Chapter IX: Part 9

The Emperor, on rising from the dinner table, adverted to his recent protest against the treaty of the 2d of August. He expatiated with warmth on the subject, and remarked, while he walked rapidly about the apartment, that he intended to draw up another protest, on a more extensive and important scale, against the Bill that had been passed in the British Parliament. He would prove, he said, that the Bill was not a law, but a violation of every existing law. Napoleon was proscribed, and not judged by it. The English Parliament had done, not what was just, but what was deemed to be expedient; it had imitated Themistocles, without hearing Aristides. The Emperor then arraigned himself before all the nations in Europe, and proved that each would successively acquit him. He took a review of the different acts of his reign, and justified them all.

“The French and the Italians,” said he, “lament my absence; I carry with me the gratitude of the Poles, and even the late and bitter regrets of the Spaniards. Europe will soon deplore the loss of the equilibrium, to the maintenance of which my French empire was absolutely necessary. The Continent is now in the most perilous situation, being continually exposed to the risk of being overrun by Cossacks and Tartars. And the English,” said he in conclusion, “the English will deplore their victory at Waterloo! Things will be carried to such a length that posterity, together with every well-informed and well-disposed person among our contemporaries, will regret that I did not succeed in all my enterprises.”

In course of his remarks, the Emperor occasionally rose to a pitch of sublimity. I shall not follow him into all his details. He promised to dictate the observations he had made, and said that he had already sketched out a plan for his political defence, in fourteen paragraphs.

CATINAT; TURENNE; CONDÉ.—QUESTIONS RESPECTING THE GREATEST BATTLE FOUGHT
BY THE EMPEROR; THE BEST TROOPS, &C.

28th.—The Emperor did not go out until four o’clock; he had spent three hours in the bath. The weather was very unpleasant, and in consequence he merely took a few turns in the garden. He had just written to inform the Governor that henceforth he would receive no strangers, unless they were admitted to Longwood by passes from the Grand Marshal, as in the time of Admiral Cockburn.

The Emperor proposed playing a game at chess; but, before he sat down to do so, he took up a volume of Fenelon. It was _La Direction de Conscience d’un Roi_. He read to us several articles, criticising them with considerable spirit and gaiety. At length he threw down the volume, saying that the name of an author had never influenced him in forming an opinion of his writings; that he always judged of works according to the sentiments with which they inspired him; being always equally willing to praise or to censure. He added that, in spite of the name of Fenelon, he had no hesitation in declaring that the work he had just looked through was a mere string of rhapsodies; and truly it would be difficult to refute this assertion.

After dinner, the Emperor conversed about the old marine establishment, and alluded to M. de Grasse, and his defeat on the 12th of April. He wished to learn some particulars on this subject; and he asked for the Dictionary of Sieges and Battles. He looked over it, and it afforded him matter for a multitude of observations. Catinat came under his consideration, and the remarks he made on that commander lowered him infinitely in our estimation. Napoleon said that he thought him very inferior to the reputation he enjoyed, after viewing the scenes of his operations in Italy, and reading his correspondence with Louvois. “Having risen from the _tiers-état_,” said he, “and being educated for the law, distinguished for urbanity of manners and moral integrity, affecting the practice of equality, residing at St. Gratien, at the gates of Paris, Catinat became the favourite of the _literati_ of the capital and the philosophers of the day, who exalted him beyond his real merits. He was in no way comparable to Vendôme.”

The Emperor said, that he had endeavoured, in the same manner, to study the characters of Turenne and Condé, suspecting that they were also the objects of exaggerated eulogy; but that he was convinced those two men were fully entitled to all the commendation that has been bestowed on them. With regard to Turenne, he remarked that his intrepidity encreased in proportion as he acquired experience; as he grew old, he evinced greater courage than he seemed to possess in early life. The contrary was observable in Condé, who displayed so much dauntless valour at the commencement of his career.

Now that I am alluding to Turenne, Condé, and other distinguished men, I may mention, as a curious fact, that I never, by any chance, heard Napoleon utter the name of Frederick the Great. Yet many circumstances prove that Frederick held a high rank in Napoleon’s regard. The large silver watch, a kind of alarum used by that Prince, which hangs by the fire-place in the Emperor’s apartment at St. Helena;—the eagerness with which Napoleon, on his entrance into Potzdam, seized the sword of the Prussian hero, exclaiming, “Let those who will seek other spoil; I value this beyond millions!”—finally, his long and silent contemplation of the tomb of Frederick—sufficiently attest the deep interest which Napoleon attached to every thing connected with that sovereign.[12]

Footnote 12:

After my removal from Longwood, Napoleon undertook a special work on
Frederick the Great, with notes and Commentaries on his Campaigns.

