It was a cold morning, with grey clouds in the sky. But that didn’t stop Parisians from rejoicing, dancing in the streets and waving the tricolour. The tension grew and reached its peak when a two-wheeled carriage rattled down the road that crossed the Seine and turned into Rue Saint Honoré. It moved slowly, the metal rings on its wheels clanging loudly on the cobblestones.
The carriage turned onto Revolution Square and stopped. The crowd fell silent and Queen Marie Antoinette and her confessor got off the two-wheeler and slowly climbed on to the stage where the guillotine was placed. The 16th of October 1793 was the day on which the Queen of the Bourbons joined her unfortunate husband, Louis XVI, who had been beheaded ten months earlier.
Blood spattered the morgue, and the executioner Henri Sanson lifted the Queen’s severed head and showed it to the crowd. The world realised that the Kingdom of France had ceased to exist and had been replaced by a Republic. But not everyone rejoiced in the Republic and in the revolutionary violence. The Revolution promised equality and fraternity for all, and the people initially felt that they could change the laws, the statutes and put an end to corruption. But the more the revolution marched on, the more it ruthlessly eliminated everything that stood in its way. Thus the sovereignty of the people soon passed into the hands of the radical Jacobins, and the guillotine worked without pause.
The countryside was less enthusiastic about the revolutionary developments in Paris and more dissatisfied with the new republican institutions, the collapse of the economy and the killing of the nobility. The counter-revolutionary movement in the countryside was, of course, abundantly supported by all the crowned heads of Europe, and the exiled French nobility gathered on the French frontiers.
The rebels in Brittany and Vendée, led by returning priests and nobles, were initially successful. Chaos reigned in the countryside and the Republic was able to keep many towns under its control only by brute force. The rebels also took the port of Toulon, as the Anglo-Spanish navy came to their aid. The city had the young artillery captain Napoleon Bonaparte to thank for repelling the royalists and the foreign fleet.
Napoleon saved the Republic a second time when the royalists gathered in Paris and marched against the Tuileries, ready to kill the members of the National Convention. He gathered some loyal troops who opened fire and killed the die-hard royalists who had gathered in front of the Opera.
When the smoke cleared, the 300 dead Royalists were proof that Napoleon had saved the Republic for a second time. But it had already been changed, replaced by the rule of the Directory, a clique of five cunning oligarchs, instead of the rule of the people. Napoleon was clever enough to acquiesce in this change and was rewarded for it by commanding the Republican army in Italy.
But the chaos in the country continued. Napoleon did not take part, preferring to seek glory elsewhere. He went on a naval expedition to Egypt and when he returned to Paris, he first embraced his mother and tried to save his marriage, and then tried to do the same with France.
The Republic was looking for a man willing to save it, and Napoleon seemed the only suitable candidate. He arrived at the right time and in the right place. But many people were wrong about him, because he would be the one who would put an end to the Republic and also to the hope of a return of the Bourbon monarchy. Once the saviour of France, he will become its tyrant.
Napoleon quickly became the first consul of the three, and ten years of revolution were forgotten. The moderates, who had been sighing that something had to be done, were satisfied that they had found someone to do it for them, and Napoleon seemed to them to be the man to clean up the anarchy into which the revolution had descended. Most of them were just waiting to see what would happen anyway.
On the 19th of February 1800, Napoleon rode to the Tuileries in a royal pomp, in an imperial carriage drawn by six white men, and took up his residence in what had once been the royal apartments. He is said to have said to his wife Josephine: “My little Creole, come and crawl into the bed of your former Majesties.”
He immediately made Fouché, a former staunch republican who had come to terms with his new power, Minister of Police, while the lame old priest Talleyrand nestled in the aristocratic office of Minister of Foreign Affairs. The other two consuls, both collaborators of no consequence, were given insignificant posts.
Napoleon’s seizure of power surprised many, most of all those he immediately expelled or imprisoned. The true royalists, of course, did not give up even when they saw how many of their former comrades had come to terms with and sucked up to the new power. Count Artois, one of the leading royalists, did not mince his words: “I hope that those who have come to terms with the new regime will get what the cowards deserve.”
But a change in power cannot be achieved with words alone. The royalists, based in London, were ready to resort to an old trick: bribery. They offered Napoleon a lot of money if he would relinquish power so that the Bourbons would regain the throne of France. Napoleon read the written offer in Louis XVI’s bed and replied: “Do not think of returning to France. You would have to walk over 100,000 corpses to get there.”
