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MEMOIRS
OF THE
PRIVATE LIFE,
RETURN, AND REIGN
OF
NAPOLEON
IN 1815.
_Ingrata patria, ne ossa quidem habes._ SCIPIO.
BY M. FLEURY DE CHABOULON,
Ex-Secretary of the Emperor Napoleon and of his Cabinets,
Master of Requests to the Council of State, Baron, Officer
of the Legion of Honour, and Knight of the Order of Reunion.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
1820.
TO THE READER.
The revolution of the 20th of March will form unquestionably the most
remarkable episode in the life of Napoleon, so fertile as it is in
supernatural events. It has not been my intention, to write the
history of it: this noble task is above my powers: I have only
attempted, to place Napoleon on the stage of action, and oppose his
words, his deeds, and the truth, to the erroneous assertions of
certain historians, the falsehoods of the spirit of party, and the
insults of those timeserving writers, who are accustomed to insult in
misfortune those, to whom they have subsequently paid court.
Hitherto people have not been able to agree on the motives and
circumstances, that determined the Emperor, to quit the island of
Elba. Some supposed, that he had acted of his own accord: others, that
he had conspired with his partisans the downfal of the Bourbons. Both
these suppositions are equally false. The world will learn with
surprise, perhaps with admiration, that this astonishing revolution
was the work of two individuals and a few words.
The narrative of Colonel Z***, so valuable from the facts it reveals,
appears to me to merit the reader's attention in other respects. On
studying it carefully, we find in it the exhibition of those defects,
those qualities, those passions, which, confounded together, form the
character, so full of contrasts, of the incomprehensible Napoleon. We
perceive him alternatively mistrustful and communicative, ardent and
reserved, enterprising and irresolute, vindictive and generous,
favourable to liberty and despotic. But we see predominant above all,
that activity, that strength, that ardour of mind, those brilliant
inspirations, and those sudden resolves, that belong only to
extraordinary men, to men of genius.
The conferences I had at Bale with the mysterious agent of Prince
Metternich have remained to this day buried in profound secrecy. The
historians, who have preceded me, relate, without any explanation,
that the Duke of Otranto laid before the Emperor, at the moment of his
abdication, a letter from M. de Metternich; and that this letter,
artfully worded, had determined Napoleon to abdicate, in the hope that
the crown would devolve to his son. The particulars given in these
Memoirs will entirely change the ideas formed of this letter, and of
its influence. They confirm the opinion too, pretty generally
prevalent, that the allied sovereigns deemed the restoration of the
Bourbons of little importance, and would willingly have consented, to
place the young Prince Napoleon on the throne.
It had been supposed, that the famous decree, by which Prince de
Talleyrand and his illustrious accomplices were sent before the courts
of justice, was issued at Lyons in the first burst of a fit of
vengeance. It will be seen, that it was the result of a plan simply
political: and the noble resistance, which General Bertrand (now
labouring under a sentence of death) thought it his duty to oppose to
this measure, will add, if it be possible, to the high esteem, merited
on so many accounts by this faithful friend to the unfortunate.
The writings published previously to this work, equally contain
nothing but inaccurate or fabulous reports, with regard to the
abdication of Napoleon. Certain historians have been pleased, to
represent Napoleon in a pitious state of despondency: others have
depicted him as the sport of the threats of M. Regnault St. Jean
d'Angely, and of the artifices of the Duke of Otranto. These Memoirs
will show, that Napoleon, far from having fallen into a state of
weakness, that would no longer permit him to wield the sceptre,
aspired, on the contrary, to be invested with a temporary
dictatorship, and that, when he consented to abdicate, it was because
the energetic attitude of the representatives disconcerted him, and he
yielded to the fear of adding the calamities of a civil war to the
disasters of a foreign invasion.
It was perfectly unknown too, that Napoleon was detained a prisoner at
Malmaison after his abdication. It was presumed, that he deferred his
departure, in the hope of being replaced at the head of the army and
of the government. These Memoirs will show, that this hope, if it
dwelt within the breast of Napoleon, was not the real motive of his
stay in France; and that he was detained there by the committee of
government, till the moment when, honour outweighing all political
considerations, it obliged Napoleon to depart, to prevent his falling
into the hands of Blucher.
The negotiations and conferences of the French plenipotentiaries with
the enemy's generals; the proceedings of the Prince of Eckmuhl; the
intrigues of the Duke of Otranto; the efforts of those members of the
committee, who remained faithful to their trust; the debates on the
capitulation of Paris, and all the collateral facts, connected with
these different circumstances, had been totally misrepresented; These
Memoirs establish or unfold the truth. They bring to light the conduct
of those members of the committee, who were supposed to be the dupes
or accomplices of Fouche; and that of the marshals, the army, and the
chambers. They contain also the correspondence of the plenipotentiaries,
and the instructions given to them; documents hitherto unpublished,
which will make known, what the politics and wishes of the government
of France at that time were.
