England, when suddenly our coasts, our high roads, and the capital,
were inundated with agents from the Bourbons. A great number of them
were arrested; but their plans could not yet be discovered. They were
of all ranks and descriptions. All the passions were roused, the
agitation of the public became extreme; a storm was gathering; the
crisis assumed the most alarming aspect; the agents of the police had
exhausted all their means, without being able to obtain any
information. My own sagacity saved me,” observed Napoleon. “Having
risen on one occasion in the night, to work, as I used frequently to
do, _chance, which governs the world_, directed my eyes to one of the
last reports of the police, containing the names of those persons who
had already been arrested in consequence of this affair, to which no
clue had yet been obtained. Amongst those names I observed that of a
surgeon in the army; I immediately concluded that such a man must be
an intriguer rather than a devoted fanatic, and I ordered every
measure likely to extort a prompt confession to be instantly resorted
to against him. The affair was immediately placed in the hands of a
military commission; in the morning he was sentenced, and threatened
with immediate execution if he did not speak. Half an hour afterwards
he had disclosed every thing, even to the most minute details. The
nature and the extent of the plot, which had been got up in London,
was then known, and the intrigues of Moreau, and the presence of
Pichegru in Paris, &c. were discovered soon after.”
I omit all the details of that affair; they may be seen in the Letters
written from the Cape in refutation of those of Dr. Warden, and in the
work of Mr. O’Meara. The particulars which I should relate would be
precisely the same as those contained in the work last mentioned; they
are derived from the same source. With respect to the accusation
relative to the death of Pichegru, who was said to have been strangled
by order of the First Consul, Napoleon said that it was too absurd,
and that it would be degrading to attempt to repel it:—“What
advantage,” he observed, “could accrue to me from his death? A man of
my stamp does not act without some powerful motive. Have I ever been
known to shed blood through caprice? Notwithstanding all the efforts
that have been made to blacken my reputation and misrepresent my
character, those who know me know that crime is foreign to my nature.
There is not a private act that has occurred during the whole course
of my administration, of which I might not speak openly before a
tribunal, not only without any disadvantage, but even with some credit
to myself. The fact is that Pichegru found himself placed in a
hopeless situation; his high mind could not bear to contemplate the
infamy of a public execution; he despaired of my clemency, or
disdained to appeal to it, and put an end to his existence.
“Had I been disposed to crime,” continued the Emperor, “it is not
against Pichegru, who could do no harm, that I should have levelled
the blow, but at Moreau, who had at that moment placed me in a most
perilous situation. If the latter had unfortunately also killed
himself while in prison, my justification would have been rendered
much more difficult, on account of the great advantage it would have
been to me to get rid of him. You gentlemen who were abroad, and the
ultra-royalists who were in France, have never known the true state of
public opinion in France. Pichegru, having been once unmasked, and
exposed as a traitor to the nation, no longer excited sympathy in any
breast; and this feeling went so far that the circumstance of his
being connected with Moreau was sufficient to effect the ruin of the
latter, who saw himself abandoned by many of his adherents; for, in
the struggle of parties, the majority of the people cared more about
the commonwealth than about individuals. I judged so correctly in this
business that, when Real came to propose to me to arrest Moreau, I
rejected the proposal without hesitation. Moreau is a man of too much
importance, said I to him; he is too directly opposed to me, I have
too great an interest in getting rid of him, to expose myself thus to
the conjectures of public opinion. But, replied Real, if Moreau
conspires with Pichegru?—The case is then different; prove that to me,
shew me that Pichegru is in Paris, and I will instantly sign the order
for the apprehension of Moreau. Real had received indirect information
of Pichegru’s arrival; but had not yet been able to trace his steps.
Run to his brother’s, said I; if he has left his residence, it will be
a strong indication that Pichegru is in Paris; if he is still in his
lodgings, arrest him: his surprise will soon inform you of the truth.
