Chapter IX: Part 9

At the conferences of Erfurt, the Princess of Baden received the most marked attentions from her brother-in-law, the Emperor Alexander. During our disasters, in 1813, persons who were at the head of political affairs, dreading the result of an interview between Alexander and the Princess of Baden, at Manheim, succeeded in depriving the Princess of the regard of her august relative, by circulating false reports to the prejudice of her character. When therefore Alexander arrived at Manheim, on his triumphal march to Paris, he by no means treated Princess Stephanie with due respect. His conduct was calculated to wound her feelings; but it could not humble her pride. On this occasion, the conduct pursued by the Prince of Baden reflected true glory on his character. The most august personages surrounded him, and urged him to repudiate the wife whom he had received from the hands of Napoleon. But the Prince, with true nobleness of sentiment, rejected the idea, observing that he would never commit an act of baseness, which would be as repugnant to his affections as to his honour. This generous Prince, to whom we did not render sufficient justice in Paris, afterwards fell a victim to a tedious and painful illness. The Princess personally attended her husband throughout the whole of his sufferings, performing with her own hands all the minute services that his situation required: her devoted attachment gained for her the admiration of her relatives and subjects.

Princess Stephanie of Baden shed a lustre over her exalted station. She conferred honour on her character as a wife and a daughter. She at all times professed the highest veneration for him, who, when in the enjoyment of boundless power, had benevolently adopted her as his child.

THE EMPEROR’S MAXIMS WITH RESPECT TO SOVEREIGNTY.—THE EXPULSION OF
PORTALIS FROM THE COUNCIL OF STATE.—ACCIDENTS WHICH OCCURRED TO THE
EMPEROR AT ST. CLOUD, AUXONNE, AND MARLY.

23rd.—The Emperor desired me to attend him in his chamber, about two o’clock. He remarked that I did not look well. He was himself ill, and had had but little sleep during the preceding night. He began to dress, saying that he should probably feel better when he had finished his toilet. We then went out to walk in the garden. The turn of the conversation led the Emperor to remark that our manners required that a sovereign should be regarded only as a blessing to his people; his acts of severity must be overlooked in consideration of his acts of clemency; mercy must still be held to be his chief attribute. In Paris, he observed, he had sometimes been reproached for conversations and words which, in truth, ought not to have escaped him. But he added that his personal situation, his extreme activity, and most of his acts, which really proceeded from himself, ought to have made amends for many things. He rendered justice to the delicate tact which distinguished the inhabitants of the French capital; no where, he said, could be found so much wit or more taste. He reproached himself for the expulsion of Portalis from the Council of State. I, who was present at the scene, told him that I thought his manner was somewhat paternal. “I was perhaps too severe,” resumed he; “I should have checked myself before I ordered him to be gone. He attempted no justification, and therefore the scene should have ended, merely by my saying _It is well_. His punishment should have awaited him at home. Anger is always unbecoming in a sovereign. But perhaps I was excusable in my council, where I might consider myself in the bosom of my own family; or perhaps, after all, I may be justly condemned for this act. Every one has his fault; nature will exert her sway over us all.”

He said he also reproached himself for his conduct to M. de G—— at the Tuileries, during one of the grand Sunday audiences, and in presence of all the Court.—"But in this instance," said he, “I was provoked to the utmost extreme. My anger burst forth against my inclination. I had given G—— the command of a legion of the capital, which I was about to defend. I afterwards learned that he rejoiced in our disasters, and invoked them, though I did not know this at the period to which I am now alluding. The enemy was advancing upon us, and G—— coolly wrote to inform me that his health would not permit him to take the command; though, as a courtier, he presented himself to me in perfect activity and good spirits. I was very indignant at his conduct; but I repressed my anger, and resolved to take no notice of him. He, however, on three or four occasions sought an opportunity of throwing himself in my way. I could no longer stifle my rage, and the bomb exploded.

“But,” concluded the Emperor, "what distressed me most of all, was the situation of G....’s son, who was my chamberlain, and of whom I had no reason to complain."

The Emperor then spoke of the Faubourg St. Germain, and questioned me respecting many families and individuals belonging to it. He happened to mention the name of Madame de S....; I observed that she had constantly evinced great attachment to the Emperor, for which she was now doubtless severely punished. The Emperor was not aware of the extent and sincerity of her zeal and devotedness; though he had been very much moved by her generous resolution of remaining with the Empress Josephine. He had, he said, to reproach himself for not having done any thing for Madame de S..... She must have been unfortunate in the choice of the moment at which she solicited her husband’s nomination to the Senate.

I had, from my childhood, been intimately acquainted with Madame de S....; and she made me her confidential friend. I related to the Emperor the anecdote of her nomination to the post of _dame du palais_. Her husband one morning introduced her to the Empress Josephine, who returned her thanks for having made an application to enter her service. This was a thunderbolt to Madame de S...., who had never dreamed of making such a solicitation; and who, in the natural timidity of her disposition, preserved silence. At that time I was certainly far from approving or advising her acceptance of the post: I nevertheless rendered her a real act of service by withholding a letter of refusal which she had confided to me, without the knowledge of her friends, and which might have proved fatal to the intrigues of those by whom the affair had been brought about.

