7th.—The Emperor breakfasted alone, and was engaged during the day in
dictating to the Grand Marshal and M. de Montholon.
In the evening, as the Emperor and I were walking together in the lower
path, which had now become the favourite resort, I informed him that a
person of consequence, whose ideas and statements might become the
channel of mediation between ourselves and the ruling world, and
influence our future destiny, had, with sufficiently significant forms
and preambles, invited us to tell him conscientiously what we believed
to be the Emperor’s notions on certain political subjects:—whether he
had granted his last constitution with the intention of maintaining
it;—whether he had sincerely abandoned his former plans as to the great
empire;—whether he would consent to leave England in the enjoyment of
her maritime supremacy, without envying her the tranquil possession of
India;—whether he would be willing to renounce the Colonies, and to
purchase colonial goods from the English alone, at the regular market
price;—whether he would not form an alliance with the Americans, in case
of their rupture with England;—whether he would consent to the existence
of a great kingdom in Germany, for that branch of the English royal
family which must immediately forfeit the throne of Great Britain on the
accession of the Princess Charlotte of Wales, or, in default of Germany,
whether he would consent to the establishment of that dominion in
Portugal, in case England should conclude arrangements to that effect
with the Court of Brazil.
These questions did not rest on vague ideas or idle opinions: the
individual supported them on positive facts. “We want,” said he, “a long
and lasting peace on the Continent—we want the tranquil enjoyment of our
present advantages, to help us out of the critical circumstances in
which we are now involved, and to relieve us from the enormous debt with
which we are burthened. The present state of France and of Europe,”
added he, “cannot bring about these results. The victory of Waterloo has
ruined you; but it was far from saving us; every sensible man in
England, every one who escapes the momentary influence of passion,
either does think, or will think, as I do.”
The Emperor doubted a part of this statement, and treated the rest as a
reverie; then, changing his tone, he said to me, “Well, what is your
opinion? Come, sir, you are now in the Council of State.”—“Sire,” I
replied, “people often indulge in reveries on the most serious subjects;
and our being imprisoned at St. Helena does not hinder us from composing
romances. Here then is one. Why not form a political marriage between
the two nations, in which the one would bring the army as a dowry: and
the other the navy? This will doubtless appear an absurd idea in the
eyes of the vulgar, and will perhaps be thought too bold by
well-informed people, because it is entirely novel and out of the usual
routine. But it is one of those unforeseen, luminous and useful
creations of plans which characterize your Majesty. You alone can cause
it to be listened to, and carry it into effect.”
Going even beyond the ideas of our English interlocutor, I said, “Would
not your Majesty give to-morrow, if you could, the whole French navy to
purchase Belgium and the bank of the Rhine? Would you not give one
hundred and fifty millions to purchase tens of thousands of millions?
Besides, such a bargain would procure to both nations at once the object
for which they have been wrangling and fighting for so many years; it
would reduce both countries to the necessity of mutually assisting each
other, instead of maintaining perpetual enmity. Would it be nothing for
France that her merchants in the English colonies should henceforward be
on the footing of Englishmen; and thus secure, without striking a blow,
the enjoyment of the trade of the whole world? Would it not be every
thing for England, on the other hand, for the sake of insuring to
herself the sovereignty of the ocean, the universality of trade (for
obtaining and preserving which she has incurred so many risks), to
attach France to a system by which the latter would become the regulator
and arbitrator of the Continent?
“Henceforth secure from danger, and strengthened by all the power of her
ally, England might disband her army, in return for the sacrifice which
France would make of her navy. She might even reduce considerably the
number of her ships. She would thus pay her debt, relieve her people,
and prosper; and, far from envying France, she would (the system being
once fairly understood, and passion having given place to real
interests) herself labour for the Continental aggrandizement of her
neighbour; for France would then be merely the advance-guard, while
England would be the resource and the reserve. Unity of legislation
between the two nations, their common interests, results so visibly
advantageous, would make amends for all the obstacles and difficulties
which the passions of rulers might oppose to the fulfilment of this
plan.”
The Emperor heard me, but made no reply: it is seldom that one can
ascertain his private opinions, and he rarely enters into political
conversations. Lest I should not have expressed myself with sufficient
clearness, I requested that he would permit me to unfold my ideas in
writing. He consented, and said no more. It was now very late, and he
retired to rest.
8th.—The Emperor dictated in the garden to Messrs. Montholon and
Gourgaud, and then walked on his favourite path. He was fatigued and
indisposed. He observed some females about to advance on the path, and
to throw themselves awkwardly in his way, for the sake of being
introduced to him; this annoyed him, and he turned away to avoid meeting
them.
I suggested that riding on horseback might be beneficial to him; we had
three horses at our disposal. The Emperor replied that he never could
reconcile himself to the idea of having an English officer constantly at
his side; that he decidedly renounced riding on such conditions; adding,
that every thing in life must be reduced to calculation, and that, if
the vexation arising from the sight of his jailor were greater than the
advantage he might derive from riding, it was of course advisable to
renounce the recreation altogether.
The Emperor ate but little dinner. During the dessert he amused himself
in examining the paintings on some plates of very beautiful Sevres
porcelain. They were masterpieces in their kind, and were worth thirty
Napoleons each. The paintings represented views or objects of antiquity
in Egypt.
The Emperor closed the day with a walk on his favourite path. He
remarked that he had been very dull all day. After several broken
conversations, he looked at his watch, and was very glad to find it was
half-past ten.
The weather was delicious, and the Emperor insensibly recovered his
usual spirits. He complained of his constitution, which, though
vigorous, occasionally exposed him to fits of indisposition. He,
however, consoled himself with the thought that if, in imitation of the
ancients, he should ever feel inclined to escape from the disgusts and
vexations of life, his moral opinions were not of a nature to prevent
him. He said that sometimes he could not reflect without horror on the
many years he might still have to live, and on the inutility of a
protracted old age; and that, if he were convinced France was happy and
tranquil, and not needing his aid, he should have lived long enough.
We ascended to the pavilion, it was past midnight, and we thought we had
gained a signal victory over time.
9th.—I called on Mr. Balcombe very early, to deliver to him my letters
for Europe, as a vessel was on the point of sailing. At Mr. Balcombe’s
house I met the officer who had been appointed as our guard. Struck with
the dejection which I had observed in the Emperor the day before, and
convinced of the necessity of his taking exercise, I told the officer
that I suspected the reason which prevented the Emperor from riding on
horseback; I added, that I would speak to him the more candidly and
openly, since I had noticed the very delicate way in which he discharged
his duty. I inquired what were his instructions, and whether it would be
necessary to observe them literally, in case the Emperor merely took a
ride round the house; adverting to the repugnance which he must
naturally feel for arrangements that were calculated every moment to
revive the recollection of the situation in which he was placed. I
assured the officer that no reflections were intended to be cast on him
personally, and that I was convinced, when the Emperor wished to take
long rides, he would prefer having him to accompany him. The officer
replied that his instructions were to follow the Emperor; but that, as
he made it a rule not to do any thing that might be offensive to him, he
would take upon himself not to accompany him.
