Chapter IX: Part 9

Maria-Louisa’s marriage, said the Emperor, was proposed and concluded under the same forms and conditions as that of Marie-Antoinette, whose contract was adopted as a model. After the separation from Josephine, negotiations were entered into with the Emperor of Russia, for the purpose of soliciting the hand of one of his sisters: the difficulties rested merely on the settling of certain points relative to religion. Prince Eugene, conversing with M. de Schwartzenberg, learned that the Emperor of Austria would not object to an union between Napoleon and his daughter; and this information was communicated to the Emperor. A council was convoked to decide whether an alliance with Russia or Austria would be most advantageous. Eugene and Talleyrand were for the Austrian alliance, and Cambaceres against it. The majority were in favour of an Archduchess. Eugene was appointed to make the official overture, and the Minister for Foreign Affairs was empowered to sign it that very day if an opportunity should present itself; which proved to be the case.

Russia took umbrage at this; she thought herself trifled with, though without just ground. Nothing of an obligatory nature had yet transpired; both parties remained perfectly free. Political interests predominated over every thing.

The Emperor appointed the Duchess de Montebello to be lady of honour to Maria-Louisa; the Count de Beauharnais to be her gentleman of honour, and the Prince Aldobrandini to be her equerry. In the misfortunes of 1814, these individuals, said the Emperor, did not evince the devotedness which the Empress was entitled to expect from them. Her equerry deserted her without taking his leave; her gentleman of honour refused to follow her; and her lady of honour, notwithstanding the attachment which the Empress entertained for her, thought she had completely fulfilled her duty in attending her mistress as far as Vienna.

The appointment of the Duchess de Montebello to the post of lady of honour was one of those happy selections which, at the time it was made, excited universal approbation. The Duchess was a young and beautiful woman, of irreproachable character, and the widow of a marshal, called the _Orlando_ of the army, who had recently fallen on the field of battle. This choice was very agreeable to the army, and encouraged the national party, who were alarmed at the marriage and the number and rank of the chamberlains who were appointed. This retinue was, by many, looked upon as a step towards the counter-revolution; and endeavours were made to represent it as such. As for the Emperor, he had acted in ignorance of the character of Maria-Louisa, and had been principally influenced by the fear that she would be filled with prejudices respecting birth, that might be offensive at the Court. When he came to know her better, and found that she was wholly imbued with the prevailing notions of the day, he regretted not having made another choice. He conceived that he should have done better to select the Countess de Beauveau, a woman of amiable, mild, and inoffensive manners, who would have been influenced only by the family advice of her numerous relatives, and who might thus have introduced a kind of useful custom, and have occasioned the appointment of well-recommended inferiors. She might also have rallied about the Court many persons who were at a distance; and that without any inconvenience, because these arrangements could only have been brought about by the sanction of the Emperor, who was not the sort of man to allow himself to be abused.

The Empress conceived the tenderest affection for the Duchess de Montebello. This lady had at one time a chance of being Queen of Spain. Ferdinand VII. when at Valency, requested the Emperor’s permission to marry Mademoiselle de Tascher, cousin-german of Josephine, and bearing the same name, after the example of the Prince of Baden, who married Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. The Emperor, who already contemplated a separation from Josephine, refused his consent to the match, not wishing by this connexion to add to the difficulties that already stood in the way of his divorce. Ferdinand then solicited the hand of the Duchess de Montebello, or of any other French lady whom the Emperor might think proper to adopt. The Emperor subsequently gave Mademoiselle de Tascher in marriage to the Duke d’Aremberg, whom he intended to create Governor of the Netherlands; with the view of ultimately compensating Brussels for the loss of the old Court. The Emperor moreover wished to appoint the Count de Narbonne, who had taken part in the Empress’s marriage, Gentleman of honour, in room of the Count de Beauharnais; but the extreme aversion which Maria-Louisa evinced for this change deterred the Emperor from carrying it into effect. The Empress’s dislike to the Count de Narbonne was, however, only occasioned by the intrigues of the individuals composing her household, who had nothing to fear from M. de Beauharnais, but who very much dreaded the influence and talent of M. de Narbonne.

The Emperor informed us that, when he had to make appointments to difficult posts, he usually asked the persons about him to furnish him with a list of candidates; and from these lists, and the information he obtained, he privately deliberated on his choice. He mentioned several individuals who were proposed as lady of honour to the Empress: they were the Princess de Vaudemont, Madame de Rochefoucalt, afterwards Madame de Castellanes, and some others. He then asked us to tell him whom we should have proposed; which occasioned us to take a review of a good part of the Court. One of us mentioned Madame de Montesquiou; upon which the Emperor replied, “She would have done well, but she had a post which suited her still better. She was a woman of singular merit; her piety was sincere, and her principles excellent; she had the highest claims on my esteem and regard. I wanted half a dozen like her; I would have given them all appointments equal to their deserts, and wished for more. She discharged her duties admirably when with my son at Vienna.”

