27th.—The Emperor went out about 2 o’clock; the weather was very fine.
The season is sensibly different from that which we had on our arrival;
the air is infinitely more pure. The Emperor was, however, very ill, and
very low-spirited. He walked to the extremity of the wood, while we were
waiting for the calash. We took our usual drive.
The conversation turned on the state of manufactures in France. The
Emperor said he had raised them to a degree of prosperity hitherto
unknown; and which was scarcely credited in Europe, or even in France.
This was a subject of wonder to foreigners on their arrival. The Abbé de
Montesquiou, he said, was constantly expressing his astonishment at this
circumstance, the proofs of which he had in his own hands, when he
became Minister of the Interior.
The Emperor was the first individual in France who said: Agriculture,
first; industry, that is to say, manufactures, next; and, finally,
trade, which must arise out of the superabundance of the two first. He
also defined and put into practice, in a clear and connected way, the
systems most conducive to the interests of our manufacturers and
merchants. To him we were indebted for the cultivation of sugar, indigo,
and cotton. He offered a reward of a million francs to the person who
should discover a method of spinning flax like cotton; and he doubted
not that this discovery would have been made. The fatality of
circumstances alone prevented this grand idea from being carried into
execution.
“The old aristocracy, those enemies to our prosperity,” said the
Emperor, “exhausted all their wit in stupid jokes and frivolous
caricatures on these subjects. But the English had no cause to laugh;
they felt the blow, and have not yet recovered from it.”
A short time before dinner, the Emperor sent for me to attend him in his
chamber. He was very unwell; he tried to converse, but he had not
strength. He attributed his indisposition to his having drunk some bad
wine, which had newly arrived. He said that Corvisart, Bertholet, and
other physicians and chemists, had frequently said that if he
experienced the least unpleasant flavour, on first tasting his wine, he
must by no means swallow it.
The turn of the conversation led him to express his surprise at the
contrast between the character of the mind and the expression of the
countenance, which was observable in some individuals. “This proves,”
said he, "that we must not judge of a man by his face; we can know him
only by his conduct. What countenances have I had to judge of in the
course of my life! What odd samples of physiognomy have come under my
observation! And what rash opinions have I heard on this subject! Thus I
invariably made it a rule never to be influenced either by features or
by words. Still, however, it must be confessed that we sometimes find
curious resemblances between the countenance and the character. For
instance, on looking at the face of our _Monseigneur_ (meaning the
Governor), who would not recognise the features of a tiger-cat! I will
mention another instance. There was a man in my service, who was
employed about my person. I liked him very much; but I was obliged to
dismiss him because I several times caught him with his hands in my
pockets. He committed his thefts too impudently: let any one look at
this man, and they must admit that he has a magpie’s eye."
While we were conversing on the subject of physiognomy, some one
remarked, that Mirabeau, speaking of Pastoret’s face, said: “it is a
compound of the tiger and the calf; but the calf predominates.” At this
the Emperor laughed heartily, and said it was strictly true.
The Emperor wished to dine alone in his chamber. He sent for me about
ten o’clock. He was then better; and he looked over several of the books
which lay scattered upon his couch. He began to read Racine’s Alexander,
of which he expressed his dislike; and he afterwards took up Andromache,
which is one of his favourite pieces.
MARKS OF RESPECT SHEWN TO THE EMPEROR BY THE
ENGLISH SOLDIERS.
28th.—The Emperor went out about two o’clock. The weather was
exceedingly pleasant. We took nearly an hour’s drive in the calash. It
had been at first proposed that the Emperor should ride on horseback;
for his health was suffering from the want of that exercise. But he
would not consent to go out on horseback; he said that to ride backward
and forward within the limits marked out for him was like being confined
in a riding-school, and he could not endure it. However, on our return
home, we succeeded in changing his determination. We all attended him,
and we reached the summit of that part of Goat Hill which separates the
horizon of the town from that of Longwood. On our way back, we passed in
front of the English camp; this was the first time we had passed it
since our residence at Longwood. The soldiers immediately quitted their
various occupations, and eagerly formed themselves in a line as we
passed along. “What European soldier,” said the Emperor, “would not be
inspired with respect at my approach!” He knew this, and therefore
carefully avoided passing the English camp, lest he should be accused of
wishing to excite this sentiment. We all very much enjoyed the ride, and
returned home about five o’clock. The Emperor was a little fatigued.
For some time past, he has relinquished his regular dictations. He saw
some skittles which had been made by the servants for their own
amusement. He ordered them to be brought to us, and we played several
games with them. The Emperor won a napoleon and a half from me. He made
me pay the debt, and then threw the money to the servant who had
attended us for the purpose of running after the ball.
CORSICA.—REMARK MADE BY PAOLI.—MAGNANIMOUS CONDUCT OF MADAME
MÉRE.—LUCIEN INTENDED TO BE GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF CORSICA.—THE FIRST
CONSUL’S COURT.—MADAME DE CHEVREUSE.—THE EMPEROR RECEIVES A LETTER
FROM HIS MOTHER.
29th.—For some time past, at our urgent solicitation, the Emperor every
evening made a promise that he would ride on horseback early on the
following morning; but whenever the appointed hour arrived he invariably
changed his determination. This morning, he was in the garden by
half-past eight o’clock, and he sent for me. The conversation turned on
Corsica, and was maintained for upwards of an hour.
"One’s native country," said he, “is always dear. Even St. Helena may
have charms to those who were born here.” To the Emperor, therefore,
Corsica presented a thousand attractions. He described the grand scenery
of the country, and remarked that islanders always display originality
of character, because their situation tends to protect them against
invasion, and precludes that perpetual intercourse with foreigners which
is experienced in continental states. The inhabitants of mountainous
regions, he said, always possess a degree of energy, and a turn of mind
peculiar to themselves. He dwelt much on the charms of his native
country, which, from his early recollections, was to him superior to any
other spot in the world. He thought that the very smell of the earth
would enable him to distinguish his native land, even were he conducted
blindfold to her shores; there was in it something peculiar, which he
had never perceived elsewhere. Corsica was the scene of all his early
attachments; he had there passed the happy years of his childhood,
freely roaming among the hills and valleys, enjoying the honours and
pleasures of hospitality. He traced different lines of family
connections, who, he said, extended the spirit of animosity and revenge,
even to the seventh degree; and he observed that a young woman in
Corsica thought she enhanced the value of her dowry by enumerating the
list of her cousins. He recollected with pride that, when only twenty
years of age, he had accompanied Paoli on a grand excursion to Porte di
Nuovo. Paoli’s retinue was numerous; he was escorted by upwards of 500
of his followers on horseback. Napoleon rode by his side, and, as they
went along, Paoli pointed out to him the different positions and the
places which had been the scenes of resistance or triumph during the war
for Corsican liberty. He related to him all the particulars of that
glorious conflict; and, on hearing the remarks and opinions which fell
from his young companion, he said, "Oh Napoleon! there is nothing modern
in your character! you are formed entirely on Plutarch’s model."
