Napoleon in Egypt (6 page)

Finally, after four months of prevarication, Josephine set off from Paris, accompanied by Hippolyte Charles, for whom she had secured an appointment as aide to General Leclerc, one of Napoleon’s commanders in Italy. Traveling in the same party was at least one “financier”: Josephine was betraying not only Napoleon, but also his army. Making use of her closeness to Barras, and her position as the wife of the commander of the Army of Italy, she was ensuring that army supply contracts were awarded to certain dubious businessmen she knew, who rewarded her accordingly.

Josephine finally arrived at Milan on July 13, whereupon to her surprise she was granted a mere forty-eight hours of Napoleon’s attention before he rushed back to the front. His campaign was at a vital juncture, and this was all he could spare her. This pattern was repeated, and each time a relieved Josephine would return to the arms of Hippolyte, whilst Napoleon would send her delirious letters from the front, promising “to strip from your body the last film of chiffon, your slippers, everything, and then as in the dream I told you about . . .” When he was able to return for longer periods, Josephine was proudly displayed at balls in Milan, at the opera, at gala dinners. Napoleon was immensely proud of his new wife, seemingly blind to her faults (which had quickly become apparent to members of his staff).

Josephine, for her part, became increasingly disappointed with Napoleon, and what she considered to be his crude habits. So much attention has been paid to him, and to his exceptional personality, that we now know even the most intimate details of his life. How he was in the habit of masturbating before a battle, in order to calm his nerves. How he gobbled his food, and could be equally impatient with other physical matters, declaring that neither meals nor lovemaking should last more than a quarter of an hour—practices which hardly endeared him to the languid, sensual Josphine.

It would seem to be no coincidence that the young Napoleon conducted his first brilliant campaign in a blaze of erotic awakening. At times his energy and willpower seemed almost a delirium. Nothing appeared impossible to him. Yet his character, like his military tactics, remained unfathomable to all around him: his enemies, his aides, his generals, Josephine, the Directory, none were able to predict his next move. However, there was no mistaking the evolving power of the intelligence behind these moves, and there was no doubting that the Italian campaign marked a major stage in this evolution. As Napoleon himself recalled, it was in Italy that he first became aware of the full extent of what he could achieve. It was here for the first time that “I saw the world recede beneath me, as if I were being borne up into the sky.”
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What had before been barely articulated ambition, inspired by heroes such as Alexander, Hannibal and Caesar, was now beginning to take on a more distinct and particular form.

On April 9, 1797, Napoleon invited to dinner Raymond Verninac, the French ambassador to the Ottoman Porte at Constantinople, who was on his way back to Paris. During his tour of duty, Verninac had dispatched a French commissioner to Egypt, who had returned with a firsthand report on the sad state of the country under Mameluke rule, the inroads the British were making, and the harassment of French merchants. Verninac was convinced that the Ottoman Empire was on the point of falling apart, and suggested to Napoleon that the French should consider invading Egypt, possibly as a prelude to taking over the whole of the Ottoman Empire. If France did not seize this opportunity, it would be taken by another power better placed geographically to do so—such as Austria. Europe would then be faced with a revitalized Austrian Empire stretching from the Elbe to the Nile.

This meeting had an electrifying effect upon Napoleon, stirring his dreams of following in the footsteps of Alexander the Great. He found himself remembering Volney’s
Voyage en Égypte
, and how he had conversed with this wise, avuncular figure during their travels together in Corsica. In no time he became obsessed with the idea of mounting an expedition to Egypt. According to his secretary Bourrienne “he spoke of it daily when conversing with his generals.” On August 16 he even went so far as to write to the Directory, revealing to them his plan: “The time is not far off . . . when it will be necessary for us to take Egypt.”
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But the Directory ignored this: indeed, all the evidence suggests that the letter may even have remained unread.

But Napoleon was not to be put off. In November he dispatched Citizen Poussielgue, the civilian financial administrator of the Army of Italy, on what was described as a tour of inspection of the ports of the Levant. It was in fact a mission to spy out the defenses of Malta, an island whose strategic importance would be vital to any French invasion of Egypt. By now the Directory had appointed Talleyrand as the new foreign minister. Unaware that Talleyrand had gained office by proposing the colonization of Egypt, Napoleon now wrote to him outlining his own plans for an invasion of the country. A publicly floated idea and a private obsession became one.

