Chapter XIV: Part 14

15th.—When I was on board the Northumberland, I had heard the _Secret
History of the Cabinet of Bonaparte_ by Goldsmith, spoken of, and, in
my first leisure moments here, I felt an inclination to skim it over;
but I met with great difficulty in obtaining it, as the English
excused themselves from putting it into my hands, for a considerable
time, saying, it was such an abominable libel that they were afraid to
let me have it, and were themselves ashamed of it. I was for a long
time under the necessity of urging them incessantly, repeating that we
were all proof against such civilities; that he who was the object of
them only used to laugh at such things, when chance brought them
before his eyes; and moreover that, if this work was so bad as it was
said to be, it must have failed in its end, and ceased to be hurtful
at all. I asked who this Goldsmith, the author, was. I was told, he
was an Englishman who ... at Paris, and who, upon his return to
England, had endeavoured to avoid ... and at the same time to gain
more money, by loading with insults and imprecations that idol to whom
he had so long offered incense. I at last obtained the work. It must
be confessed that it would be difficult to bring together more
horrible and ridiculous abominations than are presented to us in the
first pages of this book: rapes, poison, incest, assassination, and
all that belongs to them, are heaped by the author upon his hero, and
that from his earliest childhood. It is true that the author appears
to have given himself little concern about bestowing on these
calumnies any air of probability; and that he himself sometimes
demonstrates their impossibility, and sometimes refutes them by
anachronisms, alibis, and contradictions of every kind; mistakes in
the names, persons, and most authentic facts, &c. Thus, for example,
when Napoleon was only about ten or twelve years of age, and was
confined within the bounds of the Military School, he causes him to
commit outrages which would require at least the age of manhood, and a
certain degree of liberty, &c. The author makes him undertake what he
calls the robberies of Italy, at the head of eight thousand
galley-slaves, who had escaped from the bagnio at Toulon. Afterwards,
he makes twenty thousand Poles abandon the Austrian ranks to join the
standard of the French General, &c. The same author makes Napoleon
arrive at Paris in Fructidor, when all the world knows that he never
quitted his army. He makes him treat with the Prince of Condé, and ask
the hand of the Princess Royal as the price of his treachery. I omit a
number of other things equally absurd and impudent. It is evident
that, with respect to the loose and ridiculous anecdotes particularly,
he only collected all he could hear; but from what source has he drawn
his information? The greater part of the anecdotes have certainly had
their rise in certain defamatory and malevolent circles of Paris; but,
as long as they were on that ground, they still preserved the
appearance of some wit, salt, point, colour, some grace in the
relation; whilst the stories in this book have evidently descended
from the drawing-rooms into the streets, and have only been picked up
after rolling in the kennel. The English allowed it to be so coarse
that, except to the most vulgar classes of society, the work was a
poison which carried its own antidote along with it.

It may probably excite astonishment that I did not lay aside such a
production upon reading the first page of it; but its coarseness and
vulgarity are so gross that it cannot excite anger: on the other hand,
there is no disgust which may not be got over in order to amuse the
heavy hours at St. Helena. We consider ourselves fortunate in having
any thing to peruse. “Time,” said the Emperor, a few days ago, “is the
only thing of which we have too much here.” I therefore continued the
work. And besides, I may perhaps be allowed to say that it is not
without some pleasure that I now read the absurd tales, the lies, and
calumnies, which an author pretends to derive, as usual, from the best
authority, relating to objects which I am now so perfectly well
acquainted with, and which have become as familiar to me as the
details of my own life; and it is likewise gratifying to lay down
pages filled with the falsest representations, and exhibiting a
portrait purely fanciful to study truth by the side of the real
personage, in his own conversation, ever full of novelties and grand
ideas.

The Emperor having desired me to come to him this morning after
breakfast, I found him in his morning-gown lying on his sofa. The
conversation led him to ask me what I was reading at this moment. I
replied that it was one of the most notorious and scurrilous libels
published against him, and I quoted to him upon the spot some of its
most abominable stories. He laughed heartily at them, and desired to
see the work. I sent for it, and we went over it together. In passing
from one horrid calumny to another, he exclaimed, “_Jesus!_” crossing
himself repeatedly—a custom which I have perceived to be familiar with
him, in his little friendly circle, whenever he meets with monstrous,
impudent, cynical assertions, which excite his indignation and
surprise without rousing his anger. As we proceeded, the Emperor
analyzed certain facts, and corrected points of which the author might
have known something. Sometimes he shrugged up his shoulders out of
compassion; at others, he laughed heartily; but he never betrayed the
least sign of anger. When he read the article which speaks of his
great debaucheries and excesses, the violences and the outrages which
he is represented to have committed, he observed that the author,
doubtless, wished to make a hero of him in every respect; that he
willingly left him to those who had charged him with impotency; that
it was for these gentlemen to agree among themselves; adding, merrily,
“that every man was not so unlucky as the pleader of Toulouse.” They
were in the wrong, however, he continued, to attack him upon the score
of morals; him, who, as all the world knew, had so singularly improved
them. They could not be ignorant that he was not at all inclined, by
nature, to debauchery; and that, moreover, the multiplicity of his
affairs would never have allowed him time to indulge in it. When he
came to the pages where his mother was described as acting the most
disgusting and abject part at Marseilles, he stopped, and repeated
several times with an accent of indignation, and something approaching
to grief, “Ah! Madame!—Poor Madame!—with her lofty character! if she
were to read this!—Great God!”