Finally I shall observe, in order to complete the account I think it
right to give the reader of the substance of this work, that it
furnishes elucidations of the campaign of 1815, the want of which has
been imperiously felt. The causes, that determined Napoleon, to
separate from his army at Laon, were not known: I point them out.
General Gourgaud, in his narrative, could give no explanation of the
march of the corps of Count Erlon at the battle of Ligny, of the
conduct of Marshal Ney on the 16th, of the inactivity of Napoleon on
the 17th, &c. All these points, I believe, I have elucidated. I show
also, that it was not, as General Gourgaud and other writers assert,
to raise the spirits, and excite the courage of the French army, that
its leader announced to it the arrival of Marshal Grouchy. It is a
certain fact, that Napoleon was himself deceived by a brisk firing,
which took place between the Prussians and Saxons; and it is falsely,
that he has been charged with having knowingly deceived his soldiers,
at a moment when the laws of war and of humanity presented to him, to
think rather of a retreat, than of continuing the battle.
I had at first rejected from these Memoirs such official papers, as
had already been made known: but have since thought, that they ought
to be inserted. This work, which embraces all the events of the reign
of a Hundred Days, would be imperfect, if the reader were obliged to
refer to the papers of the day; to read or consult the act of the
congress of Vienna, that placed the Emperor Napoleon out of the pale
of the law of nations; the Additional Act, which occasioned his loss
of popularity; and the eloquent speeches and nervous declarations by
which Napoleon, his ministers, and his counsellors, sought to explain
and justify the 20th of March. I have thought, besides, that perhaps
the reader would not find it uninteresting, to witness the contests
exhibited, at that important period, between the legitimacy of
nations and the legitimacy of sovereigns.
The colours under which I represent Napoleon, the justice I do him for
the purity of his intentions, will not please all the world. Many
persons, who would blindly have believed any ill I could say of the
ancient sovereigns of France, will give little credit to my eulogies:
they are wrong: if praises lavished on power be suspicious, those
bestowed on the unfortunate will be true; to doubt them would be
sacrilege.
Neither can I conceal from myself, that the men, who, from principle,
see nothing but a hateful conspiracy in the revolution of the 20th of
March, will accuse me of having embellished facts, and designedly
distorted the truth. No matter: I have depicted this revolution as I
saw it, as I felt it. How many others are pleased, to tarnish the
honour of the nation, to represent their countrymen as composed of
rebels or cowards! For my part, I think it the duty of a good
Frenchman, to prove to all Europe, that the king was not guilty of
abandoning France:
That the insurrection of the 20th of March was not the work of a few
factious persons, who might have been repressed; but a grand national
act, against which the efforts and volitions of individuals would have
been vain:
That the royalists were not cowards, and all other Frenchmen traitors:
Lastly, that the return from the island of Elba was the terrible
consequence of the faults of ministers and the ultras, which called to
France the man of fate, as the conductor draws down the lightning from
heaven.
This sentiment naturally led me, to conclude these Memoirs by a
philosophical examination of the Hundred Days, and a refutation of the
reproaches daily bestowed on the men of the 20th of March: but
considerations, easy to divine, held my pen. It was my duty, to
content myself with placing a statement of the facts before the eyes
of the grand jury, the public, and leave it to decide. I know, that
the question has been determined in the fields of Waterloo; but a
victory is not a judicial sentence.
Whatever opinion the impartial reader may form of this work, I can
protest beforehand, that I have not allowed myself to be influenced by
any private consideration, by any feeling of hatred, affection, or
gratitude. I have followed no impulse but that of my conscience, and I
may say with Montaigne: "This is an honest book."
Too young to have participated in the errors or crimes of the
revolution, I began and ended my political career without blot, and
without reproach. The places, titles, and decorations, which the
Emperor deigned to bestow on me, were the reward of several acts of
great devotion to his service, and of twelve years of trials and
sacrifices. Never did I receive from him any favours or gifts: I
entered his service rich, I quitted it poor.
When Lyons opened to him its gates, I was free: I spontaneously
embraced his cause: it appeared to me, as to the immense number of
Frenchmen, that of liberty, honour, and our country. The laws of
Solon declared infamous those, who took no part in civil troubles. I
followed their maxims. If the misfortunes of the 20th of March must
fall on the heads of the guilty, these guilty, I repeat, will not be
in the eye of posterity, the Frenchmen who abandoned the royal
standard, to return to the ancient colours of their country; but those
imprudent and senseless men, who, by their threats, their acts of
injustice, and their outrages, compelled us to choose between
insurrection and slavery, between honour and infamy.
During the Hundred Days, there was no person to whom I did an ill
turn; frequently I had an opportunity of doing good, and seized it
with joy.
