No man possessed greater sensibility, or evinced more constancy in
his affections than Napoleon. He tenderly loved his mother, he adored
his wife, and he was fondly attached to his sisters, brothers, and
other relatives. All, with the exception of his mother, caused him
the bitterest vexation; yet he never ceased to overwhelm them with
riches and honours. Of all his relations, his brother Lucien proved
himself the most determined opposer of his views and plans. One day,
while they were disputing warmly on a subject which has now escaped
my recollection, Lucien drew out his watch, and dashing it violently
on the ground, he addressed to his brother these remarkable words:
“You will destroy yourself, as I have destroyed that watch; and the
time will come when your family and friends will not know where to
shelter their heads.” He married a few days after, without obtaining
his brother's consent, or even signifying his intention to him. This,
however, did not prevent Napoleon from receiving him in 1815; though
it was not without being urged to do so: Lucien was obliged to wait at
the out-posts; but he was speedily admitted to the Emperor's presence.
Napoleon did not confine his generosity to his relatives; friendship,
services, all met their due reward. On this I can speak from
experience. I returned from Egypt, in the rank of aide-de-camp to the
brave General Desaix, and with two hundred louis which I had saved,
and which constituted my whole fortune. At the time of the abdication,
I possessed an income of 400,000 francs, arising out of endowments,
appointments, emoluments, extraordinary allowances, &c. I have lost
five sixths of this income; but I do not regret it: that which I still
possess forms a vast contrast to my early fortune. But what I regret
is the glory acquired at the price of so much blood and exertion: it
is for ever lost, and for that I am inconsolable.
I was not the only one who shared the bounty of Napoleon; a thousand
others were in like manner overwhelmed with favours; and the injury
which he suffered, through the misconduct of some, proved no bar to
the exercise of his kindness. Whatever might be the depth of these
injuries, they were forgotten as soon as he was convinced that the
heart had no share in producing them. I could cite a hundred instances
of his indulgence in this respect; but the following will suffice.
When he took the title of Emperor, the changes that were made in his
household, which had been hitherto exclusively military, gave umbrage
to several of us. We had been accustomed to enjoy the intimacy of the
great man, and we felt displeased at the reserve imposed upon us by
the imperial purple.
Generals Regnier and Damas were at that time in disgrace: I was
intimate with both, and I was not in the habit of abandoning my
friends in misfortune. I had exerted every effort to remove Napoleon's
prejudices against these two general officers; but without success.
I one day resumed my intercession in favour of Regnier; and Napoleon
becoming impatient and out of humour, told me, dryly, that he wished
to hear no more about him. I wrote to inform the brave General, that
all my endeavours had proved unavailing: I entreated him to have
patience; and added a few phrases dictated by the disappointment
of the moment. I was so imprudent as to entrust my letter to the
conveyance of the post; and the consequence was, that it was opened
and sent to the Emperor. He read it over three or four times, ordered
some of my writing to be brought to him for the purpose of comparing
it, and could scarcely persuade himself that I had written it. He flew
into a violent rage, and despatched a courier from Saint Cloud to the
Tuileries, where I was lodged. I thought I was summoned for a mission,
and set out immediately. I found Caulincourt in the saloon of the
household with Cafarelli, and I asked him what was the news. He had
heard the whole affair; he seemed much vexed by it: but he said not a
word about it to me. I entered the apartments of Napoleon, who came
out of his closet, with the letter in his hand, in a furious rage. He
darted upon me those angry glances, which so often excited dismay. “Do
you know this writing?” said he.—“Yes, Sire,”—“It is yours?”—“Yes,
Sire.”—“You are the last person I should have suspected of this. Is it
possible that you can hold such language to my enemies? You, whom I
have treated so well! You, for whom I have done so much! You, the only
one of all my aides-de-camp, whom I lodged in the Tuileries!”—The door
of his closet was ajar: he observed this, and he threw it wide open,
in order that M. Menneval, one of the secretaries, might hear what
passed. “Begone,” said he, scanning me from head to foot, “begone;
you are an ungrateful man!”—“Sire,” I replied, “my heart was never
guilty of ingratitude.”—“Read this letter,” said he, presenting it to
me, “and judge whether I accuse you wrongfully.”—“Sire, of all the
reproaches that you can heap upon me, this is the most severe. Having
lost your confidence, I can no longer serve you.”—“Yes, you have
indeed forfeited my confidence.” I bowed respectfully, and withdrew.
I resolved to retire to Alsace, and I was making preparations for
my departure, when Josephine sent to desire me to return and make
my best apologies to Napoleon. Louis, however, gave me contrary
advice, and I was not much inclined to obey the directions of the
Empress, as my resolution was formed. Two days elapsed, and I heard
no news from Saint Cloud. Some friends, among whom was Marshal
Bessières, called on me. “You are in the wrong,” said the Marshal,
“you cannot but acknowledge it. The respect and gratitude you owe to
the Emperor render it a duty to confess your fault.” I yielded to
these suggestions. No sooner had Napoleon received my letter, than
he desired me to attend him in one of his rides on horseback. He was
out of humour with me for some time; but one day he sent for me very
early at Saint Cloud. “I am no longer angry with you,” said he, with
exceeding kindness of manner; “you were guilty of a great piece of
folly; but it is all over—I have forgotten it. It is my wish that you
should marry.” He mentioned two young ladies, either of whom, he said,
would suit me. My marriage was brought about; but unfortunately it did
not prove a happy one.
Bernadotte was in the deepest disgrace, and he deserved it. I met him
at Plombières, whither he had been permitted to go, accompanied by
his wife and son, for the benefit of the waters; and I had visited
the place for the same purpose. I had always admired Bernadotte's
kind and amiable disposition. I saw him frequently at Plombières. He
communicated to me the circumstance that most distressed him, and
begged that I would use my influence to bring about his reconciliation
with the Emperor, whom he said he had never ceased to admire, and
who had been prepossessed against him by calumnious reports. On my
return I learned that his friends, his brother-in-law, and Madame
Julie herself, had uselessly interceded in his behalf. Napoleon would
hear nothing they had to say; and his irritation against Bernadotte
continually increased. But I had promised to do what I could for
him; and I was bound to keep my word. The Emperor was preparing to
set out for Villiers, where Murat was to give a _fête_: he was in
high good-humour, and I determined to avail myself of this favourable
circumstance. I communicated my design to Marshal Bessières, who,
with myself, was to attend the Emperor: he tried to dissuade me from
my intention. He informed me that Madame Julie had that very morning
been at Malmaison, and that she had departed in tears for the ill
success of her suit. This circumstance was not calculated to inspire
me with confidence; but I nevertheless ventured on my mediation. I
informed Napoleon that I had seen Bernadotte at Plombières, that he
was dejected and deeply mortified by his disgrace. “He protests,”
added I, “that he has never failed in his love and devotion for
your Majesty.”—“Do not speak of him; he deserves to be shot,” said
Napoleon; and he set off at full gallop. At Murat's _fête_, I met
Joseph and his wife; and I told them how unlucky I had been. The
affair came to the knowledge of Bernadotte, who thanked me for my
good intentions. Notwithstanding his numerous misunderstandings with
Bernadotte, Napoleon subsequently forgave all his past offences, and
loaded him with wealth and honours. The Prince Royal is now about to
ascend the throne, while the author of his fortune is exiled to a rock
in the midst of the ocean.