Sunday, 14th.—During the dinner, speaking of dress, it was said that,
amongst the number of great personages of that time, none had carried
extravagance in that point further than Murat, and yet, some one
observed, his dress was for the most part so singular and fantastic that
the public called him King Franconi.[28]
Footnote 28:
Director of a theatre at Paris, similar to Astley’s here.
The Emperor laughed very heartily, and confessed that certain costumes
and manners sometimes gave to Murat the appearance of a quack operator
or a mountebank. It was added that Bernadotte also took infinite pains
with his dress, and that Lannes bestowed much time upon his. The Emperor
expressed himself much surprised at what he had heard respecting the two
latter, and this led him to repeat how sincerely he regretted the loss
of Marshal Lannes. “Poor Lannes,” said he, "had passed the night which
preceded the battle, in Vienna, and not alone. He appeared on the field
without having taken any food, and fought the whole day. The physician
said that this triple concurrence of circumstances caused his death, he
required a great deal of strength after the wound to enable him to bear
it, and unfortunately nature was almost exhausted before.
“It is generally said,” the Emperor observed, “that there are certain
wounds, to which death seems preferable; but this is very seldom the
case, I assure you. It is at the moment we are going to part with
existence that we cling to it with all our might. Lannes, the most
courageous of men, deprived of both his legs, would not hear of death,
and was irritated to such a degree as to declare that the two surgeons
who attended him deserved to be hanged for behaving so brutally towards
a Marshal. He had unfortunately overheard them whisper to each other, as
they thought without being heard, that it was impossible he could
recover. Every moment the unfortunate Lannes called for the Emperor; he
twined himself round me,” said Napoleon, “with all he had left of life;
he would hear of no one but me, he thought but of me; it was a kind of
instinct! Undoubtedly he loved his wife and children better than me; yet
he did not speak of them: it was he that protected them, whilst I on the
contrary was his protector. I was for him something vague and undefined,
a superior being, his Providence, which he implored!”
Somebody then observed that the world had spoken very differently on the
subject; that it had been reported that Lannes had died like a maniac,
vociferating imprecations against the Emperor, at whom he seemed
enraged; and it was added that he had always an aversion to the Emperor,
and had often manifested it to him with insolence. “What an absurdity,”
said the Emperor, “Lannes, on the contrary, adored me. He was assuredly
one of the men on whom I could most implicitly rely. It is very true
that, in the impetuosity of his disposition, he has sometimes suffered
some hasty expressions against me to escape his lips, but he would
probably have broken the head of any person who had chanced to hear
them.”
Returning to Murat, some one observed that he had greatly influenced the
unfortunate events of 1814. “He determined them,” said the Emperor, “he
is one of the principal causes of our being here. But the fault is
originally mine. There were several men whom I had made too great; I had
raised them above the sphere of their intelligence. I was reading, some
days since, his proclamation on abandoning the Viceroy, which I had not
seen before. It is difficult to conceive any thing disgraced by a
greater degree of turpitude: he says in that document that the moment is
come to choose between two banners, that of crime and that of virtue. It
is my banner which he calls the banner of crime! and it is Murat, my
creature, the husband of my sister, the man who owed every thing to me,
who would have been nothing without me, who exists by me, and is known
through me alone—it is Murat who writes this! It is impossible to desert
the cause of misfortune with more unfeeling brutality; and to run with
more unblushing baseness to hail a new destiny.”
From that moment, Madame (mother of the Emperor) refused to have any
thing more to do with either Murat or his wife; to all their entreaties
she invariably answered that she held traitors and treachery in
abhorrence. As soon as she was at Rome, after the disasters of 1814,
Murat hastened to send her eight magnificent horses out of his stables
at Naples; but Madame would not accept them. She resisted, in like
manner, every effort of her daughter Caroline, who constantly repeated
that, after all, the fault was not hers; that she had no share in it;
that she could not command her husband. But Madame answered, like
Clytemnestra—"If you could not command him, you ought at least to have
opposed him:—but what struggles have you made? what blood has flowed? At
the expense of your own life, you ought to have defended your brother,
your benefactor, your master, against the sanguinary attempts of your
husband.
