they attacked Flushing, the principal place in the neighbourhood, by land and sea. On the 15th of August, the place surrendered, and its garrison, four or five thousand men strong, were sent prisoners of war to England. But here the success of the British ended. The French, who had at first been very much alarmed, had time to recover from their consternation. Fouché, then at the head of the police, and it may be said of the government, (for he exercised for the time the power of minister of the interior,) showed the utmost readiness in getting under arms about 40,000 national guards, to replace the regular soldiers, of which the Low Countries had been drained. In awakening the military ardour of the citizens of France, in which he succeeded to an unusual degree, Fouché made use of these expressions: – "Let Europe see, that if the genius of Napoleon gives glory to France, still his presence is not necessary to enable her to repel her enemies from her soil." This phrase expressed more independence than was agreeable to Napoleon, and was set down as intimating a self-sufficiency, which counterbalanced the services of the minister.3
Neither did Fouché's selection of a military chief to command the new levies, prove more acceptable. Bernadotte, whom we have noticed as a general of republican fame, had been, at the time of Buonaparte's elevation, opposed to his interests, and attached to those of the Directory. Any species of rivalry, or pretence of dispute between them, was long since ended; yet still Bernadotte was scarce accounted an attached friend of the Emperor, though he was in some sort connected with the house of Napoleon, having married a sister-in-law of Joseph, the intrusive King of Spain4. In the campaign of Vienna, which we have detailed, Bernadotte, (created Prince of Ponte Corvo,) commanded a division of Saxons, and had incurred Buonaparte's censure more than once, and particularly at the battle of Wagram, for the slowness of his movements. The Prince of Ponte Corvo came, therefore, to Paris in a sort of disgrace, where Fouché, in conjunction with Clarke, the minister at war, invited him to take on himself the defence of Antwerp. Bernadotte hesitated to accept the charge; but having at length done so, he availed himself of the time afforded by the English to put the place in a complete state of defence, and assembled within, and under its walls, above thirty thousand men. The country was inundated by opening the sluices; strong batteries were erected on both sides of the Scheldt, and the ascending that river became almost impossible.5
The British naval and military officers also disagreed among themselves, as often happens where difficulties multiply, and there appears no presiding spirit to combat and control them. The final objects of the expedition were therefore abandoned; the navy returned to the English ports, and the British forces were concentrated – for what reason, or with what expectation, it is difficult to see – in that fatal conquest, the isle of Walcheren. Among the marshes, stagnant canals, and unwholesome trenches of this island, there broods continually, a fever of a kind deeply pestilential and malignant, and which, like most maladies of the same description, is more destructive to strangers than to the natives, whose constitutions become by habit proof against its ravages. This dreadful disease broke out among our troops with the force of a pestilence, and besides the numerous victims who died on the spot, shattered, in many cases for ever, the constitution of the survivors. The joy with which Napoleon saw the army of his enemy thus consigned to an obscure and disgraceful death, broke out even in his bulletins, as if the pestilence under which they fell had been caused by his own policy, and was not the consequence of the climate, and of the ill-advised delay which prevented our soldiers being withdrawn from it. "We are rejoiced," he said, in a letter to the minister at war, "to see that the English have packed themselves in the morasses of Zealand. Let them be only kept in check, and the bad air and fevers peculiar to the country will soon destroy their army." At length, after the loss of more lives than would have been wasted in three general battles, the fortifications of Flushing were blown up, and the British forces returned to their own country.6
The evil consequences of this expedition did not end even here. The mode in which it had been directed and conducted, introduced dissensions into the British Cabinet, which occasioned the temporary secession of one of the most able and most eloquent of its members, Mr. George Canning, who was thus withdrawn from public affairs when his talents could be least spared by the country. On the other hand, the appointment of Marquis Wellesley to the situation of secretary at war, gave, in the estimation of the public, a strong pledge that the efficient measures suggested by the talents of that noble statesman, would be supported and carried through by his brother Sir Arthur, to whom alone, as a general, the army and the people began to look with hope and confidence.
While England was thus exerting herself, Buonaparte, from the castle of Schoenbrun, under the walls of Vienna, was deciding the fate of the continent on every point where British influence had no means of thwarting him. One of the revolutions which cost him little effort to accomplish, yet which struck Europe with surprise, by the numerous recollections which it excited, was his seizure of the city of Rome, and the territories of the Church, and depriving the Pope of his character of a temporal prince.
It must be allowed, by the greatest admirers of Napoleon, that his policy, depending less upon principle than upon existing circumstances, was too apt to be suddenly changed, as opportunity or emergency seemed to give occasion. There could, for example, be scarce a measure of his reign adopted on more deep and profound consideration than that of the Concordat, by which he re-established the national religion of France, and once more united that country to the Catholic Church. In reward for this great service, Pope Pius VII., as we have seen, had the unusual complaisance to cross the Alps, and visit Paris, for the sake of adding religious solemnity, and the blessing of St. Peter's successor, to the ceremony of Napoleon's coronation. It might have been thought that a friendship thus cemented, and which, altogether essential to the safety of the Pope, was far from indifferent to the interests of Buonaparte, ought to have subsisted undisturbed, at least for some years. But the Emperor and Pontiff stood in a suspicious attitude with respect to each other. Pius VII. felt that he had made, in his character of chief of the Church, very great concessions to Napoleon, and such as he could hardly reconcile to the tenderness of his own conscience. He, therefore, expected gratitude in proportion to the scruples which he had surmounted, while Buonaparte was far from rating the services of his Holiness so high, or sympathizing with his conscientious scruples.
Besides, the Pope, in surrendering the rights of the Church in so many instances, must have felt that he was acting under motives of constraint, and in the character of a prisoner; for he had sacrificed more than had been yielded by any prelate who had held the see of Rome, since the days of Constantine. He may therefore have considered himself, not only as doubly bound to secure what remained of the authority of his predecessors, but even at liberty, should opportunity offer, to reclaim some part of that which he had unwillingly yielded up. Thus circumstanced in respect to each other, Pius VII. felt that he had done more in complaisance to Buonaparte than he could justify to his conscience; while Napoleon, who considered the reunion of France to Rome, in its spiritual relations, as entirely his own work, thought it of such consequence as to deserve greater concessions than his Holiness had yet granted.
The Pope, on his first return to Italy, showed favourable prepossessions for Napoleon, whom he commemorated in his address to the College of Cardinals, as that mighty Emperor of France, whose name extended to the most remote regions of the earth; whom Heaven had used as the means of reviving religion in France, when it was at the lowest ebb; and whose courtesies towards his own person, and compliance with his requests, merited his highest regard and requital. Yet Napoleon complained, that subsequent to this period, Pius VII. began by degrees to receive counsel from the enemies of France, and that he listened to advisers, who encouraged him to hold the rights of the Church higher than the desire to gratify the Emperor. Thus a suppressed and unavowed, but perpetual struggle took place, and was carried on betwixt the Emperor and the Pope; the former desirous to extend and consolidate his recent authority, the latter to defend what remained of the ancient privileges of the Church.
It is probable, however, that, had there been only spiritual matters in discussion between them, Napoleon would have avoided an open rupture with the Holy Father, to which he was conscious much scandal would attach. But in the present situation of Italy, the temporal states of the Pope furnished a strong temptation for his ambition.