Après une promenade à cheval, je rentre à 6 h 30. S.M. me demande, me dit d’être gai, prétend que je suis un gros enfant. Pourquoi me chagriner ? Je ne réponds pas. Elle me fait jouer aux échecs, me traite avec beaucoup de douceur.
Dîner. S.M. me parle souvent et, chose extraordinaire, fait pour moi ce qu’Elle n’avait fait encore qu’une fois, et encore pour le seul Las Cases : Elle met une cuiller dans les macaronis, m’en offre en me disant : « Allons, Gourgaud, que je vous donne des macaronis ! » Elle m’en sert deux fois, me demande comment je les trouve : « Excellents, sire, je n’en ai jamais mangé d’aussi bons. » Les Montholon enragent ; tous les gens sont stupéfaits ; on a pour moi des attentions qu’on n’avait plus.
S.M. renvoie les gens et lit Andromaque. Elle critique les vers : « Je viens chercher ou la vie ou la mort. » (1) Elle dit qu’il faudrait mettre « trouver » ; Mme de Montholon est aussitôt de cet avis, je suis contre : « chercher » laisse du vague car elle peut ne pas trouver. Coucher à 10 heures.
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10 March, 1817 :
After a ride, I return at 6.30. His Majesty asks for me, tells me to be gay, and maintains that I’m a child. He asks why it is that I grieve. I don’t reply. He has me play chess, treats me very kindly.
Dinner. His Majesty speaks to me frequently and - an extraordinary thing - does for me what he has done only once before, and then only for Las Cases : he dips a spoon in the macaroni and offers some to me, saying « Here you are Gourgaud, let me give you some macaroni ! » He serves me twice, asks me how I find it. « Excellent, Sire, » I reply. « The best I’ve ever had. » The Montholons are furious ; all the servants are stupefied ; it’s been a long time since someone has received such attentions.
His Majesty sends away the servants and reads Andromache. He critiques the line : « seek either life or death [whether life or death to contemplate] » (1) He says it would be better to say « to find » ; Mme de Montholon agrees immediately. I am of another opinion : « seek » remains ambiguous - the end is not necessarily found. Bed at 10 o’clock.
Emphasis in the original (maintained by the 2019 Thierry Lentz edition.)
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(1) Here’s the Racine :
ANDROMAQUE - ACTE I, SCÈNE 1 :
ORESTE :
Hélas ! Qui peut savoir le destin qui m'amène ? (25)
Do you have any details regarding how Napoleon reacted to Junot’s death? I haven’t really come across much, which seems strange given how close they’d once been + the extraordinary nature of Junot’s demise.
First of all, I’m SO sorry for the long response time on this ; I’m currently at my Paris appartment and I left the Dubief book and all of my other Junot texts (i.e. three books) back at my country house. So I meant to wait to respond until I could get back and check exactly what he has to say about Napoleon’s reaction to Junot’s death as the most recent/thorough biographer, but I just … havent gone back yet.
And it’s been weeks. 😬
When I do, I’ll be sure to let you know how he - and the other Junot biographers - describe the aftermath, but in the meantime, here are a couple of other sources on Napoleon’s response to the news :
For one, there’s this letter from Napoleon to Savary. And for all the possible partiality of correspondance like this, at least this one probably exists :
« Dresde, 7 août 1813
Je reçois votre lettre du 2 août. J’ai éprouvé une véritable peine de ce que vous m’avez écrit de ce pauvre Junot. Il avait perdu mon estime dans la dernière campagne [celle de Russie], mais je n’ai pas pour cela cessé de lui être attaché. Aujourd’hui il a recouvré cette estime, puisque je vois que sa pusillanimité était déjà l’effet de sa maladie … » (1)
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« Dresden, 7 August, 1813
I’ve received your letter from 2 August. I was truly pained by what you wrote me about poor Junot. He had lost my esteem in the last campaign [Russia], but I hadn’t ceased to be attached to him because of it. Today he has regained that esteem, since I see that his cowardice was already the effect of his illness … »
My own personal guess is that this is probably pretty close to how he reacted across the board as regards Junot’s death. They might not have been that close anymore by the end, but Napoleon probably regretted the loss of a very old friend, and may have felt bad about how he’d treated Junot, especially in the last years.
