here; and I believe it.[17] It is conduct well worthy of him, who, in
defiance of a solemn capitulation, suffered Ney to perish;—Ney, with
whom he had so often been engaged on the field of battle! For my own
part, it is very certain that I gave him a terrible quarter of an
hour. This usually constitutes a claim on noble minds; his was
incapable of feeling it. My fall, and the lot that might have been
reserved for me, afforded him the opportunity of reaping higher glory
than he has gained by all his victories. But he did not understand
this. Well, at any rate, he ought to be heartily grateful to old
Blucher: had it not been for him, I know not where _his Grace_ might
have been to-day; but I know that I, at least, should not have been at
St. Helena. Wellington’s troops were admirable, but his plans were
despicable; or, I should rather say, that he formed none at all. He
had placed himself in a situation in which it was impossible he could
form any; and, by a curious chance, this very circumstance saved him.
If he could have commenced a retreat, he must infallibly have been
lost. He certainly remained master of the field of battle; but was his
success the result of his skill? He has reaped the fruit of a
brilliant victory; but did his genius prepare it for him? His glory is
wholly negative. His faults were enormous. He, the European
Generalissimo, to whose hands so many interests were intrusted, and
having before him an enemy so prompt and daring as myself, left his
forces dispersed, and slumbered in a capital until he was surprised.
And yet such is the power of fatality! In the course of three days, I
three times saw the destiny of France and of Europe escape my grasp.
Footnote 17:
This idea again occurs in the last lines written by Napoleon before
his death.
“In the first place, but for the treason of a General, who deserted
from our ranks, and betrayed my designs, I should have dispersed and
destroyed all the enemy’s detached parties before they could have
combined themselves into corps.
“Next, had it not been for the unusual hesitations of Ney at
Quatre-Bras, I should have annihilated the whole English army.
“Finally, on my right, the extraordinary manœuvres of Grouchy,
instead of securing victory, completed my ruin, and hurled France into
the abyss.
“No,” continued he, “Wellington possesses only a special kind of
talent: Berthier also had his! In this he perhaps excels. But he has
no ingenuity; fortune has done more for him than he has done for her.
How different from Marlborough, of whom he seems to consider himself
as the rival and equal. Marlborough, gained battles, ruled cabinets
and guided statesmen; as for Wellington, he has only shewn himself
capable of following the views and plans of Castlereagh. Madame de
Staël said of him that, when out of the field of battle, he had not
two ideas. The saloons of Paris, so distinguished for delicacy and
correctness of taste, at once decided that Madame de Staël was in the
right: and the French Plenipotentiary at Vienna confirmed that
opinion. His victories, their result, and their influence, will rise
in history; but his name will fall, even during his lifetime.”
Alluding to ministries in general, but particularly to collective
ministries, the intrigues, the great and petty passions that agitate
the men who compose them, the Emperor said, “After all, they are only
so many plagues. No one escapes the contagion. A man may be honest
when he enters a ministry; but it seldom happens that he retires from
one without having forfeited his purity of character. I may perhaps
except only two: mine, and that of the United States—mine, because my
Ministers were merely my men of business, and I alone stood
responsible; and that of the United States, because there Ministers
are men of public credit, always upright, always vigilant, and always
rigid.” He concluded with the following remarkable words:—
“I believe that no Sovereign was ever surrounded by more faithful
servants than I was towards the close of my reign. And if I did not
obtain due credit for the selection I had made, it was because the
French are too apt to murmur incessantly.” He then took a review of
his principal Ministers, counting them on his fingers.
“My two great dignitaries,” said he, “Cambacérès and Lebrun, were
distinguished men, and perfectly well disposed. Bassano and
Caulaincourt, two men remarkable for sincerity and rectitude. Molé,
whose name reflects honour on the French Magistracy, is probably
destined to act a part in future ministries. Montalivet was an honest
man; the ministry of Decrès was pure and rigorous; Gaudin was
distinguished for steady and well directed labour; Mollien possessed
vast perspicuity and promptitude; and all my Councillors of State were
prudent and assiduous! All these names will remain inseparably
connected with mine. What country, what age, ever presented a better
composed, or more moral Ministry? Happy the nation that possesses such
instruments, and knows how to turn them to good account!... Though I
was not given to praise, and though my approbation was in general
purely negative, yet I fully appreciated the value of those who served
me, and who have everlasting claims on my gratitude. Their number is
immense, and the most modest are not the least meritorious. I shall
not attempt to name them, because many would have to complain of
having been omitted, and such omission might appear like ingratitude
on my part!”