The following month, on December 5, 1797, Napoleon returned to Paris, where he received a rapturous welcome. Grand balls were thrown to mark his return, and he was showered with honors. The upheavals of the Revolution and its bloody aftermath, followed by the vicious and muddled rule of the Directory, had left France in need of a hero: here was someone of whom its citizens could be proud, a leader who had achieved great victories and planted the ideals of the Revolution in Italy. “
Vive le libérateur de l’Italie!
” was on everyone’s lips. When Napoleon took up residence at Josephine’s house in Rue Chantereine, crowds gathered outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man of the moment, and in his honor the Parisian authorities renamed the street Rue de la Victoire.

However, precisely because of his popularity these were dangerous times for Napoleon, and he went in very real fear of his life. A number of powerful cliques were covertly scheming to take power; meanwhile, Barras was doing his utmost to protect the shaky rule of the Directory. Several sources remark on the fact that during this time Napoleon never removed his spurs, and he is said to have kept a horse permanently saddled and ready in the stable at the back of 6 Rue de la Victoire. His faithful old schoolfriend Bourrienne, who had accompanied him to Italy as his secretary, recorded receiving a note from a woman warning Napoleon that he was to be poisoned. When the woman was traced, she was found with her throat cut. After this, when Napoleon appeared at public functions he employed someone to taste his food. The finger of suspicion points to the Directory.

Napoleon now turned to the one person he felt he could trust:Talleyrand. During the course of his regular correspondence from Italy, he had established a deep rapport with the new foreign minister. He was soon revealing in confidence what sort of government he thought France should have, and he quickly made it plain that he despised the Directory, describing them contemptuously as “just blatherers and lawyers.”

Talleyrand, for his part, exercised his supreme diplomatic skills, which quickly enabled him to gain an insight into Napoleon’s difficult character. It was mostly through Talleyrand’s influence that Napoleon was elected to the prestigious Institute of France, whose elite membership was limited to the country’s top intellectuals and scientists. This honor, which purported to recognize Napoleon’s intellect rather than his military or political skill, pleased him above all the others he received at this time. He even began placing it above his military rank, and from now on took to signing himself “Bonaparte, Member of the Institute of France and General-in-Chief.” Talleyrand understood the real way to flatter him.

Yet Napoleon also knew how to put such things to good use. In his speech of acceptance at the Institute, he went out of his way to make a favorable impression on his fellow members, declaring: “The real conquests, those that leave behind no regrets, are those made over ignorance.” If he was to make his Egyptian expedition something more than a mere campaign of conquest, if it was to be comparable with Alexander the Great’s mission to “hellenize” the Eastern world, then like Alexander he would need to bring the philosophers of his civilization with him. The Institute of France was where he wished to recruit the savants for his expedition to Egypt.

In the midst of all this, domestic life at Rue de la Victoire took a dramatic turn for the worse when (not for the first time) Napoleon’s suspicions concerning his wife’s fidelity were confirmed, this time by her maid. Josephine’s affair with Hippolyte Charles had continued on their return to Paris. As on at least one previous occasion in Italy, Napoleon had probably suspected the truth, but only when he was unavoidably confronted with it would it appear to affect him: he would rage at her, threaten her, and almost certainly beat her. (On occasions when he lost his temper he was liable to become violent, as his subordinates, servants and aides knew all too well.) Josephine would weep hysterically, protesting her innocence, denying everything; she would beg him on her knees, cajoling him, pretending to faint when all else failed. There is no doubt that he enjoyed humiliating her, especially when he was aware that she was attempting to manipulate him. Indeed, she was manipulating him just as his mother used to do when she sought to entice him into her grasp so that she could thrash him. All the evidence points to there being a strong undercurrent of sadomasochism in the relationship between Napoleon and Josephine, for despite her infidelities, and his beatings, they remained together. Her need for humiliation must have been as great as his need to humiliate her, and her suspected infidelities must have acted as a necessary humiliation for him. Or so it would appear—for we know what he suspected, and we know her behavior. But as long as neither would admit to the truth, the self-deception could continue. Only when someone brought it to Napoleon’s attention would he confront Josephine, and even then her fervent protestations of innocence were enough to satisfy his need to believe her, as well as his need to deceive himself.

