Chapter V: Part 5

Napoleon’s expostulation with Aubry on the subject of his new appointment formed a perfect scene: he insisted vehemently, because he had facts to bear him out; Aubry was obstinate and bitter, because he had power in his hands. He told Napoleon that he was too young, and that he must let older men go before him; Napoleon replied that a soldier soon grew old on the field of battle, and that _he_ had just come from it. Aubry had never been in any engagement. They came to very high words.

I informed the Emperor that, on returning from my emigration, I occupied for a considerable time, in the Rue Saint Florentin, the identical apartment in which this scene took place. I had frequently heard it spoken of; and though it was described by unfriendly tongues, each, nevertheless, took great interest in relating the details, and in trying to guess the part of the room in which any particular gesture was made, or any remarkable word spoken.

The history of the famous day of Vendemiaire, which had so important an influence on the fate of the Revolution and of Napoleon, will shew that he hesitated for some time before he undertook the defence of the Convention.

On the night succeeding that day, Napoleon presented himself to the Committee of Forty, which was established at the Tuileries. He wanted to procure mortars and ammunition from Meudon; but such was the circumspection of the President (Cambacéres) that, in spite of the dangers which had marked the day, he refused to sign the order; and merely, by way of accommodating the matter, requested that the guns and ammunition might be placed at the disposal of the General.

During his command of Paris, subsequently to the 13th of Vendemiaire, Napoleon had to encounter a great scarcity, which occasioned several popular commotions. One day when the usual distribution had not taken place, crowds of people collected round the bakers’ shops. Napoleon was parading about the city with a party of his staff to preserve public tranquillity. A crowd of persons, chiefly women, assembled round him, loudly calling for bread. The crowd augmented, the outcries increased, and the situation of Napoleon and his officers became critical. A woman, of monstrous size and corpulence, was particularly conspicuous by her gestures and exclamations. “Those fine epauletted fellows,” said she, pointing to the officers, “laugh at our distress: so long as they can eat and grow fat, they care not if the poor people die of hunger.” Napoleon turned to her, and said, “Good woman, look at me; which is fatter, you or I?” Napoleon was at that time extremely thin: “I was a mere slip of parchment,” said he. A general burst of laughter disarmed the fury of the populace, and the staff-officers continued their round.

The narrative of the thirteenth of Vendemiaire shews how Napoleon became acquainted with Madame de Beauharnais, and how he contracted the marriage which has been so greatly misrepresented in the accounts of the time. As soon as he got introduced to Madame de Beauharnais, he spent almost every evening at her house, which was frequented by the most agreeable company in Paris. When the majority of the party retired, there usually remained M. de Montesquiou, the father of the Grand Chamberlain; the Duke de Nivernois, so celebrated for the graces of his wit; and a few others. They used to look round to see that the doors were all shut, and they would then say, “Let us sit down and chat about the old court; let us make a tour to Versailles.”

The poverty of the treasury and the scarcity of specie were so great, during the Republic, that, on the departure of General Buonaparte for the army of Italy, all his efforts, joined to those of the Directory, could only succeed in raising 2000 louis, which he carried with him in his carriage. With this sum he set out to conquer Italy, and to march towards the empire of the world. The following is a curious fact: an order of the day was published, signed Berthier, directing the General-in-chief, on his arrival at the head-quarters at Nice, to distribute to the different generals, to enable them to enter on the campaign, the sum of four louis in specie. For a considerable time no such thing as specie had been seen. This order of the day displays the circumstances of the times more truly and faithfully than whole volumes written on the subject.

As soon as Napoleon joined the army, he proved himself to be a man born for command. From that moment he filled the theatre of the world;[17] he occupied all Europe; he was a meteor blazing in the firmament; he concentrated all attention, riveted all thoughts, and formed the subject of all conversations. From that time every Gazette, every publication, every monument, became the record of his deeds. His name was inscribed in every page and in every line, and echoed from every mouth.

Footnote 17:

CHRONOLOGICAL RECAPITULATION.

The Emperor was born Aug. 15, 1769
Entered the military school of Brienne 1779
Transferred to the school of Paris 1783
Lieutenant in the 1st Artillery regiment of
la Fère Sept. 1, 1785
Captain Feb. 6, 1792
Chief of Battalion Oct. 19, 1793
General of Brigade Feb. 6, 1794
General of Division Oct. 16, 1795
General-in-Chief of the army of the Interior Oct. 26, 1795
General-in-Chief of the army of Italy Feb. 23, 1796
First Consul Dec. 13, 1799
Consul for life Aug. 2, 1802
Emperor May 18, 1804
Crowned Dec. 2, 1804
First abdication at Fontainbleau April 11, 1814
Resumed the reins of government Mar. 20, 1815
Second abdication at l’Elysée June 21, 1815

On his appearance in the command, a total revolution was observed in his manners, conduct, and language. Decrès has often told me that he was at Toulon when he first heard of Napoleon’s appointment to the command of the army of Italy. He had known him well in Paris, and thought himself on terms of perfect familiarity with him. “Thus,” said he, “when we learned that the new General was about to pass through the city, I immediately proposed to all my comrades to introduce them to him, priding myself on my intimacy with him. I hastened to him, full of eagerness and joy; the door of the apartment was thrown open, and I was on the point of rushing towards him with my wonted familiarity, but his attitude, his look, the tone of his voice, suddenly deterred me. There was nothing offensive either in his appearance or manner; but the impression he produced was sufficient to prevent me from ever again attempting to encroach upon the distance that separated us.”