The following anecdote will afford a correct idea of the manner in which Madame de Montesquiou managed the King of Rome. The apartments of the young Prince were on the ground floor, and looked out on the court, of the Tuileries. At almost every hour in the day, numbers of people were looking in at the window, in the hope of seeing him. One day when he was in a violent fit of passion, and rebelling furiously against the authority of Madame de Montesquiou, she immediately ordered all the shutters to be closed. The child, surprised at the sudden darkness, asked _Maman Quiou_, as he used to call her, what it all meant. “I love you too well,” she replied, “not to hide your anger from the crowd in the court-yard. You, perhaps, will one day be called to govern all those people, and what would they say if they saw you in such a fit of rage? Do you think they would ever obey you, if they knew you to be so naughty?” Upon which, the child begged her pardon, and promised never again to give way to such fits of anger.

“This,” observed the Emperor, “was language very different from that addressed by M. de Villeroi to Louis XV. ‘_Behold all those people, my Prince_,’ said he, ‘_they belong to you; all the men you see yonder are yours_.’”

Madame de Montesquiou was adored by the young King of Rome. At the time of her removal from Vienna it was found necessary to employ stratagems to deceive the child: it was even feared that his health would suffer from the separation.

The Emperor had conceived many novel ideas relative to the education of the King of Rome. For this important object he decided on the _Institut de Meudon_, of which he had already laid down the principle, with the view of farther developing it at his leisure. There he proposed to assemble the Princes of the Imperial house, particularly the sons of those branches of the family who had been raised to foreign thrones. This plan, he contended, would have combined the attentions of private tuition with the advantages of public education. “These children,” said the Emperor, “who were destined to occupy different thrones, and to govern different nations, would thus have acquired conformity of principles, manners, and ideas. The better to facilitate the amalgamation and uniformity of the federative parts of the Empire, each Prince was to bring with him from his own country ten or twelve youths of about his own age, the sons of the first families in the state. What an influence would they not have exercised on their return home! I doubted not,” continued the Emperor, “but that Princes of other dynasties, unconnected with my family, would soon have solicited, as a great favour, permission to place their sons in the Institute of Meudon. What advantages would thence have arisen to the nations composing the European association! All these young Princes,” said he, “would have been brought together early enough to be united in the tender and powerful bonds of youthful friendship: and they would, at the same time, have been separated early enough to obviate the fatal effects of rising passions—the ardour of partiality—the ambition of success—the jealousy of love.”

The Emperor wished that the education of the Princes should be founded on general information, extended views, summaries, and results. He wished them to possess knowledge rather than learning, judgment rather than attainments; he preferred the application of details to the study of theories. Above all, he objected to the pursuing of any particular study too deeply, for he regarded perfection, or too great success in certain things, whether in the arts or sciences, as a disadvantage to a prince. A nation, he said, will never gain much by being governed by a poet, a virtuoso, a naturalist, a chymist, a turner, a locksmith, &c. &c.

Maria-Louisa confessed to the Emperor that, when her marriage with him was first proposed, she could not help feeling a kind of terror, owing to the accounts she had heard of Napoleon from the individuals of her family. When she mentioned these reports to her uncles, the Archdukes, who were very urgent for the marriage, they replied,—“That was all very true, while he was our enemy: but the case is altered now.“

“To afford an idea of the sympathy and good will with which the different members of the Austrian family were taught to regard me,” said the Emperor, “it is sufficient to mention that one of the young Archdukes frequently burned his dolls, which he called _roasting Napoleon_. He afterwards declared he would not roast me any more, for he loved me very much, because I had given his sister Louisa plenty of money to buy him play-things.”

Since my return to Europe, I have had an opportunity of ascertaining the sentiments entertained by the House of Austria towards Napoleon. In Germany, a person of distinction informed me that having had a private audience of the Emperor Francis, during his tour in Italy in 1816, the conversation turned on Napoleon. Francis spoke of him in the most respectful terms. One might almost have supposed, said my informant, that he still regarded him as the ruler of France, and that he was ignorant of his captivity at St. Helena. He never alluded to him by any other title than the Emperor Napoleon.

I learned from the same individual that the Archduke John, when in Italy, visited a rotunda, on the ceiling of which was painted a celebrated action of which Napoleon was the hero. As he raised his head to look at the painting, his hat fell off, and one of his attendants stooped to pick it up. “Let it be,” said he; “it is thus that the man who is there portrayed should be contemplated.”

Now that I am on this subject, I will note down a few particulars which I collected in Germany since my return to Europe; and to mark the degree of credit to which they are entitled, I may mention that I obtained them from individuals holding high diplomatic posts. Every one knows that these members of diplomatic corps form among themselves a sort of family, a kind of free-masonry, and that their sources of information are of the most authentic kind.

The Empress Maria-Louisa complained that, when she quitted France, M. de Talleyrand reserved to himself the honour of demanding from her the restitution of the Crown jewels, and ascertaining whether they had been restored with the most scrupulous exactness.

In 1814, during the disasters of France, many tempting and brilliant proposals were made to Prince Eugene. An Austrian General offered him the crown of Italy, in the name of the Allies, on condition of his joining them. This offer afterwards came from a still higher quarter, and was several times repeated. During the reign of the Emperor there had been some idea of raising the Prince to a throne; and those of Portugal, Naples, and Poland, were thought of.

In 1815, men of high influence in European diplomacy endeavoured to sound his opinions, with the view of ascertaining whether, in case Napoleon should again be constrained to abdicate, and the choice should fall on him, he would accept the Crown. On this occasion, as on every other, the Prince steadily pursued a line of duty and honour which will immortalize him. _Honour and fidelity_ was his constant reply; and posterity will make it his device.