General Bonaparte’s ambition was clear. He ruled France and could only be removed by force. The royalists were alarmed by this persistence and soon came up with the idea that the Bourbons could regain the French throne, not at the cost of a hundred thousand deaths, but at the cost of the death of just one man. The idea of removing only Napoleon and returning everything to the old days seemed to them worth considering.
On the twenty-ninth of March 1798, a convoy of carriages and wagons carrying valuable aristocrats arrived at a frozen lake in Latvia. Here stood a palace that had once been the residence of a prince, but which the Russian Tsar had now placed at the disposal of French aristocratic emigrants, together with some money. There were about a hundred of them, including the exiled French King Louis XVIII. Of course, the palace was not comparable to the comfort the aristocrats were used to at Versailles, but at least it offered them a safe haven.
Away from the action at home, they could only engage in intrigue and support numerous small rebellions in France, all of which proved to be failures. All that remained was for them to begin to involve their spy networks, which were in abundance, in their efforts. The King had his own spies in France, and his brother Count Artois, who lived in England, also had his own spy network. The royalist Agence de Souabe operated from Switzerland and southern Germany.
The English themselves, through their Aliens Office, which was tasked with keeping an eye on French emigrants, began to spy on France. However, it was very difficult to reorganise a functioning spy network in France itself, because the quality of the royalist spies had fallen markedly; they had no clear objective, they were careless, often lazy and incapable of rational action, and they hated each other with envy.
Dubois and Fouché
On 8 March 1800, Napoleon received Pierre Dubois, who had been appointed Prefect of the Paris Police. Napoleon demanded reforms, reforms and more reforms. “Strictly control everyone except me”, he told him at the end of the meeting. At that time, the French police force was still in disarray, lazy and corrupt, as it had been under the Directory.
But some of the cadres were only very good, because they were true masters of survival in a time of revolutionary change, when even police heads were falling under the guillotine. In particular, there was the Minister of Police, Joseph Fouché, who always managed to hold on to his post, while six of his predecessors did not stay in office for more than six months.
He was energetic, he did not recognise foreign influences, he always managed to eliminate his rivals and to make the enemies of the state despair, whether they were Jacobins or royalists. He always knew what the other side was up to. He left the routine work to others, convinced that he was the one with the talent and the vocation for espionage. That is why he had his own sources of information and managed to put his own people in key positions. He hoped that he would also be able to put one of his own in the post of prefect of the Paris police, doing a routine job that he himself hated. But he was disappointed this time.
The Paris Police Prefecture was crucial to the security of the centre of power and influence. Dubois was not to Fouché’s liking, but he was put there by Napoleon himself because he was capable and above all independent.
Dubois got straight to work, with his own ideas on how to enforce the law in a capital that had, over the last ten years, sparked revolution, spawned criminal societies and encouraged disorder. He was the son of a lawyer’s family, a prosecutor before the Revolution, and he took part in it as much as was necessary for his career.
He has proved to be a faithful servant, no matter who was in power. Much to Fouché’s annoyance, he sent Napoleon daily reports on the situation in Paris. He greatly increased the size of his secretariat, which now numbered almost 30 people, many of them from the former Bureau Central.
He divided his police force into eight divisions. The first was headed by Paule Bertrand, known for successfully snapping the fingers of suspects and, when he refused to listen to their cries, dealing with conspiracies, riots and escaped convicts. The second department was headed by Jean Henry, who investigated robberies, murders and the most serious crimes, while the third, under Charles Limodin, was in charge of interrogations and the search for witnesses to crimes. The other departments also had their own areas of work.
This was the basic structure of the Paris police, but the real policing still happened on the streets. That’s why each district in Paris had its own police commissioner, who was in charge of law and order in his district. All this police apparatus was supported by a multitude of spies, agents and those whose special skills were required for certain clandestine operations.
Fouché also had his own army of agents, whom he sent abroad to monitor the royalist movement. Fouché took particular pleasure in bribing or blackmailing some of the old nobility to join the royalists as his agents.
With Napoleon, in effect, representing the state, resistance was now to be expected from those who considered such a situation illegal. This danger was quite real around 1800, and it was to be expected from both the radical Jacobins and the royalists. But events have shown that the radical Jacobins are less dangerous than many had thought. Their movement was in tatters, they had lost influence and positions in the administration. They seriously, but unsuccessfully, plotted against Napoleon.
One of the most high-profile plots was allegedly hatched in the apartment of Dominique Demerville, the nearly disabled former secretary of the Public Security Committee, who now has to scrape by on a half-pay salary month after month. Demerville had a friend and former Jacobin, Bertrand Baréré, who had become Fouché’s informer by force of circumstances and who regularly sent him reports denouncing his former comrades.