When Paoli manifested his determination to surrender the island to the
English, the Bonaparte family continued to head the French party, and
had the fatal honour of being the object of _a march_ of the inhabitants
of the island, that is to say, they were attacked by a levy in mass: 12
or 15,000 peasants made a descent from the mountains on Ajaccio. The
house occupied by Napoleon’s family was pillaged and burnt, and the
vines and flocks were destroyed. Madame, surrounded by a few faithful
friends, wandered for some time on the sea-shore, and was at length
obliged to fly to France. The Bonaparte family had always been much
attached to Paoli, and he in his turn had professed particular respect
towards Madame. It is, however, but just to remark that he employed
persuasion before he resorted to force. “Renounce this opposition,” said
he, “it will prove the ruin of yourself, your family, and your fortune;
you will bring irreparable misery on yourself.” The Emperor, indeed,
affirmed that, but for the chance of the revolution, the family could
never have recovered from their misfortunes. Madame, like another
Cornelia, heroically replied, “that she, her children, and her relatives
would only obey two laws, namely, those of duty and honour. Had old
Archdeacon Lucien been living at that time, his heart would have bled at
the idea of the danger of his sheep, goats, and cattle, and his prudence
would not have failed to allay the storm.”
Madame Bonaparte, the victim of her patriotism and her attachment to
France, expected to be received at Marseilles as an emigrant of
distinction; but there she scarcely found herself in safety; and, to her
astonishment, discovered that the spirit of patriotism existed only
among the very lowest classes of the people.
Napoleon, in his youth wrote a history of Corsica, which he dedicated to
the Abbé Raynal. This production gained for him some flattering
compliments and letters from the Abbé, who was the fashionable author of
the day. This history has been lost.
The Emperor remarked that, during the war in Corsica, all the French who
came to the island formed some decided opinion on the character of the
mountaineers. Some said that they were full of enthusiasm, others
regarded them as mere banditti.
It was said in the Senate at Paris, that France had chosen a ruler from
among a people whom the Romans would not take for their slaves. “The
Senator intended this remark as an insult to me,” said the Emperor; “but
he forgot how high a compliment he was thus paying to the Corsicans. He
spoke truly: the Romans never purchased Corsican slaves: they knew that
it was impossible to reduce the Corsicans under the yoke of slavery.”
During the war for liberty in Corsica, some one proposed the singular
plan of cutting down and burning all the chesnut-trees, the fruit of
which furnishes sustenance to the mountaineers. By this means it was
hoped they would be compelled to descend to the plains to sue for food
and peace. Happily, said the Emperor, this was one of those
impracticable plans which can be realized only on paper. From very
different motives, Napoleon, during the early period of his life, had
constantly declaimed against the goats, which are very numerous in the
island, and commit great ravages among the trees. He wished them to be
entirely extirpated. On this subject he had some terrible disputes with
his uncle, Archdeacon Lucien, who possessed numerous herds of goats, and
who defended them like a patriarch. In his rage, he reproached his
nephew with being an _innovator_, and inveighed against _philosophic
ideas_, as the cause of the danger with which his goats were threatened.
Paoli died in London at a very old age: he lived to see Napoleon First
Consul and Emperor. The Emperor expressed his regret at not having
recalled him. “That,” said he, “would have been highly gratifying to me.
Such an act would have been a real trophy of honour. But my mind was
absorbed in important affairs; I rarely had time to indulge my personal
feelings.”
After the Emperor’s return in 1815, when Lucien arrived in Paris, Joseph
advised the Emperor to appoint him Governor General of Corsica. This
measure was even determined on; the importance and hurry of passing
events alone prevented its execution. “If Lucien had gone to Corsica,”
said the Emperor, “he would still have remained master of the Island,
and what resources would it not have presented to our persecuted
patriots?—To how many unfortunate families would not Corsica have
afforded an asylum? He repeated that he had perhaps committed a fault,
at the time of his abdication, in not reserving to himself the
sovereignty of Corsica, together with the possession of some millions of
the civil list; and in not having conveyed all his valuables to Toulon,
whence nothing could have impeded his passage. In Corsica, he would have
found himself at home; the whole population would have been, as it were,
his own family. He might have disposed of every arm and every heart.
Thirty thousand or even 50,000 allied troops could not have subdued
him.” No sovereign in Europe would have undertaken such a task. But it
was precisely the happy security of the situation that deterred him from
availing himself of it. He would not have it said that, amidst the wreck
of the French people, which he plainly foresaw, he alone had been artful
enough to gain the port.
Some one here observed that, according to the general opinion, he might,
in 1814, have secured the possession of Corsica instead of the Island of
Elba. “Certainly I might,” replied the Emperor, “and those who are well
acquainted with the affairs of Fontainebleau will be surprised that I
did not. I might then have reserved to myself whatever I pleased. The
humour of the moment led me to decide in favour of Elba. Had I possessed
Corsica, it is probable that my return in 1815 would never have been
thought of. Even at Elba, those whose interest it was to keep me there
decreed my return by their own misgovernment and the non-fulfilment of
the engagements which they had entered into with me.”
We now reminded the Emperor of his intention of riding on horseback; but
he said that he would rather walk and chat. He ordered his breakfast,
after which we conversed for some time on the old Court, the nobility
who composed it, their pretensions, the King’s equipages, &c.; and all
this was compared with what the Emperor had himself introduced.