The Emperor asked me what could have given rise to this repugnance on the part of Madame de S.... to enter the service of the Empress? I replied that it was occasioned by the connection she had had with the royal family. “She was right,” said he, "how could her husband think of placing her in a situation so hostile to her feelings? A similar case occurred in one of my nominations of Chamberlains. One individual begged that I would be pleased to allow him to decline the honour, because, as he said, he had been first Gentleman of the Chamber to Louis XVI. and Louis XVIII. This was perfectly reasonable on his part; but how could I possibly listen to such a solicitation? It was a proof of want of delicacy in those who proposed his nomination; but what had I to do with that? Could I enter into details of this kind? The important affairs that claimed my attention would not permit me to descend to matters of this sort.

“However,” continued the Emperor, "if Madame de S.... had gone the right way to work, she might have obtained all she asked for. But she never evinced any particular interest in what she solicited, and made applications only in favour of individuals who had not proved themselves very deserving; among others she recommended to my notice a man who, after being one of the King’s Peers, wished to be made one of mine. On my return from Elba, his daughter came to assure me that, if I would confer this favour upon him, he would pledge himself to act with zeal in my service, acknowledging, as he said, no interests but those of the nation. All this was of course fair enough."

About four o’clock the Emperor got into the calash; during our usual ride, he mentioned several serious accidents by which, at one time or other, his life had been endangered.

At St. Cloud, he once attempted to drive his calash six-in-hand. The horses were startled by Aide-de-camp Cafarelli inadvertently crossing the road in front of them. Before the Emperor had time to recover the reins, the horses set off at full speed, and the calash, which rolled along with extreme velocity, struck against a railing. The Emperor was thrown out to the distance of eight or ten feet, and lay stretched on the ground upon his face. He was, he said, dead for a few seconds. He felt the moment at which life became extinct, which he called the _negative moment_. The first person who touched him, on alighting from his horse, immediately revived him. He observed that the mere contact suddenly called him to life, as, in the night-mare, the sufferer is relieved as soon as he can cry out.

On another occasion the Emperor said he had nearly been drowned. When in garrison at Auxonne, in 1786, while he was one day amusing himself with swimming, a sudden numbness came over him; he lost his self-possession, and, being alone, he was carried along by the current in a senseless state. He felt life escape him, and even heard his comrades on the shore call out that he was drowned, and hasten in quest of boats to recover his body. In this case a sudden shock restored him to life. His breast struck against a sand-bank; and, by a miracle, his head, being above the water, he recovered himself sufficiently to swim ashore. The water was discharged from his stomach; he regained the spot where he had left his clothes, and, having dressed himself, he got home, while his friends were still in search of his body.

Another time, while hunting the wild boar at Marly, all his suite was put to flight; it was like the rout of an army. The Emperor, with Soult and Berthier, maintained their ground against three enormous boars. “We killed all three; but I received a hurt from my adversary, and nearly lost this finger,” said the Emperor, pointing to the third finger of his left hand, which indeed bore the mark of a severe wound. "But the most laughable circumstance of all was to see the multitude of men, surrounded by their dogs, screening themselves behind the three heroes, and calling out lustily:—‘_Save the Emperor! Save the Emperor!_’ while not one advanced to my assistance."

POLITICAL REFLECTIONS.

24th.—The Emperor went out only to take an airing in the calash. We drove for nearly an hour and a half, proceeding at a slow pace, and lengthened our airing by going twice over the limits of our usual ride. The Emperor conversed on politics. The newspapers, which we had received three days ago, furnished the subject of discussion.

In France, he observed, the patriots were emigrating rapidly; and there seemed to be a wish to encourage their emigration, from the circumstance of their property not having been confiscated, &c.

The Emperor thought he could perceive from the debates in the English Parliament, that there was a reserved idea respecting the partition of France; this was a severe shock to his feelings. “Every one possessing a true French heart,” said he, “must now be overwhelmed with despair. An immense majority of the population of France must be plunged in the deepest sorrow. Ah!” he exclaimed, “why am I not placed in some remote sphere, on a soil truly free and independent, where no external influence could be dreaded! how would I astonish the universe! I would address a proclamation to the French; I would say to them;—You are lost if you are not united. The odious, the insolent foreigner is about to parcel you out and to annihilate you. Frenchmen arise; make common cause, at all hazards,—rally, if it must be so, even around the Bourbons! Let the existence, the safety of France, take place of every other consideration!...”

He thought, however, that Russia must oppose this division, as she would thereby have to fear the growing strength and consolidation of Germany against her. Some one present remarked that Austria must oppose it also, from the apprehension of wanting the necessary support in case of any attempts on the part of Russia. It was moreover observed that, in such a case, Austria might probably serve the cause of the King of Rome, by putting him forward. “Yes,” replied the Emperor, "as an instrument of menace, perhaps; but never as the object of her good wishes. Austria must have too much cause to dread him. The King of Rome will be the man of the people; he will be the champion of Italy. Thus it will be the policy of Austria to take his life. This will not probably be attempted during the reign of his grandfather, who is a good man;—but the Emperor Francis cannot live for ever. If, however, the manners of the present age should preclude the possibility of an attempt to murder him, they will endeavour to brutalize his faculties. Or finally, if he should escape both physical and moral assassination,—if his mother’s cares and his own natural endowments should rescue him from all those dangers, then—then—" (he repeated several times, as if absorbed in reflection) “why then—But who can calculate on the destinies of any one here below!”