And then of course there’s Laure’s side of the story. She says :
« Quand on lui remit la dépêche d’Albert, il la décacheta aussitôt, et, la retenant de la main gauche après avoir en lu les premières lignes, il se frappa violemment le front de la droite ; dans ce mouvement la dépêche lui échappa … il la releva avec la rapidité de l’éclair .. et puis il s’écria, mais avec un accent déchirant d’expression :
- Junot ! … Junot ! … O mon Dieu …
Et il joignit les mains si fortement, que la dépêche en fût toute froissée … Junot ! répétait-il avec cette expression qui venait du cœur, et qui dénotait une douleur réelle ! … Mais, ayant regardé autour de lui, et voyant qu’il était observé, il ne voulut pas être homme devant un œil observateur ! … il sourit avec une expression triste, mais indéfinissable, et dit d’une voix haute, quoique altérée :
- Voilà encore un de mes braves de moins ! … Junot ! … O mon Dieu ! ... »
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« When Albert's despatch reached him, he immediately opened it, and, holding it with his left hand after having read the first lines, he struck his brow violently with the right ; in that movement the despatch slipped from his grasp ... he picked it up with lightning speed .. and then he cried out, with a heart-rendingly expressive tone :
- Junot ! … Junot ! … My God …
And he clasped his hands so tightly that the despatch was quite crumpled … Junot ! he repeated with that expression which came from the heart, and which spoke of real pain ! ... But, having looked around, and seeing that he was being watched, he did not want to be a man in front of an observant eye ! ... he smiles with a sad, indefinable expression, and says in a loud, albeit distorted voice :
- There we have it, one fewer of my brave men ! … Junot ! … My God ! … »
I for one am not entirely sure what to make of this - my guess is that it’s pretty much totally fabricated, or at least very, very embellished. For one thing, Laure wasn’t anywhere near Napoleon (or Junot, for that matter) when all of this was taking place - she claims to have had it from a « témoin oculaire [eye-witness] », so even if everyone along the chain is trying to relay the truth in good faith, we’re still one more degree removed than usual with memoires.
And then there’s the fact that just following this scene, she writes that after 15+ minutes of trying to pull himself together, Napoleon manages to push back « ces affections pures et saintes, qui retrempaient son âme et lui donnaient ce charme puissant qu’il perdit au reste en perdant ceux qu’il aimait et dont il était aimé … » at which time he remarks that he now has nobody in Illyria, and that someone will have to be sent to fill the vacancy. Charles Hugh MacKay (the same guy from the Univ. of Florida that @maggiec70 knows) makes the good point that Nap. knew Junot was ill, had him removed from his post in early July, and then placed on the retirement list a week before his death - so he definitely was aware by this point there was no one in Illyria. (... But then, just to play the other side, he could foreseeably have been looking for something official and to-the-point to say at a particularly difficult moment.)
One more thing that’s sort of interesting, which I’ve seen referenced a couple of times, is this apparent order by Napoleon - as soon as he heard about Junot’s death - to send someone to his house and to destroy all of the correspondance that had passed between them. I’ll have to see if Dubief talks about that at all, because the other sources I’ve seen that mention it don’t bother to say where they got that info from. (If anybody’s read all of Savary, you may have heard about this - I think it might have been him that was sent with the order.)
(1) Lettres inédites de Napoléon 1er (An VIII-1815). Publiés par Léon Lecestre. Plon : 1897, tome II, pp. 279-280.
Remember that giant portrait of Junot in the Invalides ?
Well it’s been displaced by this almost as giant picture of bucket hats. Apparently the artist was told he could do absolutely whatever he wanted on the theme of Napoleon, and this was the direction he preferred to take :
And it’s even better (worse ?) because the curators chose not to make it particularly clear whether something is or is not part of this temporary installation. So if you’d never been to the Invalides before, you might be forgiven for thinking there’s always just this huge picture of hats in pride of place amidst all the stuff you’d normally expect to find in an army museum.
From the Army Museum, a tiny infantry briquet belonging to the King of Rome. My hand for arbitrary scale ; I’m as close to the glass as I could get without touching it, and I’m 1,69m (RIP 😢). At a guess, I’d say it’s about half the size of a regulation model - maybe a little more - and the length along the guard is proportionally a bit larger.
New-ish expo at the Musée de l’Armée, open until 31 October. Might be worth a visit (some of you have probably already gone) - here’s the brief English description from the Invalides website :
« To celebrate the bicentenary of the death of Napoleon, the Musée de l’Armée is proposing to examine the major themes surrounding the death of Napoleon by switching perspectives and by calling in new scientific disciplines (archaeology, medicine, chemistry) in order to complete already known historical sources … »
And the trailer video (in French).