The Emperor then reverted to the period of his Consulship, and described
the difficulties which he had experienced in forming the kind of Court
which was then kept up at the Tuileries. On his arrival there, he was
resolved to obliterate the recollection of the manners and conflicts of
the period to which he had just succeeded. But he had hitherto passed
his life in camps: he had just returned from Egypt, and had quitted
France when young and inexperienced. He was a stranger to every one, and
he at first found this a source of great embarrassment. Lebrun acted as
his guide during the first years of his Consulship. Bankers and
money-speculators were at that time persons of the first consequence. No
sooner did the Consul enter upon his functions, than a host of these
individuals crowded round him, and eagerly offered to advance him
considerable sums of money. This conduct, though seemingly dictated only
by generosity, was not however without interested views. They were for
the most part men of bad character; and their offers were rejected. The
First Consul had a natural dislike of men of this profession. He said
that he had taken the firm determination to act upon different
principles from those of Scherer, Barras, and the Directory. He was
anxious that probity should become the main spring and feature of his
new government. The Consul was also immediately surrounded by the wives
of these money-lenders, who were all beautiful and elegant women. Indeed
a money-lender at that time seemed to regard it as indispensably
necessary that his wife should be a woman of fascinating manners: it was
a circumstance that tended materially to assist his speculations. But
the prudent Lebrun was at hand to direct the young Telemachus. He
resolved to exclude this sort of society from the Tuileries. It was,
however, no such easy matter to assemble a suitable circle around the
Consul: nobles were rejected, in order to avoid giving offence to public
opinion; and contractors were excluded, with the view of purifying the
morals of the new era. These two classes being thus shut out, of course
no very distinguished society remained; and the Tuileries for some time
presented a sort of magic-lantern, very varied and changeable.
At Moscow, the Viceroy happened to meet with some letters written by
Princess Dolgoruki, who had been at Paris at the period here alluded to.
This correspondence gave a very favourable picture of the Tuileries. The
Princess observed that it was not precisely a Court, nor yet exactly a
camp; but something perfectly new in its kind. She added that the First
Consul did not carry his hat under his arm, nor wear a dress-sword by
his side; but that he was nevertheless a swordsman. “However,” continued
the Emperor, “such is the effect of evil report that, owing to some such
expressions as these having been misrepresented to me, Princess
Dolgoruki was very unjustly treated. I ordered her, at that time, to
quit France. We thought her hostile to the principles of our government;
but we were, as it may be seen, mistaken. Madame G...., the mistress of
M. de T...., for he had not yet made her his wife, greatly contributed
to alienate from us the regard of the Russians.”
The Emperor observed that, on his return from Elba, he had experienced
far less embarrassment in composing his Court. “It was, indeed,” said
he, “all ready formed, by the ladies whom I termed _my widows_. These
were Madame Duroc, the Duchess of Istria, Mesdames Regnier, Lagrand, and
all the other widows of my first generals. I told the Princesses, who
consulted me on the method of recomposing their Courts, to follow my
example. Nothing was more natural and proper. These ladies, though still
young, were already experienced in the world; and among them were
several beautiful and fascinating women. Most of them have now lost
their fortunes; some, I have been told, are re-married, and have changed
their names;[17] so that, of all the wealth and rank founded by me, no
traces will perhaps remain; even names will disappear. If this should
really be the case, will it not afford ground for saying that, after
all, there must have been a radical error in the selections I made. But
it will be the worse for the parties themselves; they will by this means
only furnish a triumph and a ground of insolence to the old
aristocracy.”
Footnote 17:
The Emperor had been informed that two or three of the widows of his
most distinguished generals had lately re-married. This, however, is
untrue.
We again reminded the Emperor of his intended ride on horseback: we
urged him not to neglect it, because we knew it to be absolutely
necessary for his health. But we could not prevail on him to leave the
garden. “We are very well here,” said he; “we will have some tents
pitched on this spot.” We began to talk about the Faubourg St. Germain,
and the Hotel de Luynes, which the Emperor termed its metropolis. He
described to us the cause of the banishment of Madame de Chevreuse. He
said, he had frequently threatened to visit her with this punishment,
and for conduct of the most mischievous and insolent nature. One day,
when urged to the utmost extremity, he addressed her as follows:—"Madam,
according to the feudal notions and doctrines, entertained by you and
your friends, you pretend to be the sovereigns of your estates! Now, on
the same principles, I may style myself the Sovereign Lord of France. I
may claim Paris as my village, and may banish from it every individual
who is obnoxious to me. I judge you by your own laws. Begone! and never
venture to return!" On decreeing her exile, the Emperor was firmly
resolved never to be prevailed on to recal her; because, he said, he had
endured much before he had decreed her punishment, and he found himself
compelled to set an example of severity to spare the necessity of
repeating it on others. This was one of his grand principles.
I told the Emperor that I had frequently visited the Hotel de Luynes,
and that I had been well acquainted with Madame de Chevreuse and her
mother-in-law, for whom I had always entertained a great regard. The
latter had evinced singular and constant affection for her
daughter-in-law, having shared her exile, and accompanied her in her
different journeys from place to place. When proceeding on my mission to
Illyria, I one night met them both in an inn at the foot of the Simplon.
To be thus able to procure in the desert the most trivial details
relating to Paris and the Court, was to them a source of unfeigned joy,
and a most unexpected instance of good fortune. They listened to me with
no less eagerness than that evinced by Fouquet on hearing the accounts
of Lauzun. Their banishment from the capital had been to them an
absolute sentence of death; it had overwhelmed them with despair!
Finally, I assured the Emperor that, for a considerable period, I had
observed the Hotel de Luynes, if not subdued, at least calmed and
reduced to something less than indifference; but our unexpected
disasters had revived its former spirit.
As to Madame de Chevreuse, who was a handsome, intelligent, and amiable
woman, with a somewhat romantic turn of mind, she had doubtless been
seduced by the charms of notoriety, or urged on by her numerous
flatterers and admirers, some of whom were very unworthy of her regard.
“I know it,” observed the Emperor; “she hoped to recommence _the
Fronde_; but I was not a minor Sovereign.”
The Musquito brig which left England on the 23rd of March, arrived with
files of the Journal des Debats down to the 5th of March, and London
papers to the 21st. On retiring to his closet, the Emperor desired me to
follow him. He began to peruse the Journal des Debats; and, meanwhile, a
letter was delivered to me from the Grand Marshal. It had just arrived
from Europe, and was addressed to the Emperor. I handed it to him. He
read it over once and sighed; and, then, having read it a second time,
he tore it, and threw the fragments beneath the table. This letter was
delivered open! The Emperor then resumed his perusal of the Journals,
and, suddenly stopping, he said, after a few moments’ silence:—"That
letter was from poor Madame: she is well, and wishes to come to reside
with me at St. Helena!" After this he continued his reading. This, which
was the first letter that the Emperor had received from any individual
of his family, was in the handwriting of Cardinal Fesch. The Emperor was
evidently much hurt by its having been delivered to him open.
MOREAU, GEORGES, AND PICHEGRU.—DIFFERENCE OF OPINION PRODUCED BY THEIR
CONSPIRACY IN THE CAMP OF BOULOGNE AND IN PARIS.
30th.—The Emperor went out about two o’clock, and we all attended him.