On the distribution of States in 1814, the Emperor Alexander, who frequently visited the Empress Josephine at Malmaison, signified a wish to procure for her son the sovereignty of Genoa. She, however, declined this proposition, at the instigation of one of the ruling diplomatists, who falsely flattered her with the hope of something better.

At the Congress of Vienna, the Emperor Alexander, who honoured Prince Eugene with particular marks of favour, insisted that he should be made the Sovereign of at least three hundred thousand subjects. He testified the sincerest friendship for him, and they were every day seen walking about together arm-in-arm. The landing at Cannes put an end, if not to the sentiment, at least to the manifestation of it; and changed the political interests of the Emperor of Russia.—The Austrian government even entertained the idea of seizing the person of Prince Eugene, and sending him a prisoner to a fortress in Hungary; but the King of Bavaria, his father-in-law, indignantly represented to the Emperor of Austria that Eugene had gone to Vienna under his protection and guarantee, and that they should not be violated. Thus Eugene remained free on his own private parole and that of the King his father-in-law.

So lately as 1814, gold twenty and forty-franc pieces were struck at Milan with the head of Napoleon and the date of 1814. Either from motives of economy or some other cause, no new die had yet been engraved.

After the fall of Napoleon, Alexander on several occasions manifested a marked and decided dislike to him. In 1815 he was the promoter of the second crusade against Napoleon; he directed every hostile measure with the utmost degree of animosity, and seemed to make it almost a personal affair; alleging, as the cause of his aversion, that he had been deceived and trifled with. If this tardy resentment was not a mere pretence, there is every reason to believe that it was stirred up by an old confidant of Napoleon’s, who, in private conversations, had artfully wounded the vanity of Alexander, by statements, true or false, of the private opinion of Napoleon with regard to his illustrious friend.

In 1814 there appeared reason to believe that Alexander would not be averse to see young Napoleon placed on the throne of France. After the Emperor’s second abdication, he seemed far less favourably disposed to the continuance of Napoleon’s dynasty.

In the second crusade, the Emperor Alexander marched at the head of innumerable forces. He was heard to declare, at that period, that the war might last for three years; but that Napoleon would nevertheless be subdued in the end.

On the first intelligence of the battle of Fleurus, the chiefs of all the Russian columns immediately received orders to halt; while all the Austrian and Bavarian corps instantly turned off, with the view of detaching themselves and forming a separate force. Had the Congress of Vienna been broken up on the 20th of March, it is almost certain that the crusade would not have been renewed; and had Napoleon been victorious at Waterloo, it is also tolerably certain that the crusade would have been dissolved.

The news of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes was a thunderbolt to the French plenipotentiary at Vienna. He indeed drew up the famous declaration of the 13th of March; and, virulent as it is, the first draft was still more so: it was amended by other ministers. The countenance of this plenipotentiary, as he gradually learned the advance of Napoleon, was a sort of thermometer, which excited the laughter of all the members of the Congress.

Austria soon knew the real state of affairs: her couriers informed her admirably well of all that was passing. The members of the French Legation alone were involved in doubt: they were still circulating a magnanimous letter from the King to the other Sovereigns, informing them that he was resolved to die at the Tuileries, when it was already known that Louis had left the capital, and was on his way to the frontier.

A member of the Congress and Lord Wellington, in a confidential conversation with the members of the French Legation, with the map in their hands, assigned the 20th or the 21st for Napoleon’s entry into Paris.

As the Emperor Francis received the official publications from Grenoble and Lyons, he regularly forwarded them to Schöenbrunn, to Maria Louisa, to whom they afforded extreme joy. It is very true that, at a somewhat later period, an idea was entertained of seizing young Napoleon, in order to convey him to France.

The French Plenipotentiary at length quitted Vienna, and proceeded to Frankfort and Wisbaden, whence he could more conveniently negotiate either with Ghent or Paris. Never was a time-serving courier thrown into greater embarrassment and anxiety. The ardour with which he had been inspired, on receiving the intelligence of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes, was very much abated when he heard of the Emperor’s arrival at Paris; and he entered into an understanding with Fouché that the latter should be his guarantee with Napoleon, pledging himself, on the other hand, to be Fouché’s guarantee with the Bourbons. There is good ground for believing that the offers made by this Plenipotentiary to the new Sovereign went very great lengths indeed; but Napoleon indignantly rejected them, lest, as he said, he should degrade his policy too far.

In 1814, before M. de Talleyrand declared himself for the Bourbons, he was for the Regency; in which, however, he himself wished to play the principal part. Events fatal to the Napoleon dynasty prevented this moment of uncertainty from being turned to good account. Every thing tends to prove that the result which was at that period adopted was far from being agreeable to the intentions of Austria; that power was duped, betrayed, or at least carried by assault.

The fatality attending the military movements was such that the Allies entered Paris without the concurrence of the Austrian Cabinet. Alexander’s famous declaration against Napoleon Buonaparte and his family was also made without the Austrian Power being consulted; and the Count d’Artois only entered France by contriving to slip in secretly in spite of the orders at the Austrian head-quarters, where he had been refused passports.

