Chapter VII: Part 7

4th—7th. The continuance of the south-west wind was truly unfortunate. We were now going back instead of forward and we had completely entered the Gulf of Guinea. There we perceived a ship, with which we spoke. She proved to be a French ship, driven out of her course like ourselves. She had sailed from a port in Britany, and was bound for the Isle of Bourbon. The Emperor had been much distressed for want of books; and I jokingly said that perhaps I might have a box-full on board that ship, as I had despatched one to the Isle of Bourbon, a few months since. I spoke truly. Such is the caprice of chance! Had I been in quest of this ship, I might have traversed the ocean in vain. This was the identical vessel: I learned her name next day from the officer who had visited her. This officer strangely surprised the French captain, by telling him that the Emperor Napoleon was on board the ship which he then saw making for St. Helena. The poor fellow shook his head sorrowfully, and said, “You have robbed us of our treasure: you have taken away him who knew how to govern us according to our tastes and manners.”

COMPLAINTS OF THE CREW AGAINST THE ADMIRAL.—EXAMINATION
OF ANOTHER WORK.—REFUTATIONS.—REFLECTIONS.

8th—11th. The weather continued obstinately settled. We every evening consoled ourselves, for the unfavourable state of the day, with the hope of a change during the night; but we arose in the morning with the same disappointment. We had been almost within sight of the Congo, and we stood off. Every one manifested discontent and _ennui_. The crew complained of the Admiral; had he taken the usual course, said they, we should have reached our destination long before; his caprice, they observed, had led him, in spite of reason, to try an experiment, of which they knew not what might be the consequence. Their murmurs were not, however, so vehement as those raised against Christopher Columbus; we should not have been ill pleased had he been reduced to the necessity of finding another Saint Salvador, in order to evade the crisis. Being for my own part fully occupied, this circumstance engrossed but little of my attention; and after all, one prison was as good as another. As to the Emperor, he was still more unconcerned at this delay; he merely looked upon it as so many days spent.

_Les Mémoires de Napoléon Bonaparte, par quelqu’un qui ne l’a jamais quitté pendant 15 ans_, (_The Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, by one who was constantly near him, during fifteen years_,) was the title of a work which I began to examine after the writings of Sir Robert Wilson. It is a volume of three hundred pages, by an anonymous author—a circumstance in itself sufficient to inspire distrust at the first outset. But the composition and style of the work soon created more positive doubts in the mind of the reflecting reader, who is accustomed to judge of books. Finally, he who has seen and known but little of the Emperor will not hesitate to affirm, on reading the very first pages, that this work is a mere romance, written at pleasure; that the author has never approached the Emperor; and that he is a hundred leagues distant from his language, habits, and every thing concerning him. The Emperor never said to a minister: “Count, do this,”—“Count, execute that.” Ambassadors never attended his levee. Napoleon could not, at fourteen years of age, have made to a lady in company, the reply attributed to him, relative to the Viscomte de Turenne; because from the age of ten to eighteen he was attending the Military School, where he could not possibly have been introduced to the company of ladies. It was not Perignon, who did not know him, but Dugommier, who had been his General, who recommended him in so marked a way to the Directory. It was a letter for restoring the Democracy, and not the Bourbons, which an officer addressed to the First Consul, &c.

The Emperor, who in Europe was universally acknowledged to have preserved the most impenetrable secrecy with regard to his plans and views, never indulged in gestures, and still less in soliloquies, which would have been likely to betray him: nor did his anger ever throw him into fits of insanity or epilepsy—an absurd fabrication which was long circulated in the saloons of Paris, but which was relinquished when it was found that those accidents never occurred on important occasions. These Memoirs have unquestionably been an ordered work, the speculation of some bookseller who has furnished the title. Be this as it may, it might have been supposed that, in adverting to a career so public as that of the Emperor and of those who surrounded him, the author might have evinced more accuracy and knowledge of his subject. He is aware of his insufficiency on this head, and seeks to defend himself by saying that he was under the necessity of altering names, and that he did not wish to render certain portraits too striking; but he also observes this circumspection with regard to facts, so that they cannot be recognised. They are for the most part entirely the creations of his own fancy. Thus, the paper whose loss cost the General-in-chief so much anxiety in Egypt; the recommendation of the young Englishman, who transported Bonaparte with joy by opening to him so brilliant a perspective of fortune at Constantinople; the melodrama of Malmaison, where the heroism of Madame Bonaparte (who is described as an absolute amazon) so promptly secures the safety of her husband, may perhaps excite the interest of the reader; but they are only so many fables; and the story relative to Malmaison shews that the author knew no more of the character and disposition of the Empress Josephine than of those of the Emperor. The writer, however, by extolling certain traits, praising certain actions, and refuting certain falsehoods, assumes an air of impartiality, which, joined to his pretended situation near the Emperor during fifteen years, produces a wonderful effect in the eyes of common readers. Most of the Englishmen on board the vessel looked upon this work as a kind of oracle. Their opinion was not changed on finding the Emperor’s character so different from that attributed to him in this romance. They were inclined to believe that adversity and constraint had wrought an alteration in the Emperor, rather than to suppose that these printed statements were false. To my observations, they constantly replied:—“But the author was an impartial man, and one who was about the Emperor for fifteen years:”—“But,” said I, “what is this man’s name? If he had personally injured you in his book, how could you bring him to justice? Any body here might have written it!” These arguments were of course unanswerable; but the English found great difficulty in overcoming their first impressions: such are the common mass of readers, and such is the effect inevitably produced by printed falsehoods!

