Chapter XI: Part 11

Napoleon used to relate that, after one of his great actions in Italy, he passed over the field of battle with two or three other persons, before the dead bodies had been interred. “In the deep silence of a beautiful moonlight night,” said the Emperor, “a dog, leaping suddenly from beneath the clothes of his dead master, rushed upon us, and then immediately returned to his hiding-place, howling piteously. He alternately licked his master’s face, and again flew at us; thus, at once soliciting aid and seeking revenge. Whether owing to my own particular turn of mind at the moment,” continued the Emperor, “the time, the place, or the action itself, I know not; but certainly no incident on any field of battle ever produced so deep an impression on me. I involuntarily stopped to contemplate the scene. This man, thought I, perhaps has friends in the camp or in his company; and here he lies forsaken by all except his dog! What a lesson Nature here presents through the medium of an animal! What a strange being is man! and how mysterious are his impressions; I had, without emotion, ordered battles which were to decide the fate of the army; I had beheld, with tearless eyes, the execution of those operations, by which numbers of my countrymen were sacrificed; and here my feelings were roused by the mournful howling of a dog! Certainly at that moment I should have been easily moved by a suppliant enemy; I could very well imagine Achilles yielding up the body of Hector at the sight of Priam’s tears.”

WAR.—PRINCIPLES.—APPLICATION.—OPINIONS ON
SEVERAL GENERALS.

4th—5th. My eyes had become so bad that I was obliged to suspend my occupation: I had nearly lost my sight in the Campaign in Italy.

For some time past a sensible change had taken place in the weather. We knew nothing about the order of the seasons. As the sun passed twice over our heads in the course of the last year, we said we ought, at least, to have two summers. Every thing was totally different from what we had been accustomed to; and, to complete our embarrassments, we were obliged, being now in the southern hemisphere, to make all our calculations in a manner quite the reverse of that which we had practised in Europe. It rained frequently, the air was very damp, and it grew colder than before. The Emperor could no longer go out in the evening; he was continually catching cold and did not sleep well. He was obliged to give up taking his meals beneath the tent, and he had them served up in his own chamber. Here he found himself better; but he could not stir from his seat.

Our conversation continued after the dinner was removed from table. To-day the Emperor attacked General Gourgaud on the elements and first exercises of artillery. The General had recently belonged to that department of the service, and all his professional science was quite fresh. The discussion was very curious, and was maintained with great spirit. Napoleon never proved himself to be the weaker party: one might have been tempted to believe that he had just passed his examination at the academy.

The conversation then turned on war and great commanders. “The fate of a battle,” observed the Emperor, “is the result of a moment—of a thought: the hostile forces advance with various combinations, they attack each other and fight for a certain time; the critical moment arrives, a mental flash decides, and the least reserve accomplishes the object.” He spoke of Lützen, Bautzen, &c.; and afterwards, alluding to Waterloo, he said, that had he followed up the idea of turning the enemy’s right, he should easily have succeeded; he, however, preferred piercing the centre, and separating the two armies. But all was fatal in that engagement; it even assumed the appearance of absurdity: nevertheless, he ought to have gained the victory. Never had any of his battles presented less doubt to his mind; nor could he now account for what had happened. Grouchy, he said, had lost himself; Ney appeared bewildered, and his countenance at once expressed the remorse he felt for the transactions of Fontainebleau and of Lons-le-Saunier; d’Erlon was useless; in short, the generals were no longer themselves. If, in the evening, he had been aware of Grouchy’s position, and could have thrown himself upon it, he might, in the morning, with the help of that fine reserve, have repaired his ill success, and perhaps, even have destroyed the allied forces by one of those miracles, those turns of Fortune, which were familiar to him, and which would have surprised no one. But he knew nothing of Grouchy; and besides, it was not easy to act with decision amongst the wrecks of the army. It would be difficult to imagine the condition of the French army on that disastrous night; it was a torrent dislodged from its bed, sweeping away every thing in its course.

Turning to another subject, he said that the dangers incurred by the military commanders of antiquity were not to be compared with those which attend the generals of modern times. There is, he observed, no position in which a general may not now be reached by artillery; but anciently a general ran no risk, except when he himself charged, which Cæsar did only twice or thrice.

“We rarely,” said he, “find, combined together, all the qualities necessary to constitute a great general. The object most desirable is that a man’s judgment should be in equilibrium with his personal courage; that raises him at once above the common level.” This is what the Emperor termed being _well squared_, both by the base and perpendicular.

“If,” continued he, “courage be a general’s predominating quality, he will rashly embark in enterprises above his conceptions; and, on the other hand, he will not venture to carry his ideas into effect, if his character or courage be inferior to his judgment.”

He then cited the example of the Viceroy, whose sole merit consisted in this equilibrium of character, which, however, sufficed to render him a very distinguished man.

Physical and moral courage then became the subject of discourse. “With respect to physical courage,” the Emperor said, “it was impossible for Murat and Ney not to be brave, but no men ever possessed less judgment; the former in particular. As to moral courage,” observed he, “I have very rarely met with _the two o’clock in the morning courage_. I mean, unprepared courage, that which is necessary on an unexpected occasion, and which, in spite of the most unforeseen events, leaves full freedom of judgment and decision.” He did not hesitate to declare that he was himself eminently gifted with this _two o’clock in the morning_ courage, and that, in this respect, he had met with but few persons who were at all equal to him. He remarked that an incorrect idea was generally formed of the strength of mind necessary to engage in one of those great battles on which depends the fate of an army or nation, or the possession of a throne. “Generals,” added he, “are rarely found eager to give battle; they choose their positions; establish themselves; consider their combinations; but then commences their indecision: nothing is so difficult, and at the same time so important, as to know when to decide.”