It appears that Austria, on the retreat from Moscow, exerted sincere efforts in London for negotiating a peace with Napoleon; but the influence of the Russian Cabinet was all-powerful in London, and no proposals for peace were listened to. The armistice of Dresden then arrived, and Austria declared for war.

During this interval, the Austrian minister in London could never obtain a hearing. He however remained for a considerable time in the English capital, and did not leave it until the Allies had reached the heart of France, and Lord Castlereagh hinted at the possibility, for a moment, that the heroic success of Napoleon might render negotiations indispensable.

If this minister had not previously been sent to London, he would have been destined for Paris; and there probably his influence might have brought about a turn of negotiations different from those which arose during his absence between the Tuileries and Vienna.

In the height of the crisis he found himself detained in England as if by force. In his impatience to reach the grand centre of negotiations, he quitted his post, and proceeded to Holland, braving a violent tempest. No sooner had he arrived on the theatre of events than he fell into the hands of Napoleon at Saint-Dizier; but the fate of France was then decided, though the fact was not yet known at the French head-quarters. Alexander was entering Paris.

The Austrian minister in London exerted every endeavour to procure a passport to enable him to join his Sovereign by passing through Calais and Paris; but in vain. This circumstance; whether accidental, or premeditated, was another fatality. But for this disappointment, the Austrian minister would have reached Paris before the Allies, would have joined Maria-Louisa, would have defeated the last projects of M. de Talleyrand, and would have altogether produced new combinations.

Opinion was divided in the Austrian Cabinet. One party was for the union with France; the other was for the alliance with Russia. Intrigue or chance decided in favour of Russia, and Austria, from that moment, was merely led on.

14th.—The coffee that was served at our breakfast this morning was better than usual; it was even good. The Emperor expressed himself pleased with it. Some moments after he observed, placing his hand on his stomach, that he felt the benefit of it. It would be difficult to express what were my feelings on hearing this simple remark. The Emperor, by thus appreciating so trivial an enjoyment, contrary to his custom, unconsciously proved to me the effect of all the privations he had suffered, but of which he never complained.

When we returned from our evening walk, the Emperor read to me a chapter on the _Provisional Consuls_, which he had dictated to M. de Montholon. Having finished reading, the Emperor took a piece of ribbon, and began to tie together the loose sheets of paper. It was late; the silence of night prevailed around us. My reflections were on that day of a melancholy cast. I gazed on the Emperor. I looked on those hands which had wielded so many sceptres, and which were now tranquilly, and perhaps, not without some degree of pleasure, occupied in the humble task of tying together a few sheets of paper. On these sheets, indeed, were traced events that will never be forgotten; portraits that will decide the judgment of posterity. It is the book of life or death to many whose names are recorded in it. These were the reflections that passed in my mind. “And the Emperor,” thought I, “reads to me what he writes; he familiarly converses with me, asks my opinion, and I freely give it. After all, I am not to be pitied in my exile at St. Helena.”

15th.—Immediately after dinner the Emperor walked in his favourite path. He had his coffee carried down to him in the garden, and he drank it as he walked about. The conversation turned on love. I must have made some very fine and sentimental remarks on this important subject; for the Emperor laughed at what he styled my prattle, and said that he understood none of my romantic verbiage. Then speaking with an air of levity, he wished to make me believe that he was better acquainted with sensations than sentiments. I made free to remark that he was trying to be thought worse than he was described to be in the authentic, but very secret, accounts that were circulated about the palace. “And what was said of me?” resumed he, with an air of gaiety. “Sire,” I replied, “it is understood that, when in the summit of your power, you suffered yourself to be bound in the chains of love; that you became a hero of romance; that, fired by an unexpected resistance, you conceived an attachment for a lady in private life; that you wrote her above a dozen love-letters; and that her power over you prevailed so far as to compel you to disguise yourself, and to visit her secretly and alone, at her own residence, in the heart of Paris.”—”And how came this to be known?” said he, smiling; which of course amounted to an admission of the fact. “And it was doubtless added,” continued he, “that that was the most imprudent act of my whole life; for, had my mistress proved treacherous, what might not have been my fate—alone and disguised, in the circumstances in which I was placed, amidst the snares with which I was surrounded? But what more is said of me?”—“Sire, it is affirmed that your Majesty’s posterity is not confined to the King of Rome. The secret chronicle states that he has two elder brothers: one the offspring of a fair foreigner, whom you loved in a distant country; the other, the fruit of a connection nearer at hand, in the bosom of your own capital. It was asserted that both had been conveyed to Malmaison, before our departure; the one brought by his mother, and the other introduced by his tutor; and they were described to be the living portraits of their father.”[23]

Footnote 23:

It is said, that a codicil in the Emperor’s will, which, however, must
remain secret, completely confirms the above conjectures.

