(1806.)
IN the June of this year I went to take the waters at Cauterets, and
remained away three months. I was in very delicate health, and needed a
respite from Court life and from the daily anxieties which were wearing
alike to mind and body. My family—that is to say, my husband, my
mother, and my children—were settled at Auteuil, whence M. de Rémusat
could easily get to Saint Cloud, and there they passed a happy and
peaceful summer. Our Court was then in solitude; the sovereigns of
Holland had taken their departure, and the members of Bonaparte’s family
had separate establishments. The Emperor was engrossed by the gathering
clouds in Europe, and was constantly at work; his wife employed her
leisure in beautifying her estate of Malmaison.
The “Moniteur” contained glowing accounts of the triumphal entries of
the princes created by Bonaparte into their respective states.
Enthusiasm was said to be at the highest at Naples, at Berg, at Baden,
and in Holland, and the populace was delighted everywhere. The speeches
of the new kings or princes, in which they treated their subjects to a
pompous panegyric of the great man whose envoys they were, were
published for our edification. It is certain that, at first, Louis
Bonaparte found favor with the Dutch. His wife shared his popularity in
it, and displayed such affability that very soon, as I heard from some
French people who accompanied them, her strange husband became jealous
of the affection she inspired.
Like his brother, Louis was intolerant of the least independence in
others. After exacting that the Queen should hold a brilliant Court, he
suddenly changed his mind, and reduced her by degrees to a very solitary
life, thus isolating her from the people over whom she too had been
appointed to reign. If I may believe the accounts I have received from
persons who could have had no motive for inventing them, he resumed his
distrustful jealousy and his system of spying, and the Queen was
constantly subjected to insult. The poor young creature, in a state of
chronic ill health and profound melancholy, perceived that it was not
her husband’s pleasure that she should share the affection he hoped to
inspire in his Dutch subjects. Sorrow had made her indifferent to such
things; she withdrew into the solitude of her palace, where she lived
almost as a prisoner, devoting herself to the arts she loved, and
indulging her excessive affection for her eldest boy. The child, who was
forward for his age, greatly loved his mother, to the extreme jealousy
of Louis. The latter would sometimes try to obtain his preference by
indulgence carried to excess; sometimes he would alarm him by outbreaks
of passion, and the boy clung the more to her, who always loved and
never frightened him. Men were found—and such as are always to be found
in courts—who, for hire, undertook to watch the Queen and report her
every action. The letters she wrote were opened, lest they might contain
any allusion to events in her husband’s dominions. She has assured me
that more than once she found her desk open and her papers upset, and
that, if she had chosen, she might have detected the King’s spies in the
act of carrying out his instructions. It was soon perceived at the Dutch
Court that to appear to be influenced in any way by the Queen was to
lose one’s own chances of favor, and on this she was immediately
forsaken. Any unfortunate person addressing himself to her, in order to
solicit a favor, would be immediately suspected; any minister conversing
with her on the most trifling matter would fall under the King’s
displeasure. The damp climate of Holland aggravated her ailments; she
fell into a state of atrophy perceptible to every one, but which the
King did not choose at first to notice. She has told me that her life at
this time was so hard and seemed so hopeless, that frequently, when
residing at one of her country-houses not far from the sea, and gazing
at the ocean stretched out before her, and English vessels blockading
the harbors, she ardently wished that some chance would bring one of
them to the coast, and that some partial invasion might be attempted, in
which she would have been made a prisoner. At last her physicians
ordered her to Aix-la-Chapelle, and the King himself, who was out of
health, resolved on taking the waters there with her.
From this time Holland began to suffer from the prohibitive system which
the Emperor imposed on everything appertaining to the Empire. It must be
conceded to Louis Bonaparte that he promptly defended the interests of
the people confided to him, and opposed the tyrannical measures forced
on him by the Imperial policy as strongly as was in his power. He bore
with firmness the Emperor’s reproaches on the subject, and resisted him
in such a manner as to gain the affection of the Dutch. In this they did
him justice.
Switzerland also was compelled to decline all trade with England, and
English goods were seized everywhere. These measures served to
strengthen the party in London who were anxious to force France into
fresh European wars at any price. Mr. Fox, who was then Prime Minister,
seemed, however, to lean toward peace, and to be willing to receive
overtures of negotiation. During the summer he was attacked by the
illness which subsequently proved fatal to him, and his influence
declined. The Russians were still contending with our troops for the
possession of certain parts of Dalmatia. The Grand Army showed no sign
of returning to France; the promised fêtes were constantly deferred.