Napoleon’s generalship was, moreover, characterized by the skill, energy, and purity of his military administration; his constant hatred of peculation of any kind, and his total disregard of his own private interest. “When I returned from the campaign of Italy,” said he, “I had not 300,000 francs in my possession. I might easily have brought back 10 or 12 millions; that sum might have been mine. I never made out any accounts, nor was I ever asked for any. I expected on my return to receive some great national reward. It was publicly reported that Chambord was to be given to me, and I should have been very glad to have had it: but the idea was set aside by the Directory. I had, however, transmitted to France at least 50,000,000 for the service of the State. This I imagine, was the first instance in modern history of an army contributing to maintain the country to which it belonged, instead of being a burthen on it.”

When Napoleon was in treaty with the Duke de Modena, Salicetti, the Government Commissary with the army, who had hitherto been on indifferent terms with him, entered his cabinet.—“The Commander d’Este,” said he, “the Duke’s brother, is here with four millions in gold, contained in four chests. He comes in the name of his brother to beg of you to accept them, and I advise you to do so. I am a countryman of yours, and I know your family affairs. The Directory and the Legislative Body will never acknowledge your services. This money belongs to you; take it without scruple and without publicity. A proportionate diminution will be made in the Duke’s contribution, and he will be very glad to have gained a protector.”—“I thank you,” coolly answered Napoleon: “I shall not for that sum place myself in the power of the Duke de Modena:—I wish to continue free.”

A Commissary-in-chief of the same army used often to relate that he had witnessed an offer of seven millions in gold made in a like manner to Napoleon by the Government of Venice, to save it from destruction, which offer was refused.—The Emperor smiled at the transports of admiration evinced by this financier, to whom the refusal of his General appeared super-human—an action much more difficult and noble than the gaining of victories. The Emperor dwelt with a certain degree of complacency on these anecdotes of his disinterestedness. He however observed that he had been in the wrong, and that such a course of conduct was the most improvident he could have pursued, whether his intention had been to make himself the head of a party, and to acquire influence, or to remain in the station of a private individual; for, on his return, he found himself almost destitute: and he might have continued in a career of absolute poverty, while his inferior generals and commissaries were amassing large fortunes. “But,” added he, “if my commissary had seen me accept the bribe, who can tell to what lengths he might have gone? My refusal was at least a check upon him.

“When I was placed at the head of affairs, as Consul, it was only by setting an example of disinterestedness, and employing the utmost vigilance, that I could succeed in changing the conduct of the Administration, and putting a stop to the dreadful spectacle of Directorial peculations. It cost me an immense deal of trouble to overcome the inclinations of the first persons in the State, whose conduct, under me, at length became strict and irreproachable. I was obliged to keep them constantly in fear. How often did I not repeat, in my councils, that if my own brother were found to be in fault, I should not hesitate to dismiss him!”

No man in the world ever had more wealth at his disposal, and appropriated less to himself.—Napoleon, according to his own account, possessed as much as four hundred millions of specie in the cellars of the Tuileries. His extraordinary domain amounted to more than seven hundred millions. He has said that he distributed upwards of five hundred millions in endowments to the army. And, what is very extraordinary, he who circulated such heaps of wealth, never possessed any private property of his own! He had collected, in the Museum, treasures which it was impossible to estimate, and yet he never had a picture or a curiosity of his own.

On his return from Italy, and on the eve of his departure for Egypt, he became possessed of Malmaison, and there he deposited nearly all his property. He purchased it in the name of his wife, who was older than himself, and consequently, in case of his surviving her, he must have forfeited all claim to it. The fact is, as he himself has said, that he never had a taste or a desire for riches.

“If I now possess any thing,”[18] continued he, “it is owing to measures which have been adopted since my departure: but even in that case it depended on a hair’s-breadth chance whether there should be any thing in the world I might call my own or not. But every one has his relative ideas. I have a taste for founding, and not for possessing. My riches consisted in glory and celebrity: the Simplon and the Louvre were, in the eyes of the people and of foreigners, more my property than private domains could have been. I purchased diamonds for the crown, I repaired and adorned the Imperial palaces; and I could not help thinking sometimes that the expenses lavished by Josephine on her green-houses and her gallery were a real injury to my _Jardin des Plantes_ and my _Musée de Paris_.”

Footnote 18:

The deposit at the house of Lafitte.

On the Emperor’s second abdication, somebody who loved him for his own
sake, and who knew his improvident disposition, eagerly enquired
whether any measures had been taken for his future support. Finding
that no provision had been made, and that Napoleon remained absolutely
destitute, a contribution was made, and four or five millions were
raised for him, of which M. Lafitte became the depositary.