We thus passed more than two hours, after which he began to dress.
Doctor O’Meara was introduced to him: it was the usual hour of his
being admitted. “_Dottore_,” said the Emperor to him in Italian,
whilst he was shaving himself, “I have just read one of your fine
London productions against me.” The Doctor’s countenance indicated a
wish to know what it was. I shewed him the book at a distance; it was
himself who had lent it to me: he was disconcerted. “It is a very just
remark,” continued the Emperor, “that it is the truth only which gives
offence. I have not been angry for a moment; but I have frequently
laughed at it.” The Doctor endeavoured to reply, and puzzled himself
with high-flown sentences: it was, he said, an infamous, disgusting
libel; every body knew it to be such; nobody paid any attention to it:
nevertheless, persons might be found who would believe it, from its
not having been replied to. “But how can that be helped?” said the
Emperor. “If it should enter any one’s head to put in print that I had
grown hairy, and walked on all fours, there are people who would
believe it, and would say that God had punished me as he did
Nebuchadnezzar. And what could I do? There is no remedy in such
cases.” The Doctor went away, hardly able to believe the gaiety, the
indifference, the good-nature of which he had just been witness: with
regard to ourselves, we were now accustomed to it.

THE EMPEROR RESOLVES TO LEARN ENGLISH, &C.

16th.—About three o’clock the Emperor desired me to come and converse
with him whilst he was dressing himself; we afterwards took a few
turns in the garden. He observed, accidentally, that it was a shame he
could not yet read English. I assured him that, if he had continued
his lessons after the two that I had given when we were off Madeira,
he would now be able to read every kind of English books. He was
thoroughly persuaded of this, and ordered me to oblige him henceforth
to take a lesson every day. The conversation then led me to observe
that I had just given my son his first lesson in mathematics. It is a
branch of knowledge which the Emperor is very fond of, and in which he
is particularly skilled. He was astonished that I could teach my son
so much without the help of any work, and without any copy-book; he
said, he did not know that I was so learned in this way, and
threatened me with examining, when I did not expect it, both the
master and the scholar. At dinner he attacked what he called the
Professor of Mathematics, who was very near being posed by him: one
question did not wait for another, and they were frequently very keen.
He never ceased to regret that the mathematics were not taught at a
very early age in the Lyceums. He said that all the intentions he had
formed respecting the Universities had been frustrated, complained
bitterly of M. de Fontanes, lamenting that, whilst he was obliged to
be at a distance, carrying on the war, they spoiled all he had done at
home, &c. This led the Emperor back to the first years of his life, to
father Patrault, his Professor of Mathematics, whose history he gave
us: I have already introduced it.

FIRST ENGLISH LESSON, &c.

17th.—The Emperor took his first lesson in the English language
to-day. And as it was my intention to put him at once in a situation
to read the papers with readiness, this first lesson consisted of
nothing more than getting acquainted with an English newspaper; in
studying the form and plan of it; in learning the places that are
always given to the different subjects which it contains; in
separating the notices and gossip of the town from politics; and, in
the latter, in learning to distinguish what is authentic from what is
mere report or conjecture.

I have engaged that, if the Emperor could endure being annoyed every
day with such lessons, he would be able to read the papers in a month
without the assistance of any of us. The Emperor wished afterwards to
do some exercises; he wrote some sentences which were dictated to him,
and translated them into English, with the assistance of a little
table, which I made for him, of the auxiliary verbs and articles, and
aided by the dictionary for other words which I made him look out
himself. I explained to him the rules of syntax and grammar, as they
came before us: in this manner he formed various sentences, which
amused him more than the versions which we also attempted. After the
lesson, at two o’clock, we took a walk in the garden.

Several musquet shots were fired: they were so near us that they
appeared to have been fired in the garden itself. The Emperor observed
to me that my son (we thought it was he) seemed to have good sport: I
replied that it was the last time he should enjoy it so near the
Emperor. “Really,” said he, “you may as well go and tell him that he
is only to come within cannon-shot of us.” I ran: we had accused him
wrongfully, for the guns were fired by the people who were training
the Emperor’s horses.

After dinner, during coffee, the Emperor, taking me to the corner of
the chimney-piece, put his hand upon my head to measure my height, and
said, “I am a giant to you.”—“Your Majesty is a giant to so many
others,” I observed to him, “that I am not at all concerned at it.” He
spoke immediately of something else; for he does not like to dwell on
expressions of this kind.

OUR DAILY HABITS.—CONVERSATION WITH GOVERNOR
WILKS.—ARMIES.—CHEMISTRY.—POLITICS.—REMARKS ON INDIA.—DELPHINE, BY
MAD. DE STAËL.—NECKER, CALONNE.

18th—20th. We led a life of great uniformity. The Emperor did not go
out in the mornings. The English lesson was very regularly taken about
two o’clock; then followed either a walk in the garden, or some
presentations, which, however, were very rare; afterwards a little
excursion in the calash, as the horses were at last arrived. Before
dinner we proceeded with the revision of the Campaigns of Italy or
Egypt: after dinner we read romances.