The King of Prussia was inclined to peace, but his young and lovely
consort, as well as Prince Louis of Prussia and a part of the Court, did
all they could to incite him to war. They pointed out to him that the
future had in store the liberation of Poland, the aggrandizement of
Saxony, the danger of the Confederation of the Rhine being organized;
and it must be admitted that the Emperor’s line of conduct was a
justification for the disquiet of Europe.
English policy was by degrees regaining its influence over the Emperor
of Russia. Count Woronzoff had been sent to London, and he fell so
completely under the influence exerted over him that the Continent was
again disturbed. The Czar had sent Baron d’Oubril to Paris, to negotiate
with us, and a treaty of peace was in fact signed by him and M. de
Talleyrand on the 20th of July, but as will be seen hereafter, it was
never ratified at St. Petersburg.
About this time General Junot was made Governor of Paris.
France was in a state of profound tranquillity. Day by day the Emperor
met with less opposition. A firm, equable, and strict administration,
which was just, inasmuch as it was equal for all, regulated both the
exercise of authority and the mode of supporting it. Conscription was
rigorously enforced, but as yet the murmurs of the people were but
faint; the French had not then exhausted the sentiment of glory, as they
have done since that time, and, moreover, the brilliant possibilities of
a military career fascinated the youth of France, and they all espoused
the cause of Bonaparte. Even in the families of the nobility, who were,
on principle or from habit, in opposition, the political creed of the
fathers was less firmly held by the children, and parents were perhaps,
in their secret heart, not sorry to relax somewhat of their severity on
the plea of paternal concession. Nor was any opportunity overlooked of
indicating that the nation had returned to the natural course and order
of things.
The feast of the 15th of August having become that of St. Napoleon, the
Minister of the Interior wrote a circular letter to all the prefects,
recommending them to combine in the solemnization of the fête rejoicings
for both the birthday of the Emperor and the reëstablishment of
religion. “No holiday,” said the letter, “can inspire deeper feelings
than that in which a great people, in the pride of victory and the
consciousness of happiness, celebrates the birthday of the sovereign to
whom all its felicity and glory are to be ascribed.”
It ought to be constantly repeated, as well for the sake of nations to
come as for the sake of those who are called to reign over them, that
both peoples and kings who allow themselves to be deceived by an
appearance of calm, after the storm of a revolution, are in the wrong.
If this time of peace has not called into existence an order of things
indicated by national needs, then it is fallacious calm, a respite
resulting from circumstances—of which a clever man will indeed avail
himself, but which he will not really utilize unless he prudently
regulates the advance of those who have trusted him. Far from so acting,
Bonaparte, powerful and headstrong, opened, as it were, a long
parenthesis in the French Revolution. He always had a conviction that
this parenthesis would be closed at his death, which to him seemed the
only possible limit to his fortune.
He seized the reins of France when Frenchmen were wandering bewildered
in every direction, and were fearful that they should never reach the
goal to which they aspired. Their energies, which were vague because
they no longer ventured to undertake any kind of enterprise boldly, were
then turned into military ardor, which is the most dangerous of any,
because the most opposed to the true citizen spirit. For a long while
Bonaparte reaped the advantage of this, but he did not foresee that, in
order to rule after his fashion a nation which for a time had become
distrustful of its own strength, and which yet felt the need of a great
restoration, it was imperative that victory should always follow on war,
and that reverses must inevitably make man reflect in a direction
dangerous for himself.
He was, I believe, hurried along by the force of circumstances,
resulting from the events of every day. But he was determined to check
the growth of liberty at any cost, and to this end he directed all his
efforts. It has been frequently said, both during the Empire and after
his fall, that he understood the science of governing better than any
other man. This is the case, doubtless, if it be only understood as the
knowledge of means whereby to enforce obedience; but if the word
“science” includes “the clear and certain knowledge of a thing founded
on principles either self-evident or proved to demonstration,” then it
is certain that in Bonaparte’s system of government there was no place
for those elements which manifest the esteem of the sovereign for his
subjects. He by no means recognized the concession of certain rights
which every man who intends to rule other men for any length of time
must begin by making to them, lest, weary of their mental inaction, they
should one day claim these rights for themselves. He did not know how to
stir generous passion, or to appreciate and evoke moral virtues, and
thus to elevate himself in proportion as he aggrandized human nature.