The Emperor then turned the conversation to England, by remarking that she alone was interested in the destruction of France; and in the plenitude and versatility of his fancy, he touched on all the various plans which she was likely to adopt for that purpose. She could not increase the power of Belgium, he said, otherwise Antwerp would become as formidable to her as it had been under his reign. She must, he observed, leave the Bourbons in the centre, with only eight or ten millions of inhabitants, and surround them with Princes, Dukes, or Kings of Normandy, Brittany, Aquitaine, and Provence; so that Cherbourg, Brest, the Garonne, and the Mediterranean would be in the possession of different sovereigns. This, he said, would make the French monarchy retrograde several ages, would restore it to its situation under the first Capets, and would provide for the Bourbons a few centuries of new and laborious efforts.—"But, fortunately," observed the Emperor, "before England can arrive at this point, she will have to surmount almost invincible obstacles,—the uniformity of the division of the territory into departments, the similitude of language, the identity of manners, the universality of the code, the generality of my lyceums, and the glory and splendour which I have left behind me; these are so many indissoluble knots and truly national institutions.

"A great nation like France cannot easily be parcelled out, or, if it should, it will be constantly re-uniting and seeking to recover its importance; like Ariosto’s giant, who runs after his limbs and even his head, as they are lopped off, and after putting them on begins to fight again." “But Sire,” said some one present, “the power of the giant depended on the plucking out of a single hair; and, in like manner, Napoleon may be said to be the hair on which depended the existence of France.” “No,” resumed the Emperor, “my memory and my ideas would still survive.—But,” continued he, “England, on the contrary, would in course of time have become a mere appendage to France, had the latter continued under my dominion. England was by nature intended to be one of our Islands, as well as Oleron or Corsica. On what trifles does the fate of Empires depend! How petty and insignificant are our revolutions in the grand organization of the universe! If, instead of entering upon the Egyptian expedition, I had invaded Ireland; if some slight derangement of my plans had not thrown obstacles in the way of my Boulogne enterprise; what would England have been to-day? What would have been the situation of the continent and of the whole political world?”

VOLTAIRE’S BRUTUS.

25th.—After dinner the Emperor read Œdipus, which he admired exceedingly. He next took up Brutus, of which he gave us a very remarkable analysis. He observed that Voltaire seemed not to have entered into the right feeling for his subject. “The Romans,” said he, “were guided by patriotism, as we are by honour. Voltaire has not portrayed the real sublimity of Brutus, sacrificing his sons for the welfare of his country, and in spite of the pangs of paternal affection. He has made him a monster of pride, decreeing the death of his children for the sake of preserving his power, his name, and his celebrity. The other characters of the tragedy, he added, are equally misconceived. Tullia is described as a fury who takes advantage of her situation; and not as a woman of tender sentiment, who might be led into crime by seduction and dangerous influence.”

FRENCH COLONY ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.—THE EMPEROR MIGHT
HAVE PROCEEDED TO AMERICA.—CARNOT AT THE TIME OF THE ABDICATION.

26th.—The Emperor sent for me about two o’clock. He was not well and was much fatigued. We looked over a few newspapers.

In these papers it was stated that Joseph Bonaparte had made extensive purchases of land on the north of the State of New York, on the river St. Lawrence, and that a great number of French families had grouped round him and were soon likely to form a numerous colony. It was remarked that the spot seemed to have been fixed on with a view to the interests of the United States, and in opposition to the policy of England. In the south, in Louisiana, for example, the refugees could have looked forward only to the enjoyment of repose and domestic happiness; but in their present situation they must soon become a natural attraction to the population of Canada, which was already French, and they must ultimately form a strong barrier, or even a hostile point against the English, who yet possess the dominion of that part of America. The Emperor said that the establishment would in a few years present a numerous population, distinguished for all sorts of useful knowledge. If they do their duty, said he, they will transmit from their colony excellent writings, victorious refutations of the system which now triumphs in Europe. When at the Island of Elba, the Emperor had entertained a similar idea.

He then proceeded to calculate all that he had given to the different members of his family; and observed that they might have amassed considerable sums of money. For his part, he said, he had nothing; if in the course of time, he should find himself in possession of any property in Europe, he should be wholly indebted for it to the foresight and contrivance of some of his friends.

If the Emperor had gone to America, he intended to have collected all his relatives around him; and he supposed that they might have realized at least forty millions of francs. This point would have become the nucleus of a national union, a second France. Before the conclusion of a year, the events of Europe would have collected around him a hundred millions of francs and sixty thousand individuals, most of them possessing wealth, talent, and information. The Emperor said that he should have liked to realize that dream; it would have been a renewal of his glory.