In the Dictionary of Sieges and Battles, which the Emperor was looking over to-day, he found his name mentioned in every page; but connected with anecdotes either totally false, or at least misstated. This led him to exclaim against the whole swarm of inferior writers, and their unworthy abuse of the pen. “Literature,” he said, “had become the food of the vulgar, while it ought to have been reserved exclusively for people of refined taste.

“For example,” said the Emperor, “it is affirmed that, when at Arcole, I one night took the post of a sentinel who had fallen asleep. This idea was doubtless conceived by a citizen, by a lawyer, perhaps, but certainly not by a soldier. The author evidently wishes to represent me in a favourable point of view; and he of course imagined that nothing could reflect greater credit on me than the story he has invented. He certainly wrote it with the view of doing me honour; but he knew not that I was totally incapable of the action he describes. I was much too fatigued for any such thing; and it is very probable that I should myself have fallen asleep before the sentinel.”

We then enumerated about fifty or sixty great battles that had been fought by the Emperor. Some one present having asked which was the greatest, the Emperor replied that it was difficult to answer that question, since it was first necessary to enquire what was meant by the greatest battle. “Mine,” continued he, “cannot be judged of separately. They had no unity of place, action or design. They formed merely a portion of extensive plans. They can therefore only be judged of by their results. The battle of Marengo, which was so long undecided, procured for us the dominion of all Italy; Ulm annihilated a whole army; Jena threw the whole Prussian monarchy into our hands; Friedland opened to us the Russian empire; and Eckmühl decided the fate of a war. The battle of Moscow was one in which the greatest talent was displayed, and in which the fewest results were obtained. Waterloo, where every thing failed, would, had every thing succeeded, have saved France and re-established Europe.”

Madame de Montholon having asked what troops might be accounted the best, “Those who gain victories, Madam,” replied the Emperor. “But,” added he, “soldiers are capricious and inconstant, like you ladies. The best troops were the Carthagenians under Hannibal; the Romans under the Scipios; the Macedonians under Alexander; and the Prussians under Frederick.” He thought, however, he might safely affirm that the French troops were, of all others, those who could most easily be rendered the best, and preserved so.

“With my complete guard of 40 or 50,000 men, I would have pledged myself to march through all Europe. It may, perhaps, be possible to produce troops as good as those who composed my army of Italy and Austerlitz; but certainly nothing can ever surpass them.”

The Emperor, who had dwelt for a considerable time on this subject, which was so interesting to him, suddenly recollecting himself, asked what it was o’clock. He was informed that it was eleven.—“Well,” said he, rising, “we at least have the merit of having got through our evening without the help of either tragedy or comedy.”

MADAME DE COTTIN’S MATHILDE, &C.—ALL FRENCHMEN INTERESTED IN
NAPOLEON.—DESAIX AND NAPOLEON AT MARENGO.—SIR SIDNEY SMITH.—CAUSE OF
GENERAL BONAPARTE’S RETURN TO FRANCE.—ACCOUNT OF HIS VOYAGE.—INSTANCES
OF THE CAPRICE OF FORTUNE.

29th. About two o’clock the Emperor desired me to attend him in his chamber, and he gave me some private orders. At four I rejoined him. I found him sitting under the tent, surrounded by all his suite; he was swinging backward and forward on his chair, laughing, talking, and making every effort to be cheerful, while, at the same time, he continually repeated that he felt dull and languid. He rose and took a drive in the calash.

After dinner, the conversation turned on romance writing. Some one mentioned Madame Cottin’s Mathilde, the scene of which is laid in Syria. The Emperor asked the person who had alluded to the work whether he had ever seen Madame Cottin, whether she liked him (Napoleon), whether her work was favourable to him, &c., but as he did not receive a ready answer he thus continued: “But every body has loved me and hated me: every one has been for me and against me by turns. I may truly say that there is not a single Frenchman in whom I have not excited interest. All must have loved me, from Collot d’Herbois (had he lived) to the Prince of Condé; only not all at the same time but at different intervals and periods. I was like the sun which crosses the equator to travel through the ecliptic. According as my influence was felt in each different climate, all hopes expanded, and I was blessed and adored; but when I had departed, when I was no longer understood, unfavourable sentiments arose.”