He began to converse about the intelligence contained in the French
papers which he had just received, and alluded to the statues which, it
was stated, were to be erected to the memory of Moreau and Pichegru. “A
statue to Moreau,” said he, “whose conspiracy in 1803 is now so well
proved! Moreau, who, in 1813, died fighting under the Russian standard!
A monument to the memory of Pichegru, who was guilty of one of the most
heinous of crimes! who purposely suffered himself to be defeated, and
who connived with the enemy in the slaughter of his own troops! And
after all,” continued he, “history is only made up of reports which gain
credit by repetition. Because it has been repeatedly affirmed that these
were great men, who deserved well of their country, they will at length
pass for such, and their adversaries will be despised.”
Some one present remarked that it might have been thus in the dark ages
of ignorance; but that now the multitude of monuments and public
documents, the arts of printing and engraving, and the general diffusion
of knowledge, must always render truth accessible to those who wish to
come at it; and, as each party has its own historians, the thinking
reader will always be enabled to form an impartial opinion.
The Emperor then described at length the affairs of Moreau, Georges, and
Pichegru, to which I have before alluded, and of which I promised
further details. He now informed us that the man who made the first
confessions indicated, though without naming him, a person to whom
Georges and the other leaders of the conspiracy never spoke without
taking off their hats, and whom they treated with the utmost
consideration and respect. It was at first supposed that this individual
must have been the Duke de Berri; and some concluded him to have been
the Duke d’Enghien, during his momentary appearance. Charles d’Hosier,
one of the conspirators, unexpectedly drew aside the veil. A few days
after his arrest, he was seized with a fit of melancholy and hanged
himself in prison. The alarm was however given, and he was cut down.
Stretched on his bed, and while yet struggling between life and death,
he vented repeated imprecations against Moreau, and accused him of
having treacherously seduced many well-disposed men, and held out to
them promises of assistance which he never realized. He likewise
mentioned the names of Georges and Pichegru. This was the first
circumstance that excited suspicion against Georges and Pichegru; there
was previously no idea of either the one or the other having been
engaged in the conspiracy. Real, who had hastened to this sort of
death-bed confession of d’Hosier, proposed to the Consul that he should
order the arrest of Moreau.
“This event created a great sensation,” said the Emperor. “The public
mind was wrought up to a high pitch of fermentation. Doubts were
entertained of the truth of the statements made by the Government
respecting the extent of the conspiracy and the number of the
conspirators. Of the latter it was affirmed there were about forty in
Paris. Their names were published, and the First Consul pledged his
honour to secure them. He summoned Bassières, and gave orders that he,
with his corps, should surround and guard the walls of Paris. For the
space of six weeks, nobody was suffered to quit the capital without
special permission. A general gloom prevailed through Paris; but every
day the Moniteur announced the arrest of one or two of the individuals
who it was alleged were concerned in the conspiracy. Public opinion took
a turn in my favour; and indignation against the conspirators increased
in proportion as they were secured. Not one escaped.”
The public papers of the period detail the particulars of the arrest of
Georges, who killed two men before he could be secured. It appears that
he was betrayed by his comrade, who drove the cabriolet in which they
were both riding together.
As to Pichegru, he was the victim of the basest treachery. “This
circumstance,” said the Emperor, “was truly a disgrace to human nature.
He was sold by his intimate friend; by a man whom I will not name, on
account of the horror and disgust which his conduct is calculated to
excite.” We informed the Emperor that the name of this individual had
been mentioned in the Moniteur, at which he expressed surprise. “This
man,” continued he, "who was formerly a military officer, and who has
since followed the business of a merchant at Lyons, offered to deliver
up Pichegru for 100,000 crowns. On the day on which he made this
proposal, he stated that they had, on the preceding evening, supped
together, and that Pichegru, finding himself every day alluded to in the
Moniteur, and being aware that the critical moment was fast approaching,
said, ‘If I and a few other Generals were boldly to present ourselves to
the troops, should we not gain them over?’—‘No,’ replied the friend,
‘you form a wrong idea of the state of feeling in France; you would not
gain over a single soldier.’—He spoke truly. At night, the faithless
friend conducted the officers of the police to Pichegru’s door; and he
gave them a minute description of his chamber and his means of defending
himself. Pichegru had pistols on his bed-room table, and he kept a light
burning while he slept. The officers gently unlocked the door by means
of false keys, which the treacherous friend had procured for them. The
table was overturned, the candle was extinguished, and the officers
seized Pichegru, who immediately jumped out of bed. He was a very
powerful man; he struggled desperately, and it was found necessary to
bind him and convey him to prison, without waiting till he could be
dressed."
On being placed at the head of the government, the First Consul was
extremely anxious to tranquillize the western departments. He summoned
nearly all the leading men of those districts, and succeeded in rousing
several of them to a sense of the interests and glory of their country;
he added that he even drew tears from the eyes of some. Georges had his
turn among the rest. The Emperor said that he had endeavoured to touch
every individual string of his heart; but in vain, he could produce no
vibration. He found him lost to every generous feeling, and coldly
intent on his own ambitious calculations. He persisted in his
determination to command his Cantons. The Consul, having exhausted every
conciliatory argument, at length assumed the language of the first
Magistrate of France. He dismissed him, and recommended him to go home
and live quietly and submissively; and above all, not to mistake the
nature of the course he had that moment adopted, nor to attribute to
weakness what was only the result of his moderation and the
consciousness of his power. He desired him to repeat to himself, and to
all who were connected with him, that, so long as the First Consul
should hold the reins of authority, there would be no chance of safety
for any who might dare to engage in conspiracy. Georges took his leave;
but, as the event proved, not without having imbibed from this
conference a feeling of respect for Napoleon, on whose destruction,
however, he still continued bent.
Moreau was the rallying point and the centre of attraction to the
conspirators, who came from London to attack Paris. It appeared that
Lajollais, his Aide-de-camp, had deceived these men, by addressing them
in the name of Moreau, and telling them that that General was secure of
popular favour throughout the whole of France, and could dispose of the
whole army. Moreau constantly assured them that he could command no one,
not even his Aide-de-camp; but that if they killed the First Consul,
they might do any thing.
Moreau, when left to himself, was a very good sort of man. He was easily
led, and this accounts for his inconsistencies. He left the palace in
raptures, and returned to it full of spleen and malice;—having in the
interim seen his mother-in-law and his wife. The First Consul, who would
have been very glad to have gained him over to his side, once made it up
with him completely; but their friendship lasted only four days. The
Consul then vowed that he would never renew it. In fact, attempts were
afterwards frequently made to reconcile them; but Napoleon never would
agree to it. He foresaw that Moreau would commit some fault, that he
would lose himself; and certainly he could not have done so in a way
more advantageous to the First Consul.