“America,” continued he, “was in all respects our proper asylum. It is an immense continent, possessing the advantages of a peculiar system of freedom. If a man is troubled with melancholy, he may get into a coach, and drive a thousand leagues, enjoying all the way the pleasure of a common traveller. In America you may be on a footing of equality with every one; you may, if you please, mingle with the crowd, without inconvenience, retaining your own manners, your own language, your own religion, &c.”

He said it was impossible that he could henceforth consider himself as a private man in Europe; his name was too popular throughout the continent. He was in some way or other connected with every people, and belonged to every country.

“As for you,” said he to me smiling, “your fate seemed naturally to lead you to the shores of the Oronooko or to Mexico, where the recollection of the good Las Cases is not yet obliterated. You would there have enjoyed all you could have wished. The destinies of some men seem to be marked out. Gregoire, for instance, has only to go to Hayti, and he would immediately be made a Pope.”

At the time of the Emperor’s second abdication, an American in Paris wrote to him as follows:—"While you were at the head of a nation, you could perform any miracle, you might conceive any hopes; but now you can do nothing more in Europe. Fly to the United States! I know the hearts of the leading men and the sentiments of the people of America. You will there find a second country and every source of consolation." The Emperor would not listen to such a suggestion. He might, doubtless, by dint of speed or disguise, have gained Brest, Nantes, Bordeaux, or Toulon, and in all probability have reached America; but he conceived that either disguise or flight would be derogatory from his dignity. He thought himself bound to prove to all Europe his full confidence in the French people, and their extreme attachment to him, by passing through his dominions at such a crisis, merely in the quality of a private man, and unattended by any escort. But what above all influenced him at that critical moment was the hope that impending dangers would open the eyes of his subjects, that they would rally around him, and that he might save the country. This hope caused him to linger at Malmaison, and to postpone his departure, after he had reached Rochefort. If he is now at St. Helena, he owes his captivity to this sentiment, of which he was unable to divest himself. Subsequently, when he had no other resource than to accept the hospitality of the Bellerophon, it was not perhaps without a feeling of inward satisfaction that he found himself, by the force of circumstances, irresistibly led to fix his abode in England, where he might enjoy the happiness of being still but little removed from France. He was well aware that he could not be free in England; but he hoped to be heard, and then a chance would at least have been open to the impressions which he might create. “The English Ministers,” said he, “who are the enemies of their country, and who have sold her to foreigners, thought they had too much cause to dread my presence. They conceived that my opinion in London would be more powerful than the whole Opposition: that it would have compelled them either to change their system or resign their places; and, to keep themselves in place, they basely sacrificed the true interests of their country, the triumph, the glory of her laws, the peace of the world, the welfare of Europe, the happiness and the benedictions of posterity.”

In the course of conversation during the evening, the Emperor once more adverted to Waterloo, and described his anxiety and indecision before he came to a final resolution respecting his abdication. I pass over a multitude of details, lest I should be led into repetition; I note down only the following:—

The Emperor’s speech to his ministers was the literal prophecy of all that subsequently took place. Carnot was the only one who seemed to take a right view of the case. He opposed the abdication, which he said was a death-blow to France; and he wished that we should defend ourselves even to annihilation. Carnot was the only one who maintained this opinion; all the rest were for the abdication. That measure was determined, and Carnot, covering his face with his hands, burst into tears.

At another moment the Emperor said, “I am not a God: I cannot do all by my own single efforts: I cannot save the nation without the help of the nation. I am certain that the people then entertained these sentiments, and that they are now suffering undeservedly. It was the host of intriguers, and men possessing titles and offices, who were really guilty. That which misled them, and which ruined me, was the mild system of 1814, the benignity of the restoration; they looked for a repetition of this lenity. The change of the Sovereign had become a mere joke. They all calculated on remaining just as they had been before, whether I should be succeeded by Louis XVIII. or any other. These stupid, selfish, and egotistical men looked upon the great event as merely a competition, about which they cared but little; and they thought only of their individual interests, when a deadly war of principles was about to be commenced. And why should I disguise the truth? There were among the individuals whom I had elevated, and by whom I was surrounded, a number of proud ...!” Then, turning to me, he added, “I am not alluding to your Faubourg St. Germain, with respect to which the matter was totally different, and for which some excuse may be found. During my first reverses in 1814, the greatest traitors were not the persons connected with that party, of whom I had no great cause to complain; and, who, therefore, on my return, were not bound to me by any particular ties of gratitude. I had abdicated, the King was restored. They had but returned to their old attachments, and had only renewed their allegiance.”

STATE OF FRENCH MANUFACTURES.—ON PHYSIOGNOMY.

27th.—The Emperor went out about 2 o’clock; the weather was very fine. The season is sensibly different from that which we had on our arrival; the air is infinitely more pure. The Emperor was, however, very ill, and very low-spirited. He walked to the extremity of the wood, while we were waiting for the calash. We took our usual drive.

The conversation turned on the state of manufactures in France. The Emperor said he had raised them to a degree of prosperity hitherto unknown; and which was scarcely credited in Europe, or even in France. This was a subject of wonder to foreigners on their arrival. The Abbé de Montesquiou, he said, was constantly expressing his astonishment at this circumstance, the proofs of which he had in his own hands, when he became Minister of the Interior.