Since the return of the regal government, I have lived tranquil and
solitary; and, whether from forgetfulness, or from a sense of justice,
I escaped in 1815 the persecutions, which the partisans and servants
of Napoleon experienced.
This explanation, or this apology, appeared to me necessary: it is
right the reader should know, who it is that addresses him.
I could have wished, to abstain from speaking of the royal government
in the first part of this work: but it was impossible. It was
necessary for me, prominently to exhibit the errors and faults of the
king's ministers one by one, to render evident this truth, _that they
were the sole authors of the 20th of March_. When elsewhere, as here,
I say the government, I mean not to designate the King, but his
ministers. In a constitutional monarchy, in which the ministers are
responsible, we cannot, and ought not to confound them with the King.
"It is from the King," said the keeper of the seals, when he proposed
to the deputies of the nation the project of a law on the
responsibility of ministers, "that every act of equity, protection,
and clemency, and every regular employment of power, emanates: it is
to the ministers alone, that abuses, injustice, and misconduct, are to
be imputed."
MEMOIRS,
&c. &c.
Until the close of the Spanish war, Napoleon, whether as the First
Consul of the Republic, or as the Chief of the Empire, had never
ceased to be the object of the love, the pride, and the confidence of
the people. But the multitude neither judge, nor can judge of the
actions of their rulers but from appearances which often mislead them
in their judgment; and the loyalty of the nation then became
enfeebled. The conduct of Napoleon was stigmatized as a series of
hateful aggressions; the war, as an unjustifiable act of violence.
Disaffection increased. Napoleon was assailed by the anger of his
subjects, and, for the first time, they upbraided him with having
spilt their blood, and wasted their riches, in gratifying his vain and
culpable ambition.
At this juncture the public mind became absorbed in the contemplation
of the invasion of Russia, and the general discontent was withdrawn
from the events which had taken place in the peninsula.
Our arms were crowned with good fortune and glory at the commencement
of the Russian war; but that conflict was ended by a catastrophe which
has no parallel in the annals of the world.
The Emperor, who escaped almost alone from the perils of the campaign,
returned to the capital. His countenance was that of a hero who defies
adversity. But his firmness was deemed to be the result of heartless
insensibility. Instead of inspiring the people with hope, it
embittered their feelings. Louder murmurs broke forth; their
indignation expressed itself with greater emphasis. Yet such was the
enthusiasm which was even then inspired by the proud recollections of
the triumphs of Napoleon, that France, blushing for her disgrace,
implored him to win new victories. Armies formed themselves as if by
enchantment, and Napoleon stood again in the midst of Germany, more
terrible than ever.
After we had conquered at Lutzen, at Bautzen, and at Dresden, the
battle of Leipsic was fought[1]. Never before that day had we been
doomed to witness our national armies flying before the enemy. The
scattered wrecks of our battalions, which had been created by the last
hope, by the last effort of our country, at length reached our
frontiers. But our soldiers were no longer the vigorous and resolute
warriors of France; they were bowed down by want, toil, and
humiliation. Soon afterwards they were followed by wandering trains of
military carriages, loaded with diseased and wounded wretches, who
festered beneath the corpses amongst which they were heaped, and who
at once absorbed and diffused the germs of pestilence and contagion.
Even the firmest minds now yielded to despair; and the grief
occasioned by the havoc now made amongst our defenders renewed the
sorrows of the mothers and the wives of those who erewhile had
perished in Russia and in Spain. Curses upon Napoleon, the author of
all these evils, resounded from side to side of the empire.
[Footnote 1: The misfortunes of that eventful day,
and of the remainder of the campaign, were caused
by the treachery of the Saxons and the defection of
the Princes of the Confederation of the Rhine.]
As long as good fortune waited upon Napoleon, his most ambitious
attempts commanded the applauses of the nation. We boasted of his
profound political wisdom, we extolled his genius, we worshipped his
courage. When his fortune changed, then his political wisdom was
called treachery, his genius, ambition, and his courage,
fool-hardiness and infatuation.
Napoleon was not to be depressed by ingratitude or misfortune. He
re-assembled the feeble fragments of his armies, and proclaimed aloud
that he would conquer or die at the head of his soldiery. This
resolution only produced a momentary impression. The French, who so
lately believed that the happiness and salvation of France depended
only upon the life of Napoleon, now coolly considered that his death,
the fate which he was prepared to encounter, afforded the only means
of putting an end to the calamities of war, for peace otherwise
appeared unattainable.
Napoleon departed. He achieved prodigies, but to no effect. National
spirit no longer existed, and the nation had gradually sunk into that
state of insensibility so fatal to sovereigns, when the public mind
has no perception of their dangers, and abandons them to their
destiny.
France was thus affected when Napoleon consented to divest himself of
his crown[2]. The apathy of the nation drove him to this extremity;
for it deprived him of the means either of carrying on the war, or of
making peace.