This brother had been a monk, and lived in a fourth floor in Paris. As
soon as he found himself arrested, he asked, before any question was
put to him, what fault he had committed, and whether it was imputed to
him as a crime that he had received, against his will, a visit from
his brother. He had been the first, he said, to represent to him the
peril of his situation, and to advise him to go away again. This was
quite enough. Moreau’s arrest was ordered and carried into effect.
Moreau appeared at first to be under no apprehension; but, when he
found, after he had been conducted to prison, that he was arrested for
having conspired with Pichegru and Georges against the state, he was
quite disconcerted and extremely agitated. As for the greater number
of those who composed that party,” added Napoleon, “the name of
Pichegru seemed to them a triumph; they exclaimed on all sides that
Pichegru was in London, and that in a few days this would be proved;
for they either did not know that he was in Paris, or believed that it
would be easy for him to escape thence.”
The First Consul had long since broken with Moreau, who was entirely
governed by his wife. “This,” said the Emperor, “is always a great
misfortune, because a man in that case is neither himself nor his
wife, he is nothing.” Moreau shewed himself sometimes favourable to
the First Consul, and sometimes against him; sometimes obsequious and
sometimes sarcastic. The First Consul, who had wished to conciliate
the affection of Moreau, found himself under the necessity of giving
him up altogether. “Moreau,” he had said, “will in the end commit
himself most seriously; he will some day break his head against the
columns of the Palace.” And to this he was but too much instigated by
the inconsiderate conduct and the ridiculous pretensions of his wife
and his mother-in-law. The latter went so far as to contend for
precedence with the wife of the First Consul. “The Minister for
Foreign Affairs,” said Napoleon, “had been obliged once, on the
occasion of an entertainment given by the ministers, to use violence
to oblige her to desist.”
After Moreau had been arrested, the First Consul sent him word that it
would be enough for him to confess that he had seen Pichegru, in order
to put a stop to all proceedings against him. Moreau answered by a
letter, in which he assumed a high tone; but afterwards, when Pichegru
himself was arrested, and the affair began to assume a serious aspect,
Moreau wrote to the First Consul a very submissive letter, but it was
too late.
It was perfectly true that Moreau had conferred with Pichegru and
Georges; and had given the following answer to their proposals:—“In
the present state of affairs I could not do any thing for you, I could
not even depend upon my own aides-de-camp; but _get rid_ of the First
Consul, I have a party in the Senate, and shall be immediately
appointed in his stead. You, Pichegru, will be examined upon the
charge which is brought against you, of having betrayed the national
cause; depend upon it, it is necessary that you should be put upon
your trial, but I will be answerable for the result: from that moment
you will be Second Consul; and we will afterwards choose a third
according to our wish, and proceed all together in concert and without
interruption.” Georges, who was present, and whom Moreau had never
known before, very urgently claimed that third place for himself.
“That cannot be,” said Moreau, “you have no knowledge of the state of
public opinion in France; you have always been a white,[20] and you
see that Pichegru will be obliged to wash off the stain of having had
the intention to become one.” “I understand you,” said Georges, highly
incensed. “What farce are we playing here, and whom do you take me
for? You are then working for yourselves alone, and not at all for the
King? If that is the case, and if there must be a blue[21] at the head
of the government, I prefer the one who is there now.” Upon this they
separated in dudgeon, and Moreau requested Pichegru not to bring that
brute, that bull, destitute of sense and of all information, any more.
Footnote 20:
A Royalist.
Footnote 21:
A man of the revolutionary party.
