character of this officer: he had heard of his having rendered important
services to his country and for that reason alone, he (Napoleon) had
been very liberal to his family. The Emperor questioned me respecting
Suffren. I had not known him personally, and therefore I could only
report what I had heard of him from other persons in the navy. It was
admitted that, since the time of Louis XIV., M. de Suffren was the only
officer who bore a resemblance to the distinguished men of the brilliant
period of our navy.
Suffren possessed genius, invention, ardour, ambition, and inflexible
steadiness; he was one of those men whom Nature has fitted for any
thing. I have heard very shrewd and sensible persons say that his death,
in the year 1789, might have been looked upon as a national calamity;
that, had he been admitted to the King’s Council in the critical moment,
he might have brought matters to a very different result. Suffren, who
was harsh, capricious, egotistical, and a very unpleasant companion, was
loved by nobody, though he was valued and admired by all.
He was a man with whom no one could live on good terms. He was impatient
of control, fond of condemning every thing, and, while he incessantly
declaimed against the utility of tactics, he proved himself to be a
perfect tactician. In short, he evinced all the irritability and
restlessness of genius and ambition deprived of elbow-room.
On obtaining the command of the Indian squadron, he went to take leave
of the King, and one of the officers of the palace could with difficulty
open a passage for him through the crowd. “I thank you,” said he to the
Usher, grunting and snorting in his usual way; “but when I come out,
Sir, you shall see that I know how to clear the way for myself.” And he
spoke truly.
On his arrival in India, he opened a new theatre for the arms of France,
and performed prodigies, which perhaps have not been duly appreciated in
Europe. He set on foot measures and plans of command hitherto unknown;
taking every thing upon himself, hazarding all, inventing all, and
foreseeing all. He broke and created his officers as he thought proper;
fitted out and manned ships that had long since been condemned; and
found a wintering station on the spot, when, according to the old
routine, the ships would have been obliged to sail to the Isle of
France, a distance of twelve or fifteen hundred leagues. Finally, he
broke through all rules, approached the coast, took on board troops who
had been fighting the old enemy, and, after they had assisted him in
opposing the English squadron, he conveyed them back to their camp, to
resume the contest by land. Thus the French flag assumed a superiority
that disconcerted the enemy. “Oh,” exclaimed the Emperor, “why did not
Suffren live till my time, or why did not I light on a man of his stamp?
I would have made him our Nelson. I was constantly seeking for a man
qualified to raise the character of the French navy; but I could never
find one. There is in the navy a peculiarity, a technicality, that
impeded all my conceptions. If I proposed a new idea, immediately
Ganthaume, and the whole Marine Department, were up in arms against
me.—‘Sire, that cannot be.‘—Why not?—‘Sire, the winds do not admit of
it:’ then objections were started respecting calms and currents, and I
was obliged to stop short. How is it possible to maintain a discussion
with those whose language we do not comprehend? How often, in the
Council of State, have I reproached naval officers with taking an undue
advantage of this circumstance! To hear them talk, one might have been
led to suppose that it was necessary to be born in the navy to know any
thing about it. Yet I often told them that, had it been in my power to
have performed a voyage to India with them, I should, on my return, have
been as familiar with their profession as with the field of battle. But
they could not credit this. They always repeated that no man could be a
good sailor unless he were brought up to it from his cradle; and they at
length prevailed on me to adopt a plan, about which I long hesitated,
namely, the enrolment of several thousands of children from six to eight
years of age.
“My resistance was vain; I was compelled to yield to the unanimous
voice, while I assured those who urged me to this measure that I left
all the responsibility with them. What was the result? It excited
clamour and discontent on the part of the public, who turned the whole
affair into ridicule, styling it the massacre of the innocents, &c.