[Footnote 2: Napoleon, according to the common
report, was frequently heard to repeat, after his
abdication, "I have been ruined by liberal ideas."
I do not think that he ever expressed himself in
this manner. I do not intend to doubt the
irresistible force which liberal ideas have now
acquired; but I do not think, that they contributed
to effect the first downfal of the imperial throne.
Nobody thought about liberal ideas at that period.
France had been trained to the government of
Napoleon, and his despotism gave rise to no
complaints. She was not free in the manner
according to which the nation now wishes to enjoy
liberty. But the liberty which France then
possessed was enough for the French. Napoleon would
often exercise unlimited authority, but the country
had only one master, and _he_ was the master of
all. If it is true that the French abandoned
Napoleon in 1814, it was not because we were tired
of Napoleon or discontented with his government,
but because the nation was exhausted, discouraged,
and demoralized by an uninterrupted succession of
calamitous wars. The people would still have been
delighted to obey him, but they had neither
strength nor soul.
The real causes of the downfal of Napoleon are to
be found in his hatred towards England, and in the
continental system, which resulted from that
hatred. This gigantic system, which oppressed all
Europe, could not fail to raise the entire
continent against Napoleon and France, and thus to
bring on the ruin of both. "Rome," as it is said by
Montesquieu, "extended her empire because her wars
only followed in succession. Each nation, such was
her inconceivable good fortune, waited till another
had been conquered, before beginning the attack."
Rome fell as soon as all the nations assailed and
penetrated on every side.]
Hostilities ended with the abdication of Napoleon. The people of
Paris, who had scarcely recovered from the panic with which they were
struck by the marauding hordes of Russia, displayed the most
extravagant gladness when they thought that they were delivered from
the visitation, which again threatened them in the presence of the
allies and the imperial army.
The neighbouring departments, which the enemy prepared to invade,
rejoiced on being relieved from impending pillage and devastation.
The departments which had been occupied by the enemy were intoxicated
with joy, when they anticipated the termination of their sufferings.
Thus almost all the people of France turned away from their discarded
sovereign. And they abandoned themselves to joy when they thought that
they were delivered from the scourge of war, and that they could hope
to enjoy the blessings of peace.
It was in the midst of this pouring out of the spirit of selfishness,
that the senate raised the brother of Louis XVI. to the throne. His
election was not in conformity to the expectations of the people, and
it disappointed the wishes which had been uttered in favour of the
Empress and her son; yet the choice of the senate was but slightly
opposed, because the recall of Louis seemed to be necessarily the
pledge of peace. And peace was more the object of the public wish than
any other thing. Besides which, the Bourbons followed the wise
counsels which had been given to them. They lost no time in issuing
their proclamations, couched in fair language, in order to calm the
fears and diminish the antipathies excited by their recall.
"We will guarantee," said they, "the rank, the honours, and the
rewards of the military.
"The magistracy and all public functionaries shall retain their
offices and their pre-eminence.
"To the people we promise a total oblivion of their political conduct;
and we will maintain them in the full enjoyment of their civil rights,
their property, and their social institutions."
The French nation, whose confidence is so easily abused, considered
these promises as sacred and inviolable, and they delighted in
repeating the happy reply of the Count of Artois[3], "Il n'y aura rien
de change en France, il n'y aura que quelques Francais de plus."
They, the men, who had banished the imperial dynasty, laboured to
foster the growing confidence of the nation. The press was brought
into full play, and the country teemed with publications in which they
represented the sovereign whom they had brought in, as invested with
those attributes which were calculated to conciliate the nation. The
public were carefully informed, that the king "opened and read all the
dispatches himself. It is he who dictates every answer. Where it
becomes necessary to meet the ministers of foreign powers, he
transacts business with them; he receives the reports of their
missions, which he answers either by word of mouth, or in writing. In
short, he alone directs all the concerns of the government, both at
home and abroad. If his virtues and goodness are such as to cause the
French to know that they will now find a kind and affectionate father
in their King, they may also look with confidence to the future fate
of the nation, relying on his brilliant information, his strength of
character, and his aptitude for business[4]."
[Footnote 3: He arrived at Paris before his august
brother, and by these pleasing expressions he
replied to the addresses of congratulation
presented to him by the municipality of Paris.]
[Footnote 4: Extracted from the Journal des Debats.
The principal proprietor and editor of this paper
was Monsieur Laborie, one of Talleyrand's
creatures, and private secretary to the provisional
government.]