He next proceeded to notice several generals, and condescended to reply to some questions that were asked him. “Kleber,” said he, “was endowed with the highest talent; but he was merely the man of the moment: he pursued glory as the only road to enjoyment; but he had no national sentiment, and he could, without any sacrifice, have devoted himself to foreign service.” Kleber had commenced his youthful career among the Prussians, to whom he continued much attached. Dessaix possessed, in a very superior degree, the important equilibrium above described. Moreau scarcely deserved to be placed in the first rank of generals; in him nature had left her work unfinished; he possessed more instinct than genius. In Lannes, courage at first predominated over judgment; but the latter was every day gaining ground, and approaching the equilibrium. He had become a very able commander at the period of his death. “I found him a dwarf,” said the Emperor, “but I lost him a giant.” In another general, whom he named, judgment was, on the contrary, superior to courage; it could not be denied that he was a brave man; but he, like many others, did not forget the chance of the cannon-ball.

Speaking of military ardour and courage, the Emperor said, “I know the depth, or what I call the _draught of water_, of all my generals. Some,” added he, joining action to his words, “will sink to the waist, some to the chin, others over head; but the number of the latter is very small, I assure you.” Suchet, he said, was one whose courage and judgment had been surprisingly improved. Massena was a very superior man, and, by a strange peculiarity of temperament, he possessed the desired equilibrium only in the heat of battle; it was created in the midst of danger. “The generals,” finally observed the Emperor, “who seemed destined to rise to future distinction were Gerard, Clausel, Foy, Lamarque, &c. These were my new marshals.”

SITUATION OF THE SPANISH PRINCES AT VALENCEY.—THE
POPE AT FONTAINEBLEAU.—REFLECTIONS, &C.

6th.—The Emperor, after dictating to me this morning, was successively engaged with the other gentlemen, with whom he prolonged his walk for some time. When they withdrew, I followed him into the lower path: he was dull and silent, and his countenance appeared somewhat harsh and ruffled. “Well,” said he, as we were returning to dinner, “we shall have sentinels under our windows at Longwood. They wished to force me to have a foreign officer at my table and in my drawing-room. I cannot mount my horse without being accompanied by an officer; in short, we cannot stir a step under pain of being insulted!...” I replied that this was another drop of sorrow added to the bitter cup which we were doomed to drink to his past glory and power; but that his philosophy was sufficient to defy the malice of his enemies, and to make them blush for their brutality in the face of the whole world. I ventured to remark that the Spanish Princes at Valencey, and the Pope at Fontainebleau, had never experienced such treatment. “Certainly not,” resumed he; “the Princes hunted and gave balls at Valencey, without being physically aware of their chains; they experienced respect and courtesy at all hands. Old King Charles IV. removed from Compiegne to Marseilles, and from Marseilles to Rome, whenever he wished. And yet how different are those places from this! The Pope at Fontainebleau, whatever may have been the reports circulated in the world, was treated in the same manner. And yet how many persons, in spite of all the indulgences he enjoyed, refused to be appointed to guard him!—a circumstance which gave me no offence, for I thought it perfectly natural. Such employments are subject to the influence of delicacy of feeling; and our European manners require that power should be limited by honour.” He observed that, for his own part, as a private man and an officer, he should without hesitation have refused to guard the Pope, whose removal to France, he added, had never been ordered by him.—I manifested great surprise.—“You are astonished,” said he: “you did not know this? But it is nevertheless true, as well as many other similar facts, which you will learn in course of time. But, with reference to the subject on which we have just been speaking, it is necessary to distinguish the conduct of the sovereign, who acts collectively, from that of the private man, whose sentiments are without constraint. Policy permits, nay, frequently demands, from the one, what would be unpardonable in the other.” The hour of dinner, by introducing various subjects of conversation, diverted his melancholy, and cheerfulness finally prevailed.

Meanwhile the Emperor seriously determined to quit his present wretched abode, whatever inconvenience his new residence might present. On going to pass the remainder of the evening with our host, the Emperor directed me to present him a box bearing his cypher, and to tell him he was sorry for all the trouble he had occasioned to him.

ON THE NOUVELLE HÉLOÏSE, AND ON LOVE.

7th.—The Emperor summoned me to attend him at an early hour. He began to read the Nouvelle Héloïse, frequently remarking on the ingenuity and force of the arguments, the elegance of the style and expressions: he read for upwards of two hours. This reading made a powerful impression on me; it produced a deep melancholy—a mingled feeling of tenderness and sorrow. I had always been fond of the work; and it now awakened happy recollections, and excited deep regret: the Emperor frequently smiled at me. During breakfast the Nouvelle Héloïse was the topic of conversation.

“Jean-Jacques has overcharged his subject,” said the Emperor; “he has painted madness: love should be a source of pleasure, not of misery.” I alleged that Jean-Jacques had described nothing which a man might not feel, and that even the misery to which the Emperor alluded was, in reality, happiness.—“I see,” said he, “you have a little touch of the romantic: has Love’s misery rendered you happy?”—“I do not complain of my fate, Sire,” replied I; “were I to begin life again, I should wish to retrace the course I have already pursued.”