Some days previous to the battle of Leipsic, some carriages containing
property and papers belonging to Moreau, which were on their way to his
widow in England, were intercepted at Wittemberg. Among those papers,
there was a letter from Madame Moreau herself, in which she advised her
husband to lay aside his silly wavering conduct, and to come boldly to a
determination. She urged him to assist in the triumph of the legitimate
cause, that of the Bourbons. In answer to this, Moreau wrote a few days
before his death, begging her not to trouble him with her chimeras. “I
have come near enough to France,” said he, "to learn all that is going
forward there. I have got into a real hornet’s nest."
The Emperor was on the point of publishing these intercepted papers in
the Moniteur; but there still existed in France some persons blindly
tenacious of the opinion they had always maintained respecting Moreau,
and who persisted in regarding him as a victim of tyranny. The
counter-revolution had not yet afforded an opportunity of making known
those acts hitherto disavowed, and of claiming their recompense. The
circumstance of personal enmity prevented the Emperor from executing his
intention. He thought that it would not be becoming to revive this
enmity for his own advantage, and to tarnish the memory of a man who had
just fallen on the field of battle.
The trial of Moreau and Pichegru, which was protracted for such a length
of time, violently agitated the public mind. What added to the notoriety
and interest of this trial was its connection with the affair of the
Duke d’Enghien, with which it became interwoven. “I have,” said the
Emperor, “been reproached with having committed a great fault in that
trial. It has been compared with the affair of the necklace, in the
reign of Louis XVI., which that Monarch put into the hands of
Parliament, instead of having it judged by a Commission. Politicians
have affirmed that I should have contented myself with consigning the
criminals to the judgment of a Military Commission. It would have been
ended in eight and forty hours. I could have done it; it was legal, and
nothing more would have been required of me; I should have avoided the
risks to which I was exposed. But I felt my power so unlimited, and I
was at the same time so strong in the justice of my cause, that I was
determined the affair should be open to the observation of the whole
world. For this reason the ambassadors and agents of Foreign powers were
present during the proceedings!”
One of the company present here observed to the Emperor that the course
he then adopted had proved advantageous to history and honourable to his
own character. It had furnished three volumes of authentic documents
relating to the trial.
Another individual of the Emperor’s suite, who, at the time of this
celebrated trial, was with the army at Boulogne, said that all these
events, even the affair of the Duke d’Enghien, had there excited but
little interest, and that, on his return to Paris, some time afterwards,
he was astonished to observe the sensation which they had created in the
capital.
The Emperor remarked that the public mind had indeed been highly
excited, particularly on the occasion of the death of the Duke
d’Enghien, which event, he said, still appeared to be judged of in
Europe with blindness and prejudice. He maintained his right of adopting
the step he had taken, and enumerated the reasons which had urged him to
it. He then adverted to the many attempts that had been made to
assassinate him, and observed that he was bound in justice to say that
he had never detected Louis XVIII. in any direct conspiracy against his
life, though such plots had been incessantly renewed in other quarters.
With regard to that Prince he had heard only of his systematic plans,
ideal operations, &c.
“If,” continued he, “I had continued in France in 1815, I intended to
have given publicity to some of the later attempts that were made
against me. The Maubreuil affair, in particular, should have been
solemnly investigated by the first Court of the Empire, and Europe would
have shuddered to see to what an extent the crime of secret
assassination could be carried.”
CONVERSATION RESPECTING THE SITUATION OF ENGLAND.—LETTERS DETAINED BY
THE GOVERNOR.—CHARACTERISTIC OBSERVATIONS.
31st.—At five o’clock, I went to join the Emperor in the garden; we were
all assembled there. The conversation turned on politics. He described
the melancholy situation of England, amidst her triumphs. He alluded to
the immensity of her debt, the madness, the impossibility of her
becoming a continental power, the dangers which assailed her
constitution, the embarrassment of her ministers, and the just clamour
of the people. England with her 150 or 200 thousand men, made as many
efforts as he, the Emperor, had ever made during the period of his great
power, and perhaps even more. He had never employed beyond 500 thousand
French troops. The traces of his Continental system were followed by all
the powers on the Continent, and would be pursued still further in
proportion as those powers became more settled. He did not hesitate to
say, and he proved it, that England would have gained by adhering to the
treaty of Amiens; that such a line of conduct would have been to the
advantage of all Europe, but that Napoleon himself, and his glory would
have suffered by it. Yet it was England, and not he, who broke the
treaty.
There was only one course, he continued, for England to pursue; namely,
to return to her constitution and abandon the military system; to
interfere with the Continent only through her maritime influence, in
which she was pre-eminent. It was, he said, easy to foresee that great
calamities would assail her should she adopt any other course, and this
she would inevitably do, because all her aristocracy urged her to it,
and because the folly, pride, or venality of her present ministry caused
her to persist in the system she was pursuing.
The conversation being concluded, the Emperor returned to his study, and
desired me to follow him. He told me that a letter which had been sent
to him from England by post was said to have been kept back by the
Governor, because it was not addressed to him officially; and it was
said that a letter for the Grand Marshal had been detained for the same
reason. The Emperor observed that, if this were true, there was
something peculiarly cruel in the conduct of the Governor, in having
sent back the letters without even mentioning them to us, and without
affording us the consolation of knowing from whom they came.... A
neglect of form, he said, might easily be corrected in the Island; but
it could not so easily be observed at 2000 leagues’ distance. I told the
Emperor that a circumstance nearly similar to that which he had just
mentioned had occurred to me eight or ten days back. “A person who was
on his way to Europe had tormented me with his offers of service. I
yielded to his solicitations, and commissioned him to order me some
shoes and to get a watch changed for me, for there is no person here who
knows how to repair a watch. The Governor had forbidden the execution of
those commissions, because they had not been addressed to himself. I
have said nothing on the subject to any one, Sire, because it is a
principle with me to conceal an insult for which I cannot obtain
redress; but I shall find an opportunity to tell the Governor my mind.
In the mean time, neither he nor the person to whom I gave the
commission, has been able to draw from me a line, or a single word,
though the latter has made several attempts to do so.”