Thus the people congratulated themselves, when they were assured that
their Chief Magistrate was an enlightened sovereign, a kind sovereign,
an equitable sovereign, and one who was determined not to allow the
guiding reins of the state to slip from his paternal hands into those
of his ministers. Our lively imagination gave us a present enjoyment
of the blessings, which, as we anticipated, would hereafter be
diffused over the kingdom by his goodness, his prudence, and his
acquirements. If this glowing vision of hope and loyalty was slightly
dimmed by a few secret doubts, such misgivings were checked and
repelled by the name of our native country; nay, by the name of the
Emperor himself. For when Napoleon bade farewell to his trusty
soldiers, it was in these words: "Be faithful to the new sovereign of
France; do not rend asunder our beloved and long-suffering land."
These circumstances (nor must the charm of novelty be excluded) united
in favour of the king, and won every head and every heart. He
appeared--he was received with acclamations of love and gladness,
which resounded until he entered the palace of his forefathers.
No counter revolution ever effected the change of a royal dynasty,
under such favourable auspices.
The French nation felt jaded by civil dissensions, by misfortune--even
their victories had weaned them. They longed for the happiness of
repose. Memorable were the words of the king's brother; "let us forget
the past, let us look only towards the future, let us all unite in the
good work of labouring to heal the wounds of our common country;" and
these honoured precepts had become implanted in every mind. They
formed the canon of all our feelings and all our duties.
As long as the machinery of the new government did not begin to work,
this loyal harmony subsisted, and no longer. For when it became
necessary to settle the organization of the army, the ministry, and
the magistracy, then self-love gained an easy victory over patriotism,
and the bad passions, pride, ambition, and party-hatred, roused
themselves from their slumber.
During a quarter of a century, our emigrants had sojourned in a
strange country. Useless and troublesome guests to the strangers by
whom they were fed, their lives had been droned away in shameless and
cowardly idleness. They could not cheat themselves into a belief that
they possessed the talents and experience of the sons of the
revolution. But they imagined that nobility, as in the old time, might
pass for worth; and that their patents and pedigrees still gave them
a right to monopolize all power and all honour.
The citizens, the soldiers, the nation, relied on the lawfulness of
their rights no less than on the promises of the king. The members of
the old privileged caste, instead of exciting suspicion, were only the
objects of harmless mirth. The people laughed at the grotesque
appearance of some, and at the decrepit sottishness of others. They
never dreamed that these pretended warriors, whose bloodless swords
had rusted in their scabbards, would attempt to snatch the staff of
command from the veteran generals of France; and that nobles who had
grown old in sloth and ignorance would aspire to the direction of
public affairs.
But though merit and valour were denied to them, they stood upon a
vantage ground, which gave them a direful and incalculable
preponderance in the state. They surrounded the throne. Soon did their
insolence announce that they had craftily availed themselves of the
advantages which they possessed; and we foresaw with affliction that
inveterate prejudice, malignant prepossessions, and old habits of
familiarity, would, sooner or later, crush the principles of justice
and equity, however solemnly proclaimed.
The emigrants, rendered arrogant by the prospects which opened upon
them, now treated their rivals with contemptuous disdain. They dared
not insult the defenders of our country face to face, because the
scars of the warriors scared them. But they were spitefully active in
disparaging their birth, their services, and their glory, and these
noble retainers of royalty took care to impress the soldiers of
Napoleon with a due sense of the width of the gulf which was
henceforth to separate a gentleman of good family, from an upstart
soldier of the revolution.
The women of the _ancien regime_ did not share in the timidity which,
to a certain degree, still restrained their husbands. They threw off
all decency and all reserve, and indulged in all the fury of their
spite and pride. Without attempting to disguise their sentiments, they
openly insulted the titled dames belonging to the new nobility, and
such of the latter as were compelled to go to court on account of the
situations held by their husbands, never entered the saloon without
dread, and never quitted it without being bathed in tears.
Uneasy, harassed, and discontented, the people implored the fulfilment
of the king's promises: they prayed with confidence; but the
government heard them not, and repulsed them harshly. The Doge of
Genoa, speaking of Louis XIV, said, "his majesty steals our hearts by
his amiability, but his ministers give them back again to us." The
apophthegm of the Doge might have been pertinently applied to Louis
XVIII. by the people.
Hitherto the government appeared to adhere to the resolution of
dealing out impartial justice to both parties, and of performing the
covenant which the new monarch had entered into with the nation. But
now he was bound by an influence which he could not withstand.
Ensnared by the machinations, the threats, and the fears of his
emigrant court, and perhaps believing that the new order of things was
incompatible with the stability of the Bourbon dynasty, the maxims of
his government underwent a total change. He was taught to consider the
equality of civil rights as a revolutionary conquest, the liberties of
the nation as an usurpation of the authority of the throne, the new
constitution as insulting the independence of the sovereign. It was
therefore determined that all "dangerous characters[5]" should be led
quietly out of all civil and military offices. The old trustworthy
nobility of the old kingdom were again to become the sole depositaries
of the power of the state: and by slow but sure degrees it was
resolved to cancel the royal charter, and either by fair means or by
foul, to place the nation again beneath the yoke of absolute power.