The Emperor resumed his reading after breakfast; but he paused occasionally: the enchantment seemed to seize him in his turn. He at length laid down the book, and we went out to the garden. “Really,” said he, as we walked along, “this work is not without fire; it moves, it rouses the feelings.” We discussed the subject deeply; we were very prolix in our remarks, and we at length agreed that perfect love is like ideal happiness; that both are equally airy, fugitive, mysterious, and inexplicable; and that, finally, love is the business of the idle man, the recreation of the warrior, and the ruin of the sovereign.

We were joined by the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud, who had just come from Longwood. The admiral had for some days past been urgent for our removal thither; and the Emperor was not less anxious to go, the accommodation at Briars being so very bad. However, before he removed, it was necessary that the smell of the paint should be entirely gone, for, owing to his peculiar organization, he could not possibly endure it. In the Imperial palaces, care had been taken never to expose him to it. In his different journeys, the slightest smell of paint frequently rendered it necessary to change the apartments that had been prepared for him; and on board of the Northumberland the paint of the ship had made him very ill. He had been informed on the preceding evening that all was ready at Longwood, and that the disagreeable effect of the paint was entirely gone. He accordingly determined to remove on the Saturday following, as he would thus be rid of the annoyance of the workmen on Sunday; but the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud now came to say that they had visited the place, and that it was not habitable. The Emperor expressed much vexation at the first account he had received, and the resolution which it had led him to adopt. The two gentlemen withdrew, and we entered the lower walk. The Emperor was much out of humour. M. de Montholon now arrived, very _mal-a-propos_, from Longwood, declaring that all was ready, and that the Emperor might remove as soon as he wished. These two accounts, so contradictory and so close upon each other, strongly excited his displeasure. Fortunately, dinner was announced, which diverted his attention from the subject. The cloth was laid in the Emperor’s chamber; for he had so severe a cold that he could not endure the tent. After dinner he resumed his reading; and ended the day, as he had begun it, with the Nouvelle Héloïse.

THE ENGLISH LIEUTENANT.—A SINGULAR CIRCUMSTANCE.—DEPARTURE FOR LONGWOOD
DETERMINED ON.—STATE OF FRANCE.—MEMORIAL IN JUSTIFICATION OF NEY.

8th—9th. Owing to the doubt which had yesterday arisen respecting the
paint, I determined to go myself to ascertain the real state of the
case, and to acquaint the Emperor with it at breakfast-time. I
accordingly set out very early, walking three parts of the way,
because nobody was up who could get ready a horse for me. I returned
before nine o’clock. The smell of the paint was certainly very slight;
but it was too much for the Emperor.

On the 9th the Captain of the Minden of 74, was introduced to the
Emperor in the garden. The captain had arrived from the Cape of Good
Hope, and was on the eve of sailing for Europe. He had had the honour
of being presented to Napoleon at Paris, under the Consulate, about
twelve years before. He requested permission to introduce one of his
Lieutenants to the Emperor, on account of some personal circumstances,
which we thought very singular. The young man was born at Bologna,
precisely at the period when the French army entered that city. The
French General, Napoleon, had by some accident been present at the
christening of the child, to whom he gave a tri-coloured cockade,
which has since been carefully preserved in the family.

After the departure of these gentlemen, the Grand Marshal arrived from
Longwood. He thought the paint by no means offensive; the Emperor’s
present accommodation was very bad, and a portion of his property had
already been removed; he therefore resolved to proceed to Longwood on
the following day, of which I was heartily glad. I had for some days
past had an opportunity of observing that a determination had been
adopted to compel the Emperor to quit his present abode. I had kept to
myself all the communications, public or private, that had been made
to me on the subject. I made it a rule to spare him every cause of
vexation that I possibly could, and merely contented myself with
acting in the way that I thought most advisable. Two days before, an
officer was sent to carry away the tent, though we had expressed no
wish to that effect. The officer had also been directed to remove the
outside shutters from the Emperor’s windows; but this I opposed,
telling him it could not be done, as the Emperor had not yet risen,
and I sent him away. On another occasion, with the view of alarming
me, I was told as a great secret that if the Emperor did not
immediately remove, it was intended to station a hundred soldiers at
the gates of the enclosure. “Very well,” I replied, and took no
further notice. What could be the occasion of all this hurry? I
suspect that the caprice of our jailors, and the desire of pushing
their authority to the utmost, had more concern in the business than
any thing else.

We received newspapers down to the 15th of September; and they became
the subject of conversation. The Emperor analyzed them. The future
appeared enveloped in clouds. “However,” said the Emperor, “three
great events present themselves to the imagination;—the division of
France, the reign of the Bourbons, or a new dynasty. Louis XVIII.,”
observed he, “might easily have reigned in 1814, by rendering himself
a national monarch. Now he has only the odious and uncertain chance
arising out of excessive severity—a reign of terror. His dynasty may
be permanently established, or that which is to succeed him may still
be in the secret of futurity.” Some one present observed, “that the
Duke of Orleans might be called to the throne;” but the Emperor, by a
string of very forcible and eloquent reasoning, proved that, unless
the Duke of Orleans came to wear the crown in his turn by the natural
order of succession, it was the well-understood interest of all the
sovereigns of Europe to prefer him (Napoleon) to the Duke of Orleans,
coming to the throne by a crime. “For,” said he, “what is the doctrine
of Kings against the events of the present day? Is it to prevent a
renewal of the example which I furnished, against what they call
legitimacy? Now the example which I have set cannot be renewed above
once in the course of many ages; but that of the Duke of Orleans, the
near relative of the monarch on the throne, may be renewed daily,
hourly, and in every country. There is no sovereign, who has not, in
his own palace, and about his person, cousins, nephews, brothers, and
other relations, who could easily follow such an example if it were
once given.”