Egypt next became the subject of conversation; and the Emperor again sketched the characters of Kleber and Desaix. The latter joined the First Consul on the eve of the battle of Marengo. Napoleon asked him how he could have thought of signing the capitulation of Egypt; since the army was sufficiently numerous to maintain possession of it. “We ought not to have lost Egypt,” he observed.—“That’s very true,” replied Desaix, “and the army was certainly numerous enough to enable us to retain possession of the country. But the General-in-chief left us; and at that distance from home, the General-in-chief is not a single man in the army; he is the half, the three-fourths, the five-sixths of it. I had no alternative but to resign the possession of the country. I doubt whether I could have succeeded had I acted otherwise; besides, it would have been criminal to make the attempt, for in such a case it is a soldier’s duty to obey, and I did so.”

Desaix, immediately after his arrival at Marengo, obtained the command of the reserve. Towards the end of the battle, and amidst the greatest apparent disorder, Napoleon came up to him:—“Well,” said Desaix, “affairs are going on very badly, the battle is lost. I can only secure the retreat. Is it not so?”—“Quite the contrary,” said the First Consul; “to me the result of the battle was never for a moment doubtful. Those masses, which you see in disorder on the right and left, are marching to form in your rear. The battle is gained. Order your column to advance: you have but to reap the glory of the victory.”

The Emperor afterwards spoke of Sir Sidney Smith, He had, he said, just read in the Moniteur the documents relating to the convention of El-Arish, in which he remarked that Sir Sidney had evinced a great share of intelligence and integrity. The Emperor said he bewildered Kleber by the stories which he made him believe. But when Sir Sidney received intelligence of the refusal of the English Government to ratify the treaty, he was very much dissatisfied, and behaved very honourably to the French army. “After all,” said the Emperor, “Sir Sidney Smith is not a bad man. I now entertain a better opinion of him than I did; particularly after what I daily witness in the conduct of his confederates.”

It was Sir Sidney Smith who, by communicating the European journals to Napoleon, brought about the departure of the General-in-chief, and consequently the dénouement of Brumaire. The French, on their return from St. Jean d’Acre, were totally ignorant of all that had taken place in Europe for several months. Napoleon, eager to obtain intelligence, sent a flag of truce on board the Turkish admiral’s ship, under the pretence of treating for the ransom of the prisoners whom he had taken at Aboukir, not doubting that the envoy would be stopped by Sir Sidney Smith, who carefully prevented all direct communication between the French and the Turks. Accordingly, the French flag of truce received directions from Sir Sidney to go on board his ship. He experienced the handsomest treatment; and the English commander, having among other things ascertained that the disasters of Italy were quite unknown to Napoleon, he indulged in the malicious pleasure of sending him a file of newspapers.

Napoleon spent the whole night in his tent, perusing the papers; and he came to the determination of immediately proceeding to Europe, to repair the disasters of France, and, if possible, to save her from destruction.

Admiral Ganthaume, who brought Napoleon from Egypt in Le Murion frigate, frequently related to me the details of his voyage. The Admiral remained at head-quarters after the destruction of the fleet at Aboukir. Shortly after the return from Syria, and immediately after a communication with the English squadron, the General-in-chief sent for him and directed him to proceed forthwith to Alexandria, to fit out secretly, and with all possible speed, one of the Venetian frigates that were lying off that port, and to let him know when the vessel was ready to sail.

These orders were executed. The General-in-chief, who was making a tour of inspection, proceeded to an unfrequented part of the coast, with a party of his guides. Boats were in readiness to receive them, and they were conveyed to the frigate without passing through Alexandria.

The frigate weighed that very evening, in order to get out of sight of the English cruisers and the fleet that was anchored at Aboukir, before daylight. Unfortunately, a calm ensued while the vessel was still within sight of the coast, and from the tops the English ships at Aboukir were still discernible.

The utmost alarm prevailed on board the frigate. It was proposed to return to Alexandria; but Napoleon opposed this suggestion. The die was cast; and happily they soon got beyond the reach of observation.

