, he began to wish for revenge. “Judge,” said he, “whether the French can ever be governed by legal and moderate institutions: I have put down a revolutionary but useful department of the ministry, and conspiracies are immediately formed. I have foregone my own personal feelings; I have handed over the punishment of a man who intended to kill me to an authority independent of myself; and, far from giving me any thanks for all this, people laugh at my moderation, and assign corrupt motives to my conduct. I will teach them to belie my intentions. I will lay hold of all my powers again, and prove to them that I alone am made to govern, to decide, and to punish.”