“On my return from Elba,” said the Emperor, "Murat’s head was turned, on
hearing that I had landed in France. The first intelligence he received
of this event informed him that I was at Lyons. He was accustomed to my
great returns of fortune; he had more than once seen me placed in most
extraordinary circumstances. On this occasion, he thought me already
master of all Europe, and determined to endeavour to wrest Italy from
me; for that was his object, the aim of all his hopes. It was in vain
that some men, of the greatest influence amongst the nations which he
attempted to excite to rebellion, threw themselves at his feet and
assured him that he was mistaken; that the Italians had a king on whom
alone they had bestowed their love and their esteem. Nothing could stop
him; he ruined himself, and contributed to ruin us a second time; for
Austria, supposing that he was acting at my instigation, would not
believe my professions, and mistrusted me. Murat’s unfortunate end
corresponds with his conduct. Murat was endowed with extraordinary
courage and little intelligence. The too great disproportion between
those two qualities explains the man entirely. It was difficult, even
impossible, to be more courageous than Murat and Lannes; but Murat had
remained courageous and nothing more. The mind of Lannes, on the
contrary, had risen to the level of his courage; he had become a giant.
However," said the Emperor, in ending the conversation, “the execution
of Murat is nevertheless horrible. It is an event in the history of the
morals of Europe; an infraction of the rules of public decorum.—A king
has caused another king, acknowledged by all the others, to be shot!
What a spell he has broken!” . . . . . . . . .
SUMMARY OF THE THREE MONTHS OF
APRIL, MAY, AND JUNE.
I have already observed that, in a work like the present, it is
impossible to keep up in any point a unity of interest and of object; I
shall, therefore, now attempt to supply this defect by retracing, in a
very few words, and uninterruptedly, the circumstances of aggravation
which have occurred in the Emperor’s situation during these three
months; the repeated instances of ill-treatment to which he has been
subjected; the visible decline of his health; the general tenor of his
habits; the principal topics of his conversation:—in a word, the
bulletin, both physical and moral, of his person, during that short
space of time.
1st. A new Governor arrives, who turns out to be a man of either very
narrow views, or very bad intentions—a corporal with his watch-word,
instead of a general with his instructions.
2dly. A declaration is required from every one of the captives that he
submits beforehand to all the restrictions that may be imposed on
Napoleon, and this in the hopes of detaching them from his person.
3dly. An official communication is made to us of the convention of the
allied Sovereigns, who, without further ceremony, proclaim and sanction
the banishment of Napoleon.
4thly. We receive the bill of the British Parliament, which converts
into a law the act of oppression of the English ministers towards the
person of Napoleon.
5thly. Lastly, Commissioners come in the name of their Sovereigns, to
watch over the fetters, and contemplate the sufferings of the victim.
Thus our horizon grows darker and darker, our chains are shortened, all
hopes of amelioration vanish, and the most gloomy prospects are all that
the future presents.
The arrival of the new Governor is the signal for the infliction of
greater hardships. For the person of the Emperor it is the commencement
of a new series of torments; every day he is wounded by the recurrence
of some petty vexation.
The first step of Sir Hudson Lowe is an insult; his first word one of
cruelty; one of his first acts, an act of inhumanity.
After that, he seems to have no other occupation, to have received no
other instruction, than to torment us and make us suffer under every
shape, on every occasion, and in every way.
The Emperor, who had at first resolved to adopt a system of strict
stoicism, is nevertheless moved with indignation at this conduct, and
expresses himself in strong terms. Conversations grow warm; the breach
is made; it will grow wider every day.
The Emperor’s health is visibly affected, and we can observe a rapid
alteration. Contrary to his natural temperament, he very frequently
feels indisposed; on one occasion he is confined to his room for six
days running, without going out at all. A secret melancholy, which
endeavours to conceal itself from every eye, and perhaps from his own,
begins to take possession of him; the latent seeds of disease appear
already to be lurking in his system. He contracts every day the circle,
already so confined, of his movements and his diversions. He gives up
riding on horseback; he no longer invites any English to dinner,—he even
abandons his daily occupations. The dictations in which he had hitherto
seemed to take pleasure, are suspended. Disgust had seized him, he would
sometimes say to me, and he could not muster courage enough to resume
them. The greatest part of his days is passed in turning over books in
his own apartment, or in conversing with us either publicly or in
private; and in the evening, after dinner, he reads to us some plays of
our great poets, or any other work which chance or the choice of the
moment brings to his hand.
Yet the serenity of his mind, the equanimity of his disposition towards
us, are not in the least impaired; on the contrary, we seem more united
like one family. He is more ours, and we belong more to him; his
conversations offer a greater degree of confidence, freedom, and
interest.
He would now often send for me into his room, to converse with him; and
these private conversations would sometimes lead him to subjects of
great importance,—such as the war in Russia, that of Spain, the
conferences of Tilsit and Erfurth, which will be found in this portion
of my Memoirs.