7th.—The Emperor summoned me to attend him at an early hour. He began to
read the Nouvelle Héloïse, frequently remarking on the ingenuity and
force of the arguments, the elegance of the style and expressions: he
read for upwards of two hours. This reading made a powerful impression
on me; it produced a deep melancholy—a mingled feeling of tenderness and
sorrow. I had always been fond of the work; and it now awakened happy
recollections, and excited deep regret: the Emperor frequently smiled at
me. During breakfast the Nouvelle Héloïse was the topic of conversation.
“Jean-Jacques has overcharged his subject,” said the Emperor; “he has
painted madness: love should be a source of pleasure, not of misery.” I
alleged that Jean-Jacques had described nothing which a man might not
feel, and that even the misery to which the Emperor alluded was, in
reality, happiness.—“I see,” said he, “you have a little touch of the
romantic: has Love’s misery rendered you happy?”—“I do not complain of
my fate, Sire,” replied I; “were I to begin life again, I should wish to
retrace the course I have already pursued.”
The Emperor resumed his reading after breakfast; but he paused
occasionally: the enchantment seemed to seize him in his turn. He at
length laid down the book, and we went out to the garden. “Really,” said
he, as we walked along, “this work is not without fire; it moves, it
rouses the feelings.” We discussed the subject deeply; we were very
prolix in our remarks, and we at length agreed that perfect love is like
ideal happiness; that both are equally airy, fugitive, mysterious, and
inexplicable; and that, finally, love is the business of the idle man,
the recreation of the warrior, and the ruin of the sovereign.
We were joined by the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud, who had just come
from Longwood. The admiral had for some days past been urgent for our
removal thither; and the Emperor was not less anxious to go, the
accommodation at Briars being so very bad. However, before he removed,
it was necessary that the smell of the paint should be entirely gone,
for, owing to his peculiar organization, he could not possibly endure
it. In the Imperial palaces, care had been taken never to expose him to
it. In his different journeys, the slightest smell of paint frequently
rendered it necessary to change the apartments that had been prepared
for him; and on board of the Northumberland the paint of the ship had
made him very ill. He had been informed on the preceding evening that
all was ready at Longwood, and that the disagreeable effect of the paint
was entirely gone. He accordingly determined to remove on the Saturday
following, as he would thus be rid of the annoyance of the workmen on
Sunday; but the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud now came to say that they
had visited the place, and that it was not habitable. The Emperor
expressed much vexation at the first account he had received, and the
resolution which it had led him to adopt. The two gentlemen withdrew,
and we entered the lower walk. The Emperor was much out of humour. M. de
Montholon now arrived, very _mal-a-propos_, from Longwood, declaring
that all was ready, and that the Emperor might remove as soon as he
wished. These two accounts, so contradictory and so close upon each
other, strongly excited his displeasure. Fortunately, dinner was
announced, which diverted his attention from the subject. The cloth was
laid in the Emperor’s chamber; for he had so severe a cold that he could
not endure the tent. After dinner he resumed his reading; and ended the
day, as he had begun it, with the Nouvelle Héloïse.
THE ENGLISH LIEUTENANT.—A SINGULAR CIRCUMSTANCE.—DEPARTURE FOR LONGWOOD
DETERMINED ON.—STATE OF FRANCE.—MEMORIAL IN JUSTIFICATION OF NEY.
8th—9th. Owing to the doubt which had yesterday arisen respecting the
paint, I determined to go myself to ascertain the real state of the
case, and to acquaint the Emperor with it at breakfast-time. I
accordingly set out very early, walking three parts of the way,
because nobody was up who could get ready a horse for me. I returned
before nine o’clock. The smell of the paint was certainly very slight;
but it was too much for the Emperor.
On the 9th the Captain of the Minden of 74, was introduced to the
Emperor in the garden. The captain had arrived from the Cape of Good
Hope, and was on the eve of sailing for Europe. He had had the honour
of being presented to Napoleon at Paris, under the Consulate, about
twelve years before. He requested permission to introduce one of his
Lieutenants to the Emperor, on account of some personal circumstances,
which we thought very singular. The young man was born at Bologna,
precisely at the period when the French army entered that city. The
French General, Napoleon, had by some accident been present at the
christening of the child, to whom he gave a tri-coloured cockade,
which has since been carefully preserved in the family.
After the departure of these gentlemen, the Grand Marshal arrived from
Longwood. He thought the paint by no means offensive; the Emperor’s
present accommodation was very bad, and a portion of his property had
already been removed; he therefore resolved to proceed to Longwood on
the following day, of which I was heartily glad. I had for some days
past had an opportunity of observing that a determination had been
adopted to compel the Emperor to quit his present abode. I had kept to
myself all the communications, public or private, that had been made
to me on the subject. I made it a rule to spare him every cause of
vexation that I possibly could, and merely contented myself with
acting in the way that I thought most advisable. Two days before, an
officer was sent to carry away the tent, though we had expressed no
wish to that effect. The officer had also been directed to remove the
outside shutters from the Emperor’s windows; but this I opposed,
telling him it could not be done, as the Emperor had not yet risen,
and I sent him away. On another occasion, with the view of alarming
me, I was told as a great secret that if the Emperor did not
immediately remove, it was intended to station a hundred soldiers at
the gates of the enclosure. “Very well,” I replied, and took no
further notice. What could be the occasion of all this hurry? I
suspect that the caprice of our jailors, and the desire of pushing
their authority to the utmost, had more concern in the business than
any thing else.