But I shall no longer continue my examination of a work which is not deserving of farther notice; I therefore dispense with the remainder. On revising my manuscript in Europe, I found that public opinion had made such progress that I should be ashamed to waste time in refuting allegations and facts which judgment and common sense have long since rejected, and which are now repeated only by fools.

In endeavouring to subvert the erroneous notions which this author thought proper to create respecting the character of Napoleon, it will perhaps be thought that I should substitute my own opinions in their stead; but this I shall carefully avoid. I shall content myself with noting down all that I saw and heard; I will report his conversations, and nothing more must be expected.

12th—13th. By dint of patience, and with the help of a few trifling variations, we gradually approached the termination of our voyage; and, though deprived of the natural monsoon, we had now advanced within a short distance of our place of destination. As we continued our course, the weather gradually improved, and at length the wind became perfectly favourable; but this change did not take place until twenty-four hours before our arrival.

14th.—The Admiral had previously informed us that he expected to come within sight of St. Helena this day. We had scarcely risen from table when our ears were saluted with the cry of _Land!_ This was just within a quarter of an hour of the moment that had been fixed on. Nothing can better prove the advancement of navigation, than this sort of miracle, by which seamen are enabled to foretel the hour at which they shall arrive at a particular point in the vast expanse. The Emperor went on the forecastle to see the island: he thought he perceived it, but I could see nothing. We lay-to all night.

ARRIVAL OFF SAINT-HELENA.

15th.—At day light I had a tolerably near view of the island. At first I thought it rather extensive; but it seemed to diminish considerably as we approached. At length, about seventy days after our departure from England, and a hundred and ten after our departure from Paris, we cast anchor about noon. This was the first link of the chain that was to bind the modern Prometheus to his rock.

We found at anchor several of the vessels of our squadron, which had separated from us, or which we had left behind. They had, however, arrived several days before us: another proof of the extreme uncertainty attending nautical calculations.

The Emperor, contrary to custom, dressed early and went upon deck; he went forward on the gangway to view the island. We beheld a kind of village surrounded by numerous barren and naked hills towering to the clouds. Every platform, every aperture, the brow of every hill, was planted with cannon. The Emperor viewed the prospect through his glass. I stood behind him. My eyes were constantly fixed on his countenance, in which I could perceive no change; and yet he saw before him, perhaps his perpetual prison!—perhaps his grave!... What, then, remained for me to feel or to express!

The Emperor soon left the deck. He desired me to come to him, and we proceeded with our usual occupation.

The admiral, who had gone ashore very early, returned about six o’clock, much fatigued. He had been walking about various parts of the island, and at length thought he had found a habitation that would suit us. The place, however, stood in need of repairs which might occupy two months. We had now been confined to our wooden dungeon for nearly three months; and the precise instructions of the Ministers were that we should be detained there until our prison on shore was ready for our reception. The Admiral, to do him justice, was incapable of such barbarity; he informed us, at the same time betraying a sort of inward satisfaction, that he would take upon himself the responsibility of putting us ashore next day.

RESIDENCE AT BRIARS.

FROM THE 16th OF OCTOBER 1815,
THE DAY OF OUR LANDING AT SAINT-HELENA,
TO THE 9th OF DECEMBER, THE DAY PRECEDING THAT
OF OUR REMOVAL TO LONGWOOD.

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An interval of a Month and Twenty-four Days.

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LANDING OF THE EMPEROR AT SAINT-HELENA.

Oct. 16th.—After dinner, the Emperor, accompanied by the Grand Marshal, got into a boat to go ashore. By a remarkable and irresistible impulse, the officers all assembled on the quarter-deck, and the greater part of the crew on the gangways. This was not the effect of curiosity, which an acquaintance of three months’ duration could not fail to have removed, and which was now succeeded by the liveliest interest. The Emperor, before he stepped into the boat, sent for the captain of the vessel, and took leave of him, desiring him at the same time to convey his thanks to the officers and crew. These words appeared to produce a great sensation on all by whom they were understood, or to whom they were interpreted. The remainder of the Emperor’s suite landed about eight o’clock. We were accompanied by several of the officers, and every one on board seemed to be sincerely affected at our departure.

We found the Emperor in the apartment which had been assigned to him; a few minutes after our arrival he went up stairs to his chamber, where we were called to attend him. His situation here was no better than it had been on board the vessel; we found ourselves lodged in a sort of inn or hotel.

The town of St. Helena consists only of one very short street, or row of houses, built along a very narrow valley, formed between two mountains, quite perpendicular, composed of barren rock.

THE EMPEROR FIXES HIS ABODE AT BRIARS—DESCRIPTION
OF THE PLACE.—MISERABLE SITUATION.