THE GENERALS OF THE ARMY OF ITALY.—NAPOLEON THE ADOPTED FATHER OF ONE
OF HIS AIDES-DE-CAMP.—SCANDALOUS NOVEL.—NAPOLEON’S DISLIKE OF
GAMING.—THE LA ROCHEFOUCAULT FAMILY, &c.
17th.—The Emperor was unwell, and saw nobody during the whole of the
day. In the evening he sent for me. I expressed myself very much
concerned for the state of his health; but he assured me that he was
more indisposed in mind than in body. He began to converse on a
variety of subjects, and this seemed to rouse his spirits.
He once more took a review of the Generals of the army of Italy,
describing their characters, and quoting many anecdotes respecting
them. He spoke of the selfishness of one, of the false pretensions of
another, the folly of a third; the depredations committed by some, the
good qualities of others, and the important services rendered by all.
He dwelt particularly on one, to whom he had been much attached, and
whose defection, he said, had proved a severe wound to his heart. The
Emperor remarked that, from what he knew of that individual, he was
sure he must occasionally suffer deeply from remorse. “Never,”
observed he, “was defection more fatal, or more decidedly avowed. It
was recorded in the Moniteur, and by his own hand. It was the
immediate cause of our disasters, the grave of our power, the cloud of
our glory. And yet,” added he, in a tone of affection, “I am convinced
that his sentiments are better than his reputation; his heart is
superior to his conduct. Of this, he himself appears to be conscious.
The newspapers inform us that when, soliciting in vain for the pardon
of Lavalette, he exclaimed, with warmth, in reply to the obstacles
urged by the Monarch, _Sire, have I not given you more than life_? We
were, it is true,” said the Emperor, “betrayed by others, and in a
manner still more vile; but no other act of apostacy was so solemnly
recorded by official documents.”
The Emperor then observed that, at an early period of life, he had
acted the part of a father to the General above alluded to, who could
not enter the royal corps of artillery, and had been obliged to join a
provincial regiment. “He was,” said the Emperor, “the nephew of one of
my comrades at the school of Brienne, and in the regiment of La Fère,
who, when he emigrated from France, recommended his young relation to
my care. This circumstance imposed upon me the obligation of acting
the part of his uncle and his father, which I literally did. I took a
real interest in his welfare, and felt a pleasure in advancing his
fortune. His father was a knight of St. Louis, the proprietor of some
iron-works in Burgundy, and a man of considerable fortune.”
Napoleon mentioned that, in 1794, as he was returning from the army of
Nice to Paris, he visited the father’s _chateau_, where he was
magnificently treated, as he was already beginning to enjoy a certain
degree of reputation. The father, according to the son’s account, was
an absolute miser. However, he determined to give a handsome reception
to the guest who had been so kind to his son. His entertainment was
distinguished by all the ostentation which misers are fond of
displaying. He exhibited complete prodigality. It was in July or
August, and he ordered immense fires to be kindled in all the
apartments. “This,” said the Emperor, “would have been an incident for
Moliere.”
Speaking of the manners of Paris, and its immense population, the
Emperor adverted to the many evils which he said must inevitably exist
in all great capitals, where depravity of every kind is continually
stimulated by want, passion, wit, and the facilities afforded by
bustle and confusion. He often repeated, that all capitals were so
many Babylons. He adduced several proofs of odious libertinism with
respect to Paris; and he mentioned that, after he became Emperor, he
had perused the most scandalous book that was ever conceived by the
most depraved imagination. It was a novel, which, even in the time of
the Convention, had proved so offensive to public morals as to
occasion the imprisonment of its author, who had continued in
confinement ever since, and whom the Emperor believed to be still
living. I have forgotten the name of the writer, and it was the first
time I had ever heard the production mentioned.