Singular in every respect, he believed himself to be vastly superior to
the rest of the world, and nevertheless he was afraid of superiority in
others. Is there one among those who knew him well who has not heard him
say that he preferred men of second-rate abilities? Is there one who has
not remarked that when he made use of a man of talent, of whatever kind,
he would, before he felt he could trust him, find out his weak point,
and in most cases hasten to divulge it? Did he not always depreciate,
and often falsely, those whose services he employed? The truth is,
Bonaparte’s gifts, whether to the world, to nations, or to individuals,
were all bargains. These bargains, which were enforced rather than
offered, flattered the vanity of human nature, and thus for a long time
beguiled men’s minds, so that it is now hard to reduce them to bounds of
possibility and reason. Such a policy as this may certainly avail to
purchase service of every kind, but it follows that it must be based on
unvarying success. Are we to conclude from this that the French were
unpardonably guilty, because they fell into the power of such a man?
Will posterity condemn them for their imprudent trust in him? I think
not.
Bonaparte, who employed good or evil things indifferently, according as
they served his purpose, understood thoroughly that no secure
foundations can be laid in times of trouble. He therefore began by
restoring order, and it was thus he won us, poor tired wayfarers that we
were, battered by many a storm! That which he created for his own profit
only we accepted gratefully; the social order which was restored by him,
that it might become the groundwork of his despotic sway, we regarded as
the greatest of his gifts, and as the pledge of other benefits. We
believed that the man who reëstablished public morality, religion, and
civilization, who patronized art and literature, and who undertook to
reduce society to order, must have a soul capable of true greatness; and
perhaps, after all, our error, which was deplorable because it served
his purposes so long, proves the generosity of our sentiments rather
than our imprudence.
Until Prussia declared war, no event of any importance took place. In
the course of the summer Count Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador,
arrived in Paris. He occupied an important position in Europe, took part
in events of the highest importance, and finally made an enormous
fortune; but his abilities did not rise above the schemes of a
second-rate policy. At the period of which I am speaking he was young,
good-looking, and popular with women. A little later he formed an
attachment to Mme. Murat, and he retained a feeling toward her which for
a long time aided to keep her husband on the throne of Naples, and which
probably is still of service to her in her retirement.
In the month of August a decree which settled the new catechism of the
Gallican Church was promulgated. It was entitled “Bossuet’s Catechism,”
and it contained, together with doctrines taken from the works of the
Bishop of Meaux, some remarkable utterances on the duties of French
people toward their Emperor.
Page 55: “_Question._ What are the duties of Christians toward
their rulers; and what, in particular, are our duties toward
Napoleon I., our Emperor?
“_Answer._ Christians owe to the princes who govern them, and
we, in particular, owe to Napoleon I., our Emperor, love,
respect, obedience, fidelity, military service, and the tributes
ordained for the preservation and defense of the Empire and of
his throne. To honor and serve our Emperor is, therefore, to
honor and to serve God.
“_Q._ Are there any special reasons which should more strongly
attach us to our Emperor Napoleon I.?
“_A._ Yes; for it is he whom God raised up in difficult
circumstances to restore the public profession of the holy
religion of our forefathers, and to be its protector. He has
restored public order by his profound and active wisdom; he
defends the state by his powerful arm, and he has become the
anointed of the Lord through the consecration of the Sovereign
Pontiff, the Head of the Universal Church.
“_Q._ What ought we to think of such persons as may fail in
their duties toward our Emperor?
“_A._ According to the Apostle St. Paul, they would thereby be
resisting the orders of God Himself, and would become worthy of
eternal damnation.”
During Mr. Fox’s tenure of office, Bonaparte, either from private
information, or because he perceived the policy of the Prime Minister to
be opposed to that of his predecessor, flattered himself that he should
be able to conclude a treaty of peace with England. Besides the
advantages to be gained from this, his pride was always singularly
mortified that the English Government did not acknowledge him as a
sovereign. The title of “General,” which the English newspapers gave
him, always annoyed him extremely. Notwithstanding his greatness, he had
some of the weaknesses of a _parvenu_. When Fox fell ill, the “Moniteur”
announced that there was reason to fear that the gravity of his malady
might throw English policy back once more into its ordinary
complications.