On the 20th, the Emperor received Governor Wilks, with whom he had a
profound discussion on the army, the sciences, government, and the
Indies. Speaking of the organization of the English army, he dwelt
much on the principles of promotion in it; expressing his surprise
that, in a country in which equality of rights is maintained, the
soldiers so seldom become officers.

Colonel Wilks admitted that the English soldiers were not formed to
become officers; and said that the English were equally astonished at
the great difference they had remarked in the French army, where
almost every soldier shewed the nascent talents of an officer. “That,”
observed the Emperor, “is one of the great results of the
Conscription; it has rendered the French army the best constituted
that ever existed. It is an institution,” he continued, “eminently
national, and already strongly interwoven with our habits; it had
ceased to be a cause of grief, except to mothers; and the time was at
hand, when a girl would not have listened to a young man who had not
acquitted himself of this debt to his country. And it would have been
only when arrived at this point,” added he, “that the Conscription
would have manifested the full extent of its advantages. When the
service no longer bears the appearance of punishment or compulsory
duty, but is become a point of honour, on which all are jealous, then
only is the nation great, glorious and powerful; it is then that its
existence is proof against reverses, invasions—even the hand of time!

“Besides,” continued he, “it may be truly said that there is nothing
that may not be obtained from Frenchmen by the excitement of danger;
it seems to animate them; it is an inheritance which they derive from
their Gallic forefathers.... Courage, the love of glory, are, with the
French, an instinct, a kind of sixth sense. How often in the heat of
battle has my attention been fixed on my young conscripts, rushing,
for the first time, into the thickest of the fight: honour and valour
bursting forth at every pore.”

After this, the Emperor, knowing that Governor Wilks was well informed
in chemistry, attacked him on that subject. He spoke of the immense
progress in all our manufactures occasioned by this science. He said,
that both England and France, undoubtedly, possessed great chemists;
but that chemistry was more generally diffused in France, and more
particularly directed to useful results; that in England it remained a
science, while in France it was becoming entirely practical. The
Governor admitted that these observations were perfectly correct, and,
with a liberality of sentiment, added that it was to him, the Emperor,
that all these advantages were owing, and that, wherever science was
led by the hand of power, it would produce great and happy effects
upon the well-being of society. The Emperor observed that of late
France had obtained sugar from the beet-root, as good and cheap as
that extracted from the sugar-cane. The Governor was astonished; he
had not even suspected it. The Emperor assured him that it was an
established fact, opposed, as it was, to the rooted prejudices of all
Europe, France itself not excepted. He added that it was the same with
woad, the substitute for indigo, and with almost all the colonial
produce except the dye-woods. This led him to conclude that if the
invention of the compass had produced a revolution in commerce, the
progress of chemistry bade fair to produce a counter-revolution.

The conversation then turned on the present numerous emigrations of
the artisans of France and England to America. The Emperor observed
that this favoured country grew rich by our follies. The Governor
smiled, and replied, that those of England would occupy the first
place in the list, from the numerous errors of administration, which
had led to the revolt and subsequent emancipation of the Colonies. The
Emperor said that their emancipation was inevitable; that when
children had attained the size of their fathers, it was difficult to
retain them long in a state of obedience.

They then spoke of India; the Governor had resided there many years,
and had filled high situations; he had made important researches; he
was able to reply to a multitude of questions proposed to him by the
Emperor, respecting the laws, the manners, the usages of the Hindoos,
the administration of the English, the nature and construction of the
existing laws, &c.

The English are governed according to the laws of England; the natives
by local acts made by the several Councils in the service of the
Company, with whom it is a fundamental principle to render them as
nearly similar as possible to the laws of the people themselves.

Hyder Aly was a man of genius; Tippoo, his son, was arrogant,
ignorant, and rash. The former had upwards of 100,000 men; the latter
scarcely ever more than 50,000. These people are not deficient in
courage, but they do not possess our physical strength, and have
neither discipline nor any knowledge of tactics. Seventeen thousand
men in the English service, of whom only 4000 were Europeans, were
sufficient to destroy the empire of Mysore. It was, however, to be
presumed that, sooner or later, the national spirit would rescue these
regions from the dominion of the Europeans. The intermixture of
European blood with that of the natives, was producing a mixed race,
whose numbers and disposition certainly prepared the way for a great
revolution. Nevertheless, in their actual condition, the people were
happier than they had been previously to the dominion of the English:
an impartial administration of justice, and the mildness of the
government were, for the present, the strongest supports of the power
of the parent state. It was also considered expedient to prohibit the
English and other Europeans from buying lands there, or forming
hereditary establishments, &c.

Madame de Staël’s _Delphine_ was at this time a subject of
conversation at our evening parties. The Emperor analyzed it: few
things in it escaped his censure. The irregularity of mind and
imagination which pervades it excited his criticism: there were
throughout, said he, the same faults which had formerly made him keep
the authoress at a distance, notwithstanding the most pointed advances
and the most unremitting flattery on her part. No sooner had victory
immortalized the young General of the Army of Italy, than Madame de
Staël, unacquainted with him, from the mere sympathy of glory,
instantly professed for him sentiments of enthusiasm worthy of her own
_Corinne_; she wrote him long and numerous epistles, full of wit,
imagination, and metaphysical erudition: it was an error, she
observed, arising only from human institutions, that could have united
him with the meek, the tranquil, Madame Bonaparte; it was a soul of
fire like her’s (Madame de Staël’s) that nature had undoubtedly
destined to be the companion of a hero like him.