“On the trial,” said Napoleon, “the firmness of the accomplices, the
magnanimity by which they dignified their cause, and the line of
absolute denial recommended by his advocate, saved Moreau. On being
questioned whether the charges brought against him of having held
conferences and had interviews were true, he answered, No. But the
victor of Hohenlinden was unaccustomed to falsehood; a sudden blush
suffused every feature of his countenance, and none of the bystanders
were deceived. However, he was acquitted, and most of the accomplices
were condemned to death. I pardoned several of them; all those whose
wives succeeded in penetrating into my presence, or in whose favour
strong intercessions were made, obtained their lives. The Polignacs,
M. de Riviere and others, would indubitably have perished, but for the
intervention of some fortunate circumstances. Others less known, such
as a man named Borel, Ingand de St. Maur, Rochelle, &c. were equally
fortunate. It is true,” added he, “that they did not afterwards shew
themselves very grateful for such a favour, and that, if they were
worthy to have their conduct investigated, it would be found that
their actions have not been of a nature to encourage clemency. One of
them, who had on the occasion above mentioned owed his life chiefly to
the solicitations of Murat, was precisely the same man who set a price
on Murat’s head in Provence, in the year 1815. If he thought that
fidelity should outweigh gratitude, the sacrifice must at least have
been most painful to him. Another is the man who has most contributed
to circulate the imputation, as ridiculous as that concerning Pichegru
was absurd, of the murder of the English Lieutenant Wright,[22] &c.
“In the midst of the affairs of Georges, Pichegru, and Moreau,” said
the Emperor; “that of the Duke d’Enghien happened, and rendered the
whole a strange complication.” And he then related that affair in
detail. This latter circumstance is the reason that induced me at the
time to displace and postpone to this day the whole of the article
which I now give, for I felt a very great repugnance to touch upon a
subject so painful in itself, and so afflicting to several of my
acquaintances, who had been in direct relation with the Prince, or
personally attached to him. Above all, I dreaded to awaken the
legitimate grief of a high personage, who has formerly honoured me
with some marks of kindness, of which I have ever treasured the
recollection. These are my motives; they will be understood and
appreciated. But, however, I am now approaching to the end of my work,
and my duty, as a faithful historian, imperatively commands me to take
up this melancholy subject, lest my absolute silence should be
misinterpreted. Nevertheless, I shall, for reasons before stated, omit
all the details which are already known, and which may have been read
in the works already quoted (Letters from the Cape, and Mr. O’Meara’s
work): my account would be the same, for all of them were heard from
Napoleon’s own mouth; I shall only relate a few particulars which have
not found their way into the books above mentioned, and only such as
appear to me too intimately connected with the characteristic shades
of Napoleon’s disposition, not to impose upon me the obligation of
mentioning them.
Footnote 22:
See Letters from the Cape.
This event had made, at the time, a deep impression on my mind, as
well as on that of the inhabitants of Paris. I, perhaps, had felt it
still more forcibly on account of the principles of my childhood, the
habits and connexions of my younger days, and the line of my political
opinions; and I was, at that time, far from having got the better of
this feeling. That first impression had still remained in all its
force, and my ideas on this point were such that I certainly should
not have dared to pronounce the name of the Prince in the presence of
the Emperor: it would have seemed to me to convey the idea of a
reproach. I carried the feeling so far that, the first time I heard
him pronounce the name himself, I turned red with embarrassment.
Fortunately, I was walking behind him in a narrow path; otherwise, he
would certainly have observed my confusion. Yet, notwithstanding all
these previous dispositions on my part, the first time the Emperor
developed this affair in all its general bearings, its details, and
circumstances; when I heard him expose his various motives, with that
conciseness, brilliancy, and power of persuasion which form the
characteristics of his logic, I must confess that the affair seemed to
wear a new aspect. When he had ceased to speak, I remained surprised,
absorbed in thought; I silently called to mind my former objections; I
was angry with myself for having little or nothing to answer at this
moment, and I was obliged to confess, internally, that I found myself
stronger in feelings than in arguments or solid objections.