The Emperor said that he had endeavoured, as far as circumstances
permitted, to suppress many sources of immorality; but in some
instances, he had not had courage to descend into details. For
example, he prohibited masked gaming, and even had it in view to
prohibit all gaming houses; but when I wished to have the subject
thoroughly discussed in my presence, it proved to be a very difficult
question. I mentioned that the police had even prohibited us from
playing privately in one of the principal houses of the Faubourg St.
Germain. The Emperor observed that he had had no idea of this act of
tyranny; and yet, as I assured him, it was exercised by Fouché in his
name. “That may be,” said he, “but I knew nothing of it; and so it was
with all the details of the police, high, middling, and low.”
He then questioned me respecting the kind of gaming to which I had
just alluded; and observing that, in my replies, I always used the
plural _we_, he interrupted me, saying,—“Were you yourself one of the
party? Were you a gamester?”—“Alas! Sire, I unfortunately was. Only at
long intervals, it is true. But st¡ll, when the fit seized me, it
urged me to excess.”—“I am very glad I knew nothing of it at the
time,“ said the Emperor, “otherwise you would have been ruined in my
esteem. This circumstance shews how little we knew of each other, and
it also proves that you could not have made yourself many enemies; for
there were charitable souls about me who would have taken care to
inform me of your failing. My prejudice against gaming was well known.
A gamester was sure to forfeit my confidence. I had not leisure to
enquire whether I was right or wrong; but, whenever I heard that a man
was addicted to gaming, I placed no more reliance on him.”
This allusion to the Faubourg St. Germain led us to mention many of
the principal names in the capital. The Emperor made some remarks on
the different members of the family of La Rochefoucault. He mentioned
the lady of honour to the Empress Josephine; her husband, who was
ambassador to Vienna and Holland; her brother, the member of the
Legislative Body; their father, M. de Liancourt, whom he highly
respected; and finally, the daughter whom he had given in marriage to
Prince Aldobrandini, brother to Prince Borghese. He repeated that he
had once entertained the idea of making her the wife of Ferdinand VII.
He also mentioned another, M. de la Rochefoucault, who died in prison
at the commencement of his reign, and he asked me what relation he was
to the others. I could not inform him. I knew nothing either of the
person or the circumstance mentioned by the Emperor.
“He was,” said Napoleon, “the author of a conspiracy against my
person, which I never mentioned to you: it just now occurs to my
recollection.
“This M. de la Rochefoucault formed in Paris, in behalf of the King,
who was then at Mittau, a conspiracy, the first stroke of which was to
be the death of the head of the Government. M. de la Rochefoucault
ended his days in prison, after a long confinement. Some one having
procured a knowledge of this affair, a confidential agent of the
police pretended to enter into the conspiracy, and to become one of
its most active members. He received his credentials at a _chateau_ in
Lorraine, from an old gentleman, who had held a distinguished rank in
the army of Condé, and who had been enabled to return to France by the
amnesty of the First Consul. This gentleman, who, to do him justice,
was a very worthy man, was appointed to accredit the members of the
conspiracy, and to afford them the necessary facilities for gaining
access to Louis XVIII. at Mittau. He had evinced great repugnance on
entering into the conspiracy. He said it was now too late to think of
such enterprises, as France was beginning to enjoy repose. He solemnly
declared his disapproval of any violence being offered to the First
Consul, whom he now looked upon as something sacred. After having
several interviews with Louis XVIII. at Mittau, the police agent
returned with a knowledge of the whole affair. M. de la Rochefoucault
and his party were arrested. If they had but known who disclosed their
plot!”
PONIATOWSKI THE REAL KING OF POLAND.—CHARACTERISTIC
ANECDOTES OF NAPOLEON.
18th,—19th.—The conversation turned on Poland, roused as she had been
at the voice of Napoleon. We spoke of the individuals who seemed to
have been destined to ascend the throne of that country: each made his
own conjectures on this subject. The Emperor remained silent for some
time, and at length interrupted us, saying: “Poniatowski was the real
King of Poland. He possessed every quality requisite for that high
station.” He said no more.