Meanwhile, the design of the Confederation of the Rhine was suddenly
disclosed. In the Emperor’s grand feudal plan this was comprised: it
would increase the number of the feudatories of the French Empire, and
spread the European revolution. But if it be true that the old
institutions of the Continent have reached a point at which their
decrepitude gives irresistible warning of the necessity of their fall,
it is also true that the time has come when their fall is not to be for
the advantage of despotism. Bonaparte never ceased trying to make a
counter-revolution, solely in his own interests, against those ideas
which emerged into the light of day thirty years ago. Such an
undertaking is, happily, beyond the power of man; and we owe it to him,
at least, that his failure to accomplish that reaction settled for ever
this important question.
The grand duchies of Germany were therefore separated from the Germanic
Empire, and the Emperor of France was declared to be their protector.
The contracting parties—that is to say, the Empire and the confederated
states—engaged to take up arms in the case of war being declared on one
or the other. The contingent of the Confederation was named at 63,000
men, that of France at 200,000. The Elector Arch-Chancellor of the
Germanic Empire became Prince Primate of the Confederation; on his death
the Emperor was to nominate his successor. Moreover, the Emperor renewed
the declaration by which he bound himself not to extend the frontiers of
France above the Rhine; but, at the same time, he declared that he would
use every means to procure the freedom of the seas. This appeared in the
“Moniteur” of the 25th of July.
M. de Talleyrand had a large share in the honor of forming this
Confederation. He was in very high repute at this time. He seemed
destined to reduce the wide and ambitious projects of the Emperor to a
definite system; but, at the same time, he did not neglect the increase
to his own fortune which was to be got out of them. The German princes
paid, as a matter of course, for slight advantages obtained by them in
the arrangement; and the name of M. de Talleyrand, being always
connected with such important negotiations, became more and more
renowned throughout Europe.
One of his favorite theories, and it is one which has always seemed just
and reasonable, is that the policy of France ought to tend to the
release of Poland from a foreign yoke, and to the use of that country as
a barrier against Russia and a counterpoise to Austria. He always
exerted his influence in this direction. I have often heard him say that
the repose of all Europe depended on Poland. It would appear that the
Emperor was of the same opinion, but that he did not persevere
sufficiently in endeavoring to realize this project. Accidental
circumstances also interfered with it. He often complained of the
passionate, yet shallow, character of the Poles. “It was impossible,” he
said, “to guide them on any system.” They required special and exclusive
attention, and Bonaparte could only think of Poland occasionally.
Moreover, as it was the Emperor Alexander’s interest to obstruct French
policy in this particular, he would not have remained a quiet spectator
of efforts in any such direction; and so it happened that only a
half-hearted course was taken with respect to Poland, and all the
advantages that might have been gained were lost. However, after some
slight differences between the Russians and ourselves about the cession
of the mouths of the Cattaro, the two Emperors apparently came to terms,
and Baron d’Oubril was sent to Paris from St. Petersburg to sign a
treaty of peace.
Although the return of our army was constantly announced to us, yet it
did not take place, either because Bonaparte had already become aware of
the difficulty of keeping so large a number of soldiers in France, a
burden upon the citizens, or that he foresaw fresh disturbances in
Europe, and that the peace would be of no long duration. A kind of
bazaar for the exhibition of French industrial produce was opened on the
Place des Invalides; but the fêtes promised to the Grand Army were no
longer spoken of. This exhibition took place, and profitably occupied
the minds of the people.
In the beginning of September Jérôme Bonaparte arrived in Paris. Every
attempt which had been made on the colonies had failed, and the Emperor
gave up naval enterprise for ever. He began to plan a marriage for his
young brother with one of the European princesses, having insisted that
his first marriage should be regarded as null and void.
On creating the Confederation of the Rhine, Bonaparte had declared that
the Hanseatic towns should retain their liberty; but, whenever there was
a question of liberty, it was natural enough to believe that the
Emperor’s gift of it was in reality but a temporary loan, and his
resolutions on the subject caused great agitation in Prussian politics.
The Queen and the nobility urged the King of Prussia to war.
Consequently, during the campaign which was very shortly begun, the
former was made an object of vituperation in the bulletins, frequently
of a coarse kind. At first she was compared to Armida, who, torch in
hand, tried to raise up enemies against us. As a contrast to this
poetical comparison, a few lines farther on we find a phrase in an
utterly different style: “What a pity! for they say that the King of
Prussia is a very well-meaning man.” Bonaparte frequently said that
there is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous; this is true,
both of actions and words, when true art is neglected, and it must be
owned that he made little account of it.