The Emperor was the first individual in France who said: Agriculture, first; industry, that is to say, manufactures, next; and, finally, trade, which must arise out of the superabundance of the two first. He also defined and put into practice, in a clear and connected way, the systems most conducive to the interests of our manufacturers and merchants. To him we were indebted for the cultivation of sugar, indigo, and cotton. He offered a reward of a million francs to the person who should discover a method of spinning flax like cotton; and he doubted not that this discovery would have been made. The fatality of circumstances alone prevented this grand idea from being carried into execution.

“The old aristocracy, those enemies to our prosperity,” said the Emperor, “exhausted all their wit in stupid jokes and frivolous caricatures on these subjects. But the English had no cause to laugh; they felt the blow, and have not yet recovered from it.”

A short time before dinner, the Emperor sent for me to attend him in his chamber. He was very unwell; he tried to converse, but he had not strength. He attributed his indisposition to his having drunk some bad wine, which had newly arrived. He said that Corvisart, Bertholet, and other physicians and chemists, had frequently said that if he experienced the least unpleasant flavour, on first tasting his wine, he must by no means swallow it.

The turn of the conversation led him to express his surprise at the contrast between the character of the mind and the expression of the countenance, which was observable in some individuals. “This proves,” said he, "that we must not judge of a man by his face; we can know him only by his conduct. What countenances have I had to judge of in the course of my life! What odd samples of physiognomy have come under my observation! And what rash opinions have I heard on this subject! Thus I invariably made it a rule never to be influenced either by features or by words. Still, however, it must be confessed that we sometimes find curious resemblances between the countenance and the character. For instance, on looking at the face of our _Monseigneur_ (meaning the Governor), who would not recognise the features of a tiger-cat! I will mention another instance. There was a man in my service, who was employed about my person. I liked him very much; but I was obliged to dismiss him because I several times caught him with his hands in my pockets. He committed his thefts too impudently: let any one look at this man, and they must admit that he has a magpie’s eye."

While we were conversing on the subject of physiognomy, some one remarked, that Mirabeau, speaking of Pastoret’s face, said: “it is a compound of the tiger and the calf; but the calf predominates.” At this the Emperor laughed heartily, and said it was strictly true.

The Emperor wished to dine alone in his chamber. He sent for me about ten o’clock. He was then better; and he looked over several of the books which lay scattered upon his couch. He began to read Racine’s Alexander, of which he expressed his dislike; and he afterwards took up Andromache, which is one of his favourite pieces.

MARKS OF RESPECT SHEWN TO THE EMPEROR BY THE
ENGLISH SOLDIERS.

28th.—The Emperor went out about two o’clock. The weather was exceedingly pleasant. We took nearly an hour’s drive in the calash. It had been at first proposed that the Emperor should ride on horseback; for his health was suffering from the want of that exercise. But he would not consent to go out on horseback; he said that to ride backward and forward within the limits marked out for him was like being confined in a riding-school, and he could not endure it. However, on our return home, we succeeded in changing his determination. We all attended him, and we reached the summit of that part of Goat Hill which separates the horizon of the town from that of Longwood. On our way back, we passed in front of the English camp; this was the first time we had passed it since our residence at Longwood. The soldiers immediately quitted their various occupations, and eagerly formed themselves in a line as we passed along. “What European soldier,” said the Emperor, “would not be inspired with respect at my approach!” He knew this, and therefore carefully avoided passing the English camp, lest he should be accused of wishing to excite this sentiment. We all very much enjoyed the ride, and returned home about five o’clock. The Emperor was a little fatigued.

For some time past, he has relinquished his regular dictations. He saw some skittles which had been made by the servants for their own amusement. He ordered them to be brought to us, and we played several games with them. The Emperor won a napoleon and a half from me. He made me pay the debt, and then threw the money to the servant who had attended us for the purpose of running after the ball.

CORSICA.—REMARK MADE BY PAOLI.—MAGNANIMOUS CONDUCT OF MADAME
MÉRE.—LUCIEN INTENDED TO BE GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF CORSICA.—THE FIRST
CONSUL’S COURT.—MADAME DE CHEVREUSE.—THE EMPEROR RECEIVES A LETTER
FROM HIS MOTHER.

29th.—For some time past, at our urgent solicitation, the Emperor every evening made a promise that he would ride on horseback early on the following morning; but whenever the appointed hour arrived he invariably changed his determination. This morning, he was in the garden by half-past eight o’clock, and he sent for me. The conversation turned on Corsica, and was maintained for upwards of an hour.