We read, in the same papers, an abstract of the memorial, in
justification of Marshal Ney.—The Emperor thought it most pitiable. It
was not calculated to save his life, and by no means to maintain his
honour. The arguments in his defence were, to say the least of them,
feeble and destitute of point. After all he had done, he st¡ll
protested his devotedness to the King, and his aversion of the
Emperor, “An absurd plan,” said Napoleon, “but one which has been
generally adopted by those who have figured in the present memorable
times, and who seem not to have considered that I am so entirely
identified with our prodigies, our monuments, our institutions, and
all our national acts, that to separate me from them is to wrong
France. The glory of France is to acknowledge me! And, in spite of all
the subtlety, evasion, and falsehood, that may be employed to prove
the contrary, my character will still be fairly estimated by the
French nation. Ney’s defence,” continued he, “was plainly traced out.
He was led on by a general impulse which he thought calculated to
ensure the welfare of his country; he had obeyed without
premeditation, and without any treasonable design. A change of fortune
had ensued, and he was cited before a tribunal; this was all he had to
say with respect to the great events that had taken place. As to the
defence of his life, there was nothing to be said on that point,
except, indeed, that he was protected by a solemn capitulation, which
guaranteed to every individual silence and oblivion with regard to all
political acts and opinions. Had he pursued that line of defence, and
were his life, nevertheless, to be sacrificed, it would be, in the
face of the whole world, a violation of the most sacred laws. He would
leave behind him the recollection of a glorious character; carrying to
the grave the sympathy of every generous mind, and heaping disgrace
and reprobation on his murderers. But this enthusiasm is probably
beyond his moral strength,” said the Emperor. “Ney is the bravest of
men, and nothing more.”

It is certain that when Ney quitted Paris, he was wholly devoted to
the King; and that he did not turn until he saw that all was lost. If
he then proved himself enthusiastic in the opposite course, it was
because he felt that he had much to atone for. After his famous order
of the day, he wrote to Napoleon that what he had done was principally
with a view to the welfare of the country; and that, as he could not
henceforth be agreeable to the Emperor, he begged that he would grant
him permission to retire. The Emperor desired him to come, and said he
would receive him as he did on the day after the battle of the
Moscowa. Ney presented himself to Napoleon, and said that, after what
had occurred at Fontainebleau, he must of necessity entertain doubts
of his attachment and fidelity; and that therefore he solicited no
other rank than that of a grenadier in the Imperial guard. The Emperor
replied by stretching forth his hand to him, and calling him the
bravest of the brave, as he was accustomed to do. The Emperor compared
the situation of Ney to that of Turenne. Ney might be defended: but
Turenne was unjustifiable. And yet Turenne was pardoned and loaded
with honours, while Ney was probably doomed to die.

“In 1649,” said he, “Turenne commanded the royal army, which command
had been conferred on him by Anne of Austria, the Regent of the
kingdom. Though he had taken the oath of fidelity, yet he bribed his
troops, declared himself for the Fronde, and marched on Paris. But
when he was declared guilty of high treason, his repentant army
forsook him; and Turenne took refuge with the Prince of Hesse, to
avoid the pursuit of justice. Ney, on the contrary, was urged by the
unanimous wish and outcry of his army. Only nine months had elapsed
since he had acknowledged a monarch, who had been preceded by six
hundred thousand foreign bayonets: a monarch who had not accepted the
constitution presented to him by the Senate, as the formal and
necessary condition of his return, and who, by declaring that he had
reigned nineteen years, proved that he regarded all preceding
governments as usurpations. Ney, whose education had taught him to
respect the national sovereignty, had fought for five-and-twenty years
to support that cause; and, from a private soldier, had raised himself
to the rank of marshal. If his conduct on the 20th of March was not
honourable, it is at least explicable, and in some respects
pardonable; but Turenne was absolutely criminal, because the Fronde
was the ally of Spain, which was then at war with his Sovereign, and
because he had been prompted by his own interest and that of his
family, in the hope of obtaining a sovereignty at the expense of
France, and consequently to the prejudice of his country.”

ESTABLISHMENT AT LONGWOOD.

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REMOVAL TO LONGWOOD.—DESCRIPTION
OF THE ROAD.—TAKING POSSESSION.—THE
EMPEROR’S FIRST BATH, &C.

10th.—The Emperor ordered me to be called about nine o’clock, to
accompany him into the garden. He was obliged to leave his chamber
very early, as all the furniture was to be removed that morning to
Longwood. On entering the garden, the Emperor sent for Mr. Balcombe,
our host. He then ordered his breakfast, and invited Mr. Balcombe to
breakfast with him. He was in charming spirits, and his conversation
was very lively.

About two o’clock the Admiral was announced: he advanced with an air
of embarrassment. The manner in which the Emperor had been treated at
Briars, and the restraints which had been imposed upon the members of
his suite residing in the town, had occasioned a coolness between
them. The Emperor had discontinued receiving the visits of the
Admiral; yet, on the present occasion, he behaved to him as though
they had met but yesterday.

At length we left Briars, and set out for Longwood. The Emperor rode
the horse which had been brought for him from the Cape. He had not
seen him before: he was a small, sprightly, and tolerably handsome
animal. The Emperor wore his uniform of the chasseurs of the guard:
his graceful figure and handsome countenance were particularly
remarkable. His appearance attracted general notice, and I was
gratified to hear the observations which it called forth. The Admiral
was very attentive to him. Many persons had collected on the road to
see him pass. Several English officers, together with ourselves,
formed his escort.

