Doctor and Mrs. Marshall—Col. Macirone, aide-de-camp to Joachim Murat,
while king of Naples—General Arthur O’Connor—Lord and Lady
Kinnaird—His lordship under the _surveillance_ of the police—Suspected
of _espionage_, and arrested, but set at liberty immediately
after—Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce—Dr. Marshall’s correct information as
to passing events—Real character of the _coterie_ at his house—_Madame
la parente du ministre Fouché_—Misconception of the minister’s Swiss
porter—Henry Thevenot.
Shortly after this period I became particularly intimate with Dr.
Marshall, a circumstance which, in the paucity of English who had
remained in Paris, was productive to me of great satisfaction. He was a
man of prepossessing appearance and address; had travelled much; had
acted (he informed me) as physician to the army in Egypt, &c.; and had
gone on some confidential missions to Murat while king of Naples. His
wife was a pretty woman, rather _en bon point_, about thirty, and with
the complete appearance and address of a gentlewoman. The doctor kept a
very handsome establishment, and entertained small companies splendidly.
The society I met there consisted, generally, of Col. Macirone, who had
been aide-de-camp to Murat, and has published an account of the romantic
circumstances attendant on the death of that ill-fated man. Another
member of the society was Count Julien, formerly, I believe, some
secretary or civil officer of Murat, a boisterous, overbearing fat man,
consequential without being dignified, dressy without being neat, and
with a showy _politeness_ that wanted the elements of _civility_. Count
Julien was the only person I met at Doctor Marshall’s whose character or
occupation I had much curiosity about.
Fouché was then the emperor’s minister of police, and they all appeared
to be more or less acquainted with him: but I had not then the slightest
idea that most of them were in some way _employés_ of the police
minister, and hollow friends, if not absolute enemies to Napoleon.
I met several other gentlemen less remarkable at Doctor Marshall’s; many
of them I never saw again: some were Italians, but mostly French. Only
one lady appeared besides the mistress of the house. This was a plain,
rational, sedate woman under forty. She was introduced to us by Mrs.
Marshall as the wife of a _relative_ of Fouché, and at that time (with
her husband) on a visit to his excellency at his hotel, Rue Cerutti.
One day before dinner, at Dr. Marshall’s house, I observed this lady,
just on our arrival, hurrying into Mrs. Marshall’s boudoir, and when
dinner was announced she re-entered decked out with a set of remarkable
coral ornaments, which I had seen Mrs. Marshall wear several times. This
circumstance struck me at the moment, but was neither recollected nor
accounted for till we paid an unlucky visit to that “relative of
Fouché,” when the whole enigma became developed, and my suspicions
fairly aroused.
Dr. Marshall meanwhile continued to gain much on my esteem. He saw that
I was greedy of information as to the affairs of Italy; and he, as well
as Col. Macirone, saturated me in consequence with anecdotes of the
court of Naples, and of Murat himself, highly entertaining, and I
believe authentic; for I do really think that Macirone was sincerely
attached to that king, and attended his person with friendship and
sincerity. On the contrary, Count Julien seemed to me incapable of much
feeling, and perfectly indifferent as to any body’s fate but his own.
This, however, I only give as my individual opinion: I soon lost sight
of the man altogether. Once (I think the day of the abdication) I saw
him at Fouché’s office, whither I strolled to make observations. He was
lavishing the most boundless invectives against the ex-emperor.
In the midst of this society I passed my time during the greater part of
the Hundred Days: and Doctor Marshall informing me, I believe truly,
that he was on terms of confidence (though not immediately) with Fouché,
and well knowing that he might with perfect security communicate any
thing to me (I should be silent for my own sake), scarce a day passed
but we had much conversation in his garden; and he certainly did give me
very correct information as to the state of affairs and the condition of
the emperor, together with much that was not equally correct, regarding
himself. This I occasionally and partially perceived; but his address
was imposing and particularly agreeable: he was good-natured and
hospitable.
We had also cultivated our acquaintance (originated through the
adventure of the shawls) with Colonel Gowen, of the national guards,
whose hotel in Rue Clichy bore a most extraordinary castellated
appearance, and was surrounded by very large gardens, where we were
often nobly entertained: the leads of the hotel overlooked Tivoli, and
indeed every place about Paris. The colonel lived extremely well; spoke
English perfectly; and might, in fact, be mistaken for an hospitable
colonel of British yeomanry.