Another radical, Giuseppe Ceracchi, a sculptor from Rome who had an Italian friend, Giuseppe Diana, was a mutual acquaintance. The French police were generally suspicious of Italian refugees. Captain Jacques Harel joined this circle, complaining about the poor living conditions.
They were discussing the situation in France and one of them said that Napoleon was a villain “who should be killed because he was only harming France”. But Harel was a traitor and told his friend Lefebvre everything. He claimed that it was Demerville who had talked about the assassination.
At the next meetings of the Circle of Friends, it was already heard that four reliable men had to be found, guns and ammunition had to be purchased and 60,000 francs had to be secured as a reward for the deed.
Lefebvre informed the police, claiming that the assassination was to take place during a performance of Les Horaces. Dubois immediately found four undercover policemen who had offered to carry out the assassination. The police, of course, provided security at the theatre and sent in several plain-clothes policemen.
Ceracchi and Diano also appeared outside the theatre, allegedly carrying weapons. When the conspirators entered the theatre, the police intervened. In the corridor of the theatre, they encountered Ceracchi, who was on his way to the First Consul Napoleon’s box, arrested him and searched him. Diano was the second in line and was also arrested and searched. Strangely enough, no weapons were found on either of them.
At that very moment, the carriage of First Consul Napoleon arrived at the theatre with a guard of 15 grenadiers, followed by the carriage of his brother Jerome. As Napoleon sat down in the box, a page informed him of the intended plot. At 8 p.m., the police burst into the apartment of the surprised Demerville and searched it. Meanwhile, Ceracchi and Diana were interrogated at the Prefecture, both of whom initially denied involvement, although they were threatened with being shot.
Later, they softened up and told the police what they wanted to hear; they were getting money, they were supposedly involved in the removal of Napoleon, although the assassination was carried out by someone else. The police also interrogated Demerville and threatened to shoot him. Demerville replied, “As you wish. I am so sick that I don’t care.”
Napoleon would have been very happy if it had all been the fault of the Italian and Corsican cuckolds. Fouché agreed, and after reviewing the list of suspicious persons, he exclaimed, “All these Italians and damned Corsicans are scum who should be cut down with sabres!” Napoleon, who was present, merely replied dryly, “Thank you very much!” Fouché then said, “Not you, of course, you are one of us.”
The police started interrogating all Italians. Prince Pio Bonelli, whose palace was a meeting place for Italian revolutionaries, was imprisoned. Although without any real evidence, Dubois and Fouché insisted on the involvement of the Italians, convinced that they were a security risk and that it would be best to expel them from the country.
But apart from the dubious confessions and Harel’s statement, there was no real evidence against the participants. Barér, who knew a lot, said: ‘There was nothing but words, slanders, threats and denunciations against the First Consul. But the plot and the means by which it was to be carried out were devised by the police to compromise all the patriots in Paris and to justify their expulsion and deportation.” Thus 85 Romans and 295 Napolitans were deported.
Despite the best efforts of the police, the case against the conspirators brought to court on 30 October was on shaky ground. What happened to the accused afterwards is not entirely clear. According to some sources, Harel and Barér were sentenced to death and shot, while Ceracchi and Demerville, who confessed nothing until the end, were executed by guillotine in January 1801.
A bomb in a wooden barrel
But it was then that another Jacobin plot was discovered, and it was even stranger. The main person behind it was a chemist, Alexandre Chevalier, who had been active in the revolutionary committees, but then worked for the Republic as an inventor. He was going to make a bomb out of a barrel girded with iron rings and filled with musket balls, which could be detonated by a string.
Although the invention was originally intended for warships, the police were convinced that the inventor wanted to use it against the First Consul. He and his assistants were said to have wanted to use a two-wheeled chariot to block the route that Napoleon would have taken to the opera. The police report details the purpose of the plot:
“Six men are said to have thrown a bomb into the consul’s carriage, destroying it and all the occupants. The conspirators were to arrive in a carriage, and the driver would block the way so that the carriage would run parallel to the First Consul’s carriage for a short time.”
The conspirators then abandoned the idea of a roadblock as impractical. Instead, someone was supposed to have sprayed the road with pointy nails to stop the horses. The bomb was tested by the conspirators on the outskirts of the town on 17 October 1800. The assassination was to take place on 1 November and was intended as a signal for a general uprising of the Jacobins, who would gather in their quarter and take the city.
But during a search of the house, the police discovered one of the conspirators, Bousquet, hiding under a mattress. The interrogation uncovered the whole plot and the six conspirators were arrested before the assassination took place. The chemist Chevalier was discovered in an apartment that could only be entered by means of a special password. The police were convinced that the man was a bit mad anyway and that, seeing that there was no way out, he would have blown up the whole building and everything in it. But at that very time, others had a similar infernal plan in mind, and they were really ready to go through with it.