"One’s native country," said he, “is always dear. Even St. Helena may have charms to those who were born here.” To the Emperor, therefore, Corsica presented a thousand attractions. He described the grand scenery of the country, and remarked that islanders always display originality of character, because their situation tends to protect them against invasion, and precludes that perpetual intercourse with foreigners which is experienced in continental states. The inhabitants of mountainous regions, he said, always possess a degree of energy, and a turn of mind peculiar to themselves. He dwelt much on the charms of his native country, which, from his early recollections, was to him superior to any other spot in the world. He thought that the very smell of the earth would enable him to distinguish his native land, even were he conducted blindfold to her shores; there was in it something peculiar, which he had never perceived elsewhere. Corsica was the scene of all his early attachments; he had there passed the happy years of his childhood, freely roaming among the hills and valleys, enjoying the honours and pleasures of hospitality. He traced different lines of family connections, who, he said, extended the spirit of animosity and revenge, even to the seventh degree; and he observed that a young woman in Corsica thought she enhanced the value of her dowry by enumerating the list of her cousins. He recollected with pride that, when only twenty years of age, he had accompanied Paoli on a grand excursion to Porte di Nuovo. Paoli’s retinue was numerous; he was escorted by upwards of 500 of his followers on horseback. Napoleon rode by his side, and, as they went along, Paoli pointed out to him the different positions and the places which had been the scenes of resistance or triumph during the war for Corsican liberty. He related to him all the particulars of that glorious conflict; and, on hearing the remarks and opinions which fell from his young companion, he said, "Oh Napoleon! there is nothing modern in your character! you are formed entirely on Plutarch’s model."

When Paoli manifested his determination to surrender the island to the English, the Bonaparte family continued to head the French party, and had the fatal honour of being the object of _a march_ of the inhabitants of the island, that is to say, they were attacked by a levy in mass: 12 or 15,000 peasants made a descent from the mountains on Ajaccio. The house occupied by Napoleon’s family was pillaged and burnt, and the vines and flocks were destroyed. Madame, surrounded by a few faithful friends, wandered for some time on the sea-shore, and was at length obliged to fly to France. The Bonaparte family had always been much attached to Paoli, and he in his turn had professed particular respect towards Madame. It is, however, but just to remark that he employed persuasion before he resorted to force. “Renounce this opposition,” said he, “it will prove the ruin of yourself, your family, and your fortune; you will bring irreparable misery on yourself.” The Emperor, indeed, affirmed that, but for the chance of the revolution, the family could never have recovered from their misfortunes. Madame, like another Cornelia, heroically replied, “that she, her children, and her relatives would only obey two laws, namely, those of duty and honour. Had old Archdeacon Lucien been living at that time, his heart would have bled at the idea of the danger of his sheep, goats, and cattle, and his prudence would not have failed to allay the storm.”

Madame Bonaparte, the victim of her patriotism and her attachment to France, expected to be received at Marseilles as an emigrant of distinction; but there she scarcely found herself in safety; and, to her astonishment, discovered that the spirit of patriotism existed only among the very lowest classes of the people.

Napoleon, in his youth wrote a history of Corsica, which he dedicated to the Abbé Raynal. This production gained for him some flattering compliments and letters from the Abbé, who was the fashionable author of the day. This history has been lost.

The Emperor remarked that, during the war in Corsica, all the French who came to the island formed some decided opinion on the character of the mountaineers. Some said that they were full of enthusiasm, others regarded them as mere banditti.

It was said in the Senate at Paris, that France had chosen a ruler from among a people whom the Romans would not take for their slaves. “The Senator intended this remark as an insult to me,” said the Emperor; “but he forgot how high a compliment he was thus paying to the Corsicans. He spoke truly: the Romans never purchased Corsican slaves: they knew that it was impossible to reduce the Corsicans under the yoke of slavery.”

During the war for liberty in Corsica, some one proposed the singular plan of cutting down and burning all the chesnut-trees, the fruit of which furnishes sustenance to the mountaineers. By this means it was hoped they would be compelled to descend to the plains to sue for food and peace. Happily, said the Emperor, this was one of those impracticable plans which can be realized only on paper. From very different motives, Napoleon, during the early period of his life, had constantly declaimed against the goats, which are very numerous in the island, and commit great ravages among the trees. He wished them to be entirely extirpated. On this subject he had some terrible disputes with his uncle, Archdeacon Lucien, who possessed numerous herds of goats, and who defended them like a patriarch. In his rage, he reproached his nephew with being an _innovator_, and inveighed against _philosophic ideas_, as the cause of the danger with which his goats were threatened.

Paoli died in London at a very old age: he lived to see Napoleon First Consul and Emperor. The Emperor expressed his regret at not having recalled him. “That,” said he, “would have been highly gratifying to me. Such an act would have been a real trophy of honour. But my mind was absorbed in important affairs; I rarely had time to indulge my personal feelings.”

After the Emperor’s return in 1815, when Lucien arrived in Paris, Joseph advised the Emperor to appoint him Governor General of Corsica. This measure was even determined on; the importance and hurry of passing events alone prevented its execution. “If Lucien had gone to Corsica,” said the Emperor, “he would still have remained master of the Island, and what resources would it not have presented to our persecuted patriots?—To how many unfortunate families would not Corsica have afforded an asylum? He repeated that he had perhaps committed a fault, at the time of his abdication, in not reserving to himself the sovereignty of Corsica, together with the possession of some millions of the civil list; and in not having conveyed all his valuables to Toulon, whence nothing could have impeded his passage. In Corsica, he would have found himself at home; the whole population would have been, as it were, his own family. He might have disposed of every arm and every heart. Thirty thousand or even 50,000 allied troops could not have subdued him.” No sovereign in Europe would have undertaken such a task. But it was precisely the happy security of the situation that deterred him from availing himself of it. He would not have it said that, amidst the wreck of the French people, which he plainly foresaw, he alone had been artful enough to gain the port.