Mr. Fox died in September, and the war party resumed power. The Russian
Ministry was changed; a national movement was set on foot among the
Russian nobility; the people were beginning to respond; the storm was
gathering, and it suddenly burst when the Czar refused to ratify the
treaty signed in Paris by his plenipotentiary, Baron d’Oubril. From that
moment war was inevitable. No official intimation was made, but the
matter was openly discussed.
At the beginning of the month I returned from Cauterets, and I was
enjoying the happiness of my home circle when M. de Rémusat received a
sudden order to proceed to Mayence, whither the Emperor was going a few
days later. I was deeply grieved by this fresh separation. As I enjoyed
none of those honors which offer compensation to some women even for the
sufferings of a soldier’s wife, I found it hard to resign myself to
these constantly recurring separations. I remember the Emperor asking
me, after M. de Rémusat was gone, why I looked so sad, and, when I
answered that it was because my husband had left me, he laughed at me.
“Sire,” I added, “I know nothing of the delights of heroism, and I
always meant to take out my share of glory in happiness.” He laughed
again. “Happiness?” he said. “Ah, yes! much we think of happiness in
this age.”
Before the departure for Mayence I again met M. de Talleyrand, who was
very friendly. He assured me that nothing could be better for our
prospects than that M. de Rémusat should be in attendance on the Emperor
in all his journeys; but, as he saw tears in my eyes, he spoke
seriously, and I was grateful to him for not jesting on a subject which
to me only was a real grief, but which certainly must have appeared of
slight consequence to the many wives and mothers whose husbands and sons
were leaving them for real scenes of danger. M. de Talleyrand’s natural
tact and his admirable good taste lead him to adapt his tone perfectly
to those whom he addresses; this is one of his most attractive
characteristics.
The Emperor went away suddenly on the 25th of September, without sending
any message to the Senate in explanation of his absence. The Empress,
who always parted with him unwillingly, had not been able at first to
obtain permission to accompany him, though she hoped to rejoin him
later. She, however, used such persuasion, during the last day of his
stay at Saint Cloud, that toward midnight he yielded, and she entered
his traveling carriage with him and only one attendant. The Imperial
suite did not join her until a few days later. I was no longer included
in these journeys; my health forbade. I may affirm that the Empress, who
had become accustomed to the gratification to her vanity afforded her by
ladies of a higher rank than mine seeking to join her Court, had
returned in her heart to her former friendship, and now felt real regret
at my absence. As for the Emperor, I counted for little in his eyes, and
he was right. At his Court a woman was nothing, and a woman in ill
health less than nothing.
Mme. Bonaparte told me that her husband entered upon this Prussian
campaign with some reluctance. Luxury and ease had had their natural
effect upon him, and the hardships of camp-life now affected his
imagination unpleasantly. Nor was he devoid of solicitude. The Prussian
troops were renowned; their cavalry was recognized as first-rate, while
ours as yet inspired no confidence, and our military men expected a
formidable resistance.
The prompt and unparalleled result of the battle of Jena is one of those
miracles which upset all human calculations. The victory astonished and
confounded all Europe, proved the good fortune as well as the genius of
Bonaparte, and bore witness to French valor.
He did not remain long at Mayence; the Prussians had marched into
Saxony, and it was imperative to follow them. At the opening of this
campaign the Emperor formed two new companies of gendarmes; the command
of one was given to the Vicomte de Montmorency. This was an appeal to
the nobility to take their share of glory, to nibble at the bait of a
semblance of privilege; and, in fact, a few gentlemen did join that
regiment.
During the preparations for the important coming events, it was decided
that the Empress, with those members of the Court who had accompanied
her, should remain at Mayence. M. de Rémusat was in waiting, having the
superintendence of her entire household, and M. de Talleyrand was also
to remain until further orders.
Just before the Emperor’s departure, my husband was present at a scene
which made a great impression on him. M. de Talleyrand was in the
Emperor’s cabinet, where M. de Rémusat was receiving final instructions;
it was evening, and the traveling-carriages were waiting. The Emperor
sent my husband to summon the Empress; he returned with her in a few
moments. She was weeping. Agitated by her tears, the Emperor held her
for a long time in his arms, and seemed almost unable to bid her
farewell. He was strongly moved, and M. de Talleyrand was also much
affected. The Emperor, still holding his wife to his heart, approached
M. de Talleyrand with outstretched hand; then, throwing his arms round
both at once, he said to M. de Rémusat, “It is very hard to leave the
two persons one loves best.” As he uttered these words, he was overcome
by a sort of nervous emotion, which increased to such a degree that he
wept uncontrollably, and almost immediately an attack of convulsions
ensued, which brought on vomiting. He was placed in a chair, and drank
some orange-flower water, but continued to weep for fully a quarter of
an hour. At length he mastered himself, and, rising suddenly, shook M.
de Talleyrand by the hand, gave a last embrace to his wife, and said to
M. de Rémusat: “Are the carriages ready? Call the suite, and let us go.”
When, on his return, my husband described this scene to me, it made me
feel glad. The fact that natural feeling had got the mastery over
Bonaparte always seemed to me a victory in which we were all interested.