With Demerville and Chevalier and his associates under lock and key, Fouché could congratulate himself on finally breaking the Jacobin resistance. But the other opposition – above all the royalist opposition – was also losing the will to revolt elsewhere. There were still isolated cases of kidnappings and murders of government officials, but few were now prepared to die for the King.
Fouché managed to infiltrate his agents among the royalist groups and slowly destroy them. But his belief in the omnipotence of the authorities was deceptive. The remaining royalists found a safer place where it was difficult to track them down. That place was the capital of the country itself, Paris, a veritable anthill of people. They gathered in the parks, in the salons, met in the back streets and whispered to each other in the corner taverns.
Dubois was convinced that the most dangerous former general was Bourmont, who, at least on the surface, lived an orderly family life. Dubois demanded to be kept under surveillance because he dealt in horses and often travelled to the Anjou district at unusual hours of the night. He was also to receive £15 000 from the royalists, which came from London. He used this money to protect active royalists in the Paris area, and also helped many other royalists to settle in Paris.
Napoleon knew his little secrets, but still wanted to have him with him, expecting him to help him pacify the Royalists, so he told him, “If you want to go to England, I will allow you to do so, but if you stay here, behave yourself, because we are watching you. At the slightest suspicion we will shoot you, as you would have done the same if you had been in our place.”
Bourmont ignored this warning, feeling safe enough to help the new wave of rebels to reach Paris. These men were now supported by London, even though many of them were former royal officers, and when asked if they were prepared to kill a tyrant, they replied in the negative: “We are soldiers, not murderers.” But they were prepared to take part in the royalist uprising.
Thus, Charles-Nicolas de Margadel, known as Joubert, was the only royalist who declared that he was ready to kill Napoleon or kidnap him, push him tied up in a carriage and drive to Boulogne to hand him over to the English, who were waiting for him at Fort Montorgueil on the island of Jersey. Although this English plot was discovered in May 1800 and Joubert was under surveillance, he was still ready to eliminate Napoleon. Well armed, he hid in Saint-Germain, surrounded by a dozen of his colleagues, waiting for Napoleon’s carriage.
But the royalists were convinced that the romantic Joubert would do nothing and that it was best to take matters into their own hands. On the twenty-ninth of March, Joubert, who had probably been betrayed by Bourmont or sacrificed for other reasons, was arrested. The police raided the house of his mistress’s brother, where he was hiding. They accused him of conspiracy and robbery and summarily shot him dead.
This forced Georges Cadoudal, the great Breton who was considered the soul of the royalist revolt, to decide to send his best officers to Paris and arrange for their accommodation and armaments. Thus, one after another, conspirators arrived in the capital and hid in various places. Fouché, who was well enough informed, suspected, despite the mixed information, that something was afoot. He had been informed that strangers were testing guns in the Bulonj Forest.
Pierre de Saint-Réjant, who was to lead the uprising, was the last to arrive in Paris, with the task of drawing up a plan of rebellion, providing safe houses and hiding places for weapons. But things did not go according to plan and the action was constantly postponed, so that Saint-Réjant was clearly not the man for the action either. So Joseph Picot de Limoëlan gradually took over the role of operational leader of the rebellion. He was wanted by the police, but by clever disguises, dyeing his hair and changing his name, and with the help of his relatives, he always managed to evade arrest.
Dubois thus received the following police report: ‘Messrs Limoëlan, Bourmont, Saint-Réjant and Assas have bought a weapon made at Versailles from Bourin, the gunsmith, for 50 guilders, and will test it tomorrow at noon or one o’clock in the afternoon in the Forest of Boulogne.’
So the conspiracy was evolving. The Paris police knew that the plotters were up to something, but controlling and pursuing the rebels was difficult in Paris. Raids on Paris hotels were unsuccessful, as the conspirators frequently changed their hiding places. The police were on high alert and security around the First Consul was also tightened.
Saint-Réjant, who was an artilleryman, dreamt of using a bomb just like the one built by the chemist Chevalier. The narrow Rue Nicaise, which led from the palace where the First Consul lived to Paris’s finest theatres, thus seemed the ideal place for an attack, especially as the conspirators knew that Napoleon was likely to see Haydn’s ‘La Creation’ on 24 December, for which tickets had already gone on sale in early December.
But, unluckily, Saint-Réjant fell very ill. His doctor prescribed rest and light food. So he had to leave the planning to Limoëlan and asked him to make the bomb on time.