More detailed info :
French link : https://www.musee-armee.fr/au-programme/expositions/detail/napoleon-nest-plus.html
English link : https://www.musee-armee.fr/en/programme/exhibitions/detail/napoleon-is-no-more.html
And then there’s this, also at the Army Museum. Which, from the vagueness of the video could be ... just about anything. Who knows.
But you are exceptionally allowed to go at night after the museum-proper closes (so you can brush shoulders with all the people going to see the sound-and-light show happening at the same time and wish you were doing that instead).
I have come across this online article of “L’estafette”, which quotes from a letter Junot wrote to Eugène in - I assume - 1813. Does anybody happen to know anything more about it? What’s the source? Where is it from? From what date?
English translation:
I don’t want to talk about war, I am thinking only of peace and I have an immense project which I am sure will succeed with the sovereigns of the world and of which the great Napoleon will be the leader. I make you, by my personal authority, king from the Adige to Cattaro. I give you all that the Turks possess in Bosnia, in…, in…, as far as the Trace Bosporus. I give you an island in the Adriatic, one in the Black Sea, one in the Red, one in the Mediterranean, one in the Ocean, one in the Indian. Sixteen portions of the gold, silver and diamond mines are distributed in the following manner; to H. M. the great Napoleon: four to His Imperial Highness the Viceroy [Eugene], whom I make Emperor, or as Napoleon wills: two to the Prince of Neuchâtel [Berthier] whom I make Emperor of Austria, one and a half to the kings of the Confederation, to the Emperor of Austria whom the Emperor will make Emperor of Spain or king as he will, to the King of Naples [Murat], to the King of Holland [Louis], to the King of Westphalia [Jerome], to the king and all the kings whom the Emperor will make again: four to the English, half; and to me: half to govern Brazil, Portugal, half of North America, of which the English shall have the other half, the islands of the South Sea, the great Indies and China, if the Emperor wills. We will take everything and be crowned in the midst of ten million soldiers, all of them friends, in the middle of Peking, and in ten years everything will be executed. I will tell you all the details in person.
@joachimnapoleon , I’ve looked around for the original source of this letter and haven’t had much more luck than you, @josefavomjaaga. Dubief isn’t too helpful here, unfortunately.
Lucas-Dubreton reproduces the whole thing in his Junot dit « La Tempête », but of course next to nothing in there is cited. And while it’s an entertaining book - probably the best one before the Dubief came out - he doesn’t seem to lose any sleep over pulling page upon page straight from Laure and Thiébault’s memoires, and he throws in some stuff from Suzanne de Callias’ crazy Mercure de France article/novel (L’étrange passion de Junot, duc d’Abrantès), which seems to me about as dubious a source as they come.
The letter does show up again as a one-sentence anecdote in a doctoral thesis by Charles Hugh MacKay that’s more about Junot’s career than his personal character. (Any chance you know of him, @maggiec70 ? It was a thesis defended in 1995 at Florida State Univ., and directed by Donald Howard.) He seems to have got it from a 1913 text by Henri Marguy, Un centenaire, la mort de Junot, duc d'Abrantès, 1771-1813, and he gives the date as 6 July, 1813.
And here’s where the trail runs cold, I’m afraid, because that text hasn’t been digitized (at least as far as I can tell). But there’s a copy at Tolbiac, so I’ll see if I can’t have a look at it sometime over the summer.
Dubief himself doesn’t cite the letter in his bio, but he does use both Lucas-Dubreton and Marguy, so I think it’s safe to assume he’d at least heard of it and either simply chose not to use it, or else found its provenance too suspect to be trusted.
As for the cause of Junot’s death, Dubief keeps his options open, landing somewhere between the protracted effects of a bunch of bad head wounds, possible syphilis, and the more recently suggested bipolar disorder (made progressively more debilitating by either one or both of the other two things) as leading up to the jumping-out-of-the-window incident and eventual death from sepsis. He doesn’t rule out the syphilis per se, but he does suggest that it may have been used as a sort of catch-all diagnosis at a time before widespread psychiatric study, to the exclusion of other possible underlying conditions.
