Their attitude, indeed, seems to have strengthened his own unbending firmness. In the course of these everlasting debates, he clenched the subject in the following terms: "Either you are sincere in maintaining that the government is obliged to impose a restriction upon the publicity of the religious worship, being impelled thereunto by the necessity of upholding the public peace and order, and in that case the government cannot and ought not to hesitate as to asserting the fact in the article itself; or the government does not wish it to be so expressed; and in that case they show their bad faith, as also that the only object of the aforesaid restriction is [{394}] the enslavement of the Church to their own will."
The commissioners found nothing to reply to this dilemma; for, in fact, Consalvi only asked that the reserve itself should be laid down as a temporary restriction. At last they yielded, despairing of ever overcoming, on this subject, their unflinching and powerful antagonist. The concordat, duly signed and authenticated, was sent up for approval to the First Consul, who, after another fit of anger, gave his consent; but, as Consalvi himself presumes, from that hour he resolved to annul the intrinsic and most beneficial effects of the concordat by those celebrated organic articles which are even at this moment a bone of contention between the French clergy and the Imperial government.
It is, indeed, a most remarkable fact that the same man who imperiously prescribed that the concordat should be drawn up and signed in the course of five days, allowed a full year to elapse before he published it and sent the official ratifications to Rome. When he did fulfil these formalities, he coupled them with the promulgation of those famous laws which, in reality, tended to cut off all free communication between the Holy See and the Gallican clergy, and to spread throughout Europe the false belief that the Pope himself had concurred in the adoption of these obnoxious measures. In vain did Pius VII. protest against them—in vain, at a later period, was he induced to crown the emperor in Paris, in hopes of obtaining the fulfilment of his own promises. Napoleon turned a deaf ear to the most touching importunities. On considering the whole of his conduct, it is hardly possible to refrain from concluding that Bonaparte ever looked upon the Pope's supremacy and power as an appendage and satellite of his own paramount omnipotence. Viewed by this light, many of his acts in latter years will appear at least consistent, though by no means justifiable on any principle whatsoever. Is there not often a certain consistency in madness? And if so in ordinary life, why not in the freaks and starts of despotism? And again, is not despotism itself madness in disguise?
But why indulge in our own speculations and surmises, when we have before us positive evidence that in 1801, as well as ten years afterward, Napoleon entertained and maintained a plan for arrogating to himself both the spiritual and temporal power? The examples set by Henry VIII., Albert of Brandenburg, and Peter I. of Russia, were ever before his eyes, blinding his own innate good sense, and exerting a sort of ominous fascination over his best impulses. The reader has doubtless heard of, if not perused, those wonderful pages in which the fallen giant whiled away his tedious hours at St. Helena, pretending to write his own history, but in reality veiling truth under fiction, and endeavoring to palm upon the world certain far-fetched views of benevolence or civilization, which he never dreamt of whilst he was on the throne. Still, that strange Memorial of St. Helena often contains many a startling proof of candor, as if the mask suddenly fell, and revealed to our astonished gaze the inner man. Among such passages, none perhaps are so remarkable as those referring to the concordat and to the religious difficulties of later years. One day Napoleon dictated to General Montholon these lines, which so strongly justify Consalvi's fears and opposition:
"When I seized the helm, I already held the most precise and definite ideas on all those principles which cement together the social body. I fully weighed the importance of religion—on that head I was convinced—and had resolved to restore it. But one can hardly realize the difficulties I had to contend with when about to bring back Catholicism. I should have been readily supported had I unfurled the Protestant standard. This feeling went so far that, in the [{395}] council of state, where I met with the strongest opposition against the concordat, many a man tacitly determined to plot its destruction. 'Well,' used they to say, 'let us turn Protestants at once, and then we may wash our hands of the business.' It is, indeed, quite true that, in the midst of so much confusion and so many errors, I was at liberty to choose between Catholicism and Protestantism; and still truer that everything favored the latter. But, beside my own personal bias inclining toward my national religion, I had most weighty reasons to decide otherwise. I should thus have created in France two great parties of equal strength, though I was determined to do away with every party whatsoever; I should have conjured up all the frenzy of religious warfare, whilst the enlightenment of the age and my own will aimed at crushing it altogether. By their mutual strife these two parties would have torn France asunder, and made her a slave to Europe, whilst my ambition was to make her its mistress. Through Catholicism I was far surer of attaining all my great objects. At home, the majority absorbed the minority, which I was disposed to treat with so much equity that any difference between both would soon disappear; abroad, Catholicism kept me on good terms with the Pope. Beside, thanks to my own influence and to our forces in Italy, I did not despair, sooner or later, by some means or other, to obtain the direction and guidance of the Pope; and then what a new source of influence! what a lever to act upon public opinion, and to govern the world!"
