"'Comment!' exclaimed the Emperor furiously, 'toujours Madame Chambers!'
"'Oui, Empereur, toujours Madame Chambers,' she replied imperturbably.
"This was too much for Napoleon. The man who was accustomed to see the greatest of his generation tremble before his slightest frown gazed in no small astonishment at the plump, placid little soubrette who confronted him without a tremor. He burst into a merry laugh, and exclaimed. 'Eh bien, que votre mari reste à Paris. Berthier, je vous en charge!' turning to Marshal Berthier who was in his suite; and Mr Chambers was never sent back to the dépôt."
Few, however, shared the temerity of Madame Chambers. John Stanhope writes: "The awe that even the principal ministers felt in the presence of Napoleon would not be credited in England. His courtiers literally trembled before him. 'In what sort of a humour is the Emperor to-day?' was a frequent question in Paris…. How I have blushed for the adulation, the degrading, I may almost say the blasphemous flattery that has been offered before the throne of Napoleon by men of the highest rank. But perhaps I ought to make some allowance for those who had witnessed the horrors of the Revolution. Can, however, such men be expected to recover the high tone of feeling they once entertained? Can France ever be restored to a sound state?"
Yet one man stood alone in heroic opposition to the Conqueror of Christendom. Frail, old, and deserted even by those upon whose support he had relied, the Pope, Pius VII., had courage to oppose the Conqueror of the world. While John Stanhope was in Paris the celebrated interview took place between the aged Pontiff and the autocrat to whom the Vicar of Christ was but as a temporal Sovereign to be crushed beneath the might of an all-but universal monarchy. Pius VII. had indeed had an ample warning in the fate of his predecessor, who, bereft of all power, had been consigned by Napoleon to an imprisonment in which he had expired. In 1801 Pius VII. had been forced to conclude a concordat with Napoleon, which the latter had afterwards subjected to arbitrary alterations; in 1804 the Pontiff had found himself compelled to repair to Paris to assist at the coronation of his enemy. Shortly after his return to Rome the French had entered the Eternal city, and in May 1809 the Papal States were annexed by France. Promptly the brave old Pontiff excommunicated the robbers of the Holy See, and the vengeance of Bonaparte upon this act was swift and sure. The Pope was removed as a prisoner to Grenoble, then to Fontainebleau; and it is curious to learn, by Stanhope's contemporary account, the light in which such a stupendous event in the history of the Roman Church was regarded at the date of its happening.
"The Holy Father, the representative of St Peter, he who holds the Keys of Heaven and Hell, is actually a prisoner in the hands of Napoleon! Poor, excellent old man, gallantly and with the resignation of a martyr does he bear up against his sufferings and maintain the dignity of the Papal See. It is a singular thing that in a soi-disant Catholic country the imprisonment of the Father of their Church should make so little sensation. I hear, indeed, that many women gathered round the different places at which he stopped in the course of his journey through France, but even the interest they felt for him soon appears to have subsided. A partie de chasse the other day was announced to take place in the Forest of Fontainebleau. This afforded the Emperor an opportunity of having a conversation with the Pope without any sacrifice of his own dignity, without any troublesome arrangement of ceremony, and still more without drawing upon himself the public eye, as to go hunting near the Palace of Fontainebleau without even paying a visit to the Pope would have been a positive breach of politeness.
"The interview took place. On the one side was the venerable churchman bending beneath the weight of affliction as well as of years, on the other Napoleon Bonaparte; yet if the reports circulated in Paris are to be believed, the old Pontiff held his own with unabated courage and dignity, and nobly maintained the cause of his religion, though the Emperor is said actually to have thrust his fist in his face and all but struck him. How the interview terminated I cannot learn, but I heard the fresh Concordat cried about the streets of Paris that same evening.
"This dispute," he writes later, "has narrowly escaped producing the most important results in ecclesiastical history—the separation of the French Empire from the See of Rome. The Emperor had assumed the nomination to the French Bishoprics, but the Pope refused to give the investiture to the persons he appointed. The Church almost universally stood by their Chief; the consequence was that there was a considerable difficulty in filling up the vacant Sees. The Archbishopric of Paris was one of these. The Emperor offered it to his Uncle, Cardinal Fesch, but he, either from sincere attachment to his Church, or from the duty he owed to the Roman supremacy as a Cardinal, or from a conviction that he was safer in possession of the Archbishopric of Lyons, held under the Pope's authority, than he could be in one held in defiance of it, resolved to brave the Emperor's anger and refuse that offer. Napoleon, contenting himself with calling Fesch a fool, offered it to Cardinal Maury, who became titular Archbishop of Paris. There are few things in the history of the French Revolution that make one blush more for human nature than the falling off of that man whose opening career had been so brilliant….
"More and more the Emperor had felt that to be second to the Pope was inconsistent with his own dignity, and that if he could not bend the pontiff to his will, he must do without him. He had accordingly determined to assume the sole presentation of the Bishoprics; but how to get the Church to assent to such a proceeding was the question. He came at length to the decision of summoning the Gallican and Italian Churches…. When the Council met, I was allowed by a friend of mine to copy a letter from one of the members. It was a curious document and I preserved it for some time with great care, but I became at length alarmed at having such a compromising paper in my possession and reluctantly committed it to the flames. The tenor, however, of some parts of it I remember….
"The writer stated that the Emperor at first proposed to try the effects of corruption and to tamper with the Bishops individually, and that he had succeeded in that course, to some extent, more particularly with the Italian Bishops; but that when he abandoned that plan and summoned a Council, he committed a great error and entirely defeated his own intentions. Those men, who could be gained by corruption or intimidated by power, when they found themselves surrounded by their Brethren, were withheld, by shame, from giving way to such considerations. Numbers give power; individually each man might tremble at the thought of resisting Napoleon, but united, the esprit de corps which is, as it ought to be, the most powerful incentive among all Churchmen, taught them to offer an unyielding opposition to all demands inconsistent with the rights of their Church. But there was another circumstance which rendered the assembling of the Council fatal to the Emperor's project, and which, not to have known, was on his part inexcusable ignorance. At the opening of all Councils each member takes an oath that he will not alter anything that has been fixed by former Councils, so that everyone in this case was individually bound by an oath taken in the presence of his Colleagues to reject such conditions as were required by the Emperor from the Council! The consequence of this was that even those who had given their adhesion to his plans were now found united with the brethren in the cause of their Church. Napoleon found that he had overreached himself.