[Footnote 5: This expression was one of those of
which the ministers made the worst use. If they
were told that any magistrate, any officer, any
functionary, whom they had turned out, had
fulfilled his duties with honour and distinction,
that he was loved and regretted by the people, they
answered, "he is a dangerous character," and there
was an end of the business.]
The government often appealed to the authority of the King's
predecessor on the throne--of Bonaparte. Bonaparte, it was said, had
acknowledged that it was dangerous to concede a representative
government to the people, and that it was fit and proper to rule them
despotically. But Napoleon, he who re-established the authority of
royalty, morality, and religion--who had re-organized society--who had
given tranquillity to France, at the same time that he rendered her
formidable to the world--he had earned his authority by his services
and his victories, and, if I may venture to use the expression, he had
acquired a legitimate right of despotism, which neither belonged, nor
could belong, to a Bourbon. Besides which, in spite of the real or
pretended despotism of the imperial government, it was still a
national government; a character wholly foreign to the Bourbon
government, and which it had no tendency to acquire.
The prognostics of the re-action which the ministers intended to bring
about were disclosed in all parts of the body politic. Alarm seized
even the Chamber of Deputies: it hastened to become the organ of the
uneasiness of the people, and to remind the King of the warranty which
he had given to the nation.
In the address, or rather in the protest presented by the chamber on
the 15th of June, the national representatives say, "The charter
secures to the voice of truth every channel which leads to the throne,
since it consecrates the liberty of the press, and the right of
petition.
"Amongst the guarantees which it contains, the nation will attend to
that which insures the responsibility of any minister who may betray
the confidence reposed in him by your Majesty, by trespassing on the
public or private rights insured by the constitutional charter.
"By virtue of this charter, nobility in all future times will only
command the respect of the people as surrounded by proofs of honour
and glory, which the recollections of feudality will not have the
power of tarnishing.
"The principles of civil liberty are founded upon the independence of
judicial authority, and the retention of trial by jury, that
invaluable guarantee of all our rights."
If the King had known the truth, this energetic address would have
attained its end. But the truth could not reach him. At first he
intended to bestow his personal confidence upon the greater part of
the leading "notables" of the revolution; but by means of
remonstrances and recriminations, another party contrived to place his
good sense again under the yoke of prejudice, and he surrounded
himself with old nobility alone, with men who had refused to obey the
constitution sanctioned by Louis XVI., because it destroyed their
privileges; and who, for the same reason, had refused to acknowledge
the new constitution, against which they had even dared to protest.
His companions were so blinded, so besotted by their presumption, that
they imagined that decrees and ordinances gave them the faculty of
overturning the edifice which the nation had erected during five and
twenty years of revolution. His confidents were those alone who,
instead of wishing to reveal to their sovereign the object of the
projects of the ministry, and of the faction which had rendered the
ministry their tools, had become the accomplices of ministerial guilt,
joint conspirators in the plot which was to destroy the royal charter.
The cabinet contained, however, some able and experienced statesmen.
They were convinced that instead of teasing the nation by holding out
the probability of the restoration of ancient privileges, it was the
duty of government to tranquillize the country by guaranteeing the
stability of the new system of polity. These ministers were aware of
the impolicy of attempting to re-establish the monarchy on its ancient
principles; because by such an attempt it would be deprived of the
only advantage which it possessed over the late government--that of
being liberal. And, lastly, they felt that if despotism and violence
had been the distinguishing characteristics of the government of
Napoleon, it was necessary that moderation and justice should be the
attributes of the government of a Bourbon.
But they had not sufficient authority or personal influence to enable
them to struggle against the emigrants, and the protectors of the
emigrant faction. In the council chamber their opinions, often well
concerted, and always benevolent, were sanctioned and approved. Out
of the council, each minister acted according to his own plans; and,
unfortunately, those departments which ramify most deeply into the
nation and its affairs were confided to men who seemed to think that
they were bound to irritate and sour the public mind.
General Dupont obtained the important office of minister of the war
department, as a reward due to his proscription. According to the
government party, the general had been proscribed by the Emperor. An
odious name was thus given to the lenient punishment which had been
inflicted upon Dupont, he who had shuffled off the allegiance which he
owed to his Emperor, and whose cowardice had surrendered into
captivity the legions intrusted to his command[6]. Weak, indolent,
irresolute, devoid of character and resources, he never had the wish
or the ability of becoming any thing else than the pliant functionary
of the court and the ruling courtiers.
[Footnote 6: When Dupont capitulated to the
Spaniards, the insurgents refused to acknowledge
the Emperor. Dupont therefore only took the title
of general in the French service.]
Another, the Abbe de Montesquiou, received the "porte-feuille" of the
home department. When a member of the Constituent Assembly he had
been honourably distinguished by his soft and persuasive eloquence.