We can only speculate how much this nexus of self-deception and unconscious behavior derived from Napoleon’s relationship with his mother, though its resemblance is uncanny. And without any resort to psychology, it is also easy to see how such a maternal relationship makes for ideal training for a battle commander: the slightest mistake is liable to bring devastating punishment.

But the marital upsets of Napoleon and Josephine were contained within the privacy of their home; in public, they managed a suitable façade. At the grand ball staged in their honor by Talleyrand on January 4, 1798, amidst the glittering surrounds of the Hôtel Gallifet, the young couple appeared in icy splendor beneath the chandeliers. Such was their poise that they appeared to many like royalty.

Napoleon had come to Paris with the idea of joining forces with Talleyrand to put before the Directory his plan for the invasion of Egypt. The Directory needed a nation at war in order to ensure their survival, and it had soon become clear that they felt threatened by Napoleon’s popularity; they wanted him out of the way, and an invasion of Egypt appeared to fulfill the wishes of all concerned. Consequently, it came as a shock to both Napoleon and Talleyrand when their Egyptian plan was turned down. Instead, the Directory ordered Napoleon to take command of the Army of England and prepare for an invasion of France’s sole remaining powerful enemy.

Napoleon went through the motions, and on February 8, 1798, he set off on a tour of inspection of the Channel ports from Boulogne to Antwerp. Two weeks later he returned to Paris, declaring against any invasion: “It’s too chancy. I don’t intend to put France at risk on the throw of a dice.”
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But the Directory were less easily persuaded when Napoleon appeared before them to put his renewed case for an invasion of Egypt. A stormy scene ensued, during which two members of the Directory—Reubell and Larevellière-Lépeau—made no secret of their contempt for the young upstart general. Napoleon for his part eventually lost his temper and threatened to resign. Reubell seized the opportunity and with a dramatic gesture exclaimed: “Here is a pen. We await your letter.” Barras at once realized the seriousness of the situation: if the unpopular Directory appeared to have dismissed the hero of the hour, this could well provoke a popular uprising which they might not survive. Eventually he succeeded in smoothing ruffled feathers and Napoleon was asked to go away and provide a memo outlining his plans.
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In fact, Napoleon was not exactly the innocent victim in this confrontation, which may well have concealed his first attempt at a bid for power. He knew that his popularity in Paris was fading (“nothing lasts long here”). At the same time, he knew that there were others who were considering a coup against the Directory. If he could not leave Paris and regain popularity by leading his Egyptian campaign, he needed to stake his claim to become ruler at once. What better way than to appear to have been dismissed by the Directory? But the moment had passed; Barras had sensed which way the wind was blowing and had foiled him by patching up his relations with the Directory. Even if Napoleon had been forced to resign from his command of the Army of England, he would probably have retained its loyalty. At the same time, he could certainly have relied upon the loyalty of the Army of Italy, where he was still regarded as a hero. Such strong backing from two of the armies of the Republic would probably have swayed the rest of the army to rally behind him, and in this way he could have staged a coup, coming to power as a military dictator with considerable popular backing.

This would have been a big step on to the larger stage, and when the moment arose Napoleon appears to have had stage fright: he did not yet feel sufficiently confident in himself to call the Directory’s bluff. Even so, it seems to have been a much closer-run thing than is usually acknowledged, and its failure to materialize will account for many of Napoleon’s subsequent actions. As he confided to Bourrienne when they were passing through the streets of Paris in an open carriage: “I ought to overthrow them and make myself king; but the time has not come. I would be alone. I want to dazzle the people once more. . . . We will go to Egypt.”
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He realized that he could well have lost his opportunity. It was at this time that he famously declared: “My glory is slipping from my grasp, tiny Europe has not enough to offer. . . .”