The main sources he cites for this bit are a monograph by Henri Jamme from 1910 (Diagnostique sur l’état mental de Junot, duc d’Abrantès), an article by Jacques Poulet from 1972 (« Les troubles psychiques du général Junot, duc d’Abrantès »), and Maxime Cordier’s short bio Junot, qui ne fut pas maréchal d’Empire from 1986.
So, in short, nobody’s really sure what was going on with poor Junot. And a letter that may or may not exist is dated 6 July 1813.
@joachimnapoleon ’s cool Voilà app reminded me so much of that one snapchat filter that I figured I’d run the usual crew through that as well, just for good measure.
Did alright with Les Trois Stooges Mousquetaires :
And some others :
But three things that appear to be beyond its cartoony powers :
I can’t even begin to tell how much I love this event. Lannes and Murat at their best! (Even if I still don’t quite understand how Tolstoi’s version fits into historical events. He makes it sound as if the French took the Tabor Bridges first and got into Vienna because of that. But the bridges over the Danube are to the East of Vienna, so they must have conquered the capital first? But I guess Tolstoi’s version makes it sound more dramatic.)
@josefavomjaaga , that’s partially my fault for cutting out all of the context before and after this scene. 😬
The exchange happens in Brünn, after Vienna has already been abandoned and the principal interest for the Russians is now making sure Kutuzov’s army doesn’t go the same way Mack’s did. It’s more or less alright for them if Napoleon ends up taking Vienna, as long as he stays over there.
Prince Andrey arrives the day before this scene, to bring his sort-of-good news from Dürenstein (Kutuzov beats Mortier, who’s on the wrong side of the river with just Gazan’s division, takes some trophies, etc.) to the Austrian Emperor, but by the time he arrives, the news isn’t really that great (nobody captured Mortier, Gen. Schmitt killed in the process, and by now Vienna’s actually occupied).
He gives his report the next morning anyway, and by 5 in the evening the diplomat Bilibin is packing up to leave and gives him the Tabor Bridge update.
But you’re right about the drama - and it doesn’t help that the guy telling Bolkonsky the story just can’t get enough of his own gossip, so he’d rather be flashy than clear. And then gives the whole thing in the present tense.
“No, no, confess that this is charming,” he [Bilibin, Russian diplomat to Austria] said, “this story of the bridge of Tabor. They have crossed it without striking a blow.”
Prince Andrey could not understand.
“Why, where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the town knows by now?”
“I come from the archduchess. I heard nothing there.”
“And didn’t you see that people are packing up everywhere?”
“I have seen nothing … But what’s the matter?” Prince Andrey asked impatiently.
“What’s the matter? The matter is that the French have crossed the bridge that Auersperg was defending, and they haven’t blown up the bridge, so that Murat is at this moment running along the road to Brünn, and to-day or to-morrow they’ll be here.”
“Here? But how is it the bridge wasn’t blown up, since it was mined?”
“Why, that’s what I ask you. No one—not Bonaparte himself—can tell why.” Bolkonsky shrugged his shoulders.
“But if they have crossed the bridge, then it will be all over with the army; it will be cut off,” he said.
“That’s the whole point,” answered Bilibin. “Listen. The French enter Vienna, as I told you. Everything is satisfactory. Next day, that is, yesterday, Messieurs les Maréchaux, Murat, Lannes, and Beliard get on their horses and ride off to the bridge. (Remark that all three are Gascons.) ‘Gentlemen,’ says one, ‘you know that the Tabor bridge has been mined and countermined, and is protected by a formidable fortification and fifteen thousand troops, who have orders to blow up the bridge and not to let us pass. But our gracious Emperor Napoleon will be pleased if we take the bridge. Let us go us there and take it.’ ‘Yes, let us go,’ say the others; and they start off and take the bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army on this side of the Danube, they are coming straight upon us, and upon you and your communications.”
“Leave off jesting,” said Prince Andrey, with mournful seriousness. The news grieved Prince Andrey, and yet it gave him pleasure. As soon as he heard that the Russian army was in such a hopeless position, the idea struck him that he was the very man destined to extricate the Russian army from that position, and that it had come—the Toulon—that would lift him for ever from out of the ranks of unknown officers, and open the first path to glory for him! As he listened to Bilibin, he was already considering how, on reaching the army, he would, at a council of war, give the opinion that alone could save the army, and how he would be entrusted alone to execute the plan.
“Leave off joking,” he said.