At breakfast I communicated to the Emperor the conversation I had had
with the Captain. He replied that it was all well meant on the Captain’s
part; but that _he_ should not avail himself of the indulgence, as it
was not conformable with his sentiments to enjoy an advantage which
might be the means of compromising an officer.
This determination was very fortunate. When I went to Mr. Balcombe’s in
the evening, the Captain took me aside to inform me that he had been to
the town, in the course of the day, to speak with the Admiral respecting
our morning’s conversation, and that he had been enjoined to abide by
his instructions. I could not refrain from replying, somewhat sharply,
that I was certain the Emperor would immediately send back the three
horses that had been assigned for his use. The officer, to whom I had
also communicated the reply which the Emperor had given me in the
morning relative to him, observed that it would be very right to send
back the horses, and that he thought nothing better could be done. This
remark appeared to me to be prompted by the mortification he himself
experienced at the part that was imposed on him.
When we left Mr. Balcombe’s, the Emperor walked up and down the path in
the garden. I mentioned to him what I had heard from the English
officer. He seemed to expect it. I was not deceived in my conjecture; he
ordered me to send away the horses. This vexed me exceedingly; and I
said, perhaps rather sharply, that with his leave I would go and fulfil
his orders immediately. On which he replied, with great gravity and in a
very peculiar tone of voice:—“No, Sir, you are now out of temper. It
rarely happens that any thing is done well under such circumstances; it
is always best to let the night pass over after the offence of the day.”
We continued our walk till nearly midnight: the weather was delightful.
10th.—To-day, when our usual task was ended, the Emperor strolled out in
a new direction. He proceeded towards the town, until he came within
sight of the road and the shipping. As he was returning, he met Mrs.
Balcombe, and a Mrs. Stuart, a very pretty woman about twenty years of
age, who was returning from Bombay to England. The Emperor conversed
with her respecting the manners and customs of India, and the
inconveniencies of a sea-voyage, particularly for females. He also spoke
of Scotland, which was Mrs. Stuart’s native country; said a great deal
about Ossian, and complimented the lady on the climate of India not
having spoiled her clear Scottish complexion.
At this moment some slaves, carrying heavy boxes, passed by us on the
road; Mrs. Balcombe desired them, in rather an angry tone, to keep back;
but the Emperor interfered, saying, “Respect the burden, Madam!” At
these words, Mrs. Stuart, who had been attentively observing the
Emperor’s features, said, in a low tone of voice, to her friend:
“Heavens! what a countenance, and what a character! How different from
what I had been led to expect!”
MIDNIGHT CONVERSATIONS BY MOONLIGHT.—THE TWO EMPRESSES.—MARIA LOUISA’S
MARRIAGE.—HER HOUSEHOLD.—THE DUCHESS DE MONTEBELLO.—MADAME DE
MONTESQUIOU.—THE INSTITUTE OF MEUDON.— SENTIMENTS OF THE HOUSE OF
AUSTRIA, WITH REGARD TO NAPOLEON.—ANECDOTES COLLECTED IN GERMANY,
SINCE MY RETURN TO EUROPE.
11th—13th. We led a most regular life at Briars. Every day, after
dictating to me, the Emperor walked out between three and four o’clock.
He descended to the garden, where he walked up and down, and dictated to
one of the gentlemen who came from the town for that purpose, and who
wrote in the little arbour. About half-past five o’clock, he passed Mr.
Balcombe’s house, and went into the lower walk, to which he became every
day more and more attached. At this time the family were at dinner, and
he could enjoy his promenade without interruption. I joined the Emperor
here, and he continued his walk until dinner was announced.
After dinner the Emperor again returned to the garden, where he
sometimes had his coffee brought to him. My son then visited Mr.
Balcombe’s family, and the Emperor and I walked up and down. We
frequently remained in the garden until the night was far advanced and
the moon rose to light us. In the mildness and serenity of the night we
forgot the burning heat of the day. The Emperor never was more
talkative, nor seemed more perfectly to forget his cares, than during
these moonlight walks. In the familiarity of the conversations which I
thus enjoyed with him, he took pleasure in relating anecdotes of his
boyhood, in describing the sentiments and illusions which diffused a
charm over the early years of his youth, and in detailing the
circumstances of his private life, since he had played so distinguished
a part on the great theatre of the world. I have elsewhere noted down
what I conceived myself at liberty to repeat. Sometimes he seemed to
think he had spoken too much at length, and had detailed things too
minutely. He would then say to me: “Come, it is your turn now: let me
have a little of your history; but you are not a tale-teller.” Indeed I
took especial care to be silent; I was too much afraid of losing a
syllable of what so deeply interested me.
In one of our nightly walks, the Emperor told me that he had, in the
course of his life, been attached to two women of very different
characters. The one was the votary of art and the graces; the other was
all innocence and simple nature; and each, he observed, had a very high
degree of merit.
The first, in no moment of her life ever assumed a position or attitude
that was not pleasing or captivating; it would have been impossible ever
to discover in her, or to experience from her, any thing unpleasant. She
employed every resource of art to heighten natural attractions; but with
such ingenuity as to render every trace of it imperceptible. The other,
on the contrary, never even suspected that any thing was to be gained by
innocent artifice. The one was always beside the truth, her first answer
was always in the negative; the other was altogether frank and open, and
was a stranger to subterfuge. The first never asked her husband for any
thing, but she was in debt to every one: the second freely asked
whenever she wanted, which, however, very seldom happened; and she never
thought of receiving any thing without immediately paying for it. Both
were amiable and gentle in disposition, and strongly attached to their
husband. But it must already have been guessed who they are; and those
who have ever seen them will not fail to recognise the two Empresses.
The Emperor declared that he had uniformly experienced from both the
greatest equality of temper and most implicit obedience.
The marriage of Maria-Louisa was consummated at Fontainebleau,
immediately after her arrival. The Emperor, setting aside all the
etiquette that had previously been arranged, went to meet her, and, in
disguise, got into her carriage. She was agreeably surprised when she
discovered him. She had always been given to understand that Berthier,
who had married her by proxy at Vienna, in person and age exactly
resembled the Emperor: she, however, signified that she observed a very
pleasing difference between them.
The Emperor wished to spare her all the details of domestic etiquette,
customary on such occasions: she had, however, received careful
instructions on the subject at Vienna. The Emperor inquired what
directions she had received from her illustrious relatives with regard
to him personally. To be entirely devoted to him, and to obey him in all
things, was the reply. This declaration, and not the decisions of
certain cardinals and bishops, as was reported, proved the solution of
all the Emperor’s scruples of conscience. Besides, Henry IV. acted in
the same way on a similar occasion.
Maria-Louisa’s marriage, said the Emperor, was proposed and concluded
under the same forms and conditions as that of Marie-Antoinette, whose
contract was adopted as a model. After the separation from Josephine,
negotiations were entered into with the Emperor of Russia, for the
purpose of soliciting the hand of one of his sisters: the difficulties
rested merely on the settling of certain points relative to religion.