A few moments after the emperor resumed:
"Francis I. had a capital opportunity to embrace Protestantism, and to become its acknowledged head throughout Europe. His rival, Charles V., resolutely sided with Rome, because he considered this the best way to subject Europe. This alone should have induced Francis to defend European independence. Instead of that, he left a reality to run after a shadow, following up his pitiful quarrels in Italy, allying himself with the Pope, and burning the reformers in Paris.
"Had Francis I. embraced Lutheranism, which is so favorable to the royal supremacy, he would have spared France those dreadful convulsions which were afterward brought on by the Calvinists, whose republican organization was so near ruining both the throne and our fine monarchy. Unfortunately, Francis was unable to understand anything of the kind. As to his scruples, they are quite out of the question, since this self-same man made an alliance with the Turks, whom he introduced among us. Oh, those stupid times! Oh, that feudal intellect! After all, Francis I. was but a tilting king—a drawing-room dandy—a would-be giant, but a real pigmy."
It is scarce necessary to add, that at the time Napoleon is speaking of he was an unbeliever, though a lurking respect for his national religion still lingered at the bottom of his heart. But then, how fully does he admit that religion was but a tool of his ambition! How openly does he confess his plan to get hold of the Pope by some means or other! How glaringly true must now appear in our eyes that narrative of Consalvi's in which he exposes the mean trick that Napoleon endeavored to play upon his vigilance! Lastly, how faithfully does the emperor adhere to the plans secretly laid within the dark mind of the First Consul! For, as if to leave no doubt as to the fulfilment of those plans, he related to Montholon the most minute details of what took place during the Pope's captivity at Fontainebleau:
"The English," said Napoleon, "plotted an escape for him from Savona; the very thing I could have wished for. I had him brought to Fontainebleau, where his misfortunes were to end, and his splendor to be restored. All my grand views had been thus fulfilled under disguise and in secrecy. I had so managed that [{396}] success was infallible, even without an effort. Indeed, the Pope adopted the famous concordat of Fontainebleau, notwithstanding my reverses in Russia. But how far different had I returned triumphant and victorious! So at last I had obtained the long-wished-for separation of the spiritual and temporal powers; whilst their confusion is so fatal to the former, by causing trouble and disorder within society in the name of him who ought to become a centre of union and harmony. Henceforward I intended to place the Pope on a pinnacle; we would not even have regretted his temporal power, for I would have made an idol of him, and he would have dwelt close to me. Paris should have become the capital of the Christian world, and I would have governed the spiritual as well as the political world. By this means I should have been enabled to strengthen the federative portions of the empire, and to maintain peace in such parts as were beyond its limits. I should have had my religious sessions, just the same as my legislative sessions: my councils would have represented, all Christendom, and the popes would have merely acted as their presidents. I should myself have opened their assemblies, approved and promulgated their decrees, as was the case under Constantine and Charlemagne. In fact, if the emperors lost this kind of supremacy, it was because they allowed the spiritual ruler to reside at a distance from them; and those rulers took advantage of this act of weakness, or this result of the times, to escape from the prince's government, and even to overrule it."