17th.—At six o’clock in the morning the Emperor, the Grand Marshal, and the Admiral, rode out on horse-back to visit Longwood, a house which had been chosen for the Emperor’s residence, and was more than two leagues from the town. On their return they saw a small villa situated in the valley about two miles from the town. The Emperor was extremely reluctant to return to the place where he had passed the preceding night, and where he felt himself more completely secluded from the world than he had been when on board the vessel. What with the sentinels who guarded his doors, and the crowds of persons whom curiosity had attracted beneath his windows, he had been obliged to confine himself to his chamber. A small pavilion, attached to the villa above-mentioned, pleased him, and the Admiral was of opinion that he would be more agreeably situated there than in the town. In this place, therefore, the Emperor fixed his residence, and immediately sent for me. He had become so much interested in his work, on the Campaigns of Italy, that he could not suspend it:—I immediately proceeded to join him.

The little valley in which the village of St. Helena [James Town] is situated, extends to a considerable distance up the island, winding along between two chains of barren hills which enclose it on either side. A good carriage-road runs through this valley to the distance of about two miles; after which it is traced along the brow of the hill which rises on the left, while nothing but precipices and gulfs are discoverable on the right. The rugged aspect of the country here gradually diminishes, and the road opens on a small level height, on which are several houses interspersed with trees and different kinds of vegetation: this is a little oasis amidst the rocky desert. Here is situated the modest residence of Mr. Balcombe, a merchant of the island. At the distance of thirty or forty paces from the dwelling-house, on a pointed eminence, stood a little summer-house or pavilion, to which, in fine weather, the family were accustomed to retire to take tea and amuse themselves: this was the obscure retreat hired by the Admiral, as the temporary residence of the Emperor; and he took possession of it in the morning. As I was ascending the winding path leading to the pavilion, I thought I perceived the Emperor, and stopped to look at him. It was Napoleon himself: his body was slightly bent, and his hands behind his back; he wore his usual neat and simple uniform, and his celebrated little hat. He was standing at the threshold of the door whistling a popular French tune, when I advanced towards him. “Ah!” said he, “here you are! Why have you not brought your son?” “Sire,” I replied, “the respect, the consideration I owe you prevented me.”—“You cannot do without him,” continued he; “send for him.”

In none of his campaigns, perhaps in no situation of his past life, had the Emperor been so wretchedly lodged, or subject to so many privations. The summer-house contained one room, nearly square, on the ground-floor, having two doors facing each other on two of its sides, and two windows on each of the other sides. These windows had neither curtains nor shutters, and there was scarcely a seat in the room. The Emperor was at this moment alone; his two valets-de-chambre were bustling about to prepare his bed. He wished to walk a little; but there was no level ground on any side of the pavilion, which was surrounded by huge pieces of stone and rock. He took my arm, and began to converse in a cheerful strain. Night was advancing; profound silence, undisturbed solitude, prevailed on every side;—what a crowd of sensations and sentiments overwhelmed me at this moment!—I was in this desert, _tête-a-tête_, and enjoying familiar conversation with the man who had ruled the world!—with Napoleon! What were my feelings!——But to understand them it would be necessary to revert to the days of his past glory; to the time when one of his decrees sufficed to subvert thrones and create kings! It would be necessary to reflect on what he was to all who surrounded him at the Tuileries: the timid embarrassment, the profound respect, with which he was approached by his ministers and officers; the anxiety, the dread of ambassadors, princes and even kings! With me all these sentiments remained in full force.

When the Emperor was about to retire to rest, we found that one of the windows (which, as I have already observed, had neither shutters nor curtains) was close upon his bed, nearly on a level with his face. We barricadoed it as well as we could, so as to exclude the air, of the effects of which the Emperor is very susceptible, the least draught being sufficient to give him cold or the tooth-ache. For my part I ascended to the upper story, immediately above the Emperor’s room. In this place, the dimensions of which were about seven feet square, there was only a bed, and not a single chair: this served as a lodging for me and my son, for whom a mattress was spread out upon the floor. But how could we complain, being so near the Emperor? we could hear the sound of his voice, and distinguish his words! The valets-de-chambre slept on the ground, across the doorway, wrapped up in their cloaks. Such is the faithful description of the first night which Napoleon passed at Briars.

DESCRIPTION OF BRIARS.—THE GARDEN.—THE EMPEROR
MEETS THE YOUNG LADIES OF THE HOUSE.

18th.—I breakfasted with the Emperor: he had neither table-cloth nor plates; and the remains of the preceding day’s dinner were brought to him for breakfast.

The English officer was lodged in the neighbouring house, as our guard, and two inferior officers marched up and down with an air of military parade before our eyes, for the purpose of watching our motions. Breakfast being over, the Emperor proceeded to his dictation, which occupied him some hours. He afterwards went to explore our new domain, and to take a view of the surrounding grounds.