On 17 December, a fostered Parisian with a goat’s face turned up at one of the many stables in Paris, saying he needed a small two-wheeled cart with a horse and equipment. The owner of the stable did not have a suitable cart, so he escorted him to a neighbour who was selling one just like it. Over a litre of wine, they negotiated the price and in the end the buyer paid 200 francs for the cart and horse.
The next day, the customer, who was supposed to be called Carbon, came back and bought a few more bags of lentils and peas. When the seller asked him why he needed all this, he told him to mind his own business. The whole purchase was very secret, but Fouché and Dubois suspected something and competed with each other to see who would be the first to tell Napoleon that a plot had been discovered against him.
Napoleon was already nervous at the news that a serious assassination attempt might be under way, and even more so when he received a letter from a Captain Khuzayev warning him, “I do not like you, but the assassination is not in accordance with my principles, and I warn you that you will be attacked between 22 and 24 December. If the assassination fails then, the conspirators will be waiting for you at the parade on 3 January.”
Opera performance starts
However, the behaviour of the buyer of the Carbon carriage attracted the attention of the housekeeper where he was staying, who saw that he was not at all good with horses. He became even more suspicious when he asked her if she could tell him where he could buy a 240 litre barrel. In fact, he needed two suitable barrels. The housekeeper later said that Carbon smelled of gunpowder.
The conspirators then looked at the route Napoleon would have taken and chose the best place for the explosion. Before nightfall, Carbon returned to the apartment with a heavy rucksack, most likely containing gunpowder. Carbon, Chevalier, who had since recovered, and Limoëlan deliberated at length on how to detonate the explosives, each having his own opinion on the matter. In the end, they rejected the idea of a trigger to set off the gunpowder and opted for a fuse.
The bomb-making process lasted all night on 23 December and lasted into Christmas morning on 24 December. Meanwhile, Saint-Réjant worked on the fuse and measured how long it would need to be to achieve the desired explosive effect. In the early hours of the morning, the bomb was completed and the conspirators dispersed, while Carbon hitched his horse to the cart, loaded the barrel on to it and covered it with straw, hay and shavings. Limoëlan also came, and they covered the cart with sailcloth to keep the barrel dry.
At half past five in the evening, the two of them got dressed in the work clothes worn by lorry drivers and slowly drove off in the lorry. The two-wheeler slowly rumbled towards rue Saint-Denis and stopped there. Carbon, Saint-Réjant and Limoëlan started pushing the cart and the beaks towards the narrow Rue Nicaise, picking up granite blocks from the pavement and placing them on the cart as they went. They were to be used as shrapnel to increase the force of the explosion.
The usually deserted and dimly lit Rue Nicaise was bustling with life this way. It was an elegant street in the middle of the modern quarter, running straight and parallel to the former city walls, connecting the wide Avenue Saint-Honoré with the Carrousel and the Tuileries. Like most city streets of the time, Rue Nicaise was unpaved and had no pavements, but the mud and litter did not prevent the excellent shops, bars, wine bars and food outlets that lined it. There were famous perfumeries, hat workshops, pawnbrokers and hotels.
The Carrousel also offered a similar image. Where there was empty space, building materials and the remains of scaffolding removed from the newly renovated Tuileries were piled up. Everywhere one could see townspeople and curious onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of Napoleon and wave to him. On Christmas Eve, neither the cold nor the chill deterred them from this intention.
That’s why the festive crowds along Rue Nicaise slowed down the conspirators. And while the bomb was invisible, the carriage with its attendants only attracted attention, but most of the walkers only thought of seeing the First Consul’s carriage as it drove towards the Opera House.
The premiere of Haydn’s oratorio La Creation was to take place that evening at the opera house or Théâtre des Arts et de la République. The opera’s impresario wanted to invite Haydn himself to conduct the premiere, but the war situation did not allow it.
Haydn first conducted his oratorio in Vienna on 30 April 1798 with Antonio Salieri as pianist. But the war with Austria prevented his arrival, so in Paris they decided to conduct the oratorio themselves. They hired 150 singers and 156 musicians to perform it. As many as 1417 music lovers bought tickets and the performance sold out two weeks before the performance.
Around 7 pm, carriages with distinguished guests started arriving at the entrance of the Opera House. Meanwhile, a detachment of the Consular Guard had already surrounded the theatre and were chasing away the gawkers, who were scrambling to see who was coming to see the show. In fact, the great spectacle had two important ceremonial acts; arriving at the theatre and leaving it. It was not only important who was coming, but also how they were dressed, whether they were coming alone or with their wife, maybe even with a new lover.