At the moment of his departure from Malmaison, the solicitude of
Napoleon’s real friends was not less serviceable to him.—An
individual, aware of the disorder and confusion of our situation,
wished to ascertain whether the little treasure had been forwarded to
its destination. What was his astonishment on learning that the
carriage in which it had been placed was left in a coach-house at
Malmaison. A new difficulty arose: the key of the coach-house was not
to be found; and the embarrassment occasioned by this unexpected
circumstance delayed our departure for some moments. M. Lafitte wished
immediately to give the Emperor a receipt for the sum; but Napoleon
would not accept it—saying, “I know you, M. Lafitte—I know that you
did not approve of my government: but I consider you as an honest
man.”

M. Lafitte seems to have been doomed to be the depositary of the funds
of unfortunate Monarchs. Louis XVIII., on his departure for Ghent,
also placed a considerable sum of money in his hands. On Napoleon’s
arrival, on the 20th of March, M. Lafitte was sent for by the Emperor,
and questioned respecting the deposit, which he did not deny. On his
expressing his apprehension lest a reproach should be intended to be
conveyed in the questions which had been put to him;—“None,” said the
Emperor: “that money belonged personally to the King, and private
affairs are totally distinct from political matters.”

On taking the command of the army of Italy, Napoleon, notwithstanding his extreme youth, immediately impressed the troops with a spirit of subordination, confidence, and the most absolute devotedness. The army was subdued by his genius, rather than seduced by his popularity: he was in general very severe and reserved. During the whole course of his life he has uniformly disdained to court the favour of the multitude by unworthy means; perhaps he has even carried this feeling to an extent which may have been injurious to him. A singular custom was established in the army of Italy, in consequence of the youth of the commander, or from some other cause.—After each battle, the eldest soldiers used to hold a council, and confer a new rank on their young General, who, when he made his appearance in the camp, was received by the veterans, and saluted with his new title. They made him a Corporal at Lodi, and a Serjeant at Castiglione; and hence the surname of “_Petit Caporal_,” which was for a long time applied to Napoleon by the soldiers. How subtle is the chain which unites the most trivial circumstances to the most important events! Perhaps this very nick-name contributed to his miraculous success on his return in 1815.—While he was haranguing the first battalion he met, which he found it necessary to parley with, a voice from the ranks exclaimed, “_Vive notre petit_ _Caporal!_ we will never fight against him!”

The administration of the Directory, and that of the General-in-chief of the army of Italy, seemed two distinct Governments. The Directory in France put the emigrants to death: the army of Italy never inflicted capital punishment on any one of them. The Directory, on learning that Wurmser was besieged in Mantua, went so far as to write to Napoleon, to remind him that he was an emigrant; but Napoleon, on making him prisoner, eagerly sought to render an affecting homage of respect to his old age. The Directory adopted the most insulting forms in communicating with the Pope: the General of the army of Italy addressed him by the words “Most Holy Father,” and wrote to him with respect. The Directory endeavoured to overthrow the authority of the Pope: Napoleon preserved it. The Directory banished and proscribed Priests: Napoleon commanded his soldiers, wherever they might fall in with them, to remember that they were Frenchmen and their brothers. The Directory would have exterminated every vestige of aristocracy; Napoleon wrote to the democracy of Genoa, blaming their violence; and did not hesitate to declare that, if the Genoese attached any value to the preservation of his esteem, they must learn to respect the statue of Doria, and the institutions to which they were indebted for their glory.

THE EMPEROR DETERMINES TO WRITE
HIS MEMOIRS.

7th—9th. We continued our course, and nothing occurred to interrupt the uniformity which surrounded us. Our days were all alike; the correctness of my journal alone informed me of the day of the week or of the month. Fortunately my time was employed, and therefore the day usually slipped on with a certain degree of facility. The materials which I collected in the afternoon conversation employed me so as to leave no idle time until next day.

Meanwhile the Emperor observed that I was very much occupied, and he even suspected the subject on which I was engaged. He determined to ascertain the fact, and obtained sight of a few pages of my journal: he was not displeased with it. Having alluded several times to the subject, he observed that such a work would be interesting rather than useful. The military events, for example, thus detailed in the ordinary course of conversation, would be meagre, incomplete, and devoid of end or object: they would be mere anecdotes, frequently of the most puerile kind, instead of grand operations and results. I eagerly seized the favourable opportunity: I entirely concurred in his opinion, and ventured to suggest the idea of his dictating to me the campaigns of Italy. “It would,” I observed, “be a benefit to the country—a true monument of national glory. Our time is unemployed, our hours are tedious; occupation will help to divert us, and some moments may not be devoid of pleasure.” This idea became the subject of various conversations.

At length the Emperor came to a determination, and on Saturday, the 9th of September, he called me into his cabin, and dictated to me, for the first time, some details respecting the siege of Toulon.

TRADE-WIND.—THE LINE.