Descending our hillock on the side facing the principal house, we found a path bordered by a hedge and running at the foot of precipices. After walking along the path to the distance of two hundred paces, we arrived at a little garden, the door of which was open. This garden is long and narrow, and formed on very uneven ground; but a tolerable level walk extends the whole length of it. At the entrance there is a sort of arbour at one extremity; and at the other are two huts for the negroes whose business it is to look after the garden. It contains some fruit-trees and a few flowers. We had no sooner entered the garden, than we were met by the daughters of the master of the house, girls about fourteen or fifteen years of age: the one sprightly, giddy, and caring for nothing; the other more sedate, but, at the same time, possessing great _naïveté_ of manner; both speak a little French. They had walked through the garden, and put all the flowers under contribution, to present them to the Emperor, whom they overwhelmed with the most whimsical and ridiculous questions. The Emperor was much amused by this familiarity, to which he was so little accustomed. “We have been to a masked ball,” said he, when the young ladies had taken their leave.

THE YOUTH OF FRANCE.—THE EMPEROR VISITS
MR. BALCOMBE’S HOUSE.

19th—20th. The Emperor invited my son to breakfast: it may be easily imagined that he was greatly overjoyed at this honour! It was, perhaps, the first time he had ever been so near the Emperor, or had spoken to him; and he was not a little flurried on the occasion.

The table still remained without a cloth; the breakfast continued to be brought from the town, and consisted of only two or three wretched dishes. To-day a chicken was brought: the Emperor wished to carve it himself, and to help us. He was astonished at finding that he succeeded so well; it was long, he said, since he had done so much: for all his politeness, he added, had been lost in the business and cares of his Generalship of Italy.

Coffee is almost a necessary of life to the Emperor: but here it proved so bad that, on tasting it he thought himself poisoned. He sent it away, and made me send away mine also.

The Emperor was at this moment using a snuff-box set with several ancient medals, which were surrounded by Greek inscriptions. The Emperor not being certain of the name of one of the heads, asked me to translate the inscription; and on my replying that it was beyond my powers, he laughed and said, “I see you are no better scholar than myself.” My son then tremblingly undertook the task, and read Mithridates, Demetrius-Poliorcetes, and some other names. The extreme youth of my son, and this circumstance, attracted the Emperor’s attention. “Is your son so far advanced?” said he; and he began to question him at great length respecting his Lyceum, his masters, his lessons, &c. Then turning to me, “What a rising generation I leave behind me!” said he. “This is all my work! The merits of the French youth will be a sufficient revenge to me. On beholding the work, all must render justice to the workman! and the perverted judgment or bad faith of declaimers must fall before my deeds. If I had thought only of myself, and of securing my own power, as has been continually asserted, if I had really had any other object in view than to establish the reign of reason, I should have endeavoured to _hide the light under a bushel_; instead of which, I devoted myself to the propagation of knowledge, and yet the youth of France have not enjoyed all the benefits which I intended they should. My University, according to the plan I had conceived, was a master-piece in its combinations, and would have been such in its national results. But an evil-disposed person spoiled all; and in so doing he was actuated no doubt by bad intentions, and with a view to some purpose.”

In the evening the Emperor went to visit our neighbours. Mr. Balcombe, who was suffering under a fit of the gout, lay stretched on a sofa; his wife and the two young ladies, whom he had met in the morning, were beside him. The _masked ball_ was resumed again with great spirit. Our guests liberally dealt out all their store of knowledge. The conversation turned on novels. One of the young ladies had read Madame Cottin’s _Mathilde_, and was delighted to find that the Emperor was acquainted with the work. An Englishman, with a great round face, to all appearance a true _vacuum plenum_, who had been listening earnestly, in order to turn his little knowledge of French to the best account, modestly ventured to ask the Emperor whether the Princess, the friend of Matilda, whose character he particularly admired, was still living? The Emperor with a very solemn air replied, “No, sir; she is dead and buried:” and he was almost tempted to believe he was himself hoaxed, until he found that the melancholy tidings almost drew tears from the great staring eyes of the Englishman.

The young ladies evinced no less simplicity, though in them it was more pardonable: however, I was led to conclude that they had not studied chronology very deeply. One of them turning over Florian’s _Estelle_, to shew us that she could read French, happened to light on the name of Gaston de Foix, and finding him distinguished by the title of General, she asked the Emperor whether he had been satisfied with his conduct in the army, whether he had escaped the dangers of war, and whether he was still living.

21st.—In the morning the Admiral came to visit the Emperor. He knocked at the door; and had I not been present, the Emperor must have been reduced to the alternative of opening it himself, or suffering the Admiral to wait on the outside.

All the scattered members of our little colony, likewise, came from the town, and we were for a short time collected together. Each described the wretchedness of his situation, and received the sympathy of the Emperor.

HORROR AND MISERY OF OUR SITUATION.—THE EMPEROR’S
INDIGNATION.—NOTE TO THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT.

23rd–24th. The English Ministers, in violating the rights of hospitality, to which we had trusted with such implicit confidence, seem to have omitted nothing adapted to make us feel this violation the more bitterly. By banishing us to the farthest extremity of the world, and reducing us to every kind of privation and ill-treatment, they wish to make us drain the cup of misery to the very dregs. St. Helena is a true Siberia: the only difference is its limited extent, and the climate being warm instead of cold.