After dinner the Emperor, conversing on our situation and the conduct of
the Governor, who came to-day and took a rapid circuit round Longwood,
reverted to the subject of the last interview they had had together, and
made some striking observations respecting it. “I behaved very ill to
him, no doubt,” said he, “and nothing but my present situation could
excuse me; but I was out of humour, and could not help it; I should
blush for it in any other situation. Had such a scene taken place at the
Tuileries, I should have felt myself bound in conscience to make some
atonement. Never, during the period of my power, did I speak harshly to
any one without afterwards saying something to make amends for it. But
here I uttered not a syllable of conciliation, and I had no wish to do
so. However, the Governor proved himself very insensible to my severity;
his delicacy did not seem wounded by it. I should have liked, for his
sake, to have seen him shew a little anger, or bang the door after him
when he went away. This would at least have shown that there was some
spring and elasticity about him; but I found nothing of the kind.”
The Emperor then again resumed his conversation on political affairs,
which he maintained with so much spirit and interest, that I could have
forgotten for a time what part of the world I was in. I could have
believed myself still at the Tuileries or in the Rue de Bourgogne.
VOLTAIRE.—JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU.—CHARACTERISTIC DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE
ENGLISH AND THE FRENCH NATIONS.—M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND.—HIS SPEECH AT THE
INSTITUTE.—AFFECTED ANGER OF THE EMPEROR ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.—HIS
PRINCIPLES ON THAT HEAD.
Saturday, 1st of June.—The Emperor sent for me. He had just come out of
his bath, where he had remained three hours, and he asked me to guess
what book he had been engaged in reading whilst in the water; it was
Rousseau’s New Eloise. He had expressed himself quite charmed with this
work when he first perused it at the Briars; but in analysing it again,
he now criticised it with unsparing severity. The rock of _la Meillerie_
being mentioned, he said he thought it had been destroyed when he caused
a road to be made over the Simplon; but I assured him that enough
remained to preserve a perfect recollection of it: it projects over the
road, and, like Leucate of old, offers a fine leap to despairing lovers.
To the noble character given by Rousseau to Lord Edward in his New
Eloise, and to the impression produced by some of Voltaire’s plays, the
Emperor ascribed, in a great measure, the high estimate which had been
formed in France of the English character. The facility with which
public opinion was governed in those days excited his surprise; Voltaire
and Rousseau, who had _then_ directed it as they pleased, would not, he
thought, be able to do so at the present time; and Voltaire, in
particular, had only exercised so powerful an influence over his
contemporaries, and been considered the great man of his age, because
all around him were pigmies.
The Emperor then proceeded to compare the character of the English and
French nations. “The higher classes among the English,” said he, "are
proud; with us unfortunately they are only vain; in that consists the
great characteristic distinction between the two nations. The mass of
the people in France certainly possess a greater share of national
feeling than any other now existing in Europe; they have profited by the
experience of their twenty-five years’ revolution; but unfortunately
that class which the revolution has advanced have not been found equal
to the station of life to which they have been elevated; they have shown
themselves corrupt and unstable: in the last struggles they have not
been distinguished either by talents, firmness, or virtue; in short,
they have degraded the honour of the nation."
A speech of M. de Chateaubriand’s has been read to the Emperor, on the
propriety of allowing the clergy to inherit. The Emperor observed that
it was rather an Academical oration than the opinion of a legislator—it
had wit, but showed little judgment, and contained no views
whatever.—"Allow the clergy to inherit," said he, “and nobody will die
without being obliged to purchase absolution: for, whatever our opinions
may be, we none of us know whither we go on leaving this world. Then
must we remember our last and final account, and no one can pronounce
what his feelings will be at his last hour, nor answer for the strength
of his mind at that awful moment. Who can affirm that I shall not die in
the arms of a confessor? and that he will not make me acknowledge myself
guilty of the evil I shall not have done, and implore forgiveness for
it?”—In the present instance, however, as somebody has observed, M. de
Chateaubriand may be said to uphold an opinion, rather than express a
sentiment of his own; and there are strong grounds for believing that,
in religion, as well as in politics, he has often been known to set
forth doctrines which had failed to carry conviction to his own mind.
On the article of religion, for instance, it is well known that before
he wrote his _Beauties of Christianity_, he had published in London
another work, of a tendency decidedly anti-religious.[18] The bookseller
to whom he entrusted the sale of this work, was Dulau, formerly a
benedictine monk of Soreze, who had sought refuge in London at the time
of the revolution. Being a man of intelligent mind and sound judgment,
he took the liberty of giving M. de Chateaubriand some good advice. He
represented to him that both the place and the time were ill chosen for
indulging in declamations against religion; that the moment had gone by
when they were favourably received; that they had become common-place
and in bad taste; and that the surest way to engage the attention of the
public would be to take up the other side of the question, and advocate,
on the contrary, the cause of religion. M. de Chateaubriand listened to
this advice, and wrote his _Beauties of Christianity_; and the event
proved that Dulau had not been mistaken in his choice of the moment, for
it is very doubtful, if the work were to appear now, whether it would
obtain the brilliant success it then met with, notwithstanding the great
merit which it undoubtedly possesses.
Footnote 18:
Essai sur les Revolutions Anciennes et Modérnes.
The appointment of the author of _The Beauties of Christianity_ to the
embassy of Rome, was considered, at the time, as a very delicate
attention on the part of the First Consul to M. de Chateaubriand, who,
in his turn, hailed it as a first triumph, and the presage of still
greater triumphs which awaited him in the capital of the Christian
world, amongst the rulers of the church. But he was soon doomed to find
himself greatly mistaken, for people at Rome were highly scandalized at
seeing religion transformed into romance, and the Divines condemned
without hesitation _The Beauties of Christianity_, which they pronounced
to abound in heresies.
However, M. de Chateaubriand, thoroughly convinced of his own merit,
consoled himself by affecting to laugh with pity at such puerilities;
and, happening to be about this time godfather to a little girl, he gave
her the name of Atala; by this name, however, the priest positively
refused to christen her, whilst M. de Chateaubriand, in his turn,
insisted with all the obstinacy of an author and all the pride of an
ambassador. This affair made a noise, and M. de Chateaubriand laid a
complaint before the Cardinal-governor; who decided in favour of the
priest; and moreover, felt highly offended on the occasion: for M. de
Chateaubriand, fancying that his services in the cause of religion had
given him a right to assume the tone of one initiated in the secrets of
the church, concluded his argument with the Cardinal by saying: “That it
was very ridiculous that such obstacles should be thrown in _his_ way;
for,” added he, “_between ourselves_, your Eminence must know that
between Atala and any other Saint, there is no great difference.”
The Emperor was highly entertained by these anecdotes, which, he said,
were quite new to him, and the person who related them observed that,
although he could not vouch for their authenticity, yet he had no doubt
of it in his own mind, having heard them from one of the persons who
succeeded M. de Chateaubriand at the court of Rome.