Subsequently, De Winter, Verhuel, all the great naval commanders of the
north, and others, assured me that from eighteen to twenty (the age for
the conscription), was early enough to begin to learn the duties of a
sailor. The Danes and Swedes employ their soldiers in the navy. With the
Russians, the fleet is but a portion of the army; which affords the
invaluable advantage of keeping up a standing army, and for a twofold
object.
“I had myself,” added he, “planned something of the kind, when I created
my marines; but what obstacles had I to encounter; what prejudices had I
to subdue; what perseverance was I obliged to exert, before I could
succeed in clothing the sailors in uniform, forming them into regiments,
and drilling them by military exercise! I was told that I should ruin
all. And yet, can there be a greater advantage than for one country to
possess both an army and a navy? The men, thus disciplined, were not
worse sailors than the rest; while, at the same time, they were the best
soldiers. They were, in case of need, prepared to serve as sailors,
soldiers, artillerymen, pontooners, &c. If, instead of being thus
opposed by obstacles, I had found in the navy a man capable of entering
into my views, and promoting my ideas, what importance might we not have
obtained! But, during my reign, I never found a naval officer who could
depart from the old routine, and strike out a new course. I was much
attached to the navy; I admired the courage and patriotism of our
seamen; but I never found between them and me an intermediate agent, who
could have brought them into operation in the way I wished.”
NAPOLEON’S IMPERIAL SYSTEM.—PREFECTS.—AUDITORS OF THE COUNCIL OF
STATE.—THE EMPEROR’S MOTIVES IN GRANTING LUCRATIVE APPOINTMENTS.—HIS
FUTURE INTENTIONS.
7th.—Speaking of his imperial system, Napoleon observed that it had been
the means of creating the most compact government, establishing the most
rapid circulation in all its parts, and calling forth the most nervous
efforts that had ever been witnessed. “And nothing short of this,” said
he, “would have enabled us to triumph over such numerous difficulties,
and to achieve so many wonders. The organization of the Prefectures,
their operations, and the results they produced, were admirable. One and
the same impulse was simultaneously communicated to more than 40,000,000
of men; and, by the help of those centres of local activity, the
movement was not less rapid and energetic at the extremities than in the
heart itself.
“Foreigners who visited France, and who were capable of observing and
discerning, were filled with astonishment. To this uniformity of action
prevailing over an immense extent of territory, must be attributed those
prodigious efforts and immense results, which were acknowledged to have
been hitherto inconceivable.
“The Prefects, with their local authority and resources, were themselves
_Emperors on a small scale_. As their whole power proceeded from the
main spring, of which they were only the communicating channels; as
their influence was not personal, but was derived from their temporary
functions; as they had no connexion with the district over which their
jurisdiction extended; they afforded all the advantages of the great
absolute agents of the old system, without any of their disadvantages.
It was necessary to create this power,” continued the Emperor, “for the
force of circumstances had placed me in the situation of a dictator. It
was requisite that all the filaments issuing from me should be in
harmony with the first cause, or my system would have failed in its
result. The network which I spread over the French territory required a
violent tension and prodigious power of elasticity, in order to cause
the terrible blows that were constantly levelled at us to rebound to a
distance. Thus most of the springs of my machinery were merely
institutions connected with dictatorship, and measures for warlike
defence. When the moment should have arrived for slackening the reins,
all my connecting filaments would have relaxed sympathetically, and we
should then have proceeded to our peace establishment and local
institutions. If we yet possessed none of these, it was because
circumstances did not admit of them. Our immediate fall would have been
the infallible consequence, had we been provided with them at the
outset. It must not be supposed that the nation was all at once prepared
to make a proper use of her liberty. Both with respect to education and
character, the bulk of the people were imbued with too many of the
prejudices of past times. We were daily improving, but we had yet much
to acquire. At the time of the revolutionary explosion, the patriots,
generally speaking, were such by nature and by instinct: with them
patriotism was an innate sentiment, a passion, a phrensy. Hence the
effervescence, the extravagance, the fury, which marked that period. But
it is vain to attempt to naturalize and mature the modern system by
blows or by leaps. It must be implanted with education, and must take
root with reason and conviction; and this will infallibly take place in
the course of time, because modern principles are founded on natural
truths. But,” added he, “the men of our time were eager for the
possession of power, which they exercised with a domineering spirit, to
say no worse, while, on the other hand, they were ready to become the
slaves of those who were above them!... We have always wavered between
these two extremes. In the course of my journeys, I was often obliged to
say to the high officers who were about my person:—Pray let the Prefect
speak for himself. If I went to some subdivision of a department, I then
found it necessary to say to the Prefect:—Let the sub-prefect or the
mayor make his reply. So eager were all to eclipse each other, and so
little did they perceive the advantage that might arise from direct
communication with me! If I sent my great officers or ministers to
preside at the electoral colleges, I always advised them not to get
nominated as candidates for the Senate, as their seats were secured to
them by other means, and I wished that they should resign the honour of
the nomination to the principal individuals of the provinces: but they
never conformed with my wishes.”