The Emperor Napoleon, who but lately possessed such boundless power, and disposed of so many Crowns, now occupies a wretched hovel, a few feet square, perched upon a rock, unprovided with furniture, and without either shutters or curtains to the windows. This place must serve him for bed-chamber, dressing-room, dining-room, study, and sitting-room; and he is obliged to go out when it is necessary to have this one apartment cleaned. His meals, consisting of a few wretched dishes, are brought to him from a distance, as though he were a criminal in a dungeon. He is absolutely in want of the necessaries of life: the bread and wine are not such as we have been accustomed to, and are so bad that we loathe to touch them; water, coffee, butter, oil, and other articles, are either not to be procured, or are scarcely fit for use: a bath, which is so necessary to the Emperor’s health, is not to be had; and he is deprived of the exercise of riding on horseback.

His friends and servants are two miles distant from him, and are not suffered to approach his person without being accompanied by a soldier. They are deprived of their arms, and are compelled to pass the night at the guard-house, if they return beyond a certain hour, or if any mistake occur in the pass-word, which happens almost daily. Thus, on the summit of this frightful rock, we are equally exposed to the severity of man and the rigour of nature! And how easy would it have been to procure us a more suitable retreat and more courteous usage. Assuredly, if the Sovereigns of Europe decreed this exile, private enmity has directed its execution. If policy alone dictated this measure as indispensable, would it not have been essential, in order to render the fact evident to the world, to have surrounded with every kind of respect and consideration the illustrious victim, with regard to whom it had been found necessary to violate law and principle?

We were all assembled round the Emperor; and he was recapitulating these facts with warmth: “For what infamous treatment are we reserved!” he exclaimed. “This is the anguish of death! To injustice and violence, they now add insult and protracted torment. If I were so hateful to them, why did they not get rid of me? A few musquet balls in my heart or my head would have done the business; and there would at least have been some energy in the crime! Were it not for you, and, above all, for your wives, I would receive from them nothing but the pay of a private soldier. How can the monarchs of Europe permit the sacred character of sovereignty to be violated in my person? Do they not see that they are, with their own hands, working their own destruction at St. Helena? I entered their capitals victorious, and had I cherished such sentiments, what would have become of them? They styled me their brother; and I had become so by the choice of the people, the sanction of victory, the character of religion, and the alliances of their policy and their blood. Do they imagine that the good sense of nations is blind to their conduct? and what do they expect from it? At all events, make your complaints, gentlemen; let indignant Europe hear them! Complaints from me would be beneath my dignity and character; I must command, or be silent.”

Next morning an officer, opening the door, introduced himself, without farther ceremony, into the Emperor’s room, where I was engaged with him. He had come, however, with good intentions. He was the captain of one of the small vessels which had formed our squadron. He was now about to return to Europe, and came to enquire whether the Emperor had any commands. Napoleon immediately recurred to the subject of our conversation on the preceding evening, and, becoming animated by degrees, gave utterance to sentiments of the loftiest and most energetic character, which he charged him to communicate to the British Government. I interpreted what he said in the same spirit and with great rapidity. The officer seemed astonished at what he heard, and left us with a promise punctually to fulfil his commission. But he could not have described the expression, and particularly the tone, of which I was a witness.—The Emperor, however, directed me to make a memorandum of what he had said, which the officer must have found very feebly expressed compared with what he had just heard. The note was as follows:

Memorandum.—“The Emperor desires, by the return of the next vessel, to receive some account of his wife and son, and to be informed whether the latter is still living. He takes this opportunity of repeating and conveying to the British Government the protestations which he has already made against the extraordinary measures adopted towards him.

“1st. That Government has declared him a prisoner of war. The Emperor is not a prisoner of war. His letter to the Prince Regent, which he wrote and communicated to Captain Maitland, before he went on board the Bellerophon, sufficiently proves, to the whole world, the resolutions and the sentiments of confidence which induced him freely to place himself under the English flag.

“The Emperor might, had he pleased, have agreed to quit France only on stipulated conditions with regard to himself; but he disdained to mingle personal considerations with the great interests with which his mind was constantly occupied. He might have placed himself at the disposal of the Emperor Alexander, who had been his friend, or of the Emperor Francis, who was his father-in-law. But, confiding in the justice of the English nation, he desired no other protection than its laws afforded; and, renouncing public affairs, he sought no other country than that which was governed by fixed laws, independent of private will.

“2nd. Had the Emperor really been a prisoner of war, the rights which civilized governments possess over such a prisoner are limited by the law of nations, and terminate with the war itself.

“3rd. If the English Government considered the Emperor, though arbitrarily, as a prisoner of war, the right of that government was then limited by public law, or else, as there existed no cartel between the two nations during the war, it might have adopted towards him the principles of savages, who put their prisoners to death. This proceeding would have been more humane, and more conformable to justice, than that of sending him to this horrible rock; death inflicted on board the Bellerophon, in the Plymouth roads, would have been a blessing compared with the treatment to which he is now subjected.

“We have travelled over the most desolate countries of Europe, but none is to be compared to this barren rock. Deprived of every thing that can render life supportable, it is calculated only to renew perpetually the anguish of death. The first principles of Christian morality, and that great duty imposed on man to pursue his fate, whatever it may be, may withhold him from terminating with his own hand a wretched existence; the Emperor glories in being superior to such a feeling. But if the British Ministry should persist in their course of injustice and violence towards him, he would consider it a happiness if they would put him to death.”