Some one here observed that, according to the general opinion, he might, in 1814, have secured the possession of Corsica instead of the Island of Elba. “Certainly I might,” replied the Emperor, “and those who are well acquainted with the affairs of Fontainebleau will be surprised that I did not. I might then have reserved to myself whatever I pleased. The humour of the moment led me to decide in favour of Elba. Had I possessed Corsica, it is probable that my return in 1815 would never have been thought of. Even at Elba, those whose interest it was to keep me there decreed my return by their own misgovernment and the non-fulfilment of the engagements which they had entered into with me.”

We now reminded the Emperor of his intention of riding on horseback; but he said that he would rather walk and chat. He ordered his breakfast, after which we conversed for some time on the old Court, the nobility who composed it, their pretensions, the King’s equipages, &c.; and all this was compared with what the Emperor had himself introduced.

The Emperor then reverted to the period of his Consulship, and described the difficulties which he had experienced in forming the kind of Court which was then kept up at the Tuileries. On his arrival there, he was resolved to obliterate the recollection of the manners and conflicts of the period to which he had just succeeded. But he had hitherto passed his life in camps: he had just returned from Egypt, and had quitted France when young and inexperienced. He was a stranger to every one, and he at first found this a source of great embarrassment. Lebrun acted as his guide during the first years of his Consulship. Bankers and money-speculators were at that time persons of the first consequence. No sooner did the Consul enter upon his functions, than a host of these individuals crowded round him, and eagerly offered to advance him considerable sums of money. This conduct, though seemingly dictated only by generosity, was not however without interested views. They were for the most part men of bad character; and their offers were rejected. The First Consul had a natural dislike of men of this profession. He said that he had taken the firm determination to act upon different principles from those of Scherer, Barras, and the Directory. He was anxious that probity should become the main spring and feature of his new government. The Consul was also immediately surrounded by the wives of these money-lenders, who were all beautiful and elegant women. Indeed a money-lender at that time seemed to regard it as indispensably necessary that his wife should be a woman of fascinating manners: it was a circumstance that tended materially to assist his speculations. But the prudent Lebrun was at hand to direct the young Telemachus. He resolved to exclude this sort of society from the Tuileries. It was, however, no such easy matter to assemble a suitable circle around the Consul: nobles were rejected, in order to avoid giving offence to public opinion; and contractors were excluded, with the view of purifying the morals of the new era. These two classes being thus shut out, of course no very distinguished society remained; and the Tuileries for some time presented a sort of magic-lantern, very varied and changeable.

At Moscow, the Viceroy happened to meet with some letters written by Princess Dolgoruki, who had been at Paris at the period here alluded to. This correspondence gave a very favourable picture of the Tuileries. The Princess observed that it was not precisely a Court, nor yet exactly a camp; but something perfectly new in its kind. She added that the First Consul did not carry his hat under his arm, nor wear a dress-sword by his side; but that he was nevertheless a swordsman. “However,” continued the Emperor, “such is the effect of evil report that, owing to some such expressions as these having been misrepresented to me, Princess Dolgoruki was very unjustly treated. I ordered her, at that time, to quit France. We thought her hostile to the principles of our government; but we were, as it may be seen, mistaken. Madame G...., the mistress of M. de T...., for he had not yet made her his wife, greatly contributed to alienate from us the regard of the Russians.”

The Emperor observed that, on his return from Elba, he had experienced far less embarrassment in composing his Court. “It was, indeed,” said he, “all ready formed, by the ladies whom I termed _my widows_. These were Madame Duroc, the Duchess of Istria, Mesdames Regnier, Lagrand, and all the other widows of my first generals. I told the Princesses, who consulted me on the method of recomposing their Courts, to follow my example. Nothing was more natural and proper. These ladies, though still young, were already experienced in the world; and among them were several beautiful and fascinating women. Most of them have now lost their fortunes; some, I have been told, are re-married, and have changed their names;[17] so that, of all the wealth and rank founded by me, no traces will perhaps remain; even names will disappear. If this should really be the case, will it not afford ground for saying that, after all, there must have been a radical error in the selections I made. But it will be the worse for the parties themselves; they will by this means only furnish a triumph and a ground of insolence to the old aristocracy.”

Footnote 17:

The Emperor had been informed that two or three of the widows of his
most distinguished generals had lately re-married. This, however, is
untrue.