In politics M. de Chateaubriand has been alternately seen amongst the
adherents and opponents of Napoleon; and the Emperor charges him, when
in his service, with malevolence and want of integrity, particularly at
the time of his embassy to the old King of Sardinia at Rome.
During the disastrous event of 1814, he made himself conspicuous by
writing pamphlets so outrageously violent and virulent, and disgraced by
such barefaced calumnies, that they excited feelings of disgust. He no
doubt must regret having been the author of them, and would not now
degrade his talents by such writings.
Some years before our disasters, the Emperor, reading one day some
fragments of this author’s works, expressed his surprise that he was not
a member of the Institute. These words acted as a powerful
recommendation in favour of M. de Chateaubriand, who hastened to put
himself in the list as a candidate, and was almost unanimously chosen.
According to one of the invariable rules of the Institute, the candidate
newly chosen was to make a speech in praise of the member to whom he was
then succeeding; but M. de Chateaubriand, persuaded, that for a man who
had once occupied the attention of the public, the surest way to acquire
celebrity was to leave the beaten track, and strike into a new path to
fame, reversed this custom by devoting part of his speech to stigmatise
the political principles of M. Chenier his predecessor, and proscribe
him as a regicide. His speech was a complete political argument,
discussing the restoration of monarchy and the judgment and death of
Louis XVI.; the whole Institute was in an uproar, some of the members
refusing to listen to a speech which appeared to them indecorous, and
others, on the contrary, insisting upon its being read. From the
Institute the dispute spread rapidly through the different circles of
Paris, which were full of the debate, and divided in opinion on the
subject; and at last reached the ears of the Emperor, to whom every
thing was carried, and who wished to be informed of every thing. He
ordered the speech to be shown to him, pronounced it to be extravagant
in the extreme, and instantly forbade its publication. It so happened
that one of the members of the Institute, who had taken a lively part in
the discussion, and voted for the reading of the speech, was also one of
the great officers of the Emperor’s household; and the Emperor took
advantage of this circumstance to manifest his opinion, by addressing
him in the following manner at one of his _couchers_:—"How long is it,
sir," said he, with the utmost severity, "since the Institute has
presumed to take the character of a political assembly? The province of
the Institute is to produce poetry and to censure faults of language;
let it beware how it forsakes the domain of literature, or I shall take
measures to bring it back within its proper limits. And is it possible
that _you_, sir, have sanctioned such an intemperate harangue by your
approbation? If M. de Chateaubriand is insane, or disposed to
malevolence, a mad-house may cure him, or punishment correct him; yet it
may be that the opinions he has pronounced are conscientiously his own,
and he is not obliged to surrender them to my policy, which is unknown
to him; but with you the case is totally different—_you_ are constantly
near my person, you are acquainted with all my acts, you know my will;
there _may_ be an excuse in M. de Chateaubriand’s favour, there _can_ be
none in yours. Sir, I hold you guilty, I consider your conduct as
criminal: it tends to bring us back to the days of disorder and
confusion, anarchy and bloodshed. Are we then banditti? And am I but an
usurper? Sir, I did not ascend the throne by hurling another from it; I
found the crown; I picked it up out of the kennel, and the nation placed
it on my head: respect the nation’s act. To submit facts that have so
recently occurred to public discussion in the present circumstances, is
to court fresh convulsions, and be an enemy to the public tranquillity.
The restoration of monarchy is veiled in mystery, and must remain so;
wherefore then, I pray, this new proposed proscription of
conventionalists and regicides? Why are subjects of so delicate a nature
again brought to light? To God alone it must belong to pronounce upon
what is no longer within the reach of the judgment of men! Are you to be
more scrupulous than the Empress? Her interests are as dear as yours can
be in this question, and much more direct, yet she has asked no
questions, she has made no enquiries; take example from her moderation.
"Have I then lost the fruit of all my labours? have all my efforts been
of so little avail that, as soon as my presence no longer restrains you,
you are ready to cut one another’s throats?" And, in speaking thus, he
paced the room with rapid strides, and, striking his forehead with his
hand, exclaimed: "Alas! poor France, long yet must thou need the care of
a guardian.
“I have done all in my power,” continued he, "to quell all your
dissensions; to unite all parties has been the constant object of my
solicitude. I have made all meet under the same roof, sit at the same
board, and drink of the same cup. I have a right to expect that you will
second my endeavours.
"Since I have taken the reins of government, have I ever inquired into
the lives, actions, opinions, or writings of any one?—Imitate my
forbearance.
“I have never had but one aim, never asked but this one question; will
you sincerely assist me in promoting the true interest of France? and
all those who have answered affirmatively have been placed by me in a
defile of granite and without outlet on either side, through which I
have urged them on to the other extremity, where my finger pointed to
the honour, the glory, and the splendour of France.”
This reprimand was so severe that the person to whom it was addressed, a
man of honour and delicate feelings, determined upon asking an audience
the next day, in order to tender his resignation. He was admitted to the
presence of the Emperor, who immediately said to him: “My dear sir, you
are come on account of the conversation of yesterday; you felt hurt on
the occasion, and I have felt not less so; but it was a piece of advice
which I thought it right to give to more than one person; if it has the
desired effect of producing some public good, we must neither of us
regret the circumstance; think no more about it.” And he spoke of
something else.
Thus would the Emperor often censure whole bodies in the person of one
single individual; and, in order to strike with greater awe, he did it
in a most solemn and imposing manner. But the anger which he sometimes
shewed in public, and of which so much has been said, was only feigned,
and put on for the moment. The Emperor affirmed that by such means he
had often deterred many from the commission of a fault, and spared
himself the necessity of punishing.
One day, at one of his grand audiences, he attacked a Colonel with the
utmost vehemence, and quite in a tone of anger, upon some slight
disorders of which his regiment had been guilty towards the inhabitants
of the countries they had passed through, in returning to France. During
the reprimand, the Colonel, thinking the punishment out of all
proportion to the fault of which he was accused, repeatedly endeavoured
to excuse himself; but the Emperor, without interrupting his speech,
said to him in an under-tone, “Very well, but hold your tongue; I
believe you: but say nothing:” and when he afterwards saw him in
private, he said to him: “When I thus addressed you, I was chastising,
in your person, certain Generals whom I saw near you, and who, had I
spoken to them direct, would have been found deserving of the lowest
degradation, and perhaps of something worse.”
But it sometimes happened, also, that the Emperor was publicly appealed
to: I have witnessed several instances of this kind.