The vessel which sailed for Europe, with this document, was the Redpole, Captain Desmond.

The reader must pardon the insipid monotony of our complaints: they will be found to be always the same, no doubt; but let it be remembered how much more pain must have been felt in repeating them than can possibly be experienced in their perusal.

MODE OF LIVING AT BRIARS.—CABINET WHICH THE EMPEROR HAD WITH HIM AT
AUSTERLITZ.—THE EMPEROR’S LARGE CABINET.—ITS CONTENTS.—ARTICLES OF
VIRTÙ, LIBELS AGAINST NAPOLEON, &C., LEFT AT THE TUILERIES BY THE
KING.

25th—27th. The Emperor dressed very early; he took a short walk out of doors; we breakfasted about ten o’clock; he walked again, and then we proceeded to business. I read to him what he had dictated on the preceding evening, and which my son had copied in the morning; he corrected it, and then continued his dictation. We went out again about five o’clock, and returned at six, the hour appointed for dinner, that is to say, if the dinner should be brought from the town by that time. The days were very long, and the evenings still longer. Unfortunately I did not understand chess; at one time I had an idea of studying it by night, but where could I find a teacher? I pretended to a little knowledge of piquet, but the Emperor soon discovered my ignorance: he gave me credit for my good intentions, yet he gave up playing. Want of occupation would sometimes lead him to the neighbouring house, where the young ladies made him play at whist. But his more usual practice was to remain at table after dinner, and to converse sitting in his chair; for the room was too small to admit of his walking about.

One evening he ordered a little travelling cabinet to be brought to him, and, after minutely examining every part of it, he presented it to me, saying, “I have had it in my possession a long time, I made use of it on the morning of the battle of Austerlitz. It must go to young Emanuel,” said he, turning to my son; “when he is thirty or forty years old, we shall be no more. This will but enhance the value of the gift; he will say when he shews it, the Emperor Napoleon gave this to my father at St. Helena.” I received the precious gift with a kind of reverential feeling, and I preserve it as a valuable relic.

Passing from that to the examining of a large cabinet, he looked over some portraits of his own family, and some presents which he had personally received. These consisted of the portraits of Madame, of the Queen of Naples, of the daughters of Joseph, of his brothers, of the King of Rome, &c.; an Augustus and a Livia, both exceedingly rare; a Continence of Scipio and another antique of immense value given to him by the Pope; a Peter the Great, on a box; another box with a Charles V.; another with a Turenne; and some, which were in daily use, covered with a collection of medallions of Cæsar, Alexander, Sylla, Mithridates, &c. Next came some snuff-boxes, ornamented with his own portrait set in diamonds. He then looked for one without diamonds, and not finding it, he called his valet-de-chambre to enquire about it: unfortunately this portrait still remained in the town along with the greater part of his effects; I felt mortified at receiving this intelligence, I could not help thinking that I had been a loser by this mischance.

The Emperor then examined several snuff-boxes which Louis XVIII. had left on his table at the Tuileries at the time of his precipitate departure. On one of these were represented, on a black ground, the portraits of Louis XVI., of the Queen, and of Madame Elizabeth, executed in paste in imitation of ivory, and fantastically arranged. They formed three crescents placed back to back in the shape of an equilateral triangle, and groups of cherubs closely interwoven composed the external border. Another box presented a water-colour sketch of a hunt, which had no other claim to merit than the circumstance of its being attributed to the pencil of the Duchess of Angoulême. A third was surmounted with a portrait, which appeared to be that of the Countess of Provence. These three boxes were of simple and even ordinary execution; and could possess no other value than that which their history attaches to them.

On the Emperor’s arrival in Paris on the evening of the 20th of March, he found the King’s study precisely in the state in which it had been used; all his papers still remained on the tables. By the Emperor’s desire, these tables were pushed into the corners of the apartment, and others brought. He gave orders that nothing should be touched, intending to examine the papers at his leisure: and as the Emperor himself quitted France without returning to the Tuileries, the King must have found his study and his papers nearly as he had left them.

The Emperor took a hasty glance at some of the papers. He found among them several letters from the King to M. d’Avary at Madeira, where the latter died; they were written in the King’s own hand, and had doubtless been sent back to him. He found also some confidential letters of the King’s, likewise in his own hand. But how came they there? How had they been returned to him? That would be difficult to explain. They consisted of five or six pages, written in very elegant language, and displaying some sense; but very abstract and metaphysical. In one of them, the Prince said to the lady whom he addressed:—“_Judge, Madam, how much I love you; I have left off mourning for your sake._” “And here,” said the Emperor, “the idea of the mourning was followed up by a succession of long paragraphs, quite in an academic style.” The Emperor could not imagine to whom it had been written, or what the _mourning_ alluded to; I could not assist his conjectures on either of these points.

Two or three days after the Emperor had replaced a certain individual at the head of a celebrated institution, he found on one of the tables a memoir from that very person, which, from the terms in which it was couched with reference to himself and the whole of his family, would certainly have prevented him from signing the re-appointment.