This reminded me of a misunderstanding that once took place, between the
Emperor and the Minister Decrès, on the subject here alluded to. The
Emperor having expressed displeasure at the nomination of the
minister:—“Sire,” replied the latter, “your influence is more powerful
than your will. I in vain resisted, and assured them that you wished
these nominations to be made among themselves. They insisted on shewing
deference to your choice, and if you send me back, I shall only be
nominated over again.”
“I granted,” said Napoleon, “enormous salaries to Prefects and others;
but, with regard to my liberality on this head, it is necessary to
distinguish between what was systematic and what was incidental. The
latter forced me to grant lucrative appointments; the former would
ultimately have enabled me to obtain gratuitous services. At the first
outset, when the object was to conciliate individuals, and to
re-establish some kind of society and morality, liberal salaries,
absolute fortunes, were indispensable; but, the result being obtained,
and in the course of time the natural order of things being restored, my
intention, on the contrary, would have been to render almost all high
public duties gratuitous. I would have discarded those needy individuals
who cannot be their own masters, and whose urgent wants engender
political immorality. I would have wrought such a change in opinion that
public posts should have been sought after for the mere honour of
filling them. The functions of magistrate or justice of the peace would
have been discharged by men of fortune, who, being guided solely by
duty, philanthropy, and honourable ambition, would have afforded the
surest pledge of independence. It is this that constitutes the dignity
and majesty of a nation, that exalts her character, and establishes
public morals. Such a change had become indispensable in France, and the
dislike of getting into place might have been considered the forerunner
of our return to political morality. I have been informed that the mania
of place-hunting has crossed the sea, and that the contagion has been
communicated to our neighbours. The English of former days were as much
superior to this kind of meanness as the people of the United States now
are. The love of place is the greatest check to public morals. A man who
solicits a public post feels his independence sold beforehand. In
England, the greatest families, the whole peerage, disdain not to hunt
after places. Their excuse is that the enormous burdens of taxation
deprive them of the means of living without additions to their income.
Pitiful pretence! It is because their principles are more decayed than
their fortunes. When people of a certain rank stoop to solicit public
posts for the sake of emolument, there is an end to all independence and
dignity of national character. In France, the shocks and commotions of
our Revolution might have afforded an apology for such conduct. All had
been unsettled, and all felt the necessity of re-establishing
themselves. To promote this object, with the least possible offence to
delicacy of feeling, I was induced to attach considerable emolument and
high honour to all public posts. But, in the course of time, I intended
to work a change by the mere force of opinion. And this was by no means
impossible. Every thing must yield to the influence of power, when it is
directed to objects truly just, honourable, and great.
“I was preparing a happy reign for my son. For his sake I was rearing in
the new school, the numerous class of auditors of the Council of State.