We received newspapers down to the 15th of September; and they became
the subject of conversation. The Emperor analyzed them. The future
appeared enveloped in clouds. “However,” said the Emperor, “three
great events present themselves to the imagination;—the division of
France, the reign of the Bourbons, or a new dynasty. Louis XVIII.,”
observed he, “might easily have reigned in 1814, by rendering himself
a national monarch. Now he has only the odious and uncertain chance
arising out of excessive severity—a reign of terror. His dynasty may
be permanently established, or that which is to succeed him may still
be in the secret of futurity.” Some one present observed, “that the
Duke of Orleans might be called to the throne;” but the Emperor, by a
string of very forcible and eloquent reasoning, proved that, unless
the Duke of Orleans came to wear the crown in his turn by the natural
order of succession, it was the well-understood interest of all the
sovereigns of Europe to prefer him (Napoleon) to the Duke of Orleans,
coming to the throne by a crime. “For,” said he, “what is the doctrine
of Kings against the events of the present day? Is it to prevent a
renewal of the example which I furnished, against what they call
legitimacy? Now the example which I have set cannot be renewed above
once in the course of many ages; but that of the Duke of Orleans, the
near relative of the monarch on the throne, may be renewed daily,
hourly, and in every country. There is no sovereign, who has not, in
his own palace, and about his person, cousins, nephews, brothers, and
other relations, who could easily follow such an example if it were
once given.”
We read, in the same papers, an abstract of the memorial, in
justification of Marshal Ney.—The Emperor thought it most pitiable. It
was not calculated to save his life, and by no means to maintain his
honour. The arguments in his defence were, to say the least of them,
feeble and destitute of point. After all he had done, he st¡ll
protested his devotedness to the King, and his aversion of the
Emperor, “An absurd plan,” said Napoleon, “but one which has been
generally adopted by those who have figured in the present memorable
times, and who seem not to have considered that I am so entirely
identified with our prodigies, our monuments, our institutions, and
all our national acts, that to separate me from them is to wrong
France. The glory of France is to acknowledge me! And, in spite of all
the subtlety, evasion, and falsehood, that may be employed to prove
the contrary, my character will still be fairly estimated by the
French nation. Ney’s defence,” continued he, “was plainly traced out.
He was led on by a general impulse which he thought calculated to
ensure the welfare of his country; he had obeyed without
premeditation, and without any treasonable design. A change of fortune
had ensued, and he was cited before a tribunal; this was all he had to
say with respect to the great events that had taken place. As to the
defence of his life, there was nothing to be said on that point,
except, indeed, that he was protected by a solemn capitulation, which
guaranteed to every individual silence and oblivion with regard to all
political acts and opinions. Had he pursued that line of defence, and
were his life, nevertheless, to be sacrificed, it would be, in the
face of the whole world, a violation of the most sacred laws. He would
leave behind him the recollection of a glorious character; carrying to
the grave the sympathy of every generous mind, and heaping disgrace
and reprobation on his murderers. But this enthusiasm is probably
beyond his moral strength,” said the Emperor. “Ney is the bravest of
men, and nothing more.”
It is certain that when Ney quitted Paris, he was wholly devoted to
the King; and that he did not turn until he saw that all was lost. If
he then proved himself enthusiastic in the opposite course, it was
because he felt that he had much to atone for. After his famous order
of the day, he wrote to Napoleon that what he had done was principally
with a view to the welfare of the country; and that, as he could not
henceforth be agreeable to the Emperor, he begged that he would grant
him permission to retire. The Emperor desired him to come, and said he
would receive him as he did on the day after the battle of the
Moscowa. Ney presented himself to Napoleon, and said that, after what
had occurred at Fontainebleau, he must of necessity entertain doubts
of his attachment and fidelity; and that therefore he solicited no
other rank than that of a grenadier in the Imperial guard. The Emperor
replied by stretching forth his hand to him, and calling him the
bravest of the brave, as he was accustomed to do. The Emperor compared
the situation of Ney to that of Turenne. Ney might be defended: but
Turenne was unjustifiable. And yet Turenne was pardoned and loaded
with honours, while Ney was probably doomed to die.
“In 1649,” said he, “Turenne commanded the royal army, which command
had been conferred on him by Anne of Austria, the Regent of the
kingdom. Though he had taken the oath of fidelity, yet he bribed his
troops, declared himself for the Fronde, and marched on Paris. But
when he was declared guilty of high treason, his repentant army
forsook him; and Turenne took refuge with the Prince of Hesse, to
avoid the pursuit of justice. Ney, on the contrary, was urged by the
unanimous wish and outcry of his army. Only nine months had elapsed
since he had acknowledged a monarch, who had been preceded by six
hundred thousand foreign bayonets: a monarch who had not accepted the
constitution presented to him by the Senate, as the formal and
necessary condition of his return, and who, by declaring that he had
reigned nineteen years, proved that he regarded all preceding
governments as usurpations. Ney, whose education had taught him to
respect the national sovereignty, had fought for five-and-twenty years
to support that cause; and, from a private soldier, had raised himself
to the rank of marshal. If his conduct on the 20th of March was not
honourable, it is at least explicable, and in some respects
pardonable; but Turenne was absolutely criminal, because the Fronde
was the ally of Spain, which was then at war with his Sovereign, and
because he had been prompted by his own interest and that of his
family, in the hope of obtaining a sovereignty at the expense of
France, and consequently to the prejudice of his country.”