Prince Eugene, conversing with M. de Schwartzenberg, learned that the
Emperor of Austria would not object to an union between Napoleon and his
daughter; and this information was communicated to the Emperor. A
council was convoked to decide whether an alliance with Russia or
Austria would be most advantageous. Eugene and Talleyrand were for the
Austrian alliance, and Cambaceres against it. The majority were in
favour of an Archduchess. Eugene was appointed to make the official
overture, and the Minister for Foreign Affairs was empowered to sign it
that very day if an opportunity should present itself; which proved to
be the case.
Russia took umbrage at this; she thought herself trifled with, though
without just ground. Nothing of an obligatory nature had yet transpired;
both parties remained perfectly free. Political interests predominated
over every thing.
The Emperor appointed the Duchess de Montebello to be lady of honour to
Maria-Louisa; the Count de Beauharnais to be her gentleman of honour,
and the Prince Aldobrandini to be her equerry. In the misfortunes of
1814, these individuals, said the Emperor, did not evince the
devotedness which the Empress was entitled to expect from them. Her
equerry deserted her without taking his leave; her gentleman of honour
refused to follow her; and her lady of honour, notwithstanding the
attachment which the Empress entertained for her, thought she had
completely fulfilled her duty in attending her mistress as far as
Vienna.
The appointment of the Duchess de Montebello to the post of lady of
honour was one of those happy selections which, at the time it was made,
excited universal approbation. The Duchess was a young and beautiful
woman, of irreproachable character, and the widow of a marshal, called
the _Orlando_ of the army, who had recently fallen on the field of
battle. This choice was very agreeable to the army, and encouraged the
national party, who were alarmed at the marriage and the number and rank
of the chamberlains who were appointed. This retinue was, by many,
looked upon as a step towards the counter-revolution; and endeavours
were made to represent it as such. As for the Emperor, he had acted in
ignorance of the character of Maria-Louisa, and had been principally
influenced by the fear that she would be filled with prejudices
respecting birth, that might be offensive at the Court. When he came to
know her better, and found that she was wholly imbued with the
prevailing notions of the day, he regretted not having made another
choice. He conceived that he should have done better to select the
Countess de Beauveau, a woman of amiable, mild, and inoffensive manners,
who would have been influenced only by the family advice of her numerous
relatives, and who might thus have introduced a kind of useful custom,
and have occasioned the appointment of well-recommended inferiors. She
might also have rallied about the Court many persons who were at a
distance; and that without any inconvenience, because these arrangements
could only have been brought about by the sanction of the Emperor, who
was not the sort of man to allow himself to be abused.
The Empress conceived the tenderest affection for the Duchess de
Montebello. This lady had at one time a chance of being Queen of Spain.
Ferdinand VII. when at Valency, requested the Emperor’s permission to
marry Mademoiselle de Tascher, cousin-german of Josephine, and bearing
the same name, after the example of the Prince of Baden, who married
Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. The Emperor, who already contemplated a
separation from Josephine, refused his consent to the match, not wishing
by this connexion to add to the difficulties that already stood in the
way of his divorce. Ferdinand then solicited the hand of the Duchess de
Montebello, or of any other French lady whom the Emperor might think
proper to adopt. The Emperor subsequently gave Mademoiselle de Tascher
in marriage to the Duke d’Aremberg, whom he intended to create Governor
of the Netherlands; with the view of ultimately compensating Brussels
for the loss of the old Court. The Emperor moreover wished to appoint
the Count de Narbonne, who had taken part in the Empress’s marriage,
Gentleman of honour, in room of the Count de Beauharnais; but the
extreme aversion which Maria-Louisa evinced for this change deterred the
Emperor from carrying it into effect. The Empress’s dislike to the Count
de Narbonne was, however, only occasioned by the intrigues of the
individuals composing her household, who had nothing to fear from M. de
Beauharnais, but who very much dreaded the influence and talent of M. de
Narbonne.
The Emperor informed us that, when he had to make appointments to
difficult posts, he usually asked the persons about him to furnish him
with a list of candidates; and from these lists, and the information he
obtained, he privately deliberated on his choice. He mentioned several
individuals who were proposed as lady of honour to the Empress: they
were the Princess de Vaudemont, Madame de Rochefoucalt, afterwards
Madame de Castellanes, and some others. He then asked us to tell him
whom we should have proposed; which occasioned us to take a review of a
good part of the Court. One of us mentioned Madame de Montesquiou; upon
which the Emperor replied, “She would have done well, but she had a post
which suited her still better. She was a woman of singular merit; her
piety was sincere, and her principles excellent; she had the highest
claims on my esteem and regard. I wanted half a dozen like her; I would
have given them all appointments equal to their deserts, and wished for
more. She discharged her duties admirably when with my son at Vienna.”
The following anecdote will afford a correct idea of the manner in which
Madame de Montesquiou managed the King of Rome. The apartments of the
young Prince were on the ground floor, and looked out on the court, of
the Tuileries. At almost every hour in the day, numbers of people were
looking in at the window, in the hope of seeing him. One day when he was
in a violent fit of passion, and rebelling furiously against the
authority of Madame de Montesquiou, she immediately ordered all the
shutters to be closed. The child, surprised at the sudden darkness,
asked _Maman Quiou_, as he used to call her, what it all meant. “I love
you too well,” she replied, “not to hide your anger from the crowd in
the court-yard. You, perhaps, will one day be called to govern all those
people, and what would they say if they saw you in such a fit of rage?
Do you think they would ever obey you, if they knew you to be so
naughty?” Upon which, the child begged her pardon, and promised never
again to give way to such fits of anger.
“This,” observed the Emperor, “was language very different from that
addressed by M. de Villeroi to Louis XV. ‘_Behold all those people, my
Prince_,’ said he, ‘_they belong to you; all the men you see yonder are
yours_.’”
Madame de Montesquiou was adored by the young King of Rome. At the time
of her removal from Vienna it was found necessary to employ stratagems
to deceive the child: it was even feared that his health would suffer
from the separation.
The Emperor had conceived many novel ideas relative to the education of
the King of Rome. For this important object he decided on the _Institut
de Meudon_, of which he had already laid down the principle, with the
view of farther developing it at his leisure. There he proposed to
assemble the Princes of the Imperial house, particularly the sons of
those branches of the family who had been raised to foreign thrones.
This plan, he contended, would have combined the attentions of private
tuition with the advantages of public education. “These children,” said
the Emperor, “who were destined to occupy different thrones, and to
govern different nations, would thus have acquired conformity of
principles, manners, and ideas. The better to facilitate the
amalgamation and uniformity of the federative parts of the Empire, each
Prince was to bring with him from his own country ten or twelve youths
of about his own age, the sons of the first families in the state. What
an influence would they not have exercised on their return home! I
doubted not,” continued the Emperor, “but that Princes of other
dynasties, unconnected with my family, would soon have solicited, as a
great favour, permission to place their sons in the Institute of Meudon.
What advantages would thence have arisen to the nations composing the
European association! All these young Princes,” said he, “would have
been brought together early enough to be united in the tender and
powerful bonds of youthful friendship: and they would, at the same time,
have been separated early enough to obviate the fatal effects of rising
passions—the ardour of partiality—the ambition of success—the jealousy
of love.”