The Emperor often resumed this subject, which gave me an opportunity
of observing in him some very strongly marked characteristic shades. I
have, on those occasions, most distinctly and frequently seen in him
the private man struggling against the public character; and the
natural feelings of his heart contending against those which were
suggested by his pride and the dignity of his station. In the
unreserved moments of familiar intercourse, he shewed himself not
indifferent to the fate of the unfortunate Prince; but, if his
conversation had reference to public concerns, it was altogether quite
a different thing. One day, having spoken to me of the youth and the
untimely end of this ill-fated Prince, he concluded by saying: “And I
have since learnt, my dear Las Cases, that he was favourable to me. I
have been assured that he used to speak of me with some degree of
admiration; such is retributive justice in this world!” These last
words were pronounced with such an expression, every feature of his
face was so much in harmony with that expression, that I have no
doubt, if the individual whom Napoleon pitied had been at that moment
in his power, he would have been freely forgiven, whatever his acts or
intentions might have been. This was no doubt a sentiment expressed in
an unguarded moment, in which I had, as it were, taken him by
surprise; and I do not suppose that many persons have found themselves
similarly placed. This delicate subject was too sensibly connected
with Napoleon’s pride, and the peculiar cast of his mind, to allow him
to be lavish in his expression of such feelings; and he therefore
varied his arguments and his words on the subject, as the circle of
his hearers increased. We have just seen how he expressed himself in
the confidence of a private conversation; his language was even
different, when we were all assembled together: the affair, he would
then say, might have occasioned him some regret, but had not given
rise to any remorse, or even to any scruples. But when strangers were
present, he would declare that the Prince had deserved his fate.
The Emperor used to consider this affair under two very distinct
aspects: with reference to the common law, or the established rules of
justice, and with reference to the law of nature, or acts of violence.
With us he would willingly argue the matter, and generally on the
principles of common law; and he seemed to condescend to do so on
account of the familiarity that existed between us, or of his
superiority over us. He generally concluded these conversations by
observing that he might possibly be reproached with severity, but that
he could not be accused of any violation of justice; because,
notwithstanding all that calumny and falsehood had invented on the
subject, all the forms required by law had been regularly observed and
strictly attended to.
In the presence of strangers, the Emperor adopted a line of argument
founded almost exclusively on the law of nature and state politics. It
was visible that it would have been too painful to him so far to lower
himself with them as to insist much on the principles of common law:
to have done so would have appeared like an attempt to justify
himself. “If I had not had in my favour the laws of the country to
punish the culprit,” he would say to them, “I should still have had
the right of the law of nature, of legitimate self-defence. The Duke
and his party had constantly but one object in view, that of taking
away my life: I was assailed on all sides, and at every instant;
air-guns, infernal machines, plots, ambuscades of every kind, were
resorted to for that purpose. At last I was tired out, and took an
opportunity of striking them with terror in their turn in London; I
succeeded, and from that moment there was an end to all conspiracies.
Who can blame me for having acted so? What! blows threatening my
existence are aimed at me day after day, from a distance of one
hundred and fifty leagues; no power on earth, no tribunal can afford
me redress; and I shall not be allowed to use the right of nature and
return war for war! What man, unbiassed by party feeling, possessing
the smallest share of judgment and justice, can take upon himself to
condemn me? on what side will he not throw blame, odium, and criminal
accusations? Blood for blood; such is the natural, inevitable, and
infallible law of retaliation: woe to him who provokes it! Those who
foment civil dissensions or excite political commotions render
themselves liable to become the victims of them. It would be a proof
of imbecility or madness to imagine and pretend that a whole family
should have the strange privilege to threaten my existence, day after
day, without giving me the right of retaliation: they could not
reasonably pretend to be above the law to destroy others, and claim
the benefit of it for their own preservation: the chances must be
equal. I had never personally offended any of them; a great nation had
chosen me to govern them; almost all Europe had sanctioned their
choice; my blood, after all, was not ditch-water; it was time to place
it on a par with theirs. And what if I had carried retaliation
further? I might have done it: the disposal of their destiny, the
lives of every one of them, from the highest to the lowest, were more
than once offered to me; but I rejected the offer with indignation.