Another gentleman, a Mr. Lewins, I also happened accidentally to meet,
who was an Irishman, and whom I had known many years previously. We
became intimate, and I derived utility and information from that
acquaintance. This gentleman knew, and had long known, much more of past
French affairs and individuals than any of my other acquaintances; and
seeming at the same time replete with good-nature (with his _politics_,
which I really believe were very _undecided_, I had nothing to do), I
could not fail to be a gainer by our intercourse, which continued.
Another more remarkable and very clever person, Mr. Arthur O’Connor, was
then a French general unemployed. I had known him thirty years before:
he had married the daughter and sole heiress of the unfortunate and
learned Marquis de Condorcet; and was prohibited from returning to his
native country by act of parliament. General Arthur O’Connor was a
remarkably strong-minded, clever man, with a fine face and manly air: he
had besides a great deal of Irish national character, to some of the
failings whereof he united several of its best qualities. I met him, and
relished his company highly. For old acquaintance sake I professed and
truly felt a friendship for him; and, differing as we did upon public
subjects, we talked over all without arguing upon any, which is the only
agreeable method of conversation among persons whose opinions do not
coincide.
Lord and Lady Kinnaird were also in Paris at that period. I did not pay
my respects to them for a very singular, though at such a time a very
sufficient reason. Her ladyship was the daughter of one of my most
respected friends, the late Duke of Leinster, to every member of whose
family I owe all possible attention: but Lord Kinnaird, by over-acting
his part, had drawn on himself an absurd degree of suspicion; and I had
been informed by a friend, in confidence, that every person who was seen
visiting him was immediately suspected likewise, and put secretly under
_surveillance_, which would not have been particularly agreeable to me.
In a little time this information was curiously illustrated. I was
informed that Lord Kinnaird had been arrested by order of Fouché: but
Fouché soon found he had fallen into a very ridiculous error; and I
believe his lordship was immediately liberated with an ample apology. I
heard also incidentally among the _employés_, (for I took care at all
times to display no inordinate curiosity even though I might be
literally bursting with that feeling,) that his lordship was accustomed
to express himself so hyperbolically in favour of Napoleon, that the
police (to whom every thing was made known by unsuspected domestics)
could not give his lordship credit for sincerity, and therefore took for
granted that he was playing some double game: in fact, they fancied he
was a spy!—using ultra eulogiums on the emperor to cloke a secret
design.
Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce were both in Paris at the same period, and I
have often regretted that I did not know them. I afterward knew the
latter well, when in La Force with Sir R. Wilson and my friend Mr. J.
Hutchinson, for assisting the escape of Lavalette. I found in Mr. Bruce
an able man with some excellent qualities, and a thirst after
information, which I admire in any body.
These, together with the family of Mr. Talbot, were the only English
whom I met in Paris immediately after my arrival and during the most
momentous crisis Europe ever witnessed.[43] That point of time formed it
was then supposed the pivot whereon the future destiny of every nation
in the fairest quarter of the globe was vibrating:—but I am here
trenching on a subject in which the nature of this work does not permit
me to indulge.
-----
Footnote 43:
There were others, but I knew them not. One mysterious person I was
then well acquainted with. I have for several years past lost sight of
him; and never could find out _who_ he was. He was clever,
intelligent, and actively friendly: obviously not _rich_, and as
obviously not _poor_.—I should be glad to see him again.
-----
The successive occurrences at Paris, after Napoleon’s return, were daily
published, and are known to every body. The press seemed free from
restraint, and every public act was recorded: it was therefore to the
_private_ acts and characters of men I applied my observation, as
forming the best ground for speculative opinions, (which that portentous
interval necessarily tended to stimulate,) and likewise as calculated to
yield the best materials for future entertainment.
Dr. Marshall was, as I have already stated, on certain occasions
confidentially employed by Fouché; and placing some confidence in
me—perhaps not duly estimating the extent of my curiosity,—he was very
communicative. (I think he hated the principles of Fouché.) In fact, not
a day passed, particularly after Napoleon’s return from Waterloo, that I
did not make some discovery through the doctor, as much from his air of
mystery as from direct admissions. From him I collected Fouché’s
flagitious character, and the ductility and total absence of principle
exhibited by some of his _attachés_.
The intelligence I daily acquired did not surprise, but greatly
disgusted me. Napoleon had _many_ false _friends_. I hate treachery in
all its ramifications: it is not, generally speaking, a French
characteristic; but Fouché certainly displayed a complete
personification of it. Men of that description generally do each other
_strict justice_, by the operation and exercise of mutual hatred,
contempt, and invective. I never heard one such person say a kind word
of another _behind his back_; and when a man is necessitated by policy
to puff a brother villain, it is not difficult for a stander-by to
decipher the sneer of jealousy and mental reservation distorting the
muscles of the speaker’s countenance, and involuntarily disclosing the
very feeling which he was perhaps desirous to conceal.