At another moment, the Emperor smiled at the pains that had been taken
to obliterate his emblems and devices on the public monuments which he
had erected, “They may,” said he, “be withdrawn from the public eye;
but they cannot be erased from the page of history, or from the
recollection of connoisseurs and artists. I acted differently,” added
he; “I respected all the vestiges of royalty that existed when I came
into power. I even restored the _fleurs-de-lis_, and other royal
emblems, when chronological correctness required it.”
An individual present remarked that Prince Lucien had manifested
precisely the same sentiments. The Palais Royal was assigned as his
place of residence on the Emperor’s return in 1815, and, observing, as
he ascended the staircase, the groupes of _fleurs-de-lis_ on the
tapestry that overhung the walls, he said to the officer who attended
him: “This will all be taken down, I presume?”—“Why, Monseigneur?”
“Because these are the devices of the enemy.” “Well! Monseigneur, why
should they not remain as our trophies?”—“You are right,” replied the
Prince, “this is exactly my way of viewing the matter.”
To-day, I have been able to collect but little from the Emperor’s
conversation.... I shall, therefore, fill up this void, and that of
the succeeding day, by inserting some anecdotes which I find in
scattered memoranda on the cover of my ordinary Journal: for here I
noted down such particulars as I found I had forgotten to insert in
their proper place, together with any old reminiscences that happened
to occur to me, or delicate points which, in our state of captivity,
required to be treated with prudence and circumspection. These notes
also contain many facts, which have been subsequently collected from
unquestionable sources.
Many of these articles have no relation to each other; but, they are
all connected with the object of the present work, whether they serve
to prove the false colours in which Napoleon has been painted, or
whether, on the contrary, they develop the real traits of his
character. May the perusal of this Journal induce those who have been
about the Emperor to record on their parts all they know, or have
heard respecting him!
Formerly, a great deal was said about the excessive severity and
violence exercised by the Emperor towards the individuals about his
person. Now, however, it is acknowledged that every one who served him
adored him, precisely for his kindness of heart and manners. Since my
return to Europe, a gentleman of high rank, whose name alone would be
sufficient to command credit, and whose high functions kept him
constantly about the person of the Emperor, in foreign expeditions as
well as in the interior of the palace, has assured me that he never in
his life knew Napoleon to strike a servant, except on one occasion.
This was when one of his grooms, at the retreat of Saint Jean d’Acre,
refused to give up his horse for the transport of the invalids, while
he, the General-in-Chief, had surrendered his, and had obliged all his
staff to do so likewise. But, after all, added my informant, it was
easy to perceive that this act was prompted by policy rather than by
natural severity of temper: the scene took place in the presence of
dispirited troops, to whom it was necessary to give proofs of the
lively interest that was felt for them.
It used to be a common remark that Napoleon was not less morose to the
individuals of his Court than to those in his service; and that he
never had any thing complimentary or agreeable to say to any one.
Among the multitude of facts that might be adduced in contradiction to
this assertion, I will mention the following, to which I was myself a
witness. On his return from the disastrous campaign of Leipsic, the
Emperor received the officers of his household at an unusual hour. He
presented himself to us with an air of melancholy. Stepping up to the
individual who was next me (M. de Beauveau, I think,) whose son, yet a
youth, had served in the campaign, in the guard of honour, or some
other corps. Napoleon said to him: “Your son’s conduct has been
admirable. He has conferred honour on his name. He has been wounded;
but what of that? He may proudly boast of having thus early shed his
blood for his country.”
At the same period, at one of his levees, after giving some orders to
General Gerard, whose reputation was then beginning to attract
attention, the Emperor concluded with some words evidently kindly
meant, though somewhat obscure. After advancing a few paces to
continue his circuit, he turned back to General Gerard, apparently
having read in his countenance that he had not precisely understood
him, and he said very distinctly: “I observed that, if I had many men
like you, I should consider all my losses repaired, and should think
myself master of my fortune.”