The Emperor laughed much at the extent of my information, as he termed it; and being now in a merry vein, he began to take a frank retrospect of his early years, relating many of the love-affairs and numerous adventures in which he had been engaged. I omit the first; amongst the second he mentioned a supper that took place in the neighbourhood of the Saone at the commencement of the Revolution, and at which he had been present in company with the faithful Desmazzis. He described the whole with the utmost pleasantry.—He had got himself, he observed, into a wasp’s nest, where his patriotic eloquence had to contend strenuously against the contrary doctrines of the other guests, and had nearly brought him into a serious scrape. “You and I,” he continued, “were at that time very far from each other.”—”Not so very far, in point of distance, Sire,” replied, “though certainly very remote with respect to doctrines. At that time I was also in the neighbourhood of the Saone, on one of the quays of Lyons, where crowds of patriots were declaiming against the cannon which they had just discovered in some boats, and which they termed a counter-revolution. I very inopportunely proposed that they should make sure of the cannon, by administering to them the _civic oath_. However, I narrowly escaped being hanged for my folly. You see, Sire, that I might precisely at that moment have balanced your account, had any disaster befallen you among your aristocrat companions.” This was not the only curious coincidence that was mentioned in the course of the evening. The Emperor, having related to me an interesting circumstance that took place in 1788, said, “Where were you at that time.”—“Sire,” replied I, after a few moments recollection, “I was then at Martinique, supping every evening with the future Empress Josephine.”

A shower of rain came on and we were obliged to retire from our favourite path, which, the Emperor observed, we might probably at a future period look back to with pleasure. “Perhaps so,” I replied; “but certainly that will not be until we have forsaken it for ever. Meanwhile we must content ourselves with naming it the Path of Philosophy, since it cannot be called the Path of Lethe.”

THE FAUXBOURG SAINT-GERMAIN, &C.—THE EMPEROR’S FREEDOM FROM PREJUDICE
AND ILL-WILL.—CHARACTERISTIC LANGUAGE.

16th.—To-day the Emperor put some questions to me relative to the Fauxbourg Saint-Germain; that last bulwark of the old aristocracy, that refuge of old-fashioned prejudices; the _Germanic League_, as he called it. I told him that, before his last misfortune, his power had extended into every part of it: it had been invaded, and its name alone remained; it had been shaken and vanquished by glory; and the victories of Austerlitz and Jena, and the triumph of Tilsit, had achieved its conquest. The younger portion of the inhabitants, and all who had generous hearts, could not be insensible to the glory of their country. The Emperor’s marriage with Maria-Louisa gave it the last blow. The few malcontents who remained were either those whose ambition had not been gratified, and who are to be found in all classes, or some obstinate old men, and silly old women, bewailing their past influence. All reasonable and sensible persons had yielded to the superior talents of the Head of the State, and endeavoured to console themselves for their losses in the hope of a better prospect for their children. This became the point towards which all their ideas were directed. They gave the Emperor credit for his partiality to old family names; they agreed that any one else in his place would have annihilated them. They prized very highly the confidence with which the Emperor had collected individuals of ancient family about his person; and they valued him no less for the language he had made use of in making choice of their children to serve in the army:—“These names belong to France and to History; I am the guardian of their glory, I will not allow them to perish.” These and other such expressions had gained him numbers of proselytes. The Emperor here expressed his apprehension that sufficient favour had not been shewn to this party. “My system of amalgamation,” said he, “required it: I wished and even directed favours to be conferred on them: but the ministers, who were the great mediators, never properly fulfilled my real intentions in that respect; either because they had not sufficient foresight, or because they feared that they might thus create rivals for favour, and diminish their own chances. M. Talleyrand, in particular, always shewed great opposition to such a measure, and always resisted my favourable intuitions towards the old nobility.” I observed, however, that the greater part of those whom he had placed near him had soon shewn themselves attached to his person; that they had served him conscientiously, and had, generally speaking, remained faithful to him at the critical moment. The Emperor did not deny it, and even went so far as to say that the twofold event of the King’s return and his own abdication must naturally have had great influence on certain doctrines; and that, for his own part, he could see a great difference between the same conduct pursued in 1814 and in 1815.

And here I must observe that, since I have become acquainted with the Emperor’s character, I have never known him to evince, for a single moment, the least feeling of anger or animosity against those individuals who had been most to blame in their conduct towards him. He gives no great credit to those who distinguished themselves by their good conduct: they had only done their duty. He is not very indignant against those who acted basely; he partly saw through their characters: they yielded to the impulses of their nature. He speaks of them coolly, and without animosity; attributing their conduct in some measure to existing circumstances, which he acknowledged were of a very perplexing nature, and placing the rest to the account of human weakness. Vanity was the ruin of Marmont: “Posterity will justly cast a shade upon his character,” said he; “yet his heart will be more valued than the memory of his career. The conduct of Augereau was the result of his want of information, and the baseness of those who surrounded him; that of Berthier, of his want of spirit, and his absolute nullity of character.”

I remarked that the latter had let slip the best and easiest opportunity of rendering himself for ever illustrious, by frankly making his submission to the King, and intreating his Majesty’s permission to withdraw from the world, and mourn in solitude the fate of him who had honoured him with the title of his companion in arms, and had called him his friend. “Yes,” said the Emperor; “even this step, simple as it was, was beyond his power.”—“His talents, his understanding,” said I, “had always been a subject of doubt with us. Your Majesty’s choice, your confidence, your great attachment, surprised us exceedingly.”—“To say the truth,” replied the Emperor, “Berthier was not without talent, and I am far from wishing to disavow his merit, or my partiality for him; but his talent and merit were special and technical; beyond a limited point he had no mind whatever: and then he was so undecided.”—I observed that “he was, notwithstanding, full of pretensions and pride in his conduct towards us.”—“Do you think, then, that the title of Favourite goes for nothing?” said the Emperor. I added, that “he was very harsh and overbearing.” “And what,” said he, “my dear Las Cases, is more overbearing than weakness which feels itself protected by strength? Look at women, for example.”