Their education being completed, they would, on attaining the proper
age, have filled all the public posts in the Empire; thus confirmed in
modern principles, and improved by the example of their precursors. They
would all have been twelve or fifteen years older than my son, who would
by this means have been placed between two generations and all their
advantages: maturity, experience and prudence above him; youth,
promptitude, and activity below him.”
Here I could not refrain from expressing my astonishment that the
Emperor should never have thrown out a hint of the grand and important
objects which he had in contemplation. “What would have been the use of
promulgating my intentions,” said he; “I should have been styled a
quack, accused of insinuation and subtilty, and have fallen into
discredit. Situated as I was, deprived of hereditary authority, and of
the illusion called legitimacy, I was compelled to avoid entering the
lists with my opponents; I was obliged to be bold, imperious, and
decisive. You have told me that in your Faubourg they used to say, _Why
is he not legitimate?_ If I had been so, I certainly could not have done
more than I did; but my conduct might have appeared more amiable.”
LA VENDÉE.—CHARETTE.—LAMARQUE.—TRAGEDIES OF ÆSCHYLUS AND SOPHOCLES.—REAL
TRAGEDIES AMONG THE ROMANS.—SENECA’S MEDEA.—SINGULAR FACT.
8th—To-day the Emperor dictated to one of his suite, by which we were
very much gratified, for it was a proof that he felt himself better.
I attended him after dinner. The exertion of dictating seemed to have
roused his spirits. He was in a very talkative mood; and we conversed
together, walking backward and forward in his chamber. The troubles of
La Vendée, and the men who had been distinguished in them, formed the
principal topics of discourse.
Charette was the only individual to whom the Emperor attached particular
importance. “I have read a history of La Vendée,” said he, “and if the
details and portraits were correct, Charette was the only great
character, the true hero, of that remarkable episode of our Revolution,
which, if it presented great misfortunes, at least did not sacrifice our
glory. In the wars of La Vendée, Frenchmen destroyed each other; but
they did not degrade themselves: they received aid from foreigners; but
they did not stoop to the disgrace of marching under their banners, and
receiving daily pay for merely executing their commands. Yes,” continued
he, “Charette impressed me with the idea of a great character. I
observed that he on several occasions acted with uncommon energy and
intrepidity. He betrayed genius.” I mentioned that I had known Charette
very well in my youth; had been in the marines together at Brest, and
for a long time we shared the same chamber, and messed at the same
table. The brilliant career and exploits of Charette very much
astonished all who had formerly been acquainted with him. We looked upon
him as a common-place sort of man, destitute of information,
ill-tempered, and extremely indolent; and we all, with one accord,
pronounced him to belong to the class of insignificant beings. It is
true that, when he began to rise into celebrity, we recollected a
circumstance which certainly indicated decision of character. When
Charette was first called into service, during the American war, and
while yet a mere youth, he sailed from Brest in a cutter during the
winter. The cutter lost her mast; and to a vessel of that class such an
accident was equivalent to certain destruction. The weather was very
stormy. Death seemed inevitable; and the sailors, throwing themselves on
their knees, lost all presence of mind, and refused to make any effort
to save themselves. Charette, notwithstanding his extreme youth, killed
one of the men, in order to compel the rest to make the necessary
exertions. This dreadful example had the desired effect, and the vessel
was saved. “You see,” said the Emperor, “true decision of character
always develops itself in critical circumstances. Here was the spark
that distinguished the hero of La Vendée. Men’s dispositions are often
misunderstood. There are sleepers whose waking is terrible. Kleber was
an habitual slumberer; but, at the needful moment, he never failed to
awake, a lion.”