“I’m not joking,” Bilibin went on. “Nothing could be more truthful or more melancholy. These three gentlemen advance to the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs; they declare that it’s a truce, and that they, the marshals, are come for a parley with Prince Auersperg. The officer on duty lets them into the tête du pont. They tell him a thousand Gascon absurdities; say that the war is over, that Emperor Francis has arranged a meeting with Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The officer sends for Auersperg. These Gascon gentlemen embrace the officers, make jokes, and sit about on the cannons, while a French battalion meantime advances unnoticed on the bridge, flings the sacks of inflammable material into the river, and marches up to the tête du pont. Finally the lieutenant-general himself appears, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern. ‘My dear enemy! Flower of Austrian chivalry! hero of the Turkish war! Hostility is at end, we can take each other’s hands … the Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience to make the acquaintance of Prince Auersperg.’ In a word, these gentlemen—not Gascons for nothing—so bewilder Auersperg with fair words—he is so flattered at this speedy intimacy with French marshals, so dazzled by the spectacle of their cloaks, and of the ostrich feathers of Murat—that their fire gets into his eyes and makes him forget that he ought to be firing on the enemy” (in spite of the interest of his story, Bilibin did not omit to pause after this mot, to give time for its appreciation). “A French battalion runs into the tête du pont, spikes the cannons, and the bridge is taken. No, but really the best part of the whole episode,” he went on, his excitement subsiding under the interest of his own story, “is that the sergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal for firing the mines and blowing up the bridge, this sergeant seeing the French troops running on to the bridge wanted to fire, but Lannes pulled his arm away. The sergeant, who seems to have been sharper than his general, goes up to Auersperg and says: ‘Prince, they’re deceiving you, here are the French!’ Murat sees the game is up if he lets the sergeant have his say. With an affectation of surprise (a true Gascon!) he addresses Auersperg: ‘Is this the Austrian discipline so highly extolled all over the world,’ says he, ‘do you let a man of low rank speak to you like this?’ It was a stroke of genius. The Prince of Auersperg is touched in his honour and has the sergeant put under arrest. No, but confess that all this story of the bridge of Tabor is charming. It is neither stupidity, nor cowardice … "
"It is treason, perhaps,” said Prince Andrey, vividly picturing to himself grey overcoats, wounds, the smoke and sound of firing, and the glory awaiting him. »
Another banger from the bible of probably-apocryphal Napoleonic anecdotes (Napoleonic Anecdotes, by Louis Cohen) :
« Lefebvre once fell ill of fever, and his attendant, an old soldier, contracted the illness at the same time. The servant got well quickly, but the malady clung to the marshal till it occurred to the wife of his bosom that the doctor had made a mistake — ‘comme un âne’ — by prescribing for the Duke the same doses as for a private soldier. Cheered by this happy thought, she rapidly enumerated on her fingers the different rungs of the military ladder. ‘Tiens, bois! en voilà Pour ton grade,’ she observed decisively, holding a full tumbler to her resigned husband’s lips. The marshal, having gulped down a dozen doses at one effort, was soon, strange to say, on his legs again. ’T’as beaucoup à apprendre, mon garçon,’ she remarked triumphantly to the mystified medico, who felt that science had suffered a severe shock. »
Napoleon runs into trouble post-Thermidor. Some handle it better than others. From the new Junot bio by Sylvain Dubief : JUNOT, Premier aide de camp de Napoléon (1771-1813). French and my translation under the cut.
Funeste jour que ce 27 juillet 1794 : il s’agit du 9 thermidor an II. Maximilien « le sanglant » est enfin déclaré hors-la-loi, et Augustin, protestant la culpabilité de son frère, demande à partager sa peine ; ce qui lui est immédiatement accordé … Ils meurent ensemble le lendemain sur l’échafaud.
D’un seul coup, comme par magie, ce qui encore quelques jours auparavant paraissait impossible … redevient possible ! Les arrogants et implacables jacobins se terrent, n’osant plus sortir, courbant la tête, essayant vainement de faire oublier leurs méfaits, tandis que les nouveaux représentants du Peuple les traquent et recherchent tous ceux qui ont pu les aider à faire couler le sang des vrais patriotes.
Bonaparte comprend, dès qu’il apprend la nouvelle, que son sort va se jouer dans les jours à venir : il faut rester calme, comme le doit rester un innocent, un homme qui n’a rien à se reprocher, et, même plus, un homme qui a déjà rendu de grands services à la Nation.