Berthier accompanied the Emperor in his carriage during his campaigns. As they drove along, the Emperor would examine the order-book and the report of the positions, whence he formed his resolutions, adopted his plans, and arranged the necessary movements. Berthier noted down his directions, and at the first station they came to, or during the first moments allotted to rest, whether by night or by day, he made out, in his turn, all the orders and individual details with admirable regularity, precision, and despatch. This was a kind of duty at which he shewed himself always ready and indefatigable. “This was the special merit of Berthier,” said the Emperor: “it was most valuable to me; no other talent could have made up for the want of it.”

I now return to notice some characteristic traits of the Emperor. He invariably speaks with perfect coolness, without passion, without prejudice, and without resentment, of the events and the persons connected with his life. It is evident that he would be capable of becoming the ally of his most cruel enemy, and of living with the man who had done him the greatest wrong. He speaks of his past history as if it had occurred three centuries ago: in his recitals and his observations he speaks the language of past ages: he is like a spirit discoursing in the Elysian fields; his conversations are true Dialogues of the Dead. He speaks of himself as of a third person; noticing the Emperor’s actions, pointing out the faults with which history may reproach him, and analysing the reasons and the motives which might be alleged in his justification.

He never can excuse himself, he says, by throwing blame on others, since he never followed any but his own decision. He may complain, at the worst, of false information, but never of bad counsel. He had surrounded himself with the best possible advisers, but he had always adhered to his own opinion, and he was far from repenting of having done so. “It is,” said he, “the indecision and anarchy of agents which produce anarchy and feebleness in results. In order to form a just opinion respecting the faults produced by the sole personal decision of the Emperor, it will be necessary to throw into the scale the great actions which he would have been prevented from performing, and the other faults which he would have been induced to commit, by those very counsels which he is blamed for not having followed.”

In viewing the complicated circumstances of his fall, looks upon things so much in a mass, and from so high a point, that individuals escape his notice. He never evinces the least symptom of virulence towards those of whom it might be supposed he has the greatest reason to complain. His greatest mark of reprobation, and I have had frequent occasion to notice it, is to preserve silence with respect to them, whenever they are mentioned in his presence. But how often has he not been heard to restrain the violent and less reserved expressions of those about him? “You are not acquainted with men,” he has said to us; “they are difficult to comprehend, if one wishes to be strictly just. Can they understand or explain even their own characters? Almost all those who abandoned me would, had I continued to be prosperous, never, perhaps have dreamed of their own defection. There are vices and virtues which depend on circumstances. Our last trials were beyond all human strength! Besides I was forsaken rather than betrayed; there was more of weakness than of perfidy around me. It was the _denial of St. Peter_: tears and repentance are probably at hand. And where will you find, in the page of history, any one possessing a greater number of friends and partisans? Who was ever more popular and more beloved? Who was ever more ardently and deeply regretted? Here, from this very rock, on viewing the present disorders in France, who would not be tempted to say that I still reign there? The Kings and princes, my allies, have remained faithful to me to the last, they were carried away by the people in a mass: and those who were around me, found themselves enveloped and overwhelmed by an irresistible whirlwind.... No! human nature might have appeared in a light still more odious, and I might have had still greater cause of complaint!”

ON THE OFFICERS OF THE EMPEROR’S HOUSEHOLD IN
1814.—PLAN OF ADDRESS TO THE KING.

17th.—The Emperor asked me some questions to-day relative to the officers of his household. With the exception of two or three, at the most, who had drawn upon themselves the contempt of the very party to which they had gone over, nothing could be said against them: the majority had even evinced an ardent devotion to the Emperor’s interests. The Emperor then made enquiries respecting some of these individuals in particular, calling them by their names; and I could not but express my approbation of them all. “What do you tell me?” said he, interrupting me hastily while I was speaking of one of them; “and yet I gave him so bad a reception at the Tuileries on my return! Ah! I fear I have committed some involuntary acts of injustice! This comes of being obliged to take for granted the first story that is told, and of not having a single moment to spare for verification! I fear too that I have left many debts of gratitude in arrear! How unfortunate it is to be incapable of doing every thing one’s self!”

I replied—“Sire, it is true that, if blame be attached to the officers of your household, it must be shared equally by all; a fact, however, which must humble us strangely in the eyes of foreign nations. As soon as the King appeared, all hastened to him, not as to the sovereign whom your abdication had left us, but as to one who had never ceased to be our sovereign; not with the dignity of men proud of having always fulfilled their duties, but with the equivocal embarrassment of unskilful courtiers. Each sought only to justify himself: your Majesty was from that instant disavowed and abjured; the title of Emperor was dropped. The Ministers, the Nobles, the intimate friends of your Majesty, styled you simply '_Buonaparte_,’ and blushed not for themselves or their nation. They excused themselves by saying that they had been compelled to serve; that they could not do otherwise, through dread of the treatment they might have experienced.” The Emperor here recognised a true picture of our national character. He said we were still the same people as our ancestors the Gauls: that we still retained the same levity, the same inconstancy, and, above all, the same vanity. “When shall we,” said he, “exchange this vanity for a little pride?”