I refer to the Campaigns in Italy to shew that this forwardness on the
part of Madame de Staël was not checked by the circumstance of meeting
with no return. With a perseverance never to be disheartened, she
succeeded, at a later period, in forming some degree of acquaintance,
so far even as to be allowed to visit; and she used this privilege,
said the Emperor, to a disagreeable extent. It is unquestionably true,
as has been reported, that the General, wishing to make her sensible
of it, one day caused her to be told, by way of excuse, that he was
scarcely dressed; and that she replied promptly and seriously, that it
was unimportant, for that genius was of no sex.

From Madame de Staël we were naturally led to her father, M. Necker.
The Emperor related, that at Geneva, in his way to Marengo, he
received a visit from him, wherein he made known, in an awkward manner
enough, his desire to be admitted again to the Administration—a
desire, by the by, which M. Calonne, his rival, subsequently came to
Paris to express with a degree of levity beyond conception. M. Necker
afterwards wrote a dangerous work upon the policy of France, which he
attempted to prove could no longer exist either as a monarchy or a
republic, and in which he called the First Consul _l’homme
necessaire_.

The First Consul proscribed the work, which, at that time, might have
been highly prejudicial to him, and committed the task of refuting it
to the Consul Lebrun, “who in his elegant prose,” said the Emperor,
executed prompt and ample justice upon it. The Necker _coterie_ was
irritated, and Madame de Staël, engaging in some intrigues, received
an order to quit France: thenceforth she became an ardent and
strenuous enemy. Nevertheless, on the return from the Island of Elba,
she wrote or sent to the Emperor, to express, in her peculiar way, the
enthusiasm which this wonderful event had excited in her; that she was
overcome; that this last act was not that of a mortal; that it had at
once raised its author to the skies. Then, returning to herself, she
concluded by hinting that, if the Emperor would condescend to allow
the payment of the two millions, for which an order in her favour had
already been signed by the King, her pen and her principles should be
devoted for ever after to his interest.—The Emperor desired she might
be informed, in answer, that nothing could flatter him more highly
than her approbation, because he fully appreciated her talents; but
that he really was not rich enough to purchase it at that price.

MY NEW LODGING DESCRIBED.—MORNING VISIT, &C.

21st.—I had at length taken possession of the new lodging built for me
instead of my former oven. Upon a soil constantly damp had been placed
a floor eighteen feet long by eleven wide; this was surrounded by a
wall of a foot and half in thickness, composed of loam, and which
might have been kicked down with the foot: at the height of seven feet
it was covered with a roof of boards, defended by a coating of paper
and tar. Such were the construction and the outline of my new palace,
divided into two apartments, one of which contained two beds separated
by a chest of drawers, and afforded room for only a single chair; the
other, at once my saloon and my library, had a single window strongly
fastened up on account of the violence of the winds and rain: on the
right and left of it were two writing-tables, for me and my son; on
the opposite side a couch and two chairs. This was the whole of the
furniture and accommodations: add to this that the aspect of the two
windows is towards a wind constantly blowing from the same quarter,
and generally accompanied with rain, often very heavy, and which,
previously to our taking possession, already forced its way through
the cracks, or soaked through the walls and the roof. I had just
passed my first night in these new quarters; I was indisposed, and my
change of bed had prevented me from sleeping. I was informed about
seven o’clock, that the Emperor was going out on horseback; I replied
that, not feeling myself well, I should endeavour to take some rest;
but only a few minutes had elapsed when a person hastily entered my
apartment, opened my curtains with an air of authority, found fault
with me for being so idle, and pronounced that my ailments must be
shaken off; then, struck with the smell of the paint, the extreme
smallness of the room, and the closeness of the two beds, he decided
that we could no longer be suffered to sleep huddled together in that
way; that it was far too unwholesome; and that I must return to the
bed in the topographical cabinet, which I ought not to abandon through
false delicacy; and that, if I occasioned any inconvenience there, I
should be told of it. It will have been guessed that this person was
the Emperor. I was, of course, soon out of bed, dressed, and well. The
Emperor was, however, already far off: I had to seek him in the park.
After I had overtaken him, our conversation turned on the long
audience that he had given to Governor Wilks on the preceding day. He
dwelt, with much good humour, on the great importance which my work
appeared to have given me in the Governor’s eyes, and the extreme
good-will towards me with which it seemed to have inspired him. “Of
course,” continued he, “it is understood that these sentiments are to
be mutual; the usual regard and fraternity of authors, as long as they
do not criticize each other. And is he aware of your relationship to
the venerable Las Casas?” I answered that I knew nothing of the
matter; but General Gourgaud, who was on the other side of the
Emperor, replied in the affirmative. “And how do you know it
yourself?” said the Emperor to me; “Are you not romancing with us?”
“The following, Sire, are my proofs. Our family had been two hundred
years in France, when Barthelemi de Las Casas flourished in Spain; but
the Spanish historians all describe him as a native of the same city
from which we ourselves came, that is to say, Seville. They all
mention him as of an ancient family, of French origin, and state his
ancestors to have passed into Spain precisely at the time when our
family went there.”—“What, then, you are not Spanish? He was French,
as well as you!”—“Yes, Sire.”—“Let us hear all about it; come, Sir
Castellan, Sir Knight-errant, Sir Paladin,—let us see you in your
glory; unrol your old parchments; come, enjoy yourself.”—“Sire, one of
my ancestors followed Henry Count of Burgundy, who, at the head of a
few crusaders, achieved the conquest of Portugal, about the year 1100.
He was his standard-bearer at the famous battle of Ourique, which
founded the Portugese monarchy. Afterwards we returned to France with
Queen Blanche, when she came to be married to the father of St. Louis.
Sire, this is the whole.”