10th—13th. On approaching the Line, we met with what are called the trade winds, that is to say, winds blowing constantly from the east. Science explains this phenomenon in a way sufficiently satisfactory. When a vessel sailing from Europe first encounters these winds, they blow from the north-east; in proportion as the ship approaches the Line, the winds become more easterly. Calms are generally to be apprehended under the Line. When the Line is crossed, the winds gradually change to the south, until they blow in the direction of the south-east. At length, after passing the tropics, the trade-winds are lost, and variable winds are met with, as in our European regions. A ship sailing from Europe to St. Helena is always driven in a westerly direction by these constant easterly winds. It would be very difficult to gain that island by a direct course; and, indeed, this is never attempted. The ship stands away to the variable winds in the southern latitude, and then shapes her course towards the Cape of Good Hope, so as to fall in with the trade-winds from the south-east, which bring her, with the wind astern, to St. Helena.

Two different courses are taken to gain the variable winds of the southern latitudes; the one is to cross the Line about the 20th or 24th degree of longitude, reckoning from the meridian of London: those who prefer this course affirm that it is less exposed to the equatorial calms, and that, though it frequently has the disadvantage of carrying the vessel within sight of Brazil, yet it enables her to make that part of her voyage in a short time. Admiral Cockburn, who was inclined to regard this course as a prejudice and a routine, determined in favour of the second method, which consisted in steering more to the east; and, following particular examples with which he was acquainted, he endeavoured to cross the Line about the 2nd or 3rd degrees of longitude. He doubted not that, standing towards the variable winds, he should pass sufficiently near St. Helena to shorten his passage considerably, even if he should not succeed in reaching the island by tacking without leaving the trade-winds.

The winds, to our great astonishment, veered to the west, (a circumstance which the Admiral informed us was more common than we supposed) and this tended to favour his opinion. He abandoned the bad sailers of his squadron, in proportion as they lagged behind: and he determined on gaining the place of his destination with all possible speed.

A STORM.—EXAMINATION OF CERTAIN LIBELS UPON
THE EMPEROR.—GENERAL REFLECTIONS.

14th-18th. After a few slight gales and several calms, we had on the 16th a considerable fall of rain, to the great joy of the crew. The heat was very moderate; it may, indeed, be said that, with the exception of the storm at Madeira, we had uniformly enjoyed mild weather. But water was very scarce on board the ship; and, for the sake of economy, the crew took advantage of the opportunity of collecting the rain water, of which each sailor laid by a little store for his own use. The rain fell heavily just as the Emperor had got upon deck to take his afternoon walk. But this did not disappoint him of his usual exercise; he merely called for his famous grey great coat, which the English regarded with deep interest. The Grand Marshal and I attended the Emperor in his walk. The rain descended heavily for upwards of an hour; when the Emperor left the deck, I had great difficulty in stripping off my wet clothes; almost every thing I wore was soaked through.

For several succeeding days the weather continued very rainy; this somewhat impeded my labours, for the damp penetrated into our wretched little cabin; and on the other hand, it was not very agreeable to walk on deck. This was the first time during our passage that we had had any thing like a continuance of wet weather; and it quite disconcerted us. I filled up the intervals, between my hours of occupation, in conversing with the officers of the ship. I was not on intimate terms with any of them; but I kept up a daily intercourse of civility and politeness to them all. They loved to talk with us on French affairs, and their ignorance of all that concerned France and the French people was almost incredible. We excited mutual astonishment in each other: they surprised us by their degenerate political principles, and we astonished them by our new ideas and manners, of which they had previously formed no conception. They certainly knew infinitely less of France than of China.

One of the principal officers of the ship, in a familiar conversation, happened to say—“I suppose you would be very much alarmed if we were to land you on the coast of France?”—“Why so?” I enquired.—“Because,” replied he, “the King would perhaps make you pay dearly for having left your country to follow another Sovereign; and also because you wear a cockade which he has prohibited.”—“And is this language becoming an Englishman?” observed I. “You must be degenerate indeed! You are, it is true, far removed from the period of your revolution, to which you so justly apply the epithet _glorious_. But we, who are nearer to ours, by which we have gained so much, may tell you that every word you say is heresy. In the first place, our punishment depends not on the King’s pleasure; we are subject only to the law. Now, there exists no law against us; and if any law were to be violated for the purpose of applying to our case, it would be your duty to protect us. Your general has pledged himself to do so by the capitulation of Paris; and it would be an eternal disgrace to the English Ministry were they to permit the sacrifice of lives which their public faith had solemnly guaranteed.

“In the next place, we are not following another sovereign. That the Emperor Napoleon was our sovereign is an undeniable fact; but he has abdicated, and his reign is at an end. You are confounding private actions with party measures; love and devotedness, with political opinions. Finally, with regard to our colours, which seem to have dazzled you so much, they are but a remnant of our old costume. We wear them to-day, only because we wore them yesterday. One cannot with indifference lay aside things to which one is attached; that can only be done from constraint or necessity. Why did you not deprive us of our colours when you deprived us of our arms?—the one act would have been as reasonable as the other. We are here only as private men; we do not preach sedition. We cannot deny that these colours are dear to us: we are attached to them because they have seen us victorious over all our enemies; because we have paraded them in triumph through every capital in Europe; and because we wore them while we were the first nation in the world.”