There were also many other documents of the same nature: but the most complete records of baseness, deceit, and villany, were found in the apartments of M. Blacas, grand-master of the wardrobe, and minister of the household: these were filled with plans, reports, and petitions of every kind. There were few of these papers in which the writers did not put themselves forward at the expense of Napoleon, whom they were far from expecting to return. They formed altogether such a mass that the Emperor was obliged to appoint a committee of four persons to examine them; he now thinks he was to blame in not having confided that office to a single individual, and with such injunctions that he might have felt confident nothing was suffered to escape. He has since had reason to believe that these papers might have afforded some salutary hints respecting the treachery which surrounded him on his return from Waterloo.

Among the rest there was a long letter from one of the female attendants of the Princess Pauline. This voluminous letter was expressed in very coarse language with regard to the princess and her sisters; and described the Emperor, to whom the writer always alluded under the title of _that man_, in the worst possible colours. This had not been thought sufficient; part of it had been erased and interlined by another hand, in order to bring forward Napoleon in the most scandalous manner; and on the margin, in the hand of the interlineator, were written the words _fit to be printed_. A few days more, and this libel would probably have been published.

An upstart woman, who held a distinguished rank in the state, and who had been overwhelmed with acts of kindness from the Emperor, wrote in a great hurry to her friend, another upstart, to acquaint her with the famous decision of the Senate respecting the forfeiture and proscription of Napoleon. The letter contained the following: “My dear friend, my husband has just returned: he is tired to death; but his efforts have carried it; we are delivered from _that man_, and we shall have the Bourbons. Thank God, we shall now be real Countesses!” &c.

Among these papers, Napoleon experienced the mortification to meet with some containing very improper remarks respecting himself personally; and those too in the very hand writing of individuals who only the day before had assembled round him, and were already in the enjoyment of his favours.

The first impulse of his indignation was to determine that they should be printed, and to withdraw his protection: a second thought restrained him. “We are so volatile, so inconstant, so easily led away,” said he, “that, after all, I could not be certain that those very people had not really and spontaneously come back to my service: in that case, I should have been punishing them at the very time when they were returning to their duty. I thought it better to seem to know nothing of the matter, and I ordered all their letters to be burnt.”

THE EMPEROR COMMENCES THE CAMPAIGN OF EGYPT WITH THE GRAND
MARSHAL.—ANECDOTES OF BRUMAIRE, &C.—LETTEF THE COUNT DE LILLE.—THE
BEAUTIFUL DUCHESS DE GUICHE.

28th—31st. My son and I prosecuted our labours without intermission. His health, however, began to be affected; he felt a pain in his chest. My eyes also grew weak: these were really the effects of our excessive occupation. Indeed, we had gone through an amazing quantity of work: we had already nearly arrived at the end of the Campaign of Italy. The Emperor, however, did not yet find that he had sufficient occupation. Employment was his only resource, and the interest which his first dictations had assumed furnished an additional motive for proceeding with them. The Campaign of Egypt was now about to be commenced. The Emperor had frequently talked of employing the Grand Marshal on this subject.

Those of our party who were lodged in the town were badly accommodated, and were dissatisfied at being separated from the Emperor. They were harassed by the constraint and mortifications to which they were subjected. I suggested to the Emperor that he should set us all to work at the same time, and proceed at once with the Campaigns of Italy and Egypt, the history of the Consulate, the return from the Island of Elba, &c. The time, I observed, would then pass more quickly; this great work, the glory of France, would advance more rapidly, and the gentlemen who resided in the town would be less unhappy. The idea pleased the Emperor, and from that moment one or two of his suite came regularly every day to write from his dictation, the transcript of which they brought to him next morning. They then stayed to dinner, and thus afforded the Emperor a little more amusement.

We made such arrangements that the Emperor insensibly found himself more comfortably situated in many respects. A tent, which had been given to me by the Colonel of the 53rd regiment, was spread out so as to form a prolongation of the room occupied by the Emperor. His cook took up his abode at Briars. The table-linen was taken from the trunks, the plate was set forth, and our first dinner after these preparations was a sort of _fête_. The evenings, however, always hung heavily on our hands. The Emperor would sometimes visit the adjoining house; at other times he would endeavour to leave his chamber to walk; but more frequently he remained within-doors, and tried to pass the time in conversation until ten or eleven o’clock. He dreaded retiring to bed too early; for when he did so, he awoke in the night; and, in order to divert his mind from sorrowful reflections, he was obliged to rise and read.

One day at dinner the Emperor cast his eyes on one of the dishes of his own campaign-service, on which the Royal arms had been engraved. “How they have spoiled this!” he exclaimed in very energetic terms; and he could not refrain from observing that the King had been in a great hurry to take possession of the Imperial plate, which he certainly could not claim as having been taken from him, since it unquestionably belonged to him, Napoleon; for, he added, that when he ascended the throne he found not a vestige of royal property. At his abdication he left to the crown five millions in plate, and between forty and fifty millions in furniture, which was all purchased with his own money out of his civil list.

In a conversation one evening, the Emperor related the circumstances attending the event of Brumaire. I suppress the particulars, because they were afterwards dictated to General Gourgaud; and a detailed account of this remarkable affair will be found in the Memoirs.