THE EMPEROR’S READINGS.—MADAME DE SEVIGNÉ.—CHARLES XII.—PAUL AND
VIRGINIA.—VERTOT.—ROLLIN.—VELLY.—GARNIER.

22nd–26th. These days were rendered unpleasant by almost incessant
rain. The Emperor was only twice able to ride out—in the park one
morning, and once in the afternoon through our usual valley, which the
weather had rendered almost impassable. Nor was it more practicable to
make use of the calash; we were therefore compelled to confine
ourselves to a few turns in the garden, and to share in the gloom of
the weather. We worked, however, the more on this account. The Emperor
regularly took excellent and long lessons in English. It is his custom
to pass all the morning in reading; he reads whole works of very
considerable extent regularly through, without feeling in the least
fatigued; he always read some part of them to me before he began his
English lessons.

One of them was the Letters of Madame de Sevigné, the style of which
is so easy, and depicts so faithfully the manners of the time. Reading
the death of Turenne, and the trial of Fouquet, he observed, with
respect to the latter, that Madame de Sevigné seemed to evince too
much warmth, too much earnestness and tenderness, for mere friendship.

Another was _Charles XII._, in reading whose defence of his house, at
Bender, against the Turks, he could not help laughing, and repeating
as they did, “_Ironhead! Ironhead!_” He asked me whether the nature of
this monarch’s death was a settled point. I told him that I had it
from the mouth of Gustavus III. himself, that he had been assassinated
by his followers. Gustavus had examined his body in the vault; the
ball was a pistol-bullet; it had been fired very near, and behind him,
&c.

At the beginning of the Revolution, I was well acquainted with
Gustavus III., at the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle; and, though I was
then very young, I had more than once the honour of conversing with
him: he even promised me a place in his navy, if our affairs in France
should turn out unfavourably.

Another day the Emperor was reading _Paul and Virginia_; he gave full
effect to the touching passages, which were always simple and natural;
those which abounded with the pathos, the abstract and false ideas so
much in fashion when the work was published, were all, in the
Emperor’s opinion, cold, bad, spoiled. He said he had been infatuated
with this book in his youth; but he had little personal regard for its
author; he could never forgive him for having imposed on his
generosity on his return from the Army of Italy. “Bernardin de St.
Pierre’s sensibility and delicacy,” said he, “were little in harmony
with his charming picture of Paul and Virginia. He was a bad man; he
used his wife, Didot the printer’s daughter, very ill; he was always
ready to ask charity, without the least shame. On my return from the
Army of Italy, Bernardin came to see me, and almost immediately began
to tell me of his wants. I, who in my early youth had dreamed of
nothing but Paul and Virginia, and who moreover felt flattered by a
confidence which I imagined was reposed in me alone, and which I
attributed to my great celebrity, hastened to return his visit, and,
unperceived by any one, left on the corner of his chimney-piece a
little rouleau of five-and-twenty louis. But how was I mortified on
seeing every one laugh at the delicacy of my proceeding, and on
learning that such ceremony was entirely superfluous with M.
Bernardin, who made it his trade to beg of all comers, and to receive
from every body. I always retained some little resentment towards him,
for having thus imposed upon me. It was otherwise with my family.
Joseph allowed him a large pension, and Louis was constantly making
him presents.”

But though the Emperor liked Paul and Virginia, he laughed, for very
pity, at the _Studies of Nature_, by the same author. “Bernardin,”
said he, “though versed in the belles lettres, was very little of a
geometrician; this last work was so bad that scientific men disdained
to answer it: Bernardin complained loudly of their not noticing him.
The celebrated mathematician Lagrange, when speaking on this subject,
always said, alluding to the Institute, ‘If Bernardin were one of our
class—if he spoke our language, we would call him to order; but he
belongs to the Academy, and his style is out of our line.’” Bernardin
was complaining as usual, one day, to the First Consul, of the silence
of the learned with respect to his works. Napoleon asked, “Do you
understand the differential method, M. Bernardin?”—“No.”—“Well, go and
learn it, and then you will be able to answer yourself.” Afterwards,
when Emperor, every time he perceived St. Pierre, he used to say to
him, “M. Bernardin, when are we to have any more Paul and Virginias,
or Indian Cottages? You ought to supply us every six months.”

In reading Vertot’s Roman Revolutions, of which in other respects the
Emperor thinks highly, he found the declamations much too diffuse.
This was his constant complaint against every work he took up; he had
in his youth, he said, been much to blame in this respect himself. He
may justly be said to have thoroughly reformed afterwards. He amused
himself with striking out the superfluous phrases in Vertot; and the
result was that, after the erasures, the work appeared much more
energetic and animated. “It would certainly be a most valuable and
successful labour,” said he, “if any man of taste and discernment
would devote his time to reducing the principal works in our language
in this manner. I hardly know any writer except Montesquieu who would
escape those curtailments. He often looked into Rollin, whom he
thought diffuse, and too credulous. Crevier, his continuator, seemed
to Napoleon detestable. He complained of our classical works, and of
the time which our young people are compelled to lose in reading such
bad books. They were composed by rhetoricians and mere professors, he
said; whereas such immortal subjects, the basis of all our knowledge
throughout life, ought to have been written and edited by statesmen
and men of the world.” The Emperor had excellent ideas on this
subject; the want of time alone prevented him from carrying them into
execution.