Napoleon’s secretary Bourrienne arrived early, the Russian envoy General Sprengporten received a standing ovation, while Fouché and his wife were received indifferently. The orchestra was already rehearsing, so few noticed that Napoleon was late.
In the Tuileries Palace, Napoleon’s officers were eagerly milling about in the foyer, waiting for him, his wife Josephine Bonaparte, her sister Hortense Beauharnais and Napoleon’s pregnant sister Caroline Murat.
At home, Napoleon gulped down his dinner, ignoring the eleven guests gathered around the table, then curled up in a corner by the fireplace, and did not seem in any particular mood to go to the theatre. “It’ll cheer you up, you’re working too much anyway,” Josephine encouraged him. Napoleon closed his eyes, was silent for a while and then said he would not go. An argument broke out and Napoleon had to give in to his wife’s pressure.
Not in the best of moods, he climbed into the carriage with his two companions. The ladies squeezed into the second carriage with the second page. After eight o’clock, the carriage with Napoleon drove off, followed at a distance by another carriage.
Slaughterhouse in Nicaise Street
As Napoleon rode off, a detachment of grenadiers rode in front of him at a distance of 20 paces. Limoëlano, who was standing on the Place Carrousel and who should have signalled with his right hand as soon as he saw the carriage with Napoleon, was distracted by a detachment of grenadiers blocking his view, so that he could not see the first carriage clearly. The delay lasted only a few seconds.
As one of the grenadiers escorting him roared into Nicaise Street, he noticed a carriage moving across the road, half blocking the crossing. The carriage with Napoleon would have had to stop here because of the obstruction in the street, so the grenadier threatened the driver with his sabre to get out of the way and struck him several times on the back with the flat of his sabre. He then pushed him and his horse against the wall and the driver started to move his cart.
A narrow passage was created that would have allowed the two carriages to continue their journey. Meanwhile, Saint-Réjant was confused and hesitated, and this saved Napoleon’s life, as his coachman held his horses for a moment, seeing that the way was blocked.
In the meantime, Saint-Réjant managed to light the fuse, but the gunpowder was not of the best quality, so it exploded belatedly. Saint-Réjant had already disappeared into the crowd milling in a side street.
Walkers heard a loud bang and saw fire, some of them thrown to the ground by the air pressure. Saint-Réjant also heard a bang, and was hit by fragments of brick, glass and wood. The grenadiers accompanying Napoleon, who had already moved away from the scene of the explosion, were also nearly thrown from their saddles by the force of the blast. They did not know what was happening and some were convinced that it was a volley of gunfire to honour Napoleon. But the screams of passers-by, the breaking of glass in the windows, the noise of falling chimneys and roof tiles gave the impression that the whole neighbourhood had collapsed on passers-by, so they knew that it was anything but a salute of honour.
The carriage with the consul stopped and Napoleon asked if anyone was hurt. None of the entourage was injured, but an air gust lifted the consul’s carriage on one wheel and threatened to overturn it. However, this did not happen, only the window of the carriage was smashed. Someone claimed that they had been hit by cannon fire.
When they heard the explosion, the ladies in the other carriage screamed, the carriage windows shattered and Napoleon’s sister was slightly wounded in the arm by a shard. The horses neighed and reared to their feet, but the obliging coachmen calmed them down and the two carriages continued along the other street towards the Opera House.
La Creation had already begun when, during the interval, rumours began to spread that Napoleon had narrowly escaped assassination. At that very moment, Napoleon arrived at the opera house, quickly climbed the stairs and sat down in his box. A shocked Josephine arrived shortly after him and only calmed down when she saw that Napoleon was completely calm. Then another adjutant came into the box and informed the Consul of the slaughter he had witnessed in the street. “How terrible that they should have killed so many people when they only wanted to get one out of the way.”
The opera audience was seized with restlessness, and even during the second part of the performance there were whispers and restless movements in the chairs. But Napoleon held out until the end of the performance, until the pledge fell, and then they all returned together to the Tuileries by another route, as the Rue Nicaise was blocked.
The dead and the wounded lay everywhere, with only those who had some strength left trying to find a safe shelter from the corrosive smoke and dust. Some of the facades and walls had collapsed and fallen into the street, the walls of some houses were blackened, and large pools of blood lay in the muddy road, where limbs and scraps of clothing lay torn off. No one knew how many bodies there were, but seven or eight were quickly counted by some.
The wheel of the wagon that exploded was later found on the roof of one of the houses, and part of the body of the horse pulling the wagon was found in the yard of a nearby house. Around 50 passers-by were injured; some lost a finger, an arm or had to have a leg amputated. No one could count the lost eyes and dishevelled faces.