On another occasion, one of the officers, after glancing at the extraordinary vicissitude of recent events, said—“Who knows whether we may not yet be destined to repair the misfortunes which we have occasioned to you? What would be your astonishment if Wellington should one day conduct Napoleon back to Paris?”—“I should be astonished indeed,” I replied: “but I should certainly decline the honour of being one of the party: at such a price, I would not hesitate to abandon Napoleon himself! But I may rest easy on that score; for I can swear Napoleon will never put me to such a trial. It is from him I imbibe these sentiments: it was he who cured me of the contrary doctrine, which I call the error of my youth.”

The English were very fond of asking us questions concerning the Emperor, whose character and disposition, as they afterwards avowed, had been represented to them in the falsest colours. It was not their fault, they observed, if they formed an erroneous estimate of his character: they knew him only through the works published in England, which were all greatly exaggerated, and much to his prejudice: they had several of these publications on board the ship.—One day I happened to cast my eyes on one of a most malignant character: on another occasion, when I was about to look at a book which one of the officers was reading, he suddenly closed it, observing it was so violent against the Emperor that he could not prevail on himself to let me see it. Another time, the Admiral questioned me respecting certain imputations contained in different works in his library, some of which he said enjoyed a degree of credit, while all had produced a great sensation, in England. This circumstance suggested to me the idea of successively examining all the works of this kind that were on board the ship, in order to note down my opinion of them in my journal—conceiving that so favourable an opportunity might never again occur of obtaining, if I chose, information on those points which it might be worth while to enquire into.

Before I commence my review of these works, I must beg to offer a few general remarks: they will suffice to answer by anticipation many of the numberless accusations that will fall in my way. Calumny and falsehood are the arms of the civil or political, the foreign or domestic enemy. They are the resource of the vanquished and the feeble, of those who are governed by hatred or fear.—They are the food of the drawing-room, and the garbage of the public place: they rage with the greater fury in proportion as their object is exalted: there is nothing which they will not venture to promulgate. The more absurd, ridiculous, and incredible calumnies and falsehoods may be, the more eagerly are they received and repeated from mouth to mouth. Triumph and success are but fresh causes of irritation: a moral storm will invariably gather; and, bursting in the moment of adversity, it will precipitate and complete the fall, and become the immense lever of public opinion.

No man was ever so much assailed and abused as Napoleon. No individual was ever the subject of so many pamphlets, libels, atrocious and absurd stories and false assertions. Nor could it be otherwise. Napoleon, risen from the common rank of life to supreme distinction; advancing at the head of a revolution which he himself had civilized; plunged by these two circumstances into a deadly contest with the rest of Europe—a contest in which he was subdued only because he wished to terminate it too speedily—Napoleon uniting in himself the genius, the force, the destiny of his own power, the conqueror of his neighbours, and, in some measure, a universal Monarch—a _Marius_ in the eyes of the aristocrats of Europe, a _Sylla_ for the demagogues, a _Cæsar_ for the republicans—could not but raise against himself a hurricane of passions both at home and abroad.

Despair, policy, and fury, in every country, painted him as an object of detestation and alarm. Thus, all that has been said against him can excite no astonishment: it is only surprising that more calumny has not been uttered, and that it has not produced a much greater effect. When in the enjoyment of his power, he never would permit any one to reply to the attacks that were made upon him. “The pains bestowed on such answers,” said he, “would only have given additional weight to the accusations they were intended to refute. It would have been said that all that was written in my defence was ordered and paid for. The ill-managed praise of those by whom I was surrounded had already, in some instances, been more prejudicial to me than all the abuse of which I was the object. Facts were the most convincing answers. A fine monument, another good law, or a new triumph, were sufficient to defeat thousands of such falsehoods. Declamation passes away, but deeds remain!”

This is unquestionably true with regard to posterity. The great men of former times are handed down to us free from the ephemeral accusations of their contemporaries. But it is not thus during the lifetime of the individual; and, in 1814, Napoleon was convinced by cruel experience that even deeds may vanish before the fury of declamation. At the moment of his fall, he was absolutely overwhelmed by a torrent of abuse. But it was reserved for him, whose life had been so fertile in prodigies, to surmount this adverse stroke of fate, and almost immediately to arise resplendent from amidst his own ruins. His miraculous return is certainly unparalleled both in its execution and its results. The transports which it called forth penetrated into neighbouring countries, where prayers for his success were offered up either publicly or in secret; and he who, in 1814, was defeated and pursued as the scourge of human nature, suddenly re-appeared in 1815 as the hope of his fellow-creatures.

Calumny and falsehood in this instance lost their prey by having overshot their mark. The good sense of mankind in a great measure rendered justice to Napoleon, and the abuse that had been heaped upon him would not be believed now. “Poison lost its effect on Mithridates,” said the Emperor, as he was the other day glancing over some new libels upon himself, “and, since 1814, calumny cannot injure me.”

In the universal clamour which was directed against him when in the enjoyment of his power, England bore the most conspicuous part.

In England two great machines were maintained in full activity; the one conducted by the emigrants, for whom nothing was too bad; and the other under the control of the English ministers, who had established a system of defamation, and who had regularly organized its action and effects. They maintained in their pay pamphleteers and libelists in every corner of Europe; their tasks were marked out to them: and their plans of attack were regularly laid and combined.