He left Mayence on the 22d of October, at 9 P. M.
No announcement had as yet been made to the Senate, but every one
expected a formidable war. It was a national war on the part of the
Prussians, for in declaring it the King had yielded to the ardent desire
of all the nobility and a majority of the people.
Moreover, the rumors regarding the foundation of a kingdom of Poland
were disquieting to reigning sovereigns. A Northern League was in
contemplation, which was to embrace all the states not comprised in the
Confederation of the Rhine.
The young Queen had much influence with her husband, and great
confidence in Prince Louis of Prussia, who longed for an opportunity to
distinguish himself. He was brave, amiable, had great taste for the fine
arts, and had fired the youthful nobility with his own ardor. The
Prussian army, full of life and spirit, inspired complete confidence in
the new coalition; its cavalry was considered the finest in Europe. When
we remember how easily all this was dispersed, we must believe that the
leaders were very incompetent, and that the old Prince of Brunswick must
once more have misdirected the courageous soldiers confided to him.
Even at the opening of this campaign, it was easy to see that France was
weary of the uncertainty which was brought into both public and private
affairs. Discontent was visible in the expression of men’s countenances,
and it was evident that the Emperor must indeed do wonders to rekindle
feelings that were beginning to chill. In vain did the newspapers
contain articles describing the zeal with which the new conscripts came
to be enrolled in all the departments; no one was deceived by these
accounts—no one even tried to appear to be deceived. Paris fell into
the gloomy condition which war always produces in capital cities while
it lasts. The progress of our industrial pursuits was admired at the
Exhibition of which I have spoken, but curiosity alone will not stir the
heart of a nation; and, when citizens may not take the least part in
their own government, they regard the improvements in civilization which
are due to that government merely as a spectacle. We began to feel in
France that there was something mysterious in Bonaparte’s conduct toward
us. We perceived that it was not for us that he lived and acted; that
what he wanted from us was an appearance of prosperity, brilliant rather
than solid, which should surround him with fresh lustre. I recollect
writing to my husband during the campaign in the following terms: “The
situation is greatly changed; so are men’s minds: the military miracles
of this year do not produce half the effect of former ones. The
enthusiasm excited by the battle of Austerlitz is not to be aroused
now.” The Emperor himself perceived it; for, when he had returned to
Paris after the treaty of Tilsit, he said: “Military glory soon palls
upon modern nations. Fifty battles produce little more sensation than
five or six. To the French I shall always be the man of Marengo, rather
than of Jena or Friedland.”
As the Emperor’s designs on Europe increased in magnitude, it became
more and more needful for him to centralize his administration, in order
that his commands, all emanating from the same point, might be rapidly
transmitted to the proper quarters. The submission of the Senate might
be taken for granted; the importance of the Corps Législatif was
lessening every day. Bonaparte had doubtless resolved on seizing the
first pretext for ridding himself of the Tribunate, and he extended the
powers of the Council of State, which consisted of men of ability, on
whom he exercised a direct pressure. By a new decree he now appointed a
Committee for Petitions in the Council of State, which consisted of
councilors, masters of requests, and auditors. They met three times a
week, and reported to Bonaparte. MM. Molé and Pasquier, both of them
“Masters of Requests,” were members of this committee. They had entered
public life at the same period; both, although widely differing in age,
bore names well known in the magistracy; they had the same social
connections, equal zeal, and similar ambition, and they were beginning
to make themselves felt in the new Government. Meanwhile, the Emperor
already displayed a preference for M. Molé. He exercised an ascendency
over this young man, who, although naturally of a grave disposition, was
yet capable of enthusiasm. He thought he could mold his opinions in his
own way, and he partly succeeded, while he made use of the parliamentary
tendencies of M. Pasquier. “I use one,” he said sometimes, “but I
_create_ the other.” I quote these words of his to show how he was
accustomed to analyze his own conduct toward every one.