The Emperor was still more dissatisfied with our French historians; he
could not bear to read any of them. Velly is rich in words, and poor
in meaning: his continuators are still worse. “Our history,” said the
Emperor, “should either be in four or five volumes, or in a hundred.”
He had been acquainted with Garnier, who continued Velly and Villaret;
he lived very near Malmaison. He was an old man of eighty, and lodged
in a small set of apartments on the ground-floor, close to the road.
Struck with the officious attention which this good old man always
evinced whenever the First Consul was passing, the latter enquired who
he was. On learning that it was Garnier, he comprehended his motives.
“He, no doubt, imagined,” said the Emperor pleasantly, “that a First
Consul was his property, as historian. I dare say, however, he was
astonished to find Consuls, where he had been accustomed to see
Kings.” Napoleon told him so, himself, laughing, when he called him
one day, and settled a good pension on him. “From that time,” said the
Emperor, “the poor man, in the warmth of his gratitude, would gladly
have written any thing I pleased, with all his heart.”

A DIFFICULTY OVERCOME.—THE EMPEROR’S PERSONAL DANGER AT EYLAU,
JENA, &C.—RUSSIAN, AUSTRIAN, AND PRUSSIAN TROOPS.—YOUNG
GUIBERT.—CORBINEAU.—MARSHAL LANNES.—BESSIERES.—DUROC.

27th.—About five o’clock the Emperor went out in his calash; the
evening was very fine; we drove rapidly, and the distance to be
traversed is very short. The Emperor made the servants slacken their
pace, in order to prolong the ride. As we returned, the Emperor,
casting his eyes on the camp, from which we were separated only by the
ravine, asked why we could not pass that way, which would double the
length of our ride. He was told that it was impossible; and we
continued our way homeward. But, on a sudden, as if roused by this
word _impossible_, which he had so often said was not French, he
ordered the ground to be reconnoitred. We all got out of the carriage,
which proceeded empty towards the difficult points; we saw it clear
every obstacle, and returned home in triumph, as if we had just
doubled our possessions.

During dinner, and afterwards, the conversation turned on various
deeds of arms. The Grand Marshal said, that what had most struck him
in the life of the Emperor happened at Eylau, when, attended only by
some officers of his staff, a column of four or five thousand Russians
came almost in contact with him. The Emperor was on foot; the Prince
of Neufchatel instantly ordered up the horses: the Emperor gave him a
reproachful look; then sent orders to a battalion of his guard to
advance, which was a good way behind, and standing still. As the
Russians advanced, he repeated several times, “What audacity! what
audacity!” At the sight of the grenadiers of the guard, the Russians
stopped short. It was high time for them to do so, as Bertrand said.
The Emperor had never stirred; all who surrounded him had been much
alarmed.

The Emperor had heard this account without making any observation;
but, when it was finished, he said that one of the finest manœuvres
he remembered was that which he executed at Eckmühl. Unfortunately, he
did not proceed, or give any particulars. “Success in war,” said he,
“depends so much on quicksightedness, and on seizing the right moment,
that the battle of Austerlitz, which was so completely won, would have
been lost if I had attacked six hours sooner. The Russians shewed
themselves on that occasion such excellent troops as they have never
appeared since; the Russian army of Austerlitz would not have lost the
battle of the Moscowa.”

“Marengo,” said the Emperor, “was the battle in which the Austrians
fought best: their troops behaved admirably there; but that was the
grave of their valour. It has never since been seen.

“The Prussians, at Jena, did not make such a resistance as was
expected from their reputation. As to the multitudes of 1814 and 1815,
they were mere rabble compared to the real soldiers of Marengo,
Austerlitz, and Jena.”

The night before the battle of Jena, the Emperor said, he had run the
greatest risk. He might then have disappeared without his fate being
clearly known. He had approached the bivouacs of the enemy, in the
dark, to reconnoitre them; he had only a few officers with him. The
opinion which was then entertained of the Prussian army kept every one
on the alert: it was thought that the Prussians were particularly
given to nocturnal attacks. As the Emperor returned, he was fired at
by the first sentinel of his camp; this was a signal for the whole
line; he had no resource but to throw himself flat on his face until
the mistake was discovered. But his principal apprehension was that
the Prussian line, which was very near to him, would act in the same
manner.

At Marengo the Austrian soldiers had not forgotten the conqueror of
Castiglione, Arcole, and Rivoli; his name had much influence over
them; but they were far from thinking that he was present; they
believed that he was dead: care had been taken to persuade them that
he had perished in Egypt; that the First Consul, whom they now heard
spoken of, was only his brother. This report had gained so much credit
every where that Napoleon was under the necessity of appearing in
public at Milan, in order to refute it.