“The officers of your Majesty’s household,” said I, “neglected a noble opportunity of acquiring both honour and popularity. There were above one hundred and fifty officers of the household; a great number of them belonged to the first families, and were men of independent fortune. It was for them to set an example, which, being followed by others, might have given another impulse to the national attitude, and afforded us a claim on public esteem.”[24]—“Yes,” said the Emperor, “if all the upper classes had acted in that way, affairs might have turned out very differently. The old editors of the public journals would not then have indulged in their chimeras of the good old times; we should not then have been annoyed with their dissertations on the straight line and the curve line; the King would have adhered honestly to his charter; I should never have dreamed of quitting the Island of Elba; the head of the nation would have been recorded in history with greater honour and dignity; and we should all have been gainers.”

Footnote 24:

In this spirit, and in imitation of the example of other bodies, a
plan of Address to the King was drawn up in the name of the Officers
of the Emperor’s Household. It was in substance as follows:—

“Sire—The undersigned, who formed a part of the household of the
Emperor Napoleon, solicit from your Majesty the favour of particular
attention.

“Heirs to the duties of their fathers, they were, at a former period,
faithful defenders of the throne; many of them followed your Majesty
through long years of exile, into a foreign land, and sealed their
devotedness by the forfeiture of their patrimony.

“It was precisely these well-known principles, and this acknowledged
conduct, which constituted their claim, and called attention to them,
when it was in contemplation to raise up a new throne and to surround
it with adherents.

“The expectations of him who rallied us around him were not, could not
be, disappointed: we fulfilled our new duties with _honour and
fidelity_. These sentiments, Sire, the surest pledges of every other,
would be sufficient to secure our own esteem, if it were possible for
us to remain in indolent retirement. But what good and loyal Frenchman
would desire a state of absolute repose? And yet, should any of us
feel ourselves, through motives of delicacy, reduced to await, in
silence, our appointment to new duties, might not our motive be
misconstrued? On the other hand, might not the feelings of those also
be misunderstood who, yielding to the impulse of their hearts, eagerly
hastened to receive the favours of your Majesty?

“Such, Sire, is the peculiar and delicate situation in which we are
placed: but all our embarrassments will cease, if your Majesty deign
to lend an ear to our Address. Your royal heart will feel the delicacy
of the impulse by which we are guided at this moment, and will accept
our sincere wishes to serve your Majesty and our country with our
accustomed zeal and fidelity.”

It was difficult to obtain signatures to so moderate an Address. Would
it be believed, that this candid and authentic avowal of our past
functions, and the use of the phrase “Emperor Napoleon,” in
particular, were held as objections to it? Every one found fault with
it according to his humour. Such were the sentiments of the day. Only
seventeen signatures could be collected. Eighteen or twenty persons
promised to add their names when the list should amount to
twenty-five; but nobody would assist in completing that number. Two of
those, who had already signed it, thinking they had put their hand to
a document which they did not well understand, their sole intention
having been to solicit the confirmation of their appointments, even
went so far as to erase their signatures. The original copy of this
document must be either at Paris or Versailles, in the hands of one of
the persons who signed it.

THE EMPEROR’S IDEA OF RESERVING CORSICA.—HIS OPINION OF ROBESPIERRE.—HIS
IDEAS RESPECTING PUBLIC OPINION.—EXPIATORY INTENTION OF THE EMPEROR
WITH REGARD TO THE VICTIMS OF THE REVOLUTION.

18th.—After the accustomed occupation of the day, I accompanied the Emperor to the garden about four o’clock. He had just completed his dictation on the subject of Corsica. Having concluded every thing he had to say relative to that island, and to Paoli, he adverted to the interest which he himself excited there, while yet so young, at the time of his separation from Paoli. He added that latterly he might to a certainty have united in his favour the wishes, the sentiments, and the efforts of the whole population of Corsica; and that, had he retired to that island on quitting Paris, he would have been beyond the reach of any foreign power whatever. He had an idea of doing so when he abdicated in favour of his son. He was on the point of reserving to himself the possession of Corsica during his life. No obstacle at sea would have obstructed his passage thither. But he abandoned that design for the sake of rendering his abdication the more sincere and the more advantageous to France. His residence in the centre of the Mediterranean, in the bosom of Europe, so near France and Italy, might have furnished a lasting pretext to the Allies. He even preferred America to England, from the same motive and the same idea. It is true that, in the sincerity of his own measures, he neither did, nor could foresee, his unjust and violent banishment to St. Helena.