About the same period, I had an opportunity of witnessing a proof of
the ascendency which the Emperor could exercise over the human mind,
and the sort of veneration with which he was regarded. A General,
whose name I do not know, and who had been severely wounded in the
leg, attended the Emperor’s levee. Napoleon had been informed that
amputation was pronounced to be absolutely indispensable, but that the
unfortunate officer obstinately refused to submit to it. “Why do you
object to an operation that will preserve your life?” said Napoleon:
“It cannot be want of courage, since you have so often braved danger
on the field of battle! Is it contempt of life? But does not your
heart tell you that, even with the remaining limb, you may be useful
to your country, and render her signal services?” The officer was
silent; the expression of his countenance was calm and placid, but
still negative. The Emperor seemed sorry for him, and passed on to
speak to some other persons, when the officer, who had apparently
formed a sudden resolution, turned to the Emperor, saying, “Sire, if
your Majesty orders me to submit to the operation, I will immediately
do so,”—“My dear Sir,” replied the Emperor, “I have no power to do
that. I wished to move you by persuasion; but Heaven forbid that I
should command you!” I think I have heard it said that, on leaving the
palace, the wounded officer submitted to the operation.
The Emperor, on his return from the Isle of Elba, arrived at the
Tuileries very late in the evening. His levee, on the following day,
was, as may be supposed, exceedingly numerous. When the door was
thrown open, and he presented himself before us, it would be difficult
for me to explain what were my ideas and sensations. The Emperor
appeared the same as usual; just as though he had never left the
palace, and had held a levee but yesterday; his countenance, attitude,
dress, manners, all were unaltered. I was powerfully affected, and I
believe my sensations were shared by all present. The force of
sentiment prevailed over respect; and all rushed forward to meet him.
The Emperor himself was visibly moved; and he embraced several of the
most distinguished persons. He then commenced his circuit as usual.
His voice was mild, his countenance placid, and his manner affable: he
spoke with kindness to every one. “How!” said he, addressing a certain
individual, “What! the Major-General of the white army two paces from
me!” Several of those present seemed to be labouring under a little
embarrassment, owing to the extraordinary events that had just taken
place; as for Napoleon, he appeared as though nothing had happened. He
did not forget that he had released them all from their allegiance at
Fontainebleau.
The following anecdotes prove his correctness of judgment and coolness
of temper. They also shew that, when at the summit of his power, his
moderation and equity were never shaken, even in matters most directly
personal, and on subjects on which he might have been presumed to be
most delicate and susceptible.
When Moreau was arrested, on the charge of being concerned in the
affair of Georges and Pichegru, one of the First Consul’s
Aides-de-camp, who was, perhaps, also the Aide-de-camp of Moreau, or
had served under his command, visited him in prison, and evinced great
interest for him. “This is all very natural,” said Napoleon, on being
informed of the circumstance, “I certainly cannot blame such conduct;
but I must appoint another Aide-de-camp. The post is one perfectly
confidential: there can be no division in an affair so personal as
this.” Napoleon gave the command of a regiment to this Aide-de-camp
(Col. Laucée), who, some time afterwards, perished at the head of it,
in one of the actions which preceded the capitulation of Ulm.
About the same period, the Prefect of Liege, equally remarkable for
his administrative talents and excellent character, was suddenly
summoned to Paris; and he hastened thither, pleased with the
anticipation of the proofs of satisfaction which he trusted he should
receive, because he deserved them. He was, however, invited by the
Grand Judge to visit him before he should present himself to the First
Consul; and he found himself unexpectedly interrogated, _ex officio_,
on the subject of a letter that was presented to him. At first he
could not deny the signature, so accurately had his own been imitated;
but he positively disavowed the sentiments it contained. It consisted
of a justification of Moreau, and was filled with imprecations against
the Consul. The whole was an infamous plot, contrived by a high public
functionary, an enemy of the Prefect’s, for the purpose of ruining
him. The Prefect, having proved that he knew nothing of the letter
attributed to him, appeared at the First Consul’s grand audience.
Napoleon treated him with particular attention, and when he took his
leave, he said to him, “Return and resume your functions, which you
know so well how to fulfil. You carry with you my utmost esteem. Let
this public testimony of your good conduct console you for the painful
feelings that calumny and falsehood may have occasioned you.”