Not that I thought it would be unjust for me to consent to it, in the
situation to which they had reduced me; but I felt so powerful, I
thought myself so secure, that I should have considered it a base and
gratuitous act of cowardice. My great maxim has always been that, in
war as well as in politics, every evil action, even if legal, can only
be excused in case of absolute necessity: whatever goes beyond that is
criminal.
“It would have been ridiculous in those who violated so openly the law
of nations to appeal to it themselves. The violation of the territory
of Baden, of which so much has been said, is entirely foreign to the
main point of the question. The law of the inviolability of territory
has not been devised for the benefit of the guilty, but merely for the
preservation of the independence of nations and of the dignity of the
sovereign. It was therefore for the Duke of Baden, and for him alone,
to complain, and he did not; he yielded, no doubt, to violence and to
the feeling of his political inferiority: but, even then, what has
that to do with the merits of the plots and outrages which I had to
complain of, and of which I had every right to be revenged?” And he
concluded that the real authors of the dreadful catastrophe, the
persons who alone were responsible for it, were those who had favoured
and excited from abroad the plots formed against the life of the First
Consul. “For,” said he, “either they had implicated the unfortunate
Prince in them, and had thus sealed his doom; or, by neglecting to
give him intimation of what was going forward, they had suffered him
to slumber imprudently on the brink of the precipice, and to be so
near the frontiers at the moment when so great a blow was about to be
struck in the name and on the behalf of his family.”
To us, in the intimacy of private conversation, the Emperor would say
that the blame in France might be ascribed to an excess of zeal in
those who surrounded him, or to dark intrigues or private views; that
he had been precipitately urged on in this affair; that they had as it
were taken his mind unawares; and that his measures had been hastened,
and their results pre-determined. “I was one day alone,” said he, “I
recollect it well; I was taking my coffee, half seated on the table at
which I had just dined; when sudden information is brought to me that
a new conspiracy has been discovered. I am warmly urged to put an end
to these enormities; they represent to me that it is time at last to
give a lesson to those who have been day after day conspiring against
my life; that this end can only be attained by shedding the blood of
one of them; and that the Duke d’Enghien, who might now be convicted
of forming part of this new conspiracy, and taken in the very fact,
should be that one. It was added that he had been seen at Strasburg;
that it was even believed that he had been in Paris; and that the plan
was that he should enter France by the east, at the moment of the
explosion, whilst the Duke of Berry was disembarking in the west. I
should tell you,” observed the Emperor, “that I did not even know
precisely who the Duke d’Enghien was (the Revolution having taken
place when I was yet a very young man, and I having never been at
Court); and that I was quite in the dark as to where he was at that
moment. Having been informed on those points, I exclaimed that, if
such were the case, the Duke ought to be arrested, and orders should
be given to that effect. Every thing had been foreseen and prepared;
the different orders were already drawn up, nothing remained to be
done but to sign them, and the fate of the young Prince was thus
decided. He had been residing for some time past at a distance of
about three leagues from the Rhine, in the states of Baden. Had I been
sooner aware of this fact and of its importance, I should have taken
umbrage at it, and should not have suffered the Prince to remain so
near the frontiers of France; and that circumstance, as it turned out,
would have saved his life. As for the assertions, that were advanced
at the time, that I had been strenuously opposed in this affair, and
that numerous solicitations had been made to me, they are utterly
false, and were only invented to make me appear in a more odious
light. The same thing may be said of the various motives that have
been ascribed to me; these motives may have existed in the bosoms of
those who acted an inferior part on this occasion, and may have guided
them in their private views; but my conduct was influenced only by the
nature of the fact itself and the energy of my disposition.
Undoubtedly, if I had been informed in time of certain circumstances
respecting the opinions of the Prince, and his disposition; if, above
all, I had seen the letter which he wrote to me, and which, God knows
for what reason, was not delivered to me till after his death, I
should certainly have pardoned him.”