After these anecdotes, the Emperor proceeded to mention a great number
of his officers and aides-de-camp, distributing praise and censure
amongst them as he went on; he knew them all thoroughly. Two of the
circumstances which had most affected him on the field of battle he
said, were the deaths of young Guibert and General Corbineau. At
Aboukir, a bullet went quite through the breast of the former, without
killing him instantly: the Emperor, after saying a few words to him,
was obliged, by the violence of his feelings, to leave him. The other
was carried away, crushed, annihilated by a cannon-ball, at Eylau,
before the Emperor’s face, whilst he was giving him some orders. The
Emperor spoke also of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valiant
Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Orlando of the army, who,
when visited by the Emperor on his death-bed, seemed to forget his own
situation, and to feel only for him, whom he loved above every thing.
The Emperor had the highest esteem for him. “He was for a long time a
mere fighting man,” said he, “but he afterwards became an officer of
the first talents.” Some one then said he should like to know what
line of conduct Lannes would have pursued in these latter times, if he
had lived. “We have learned,” said the Emperor, “not to swear to any
thing. Yet I cannot conceive that it would have been possible for him
to deviate from the path of duty and honour. Besides, it is hard to
imagine that he could have existed. With all his bravery, he would
unquestionably have got killed in some of the last affairs, or at
least sufficiently wounded to be laid up out of the centre and
influence of events. And if he had remained disposable, he was a man
capable of changing the whole face of affairs by his own weight and
influence.”

The Emperor next mentioned Duroc, on whose character and life he dwelt
some time. “Duroc,” concluded he, “had lively, tender, and concealed
passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was
long before I knew this, so exact and regular was the performance of
his duty. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished,
and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work began. Chance, or some
accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He
was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely
generous.”

The Emperor said that, on the opening of the campaign at Dresden, he
lost two men who were extremely valuable to him, and in the most
foolish manner in the world: these were Bessieres and Duroc. In
mentioning the circumstance, the Emperor now affected a stoicism which
was visibly not natural to him. When he went to see Duroc, after he
had received his mortal wound, he attempted to hold out some hopes to
him; but Duroc, who did not deceive himself, only replied by begging
him to order opium to be given to him. The Emperor, excessively
affected, could not venture to remain long with him, and tore himself
from this distressing spectacle.

One of the company then reminded the Emperor that, on leaving Duroc,
he went and walked up and down by himself before his tent: no one
durst accost him. But, some essential measures being requisite against
the following day, some one at length ventured to ask him where the
battery of the guard was to be placed. “Ask me nothing till
to-morrow,” was the Emperor’s answer.

At this recollection, the Emperor, with a marked effort, began
abruptly to talk of something else.

Duroc was one of those persons whose value is never known till they
are lost: this was, after his death, the common expression of the
Court and City, and the unanimous sentiment every where.

He was a native of Nancy, in the department of La Meurthe. The origin
of his fortune has been related above. Napoleon found him in the train
at the siege of Toulon, and immediately interested himself for him.
His attachment to him increased every day, and it might be said that
they never more separated. I have elsewhere mentioned that I have
heard the Emperor say that, throughout his career, Duroc was the only
person who had possessed his unreserved confidence, and to whom he
could freely unburden his mind. Duroc was not a brilliant character;
but he possessed an excellent judgment, and he rendered essential
services, which, owing to their nature as well as to his reserve, were
little heard of.

Duroc loved the Emperor for himself: it was rather to the individual,
personally, that he was attached, than to the monarch. In being made
the confidant of his prince’s feeling, he had acquired the art, and
perhaps the right, of mitigating and directing them. How often has he
whispered to people struck with consternation by the anger of the
Emperor:—“Let him have his way: he speaks from his feelings, not
according to his judgment; nor as he will act to-morrow.” What a
servant! what a friend! what a treasure! How many storms he has
soothed! how many rash orders, given in the moment of irritation, has
he omitted to execute, knowing that his master would thank him the
next day for the omission! The Emperor had accommodated himself to
this sort of tacit arrangement; and on that account gave way the more
readily to those violent bursts of temper, which relieve by the vent
they afford to the passions.

Duroc died in the most deplorable manner, at a very critical moment;
his death was another of the fatalities of Napoleon’s career.

The day after the battle of Wurzen, towards evening, the skirmish of
Reichenbach had just ended, the firing had ceased. Duroc was on the
top of an eminence, apart from the troops, conversing with General
Kirchner, and observing the retreat of the last ranks of the enemy. A
piece was levelled at this glittering group, and the fatal ball killed
both the generals.[30]

Footnote 30:

General Kirchner was a very distinguished officer of engineers; he
was brother-in-law to Marshal Lannes, who had chosen him on account
of his courage and capacity.

Duroc had more influence over the Emperor’s resolutions than is
imagined. His death was probably, in this respect, a national
calamity. There is reason to think that, if he had survived, the
armistice of Dresden, which ruined us, would not have taken place; we
should have pushed on to the Oder, and beyond it. The enemy would then
have instantly acceded to peace, and we should have escaped their
machinations, their intrigues, and, above all, the base and atrocious
perfidy of the Austrian Cabinet, which has ended in our destruction.

At a subsequent period Duroc might still have exerted an influence
over other great events, and probably changed the face of affairs.
Finally, even at a later conjuncture, at the time of Napoleon’s fall,
he would never have separated his destiny from that of the Emperor: he
would have been with us at St. Helena; and this aid alone would have
sufficed to counterbalance all the horrible vexations with which
Napoleon was studiously oppressed.