The temperance of his public conduct seemed to be insured by his
personal character; he was a servant of the altar, his health was
delicate, he had lived long in quiet retirement. But Montesquiou,
meek, mild, and timid as long as he was in the background, became
scornful, angry, and overbearing the instant that he stepped into
power. He detested and despised the revolution--I may almost say, he
detested and despised the nation. This sentiment was the principle
which guided him. Montesquiou never deigned to inquire whether any
given portion of our polity was sound or useful, whether it had been
formed with difficulty, whether it could be modified, or ameliorated,
or fitted into existing circumstances. He only inquired into the date
of its institution--and the date decided the question.
A third, Dambray, the chancellor, and the chief law officer of the
nation, had distinguished himself in his youth as a Judge of
Parliament. His credit arose from his prudence and his principles no
less than from his talents. He had been long since recalled to his
country. During the reign of Napoleon he fulfilled the duties of a
citizen and a subject with zeal and fidelity. We never doubted but
that he would protect those constitutional forms of government under
which he had flourished in peace and honour. Scarcely, however, was
the Chancellor clothed in his robe, when he became the oppressor of
the magistracy, the antagonist of our new system of jurisprudence, and
the dull partisan of those slavish forms and barbarous customs and
oppressive edicts, which had been long since annihilated by reason,
liberty, and knowledge.
The trust reposed in this portion of the cabinet was a source of
unhappiness to the nation, but it was not the only one. Louis,
according to the promises held out on his restoration, was to reign in
person; and the more the French have ever been desirous to obey their
sovereign with cheerful alacrity, the greater is the repugnance which
they feel to submit to the orders of his minions. Dismay, therefore,
prevailed throughout the kingdom when we learnt that Louis, weakened
by an obstinate and painful disease, had entirely divested himself of
his royal authority in favour of Monsieur de Blacas. And how much more
painful did our consternation become, when we were able to understand
the views and projects of this Mayor of the palace, and when we
ascertained the baneful extent of his ascendancy.
It was impossible that the royal government, including such elements
in its composition, could retain its hold on public opinion. It was
seen too clearly that the effects of a despicable coterie would tend
either to involve our country in a civil war, or overwhelm us again
with the wretchedness and slavery from which we had been delivered by
the revolution.
The absolute necessity of rising in opposition to these nefarious
attempts was felt by the entire country. Not a man would remain
neuter.
During the earliest period of the reign of Louis, the emigrant faction
comprehended nothing but the party composed of the relics of the
ancient privileged cast. The _parvenus_ of the imperial government
alone constituted the so called Bonapartists. Considering their
private gratification and profit as of greater importance than the
public cause, each party had hitherto only wrangled for place and
power. Their war was a matter of calculation and selfishness. But soon
their disputes involved the fate of the main interests created by the
revolution the emigrants directed their attacks not only against
individuals but also against principles, and the people, who had
hitherto only looked on, now shared the quarrel, and all France was
divided into two great hostile parties[7].
[Footnote 7: I speak only of acting and thinking
beings. In all countries there is to be found a
class of cyphers, who are so careless, stupid, or
selfish, that they belong to no party, and indeed
to no nation.]
The court, the courtiers, and the ministry appeared as the central
phalanx of the _pure royalists_. As their auxiliaries, they had the
old nobility,--the priesthood,--a certain number of apostates who had
skulked away from the imperial government,--and lastly, all those who
had been disqualified by their incapacity and disloyalty from
obtaining employment under Napoleon. It was the undisguised wish of
this party to wash out every stain of the revolution, and to effect a
full and unqualified restoration of the _ancien regime_ in all its
parts, and to all intents and purposes.
On the other side were arrayed the party designated as that of the
Bonapartists, led on by our most honourable and most virtuous
citizens, and numbering within its ranks the great body of the people;
this party strove to withstand the impending resuscitation of the
privileges and abuses of the old government, and which was to be
effected only by the total subversion of our existing institutions.
The pure royalists endeavoured to annihilate the charter, which their
opponents defended, and thus a strange contradiction took place. The
royal charter had the royalists for its enemies, whilst its defenders
were only found amongst those who were stigmatized as the adherents of
Bonaparte.
Abortive attempts were made by the pure royalists to palliate the
treachery of the government. They tried to persuade the people that
the tranquillity and welfare of the nation depended but on the
re-establishment of an absolute monarch, of a feudal aristocracy, and
of all the trumpery of superstition. Such was the tendency of the
publications which issued from the ministerial press, owing their
birth to writers who had either sold themselves to the government, or
who had denationalized themselves by their political intolerance. But
it must not be supposed that liberty could remain in need of
advocates.