Sieyes, who was one of the Provisional Consuls along with Napoleon, astonished to hear his colleague, on the very first conference, discussing questions relative to finance, administration, the army, law, and politics, left him, quite disconcerted, and ran to his friends, saying, “Gentlemen, you have got a master! This man knows every thing, wills every thing, and can do every thing.”

I was in London at that time, and I told the Emperor that the emigrants there had formed great hopes and placed much confidence on the events of the 18th of Brumaire and on his Consulate. Several of us, who had formerly been acquainted with Madame de Beauharnois, immediately set out for Paris, hoping, through her means, to exercise some influence, or give some direction to affairs, which then appeared under a new aspect.

Our general opinion at the time was that the First Consul had waited for propositions from the French Princes. We grounded this opinion on the circumstance of his having been so long without manifesting his intentions respecting them; which, however, he did some time afterwards in a way the most overwhelming, by means of a proclamation. We attributed this result to the stupid conduct of the Bishop of Arras, the counsellor and director of our affairs; who, according to his own confession, went to work with his eyes shut, and boasted of not having read a single newspaper for a series of years, ever since they had been filled, as he said, with the successes and the falsehoods of those wretches. On the first establishment of the Consulate, some one having attempted to persuade the Bishop to enter into negotiations with the Consul, through the mediation of Madame Buonaparte, he rejected the proposition with indignation, and in language of so coarse and disgusting a nature as induced the person to tell him that his expressions were far from being episcopal, and that he certainly had never learned them from his breviary.

About the same period he made use of some gross invectives against the Duc de Choiseuil,—and that too at the table of the Prince, where he was smartly reprimanded for them; and all this was only because the Duke, on being released from imprisonment at Calais, and escaping death through the protection of the Consul, concluded his reply to the enquiries made by the Prince relative to Buonaparte, by protesting that, for his part, he should never cease to acknowledge his personal gratitude towards him.

To all this the Emperor replied that he had never bestowed a thought on the Princes; that the observations to which I had alluded proceeded from one of the other Consuls, and were made without any particular motive; that we, who were abroad, seemed to have no idea of the opinions of those at home; and that even if he had been favourably disposed towards the Princes, it would not have been in his power to carry his intentions into execution. He had, however, received overtures, about that period, both from Mittau and London.

The King, he said, wrote him a letter, which was conveyed to him by Lebrun, who had it from the Abbé de Montesquiou, the secret agent of the Prince at Paris. This letter, which was written in a very laboured style, contained the following paragraph: “You delay long to restore me my throne. It is to be feared that you may allow favourable moments to escape. You cannot complete the happiness of France without me, nor can I serve France without you. Hasten, then, and specify yourself the places which you would wish your friends to possess.”

To this letter the First Consul replied:—“I have received your Royal Highness’s letter; I have always felt deep interest in your misfortunes and those of your family. You must not think of appearing in France; you could not do so without passing over a hundred thousand dead bodies. I shall, however, be always eager to do every thing that may tend to alleviate your fate, or enable you to forget your misfortunes.”

The overtures made by the Count d’Artois possessed still more elegance and address. He commissioned, as the bearer of them, the Duchess de Guiche, a lady whose fascinating manners and personal graces were calculated to assist her in the important negotiation. She easily got access to Madame Buonaparte, with whom all the individuals of the old Court came easily in contact. She breakfasted with her at Malmaison; and the conversation turning on London, the emigrants, and the French Princes, Madame de Guiche mentioned that as she happened a few days before to be at the house of the Count d’Artois, she had heard some person ask the Prince what he intended to do for the First Consul, in the event of his restoring the Bourbons; and that the Prince had replied:—“I would immediately make him Constable of the kingdom, and every thing else he might choose. But even that would not be enough: we would raise on the Carrousel a lofty and magnificent column, surmounted with a statue of Buonaparte crowning the Bourbons.”

As soon as the First Consul entered, which he did very shortly after breakfast, Josephine eagerly repeated to him the circumstance which the Duchess had related. “And did you not reply,” said her husband, “that the corpse of the First Consul would have been made the pedestal of the Column?”—The charming Duchess was still present; the beauties of her countenance, her eyes, and her words, were directed to the success of her commission. She said she was so delighted she did not know how she should ever be able sufficiently to acknowledge the favour which Madame Buonaparte had procured her, of seeing and hearing so distinguished a man—so great a hero. It was all in vain: the Duchess de Guiche received orders that very night to quit Paris. The charms of the emissary were too well calculated to alarm Josephine, to induce her to say any thing very urgent in her favour, and next day the Duchess was on her way to the frontier.

It is, however, absolutely false that Napoleon, on his part, at a subsequent period, made overtures or propositions to the Princes touching the cession of their rights, or their renunciation of the Crown; though such statements have been made in some pompous declarations, profusely circulated through Europe.—How was such a thing possible?” said the Emperor; “I, who could only reign by the very principle which excluded them—that of the sovereignty of the people—how could I have sought to possess through them rights which were proscribed in their persons! That would have been to proscribe myself. The absurdity would have been too palpable, too ridiculous; it would have ruined me for ever in public opinion. The fact is that neither directly nor indirectly, at home or abroad, did I ever do any thing of the kind: and this will no doubt, in the course of time, be the opinion of all persons of judgment, who allow me to have been neither a fool nor a madman.