The perpetrators of the massacre quickly fled. Saint-Réjant escaped injury, but was only dusty and blinded by the dust. He could see almost nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. Only when he got some fresh air did he recover and go home. Before that, he took off his driver’s work clothes and threw them into the Seine.
The police reacted quickly. Dubois immediately asked the National Guard to block the area around the assassination and to close Nicaise Street. The crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered at the scene also had to be driven back into Saint Honoré and Carrousel Streets. The dead were taken to the morgue in Chatelet and the wounded were taken to hospitals. All the others were rounded up and interrogated. Slowly, they gathered up what was left of the two-wheeled cart and sent it all to the Prefecture.
The hunt is on
When Napoleon arrived in the Tuileries, he was pale with anger and cursed the Jacobins who wanted to end his life. Joseph Fouché arrived, but he was not convinced of the guilt of the Jacobins. Napoleon, who did not suffer anyone to question his judgement, asked him to say out loud what he thought and that he doubted the guilt of the Jacobins. Fouché: “Yes, undoubtedly, that is what I said, and that is what I will prove.”
Then Napoleon went wild and told him not to make a fool of him, because he knew that these were not royalists, nor emigrants, nor so-called nobles, nor so-called priests. “These are the bloodsuckers, the invaders of Versailles, the authors of all the crimes against the government. If they cannot be imprisoned, they must be destroyed. France must be purged of this shameful sect and there is no mercy for these fools.”
Fouché listened to his outburst with complete calm, because he knew something about the royalist conspiracy. He knew what his agents in the royalist ranks had told him. After all, Fouché had informed Napoleon weeks before that his life was in danger. But Napoleon considered the Jacobins to be poison in his body and, although he had sympathised with the radicals in the old days when he was still far from power, now that he was sitting on the throne of power, so to speak, he wanted to root out those who shouted about equality and fraternity.
Even those in his circle who were in favour of the Napoleonic dynasty were convinced that those who were most vociferous in their support for the Republic should be removed. They now collectively congratulated Napoleon on having escaped assassination and used the occasion to denigrate their rivals. Thus Fouché’s opponents united behind his back and accused him of protecting the terrorist Jacobins.
Dubois was also under pressure. Immediately after the assassination, he came to Napoleon and reported to him. But Napoleon, convinced that he knew better than he did, immediately attacked him: “If I were the Prefect of Police, I should be very ashamed of myself at this moment.”
A shamed Dubois returned to his office, knowing he had to do something immediately. He carried out a raid, gathered together those anarchists he knew were living in the Rue Nicaise and imprisoned dozens of those scoundrels who had not escaped in time. Thus, by the end of the year, 91 people had been arrested. Dubois had his own list of cuckolds, but Napoleon kept adding new names of those who had once opposed him.
Napoleon was not satisfied with the progress of the research, and even less patient. He forgot what his powers as First Consul were and demanded that 15 to 20 Jacobins be shot and at least 200 deported.
The following day, three ministers, three consuls and representatives of two legislative committees met. The main point of the meeting was whether the newly adopted law could be applied retroactively. The prevailing view was that individual responsibility for the assassination could be held and that collective punishment was unjust, even though Napoleon had insisted on executing or prosecuting those on the list. The debate continued in the Council of State, which was responsible for drawing up laws and safeguarding the Constitution.
In the end, they adopted a compromise statement that has become a sacred rule for all security services in the world. “Of all the persons named, no one has been caught with a dagger in his hand, but they are known to be capable of sharpening and striking the dagger. This is not about punishing someone for a past offence, this is about protecting public order.”
On 5 January 1801, the Senate passed a resolution making it possible to take constitutional action against those who were behind any assassination, who were the instrument of an external or internal enemy, who were opposed to public order and who were a nuisance to society. This decision erased the grey line between the naked discussion of a crime and its execution. A new despotic power was thus placed in the hands of the ruler of France. It now fell on the radical Jacobins, who had no connection with the assassination, and forced them into exile. The police investigation into the real assassins was, of course, carried out in parallel and with vigour.
An important piece of evidence was the remains of a horse’s leg with a horseshoe hoof, which was found not far from the explosion site. The veterinarian found that the horse was a piebald, with a tail braid, a metre and a half tall, but unfortunately not branded. Dubois had only vague descriptions of the chariot. He immediately sent the police to the hospitals where the wounded were being treated, assuming that the assassin had also been wounded.
It was known that the bomb was probably made from a barrel filled with gunpowder and iron particles, so the police set about questioning all the wooden barrel makers, as well as the blacksmiths, who could identify the horse shoe and the metal rings around the barrel.
