4th—7th. The continuance of the south-west wind was truly unfortunate.
We were now going back instead of forward and we had completely entered
the Gulf of Guinea. There we perceived a ship, with which we spoke. She
proved to be a French ship, driven out of her course like ourselves. She
had sailed from a port in Britany, and was bound for the Isle of
Bourbon. The Emperor had been much distressed for want of books; and I
jokingly said that perhaps I might have a box-full on board that ship,
as I had despatched one to the Isle of Bourbon, a few months since. I
spoke truly. Such is the caprice of chance! Had I been in quest of this
ship, I might have traversed the ocean in vain. This was the identical
vessel: I learned her name next day from the officer who had visited
her. This officer strangely surprised the French captain, by telling him
that the Emperor Napoleon was on board the ship which he then saw making
for St. Helena. The poor fellow shook his head sorrowfully, and said,
“You have robbed us of our treasure: you have taken away him who knew
how to govern us according to our tastes and manners.”
COMPLAINTS OF THE CREW AGAINST THE ADMIRAL.—EXAMINATION
OF ANOTHER WORK.—REFUTATIONS.—REFLECTIONS.
8th—11th. The weather continued obstinately settled. We every evening
consoled ourselves, for the unfavourable state of the day, with the hope
of a change during the night; but we arose in the morning with the same
disappointment. We had been almost within sight of the Congo, and we
stood off. Every one manifested discontent and _ennui_. The crew
complained of the Admiral; had he taken the usual course, said they, we
should have reached our destination long before; his caprice, they
observed, had led him, in spite of reason, to try an experiment, of
which they knew not what might be the consequence. Their murmurs were
not, however, so vehement as those raised against Christopher Columbus;
we should not have been ill pleased had he been reduced to the necessity
of finding another Saint Salvador, in order to evade the crisis. Being
for my own part fully occupied, this circumstance engrossed but little
of my attention; and after all, one prison was as good as another. As to
the Emperor, he was still more unconcerned at this delay; he merely
looked upon it as so many days spent.
_Les Mémoires de Napoléon Bonaparte, par quelqu’un qui ne l’a jamais
quitté pendant 15 ans_, (_The Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, by one who
was constantly near him, during fifteen years_,) was the title of a work
which I began to examine after the writings of Sir Robert Wilson. It is
a volume of three hundred pages, by an anonymous author—a circumstance
in itself sufficient to inspire distrust at the first outset. But the
composition and style of the work soon created more positive doubts in
the mind of the reflecting reader, who is accustomed to judge of books.
Finally, he who has seen and known but little of the Emperor will not
hesitate to affirm, on reading the very first pages, that this work is a
mere romance, written at pleasure; that the author has never approached
the Emperor; and that he is a hundred leagues distant from his language,
habits, and every thing concerning him. The Emperor never said to a
minister: “Count, do this,”—“Count, execute that.” Ambassadors never
attended his levee. Napoleon could not, at fourteen years of age, have
made to a lady in company, the reply attributed to him, relative to the
Viscomte de Turenne; because from the age of ten to eighteen he was
attending the Military School, where he could not possibly have been
introduced to the company of ladies. It was not Perignon, who did not
know him, but Dugommier, who had been his General, who recommended him
in so marked a way to the Directory. It was a letter for restoring the
Democracy, and not the Bourbons, which an officer addressed to the First
Consul, &c.
The Emperor, who in Europe was universally acknowledged to have
preserved the most impenetrable secrecy with regard to his plans and
views, never indulged in gestures, and still less in soliloquies, which
would have been likely to betray him: nor did his anger ever throw him
into fits of insanity or epilepsy—an absurd fabrication which was long
circulated in the saloons of Paris, but which was relinquished when it
was found that those accidents never occurred on important occasions.
These Memoirs have unquestionably been an ordered work, the speculation
of some bookseller who has furnished the title. Be this as it may, it
might have been supposed that, in adverting to a career so public as
that of the Emperor and of those who surrounded him, the author might
have evinced more accuracy and knowledge of his subject. He is aware of
his insufficiency on this head, and seeks to defend himself by saying
that he was under the necessity of altering names, and that he did not
wish to render certain portraits too striking; but he also observes this
circumspection with regard to facts, so that they cannot be recognised.
They are for the most part entirely the creations of his own fancy.
Thus, the paper whose loss cost the General-in-chief so much anxiety in
Egypt; the recommendation of the young Englishman, who transported
Bonaparte with joy by opening to him so brilliant a perspective of
fortune at Constantinople; the melodrama of Malmaison, where the heroism
of Madame Bonaparte (who is described as an absolute amazon) so promptly
secures the safety of her husband, may perhaps excite the interest of
the reader; but they are only so many fables; and the story relative to
Malmaison shews that the author knew no more of the character and
disposition of the Empress Josephine than of those of the Emperor. The
writer, however, by extolling certain traits, praising certain actions,
and refuting certain falsehoods, assumes an air of impartiality, which,
joined to his pretended situation near the Emperor during fifteen years,
produces a wonderful effect in the eyes of common readers. Most of the
Englishmen on board the vessel looked upon this work as a kind of
oracle. Their opinion was not changed on finding the Emperor’s character
so different from that attributed to him in this romance. They were
inclined to believe that adversity and constraint had wrought an
alteration in the Emperor, rather than to suppose that these printed
statements were false. To my observations, they constantly replied:—“But
the author was an impartial man, and one who was about the Emperor for
fifteen years:”—“But,” said I, “what is this man’s name? If he had
personally injured you in his book, how could you bring him to justice?
Any body here might have written it!” These arguments were of course
unanswerable; but the English found great difficulty in overcoming their
first impressions: such are the common mass of readers, and such is the
effect inevitably produced by printed falsehoods!
But I shall no longer continue my examination of a work which is not
deserving of farther notice; I therefore dispense with the remainder. On
revising my manuscript in Europe, I found that public opinion had made
such progress that I should be ashamed to waste time in refuting
allegations and facts which judgment and common sense have long since
rejected, and which are now repeated only by fools.
In endeavouring to subvert the erroneous notions which this author
thought proper to create respecting the character of Napoleon, it will
perhaps be thought that I should substitute my own opinions in their
stead; but this I shall carefully avoid. I shall content myself with
noting down all that I saw and heard; I will report his conversations,
and nothing more must be expected.
12th—13th. By dint of patience, and with the help of a few trifling
variations, we gradually approached the termination of our voyage; and,
though deprived of the natural monsoon, we had now advanced within a
short distance of our place of destination. As we continued our course,
the weather gradually improved, and at length the wind became perfectly
favourable; but this change did not take place until twenty-four hours
before our arrival.
14th.—The Admiral had previously informed us that he expected to come
within sight of St. Helena this day. We had scarcely risen from table
when our ears were saluted with the cry of _Land!_ This was just within
a quarter of an hour of the moment that had been fixed on. Nothing can
better prove the advancement of navigation, than this sort of miracle,
by which seamen are enabled to foretel the hour at which they shall
arrive at a particular point in the vast expanse. The Emperor went on
the forecastle to see the island: he thought he perceived it, but I
could see nothing. We lay-to all night.