Les commissaires Albitte, Salicetti, et Laporte déclarent, au nom du Peuple français, que le général Bonaparte a totalement perdu leur confiance par la conduite la plus suspecte et, surtout, par le voyage qu’il vient d’effectuer récemment à Gênes … ils décrètent donc ce qui suit :
« Le général Buonaparte, commandant en chef de l’artillerie de l’armée d’Italie, est provisoirement suspendu de ses fonctions. Il sera par les soins et sous la responsabilité du général en chef de ladite armée, mis en arrestation et traduit au comité de salut public, à Paris, sous bonne et sûre escorte. Les scellés seront apposés sur tous les papiers et effets … »
Le général doit garder les arrêts de rigueur dans la maison où il loue une chambre, la villa du comte Laurenti, sous la garde de trois gendarmes.
Quant à Junot, à l’inverse de son général, il ne décolère pas et court en tous sens. Bonaparte devant un tribunal ? Condamné ? Guillotiné ? Marmont acquiesce à cette révolte : ils doivent, ensemble, trouver un moyen de le sauver. Ils élaborent rapidement un scénario d’évasion, digne de ces deux jeunes militaires fougueux : il suffit de tuer les gendarmes et de s’enfuir ensuite en Italie.
La vieille masure de Château-Sallé résonne des sanglots de la famille Bonaparte. Lorsque’Andoche y arrive, la pauvre mère du prisonnier, Letizia, est dans tous ses états. Il essaye de la réconforter, lui exposant son point de vue, et, l’assurant que s’il faut en arriver aux pires extrémités, il met à exécution son plan d’évasion. Elle n’a qu’à lui faire un signe de la tête pour acquiescer.
Letizia hésite. Elle connaît bien son Napoléon ; il vaut mieux le consulter avant, plutôt que d’entreprendre une action qui pourrait contrecarrer ses propres desseins. Sage décision.
Dès le lendemain, l’aide de camp fait passer discrètement à son général son audacieux projet et reçoit en retour ce billet :
« Je reconnais bien ton amitié, mon cher Junot, dans la proposition que tu me fais ; depuis longtemps tu connais aussi celle que je t’ai vouée, et j’espère que tu y comptes. Les hommes peuvent être injustes envers moi, mon cher Junot, mais il suffit d’être innocent : ma conscience est le tribunal où j’évoque ma conduite. Cette conscience est calme, quand je l’interroge ; ne fais donc rien, tu me compromettrais.
Adieu, mon cher Junot, salut et amitié. »
Bonaparte a raison et, après avoir dicté à Junot lui-même, le 25 thermidor an II (12 août 1794), un courrier adressé aux représentants du peuple, si clair et convaincant, qu’il est lavé de tout soupçon et remis en liberté dès le 20 août. Tout rentre dans l’ordre.
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A dreadful day, that July 27, 1794: it’s 9 Thermidor, Year II. Maximilian "The Bloody" is finally declared an outlaw, and Augustin, protesting the guilt of his brother, asks to share his sentence; a request which is granted him immediately ... They die together the next day on the scaffold.
Suddenly, as if by magic, what - even a few days before - seemed impossible ... becomes possible again! The arrogant and implacable Jacobins are holed up, not daring to go out, bowing their heads, vainly attempting to make the public forget their misdeeds, while the new representatives of the People hunt them down, seeking out all those who may have aided in the blood-shedding of the true patriots.
Bonaparte understands, as soon as he hears the news, that his fate will play out in the days to come: one must remain calm, as an innocent person should remain, a man who has nothing to be ashamed of, and - even more - a man who has already rendered great service to the Nation.
Commissioners Albitte, Salicetti, and Laporte declare, on behalf of the French people, that General Bonaparte has lost their confidence completely, by the most suspicious conduct and, above all, by the trip he has recently made to Genoa ... they therefore decree the following:
“General Buonaparte, Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Italy's artillery, is provisionally suspended from his duties. He will be placed under the surveillance and responsibility of the General-in-Chief of said army, arrested and brought before the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, under good and sure escort. Seals will be affixed to all papers and effects… ”
The general must concede to his strict confinement within the bounds of the house where he rents a room, the villa of Count Laurenti, under the guard of three gendarmes.
As for Junot, unlike his general, he is far from calm and flies in all directions. Bonaparte in court? Condemned? Guillotined? Marmont humors this agitation: they must, together, find a way to save him. They quickly develop an escape scenario worthy of two fiery young soldiers: they’ll simply kill the gendarmes and then flee to Italy.
