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Napoleon and the Superstitious
Published in the Agnostic Journal London, England 1 June 1907 (pages 337-338) 8 June 1907 (pages 355-357)
A little less than a hundred years ago, a titanic figure held in the shadows of his hand the destinies of the Western world; yet how strange, this colossus was at times himself but a mere puppet dancing on the palm of Superstition. The mystic thread of wonder is to be found wound round every heart; in some as a slender hair, in others again as a stout cord, and in the unwinding of it from such a heart as that which beat in the breast of the little Corsican, we must take the utmost care; for now, over a century he has stood the ever magnifying scrutiny of European thought. A colossus has equally colossal foes and colossal friends, who unitedly turn him into a demon or a god, amassing round him their several desires, to enhero, or enslave.
The true Napoleon is fast growing into a myth, as all great men do; the feudal nature of the European is not yet dead; man equally loves to serve, as to be served; and as the present is ever more prosaic than the past, seeking his ideals in those days when he was not, or in those lands where he can never tread; he transforms his ideal man, his hero, first into an immortal, and then into a god.
Had Napoleon been born two thousand years before his day, it would be difficult to deny the supposition, that not only would he have long since been deified, but that through the extraordinary astuteness of his government, and the lucidity of his thought, we at this present day, might be Napoleonites instead of Christians. And, with this possibility in view, it is almost impossible to discover, certainly to declare, that all the following curious incidents are veraciously authentic, and they, after all, are but a few of the ever-accumulating legends which are being washed around the majestic form of this hero, by both his worshippers and detractors alike.
As this giant stepped forth unto the stage of the world during the night of the 14th and 15th of August, 1769, the celestial orbs heralded his advent by the birth of a new star, the much-talked-of star of his destiny.
The Abbé Martenot remarked a new star of great brilliancy in the constellation of Virgo. Nor was it the only welcomer of the future Emperor; another Emperor, the Great Frederick, is stated to have dreamt on this notable night, that he saw the star of his kingdom and his genius shining in the firmament, luminous and resplendent. He was admiring its brilliancy and its lofty position, when above him there appeared another star which eclipsed it as it ascended upon it. There was a struggle between the two, for a moment their rays were confounded together, and his star obscured, enveloped within the orbit of the other, fell to the earth, as if pushed down by a force which seemed likely to extinguish it. The struggle was long and obstinate; at last his star got free, and continued to shine in the firmament, whereas the other one vanished.
There is little possibility now to vouch for the correctness of this dream, though several evidences seem to witness to its truth. Probably it was but a piece of that Teutonic sycophancy which was so prevalent whilst the emperor ruled the destinies of the Germanic Empire. But a still more curious story, and this time a prediction, was found to suit the Emperor's reign in an old book published in 1542, whose title was Livres de Prophéties, by Master Noël Olivarius, Doctor of Medicine. The prophecy runs as follows:—
This curious prediction was read out to Napoleon by the Empress Joséphine. The Emperor wished to attach no importance to it, but was evidently moved, contenting himself by observing: "Predictions always say what you exactly want them to say."
Joséphine by nature a very superstitious woman, was always fond of perusing the stories of sorceresses and magicians; and there is little doubt that through Napoleon was the child of the freethinking Revolution, the natural tendencies of his Corsican and Italian descent, strongly at times inclined him to the belief in the superstitious, which was still more accentuated by his marriage with his first wife. On one occasion when the First Consul, in a fit of irritation with his brother Lucien, he said to him: "I will crush you as I crush this box," at the same time hurling to the ground a gold snuff box bearing the portrait of Joséphine painted by Isabey. The thickness of the carpet, however, prevented his heel from doing much damage, the portrait alone becoming unfixed from the lid; whereupon Joséphine, who was present, cried out: "Oh! it is all over! It is a sign of divorce! Bonaparte will separate himself from me as the snuff box separated itself from the portrait." Her predictions were only too true; but whether this story was invented after the actual divorce or not, I cannot say. Possibly not, as Joséphine is said to have shortly afterwards consulted the sorceress Lenormand concerning its occult meaning.
Religion does not seem to have been a topic of much interest in the recorded conversations of Napoleon, except perhaps during his last year if St. Helena. There he frequently declared his hostility to the Papacy, which had been several times forcibly demonstrated during his rule; he denied the divinity of Christ, considering that he was put to death as a fanatic who professed to be a prophet of the Messiah. "So slight is his belief in the Saviour," writes Rosebery, "that he mentions as an extraordinary fact, that Pope Pious II. did actually believe in Christ."
At times he also seemed to disbelieve in an after life; once at St. Helena he said, "When we are dead, my dear Gourgaud, we are altogether dead."