Bessieres, of the department of the Lot, was thrown by the Revolution
into the career of arms. He commenced as a private soldier in the
constitutional guard of Louis XVI. Afterwards, having attained the
rank of captain of chasseurs, he attracted the attention of the
Commander-in-chief of the army of Italy by acts of extraordinary
personal bravery; and, when the general formed his corps of guides, he
chose Bessieres to take the command of them. Such was the beginning of
Bessieres, and the origin of his fortunes. From that instant we find
him always at the head of the Consular or Imperial guard, in charges
of the reserve, deciding the battle, or profiting by the victory. His
name is gloriously connected with all our great battles.

Bessieres rose with the man who had distinguished him, and shared
abundantly in the favours which the Emperor distributed. He was made a
marshal of the Empire, Duke of Istria, colonel of the cavalry of the
guard, &c.

His qualities developing themselves as he rose, proved him always
equal to his fortune. Bessieres was always kind, humane, and generous,
of antique loyalty and integrity, and, whether considered as a citizen
or as a soldier, a honest worthy man. He often made use of the high
favour in which he stood to do extraordinary services and acts of
kindness even to people of very different ways of thinking from his. I
know some who, if they have a spark of gratitude in them, will confirm
my assertion, and can bear testimony to his noble elevated sentiments.

Bessieres was adored by the Guards, in the midst of whom he passed his
life. At the battle of Wagram a ball struck him off his horse, without
doing him any farther injury. A mournful cry arose from the whole
battalion; upon which Napoleon remarked, the next time he saw him:
“Bessieres, the ball which struck you drew tears from all my Guard.
Return thanks to it; it ought to be very dear to you.”

He was less fortunate at the opening of the campaign of Saxony. On the
very eve of the battle of Lützen, a trifling engagement occurred, in
which, having advanced into the very midst of the skirmishers, he was
shot dead on the spot by a musquet-ball in the breast. Thus, after
living like Bayard, he died like Turenne.

I had conversed with him a little before this fatal event. Chance had
brought us together by ourselves in a private box at the theatre.
After talking of public affairs which deeply interested him, for he
idolized his country, his last words, as he left me, were, that he was
to set out for the army that night, and hoped we should meet again.
“But, at the present crisis,” said he, “with our young soldiers, we
leaders must not spare ourselves.” Alas! he was never to return.

Bessieres was sincerely attached to the Emperor; he almost worshipped
him; he, like Duroc, would certainly never have abandoned his person
or his fortunes. And one would really think that Fate, which proved so
decidedly hostile to Napoleon in his latter days, had resolved to
deprive him of the sweetest consolation, by thus removing two such
valuable friends; and at the same time to prevent these faithful
servants from acquiring the very highest claim to glory, that of
gratitude to the unfortunate.

The Emperor caused the remains of these two men whom he so much
esteemed, and by whom he knew himself to be beloved in return, to be
carried to the _Invalides_ at Paris. He intended extraordinary honours
for them, of which subsequent events deprived them. But History, whose
pages are far more imperishable than marble or bronze, has consecrated
them, and secured them for ever from oblivion.[31]

Footnote 31:

The following is extracted from the Campaign of Saxony in 1813, by
Baron Odeleben, an eye-witness of the circumstance; under date of
the 10th of August, at the time of the resumption of hostilities,
two or three months after the death of Duroc.

“During the march from Reichenbach to Gorlitz, Napoleon stopped at
Makersdorf, and shewed the King of Naples the place where Duroc
fell. He summoned to his presence the proprietor of the little farm
on which the Grand Marshal died, and assigned to him the sum of
20,000 francs; 4000 of which were for a monument in honour of the
deceased, and 16,000 for the proprietor of the house and his wife.
The donation was consummated in the evening, in the presence of the
rector and the judge of Makersdorf: the money was counted out before
them, and they were charged to get the monument erected.”

STUDY OF ENGLISH.—REFLECTIONS.—RIDE.—MIRED
HORSE.

31st.—Our days passed, as it may be supposed, in an excessively stupid
monotony. _Ennui_, reflection, and melancholy, were our formidable
enemies; occupation our great and only refuge. The Emperor followed
his pursuits with great regularity. English was become an affair of
importance to him. It was now nearly a fortnight since he took his
first lesson, and from that moment he had devoted some hours every
day, beginning at noon, to that study, sometimes with truly admirable
ardour, sometimes with visible disgust; an alternative which kept me
in the greatest anxiety. I considered success as of the utmost
importance: every day I dreaded seeing him abandon the ground gained
on the day preceding; and consequently being regarded as having
wearied him with the most tedious labour, without having produced the
fortunate result that I had promised myself. On the other hand, I was
also daily spurred on by the consciousness that I was approaching the
goal at which I aimed. The attainment of the English language was a
real and serious conquest to the Emperor. Formerly, he said, it had
cost him a hundred thousand crowns a year, merely for translations;
and how did he know whether he had them exact—whether they were
faithful? Now that we were imprisoned, as it were, in the midst of
this language, surrounded by its productions, all the great changes
and questions which the Emperor had given rise to, on the continent,
had been taken up by the English on the opposite side; and in their
works presented so many new faces to him, to which he had hitherto
been a stranger.