The English ministry multiplied the employment of these potent engines in England more than elsewhere. The English, who were more free and enlightened than other nations, stood the more in need of excitement. From this system the English ministers derived the two-fold advantage of rousing public opinion against the common enemy, and withdrawing attention from their own conduct by directing popular clamour and indignation to the character and conduct of others: by this means their own character and conduct were screened from that investigation and recrimination which they might not have found very agreeable. Thus the assassination of Paul at St. Petersburgh, and of our envoys in Persia; the seizure of Napper-Tandy in the free city of Hamburgh; the capture, in time of peace, of two rich Spanish frigates; the acquisition of the whole of India; the retaining of Malta and the Cape of Good Hope, against the faith of treaties: the Machiavelian rupture of the treaty of Amiens; the unjust seizure of our ships previously to a new declaration of war: the Danish fleet seized with such cold and ironical perfidy, &c. &c.; all these aggressions were overlooked in the general agitation which had been artfully stirred up against a foreign power.

In order to take a just view of the accusations which have been heaped upon Napoleon, by the numerous publications written against him, it is necessary to make allowance for passions and circumstances; to reject with contempt all that is apocryphal, anonymous, and purely declamatory; and to adhere solely to the facts and proofs which would doubtless have been produced by those who, after the overthrow of their enemy, became possessed of the authentic documents, the archives of the public departments and courts of law, in short, of all the sources of truth which are usually to be found in society. But nothing has been published; nothing has been brought forward; and, therefore, how much of this monstrous scaffolding falls to the ground. And to be still more rigidly equitable, if we wish to judge Napoleon by the example of his peers, or great men in analogous circumstances; that is to say, by comparing him with the founders of dynasties, or those who have ascended thrones by dint of popular commotions, it may then confidently be said that he is unequalled, and that he shines purely from amidst all that is opposed to him. It would be a loss of time to cite the numberless examples furnished by ancient and modern history: they are accessible to every one. It is only necessary to refer to the two countries which are here under consideration.

Did Napoleon, like Hugues Capet, fight against his sovereign? Did he cause him to perish in captivity?

Did Napoleon act like the princes of the present house of Brunswick, who, in 1715 and 1745, crowded the scaffold with victims—victims to whom the present English ministers, through their inconsequential policy and the principles they now profess, leave no other title than that of faithful subjects dying for their lawful sovereign?

The course by which Napoleon advanced to supreme power is perfectly simple and natural; it is single in history; the very circumstances of his elevation render it unparalleled. “I did not usurp the crown,” said he one day to the Council of State, “I took it up out of the mire; the people placed it on my head: let their acts be respected!”

And by thus taking up the crown, Napoleon restored France to her rank in European society, terminated her horrors, and revived her character. He freed us of all the evils of our fatal crisis, and reserved to us all the advantages arising out of it. “I ascended the throne unsullied by any of the crimes of my situation,” said he, on one occasion. “How few founders of dynasties can say as much!”

Never, during any period of our history, were favours distributed with so much impartiality; never was merit so indiscriminately sought out and rewarded; public money so usefully employed; the arts and sciences better encouraged, or the glory and lustre of the country raised to so high a pitch. “It is my wish,” said he one day to the Council of State, “that the title of Frenchman should be the best and most desirable on earth; that a Frenchman travelling through any part of Europe may think and find himself at home.”

If liberty seemed occasionally to suffer encroachments, if authority seemed sometimes to overstep its limits, circumstances rendered those measures necessary and inevitable. Our present misfortunes have, though too late, made us sensible of this truth; we now render justice, though also too late, to the courage, judgment, and foresight which then dictated those steps. It is certain that in this respect the political fall of Napoleon has considerably increased his influence. Who can now doubt that his glory and the lustre of his character have been infinitely augmented by his misfortunes?

If the works which have fallen in my way should present any circumstances connected with these general considerations, they will be the object of my particular attention. I do not intend to enter upon a political controversy; I shall not address myself to party men, whose opinions are founded on their interests and passions; I speak only to the cool friend of truth, or to the unprejudiced writer, who in future times may impartially seek for materials: to them alone I address myself; in their eyes my testimony will be superior to anonymous evidence, and will rank with that which bears a credible character.

The first work that I looked into was the _Anti-Gallican_, of which I shall speak hereafter.

EMPLOYMENT OF OUR TIME.

19th-22nd. We continued our course with the same wind, the same sky, and the same temperature. Our voyage was monotonous, but pleasant; our days were long, but employment helped them to glide away. The Emperor now began regularly to dictate to me his Campaigns of Italy. I had already written several chapters. For the first few days, the Emperor viewed this occupation with indifference; but the regularity and promptitude with which I presented to him my daily task, together with the progress we made, soon excited his interest, and at length the pleasure he derived from this dictation rendered it absolutely necessary to him. He was sure to send for me about eleven o’clock every morning, and he seemed himself to await the hour with impatience. I always read to him what he had dictated on the preceding day, and he then made corrections and dictated farther. In this way the time passed rapidly till four o’clock arrived, when he summoned his valet-de-chambre. He then proceeded to the state-cabin, and passed the time until dinner in playing at piquet or chess.