The voyage was very long and very unfavourable. The idea of being overtaken by the English frequently occasioned alarm. Though no one knew the intentions of the General, each formed his own conjectures, and the utmost anxiety prevailed. Napoleon alone was calm and undisturbed. During the greater part of the day he used to shut himself up in his cabin, where, as Ganthaume informed me, he employed himself in reading sometimes the Bible, and sometimes the Koran. Whenever he appeared on deck, he displayed the utmost cheerfulness and ease, and conversed on the most indifferent subjects.

General Menou was the last person to whom Napoleon spoke on shore. He said to him, “My dear General, you must take care of yourselves here. If I have the happiness to reach France, the reign of ranting shall he at an end.”

On a perusal of the papers furnished by Sir Sidney Smith, Napoleon formed such an idea of the disasters of France that he concluded the enemy had crossed the Alps, and was already in possession of several of our Southern Departments. When therefore the frigate approached the coast of Europe, Napoleon directed the Admiral to make for Collioure and Port-Vendre, situated at the extremity of the Gulf of Lyons. A gale of wind drove them upon the coast of Corsica. They then entered Ajaccio, where they obtained intelligence of the state of affairs in France.

Ganthaume informed me that he saw, at Ajaccio, the house which was occupied by Napoleon’s family, the patrimonial abode. The arrival of their celebrated countryman immediately set all the inhabitants of the island in motion. A crowd of cousins came to welcome him, and the streets were thronged with people.

Napoleon again set sail, and the frigate now steered towards Marseilles and Toulon. However, just as they were on the point of reaching the place of their destination, a new source of alarm arose. At sunset, on the larboard of the frigate, and precisely in the sun’s rays, they observed thirty sail making towards them with the wind aft. Ganthaume proposed that the long boat of the frigate should be manned with the best sailors, and that the General should get on board, and under favour of the night, endeavour to gain the shore. But Napoleon declined this proposition, observing that there would always be time enough for that mode of escape; and he directed the captain to continue his course as though nothing had occurred. Meanwhile, night set in, and the enemy’s signal-guns were heard, at a distance, and right astern: thus it appeared that the frigate had not been observed. Next day they anchored at Frejus. The rest is well known.

The Emperor concluded the evening’s conversation, by relating to us three curious instances of the caprice of fortune, which took place in the same quarter of the world, and about the same period.

A corporal, who deserted from one of the regiments of the army of Egypt, joined the Mamelukes, and was made a Bey. After his elevation, he wrote a letter to his former General.

A fat sutler’s wife who had followed the French army, became the favourite of the Pasha of Jerusalem. She could not write, but she sent a messenger with her compliments to her old friends, assuring them that she would never forget her country, but would always afford protection to the French and the Christians. “She was,” said the Emperor, “the Zaire of the day.”

A young peasant-girl of Cape Corso, being seized in a fishing-boat by corsairs, was conveyed to Barbary, and subsequently became the ruling favourite of the King of Morocco. The Emperor, after some diplomatic communications, caused the brother of this young girl to be brought from Corsica to Paris, and, after having him suitably fitted out, sent him to his sister; but he never heard of them afterwards.

It was late when the Emperor retired to rest; he had spent upwards of three hours in conversation.

30th.—I attended the Emperor at four o’clock. He had been engaged in dictating under the tent. The Governor had returned answers to the letters which M. de Montholon addressed to him by the Emperor’s orders.

To the first communication, containing the protest against the treaty of the 2d of August, and various other complaints, no answer was returned, except that the Governor wished to be informed what letter he had kept back. This we could not tell him, since we had not seen the letters. We had asked _him_ that question; and he was the only person capable of answering it.

To the second letter, which stated that the Emperor would not receive strangers at Longwood unless they were admitted by the Grand Marshal’s passes, as was usual in the time of Admiral Cockburn, the Governor replied that he had been sorry to see General Bonaparte troubled by intrusive visitors at Longwood, and that he wished to prevent such importunity for the future. This was a most revolting piece of irony, considering the situation in which the Emperor was placed, and the tenor of M. de Montholon’s letter.

After dinner the Emperor retired to the drawing-room, and desired us all to seat ourselves round the table, to form, as he said, an academic sitting. He began to dictate to us on some subjects; but when the parts that had been written were read over to him, he resolved to cancel them. Conversation was then resumed, and was kept up for a considerable time, partly in a serious and partly in a lively strain. It was near one o’clock when the Emperor retired. For some time past we have sat up later than we used to do. This is a good sign: the Emperor feels better, and he is more cheerful and talkative than he lately was.