Then a Lambel citizen came to the Prefecture and identified part of the remains of the cart, the horse equipment and the remains of the horse, and confirmed that he had sold them to a man who presented himself as the owner of the stable and who lives in Paris with his sister. They also got a blacksmith who identified the hoof as his own work and a wine seller who sold two wooden barrels with metal rings to a stranger.
The following week, Dubois sent a description of the man and his henchmen to every police station in Paris, and later to every police station in France. Five persons were on the list of suspects and a reward of 12,000 francs was promised for the arrest of each. There were increasing indications that the assassination was the work of royalists and Fouché’s spies went on the hunt.
Then, on 11 January, a letter arrived from General Girardon of Angers, describing a man who had bought a two-wheeled chariot. It was a very accurate description of Jean Carbone, who lived with the wine merchant Chevalier and whose passport stated that he was a sailor and that he also had a sister who lived with him. A person matching Limoëlano’s description sometimes stayed with him.
The police did not find them at the address where the suspects were supposed to be staying, but they found traces of gunpowder and knew they were on the right track. They arrested around 90 alleged royalists in the hope that one of them would talk. Then, in the wider Paris area, police arrested a group of five passengers, searched them and found royalist correspondence. It showed that they were trying to carry out the assassination again, but lacked the funds to do so. Was there the prospect of another bombing in Paris?
It was for the King
Meanwhile, Dubois worked tirelessly and was convinced that the perpetrators were somewhere in the Notre-Dame-des-Champs district. He decided to strike. On 18 January, the police carried out a raid. Carbone was arrested in bed at 7 a.m., questioned and identified by witnesses. After a while, he broke down and began to tell a story, giving up the address where Limoëlan was supposed to be living.
A search at another address turned up some letters written by Saint-Réjant, but he was never recovered, but the police assumed he was still in Paris. Dubois decided to close the town and no one could leave without showing their passport.
Saint-Réjant was in a quandary. Stunned by the explosion and half-blind, he took refuge in an apartment, where he was soon visited by Limoëlan. He quickly sent for a doctor and a confessor. The doctor managed to stop the bleeding, but Saint-Réjant still complained of partial loss of sight and severe stomach cramps. But the next morning he was on his feet and spent the next three weeks in his room, writing strange letters and keeping in touch with Limoëlan.
Saint-Réjant then started to run away. He wandered from one shelter to another with forged documents, but he did not stay anywhere for long. He was arrested on 28 January and identified, but he denied involvement in the assassination, saying: “If I had wanted to kill the First Consul, I would have blown his brains out, and then blown my own brains out.”
Meanwhile, Limoëlan was hiding with his uncle in the cellars of the Saint-Laurent church. What happened to him remained a mystery. An employee of the Vigier spa later told the police that he had tried in vain to save a young man who had thrown himself off a bridge into the water. The police assumed that Limoëlan had committed suicide, convinced that he was doing God’s will.
The investigation was over for the police, but the other conspirators were brought before the prosecutors in Paris, who were in charge of a jury composed of prominent citizens of Paris; a greengrocer, a street paving contractor, a butcher, an art dealer, an architect, two lawyers and an upholsterer.The jury was composed of the most prominent citizens of Paris; a greengrocer, a street paving contractor, a butcher, an art dealer, an architect, two lawyers and an upholsterer.
The trial began on 1 April 1801, with 62 witnesses appearing before the jury, and the prosecution used their testimony to the full. A shaken Carbon tried to redeem himself by bargaining for information in exchange for amnesty, admitting his role in the assassination. Saint-Réjant, however, was a tough nut. He denied everything, demanded new evidence and insisted on his innocence. But these were only the two main defendants, as the indictment also covered a whole range of other people allegedly involved in the plot; family members of the accused, friends, acquaintances and, of course, political opponents.
Carbone and Saint-Réjant were sentenced to death as the main culprits, while five other royalists were sentenced to death in absentia. Saint-Réjant asked to be executed as an officer within the next 24 hours, but his request was refused. The other defendants were sentenced to various prison terms or exile, but few were acquitted. Carbon was silent when the verdict was announced, but in his cell he demanded that his longer statement, in which he blamed the royalist leadership, be written down.
On the morning of 21 April 1801, the two prisoners were confessed, dressed in a red shirt and a black hood was tied over their heads. The executioner tied their hands and led them to their execution. When Saint-Réjant saw the execution ground, his legs could no longer support him and he had to be propped up. On the scaffold, he tried to say something to the crowd of onlookers, but he could not even get his voice out.
On the bloody steps of the morgue, Carbon cried in a weak voice: “It was for the King!” Then he fell silent. The crowd fell silent as the guillotine blade came down, then shouted loudly and joyfully.
