Chapter VIII: The Alps--The Empire--The Coronation. 1800-1804

"Observe," said Bonaparte, now that he was seated on the consular throne, "that one of my biographers states that, under a man of ordinary vigor this new Constitution of Sieyes and another our government would be free and popular, but that under myself it has become an unlimited monarchy. That man is right. I am now a potentate of the most potent kind. I got a letter from the Bourbons last night requesting me to restore them to the throne. Two years ago they wouldn't have given me their autographs for my collection, but now they want me to get up from my seat in this car of state and let them sit down."

"And you replied--?" asked Josephine.

"That I didn't care for Bourbon--rye suits me better," laughed the Consul, "unless I can get Scotch, which I prefer at all times. Feeling this way, I cannot permit Louis to come back yet awhile. Meantime, in the hope of replenishing our cellars with a few bottles of Glenlivet, I will write a letter of pacification to George III., one of the most gorgeous rex in Madame Tussaud's collection of living potentates."

This Bonaparte did, asking the English king if he hadn't had enough war for the present. George, through the eyes of his ministers, perceived Bonaparte's point, and replied that he was very desirous for peace himself, but that at present the market seemed to be cornered, and that therefore the war must go on. This reply amused Napoleon.

"It suits me to the ground," he said, addressing Talleyrand. "A year of peace would interfere materially with my future. If Paris were Philadelphia, it would be another thing. There one may rest--there is no popular demand for excitement--Penn was mightier than the sword--but here one has to be in a broil constantly; to be a chef one must be eternally cooking, and the results must be of the kind that requires extra editions of the evening papers. The day the newsboys stop shouting my name, my sun will set for the last time. Even now the populace are murmuring, for nothing startling has occurred this week, which reminds me, I wish to see Fouche. Send him here."

Talleyrand sent for the Minister of Police, who responded to the summons.

"Fouche," said Bonaparte, sternly, "what are we here for, salary or glory?"

"Glory, General."

"Precisely. Now, as head of the Police Department, are you aware that no attempt to assassinate me has been made for two weeks?"

"Yes, General, but--"

"Has the assassin appropriation run out? Have the assassins struck for higher wages, or are you simply careless?" demanded the First Consul. "I warn you, sir, that I wish no excuses, and I will add that unless an attempt is made on my life before ten o'clock to- night, you lose your place. The French people must be kept interested in this performance, and how