The road from Briars to Longwood runs for some distance in the
direction of the town. It then turns off suddenly to the right, and,
after three or four windings, clears the chain of hills forming one
side of the valley. The road next opens upon a level height of gentle
acclivity, and a new horizon and new scenes present themselves. We now
left behind us the chain of barren mountains and rocks which
distinguish the landing-side of the island, and saw before us a
transverse group of hills, of which Diana’s Peak is the highest, and
appears like the key-stone, or the nucleus, of the surrounding scene.
On the left, or eastern, side, where Longwood is situated, the horizon
is bounded by the broken chain of rocks forming the outline and
barrier of the island. There the soil exhibits an uncultivated desert;
but on the right the eye rests on an extensive tract of country,
which, though rugged, at least presents traces of vegetation: it is
covered with numerous residences, and upon the whole is tolerably well
cultivated. On this side, it must be confessed, the picture is
romantic and pleasing.

Here a deep valley opens on the left of the road, which is in very
good condition; and two miles farther on, where the road makes an
angle, stands Hut’s Gate, a wretched little house, which was selected
as the residence of the Grand Marshal and his family. At a short
distance from this point, the valley on the left, having gradually
increased in depth, forms a circular gulf, which, from its vast depth
and extent, has received the name of the Devil’s Punch-bowl. The road
is here contracted by an eminence on the right, and it runs along the
side of this precipice, until it turns off in the direction of
Longwood, which is close at hand.

At the entrance of Longwood, we found a guard under arms, who rendered
the prescribed honours to the august captive. The Emperor’s horse,
which was spirited and untractable, being unused to this kind of
parade, was startled at the sound of the drum; he refused to pass the
gate, and it was only by the help of the spur that his rider succeeded
in forcing him to advance. At this moment, I observed very expressive
looks exchanged among the persons composing the Emperor’s escort. We
entered our new residence about four o’clock.

The admiral took great pains to point out to us even the minutest
details at Longwood. He had superintended all the arrangements, and
some things were even the work of his own hands. The Emperor was
satisfied with every thing, and the Admiral seemed highly pleased. He
had evidently anticipated petulance and disdain; but the Emperor
manifested perfect good-humour.

He retired at six o’clock, and beckoned me to follow him to his
chamber. Here he examined various articles of furniture, and enquired
whether I was similarly provided. On my replying in the negative, he
insisted on my accepting them; saying in the most engaging manner,
“Take them; I shall want for nothing: I shall be taken better care of
than you.” He felt much fatigued, and he asked whether he did not look
so. This was the consequence of having passed five months in absolute
inactivity. He had walked a good deal in the morning, besides riding
some miles on horseback.

Our new residence was provided with a bathing machine, which the
Admiral had ordered the carpenters to fit up in the best way they
could. The Emperor, who since he quitted Malmaison, had been obliged
to dispense with the use of the bath, which to him had become one of
the necessaries of life, expressed a wish to bathe immediately, and
directed me to remain with him. The most trivial details of our new
establishment came once more under consideration; and, as the
apartment which had been assigned to me was very bad, the Emperor
expressed a wish that, during the day, I should occupy what he called
his topographic cabinet, which adjoined his own private closet, in
order, as he said, that I might be nearer to him. I was much affected
by the kind manner in which all this was spoken. He even went so far
as to repeat to me several times that I must come next morning and
take a bath in his machine; and when I excused myself on the ground of
the respect and the distance which ought to be kept up between us, “My
dear Las Cases,” said he, “fellow prisoners should accommodate each
other. I do not want the bath all day, and it is not less necessary to
you than to me.” One would have supposed that he wished to indemnify
me for the loss that I was about to sustain, in being no longer the
only individual about his person. This kindness delighted me, it is
true; but it also produced a feeling of regret. The kindness of the
Emperor was doubtless the reward of my assiduous attentions at Briars;
but it also gave me cause to anticipate the close of that constant
intercourse with him, for which I had been indebted to our profound
solitude. The Emperor, not wishing to dress again, dined in his own
room, and desired me to remain with him. We were alone, and our
conversation turned on a subject of a peculiar nature, the result of
which may be exceedingly important. He asked my opinion, and told me
to communicate it to him next morning.

DESCRIPTION OF LONGWOOD.

11th—14th. We now found unfolded to us a new portion of our existence
on the wretched rock of St. Helena. We were settled in our new abode,
and the limits of our prison were marked out.