One day at St. Cloud, at the grand audience which was held every Sunday,
a Sub-prefect, or some other public officer of Piedmont, who was
standing by my side, addressed the Emperor in a loud tone of voice and
with the utmost emotion, calling for justice, asserting that he had been
falsely accused, and unjustly condemned and dismissed from the service.
“Apply to my ministers,” answered the Emperor. “No, Sire, I wish to be
judged by you.” “That is impossible, my time is wholly absorbed with the
general interests of the Empire, and my ministers are appointed to take
into consideration the particular cases of individuals.” “But they will
condemn me.” “For what reason?” “Because every body is against me.”
“Why?” “Because I love you—to love you, Sire, is a sufficient motive to
inspire every one with hatred.” All the bystanders were disconcerted at
this answer, and red with confusion; but the Emperor replied, with the
utmost calmness, “This is rather a strange assertion, sir, but I am
willing to hope that you are mistaken,” and he passed on to the next
person. On another occasion also, on the parade, a young officer stepped
out of the ranks, in extreme agitation, to complain that he had been
ill-used, slighted, and passed over, and that he had been five years a
Lieutenant, without being able to obtain promotion. “Calm yourself,”
said the Emperor, “I was _seven_ years a Lieutenant, and yet you see
that a man may push himself forward for all that.” Every body laughed,
and the young officer, suddenly cooled by those few words, returned to
his place. Nothing was more common than to see private individuals
attack the Emperor, and hold out against him, and I have often seen him
thus sharply and warmly disputed with, and unable to silence his
opponent, give up the contest by addressing another person, or by
turning the conversation to another subject.
It may be observed, as a general principle, that, however violent the
Emperor’s actions might appear, they were always the result of
calculation. “When one of my ministers,” said he, “or some other great
personage had been guilty of a fault of so grave a nature that it became
absolutely necessary for me to be very angry, I always took care in that
case to have a third person present to witness the scene that was to
ensue; for it was a general maxim, with me, that when I resolved to
strike a blow it must be felt by many at the same time; the immediate
object of my resentment did not feel more incensed against me on that
account, and the bystander, whose embarrassed appearance was highly
ludicrous, did not fail to run and circulate, most discreetly, as far as
he could, all that he had seen and heard. A salutary terror ran thus
from vein to vein through the body social: a new impulse was given to
the march of affairs; I had less to punish, and a great deal of public
good was obtained without inflicting much private hardship.”
REFLECTIONS ON THE GOVERNOR.—EXPENSES OF THE EMPEROR’S HOUSEHOLD AT THE
TUILERIES.—OF A GOOD SYSTEM OF FINANCE.—MESSRS. MOLLIEN AND
LABOUILLERIE.
Sunday, 2nd.—The Emperor rode out on horseback at about eight o’clock;
he had long since abstained from enjoying that exercise. In returning
through the valley of the Company’s garden, he went into the house of
one of the Company’s Adjutants, whose wife is a Catholic; he remained
there a few minutes only, and was in high spirits. We next went to the
house of Madame Bertrand, to whom the Emperor paid a long visit. He
alluded, in the strongest terms, and with infinite humour, to the
behaviour of the Governor towards us; to his paltry measures, his total
want of consideration, the absurd manner in which he conducted the
affairs of the government of the island, and his total ignorance of the
business and manners of life. “We had certainly some reason to complain
of the Admiral,” said the Emperor; “but _he_ at least was an Englishman,
and this man is nothing but an Italian _Sbire_. We have not the same
manners,” added he, “we cannot understand each other; our feelings do
not speak the same language. He probably cannot conceive, for instance,
that heaps of diamonds would be insufficient to atone for the affront he
has offered in causing one of my domestics to be arrested almost in my
presence. Since that day all my household are in consternation.”
On returning from our ride, we breakfasted in the garden. In the
evening, whilst we were taking an airing in the calash, and making what
we called the double round, we beguiled the time in making an estimate
of the expenses of a man possessing an income of 150,000 livres in
Paris. The Emperor said that a sixth of that sum should go for the
stables, a fourth for the table, &c. I have already said that he was
fond of making such calculations, which he always had the art of placing
in a new and unexpected light.
The conversation led us to some details worthy of remark on the civil
list and the expenses of the Emperor’s household. The following are
amongst those I have remembered:
One million was allowed for the table, and yet the expense of the
Emperor’s own dinner did not exceed one hundred francs a day. It had
never been found possible to manage to give him his dinner hot; for,
when once engaged in his closet, it was impossible to know when he would
leave it. Therefore, when the hour of dinner arrived, a fowl was put on
the spit for him every half hour; and it has sometimes happened that
dozens have been roasted before that which has finally been set before
him.
The conversation now turned upon the advantages of a good administration
of finances. The Emperor spoke highly of the talents of Messrs. de
Mollien and Labouillerie, in that branch. M. de Mollien, in particular,
had put the treasury on the footing of a simple banking-house; and the
Emperor had continually under his eyes, in a small book for that
purpose, a complete statement of the revenue, the receipt, expenditure,
arrears, resources, &c.
The Emperor had in his cellars at the Tuileries, he added, as much as
400 millions in gold, which were entirely his own property; so much so
indeed that no other account of it existed but in a small book in the
hands of his private Treasurer. All this treasure disappeared by
degrees, and was applied to the expenses of the Empire, particularly at
the time of our disasters. “How could I think,” said he, “of keeping
anything for myself! I had identified myself with the nation.” He
further added that _he_ had sent 2000 millions in specie into France,
without reckoning what private individuals might have brought on their
own account.
The Emperor said that he had been much hurt at the conduct of M. de
Labouillerie, who, being at Orleans in 1814, in charge of several
millions belonging to him (Napoleon), his own private property, had
taken them to the Count d’Artois in Paris instead of carrying them to
Fontainbleau, as he was in duty and in conscience bound to do. “And yet
Labouillerie was not a bad man,” said the Emperor. “I had both loved him
and esteemed him. On my return in 1815 he earnestly entreated me to see
him and hear what he had to say in his own defence; he no doubt would
have proved that his fault arose from his ignorance, and not from his
heart. He knew me; he was aware that, if he could approach me, the
affair would be settled with a few angry expressions on my part; but I
also knew my own weakness, I was resolved not to take him into my
service again, and therefore refused to admit him. It was the only way
in which I could hope at that moment to hold out against him and several
others. Esteve, the predecessor of Labouillerie, would not have acted in
that manner; he was entirely devoted to my person; he would have brought
my treasure to Fontainbleau at all hazards; or if he had failed in the
attempt, he would have thrown it into a river, or distributed it in
various places, rather than give it up.”