HISTORICAL DOUBTS.—THE REGENCY OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS.—MADAME DE
MAINTENON.—HER MARRIAGE WITH LOUIS XIV.

31st.—The Emperor rose very early, and took a turn round the park alone. On his return, not wishing to have any one disturbed, he desired my son, who had risen, to sit down under the tent, and write from his dictation: in this manner he employed himself for two hours. We all breakfasted with him.

We took an airing in the calash. The conversation turned on the doubts that were attached to various points of history. The Emperor made some very curious remarks on this subject, and concluded with a circumstance relating to the Regent. “If,” said he, “Louis XV. had died in his childhood, and nothing was more possible, who would have doubted that the Duke of Orleans had poisoned the whole royal family? Who would have ventured to defend him? Had not one child survived, that Prince would not have had justice done him.” The Emperor then alluded to the character of the Duke of Orleans, and particularly to his errors in the affair of the legitimate princes. “There he degraded himself,” said Napoleon; “not to say, however, that their cause was good. Louis XIV. usurped a right in nominating them to the succession. On the extinction of the Royal House, the choice of a Sovereign is unquestionably the prerogative of the nation. The act of Louis XIV. was doubtless an error into which that Monarch was betrayed by his own greatness. He conceived that every thing emanating from him must necessarily be great. Yet he seemed to entertain a suspicion that the world might not be exactly of his opinion; for he took precautions to consolidate his work by giving his natural children in marriage to the legitimate princes and princesses of the royal family. As to the Regency, it is very certain that it devolved by right on the Duke of Orleans. Louis XIV.’s will was a downright absurdity: it was a violation of our fundamental laws. France was a monarchy, and he gave us a republic for a Regency.”

The Emperor then mentioned Madame de Maintenon, whose career, he said, was most extraordinary. She was, he observed, the Bianca Capello[13] of her age; but less romantic, and not quite so amusing. Pursuing his historical doubts, he said a great deal on the subject of Madame de Maintenon’s marriage with Louis XIV. He declared that he was sometimes inclined to regard the circumstance as very problematical, in spite of all that was said about it in the Memoirs of the time.

Footnote 13:

A noble Venetian lady of great beauty, whose adventures form a truly
romantic and dramatic history. She eloped from her father’s house to
follow a young Florentine pedlar, and was reduced to the greatest
wretchedness. She subsequently became Grand Duchess of Tuscany, and
she closed her career by coolly poisoning herself at table, in a fit
of vexation at seeing the Grand Duke, her husband, partake of a
poisoned dish, which she had prepared for her brother-in-law, Cardinal
de Medicis, who, on his part, obstinately abstained from tasting it.

“The fact is,” observed he, “that there does not, and never did, exist any official and authentic proof of the marriage. What could be Louis XIV.’s object in keeping the measure so strictly secret, both from his contemporaries and posterity? and how happened it that the Noailles family, to whom Madame de Maintenon was related, suffered nothing to transpire on the subject? This was the more singular considering that Madame de Maintenon survived Louis XIV.”

The Emperor, feeling somewhat fatigued this evening, retired to rest early. He seemed indisposed and low spirited.

THE FRENCH MINISTERS, &C.—ANECDOTE OF M. DARU.—FADED
FINERY AT ST. HELENA.

Sunday, September 1st.—The Emperor went out about three o’clock: he said that he had felt feeble, languid, and dull the whole of the day. We all felt indisposed in the same way: it was the effect of the weather. We strolled out to the great path in the wood, while the calash was preparing; but no sooner had we reached the extremity of the path than a shower of rain came on. It was so heavy that the Emperor was obliged to take refuge at the foot of a gum-tree, the scanty foliage of which, however, afforded but little shelter. The calash soon arrived to take us up; and we were returning home with all speed, when we perceived the Governor, at some distance, making towards us. The Emperor immediately ordered the coachman to turn, observing, that of two evils he would choose the least; and we took a circuitous route homewards, in spite of the wind and rain. We, however, escaped Sir Hudson Lowe: that was an advantage.

Before dinner, the Emperor, in his chamber, took a review of the individuals who had been attached to his Household, the Council of State, and the different ministerial departments. Alluding to M. Daru, he observed that he was a man distinguished for probity and for indefatigable application to business. At the retreat from Moscow, M. Daru’s firmness and presence of mind were remarkable, and the Emperor often afterwards said that he laboured like an ox, while he displayed the courage of a lion.