Longwood, which was originally merely a farm-house belonging to the
East India Company, and which was afterwards given as a country
residence to the Deputy Governor, is situated on one of the highest
parts of the Island. The difference of the temperature between this
place and the valley where we landed is marked by a variation of at
least ten degrees of the English thermometer. Longwood stands on a
level height, which is tolerably extensive on the eastern side, and
pretty near the coast. Continual and frequently violent gales, always
blowing in the same quarter, sweep the surface of the ground. The sun,
though it rarely appears, nevertheless exercises its influence on the
atmosphere, which is apt to produce disorders of the liver, if due
precaution be not observed. Heavy and sudden falls of rain complete
the impossibility of distinguishing any regular season. But there is
no regular course of seasons at Longwood. The whole year presents a
continuance of wind, clouds, and rain; and the temperature is of that
mild and monotonous kind which, perhaps, after all, is rather
conducive to _ennui_ than disease. Notwithstanding the abundant rains,
the grass rapidly disappears, being either nipped by the wind or
withered by the heat. The water, which is conveyed hither by a
conduit, is so unwholesome that the Deputy Governor, when he lived at
Longwood, never suffered it to be used in his family until it had been
boiled; and we are obliged to do the same. The trees, which, at a
distance, impart a smiling aspect to the scene, are merely gum trees—a
wretched kind of shrub, affording no shade. On one side the horizon is
bounded by the vast ocean; but the rest of the scene presents only a
mass of huge barren rocks, deep gulfs, and desolate valleys; and, in
the distance, appears the green and misty chain of mountains, above
which towers Diana’s Peak. In short, Longwood can be pleasing only
after the fatigues of a long voyage, when the sight of any land is a
cheering prospect. Arriving at St. Helena on a fine day, the traveller
may, perhaps, be struck with the singularity of the objects which
suddenly present themselves, and exclaim “How beautiful!” but his
visit is momentary; and what pain does not his hasty admiration cause
to the unhappy captives who are doomed to pass their lives at St.
Helena!

Workmen had been constantly employed for two months in preparing
Longwood for our reception; the result of their labours, however,
amounted to little. The entrance to the house was by a room which had
just been built, and which was intended to answer the double purpose
of an ante-chamber and a dining room. This apartment led to another,
which was made the drawing room; beyond this was a third room running
in a cross direction and very dark. This was intended to be the
depository of the Emperor’s maps and books; but it was afterwards
converted into the dining room. The Emperor’s chamber opened into this
apartment on the right-hand side. This chamber was divided into two
equal parts, forming the Emperor’s cabinet and sleeping room: a little
external gallery served for a bathing-room. Opposite to the Emperor’s
chamber, at the other extremity of the building, were the apartments
of Madame de Montholon, her husband, and her son, which have since
been used as the Emperor’s library. Detached from this part of the
house was a little square room on the ground floor contiguous to the
kitchen, which was assigned to me. My son was obliged to enter his
room through a trap-door and by the help of a ladder; it was nothing
but a loft, and scarcely afforded room for his bed. Our windows and
beds were without curtains. The few articles of furniture which were
in our apartments had evidently been obtained from the inhabitants of
the island, who doubtless readily seized the opportunity of disposing
of them to advantage for the sake of supplying themselves with better.

RESIDENCE OF NAPOLEON AT LONGWOOD.

London: Published for Henry Colburn, Feb. 1836.
]

The Grand Marshal, with his wife and children, had been left at the
distance of two miles behind us, in a place denominated Hut’s-Gate.
General Gourgaud slept under a tent, as did also the Doctor,[27] and
the officer commanding our guard, till such time as their apartments
should be ready, which the crew of the Northumberland were rapidly
preparing.

Footnote 27:

Dr. O’Meara of the Northumberland.

We were surrounded by a kind of garden; but, owing to the little
attention which we had it in our power to bestow on its cultivation,
joined to the want of water and the nature of the climate, it was a
garden only in name. In front, and separated from us by a tolerably
deep ravine, was encamped the fifty-third regiment, different parties
of which were posted on the neighbouring heights.—Such was our new
abode.

On the 12th, Colonel Wilks (formerly Governor for the East India
Company), who had been succeeded by the Admiral, came to visit the
Emperor. I acted as interpreter on the occasion. On the 13th or 14th
the Minden sailed for Europe, and I availed myself of the opportunity
thus afforded to send letters to London and Paris.

ARRANGEMENT OF THE EMPEROR’S ESTABLISHMENT.—FEELINGS OF THE
CAPTIVES WITH RESPECT TO EACH OTHER.—TRAITS OF THE EMPEROR’S
CHARACTER.—PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON BY M. DE PRADT, TRANSLATED FROM
AN ENGLISH NEWSPAPER.—ITS REFUTATION.

15th—16th. The domestic establishment of the Emperor, on his departure
from Plymouth, consisted of twelve persons. I feel pleasure in
recording their names here: it is a testimony due to their
attachment.[28] However numerous this establishment may appear, it may
be truly said that after our departure from England, during the
voyage, and from the time of our landing at St. Helena, it had ceased
to be serviceable to the Emperor. Our dispersion, the uncertainty of
our establishment, our wants, and the irregular way in which they were
supplied, necessarily created disorder.

Footnote 28:

Persons composing the Emperor’s household.

SERVANTS OF THE CHAMBER.

Marchand, native of Paris, 1st valet de
chambre.

St. Denis, called native of valet de chambre.
Aly, Versailles,

Noverraz, Swiss, ditto.

Santini, Corsican, usher.

SERVANTS IN LIVERY.

Archambault, sen. native of groom.
Fontainebleau,

Archambault, jun. ditto, ditto.

Gentilini, native of Elba, footman.

SERVANTS FOR THE TABLE.

Cypriani, Corsican, died at maître d’hotel.
St. Helena,

Pierron, native of Paris, butler.

Lepage, cook.

Rousseau, native of steward.
Fontainebleau,

As soon as we were all assembled at Longwood, the Emperor determined
to arrange his establishment, and to assign to each of us an
employment suited to our respective capacities. Reserving to the Grand
Marshal the general control and superintendence of the whole
household; he consigned to M. de Montholon all the domestic details.
To M. Gourgaud he intrusted the direction of the stables: and I was
appointed to take care of the property and furniture, and to
superintend the management of our supplies. The latter part of my duty
appeared to interfere too much with the regulation of domestic
details. I conceived that it would be conducive to the general
advantage, if these two departments were under the control of one
individual, and I soon succeeded in accomplishing this object.