Thus was it with various tools of that treacherous minister; and in his
own countenance were engraven distinctly the characteristics of
plausibility, cunning and insincerity. From the first moment I saw
Fouché, and more particularly when I heard him _coldly_ swear fidelity
to his imperial master, I involuntarily imbibed a strong sensation of
dislike. His features held out no inducement to place confidence in
their owner: on the contrary, they could not but tend to beget distrust
and disesteem. The suspicions which they generated in me I never could
overcome, and the sequel proved how just were my anticipations.
After awhile, I began slightly to suspect the composition of the society
I was associating with, and it occurred to me to request that Lady
Barrington would pay a visit to the lady we had met at Doctor
Marshall’s, and whom we had understood from Doctor and Mrs. Marshall to
be on a visit to Fouché, her _relative_. I proposed to go also, and
leave my card for her husband, whom we had not yet seen. We accordingly
waited on them at Fouché’s hotel, and asked the Swiss if _madame_ was at
home.
“_Madame!_” said the porter; “_madame! quelle madame?_” as if he had
heard us imperfectly. We had forgotten her name, and could therefore
only reply, “_madame la parente de monsieur le ministre_.”
“_Parente de monsieur le ministre?_” repeated the Swiss. “There is no
such person here, monsieur,” with a half-saucy shrug.
“Oh yes,” exclaimed I: “she is on a visit to the Duc D’Otrante.”
“_No, no, monsieur et madame_,” repeated the pertinacious Swiss: “_point
du tout!_” and he seemed impatient to send us away; but after a moment’s
pause, the fellow burst out into a fit of laughter. “I beg your pardon,
_monsieur et madame_,” said he, “I begin to understand whom you mean.
_Your friend_ undoubtedly resides in the hotel, but she is just now from
home.”
I handed him our cards for her and her husband. On reading “_Le
Chevalier et Milady_,” the man looked more respectful, but apparently
could not control his laughter. When, however, he at length recovered
himself, he bowed very low, begged pardon again, and said he thought we
had been inquiring for some _vraie_ madame. The word stimulated my
curiosity, and I hastily demanded its meaning; when it turned out that
_monsieur_ was the maitre d’hotel, and _madame_, his wife, looked to the
linen, china, &c. as _femme de confiance_:—in English, _housekeeper_!
We waited to hear no more. I took up our cards and away we went; and my
suspicions as to that lady’s rank were thus set at rest. I did not say
one word of the matter at Dr. Marshall’s, but I suppose the porter told
the _lady_, as we never saw her afterward, nor her husband at all.
I now began to see my way more clearly, and redoubled my assiduity to
decipher the events passing around me. In this I was aided by an
increased intimacy with Colonel Macirone, whom closer acquaintance
confirmed as an agreeable and gentlemanly man.
I perceived that there was some plot going forward, the nature of which
it was beyond my power to develope. The manner of the persons I lived
among was perpetually undergoing some shade of variation; the mystery
thickened; and my curiosity increased with it.
In the end this curiosity was completely gratified; but all I could
determine on at the moment was, that there existed an extensive
organised system of deception and treachery, at the bottom of which was
Fouché himself: whether, however, my acquaintances would ultimately
adhere to the emperor or his minister, seemed quite problematical. I
meanwhile dreaded every body, yet affected to fear none, and listened
with an air of unconcern to the stories of my valet, Henry Thevenot,
though at that time I gave them no credit: subsequent occurrences,
however, rendered it manifest that this man procured, somehow or other,
sure information.
Among other matters, Thevenot said he knew well there was an intention,
if opportunity occurred, of assassinating Napoleon on his road to join
the army in Belgium.[44] I did not much relish being made the depositary
of such dangerous reports, and ordered my servant never to mention
before me again “any such ridiculous stories,” otherwise I should
discharge him as an _unsafe_ person. Yet I could not keep his tongue
from wagging, and I really dreaded dismissing him. He said “that Fouché
was a traitor to his master; that several of the cannon at Montmartre
were rendered _unserviceable_; and that mines had been charged with
gunpowder under various parts of the city, preparatory to some attempt
at counter-revolution.”
-----
Footnote 44:
I have often thought that the Mameluke who had always been retained by
Napoleon about his person had some very deep reason for his ultimate
desertion; and to this moment that circumstance appears to me to leave
just grounds for a suspicion that his fidelity had long been shaken.
-----