The Emperor wished that the education of the Princes should be founded
on general information, extended views, summaries, and results. He
wished them to possess knowledge rather than learning, judgment rather
than attainments; he preferred the application of details to the study
of theories. Above all, he objected to the pursuing of any particular
study too deeply, for he regarded perfection, or too great success in
certain things, whether in the arts or sciences, as a disadvantage to a
prince. A nation, he said, will never gain much by being governed by a
poet, a virtuoso, a naturalist, a chymist, a turner, a locksmith, &c.
&c.
Maria-Louisa confessed to the Emperor that, when her marriage with him
was first proposed, she could not help feeling a kind of terror, owing
to the accounts she had heard of Napoleon from the individuals of her
family. When she mentioned these reports to her uncles, the Archdukes,
who were very urgent for the marriage, they replied,—“That was all very
true, while he was our enemy: but the case is altered now.“
“To afford an idea of the sympathy and good will with which the
different members of the Austrian family were taught to regard me,” said
the Emperor, “it is sufficient to mention that one of the young
Archdukes frequently burned his dolls, which he called _roasting
Napoleon_. He afterwards declared he would not roast me any more, for he
loved me very much, because I had given his sister Louisa plenty of
money to buy him play-things.”
Since my return to Europe, I have had an opportunity of ascertaining the
sentiments entertained by the House of Austria towards Napoleon. In
Germany, a person of distinction informed me that having had a private
audience of the Emperor Francis, during his tour in Italy in 1816, the
conversation turned on Napoleon. Francis spoke of him in the most
respectful terms. One might almost have supposed, said my informant,
that he still regarded him as the ruler of France, and that he was
ignorant of his captivity at St. Helena. He never alluded to him by any
other title than the Emperor Napoleon.
I learned from the same individual that the Archduke John, when in
Italy, visited a rotunda, on the ceiling of which was painted a
celebrated action of which Napoleon was the hero. As he raised his head
to look at the painting, his hat fell off, and one of his attendants
stooped to pick it up. “Let it be,” said he; “it is thus that the man
who is there portrayed should be contemplated.”
Now that I am on this subject, I will note down a few particulars which
I collected in Germany since my return to Europe; and to mark the degree
of credit to which they are entitled, I may mention that I obtained them
from individuals holding high diplomatic posts. Every one knows that
these members of diplomatic corps form among themselves a sort of
family, a kind of free-masonry, and that their sources of information
are of the most authentic kind.
The Empress Maria-Louisa complained that, when she quitted France, M. de
Talleyrand reserved to himself the honour of demanding from her the
restitution of the Crown jewels, and ascertaining whether they had been
restored with the most scrupulous exactness.
In 1814, during the disasters of France, many tempting and brilliant
proposals were made to Prince Eugene. An Austrian General offered him
the crown of Italy, in the name of the Allies, on condition of his
joining them. This offer afterwards came from a still higher quarter,
and was several times repeated. During the reign of the Emperor there
had been some idea of raising the Prince to a throne; and those of
Portugal, Naples, and Poland, were thought of.
In 1815, men of high influence in European diplomacy endeavoured to
sound his opinions, with the view of ascertaining whether, in case
Napoleon should again be constrained to abdicate, and the choice should
fall on him, he would accept the Crown. On this occasion, as on every
other, the Prince steadily pursued a line of duty and honour which will
immortalize him. _Honour and fidelity_ was his constant reply; and
posterity will make it his device.
On the distribution of States in 1814, the Emperor Alexander, who
frequently visited the Empress Josephine at Malmaison, signified a wish
to procure for her son the sovereignty of Genoa. She, however, declined
this proposition, at the instigation of one of the ruling diplomatists,
who falsely flattered her with the hope of something better.
At the Congress of Vienna, the Emperor Alexander, who honoured Prince
Eugene with particular marks of favour, insisted that he should be made
the Sovereign of at least three hundred thousand subjects. He testified
the sincerest friendship for him, and they were every day seen walking
about together arm-in-arm. The landing at Cannes put an end, if not to
the sentiment, at least to the manifestation of it; and changed the
political interests of the Emperor of Russia.—The Austrian government
even entertained the idea of seizing the person of Prince Eugene, and
sending him a prisoner to a fortress in Hungary; but the King of
Bavaria, his father-in-law, indignantly represented to the Emperor of
Austria that Eugene had gone to Vienna under his protection and
guarantee, and that they should not be violated. Thus Eugene remained
free on his own private parole and that of the King his father-in-law.
So lately as 1814, gold twenty and forty-franc pieces were struck at
Milan with the head of Napoleon and the date of 1814. Either from
motives of economy or some other cause, no new die had yet been
engraved.
After the fall of Napoleon, Alexander on several occasions manifested a
marked and decided dislike to him. In 1815 he was the promoter of the
second crusade against Napoleon; he directed every hostile measure with
the utmost degree of animosity, and seemed to make it almost a personal
affair; alleging, as the cause of his aversion, that he had been
deceived and trifled with. If this tardy resentment was not a mere
pretence, there is every reason to believe that it was stirred up by an
old confidant of Napoleon’s, who, in private conversations, had artfully
wounded the vanity of Alexander, by statements, true or false, of the
private opinion of Napoleon with regard to his illustrious friend.
In 1814 there appeared reason to believe that Alexander would not be
averse to see young Napoleon placed on the throne of France. After the
Emperor’s second abdication, he seemed far less favourably disposed to
the continuance of Napoleon’s dynasty.
In the second crusade, the Emperor Alexander marched at the head of
innumerable forces. He was heard to declare, at that period, that the
war might last for three years; but that Napoleon would nevertheless be
subdued in the end.
On the first intelligence of the battle of Fleurus, the chiefs of all
the Russian columns immediately received orders to halt; while all the
Austrian and Bavarian corps instantly turned off, with the view of
detaching themselves and forming a separate force. Had the Congress of
Vienna been broken up on the 20th of March, it is almost certain that
the crusade would not have been renewed; and had Napoleon been
victorious at Waterloo, it is also tolerably certain that the crusade
would have been dissolved.
The news of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes was a thunderbolt to the French
plenipotentiary at Vienna. He indeed drew up the famous declaration of
the 13th of March; and, virulent as it is, the first draft was still
more so: it was amended by other ministers. The countenance of this
plenipotentiary, as he gradually learned the advance of Napoleon, was a
sort of thermometer, which excited the laughter of all the members of
the Congress.
Austria soon knew the real state of affairs: her couriers informed her
admirably well of all that was passing. The members of the French
Legation alone were involved in doubt: they were still circulating a
magnanimous letter from the King to the other Sovereigns, informing them
that he was resolved to die at the Tuileries, when it was already known
that Louis had left the capital, and was on his way to the frontier.
A member of the Congress and Lord Wellington, in a confidential
conversation with the members of the French Legation, with the map in
their hands, assigned the 20th or the 21st for Napoleon’s entry into
Paris.
As the Emperor Francis received the official publications from Grenoble
and Lyons, he regularly forwarded them to Schöenbrunn, to Maria Louisa,
to whom they afforded extreme joy. It is very true that, at a somewhat
later period, an idea was entertained of seizing young Napoleon, in
order to convey him to France.