Every thing now proceeded tolerably well, and we were certainly more
comfortable than before. But, however reasonable might be the
regulations made by the Emperor, they, nevertheless, sowed the seeds
of discontent, which took root, and occasionally developed themselves.
One thought himself a loser by the change; another sought to attach
too high an importance to his office; and a third conceived that he
had been wronged in the general division of duties. We were no longer
the members of one family, each exerting his best endeavours to secure
the advantage of the whole. We were far from putting into practice
that which necessity seemed to dictate to us; and a wreck of luxury,
or a remnant of ambition, frequently became an object of dispute.

Though attachment to the person of the Emperor had united us around
him, yet chance, and not sympathy, had brought us together. Our
connexion was purely fortuitous, and not the result of any natural
affinity. Thus, at Longwood, we were encircled round a centre, but
without any cohesion with each other. How could it be otherwise? We
were almost all strangers to one another, and, unfortunately, our
different conditions, ages, and characters, were calculated to make us
continue so.

These circumstances, though in themselves trifling, had the vexatious
effect of depriving us of our most agreeable resources. They banished
that confidence, that interchange of sentiment, and that intimate
union, which are calculated to soothe even the most cruel misfortunes.
But, on the other hand, these very circumstances served to develope
many excellent traits in the Emperor’s character. They were apparent
in his endeavours to produce among us unity and conformity of
sentiment; his constant care to remove every just cause of jealousy;
the voluntary abstraction by which he averted his attention from that
which he wished not to observe; and finally, the paternal expressions
of displeasure, of which we were occasionally the objects, and which
(to the honour of all be it said) were avoided as cautiously, and
received as respectfully, as though they had emanated from the throne
of the Tuileries.

Who in the world can now pretend to know the Emperor in his character
of a private man better than myself?—Who else was with him during two
months of solitude in the desert of Briars?—Who else accompanied him
in his long walks by moonlight, and enjoyed so many hours in his
society? Who, like me, had the opportunity of choosing the moment, the
place, and the subject of his conversation? Who, besides myself, heard
him call to mind the charms of his boyhood, or describe the pleasures
of his youth, and the bitterness of his recent sorrow? I am convinced
that I know his character thoroughly, and that I can now explain many
circumstances which, at the time of their occurrence, seemed to many
difficult to be understood. I can now very well comprehend that which
struck us so forcibly, and which particularly characterized him in the
days of his power; namely, that no individual ever permanently
incurred the displeasure of Napoleon: however marked might be his
disgrace, however deep the gulf into which he was plunged, he might
still confidently hope to be restored to favour. Those who had once
enjoyed intimacy, whatever cause of offence they might give him, never
totally forfeited his regard. The Emperor is eminently gifted with two
excellent qualities;—a vast fund of justice, and a disposition
naturally prone to attachment. Amidst all his vexations and fits of
anger, a sentiment of justice still predominates. He is sure to turn
an attentive ear to sound arguments, and, if left to himself, candidly
brings them forward whenever they occur to his mind. He never forgets
services performed for him, nor habits he has contracted. Sooner or
later he invariably casts a thought on those who may have incurred his
displeasure; he reflects on what they have suffered, considers their
punishment as sufficient, recals them, when they are perhaps forgotten
by the world; and they again enjoy his good graces, to the
astonishment of themselves as well as of others. Of this there have
been many instances. The Emperor is sincere in his attachments,
without making a show of what he feels. When once he becomes used to a
person, he cannot easily bear separation. He observes and condemns his
faults, blames his own choice, expressing his displeasure in the most
unreserved way; but still there is nothing to fear: these are but so
many new ties of regard.

It will probably be a matter of surprise that I should sketch the
Emperor’s character in so simple a style. All that is usually written
about him is so far fetched: it has been thought necessary to employ
antitheses and brilliant colouring; to seek for effect, and to rack
the imagination for high-flown phrases. For my own part, I merely
describe what I see, and express what I feel. This reflection, by the
by, comes _à propos_.

The Emperor was to-day reading with me, in the English papers, a
portrait of himself, drawn by the Archbishop of Malines, and worked up
with innumerable witticisms, affected antitheses and contrasts. He
desired the Grand Marshal to transcribe it word for word. The
following are the principal points: “The mind of Napoleon,” says the
Abbé de Pradt, in his _Embassy to Warsaw, in 1812_, “was vast; but
after the manner of the Orientals: and through a contradictory
disposition, it descended as it were, by the effect of its own weight,
to details which might justly be called low. His first idea was always
grand, and his second mean and petty. His mind was like his purse;
munificence and meanness held each a string. His genius, which was at
once adapted to the stage of the world, and the mountebank’s show,
resembled a royal robe joined to a harlequin’s jacket. He was the man
of extremes; one, who having commanded the Alps to bow down, the
Simplon to smooth its ruggedness, and the sea to advance or recede
from its shores, ended by surrendering himself to an English cruiser.
Endowed with wonderful and infinite shrewdness; glittering with wit;
seizing or creating, in every question, new and unperceived relations;
abounding in lively and picturesque images, animated and pointed
expressions, the more forcible from the very incorrectness of his
language, which always bore a sort of foreign impress; sophistical,
subtle, and changeable, to excess, he adopted different rules of
optics from those by which other men are guided. Add to this the
delirium of success, the habit of drinking from the enchanted cup, and
intoxicating himself with the incense of the world: and you may form
an idea of the man who, uniting in his caprices all that is lofty and
mean in the human character, majestic in the splendour of sovereignty,
and peremptory in command, with all that is ignoble and base, even in
his grandest achievements, joining the treacherous ambush to the
subversion of thrones—presents altogether such a Jupiter-Scapin, as
never before figured on the scene of life.”