The miserable old house of Château-Sallé echoes the sobs of the Bonaparte family. When Andoche arrives there, the prisoner's poor mother, Letizia, is a mess. He tries to comfort her, presenting his view of the matter, and assuring her that, if it comes down to it, he’ll carry out his escape plan. All she has to do is nod her head to agree.
Letizia hesitates. She knows her Napoleon well; it’s better to consult him beforehand, rather than make a move that might thwart his designs. Wise decision.
The next day, the aide-de-camp discreetly passes on this daring project to his general and receives this note in return:
“I recognize your friendship, my dear Junot, in the offer you are making me; You know well enough my own attachment, which I have long devoted to you, and I hope you count upon it. Men can be unjust to me, my dear Junot, but it is enough to be innocent: my conscience is the tribunal where I speak of my conduct. This conscience is calm when I question it; do nothing - you would compromise me.
Farewell, my dear Junot, be assured of my friendship, and all my best."
Bonaparte is right and, after having dictated to Junot himself, on 25 Thermidor, Year II (12 August, 1794) a letter - so clear and convincing - addressed to the representatives of the people, he is cleared of all suspicion and released on August 20. Everything is in order once again.
....
Many thanks to @joachimnapoleon for mentioning the book ! It’s been enjoyable so far, well-written and engaging, and more exact than the other two Junot bios.
(Even if he does cite that one super wild novel-thing from the Mercure de France ...)
Probably the greatest toy of all time (marshal-approved).
If anyone’s at the end of their rope and looking for a new quarantine pastime, look no further. Get ready for a toy that’s apparently so fun that it managed to keep everyone occupied from 1789 to the fall of the Empire.
This could be you :
The Pitch :
Dans le jardin impérial des Tuileries, dans les majestueuses avenues du parc de Saint-Cloud, comme sous les frais ombrages de la Malmaison, le « jeu du Diable » se jouait à toute heure du jour. Les maréchaux de Napoléon, comme les grands hommes d'Etat, ne dédaignaient pas de lutiner le « Diable » à l'aide de frêles baguettes. Une vieille estampe représente le petit roi de Rome jouant au « Diable ». Ailleurs, une caricature de l’époque, bien certainement de provenance anglaise, représente lord Wellington lançant en l'air, sur la ficelle, Napoléon lui-même. Une autre intitulée Le bon diable, comme il va ! représente une femme qui fait sauter un homme en habit de l'ancien régime, des poches duquel tombe une pluie d'or. Une autre encore, deux hommes et deux femmes qui jouent au « diable à quatre » dans un salon, renversant les meubles, brisant les glaces. Une gravure de 1812 atteste que la vogue n'avait rien perdu depuis 1789. On lit dans un journal d'alors :
La grande préoccupation du moment, ce n'est pas le bruit des préparatifs gigantesques que fait l'Empire pour la campagne de Russie ; ce qui, avant toute chose, est la pensée dominante du moment, l'obsession de tous les esprits, c'est le diable ! non pas le sombre génie du mal, cet impertinent et froid railleur, à la figure maigre, aux traits pointus, aux doigts effilés et au rire strident, non pas le diable de Michel-Ange ou de Milton, mais un joujou, une sorte de toupie à deux têtes, qu'il s'agit de faire tourner rapidement sur elle-même en lui donnant l'élan au moyen d'une corde fixée à deux baguettes. Aux Tuileries, dans les jardins, dans les salons, toutes les dames, tous les enfants sont occupés à faire ronfler le diable. La mode, toujours aux aguets de toutes les folies, ne manque pas d'enregistrer ce nom de plus dans ses fastes .
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In the imperial gardens of the Tuileries, in the majestic avenues of the park of Saint-Cloud, as under the cool shade of Malmaison, the "Devil's game" was played at all hours of the day. Napoleon's marshals, like the great statesmen, did not disdain to bait the "Devil" at the tips of two frail sticks. An old print shows the little King of Rome playing with a diabolo. Elsewhere, a caricature of the time, certainly of English origin, represents Lord Wellington throwing into the air, on the string, Napoleon himself. Another entitled “The Good Devil, how he goes!” likewise depicts a woman who launches a man dressed in the style of the old regime, from whose pockets a rain of gold falls. In another, two men and two women play « Devil to Pay » [idiomatic trans.] in a living room, overturning the furniture, breaking mirrors. An 1812 engraving attests that the fashionable game had lost nothing of its appeal since 1789. We read in a newspaper of the time:
The great preoccupation of the moment is not the noise of the immense preparations which the Empire makes for the Russian campaign; above all, the dominant thought, the obsession of all minds, is the Devil! Not the dark genius of evil, that impertinent and cold mocker, with his thin face and pointed features, his slender fingers and strident laughter, not the Devil of Michelangelo or Milton, but a toy, a kind of top with two ends, made to turn quickly on itself and propelled by means of a cord fixed to two sticks. In the Tuileries, in the gardens, in the salons, all the ladies, all the children are busy enticing this diabolo to purr. Fashion, always on the lookout for any extravagance, does not fail to mark this name among its splendors.