The Emperor dictates very rapidly, almost as fast as he speaks in ordinary conversation. I was therefore obliged to invent a kind of hieroglyphic writing: and I, in my turn, dictated to my son. I was happy enough to be able to collect almost literally every sentence that fell from him. I had now not a moment to spare; at dinner time somebody was sure to come and tell me that all the company were seated at table. Fortunately my seat was near the door, which always stood open. I had some time since changed my place at the request of Captain Ross, the commander of the vessel, who, as he did not speak French, took the opportunity of occasionally asking me the meaning of words: I therefore took my seat between him and the Grand Marshal. Captain Ross was a man of agreeable manners, and was exceedingly kind and attentive to us. I had learnt, according to the English custom, to invite him to take a glass of wine, drinking mine to the health of his wife, and he would then drink to the health of mine. This was our daily practice.

After dinner, the Emperor never failed to allude to his morning dictation, as if pleased with the occupation and amusement it had afforded him. On these occasions, as well as whenever I happened to meet him in the course of the day, he would address me in a jocular tone with: “Ah! sage Las Cases!—Illustrious memorialist!—the Sully of St. Helena;” and other similar expressions. Then he would frequently add: “My dear Las Cases, these Memoirs will be as celebrated as any that have preceded them. You will survive as long as any previous memoir-writer. It will be impossible to dwell upon the great events of our time, or to write about me, without referring to you.” Then resuming his pleasantry, he would add: “After all, it will be said, he must have known Napoleon well; he was his Councillor of State, his Chamberlain, his faithful companion. We cannot help believing him, for he was an honest man and incapable of misrepresentation.”

ACCIDENTAL PHENOMENON.—PASSAGE OF THE LINE.—CHRISTENING.

23rd–25th. The West wind still continued, to our great astonishment; it was a sort of phenomenon in these regions, and had hitherto been very much in our favour. But, with regard to phenomena, chance produced one of a much more extraordinary kind on the 23rd, when we crossed the Line in 0° latitude 0° longitude, and 0° declination. This is a circumstance which chance alone may perhaps renew only once in a century, since it is necessary to arrive precisely at the first meridian about noon, in order to pass the Line at that same hour, and to arrive there at the same time with the sun.

This was a day of great merriment and disorder among the crew: it was the ceremony which our sailors call _the Christening_, and which the English call _the great Shaving day_. The sailors dress themselves up in the most grotesque way; one is disguised as Neptune, and all persons on board the ship who have not previously crossed the Line, are formally presented to him; an immense razor is passed over their chins, with a lather made of pitch; buckets of water are thrown over them, and the loud bursts of laughter which accompany their retreat complete their initiation into the grand mystery. No one is spared; and the officers are generally more roughly used than the lowest of the sailors. The Admiral, who had previously amused himself by endeavouring to alarm us with the anticipation of this awful ceremony, now very courteously exempted us from the inconvenience and ridicule attending it. We were, with every mark of attention and respect, presented to the rude god, who paid to each of us a compliment after his own fashion: and thus our trial ended.

The Emperor was scrupulously respected during the whole of this Saturnalian festivity, when respect is usually shewn to no one. On being informed of the decorum which had been observed with respect to him, he ordered a hundred Napoleons to be distributed to the grotesque Neptune and his crew, which the Admiral opposed, perhaps from motives of prudence as well as politeness.

EXAMINATION OF THE ANTI-GALLICAN.—SIR ROBERT WILSON’S WRITINGS.—PLAGUE
AT JAFFA.—ANECDOTES OF THE FRENCH ARMY IN EGYPT.—FEELINGS OF THE
ARMY IN THE EGYPTIAN CAMPAIGN.—BERTHIER.—JESTS OF THE
SOLDIERY.—DROMEDARIES.—DEATH OF KLEBER.—THE YOUNG ARAB.—SINGULAR
COINCIDENCES RESPECTING PHILIPEAUX AND NAPOLEON.—CIRCUMSTANCES ON
WHICH THE FATE OF INDIVIDUALS DEPENDS.—CAFFARELLI’S ATTACHMENT TO
NAPOLEON.—REPUTATION OF THE FRENCH ARMY IN THE EAST.—NAPOLEON
QUITTING EGYPT TO ASSUME THE GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE.—THE ENGLISH
EXPEDITION.—KLEBER AND DESAIX.

26th—30th. The weather still continued favourable. Having passed the Line, we momentarily expected to fall in with an east or south-east wind. The continuance of the west wind was extraordinary, and it was impossible it could last much longer. The resolution which the Admiral had adopted of bearing considerably to the east rendered our situation very favourable, and we had every reason to hope for a short passage.

One afternoon, the sailors caught an enormous shark. The Emperor enquired the cause of the great noise and confusion which he suddenly heard overhead; being informed of what had occurred, he expressed a wish to have a sight of the sea-monster. He accordingly went up to the poop, and incautiously approached too near the animal, which by a sudden movement knocked down four or five of the sailors, and had well nigh broken the Emperor’s legs. He went below with his left stocking covered with blood: we thought he was severely hurt, but it proved to be only the blood of the shark.