Horse-races, which had been decreed by the Emperor himself when he was
as yet only First Consul, took place in Paris in the autumn of this
year. In fact, France had come to resemble a great audience at a
theatre, before whom performances of all kinds were given on the sole
condition that hands should be raised only to applaud.
On the 4th of October the Senate was convoked. The Arch-Chancellor, as
he had done in the past, and as he was to do in the future, announced
the war in an insignificant and pompous speech. After this, he read a
letter from the Emperor, dated from headquarters, in which he stated
that the King of Prussia was the aggressor, and deplored the evil
influence that constantly disturbed the repose of France, while he
announced that the invasion of Saxony had obliged him to march rapidly
forward. This letter was accompanied by the official report of the
Minister of Foreign Affairs. He could discover no valid cause for war;
he expressed surprise that the freedom granted to the Hanseatic towns
could have given umbrage to the Prussian Government, and quoted a note
from M. de Knobelsdorff, the new envoy from Prussia.
A rumor arose that, some time previously, M. de Lucchesini, who was
devoted, it was said, to England, had alarmed the Court by _unfounded_
reports of a universal monarchy planned by the French Government. On
being informed of this, the Emperor had requested that M. de Lucchesini
should be recalled. M. de Knobelsdorff succeeded him, but no good result
ensued. The coolness between the two Cabinets increased. The Emperor
departed. The Prussian Minister received a final note from his
sovereign, demanding the immediate evacuation of the whole of Germany by
the French troops, and requiring that the ratification of this demand
should be sent to the King of Prussia’s headquarters by the 8th of
October. M. de Knobelsdorff dispatched this note to M. de Talleyrand,
then at Mayence, and it was forwarded by him to the Emperor, who had
already reached Bamberg.
The first bulletin on the opening of the campaign gives the following
account of what had taken place: “On the 7th the Emperor received
dispatches from Mayence, consisting of M. de Knobelsdorff’s note and a
letter from the King of Prussia, twenty pages long—a pamphlet, in fact,
in the style of those written to order for the English Government, by
authors hired for £500 a year. The Emperor did not read it through, and
remarked to the persons about him: ‘I am sorry for my brother, the King
of Prussia; he does not understand French. He has certainly not read
this rhapsody.’ Then he turned to Marshal Berthier: ‘Marshal, they give
us a rendezvous for the 8th; never has a Frenchman failed to keep such
an appointment. But, as it seems that a lovely Queen wishes to be a
spectator at our contest, let us be courteous, and march without delay
toward Saxony.’”
And, in fact, hostilities began on the 8th of October, 1806.
The Emperor’s proclamation to his soldiers was, like the former ones, in
a style peculiar to himself and belonging to no particular epoch.
“Let us march,” he said, “since our moderation has failed to cure them
of their astounding folly. Let the Prussian army meet the same fate as
that which befell it fourteen years ago. Let them learn that if it is
easy to acquire an increase of territory and of power by means of the
friendship of a great nation, so its enmity, which can only be incurred
by forsaking all wisdom and reason, is more terrible than the storms of
ocean.”
At the same time, the King of Holland returned to the Hague, in order to
assemble the States, and to ask them to pass a law enacting the payment
in advance of one year’s land-tax. Having obtained this, he moved his
headquarters to the frontier. Thus, the Dutch, to whom a long
continuation of prosperity, in return for the surrender of their
liberty, had been promised, were from the very first threatened with
war, and had to endure a double taxation and a blockade of the
continent, which destroyed their trade.
Mme. Louis Bonaparte joined her brother at Mayence, and seemed to
breathe freely when once more among her own people. The young Princess
of Baden also came to Mayence; there was still, at this time, a great
coolness between her husband and herself. The Empress received a visit
from the Prince Primate and from some of the sovereigns belonging to the
Confederation. Her life at Mayence was very bright and stirring; many
distinguished personages came thither to pay their respects to her. She
would have preferred to follow the Emperor, but, when she wrote asking
leave to join him, he answered: “I am not able to send for you here. I
am the slave of the nature of things and the force of circumstances; we
must wait until they decide.”
The Empress, who was very anxious now that her husband was about to
incur fresh risks, had no friend among her court circle to sympathize
affectionately with her. In her suite were several ladies who belonged
by their very names to memories which they claimed a right to retain at
the new Court; and they took leave to disapprove of the war, and
especially to express an interest which was natural enough in the
beautiful Queen. She soon became an object of attack in each successive
bulletin. The death of Prince Louis of Prussia, with whom some of the
ladies-in-waiting during the time of their emigration had been
acquainted, was also much lamented by them, and a sort of disdainful
opposition formed itself around our Empress, of which Mme. de la
Rochefoucauld took the lead.