Yet he was far from being a narrow-minded dogmatist, he accepted the mysteries of life and religion, and once in a liberal minded mood said: "Only a fool says that he will die without a confessor. There is so much that one does not know, that one cannot explain." At another time he broke out with: "Were I obliged to have a religion, I would worship the sun—the source of all life—the real God of the earth." His respect for the divine origin of man was small, "A man is only a more perfect being than a dog or a tree, and living better. The plant is the first link in a chain of which man is the last."
This remark is notable having been uttered at a time when Charles Darwin was still in the nursery.
All great men recognise the greatness of systems and things outside them, such proof of their greatness being but a truism. Because, however, in the land of the sphinx, Napoleon coming into contact with the greatness of Mahomet, uttering the words: "We Mahometans," it does not necessarily follow, that he was in any way nearer being by religious persuasion a Mahometan, than any other great man who recognised the guidance of a Superior Power.
The Emperor was by nature far too great a diplomatist to offend the Arab population, and besides, he was a great admirer of the East. This fact, I think, is clearly demonstrated by his once saying: "So I, had I remained in Egypt, should probably have founded an empire like Alexander, by going on a pilgrimage to Messa." And as Alexander went to Ammon, so I believe would he, have gone to Mecca, diplomatically, and diplomatically alone.
As a believer in Providence, or Fate, some assert a strong inclination on the part of Napoleon; but no doubt this has again been exaggerated by lesser minds. Great and liberal-minded, he did not laugh at doubt, as at first the ignorant are so apt to so; neither did he accept without weight or judgment; yet wise in everything he did, he at once perceived that the ignorance of his subjects was ever susceptible and acceptable to the accomplishment of a providential mission by which he might dilute the purer wisdom of his understanding to the weaker knowledge of his subjects.
Yet, in many ways, he seems to have held faith in his destiny, and no doubt the phenomenal success of his early years strengthened this belief. His bravery was incontestable; three times was he wounded; twenty times he risked death—at Toulon, Montereau, Waterloo, and many other battles. "The future is in the hands of God," he again and again enjoined; and when we look back on this colossus, it verily seems that it was. His very successes alone were apt to make him a fatalist; but as his successes were the children of the preponderance of his genius, we may almost say that the book of Fate lay open before him, unwritten, ready to be inscribed by whatever words his mighty hand might write.
A hater of imposters and charlatans, he, however, curiously slung to certain superstitions, the most notable, perhaps being "the Star of his destiny." The story concerning the "Star" at the siege of Dantzig is well known; it runs as follows: In 1806, General Rapp returned from the siege of Dantzig, and having occasion to speak to the Emperor on some important military plans, entered his cabinet without being announced. He found the Emperor deeply absorbed in thought, and, being afraid to speak to him, made a slight noise to attract the Emperor's attention. Napoleon turned round, and, clutching Rapp by the arm, said:
"Do you not perceive it? . . . It is my star! . . . There yonder . . . before you . . . brilliant; it has never abandoned me. I see it in all great occurrences; it commands me to go forward, and is to me a constant sign of good luck."
Five years after this event, he pointed it out again to Cardinal Fesch; suddenly turning to the Cardinal, the Emperor said:
"Do you see that star above?
"No, Sire."
"Look well!"
"Sire, I see nothing."
"Well then! I myself do see it," replied Napoleon, turning from him.
A pretty example, illustrating his belief in Fate, happened at the Tuilleries when he was First Consul. One day he sent for Mme. de Montesson, and on her arrival, advancing to meet her said:
"Madame, you may ask for whatever you should wish."
"But General, I have no right to avail myself of your offer."
"You forget then, Madame, that I received my first laurel crown from your hands. You came to Brienne to distribute the prizes, and when you placed on my head the wreath that was the forerunner of so many others, you said: 'May it bring you good fortune.' "
As Mme. de Montesson was about to reply, Bonaparte interrupted her, saying:
"I am a fatalist. Therefore it is easy to see why I have not forgotten an incident that you do not remember."
He afterwards loaded Mme. de Montesson with honours and gifts, and gave her a yearly pension of 60,000 francs.
Another story of a similar nature and displaying his open-hearted benevolence, may here with advantage be related:—
A few days before his entry into Berlin, Napoleon travelling along the Potsdam road was overtaken by a storm, it was so violent that he took refuge in a house. Wrapped in his grey overcoat, he was surprised to see there a young woman, who was visibly startled at his presence; she was an Egyptian, who had preserved for him that religious veneration that all the Arabs had for Napoleon. She was the widow of an officer of the army of the East, and fate had taken her to Prussia, to this house, where she had been taken care of. The Emperor gave her a pension of twelve hundred francs a year, and took charge of the education of her son, the only inheritance left her by her husband. "This is the first time," said Napoleon to his officers, "that I dismounted to seek shelter from a storm; I had a presentiment that a good action was awaiting me here."