Business seemed to be M. Daru’s element; he was incessantly occupied. Soon after he was appointed Secretary of State, one of his friends was expressing a fear that the immense business in which he would thenceforth be absorbed might prove too much for him. “On the contrary,” replied Daru, “I assure you that, since I have entered upon my new functions, I seem to have absolutely nothing to do.” On one occasion only was his vigour ever known to relax. The Emperor called him up, after midnight, to write from his dictation: M. Daru was so completely overcome by fatigue that he scarcely knew what he was writing; at length he could hold out no longer, and he fell asleep over his paper. After enjoying a sound nap, he awoke, and, to his astonishment, perceived the Emperor by his side quietly engaged in writing. The shortness of the candles informed him that his slumber had been of considerable duration. While he sat for a few moments overwhelmed with confusion, his eyes met those of the Emperor, who said to him: “Well, Sir, you see I have been doing your work, since you would not do it yourself. I suppose you have eaten a hearty supper, and passed a pleasant evening; but business must not be neglected.”—“I pass a pleasant evening, Sire!” said M. Daru. “I have been for several nights without sleep, and closely engaged. Of this your Majesty now sees the consequence, and I am exceedingly sorry for it.”—“Why did you not inform me of this?” said the Emperor, “I do not want to kill you. Go to bed. Good night, M. Daru.” This was certainly a characteristic trait, and one that was well calculated to remove the false notions which were generally entertained respecting Napoleon’s harshness of temper. But I know not by what fatality facts of this kind were concealed from our knowledge, while any absurd inventions unfavourable to the Emperor were so actively circulated. Was it because the courtiers reserved their flattery for the interior of the palace, and sought to create a sort of counterpoise, by assuming elsewhere an air of opposition and independence? Be this as it may, had any individual related traits of the above kind in the saloons of Paris, he would probably have been told that he had invented them, or would have been looked upon as a fool for giving credit to them.

The Grand Marshal and his lady came to dine at Longwood, which they were accustomed to do every Sunday.

During dinner, the Emperor jokingly alluded to the faded finery of the ladies. He said that their dresses would soon resemble the gay trappings of those old misers who purchase their wardrobes from the dealers in second-hand clothes; they no longer displayed the freshness and elegance that characterized the millinery of Leroi, Despeaux, Herbault, &c. The ladies craved indulgence for St. Helena; and their husbands reminded the Emperor of his fastidiousness with regard to female dress at the Tuileries, which, it was remarked, had proved the ruin of some families. At this the Emperor laughed, and said that the idea of his scrupulous taste in dress was a mere invention of the ladies of the Court, who made it a pretence, or an excuse, for their extravagance. The conversation then turned on our splendour at St. Helena. The Emperor said that he had told Marchand he would wear every day the hunting-coat which he then had on, until it was completely worn out: it was already very far gone.

Both before and after dinner the Emperor played a few games at chess: he felt low-spirited and nervous, and retired to bed early.

THE CAMPAIGN OF SAXONY IN 1813.—REFLECTIONS.—ANALYSIS.—BATTLES| OF
LUTZEN AND WURTZEN.—NEGOTIATIONS.—BATTLES| OF DRESDEN, LEIPSIC,
HANAU,| &c.

Sept. 2.—To-day there was some horse-racing at the camp, at which one of the Emperor’s suite was present.

The Emperor did not go out until late, and he walked to the calash. The wind blew very hard, and he renounced his intention of taking a drive. He sat down beneath the tent: but, finding it not very pleasant without doors, he retired to his library, where he took up the Letters of Madame de Chateauroux, looked through the Expedition to Bohemia, and analysed the Life of Marshal de Belle-Isle. He again went out to take a walk in the garden; but he returned almost immediately, and directed me to follow him.

He took up a book relating to our last campaigns, and, after perusing it for some time, he threw it down, saying, “It is a downright rhapsody—a mere tissue of contradictions and absurdities.” He conversed for a considerable time on the two celebrated campaigns of Saxony: his observations were principally moral, and few or none military; I noted down the following as the most remarkable: “That memorable campaign,” said he, “will be regarded as the triumph of courage in the youth of France; of intrigue and cunning in English diplomacy; of intelligence on the part of the Russians; and of effrontery in the Austrian Cabinet. It will mark the period of the disorganization of political societies, the great separation of subjects from their Sovereigns; finally, the decay of the first military virtues—fidelity, loyalty, and honour. In vain people may write and comment, invent falsehoods and suppositions; to this odious and mortifying result we must all come at last: time will develop both its truth and its consequences.