The French Plenipotentiary at length quitted Vienna, and proceeded to
Frankfort and Wisbaden, whence he could more conveniently negotiate
either with Ghent or Paris. Never was a time-serving courier thrown into
greater embarrassment and anxiety. The ardour with which he had been
inspired, on receiving the intelligence of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes,
was very much abated when he heard of the Emperor’s arrival at Paris;
and he entered into an understanding with Fouché that the latter should
be his guarantee with Napoleon, pledging himself, on the other hand, to
be Fouché’s guarantee with the Bourbons. There is good ground for
believing that the offers made by this Plenipotentiary to the new
Sovereign went very great lengths indeed; but Napoleon indignantly
rejected them, lest, as he said, he should degrade his policy too far.
In 1814, before M. de Talleyrand declared himself for the Bourbons, he
was for the Regency; in which, however, he himself wished to play the
principal part. Events fatal to the Napoleon dynasty prevented this
moment of uncertainty from being turned to good account. Every thing
tends to prove that the result which was at that period adopted was far
from being agreeable to the intentions of Austria; that power was duped,
betrayed, or at least carried by assault.
The fatality attending the military movements was such that the Allies
entered Paris without the concurrence of the Austrian Cabinet.
Alexander’s famous declaration against Napoleon Buonaparte and his
family was also made without the Austrian Power being consulted; and the
Count d’Artois only entered France by contriving to slip in secretly in
spite of the orders at the Austrian head-quarters, where he had been
refused passports.
It appears that Austria, on the retreat from Moscow, exerted sincere
efforts in London for negotiating a peace with Napoleon; but the
influence of the Russian Cabinet was all-powerful in London, and no
proposals for peace were listened to. The armistice of Dresden then
arrived, and Austria declared for war.
During this interval, the Austrian minister in London could never obtain
a hearing. He however remained for a considerable time in the English
capital, and did not leave it until the Allies had reached the heart of
France, and Lord Castlereagh hinted at the possibility, for a moment,
that the heroic success of Napoleon might render negotiations
indispensable.
If this minister had not previously been sent to London, he would have
been destined for Paris; and there probably his influence might have
brought about a turn of negotiations different from those which arose
during his absence between the Tuileries and Vienna.
In the height of the crisis he found himself detained in England as if
by force. In his impatience to reach the grand centre of negotiations,
he quitted his post, and proceeded to Holland, braving a violent
tempest. No sooner had he arrived on the theatre of events than he fell
into the hands of Napoleon at Saint-Dizier; but the fate of France was
then decided, though the fact was not yet known at the French
head-quarters. Alexander was entering Paris.
The Austrian minister in London exerted every endeavour to procure a
passport to enable him to join his Sovereign by passing through Calais
and Paris; but in vain. This circumstance; whether accidental, or
premeditated, was another fatality. But for this disappointment, the
Austrian minister would have reached Paris before the Allies, would have
joined Maria-Louisa, would have defeated the last projects of M. de
Talleyrand, and would have altogether produced new combinations.
Opinion was divided in the Austrian Cabinet. One party was for the union
with France; the other was for the alliance with Russia. Intrigue or
chance decided in favour of Russia, and Austria, from that moment, was
merely led on.
14th.—The coffee that was served at our breakfast this morning was
better than usual; it was even good. The Emperor expressed himself
pleased with it. Some moments after he observed, placing his hand on his
stomach, that he felt the benefit of it. It would be difficult to
express what were my feelings on hearing this simple remark. The
Emperor, by thus appreciating so trivial an enjoyment, contrary to his
custom, unconsciously proved to me the effect of all the privations he
had suffered, but of which he never complained.
When we returned from our evening walk, the Emperor read to me a chapter
on the _Provisional Consuls_, which he had dictated to M. de Montholon.
Having finished reading, the Emperor took a piece of ribbon, and began
to tie together the loose sheets of paper. It was late; the silence of
night prevailed around us. My reflections were on that day of a
melancholy cast. I gazed on the Emperor. I looked on those hands which
had wielded so many sceptres, and which were now tranquilly, and
perhaps, not without some degree of pleasure, occupied in the humble
task of tying together a few sheets of paper. On these sheets, indeed,
were traced events that will never be forgotten; portraits that will
decide the judgment of posterity. It is the book of life or death to
many whose names are recorded in it. These were the reflections that
passed in my mind. “And the Emperor,” thought I, “reads to me what he
writes; he familiarly converses with me, asks my opinion, and I freely
give it. After all, I am not to be pitied in my exile at St. Helena.”
15th.—Immediately after dinner the Emperor walked in his favourite path.
He had his coffee carried down to him in the garden, and he drank it as
he walked about. The conversation turned on love. I must have made some
very fine and sentimental remarks on this important subject; for the
Emperor laughed at what he styled my prattle, and said that he
understood none of my romantic verbiage. Then speaking with an air of
levity, he wished to make me believe that he was better acquainted with
sensations than sentiments. I made free to remark that he was trying to
be thought worse than he was described to be in the authentic, but very
secret, accounts that were circulated about the palace. “And what was
said of me?” resumed he, with an air of gaiety. “Sire,” I replied, “it
is understood that, when in the summit of your power, you suffered
yourself to be bound in the chains of love; that you became a hero of
romance; that, fired by an unexpected resistance, you conceived an
attachment for a lady in private life; that you wrote her above a dozen
love-letters; and that her power over you prevailed so far as to compel
you to disguise yourself, and to visit her secretly and alone, at her
own residence, in the heart of Paris.”—”And how came this to be known?”
said he, smiling; which of course amounted to an admission of the fact.
“And it was doubtless added,” continued he, “that that was the most
imprudent act of my whole life; for, had my mistress proved treacherous,
what might not have been my fate—alone and disguised, in the
circumstances in which I was placed, amidst the snares with which I was
surrounded? But what more is said of me?”—“Sire, it is affirmed that
your Majesty’s posterity is not confined to the King of Rome. The secret
chronicle states that he has two elder brothers: one the offspring of a
fair foreigner, whom you loved in a distant country; the other, the
fruit of a connection nearer at hand, in the bosom of your own capital.
It was asserted that both had been conveyed to Malmaison, before our
departure; the one brought by his mother, and the other introduced by
his tutor; and they were described to be the living portraits of their
father.”[23]
Footnote 23:
It is said, that a codicil in the Emperor’s will, which, however, must
remain secret, completely confirms the above conjectures.
The Emperor laughed much at the extent of my information, as he termed
it; and being now in a merry vein, he began to take a frank retrospect
of his early years, relating many of the love-affairs and numerous
adventures in which he had been engaged. I omit the first; amongst the
second he mentioned a supper that took place in the neighbourhood of the
Saone at the commencement of the Revolution, and at which he had been
present in company with the faithful Desmazzis. He described the whole
with the utmost pleasantry.—He had got himself, he observed, into a
wasp’s nest, where his patriotic eloquence had to contend strenuously
against the contrary doctrines of the other guests, and had nearly
brought him into a serious scrape. “You and I,” he continued, “were at
that time very far from each other.”—”Not so very far, in point of
distance, Sire,” replied, “though certainly very remote with respect to
doctrines. At that time I was also in the neighbourhood of the Saone, on
one of the quays of Lyons, where crowds of patriots were declaiming
against the cannon which they had just discovered in some boats, and
which they termed a counter-revolution. I very inopportunely proposed
that they should make sure of the cannon, by administering to them the
_civic oath_. However, I narrowly escaped being hanged for my folly. You
see, Sire, that I might precisely at that moment have balanced your
account, had any disaster befallen you among your aristocrat
companions.” This was not the only curious coincidence that was
mentioned in the course of the evening. The Emperor, having related to
me an interesting circumstance that took place in 1788, said, “Where
were you at that time.”—“Sire,” replied I, after a few moments
recollection, “I was then at Martinique, supping every evening with the
future Empress Josephine.”