Small matters sometimes pre-occupied his thoughts, such as the chiming of church bells, which he always listened to with the utmost delight. The fall of his horse at Polwiski was, at the time, a matter of concern to him, and probably more so to his soldiers. On this occasion, several of his personal staff rushed to his aid, and on the Emperor regaining his feet, he was the first to exclaim: "In such great circumstances, on the eve of grave events, one becomes superstitious in spite of one's self"; which were well-timed and chosen words., for, but a moment later, Berthier turned to Caulincourt, and whispered: "It would be better for us not to cross the Niemen; this fall is of evil omen." Curious enough, a quite unforeseen event turned the minds of his soldiers from contemplating the evil interpretation of this mishap. From some citizens of Kowno, Baron Denniée tells us, the Emperor learnt that "The Emperor Alexander assisted at a ball where, by a singular coincidence, the flooring of the principal saloon gave way towards midnight, at which hour the bridges over the Niemen. It may easily be understood that all sorts of conjectures were made about this event, to give it a favourable interpretation!"
Another small incident which disclosed for a moment the under-current of superstition which lived deep down in his colossal mind, took place near Saint Cloud, when his horse, frightened by the flaming red shawl the Empress Marie Louise was wearing, shied, violently throwing the Emperor. The carriage in which the Empress was driving, stopped immediately, and she expressed her deepest regret at what had happened. Napoleon, who had just risen from the road, was, however, not in a very amiable frame of mind, and to her inquiries harshly replied: "Madam, since you have been with me nothing but ill luck attends me"; which, in many cases, had only been too true,
Friday was a day full of apprehension to him; he never undertook anything he could help on that day, and when he was forced to, always did so with fear. He himself says:
No date brought more souvenirs to his mind than the 20th March. As a fact, the ephemerides of the 20th March in the life of Napoleon are particularly remarkable.
It was on 20th March 1779, that Charles Bonaparte, the father of Napoleon, came, with his son to Paris for the purpose of placing him at the military school at Brienne.
The 20th March 1785 Napoleon was informed of his father's death.
20th March 1794 Napoleon arrived at Nice as Commander in Chief of the Army of Italy.
20th March 1800, battle of Heliopolis.
20th March 1804, the Duke of Enghien was shot in the night at Vincennes.
20th March 1808, abdication of Charles IV of Spain.
20th March 1809, battle of Abendsberg.
20th March 1811, birth of the King of Rome.
20th March 1814, taking of Toul.
20th March 1815, return of Napoleon to Paris.
20th March 1821, Napoleon wrote the last codicil to his will at Saint Helena.
But so many great events were crowded into the life of this marvellous man, that during his entire life it would be difficult to find a single day which remained unmoulded by that power which lived within him. Great events; the birth of some majestic code, the death of some titanic conflict, jostled each other onward as they whirled from the magic hands of that ever working craftsman which was himself. The events of his life were not the frail offspring of the fleeting years, but the children of a slowly moving period. His material conquests have gone back to their material owners; but his spiritual victories ever live with us, and the entire world, as they do still, and will for ever, in the brave heart of his adopted child, his dear and beloved France. And, wondrous to say, they know no age, and as the years move on along the eternal path of time, no decrepitude wrinkles their brow, or ashens their hair; sons of a mighty wisdom, and daughters of a vast knowledge, rejuvenescent as the years sink dying round their feet, building up for them a great column of fame which bids to vanish midst the stars, and above which is still visible the countenance of one who is fast becoming nebulous as some Orphic mystery.
Neither did he, or those about him, attribute a mystic influence to dates and days only; the letter M to him was even more fateful, perhaps more justifiably so: Maret, Mollien, Montalivet, Montesquiou, Massena, Marmont, Macdonald, Mortier, Moncey, Murat, Marboeuf, Moreau, Mallet, Metternich, Melas, Menou, Miollis, Marchand, Montholon, Maitland, were all men intimately concerned with the events of his life. Marengo, Montenotte, Millesimo, Mondovi, Montmirail, Montereau, and Mont-Saint-Jean were seven of the great battles he fought, the first six he won, the last he lost; and finally was it not at La Malmaison that he passed the only few hours of calm that he enjoyed during his chequered career.
But who of us, after all, even now, a century further advanced on the dial of time, can with simple truth say: "We are in no way superstitious!" Our knowledge is so limited, our ignorance so vast, that for us it is excusable; how much more so then for one, whose very life seems to have irradiated success and astonishment; and still how much more so for those who worship one whose foot-prints in the sands of time are fast becoming obliterated by the dusty breath of that mysterious desert across which we all have to pass.
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