I added that I had often heard Charette relate that, at a particular
moment of extreme danger, the whole crew of the cutter, by a spontaneous
impulse, made a vow to go in their shirts and barefooted, to carry a
taper to our Lady of Recouvrance, at Brest, if she would vouchsafe to
ensure their safety. “And you may believe it or not as you please,”
added Charette with great simplicity: “but the fact is, they had no
sooner uttered their prayer than the wind suddenly abated, and from that
moment we were inspired with the hope of preservation.” On their return
to land, the sailors, headed by their officers, devoutly fulfilled their
vow. This was not the only miraculous circumstance connected with the
little cutter. It was in the month of December, and the night was long
and dark. The vessel had got among reefs, and, without mast or any
nautical aid, she floated at random, and the crew had resigned
themselves to the will of fate, when they unexpectedly heard the ringing
of a bell. They sounded, and, finding but little depth of water, they
cast anchor. What was their surprise and joy, when they found
themselves, at day-break, at the mouth of the river of Landernau! The
bell they had heard was that of the neighbouring parish church. The
cutter had miraculously escaped the numerous rocks that are scattered
about the entrance of Brest: she had been carried through the narrow
inlet to the port, had passed three or four hundred ships that were
lying in the roads, and had at length found a shelter precisely at the
mouth of a river, in a calm and retired spot. “This,” said the Emperor,
“shews the difference between the blindfold efforts of man, and the
certain course of nature. That at which you express so much surprise
must necessarily have happened. It is very probable that, with the full
power of exerting the utmost skill, the confusion and errors of the
moment would have occasioned the wreck of the vessel; whereas, in spite
of so many adverse chances, nature saved her. She was borne onward by
the tide; the force of the current carried her precisely through the
middle of each channel, so that she could not possibly have been lost.”
Again alluding to the war of La Vendée, the Emperor mentioned that he
had been withdrawn from the army of the Alps, for the purpose of being
transferred to that of La Vendée; but that he preferred resigning his
commission to entering a service where he conceived he should only be
concurring in mischief, without the probability of obtaining any
personal benefit. He said that one of the first acts of his Consulate
had been to quell the troubles in La Vendée. He did much for that
unfortunate department, the inhabitants of which were very grateful to
him; and when he passed through it, even the priests appeared to be
sincerely favourable to him. “Thus,” continued the Emperor, “the late
insurrections did not present the same character as the first. Their
prominent feature was not blind fanaticism, but merely passive obedience
to a ruling aristocracy. Be this as it may, Lamarque, whom I sent to La
Vendée at the height of the crisis, performed wonders, and even
surpassed my hopes.” What might not have been his influence in the great
contest; for the most distinguished chiefs of La Vendée, those who are
doubtless at this moment enjoying the favours of the Court,
acknowledged, through Lamarque, Napoleon as Emperor, even after
Waterloo, even after his abdication! Was it that Lamarque was ignorant
of the real state of things, or was it merely a whim on the part of the
conqueror? At all events, Lamarque is in exile: he is one of the
thirty-eight; “because it is easier to proscribe than to conquer.”
The Emperor dined with us to-day, for the first time since his illness,
that is to say, for the space of sixteen days. Our dinner was therefore
a sort of festival: but we could not help remarking, with regret, the
change in the Emperor’s countenance, which presented obvious traces of
the ill effects of his long confinement.
After dinner we resumed our readings, which had been so long suspended.
The Emperor read the Agamemnon of Æschylus, which he very much admired
for its great force and simplicity. We were particularly struck with the
graduation of terror which characterizes the productions of this father
of tragedy. It was observed that this was the first spark to which the
light of the modern drama may be traced.
Agamemnon being ended, the Emperor asked for the Œdipus of Sophocles,
which also interested us exceedingly: and the Emperor expressed his
regret at not having had it performed at St. Cloud. Talma had always
opposed the idea; but the Emperor was sorry that he had relinquished it.
“Not,” said he, “that I wished to correct our drama by antique models.
Heaven forbid! But I merely wished to have an opportunity of judging how
far ancient composition would have harmonized with modern notions.” He
said he was convinced that such a performance would have afforded
pleasure; and he made several remarks on the impression that was likely
to be produced on modern taste by the Greek Coryphæus chorusses, &c.