A shower of rain came on and we were obliged to retire from our
favourite path, which, the Emperor observed, we might probably at a
future period look back to with pleasure. “Perhaps so,” I replied; “but
certainly that will not be until we have forsaken it for ever. Meanwhile
we must content ourselves with naming it the Path of Philosophy, since
it cannot be called the Path of Lethe.”
THE FAUXBOURG SAINT-GERMAIN, &C.—THE EMPEROR’S FREEDOM FROM PREJUDICE
AND ILL-WILL.—CHARACTERISTIC LANGUAGE.
16th.—To-day the Emperor put some questions to me relative to the
Fauxbourg Saint-Germain; that last bulwark of the old aristocracy, that
refuge of old-fashioned prejudices; the _Germanic League_, as he called
it. I told him that, before his last misfortune, his power had extended
into every part of it: it had been invaded, and its name alone remained;
it had been shaken and vanquished by glory; and the victories of
Austerlitz and Jena, and the triumph of Tilsit, had achieved its
conquest. The younger portion of the inhabitants, and all who had
generous hearts, could not be insensible to the glory of their country.
The Emperor’s marriage with Maria-Louisa gave it the last blow. The few
malcontents who remained were either those whose ambition had not been
gratified, and who are to be found in all classes, or some obstinate old
men, and silly old women, bewailing their past influence. All reasonable
and sensible persons had yielded to the superior talents of the Head of
the State, and endeavoured to console themselves for their losses in the
hope of a better prospect for their children. This became the point
towards which all their ideas were directed. They gave the Emperor
credit for his partiality to old family names; they agreed that any one
else in his place would have annihilated them. They prized very highly
the confidence with which the Emperor had collected individuals of
ancient family about his person; and they valued him no less for the
language he had made use of in making choice of their children to serve
in the army:—“These names belong to France and to History; I am the
guardian of their glory, I will not allow them to perish.” These and
other such expressions had gained him numbers of proselytes. The Emperor
here expressed his apprehension that sufficient favour had not been
shewn to this party. “My system of amalgamation,” said he, “required it:
I wished and even directed favours to be conferred on them: but the
ministers, who were the great mediators, never properly fulfilled my
real intentions in that respect; either because they had not sufficient
foresight, or because they feared that they might thus create rivals for
favour, and diminish their own chances. M. Talleyrand, in particular,
always shewed great opposition to such a measure, and always resisted my
favourable intuitions towards the old nobility.” I observed, however,
that the greater part of those whom he had placed near him had soon
shewn themselves attached to his person; that they had served him
conscientiously, and had, generally speaking, remained faithful to him
at the critical moment. The Emperor did not deny it, and even went so
far as to say that the twofold event of the King’s return and his own
abdication must naturally have had great influence on certain doctrines;
and that, for his own part, he could see a great difference between the
same conduct pursued in 1814 and in 1815.
And here I must observe that, since I have become acquainted with the
Emperor’s character, I have never known him to evince, for a single
moment, the least feeling of anger or animosity against those
individuals who had been most to blame in their conduct towards him. He
gives no great credit to those who distinguished themselves by their
good conduct: they had only done their duty. He is not very indignant
against those who acted basely; he partly saw through their characters:
they yielded to the impulses of their nature. He speaks of them coolly,
and without animosity; attributing their conduct in some measure to
existing circumstances, which he acknowledged were of a very perplexing
nature, and placing the rest to the account of human weakness. Vanity
was the ruin of Marmont: “Posterity will justly cast a shade upon his
character,” said he; “yet his heart will be more valued than the memory
of his career. The conduct of Augereau was the result of his want of
information, and the baseness of those who surrounded him; that of
Berthier, of his want of spirit, and his absolute nullity of character.”
I remarked that the latter had let slip the best and easiest opportunity
of rendering himself for ever illustrious, by frankly making his
submission to the King, and intreating his Majesty’s permission to
withdraw from the world, and mourn in solitude the fate of him who had
honoured him with the title of his companion in arms, and had called him
his friend. “Yes,” said the Emperor; “even this step, simple as it was,
was beyond his power.”—“His talents, his understanding,” said I, “had
always been a subject of doubt with us. Your Majesty’s choice, your
confidence, your great attachment, surprised us exceedingly.”—“To say
the truth,” replied the Emperor, “Berthier was not without talent, and I
am far from wishing to disavow his merit, or my partiality for him; but
his talent and merit were special and technical; beyond a limited point
he had no mind whatever: and then he was so undecided.”—I observed that
“he was, notwithstanding, full of pretensions and pride in his conduct
towards us.”—“Do you think, then, that the title of Favourite goes for
nothing?” said the Emperor. I added, that “he was very harsh and
overbearing.” “And what,” said he, “my dear Las Cases, is more
overbearing than weakness which feels itself protected by strength? Look
at women, for example.”
Berthier accompanied the Emperor in his carriage during his campaigns.
As they drove along, the Emperor would examine the order-book and the
report of the positions, whence he formed his resolutions, adopted his
plans, and arranged the necessary movements. Berthier noted down his
directions, and at the first station they came to, or during the first
moments allotted to rest, whether by night or by day, he made out, in
his turn, all the orders and individual details with admirable
regularity, precision, and despatch. This was a kind of duty at which he
shewed himself always ready and indefatigable. “This was the special
merit of Berthier,” said the Emperor: “it was most valuable to me; no
other talent could have made up for the want of it.”
I now return to notice some characteristic traits of the Emperor. He
invariably speaks with perfect coolness, without passion, without
prejudice, and without resentment, of the events and the persons
connected with his life. It is evident that he would be capable of
becoming the ally of his most cruel enemy, and of living with the man
who had done him the greatest wrong. He speaks of his past history as if
it had occurred three centuries ago: in his recitals and his
observations he speaks the language of past ages: he is like a spirit
discoursing in the Elysian fields; his conversations are true Dialogues
of the Dead. He speaks of himself as of a third person; noticing the
Emperor’s actions, pointing out the faults with which history may
reproach him, and analysing the reasons and the motives which might be
alleged in his justification.
He never can excuse himself, he says, by throwing blame on others, since
he never followed any but his own decision. He may complain, at the
worst, of false information, but never of bad counsel. He had surrounded
himself with the best possible advisers, but he had always adhered to
his own opinion, and he was far from repenting of having done so. “It
is,” said he, “the indecision and anarchy of agents which produce
anarchy and feebleness in results. In order to form a just opinion
respecting the faults produced by the sole personal decision of the
Emperor, it will be necessary to throw into the scale the great actions
which he would have been prevented from performing, and the other faults
which he would have been induced to commit, by those very counsels which
he is blamed for not having followed.”