We again reminded the Emperor of his intended ride on horseback: we urged him not to neglect it, because we knew it to be absolutely necessary for his health. But we could not prevail on him to leave the garden. “We are very well here,” said he; “we will have some tents pitched on this spot.” We began to talk about the Faubourg St. Germain, and the Hotel de Luynes, which the Emperor termed its metropolis. He described to us the cause of the banishment of Madame de Chevreuse. He said, he had frequently threatened to visit her with this punishment, and for conduct of the most mischievous and insolent nature. One day, when urged to the utmost extremity, he addressed her as follows:—"Madam, according to the feudal notions and doctrines, entertained by you and your friends, you pretend to be the sovereigns of your estates! Now, on the same principles, I may style myself the Sovereign Lord of France. I may claim Paris as my village, and may banish from it every individual who is obnoxious to me. I judge you by your own laws. Begone! and never venture to return!" On decreeing her exile, the Emperor was firmly resolved never to be prevailed on to recal her; because, he said, he had endured much before he had decreed her punishment, and he found himself compelled to set an example of severity to spare the necessity of repeating it on others. This was one of his grand principles.

I told the Emperor that I had frequently visited the Hotel de Luynes, and that I had been well acquainted with Madame de Chevreuse and her mother-in-law, for whom I had always entertained a great regard. The latter had evinced singular and constant affection for her daughter-in-law, having shared her exile, and accompanied her in her different journeys from place to place. When proceeding on my mission to Illyria, I one night met them both in an inn at the foot of the Simplon. To be thus able to procure in the desert the most trivial details relating to Paris and the Court, was to them a source of unfeigned joy, and a most unexpected instance of good fortune. They listened to me with no less eagerness than that evinced by Fouquet on hearing the accounts of Lauzun. Their banishment from the capital had been to them an absolute sentence of death; it had overwhelmed them with despair!

Finally, I assured the Emperor that, for a considerable period, I had observed the Hotel de Luynes, if not subdued, at least calmed and reduced to something less than indifference; but our unexpected disasters had revived its former spirit.

As to Madame de Chevreuse, who was a handsome, intelligent, and amiable woman, with a somewhat romantic turn of mind, she had doubtless been seduced by the charms of notoriety, or urged on by her numerous flatterers and admirers, some of whom were very unworthy of her regard. “I know it,” observed the Emperor; “she hoped to recommence _the Fronde_; but I was not a minor Sovereign.”

The Musquito brig which left England on the 23rd of March, arrived with files of the Journal des Debats down to the 5th of March, and London papers to the 21st. On retiring to his closet, the Emperor desired me to follow him. He began to peruse the Journal des Debats; and, meanwhile, a letter was delivered to me from the Grand Marshal. It had just arrived from Europe, and was addressed to the Emperor. I handed it to him. He read it over once and sighed; and, then, having read it a second time, he tore it, and threw the fragments beneath the table. This letter was delivered open! The Emperor then resumed his perusal of the Journals, and, suddenly stopping, he said, after a few moments’ silence:—"That letter was from poor Madame: she is well, and wishes to come to reside with me at St. Helena!" After this he continued his reading. This, which was the first letter that the Emperor had received from any individual of his family, was in the handwriting of Cardinal Fesch. The Emperor was evidently much hurt by its having been delivered to him open.

MOREAU, GEORGES, AND PICHEGRU.—DIFFERENCE OF OPINION PRODUCED BY THEIR
CONSPIRACY IN THE CAMP OF BOULOGNE AND IN PARIS.

30th.—The Emperor went out about two o’clock, and we all attended him. He began to converse about the intelligence contained in the French papers which he had just received, and alluded to the statues which, it was stated, were to be erected to the memory of Moreau and Pichegru. “A statue to Moreau,” said he, “whose conspiracy in 1803 is now so well proved! Moreau, who, in 1813, died fighting under the Russian standard! A monument to the memory of Pichegru, who was guilty of one of the most heinous of crimes! who purposely suffered himself to be defeated, and who connived with the enemy in the slaughter of his own troops! And after all,” continued he, “history is only made up of reports which gain credit by repetition. Because it has been repeatedly affirmed that these were great men, who deserved well of their country, they will at length pass for such, and their adversaries will be despised.”

Some one present remarked that it might have been thus in the dark ages of ignorance; but that now the multitude of monuments and public documents, the arts of printing and engraving, and the general diffusion of knowledge, must always render truth accessible to those who wish to come at it; and, as each party has its own historians, the thinking reader will always be enabled to form an impartial opinion.

The Emperor then described at length the affairs of Moreau, Georges, and Pichegru, to which I have before alluded, and of which I promised further details. He now informed us that the man who made the first confessions indicated, though without naming him, a person to whom Georges and the other leaders of the conspiracy never spoke without taking off their hats, and whom they treated with the utmost consideration and respect. It was at first supposed that this individual must have been the Duke de Berri; and some concluded him to have been the Duke d’Enghien, during his momentary appearance. Charles d’Hosier, one of the conspirators, unexpectedly drew aside the veil. A few days after his arrest, he was seized with a fit of melancholy and hanged himself in prison. The alarm was however given, and he was cut down. Stretched on his bed, and while yet struggling between life and death, he vented repeated imprecations against Moreau, and accused him of having treacherously seduced many well-disposed men, and held out to them promises of assistance which he never realized. He likewise mentioned the names of Georges and Pichegru. This was the first circumstance that excited suspicion against Georges and Pichegru; there was previously no idea of either the one or the other having been engaged in the conspiracy. Real, who had hastened to this sort of death-bed confession of d’Hosier, proposed to the Consul that he should order the arrest of Moreau.