Certainly here is abundance of wit, and of the most studied kind. I
pass over the indecorous and disgraceful fact that a reverend prelate,
an Archbishop loaded with the bounty of his sovereign, to whom, during
his prosperity, he paid the most assiduous court, and offered the most
abject flattery, should, in the adversity of that sovereign, indulge
in language so trivial, grotesque, and insulting, as that above
quoted. Without noticing the _harlequin’s coat_, and _Jupiter-Scapin_,
I shall merely dwell on the merit of the Abbé de Pradt’s judgment,
when he says that “the Emperor’s first idea is always grand, and his
second petty; that he is the man of extremes: one who having commanded
the Alps to bow down, the Simplon to smooth its ruggedness, and the
sea to advance and recede from its shores, ended by surrendering
himself to an English cruiser.” The Abbé de Pradt must have formed but
a faint idea of the sublimity, grandeur, and magnanimity of that noble
act. To withdraw himself from a people who were misled by faithless
intriguers, in order to remove every obstacle to their welfare: to
sacrifice his own personal interests, for the sake of averting the
evils of a civil war without national results: to disdain honourable
and secure, but dependent, asylums: to prefer taking refuge among a
people to whom he had, for the space of twenty years, been an
inveterate foe: to suppose their magnanimity equal to his own: to
honour their laws so far as to believe that they would protect him
from the ostracism of Europe:—certainly such ideas and sentiments are
not the reverse of sublime, noble, and great.

At this part of my journal were inserted several pages, full of
details very discreditable to the Archbishop of Malines, which were
received from the Emperor’s own mouth, or collected from the different
individuals about him. I however strike them out, in consideration of
the satisfaction which I was informed the Emperor subsequently
experienced in perusing M. de Pradt’s _Concordats_. For my own part, I
am perfectly satisfied with numerous other testimonies of the same
nature, and derived from the same source. An honourable and voluntary
acknowledgment is a thousand times better than all the retorts that
can be heaped upon an offender. There are persons to whom atonement is
not without its due weight; I am one of these.

Just as I had written the above, I happened to read some lines from
the pen of the Abbé de Pradt, which are certainly very fine with
respect to diction; but which are still finer on account of their
justice and truth. I cannot refrain from transcribing them here; as
they make ample amends for those already quoted. A declaration of the
Allied Sovereigns at Laybach, in which Napoleon was, in terms of
reprobation, pronounced to be the representative of the Revolution,
called forth the following observations from the Archbishop of
Malines:—

“It is too late to insult Napoleon, now that he is defenceless, after
having for so many years crouched at his feet, while he had the power
to punish.... Those who are armed should respect a disarmed enemy, and
the glory of the conqueror depends in a great measure on the
consideration shewn towards the captive, particularly when he yields
to superior force, not to superior genius. It is too late to call
Napoleon a revolutionist, after having for such a length of time
pronounced him to be the restorer of order in France, and, through
France, in Europe. It is too late for those to aim the shaft of insult
at him who once stretched forth their hands to him as a friend,
pledged their faith to him as an ally, and sought to prop a tottering
throne by mingling their blood with his.” Farther on he says: “_He the
representative of the revolution!_ The revolution broke the bonds of
union between France and Rome: he renewed them. The revolution
overthrew the temples of the Almighty: he restored them. The
revolution created two classes of clergy hostile to each other: he
reconciled them. The revolution profaned St. Denis: he purified it,
and offered expiation to the ashes of Kings. The revolution subverted
the throne: he raised it up, and gave it a new lustre. The revolution
banished from their country the nobility of France: he opened to them
the gates of France and of his palace, though he knew them to be his
irreconcileable enemies, and for the most part the enemies of the
public institutions; he reincorporated them with the society from
which they had been separated. This _representative of a revolution_,
which is distinguished by the epithet anti-social, brought from Rome
the head of the Catholic Church, to anoint his brow with the oil that
consecrates diadems! This _representative of a revolution_, which has
been declared hostile to sovereignty, filled Germany with kings,
advanced the rank of princes, restored superior royalty, and
re-constructed a defaced model. This _representative of a revolution_
which is condemned as a principle of anarchy, like another Justinian,
drew up, amidst the din of war and the snares of foreign policy, those
codes which are the least defective portion of human legislature, and
constructed the most vigorous machine of government in the whole
world. This _representative of a revolution_, which is vulgarly
accused of having subverted all institutions, restored universities
and public schools, filled his empire with the masterpieces of art,
and accomplished those amazing and stupendous works which reflect
honour on human genius: and yet, in the face of the Alps, which bowed
down at his command; of the ocean, subdued at Cherbourg, at Flushing,
at the Helder, and at Antwerp; of rivers, smoothly flowing beneath the
bridges of Jena, Serres, Bourdeaux, and Turin; of canals, uniting seas
together in a course beyond the control of Neptune; finally, in the
face of Paris, metamorphosed as it is by Napoleon,—he is pronounced to
be the agent of general destruction! He who restored all, is said to
be the _representative_ of that which destroyed all! To what
undiscerning men is this language supposed to be addressed? &c.”

MY SITUATION MATERIALLY IMPROVED.—MY
BED-CHAMBER CHANGED, &C.