In viewing the complicated circumstances of his fall, looks upon things
so much in a mass, and from so high a point, that individuals escape his
notice. He never evinces the least symptom of virulence towards those of
whom it might be supposed he has the greatest reason to complain. His
greatest mark of reprobation, and I have had frequent occasion to notice
it, is to preserve silence with respect to them, whenever they are
mentioned in his presence. But how often has he not been heard to
restrain the violent and less reserved expressions of those about him?
“You are not acquainted with men,” he has said to us; “they are
difficult to comprehend, if one wishes to be strictly just. Can they
understand or explain even their own characters? Almost all those who
abandoned me would, had I continued to be prosperous, never, perhaps
have dreamed of their own defection. There are vices and virtues which
depend on circumstances. Our last trials were beyond all human strength!
Besides I was forsaken rather than betrayed; there was more of weakness
than of perfidy around me. It was the _denial of St. Peter_: tears and
repentance are probably at hand. And where will you find, in the page of
history, any one possessing a greater number of friends and partisans?
Who was ever more popular and more beloved? Who was ever more ardently
and deeply regretted? Here, from this very rock, on viewing the present
disorders in France, who would not be tempted to say that I still reign
there? The Kings and princes, my allies, have remained faithful to me to
the last, they were carried away by the people in a mass: and those who
were around me, found themselves enveloped and overwhelmed by an
irresistible whirlwind.... No! human nature might have appeared in a
light still more odious, and I might have had still greater cause of
complaint!”
ON THE OFFICERS OF THE EMPEROR’S HOUSEHOLD IN
1814.—PLAN OF ADDRESS TO THE KING.
17th.—The Emperor asked me some questions to-day relative to the
officers of his household. With the exception of two or three, at the
most, who had drawn upon themselves the contempt of the very party to
which they had gone over, nothing could be said against them: the
majority had even evinced an ardent devotion to the Emperor’s interests.
The Emperor then made enquiries respecting some of these individuals in
particular, calling them by their names; and I could not but express my
approbation of them all. “What do you tell me?” said he, interrupting me
hastily while I was speaking of one of them; “and yet I gave him so bad
a reception at the Tuileries on my return! Ah! I fear I have committed
some involuntary acts of injustice! This comes of being obliged to take
for granted the first story that is told, and of not having a single
moment to spare for verification! I fear too that I have left many debts
of gratitude in arrear! How unfortunate it is to be incapable of doing
every thing one’s self!”
I replied—“Sire, it is true that, if blame be attached to the officers
of your household, it must be shared equally by all; a fact, however,
which must humble us strangely in the eyes of foreign nations. As soon
as the King appeared, all hastened to him, not as to the sovereign whom
your abdication had left us, but as to one who had never ceased to be
our sovereign; not with the dignity of men proud of having always
fulfilled their duties, but with the equivocal embarrassment of
unskilful courtiers. Each sought only to justify himself: your Majesty
was from that instant disavowed and abjured; the title of Emperor was
dropped. The Ministers, the Nobles, the intimate friends of your
Majesty, styled you simply '_Buonaparte_,’ and blushed not for
themselves or their nation. They excused themselves by saying that they
had been compelled to serve; that they could not do otherwise, through
dread of the treatment they might have experienced.” The Emperor here
recognised a true picture of our national character. He said we were
still the same people as our ancestors the Gauls: that we still retained
the same levity, the same inconstancy, and, above all, the same vanity.
“When shall we,” said he, “exchange this vanity for a little pride?”
“The officers of your Majesty’s household,” said I, “neglected a noble
opportunity of acquiring both honour and popularity. There were above
one hundred and fifty officers of the household; a great number of them
belonged to the first families, and were men of independent fortune. It
was for them to set an example, which, being followed by others, might
have given another impulse to the national attitude, and afforded us a
claim on public esteem.”[24]—“Yes,” said the Emperor, “if all the upper
classes had acted in that way, affairs might have turned out very
differently. The old editors of the public journals would not then have
indulged in their chimeras of the good old times; we should not then
have been annoyed with their dissertations on the straight line and the
curve line; the King would have adhered honestly to his charter; I
should never have dreamed of quitting the Island of Elba; the head of
the nation would have been recorded in history with greater honour and
dignity; and we should all have been gainers.”
Footnote 24:
In this spirit, and in imitation of the example of other bodies, a
plan of Address to the King was drawn up in the name of the Officers
of the Emperor’s Household. It was in substance as follows:—
“Sire—The undersigned, who formed a part of the household of the
Emperor Napoleon, solicit from your Majesty the favour of particular
attention.
“Heirs to the duties of their fathers, they were, at a former period,
faithful defenders of the throne; many of them followed your Majesty
through long years of exile, into a foreign land, and sealed their
devotedness by the forfeiture of their patrimony.
“It was precisely these well-known principles, and this acknowledged
conduct, which constituted their claim, and called attention to them,
when it was in contemplation to raise up a new throne and to surround
it with adherents.
“The expectations of him who rallied us around him were not, could not
be, disappointed: we fulfilled our new duties with _honour and
fidelity_. These sentiments, Sire, the surest pledges of every other,
would be sufficient to secure our own esteem, if it were possible for
us to remain in indolent retirement. But what good and loyal Frenchman
would desire a state of absolute repose? And yet, should any of us
feel ourselves, through motives of delicacy, reduced to await, in
silence, our appointment to new duties, might not our motive be
misconstrued? On the other hand, might not the feelings of those also
be misunderstood who, yielding to the impulse of their hearts, eagerly
hastened to receive the favours of your Majesty?
“Such, Sire, is the peculiar and delicate situation in which we are
placed: but all our embarrassments will cease, if your Majesty deign
to lend an ear to our Address. Your royal heart will feel the delicacy
of the impulse by which we are guided at this moment, and will accept
our sincere wishes to serve your Majesty and our country with our
accustomed zeal and fidelity.”
It was difficult to obtain signatures to so moderate an Address. Would
it be believed, that this candid and authentic avowal of our past
functions, and the use of the phrase “Emperor Napoleon,” in
particular, were held as objections to it? Every one found fault with
it according to his humour. Such were the sentiments of the day. Only
seventeen signatures could be collected. Eighteen or twenty persons
promised to add their names when the list should amount to
twenty-five; but nobody would assist in completing that number. Two of
those, who had already signed it, thinking they had put their hand to
a document which they did not well understand, their sole intention
having been to solicit the confirmation of their appointments, even
went so far as to erase their signatures. The original copy of this
document must be either at Paris or Versailles, in the hands of one of
the persons who signed it.
THE EMPEROR’S IDEA OF RESERVING CORSICA.—HIS OPINION OF ROBESPIERRE.—HIS
IDEAS RESPECTING PUBLIC OPINION.—EXPIATORY INTENTION OF THE EMPEROR
WITH REGARD TO THE VICTIMS OF THE REVOLUTION.