My labours advanced with the greatest regularity. The Anti-Gallican, which was the first work I undertook to read, was a volume of five hundred pages, comprising all that had been written in England at the time when that country was menaced with the French invasion. It was the object of the English government to nationalize opposition to that attempt, and to rouse the whole nation against her dangerous enemy. The book contained a collection of public speeches, exhortations, patriotic appeals of zealous citizens, satirical songs, sarcastic productions, and highly-coloured newspaper articles, all pouring a torrent of odium and ridicule upon the French and their First Consul, whose courage, genius, and power excited the greatest alarm. This was all perfectly natural and allowable. Productions of this sort are like a shower of arrows thrown by combatants before they come to a close action: some hit, and some are carried away by the wind. Such writings will never afford satisfactory evidence to a man of judgment, and they scarcely merit contradiction.

Pamphleteers are little regarded, because their character is the antidote of their poison: it is not so with the historian. The latter, however, degrades himself to a level with the pamphlet-writer when he departs from the calm dignity and impartiality required for his office, to indulge in declamation and to steep his pen in gall.

With these feelings I arose from the perusal of the different productions of Sir Robert Wilson, which I read after the Anti-Gallican. This writer did us the greater injury, because his talents, his courage, and his numerous and brilliant services, gave him importance in the eyes of his countrymen. A circumstance which I am about to state caused the writings of Sir R. Wilson to be particularly known and spoken of on board the ship.

Sir Robert had a son among the young midshipmen on board the Northumberland, and my son, whose similarity of age occasioned him to be much in the society of these youths, could easily observe the change which took place in their opinions with respect to us. They were at first very much prejudiced against us. When the Emperor came on board, they regarded him as an ogre ready to devour them. But on a better acquaintance with us, truth soon exercised over them the same influence which it produced on the rest of the crew. This was, however, at the expense of young Wilson, who was scouted by his companions, by way of expiation, as they said, for the stories which his father had circulated.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_At this part of the manuscript a great number of pages are struck out; the reason was explained, on the margin, as follows:_

“I had collected numerous offensive statements from the writings of Sir Robert Wilson, to which I had perhaps replied with too much bitterness: a recent circumstance has induced me to suppress this portion of my journal.

“Sir Robert Wilson has lately acted a conspicuous part in a cause which does honour to the hearts of all who were concerned in it: I allude to the saving of Lavalette. Being asked, before a French tribunal, whether he had not formerly published works respecting our affairs? he replied in the affirmative, and added that he had stated in them what he _then_ believed to be true. These words are more to the purpose than any thing I could say; and I therefore hasten to cancel what I have already written; happy in thus having an opportunity to render justice to Sir Robert Wilson, on whose sincerity and good intentions I had, in my indignation, cast reflections.”[19]

Footnote 19:

After my removal from Longwood, Sir Hudson Lowe, who had seized my
papers, looked over this Journal, with my permission. He, of course,
met with parts which were very displeasing to him; and he said to me:
“What a pretty legacy you are preparing for my children, Count!”—“That
is not my fault,” replied I; “it depends only on yourself to render it
otherwise; I shall be happy to have reason to strike out any thing
respecting you, as I did the other day with regard to Sir Robert
Wilson.” Upon which he asked me what I had written about Sir Robert,
and I pointed out the place. After reading all that had been written,
and my reasons for cancelling it, he said, with a thoughtful and
mortified air: “Yes, I see; but I can’t tell what to make of it; for I
know Wilson well, and he has proved himself a warm friend of the
Bourbons.”

We leaped for joy when we heard of the deliverance of Lavalette. Some
one observed, that his deliverer, Wilson, could not be the same
individual who had written so many offensive things concerning the
Emperor. “And why not?” said Napoleon. “You know but little of men,
and the passions that actuate them. What leads you to suppose that Sir
Robert Wilson is not a man of enthusiasm and violent passions, who
wrote what he then believed to be true? And while we were enemies we
contended with each other; but in our present adversity he knows
better: he may have been abused, and deceived, and may be sorry for
it; and he is perhaps now as sincere in wishing us well as he formerly
was in seeking to injure us.”

Either sagacity or chance so happily led the Emperor to this
conclusion that it may be said he was enabled to read character at a
distance. Sir R. Wilson was indeed the man who wrote against Napoleon.
Vexed to see a great people deprived of their natural rights, he
reproached the allies as bitterly as though they had imposed chains on
himself, and no one has manifested stronger indignation at the
treatment of Napoleon, or testified a more ardent wish to see it end.

I therefore set aside the works of Sir Robert Wilson, and the various accusations contained in them; I also suppress the numerous refutations I had collected. I shall merely stop to consider one circumstance which has been repeated in a hundred different works; the report of which has been circulated through Europe, and has obtained credit even in France. I allude to the poisoning of the men infected with the plague at Jaffa.

Certainly nothing can more clearly prove how easily calumny may effect its object. If the voice of slander be bold and powerful, and can command numerous echoes, no matter how far probability, reason, common sense, and truth be violated—the wished-for end is sure to be attained.