It has already been seen how, in certain circumstances, the First Consul always escaped from the consequences of his own precipitation, and got rid of his blunders by throwing the blame on others—­as, for example, in the affair of the parallel between Caesar, Cromwell, and Bonaparte.  He was indeed so precipitate that one might say, had he been a gardener, he would have wished to see the fruits ripen before the blossoms had fallen off.  This inconsiderate haste nearly proved fatal to the creation of the Legion of Honour, a project which ripened in his mind as soon as he beheld the orders glittering at the button-holes of the Foreign Ministers.  He would frequently exclaim, “This is well!  These are the things for the people!”

I was, I must confess, a decided partisan of the foundation in France of a new chivalric order, because I think, in every well-conducted State, the chief of the Government ought to do all in his power to stimulate the honour of the citizens, and to render them more sensible to honorary distinctions than to pecuniary advantages.  I tried, however, at the same time to warn the First Consul of his precipitancy.  He heard me not; but I must with equal frankness confess that on this occasion I was soon freed from all apprehension with respect to the consequences of the difficulties he had to encounter in the Council and in the other constituted orders of the State.

On the 4th of May 1801 lie brought forward, for the first time officially, in the Council of State the question of the establishment of the Legion of Honour, which on the 19th May 1802 was proclaimed a law of the State.  The opposition to this measure was very great, and all the power of the First Consul, the force of his arguments, and the immense influence of his position, could procure him no more than 14 votes out of 24.  The same feeling was displayed at the Tribunate; where the measure only passed by a vote of 56 to 38.  The balance was about the same in the Legislative Body, where the votes were 166 to 110.  It follows, then, that out of the 394 voters in those three separate bodies a majority only of 78 was obtained.  Surprised at so feeble a majority, the First Consul said in the evening, “Ah!  I see very clearly the prejudices are still too strong.  You were right; I should have waited.  It was not a thing of such urgency.  But then, it must be owned, the speakers for the measure defended it badly.  The strong minority has not judged me fairly.”—­ “Be calm,” rejoined I:  “without doubt it would have been better to wait; but the thing is done, and you will soon find that the taste for these distinctions is not near gone by.  It is a taste which belongs to the nature of man.  You may expect some extraordinary circumstances from this creation—­you will soon see them.”

In April 1802 the First Consul left no stone unturned to get himself declared Consul for life.  It is perhaps at this epoch of his career that he most brought into play those principles of duplicity and dissimulation which are commonly called Machiavellian.  Never were trickery, falsehood, cunning, and affected moderation put into play with more talent or success.