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There he goes ...
Text from Les Jouets de France, leur histoire leur avenir by Léo Claretie. (1920)
Welcome to Napoleon’s House - may I or one of my 437 employees take your coat ?
In case anyone’s interested in Duroc’s crazy system of managers, sub-managers, and assistant sub-managers for his catering/interior decorating/personal security service.
Les employés de la Maison obéissaient à une hiérarchie très precise. Au sommet, les grands officiers, l’intendant, le trésorier ou le secrétaire d’État occupaient le sommet de la pyramide. Dans les services particuliers, les officiers civils venaient en second. Ils étaient amenés à commander par intérim ou en raison de leur tour de service. Au quotidien, les employés de base avaient aussi affaire à un chef de service ou à un directeur d’établissement. Chaque service était organisé de manière classique et comprenait selon son importance un chef et un ou plusieurs sous-chefs. L’encadrement était assez important puisque au 1 janvier 1812, on ne comptait pas moins de 18 directeurs, 156 chefs, et 26 sous-chefs. Selon les métiers, une classification pouvait exister entre employés. Il y avait ainsi des cochers de première, seconde, et troisième classe. Au plus bas de l’échelle, de jeunes employés (commis ou garçons) faisaient leur apprentissage. C’était le cas notamment aux écuries pour les élèves piqueurs, les tiers de paye ou les deux tiers de paye.
Les fonctions des employés étaient précisément consignées dans plusieurs règlements, certains généraux, d’autres spécifiques. Les premiers décrivaient la chaîne de commandement et les principales caractéristiques du service (habillement, horaires, cadences de travail, ou punitions). Les seconds s’intéressaient à des aspects particuliers méritant d’être soulignés. Sur le plan réglementaire, la Maison n’avait rien à envier à l’armée. Dans le service de Duroc, il existait un règlement presque pour tout.
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The employees of the Imperial Household were subject to a very precise hierarchy. At the top, the Grand Officers, the Steward, the Treasurer, or the Secretary of State occupied the tip of the pyramid. In personal service, the civil officers came second. They were called up on an interim basis, or according to their tour of service. On a day-to-day basis, the lower-ranking employees also answered to a service manager or director. Each department of the household was classically ordered and included, depending upon its scale, a manager and one or several sub-managers. This supervisory staff was fairly considerable ; by 1 January, 1812, there were no less than 18 directors, 156 managers, and 26 sub-managers. Depending on the branch of occupation, a system of classification could also exist between ordinary employees. There were thus first, second, and third-class coachmen. At the bottom of the ladder, the young employees (assistants, etc.) completed their apprenticeships. This was notably the case for the whippers-in [hunters’ assistants who keep the pack in check] in-training, and those on third-pay or two-thirds pay.
The duties of the employees were assigned according to several registers of regulations - some general, others specific. The general regulations laid out the chain of command and the principle characteristics of the occupation (dress, timetables, work rate and hours, or punishments). The specific regulations concerned more distinct aspects of the work that were deemed particularly note-worthy. In terms of organisation, the Imperial Household was every bit as precise as the army. In Duroc’s service, there was a rule or regulation for practically everything.
From Pierre Branda’s article « La Maison de l’Empereur Napoleon Ier » in La cour impériale sous le Premier et le Second Empire (dir. Jacques-Olivier Boudon, 2016)
In all fairness to Joseph, apparently the Pepe-botella thing (« Jojo-Bottles » ?) caught on because parts of his early legislation had to do with alcohol and gambling, so some of his many detractors started depicting him as a fat, gaming drunk. Which upset him quite a bit, because he wasn’t really any of those things.
See : Jean Tulard, Le Grand Empire : 1804-1815. 1982, p. 161.