The Emperor, next proceeding to take a review of different points of the Revolution, dwelt particularly on Robespierre, whom he did not know, but whom he believed to be destitute of talent, energy, or system. He considered him, notwithstanding, merely as the scapegoat of the Revolution, sacrificed as soon as he endeavoured to arrest it in its course:—the common fate, he observed, of all who, before himself (Napoleon) had ventured to take that step. The Terrorists and their doctrine survived Robespierre; and if their excesses were not continued, it was because they were obliged to bow to public opinion. They threw all the blame on Robespierre; but the latter declared shortly before his death, that he was a stranger to the recent executions, and that he had not appeared in the Committees for six weeks previously. Napoleon confessed that, while he was with the army of Nice, he had seen some long letters addressed by Robespierre to his brother, condemning the horrors of the Commissioners of the Convention, who, as he expressed it, were ruining the Revolution by their tyranny and atrocities. “Cambaceres, who,” observed the Emperor, “must be a good authority on subjects relating to that period, answered an enquiry which I one day addressed to him respecting the condemnation of Robespierre, in these remarkable words: ‘Sire, that was a sentence without a trial;’ adding that Robespierre had more foresight and conception than was generally imagined; and that his intention was, after subduing the unbridled factions which he had to oppose, to restore a system of order and moderation. ‘Some time previously to his fall,’ added Cambaceres, ‘he delivered a most admirable speech on this subject; it was not thought proper to insert it in the Moniteur, and all trace of it is now lost.’”

This is not the first instance I have heard of omissions and want of accuracy in the Moniteur. In the reports inserted in that journal relative to the proceedings of the Assembly, there must be a period remarkable for incorrectness; as the minutes of those proceedings were for a time arbitrarily drawn up by one of the Committees.

Those who are induced to believe that Robespierre was at once wearied, satiated, and alarmed by the Revolution, and had resolved on checking it, affirm that he would not take any decided step until after he had read his famous speech. He considered it so fine that he had no doubt of its effect on the Assembly. If this be true, his mistake or his vanity cost him dear. Those who think differently assert that Danton and Camille-des-Moulins had precisely the same views; and yet that Robespierre sacrificed them. To these it is replied that Robespierre sacrificed them to preserve his popularity, because he judged that the decisive moment had not yet arrived; or because he did not wish to resign to them the glory of the enterprise.

Be this as it may, it is certain that the nearer we approach to the instruments and the agents in that catastrophe, the greater obscurity and mystery we find; and this uncertainty will but increase with time. Thus the page of history will, on this point as on many others, become the record, not so much of the events which really occurred, as of the statements which are given of them.

In the course of our conversation relative to Robespierre, the Emperor said that he had been very well acquainted with his brother, the younger Robespierre, the representative to the Army of Italy. He said nothing against this young man, whom he had led into action and inspired with great confidence and considerable enthusiasm for his person; so much so, that previously to the 9th of Thermidor, young Robespierre, being recalled by his brother, who was then secretly laying his plans, insisted on Napoleon’s accompanying him to Paris. The latter experienced the greatest difficulty in ridding himself of the importunity, and, at length, only escaped it by requesting the interference of the General-in-chief Dumerbion, whose entire confidence he possessed, and who represented that it was absolutely necessary he should remain where he was. “Had I followed young Robespierre,” said the Emperor, “how different might have been my career! On what trivial circumstances does human fate depend!—Some office would doubtless have been assigned to me; and I might at that moment have been destined to attempt a sort of Vendemiaire. But I was then very young; my ideas were not yet fixed. It is probable, indeed, that I should not have undertaken any task that might have been allotted to me; but supposing the contrary case, and even admitting that I had been successful, what results could I have hoped for? In Vendemiaire the revolutionary fever was totally subdued; in Thermidor it was still raging in its utmost fury and at its greatest height.”

“Public opinion,” said the Emperor, on another occasion, when conversing on another subject, “is an invisible and mysterious power which it is impossible to resist: nothing is more unsteady, more vague, or more powerful; and capricious as it may be, it is, nevertheless, just and reasonable more frequently than is supposed. On becoming Provisional Consul, the first act of my administration was the banishment of fifty anarchists. Public opinion, which had at first been furiously hostile to them, suddenly turned in their favour, and I was forced to retract. But some time afterwards, these same anarchists, having shewn a disposition to engage in plots, were again overthrown by that very public opinion, which had now returned to support me. Thus, through the errors that were committed at the time of the restoration, popularity was secured to the regicides, who but a moment before had been proscribed by the great mass of the nation.

“It belonged to me only,” continued the Emperor, “to shed a lustre over the memory of Louis XVI. in France, and to purify the nation of the crimes with which it had been sullied by frantic acts and unfortunate fatalities. The Bourbons, being of the royal family, and coming from abroad, merely avenged their own private cause, and augmented the national opprobrium. I, on the contrary, being one of the people, should have raised the character of the nation, by banishing from society, in her name, those whose crimes had disgraced her. This was my intention, but I proceeded prudently in the fulfilment of it. The three expiatory altars at St. Denis were but a prelude to my design. The Temple of Glory, on the site of the _Magdelaine_, was to have been devoted to this object with still greater solemnity. There, near the tomb and over the very bones of the political victims of our revolution, monuments and religious ceremonies would have consecrated their memory in the name of the French people. This is a secret that was not known to above ten individuals: though it had been found necessary to communicate a hint of the design to those who were intrusted with the arrangement of the edifice. I should not have executed my scheme in less than ten years; but what precautions had I not adopted; how carefully had I smoothed every difficulty, and removed every obstruction! All would have applauded my design, and no one would have suffered from it. So much depends on circumstances and forms,” added he, “that in my reign, Carnot would not have dared to write a memorial, boasting of the death of the King, though he did so under the Bourbons. I should have leagued with public opinion in punishing him; while public opinion sided with him in rendering him unassailable.”

CASCADE AT BRIARS.