It was Napoleon who told this story on himself: he declared that he had never ceased to regret the occurrence.
Corsican affairs now claimed attention for a moment in the counsels of the government at Paris (September, 1794). For after the Bonapartes had fled the island, Paoli had called the English in. The old hero intended that there should be a protectorate, thought that England would be satisfied with an arrangement of that sort, and that he, Paoli, would be left in control as viceroy or something of the kind. But the English had no idea of putting forth their strength for any such halfway purpose. They intended that Corsica should belong to England, and that an English governor should rule it. They intrigued with Paoli’s stanch friend, Pozzo di Borgo, and Pozzo became a convert to the English policy. King George III. of England wrote Paoli a polite and pressing invitation to visit England, and Paoli accepted.
England bombarded and took the remaining French strongholds (February, 1794), went into quiet and peaceable possession of the island, and appointed Sir Gilbert Elliott, governor. Of course Paoli’s stanch friend, Pozzo di Borgo, was not forgotten; he was made president of the state council under Elliott.
When commissioners from Paris came to the headquarters of the army of Italy, instructed to suspend the operations of the army and to prepare for an expedition against Corsica, Napoleon saw an opportunity to get back into active service again. He sought and obtained, perhaps by the favor of Salicetti, command of the artillery for the expedition. Great preparations were made at Toulon to organize the forces and to equip the fleet. In this work Napoleon was intensely engaged for several months. His mother and the younger children took up their residence in pleasant quarters near Antibes, and he was able to enjoy the luxury of the home circle while getting ready to drive the English out of Corsica. In due time the French fleet set sail; in due time it did what French fleets have usually done—failed dismally. The English were on the alert, swooped down, and captured two French vessels. The others ran to shelter under the guns of shore forts. The conquest of Corsica was postponed.
CHAPTER VIII
It must have been a sadly disappointed young man who rejoined his family, now at Marseilles, in the spring of 1795. Gone was the Toulon glory; gone the prestige of the confidential friend of commissioners who governed France. Barely escaping with his life from the Robespierre wreck, here he now was, stranded by the failure, the miserable collapse, of an expedition from which so much had been expected. Very gloomy must have been Napoleon’s “yellowish green” face, very sombre those piercing eyes, as he came back to his seat at the hearth of the humble home in Marseilles. Ten years had passed since he had donned his uniform; they had been years of unceasing effort, painful labor, and repeated failure. A demon of ill-luck had dogged his footsteps, foiled him at every turn, made null all his well-laid plans. Even success had come to him only to mock him and then drop him to a harder fall. Not only had he lost ground, but his brothers had been thrown out of the places he had obtained for them. In the midst of these discouragements came another: Lacombe St. Michel, a commissioner who bore him no good-will, urged the government to remove him from the army of Italy and to transfer him to the West. An order to that effect had been issued. This transfer would take him away from an army where he had made some reputation and some friends, and from a field of operations with which he was thoroughly familiar. It would put him in La Vendée, where the war was the worst of all wars,—civil strife, brother against brother, Frenchman against Frenchman,—and it would put him under the command of a masterful young man named Hoche.
Absolutely determined not to go to this post, and yet desperately tenacious in his purpose of keeping his feet upon the ladder, Napoleon set out for Paris early in May, 1795, to exert himself with the authorities. In the capital he had some powerful friends, Barras and Fréron among them. Other friends he could make. In a government where committees ruled, and where the committees were undergoing continual changes, everything was possible to one who could work, and wait, and intrigue. Therefore to Paris he hastened, taking with him his aides Junot and Marmont, and his brother Louis.
Lodged in a cheap hotel, he set himself to the task of getting the order of transfer cancelled. A general overhauling of the army list had been going on recently, and many changes were being made. Napoleon’s was not an isolated case. The mere transfer from one army to the other, his rank not being lowered, was, in itself, no disgrace; but Aubrey, who was now at the head of the war committee, decided upon a step which became a real grievance. The artillery service was overstocked with officers; it became necessary to cut down this surplus; and Napoleon, as a junior officer, was ordered to the army of the West as general of a brigade of infantry.
Napoleon regarded this as an insult, a serious injury, and he never forgave the minister who dealt him the blow. Aubrey had been a Girondin, and was at heart a royalist. He knew Napoleon to be a Jacobin, if not a Terrorist. Without supposing that there were any causes for personal ill-will, here were sufficient grounds for positive dislike in times so hot as those. In vain Napoleon applied in person, and brought to bear the powerful influence of Barras, Fréron, and the Bishop of Marboz. Either his advocates were lukewarm, or his cause was considered weak. Neither from the full committee nor from Aubrey could any concession be wrung. Aubrey, himself a soldier of the perfunctory, non-combative sort, believed that Napoleon had been advanced too rapidly. “You are too young to be commander-in-chief of artillery,” he said to the little Corsican. “Men age fast on the field of battle,” was the retort which widened the breach;—for Aubrey had not come by any of his age on fields of battle.