Each of the earliest stages of the growth of the young government of
royalty had been marked by obscure yet decisive symptoms of bad faith,
not the less mischievous because they were restricted to signs, and
symbols, and phrases. Instead of the constitution voted by the senate,
and which the king had engaged to accept and ratify, he graciously
granted and conceded a charter, by which he gave a new form to the
government; and which, according to its tenor, emanated from the
sovereign in the full and free exercise of his royal authority. The
tricoloured cockade worn by Louis XVI. and which our armies had
rendered illustrious, was exchanged for the white, though to the
mind's eye the latter was seen drenched in the blood of the people.
Louis took the title of Louis XVIII. King of France and Navarre, and
he dated his proclamations and ordinances in the 19th year of his
reign, and thus it was to be inferred, that the nation had been in a
state of rebellion during five and twenty years. He had disdained to
receive his crown from the will of the people, and rather chose to
hold it by divine right and the good offices of the Prince Regent.
These ungracious affronts wounded the national feelings, but no notice
was taken of them at the time, because it was apprehended that angry
recriminations might endanger the profit which had resulted from the
important sacrifices to which we had consented for the public good.
But when the government unveiled its deformity, the silence of the
patriotic party was at end, and they attacked the government most
unrelentingly. The editors of the Censeur were most conspicuous. Every
abuse of power, every violation of the charter, was proclaimed to
France by these young tribunes of the people; and the country was loud
in applauding their zeal, their talents, and their courage. Other
writers of a more lively class stung the emigrants to the quick by
sarcasms and satire, and brought down the chastisement of contempt and
ridicule upon those who had been spared by the gravity of the Censeur.
The nation also obtained a clear development of the anti-revolutionary
conspiracy of the administration, from the "Memoir" of Carnot, and the
pamphlets of Benjamin Constant. The undeniable facts, and the
unwelcome truths which were brought forward and stated by these
writers, apprized the people that their rights and liberties were in
fearful danger.
A judicial blindness had fallen upon the ministers. All warnings, all
lessons, all reproaches, were lost upon them. Far from being awed by
public opinion, they thought they deserved high honour for defying it.
The ministers had made up their mind. Deceived by the opinions which
they had formed respecting the preponderance of their faction, they
miscalculated the influence and resources of the partizans of the
revolution. Confiding in their power, and in the fear inspired by
their power, they thought it useless to maintain any further reserve;
and that they could charge onwards to the end of the career which
they had in view. Intoxicated by their ignorant enthusiasm, they
insulted the nation in the person of each individual, whilst they
encroached upon the rights which he valued most, and insulted him both
in his interests and his feelings. The imperial guard was removed from
Paris: the emigrants grudged the renown of these troops, and feared
their patriotism. It was given out that the discontent evinced by the
guard when the king came in, was the cause of the punishment which
they received[8].--But had not the government called forth this
discontent? Surely it was ungenerous to compel those heroes to walk as
attendants in the triumph of a new master. Their grief and fidelity
deserved not to be thus insulted. I then saw these honoured warriors.
Haggard looks and sullen silence revealed their feelings. Absorbed by
grief, they appeared to be insensible to the outward world. "Vive la
Garde Imperiale" was the shout of the pitying Parisians, who wished
to cheer them. These salutations, which, perhaps, they despised, were
unheeded. Submissive to their superiors, they obeyed the word of
command which told them that they must march: they marched, and that
was all.
[Footnote 8: The accusation that a spirit of mutiny
prevailed amongst them cannot be refuted more
effectually than by quoting the expressions used by
M. de Montesquiou on the 14th of March. "In the
last two months," said he, "not _one_ of the
soldiers or officers belonging to the corps of the
old guard composing the garrison of Metz, has been
_once_ reprimanded."]
Troops of the line replaced the imperial guards, who were drafted out
of the capital with great expedition. Little time elapsed before the
dissatisfaction of the new troops became manifest. The regiments were
wholly disorganized; officers were thrust upon the soldiers, amongst
whom they stood as complete strangers. In consequence of these changes
the troops were put out of temper; and they became disgusted with
service, because they were wearied by endless parades and reviews
which took place, not to perfect them in their discipline, but for the
instruction of their raw commanders. The government broke their spirit
by affronting them: they were compelled to present arms to the king's
body guard, whom they detested. The re-establishment of the "Maison du
Roi" was opposed by the general feeling of the nation, and it
particularly tended to rouse the jealousy and discontent of the
garrison of Paris. The troops of the line and the national guards who
were on duty at the Tuileries could not submit to acknowledge the
"gardes du corps" as their superiors, and refused to present arms to
them. The "gardes du corps" complained, and it was ordered that the
troops of the line should salute them with military honours, or be
punished. After this victory, the young "gardes du corps," who were
proud of it, used to walk up and down before the sentinels, in order
to force the latter to worship their epaulettes. It may easily be
imagined how such childish insults, which were never checked, must
have mortified the old soldiers of Napoleon: and we all know that the
self-love of a Frenchman is not to be offended with impunity.