18th.—After the accustomed occupation of the day, I accompanied the
Emperor to the garden about four o’clock. He had just completed his
dictation on the subject of Corsica. Having concluded every thing he had
to say relative to that island, and to Paoli, he adverted to the
interest which he himself excited there, while yet so young, at the time
of his separation from Paoli. He added that latterly he might to a
certainty have united in his favour the wishes, the sentiments, and the
efforts of the whole population of Corsica; and that, had he retired to
that island on quitting Paris, he would have been beyond the reach of
any foreign power whatever. He had an idea of doing so when he abdicated
in favour of his son. He was on the point of reserving to himself the
possession of Corsica during his life. No obstacle at sea would have
obstructed his passage thither. But he abandoned that design for the
sake of rendering his abdication the more sincere and the more
advantageous to France. His residence in the centre of the
Mediterranean, in the bosom of Europe, so near France and Italy, might
have furnished a lasting pretext to the Allies. He even preferred
America to England, from the same motive and the same idea. It is true
that, in the sincerity of his own measures, he neither did, nor could
foresee, his unjust and violent banishment to St. Helena.
The Emperor, next proceeding to take a review of different points of the
Revolution, dwelt particularly on Robespierre, whom he did not know, but
whom he believed to be destitute of talent, energy, or system. He
considered him, notwithstanding, merely as the scapegoat of the
Revolution, sacrificed as soon as he endeavoured to arrest it in its
course:—the common fate, he observed, of all who, before himself
(Napoleon) had ventured to take that step. The Terrorists and their
doctrine survived Robespierre; and if their excesses were not continued,
it was because they were obliged to bow to public opinion. They threw
all the blame on Robespierre; but the latter declared shortly before his
death, that he was a stranger to the recent executions, and that he had
not appeared in the Committees for six weeks previously. Napoleon
confessed that, while he was with the army of Nice, he had seen some
long letters addressed by Robespierre to his brother, condemning the
horrors of the Commissioners of the Convention, who, as he expressed it,
were ruining the Revolution by their tyranny and atrocities.
“Cambaceres, who,” observed the Emperor, “must be a good authority on
subjects relating to that period, answered an enquiry which I one day
addressed to him respecting the condemnation of Robespierre, in these
remarkable words: ‘Sire, that was a sentence without a trial;’ adding
that Robespierre had more foresight and conception than was generally
imagined; and that his intention was, after subduing the unbridled
factions which he had to oppose, to restore a system of order and
moderation. ‘Some time previously to his fall,’ added Cambaceres, ‘he
delivered a most admirable speech on this subject; it was not thought
proper to insert it in the Moniteur, and all trace of it is now lost.’”
This is not the first instance I have heard of omissions and want of
accuracy in the Moniteur. In the reports inserted in that journal
relative to the proceedings of the Assembly, there must be a period
remarkable for incorrectness; as the minutes of those proceedings were
for a time arbitrarily drawn up by one of the Committees.
Those who are induced to believe that Robespierre was at once wearied,
satiated, and alarmed by the Revolution, and had resolved on checking
it, affirm that he would not take any decided step until after he had
read his famous speech. He considered it so fine that he had no doubt of
its effect on the Assembly. If this be true, his mistake or his vanity
cost him dear. Those who think differently assert that Danton and
Camille-des-Moulins had precisely the same views; and yet that
Robespierre sacrificed them. To these it is replied that Robespierre
sacrificed them to preserve his popularity, because he judged that the
decisive moment had not yet arrived; or because he did not wish to
resign to them the glory of the enterprise.
Be this as it may, it is certain that the nearer we approach to the
instruments and the agents in that catastrophe, the greater obscurity
and mystery we find; and this uncertainty will but increase with time.
Thus the page of history will, on this point as on many others, become
the record, not so much of the events which really occurred, as of the
statements which are given of them.
In the course of our conversation relative to Robespierre, the Emperor
said that he had been very well acquainted with his brother, the younger
Robespierre, the representative to the Army of Italy. He said nothing
against this young man, whom he had led into action and inspired with
great confidence and considerable enthusiasm for his person; so much so,
that previously to the 9th of Thermidor, young Robespierre, being
recalled by his brother, who was then secretly laying his plans,
insisted on Napoleon’s accompanying him to Paris. The latter experienced
the greatest difficulty in ridding himself of the importunity, and, at
length, only escaped it by requesting the interference of the
General-in-chief Dumerbion, whose entire confidence he possessed, and
who represented that it was absolutely necessary he should remain where
he was. “Had I followed young Robespierre,” said the Emperor, “how
different might have been my career! On what trivial circumstances does
human fate depend!—Some office would doubtless have been assigned to me;
and I might at that moment have been destined to attempt a sort of
Vendemiaire. But I was then very young; my ideas were not yet fixed. It
is probable, indeed, that I should not have undertaken any task that
might have been allotted to me; but supposing the contrary case, and
even admitting that I had been successful, what results could I have
hoped for? In Vendemiaire the revolutionary fever was totally subdued;
in Thermidor it was still raging in its utmost fury and at its greatest
height.”
“Public opinion,” said the Emperor, on another occasion, when conversing
on another subject, “is an invisible and mysterious power which it is
impossible to resist: nothing is more unsteady, more vague, or more
powerful; and capricious as it may be, it is, nevertheless, just and
reasonable more frequently than is supposed. On becoming Provisional
Consul, the first act of my administration was the banishment of fifty
anarchists. Public opinion, which had at first been furiously hostile to
them, suddenly turned in their favour, and I was forced to retract. But
some time afterwards, these same anarchists, having shewn a disposition
to engage in plots, were again overthrown by that very public opinion,
which had now returned to support me. Thus, through the errors that were
committed at the time of the restoration, popularity was secured to the
regicides, who but a moment before had been proscribed by the great mass
of the nation.
“It belonged to me only,” continued the Emperor, “to shed a lustre over
the memory of Louis XVI. in France, and to purify the nation of the
crimes with which it had been sullied by frantic acts and unfortunate
fatalities. The Bourbons, being of the royal family, and coming from
abroad, merely avenged their own private cause, and augmented the
national opprobrium. I, on the contrary, being one of the people, should
have raised the character of the nation, by banishing from society, in
her name, those whose crimes had disgraced her. This was my intention,
but I proceeded prudently in the fulfilment of it. The three expiatory
altars at St. Denis were but a prelude to my design. The Temple of
Glory, on the site of the _Magdelaine_, was to have been devoted to this
object with still greater solemnity. There, near the tomb and over the
very bones of the political victims of our revolution, monuments and
religious ceremonies would have consecrated their memory in the name of
the French people. This is a secret that was not known to above ten
individuals: though it had been found necessary to communicate a hint of
the design to those who were intrusted with the arrangement of the
edifice. I should not have executed my scheme in less than ten years;
but what precautions had I not adopted; how carefully had I smoothed
every difficulty, and removed every obstruction! All would have
applauded my design, and no one would have suffered from it. So much
depends on circumstances and forms,” added he, “that in my reign, Carnot
would not have dared to write a memorial, boasting of the death of the
King, though he did so under the Bourbons. I should have leagued with
public opinion in punishing him; while public opinion sided with him in
rendering him unassailable.”