M. de Rémusat, who had the superintendence of this miniature Court,
became the recipient of the complaints of the Empress, who, having
nothing serious to occupy her, was annoyed by foolish and vain speeches
which she ought to have despised. He advised her to pay no attention to
these vexations, and by no means to mention them to the Emperor, who
would make them of more importance than was at all desirable. Mme.
Bonaparte, however, wrote all the history to her husband, and
subsequently M. de Talleyrand, who was present during these little
storms which might have been so easily dispersed, thought to amuse the
Emperor with a description of them. Bonaparte did not regard the matter
in a harmless light. I have dwelt on this in order, later on, to explain
what came of it to ourselves personally.
Meanwhile, a life so trivial and so empty was wearisome to my husband.
He amused himself by learning German, in order, as he wrote to me, “at
least to occupy a portion of each day usefully.” He took increasing
pleasure in the society of M. de Talleyrand, who treated him with
confidence and warm friendship. Whenever the slightest appearance of
feeling is attributed to M. de Talleyrand, one is obliged to put the
statement with strong affirmation, because it will inevitably be
received with doubt. The world judges him with severity, or at least too
sweepingly. I know him to be capable of affection, and I venture to say
that, had he been altogether deceitful, I could not have become so
sincerely attached to him.
During this time I was living very quietly in Paris with my mother, my
sister, and my children. Some distinguished people came to my house;
also a number of literary men, who were attracted thither by my
husband’s authority over the theatres. Princess Caroline only (Duchess
of Berg) required any court to be paid to her. She lived at the Elysée
with a certain amount of state; people waited on her as they did on the
Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès. Occasional visits had to be paid to the
ministers, but the remainder of one’s time was one’s own. News from the
seat of war was received without enthusiasm, but not without interest,
because every family was more or less connected with the army.
The knowledge that every drawing-room was watched by the police
prevented all serious conversation; every one was engrossed by secret
anxieties and a sort of isolation, which was just what the Emperor
wished, was the result.
Nevertheless, a little incident happened during the campaign which
amused all Paris for several weeks. On the 23d of October Cardinal Maury
was chosen—by that class of the Institute which has received the name
of the French Academy—to succeed M. Target. When the day for his
reception drew near, some one raised the question whether he should be
addressed as _Monseigneur_, and a great commotion ensued. Before the
Revolution a similar discussion had occurred on the same subject.
D’Alembert and the three members of the Academy had pleaded for the
rights of equality in the sanctuary of letters; but the Academy, having
in 1806 become “the Right,” was disposed to grant the title of
_Monseigneur_, in opposition to the party headed by Regnault de St. Jean
d’Angely, his brother-in-law Arnault, Chénier, etc. The discussion ran
so high, the Cardinal declared so positively that he would not present
himself unless he were to be addressed according to his rank, the
difficulty of arriving with due freedom at any decision was so great,
that it was determined to refer the matter to the Emperor himself, and
this foolish dispute was actually brought before him on the
battle-field. Meanwhile, whenever the Cardinal met any of the members of
the Institute who were hostile to him, he attacked them. On one occasion
he met M. Regnault dining at Mme. Murat’s, and an amusing
passage-at-arms, at which I was present, took place between them. Almost
at the very beginning of the conversation, the Cardinal requested M.
Regnault to go into another room, to which M. Regnault consented,
provided that some of the other guests would accompany him. The
Cardinal, who was annoyed, began to get excited. “You do not recollect,
then, sir,” he said, “that at the Constituent Assembly I called you
_little boy_.” “That is no reason,” replied M. Regnault, “why we should
give you a token of respect at the present day.” “If my name were
Montmorency,” returned the Cardinal, “I could afford to laugh at you;
but I owe to my abilities only my elevation to the Academy, and, if I
yielded the point of _Monseigneur_, the next day you would treat me as
an equal.” M. Regnault reminded us that once only had the French Academy
consented to use the title of _Monseigneur_, and that then it was in
favor of Cardinal Dubois, who was received by Fontenelle. “But,” he
added, “times are greatly changed.” I must own that, looking at Cardinal
Maury, I ventured to think men were not so much altered. Finally the
discussion became hot; it was reported to the Emperor, who sent orders
to the academicians to address the Cardinal as _Monseigneur_. On this
everybody immediately submitted, and we heard no more about it.