“But it is a remarkable circumstance, in this case, that all discredit is equally removed from sovereigns, soldiers, and people. It was entirely the work of a few military intriguers and headlong politicians, who, under the specious pretext of shaking off the foreign yoke and recovering the national independence, purposely sold their own rulers to envious rival Cabinets. The results soon became manifest: the King of Saxony lost half his dominions, and the King of Bavaria was compelled to make valuable restitutions. What did the traitors care for that? They enjoyed their rewards and their wealth, and those who had proved themselves most upright and innocent were visited with the severest punishment. The King of Saxony, the most honest man who ever wielded a sceptre, was stripped of half his territories; and the King of Denmark, so faithful to all his engagements, was deprived of a crown! This, however, was affirmed to be the restoration and the triumph of morality!... Such is the distributive justice of this world!...

“To the honour of human nature, and even to the honour of Kings, I must once more declare that never was more virtue manifested than amidst the baseness which marked this period. I never for a moment had cause to complain individually of the Princes our allies. The good King of Saxony continued faithful to the last; the King of Bavaria loyally avowed to me that he was no longer his own master; the generosity of the King of Würtemburg was particularly remarkable; the Prince of Baden yielded only to force, and in the very last extremity. All, I must render them this justice, gave me due notice of the storm that was gathering, in order that I might take the necessary precautions. But, on the other hand, how odious was the conduct of subaltern agents! Military history will never obliterate the infamy of the Saxons, who returned to our ranks for the purpose of destroying us! Their treachery became proverbial among the troops, who still use the term _Saxonner_ to designate the act of a soldier who assassinates another. To crown all, it was a Frenchman, a man for whom French blood purchased a crown, a nursling of France, who gave the finishing stroke to our disasters! Gracious God!

“But in the situation in which I was placed, the circumstance which served to fill up the measure of my distress was that I beheld the decisive hour gradually approach. The star paled; I felt the reins slip from my hands, and yet I could do nothing. Only a sudden turn of fortune could save us: to treat, to conclude any compact, would have been to yield like a fool to the enemy. I was convinced of this, and the event sufficiently proved that I was not mistaken. We had, therefore, no alternative but to fight; and every day, by some fatality or other, our chances diminished. Treason began to penetrate into our ranks. Great numbers of our troops sunk under the effects of fatigue and discouragement. My lieutenants became dispirited, and, consequently, unfortunate. They were no longer the same men who figured at the commencement of the Revolution, or who had distinguished themselves in the brilliant moments of my success. I have been informed that some presumed to allege, in their defence, that at first they fought for the Republic and for their country; while afterwards they fought only for a single man, for his individual interests, and his ambition.

“Base subterfuge! Ask the young and brave soldiers, and the officers of intermediate rank in the French army, whether such a calculation ever entered their thoughts;—whether they ever saw before them any thing but the enemy, or behind them any thing save the honour, glory, and triumph of France! These men never fought better than at the period alluded to. Why dissemble? Why not make a candid avowal? The truth is that, generally speaking, the officers of high rank had gained every object of their ambition. They were sated with wealth and honours. They had drunk of the cup of pleasure, and they henceforth wished for repose, which they would have purchased at any price. The sacred flame was extinguished; they were willing to sink to the level of Louis XV.’s marshals.”

If the words above quoted require any comment—if the sense here, or in other similar passages of my Journal, should be found to be incomplete, I must not be held responsible. I have literally noted down what Napoleon uttered, and I am accountable for nothing more. I have already several times mentioned that, when the Emperor spoke, I never ventured to interrupt him by questions or remarks. On the subject of the celebrated campaign of 1813, I may mention that, from various detached conversations of Napoleon, which I have not noted down at the time when they occurred, he was far from being deceived as to the crisis which threatened France, and he correctly estimated the full extent of the risk by which he was surrounded in the opening of the campaign. Ever since his return from Moscow, he had seen the danger, he said, and endeavoured to avert it. From that moment he resolved on making the greatest sacrifices; but the choice of the proper moment for proclaiming these sacrifices was the difficult point, and that which chiefly occupied his consideration. If the influence of material power be great, he said, the power of opinion is still greater; it is magical in its effects. His object was to preserve it; and a false step, a word inadvertently uttered, might for ever have destroyed the illusion. He found it indispensable to exert the greatest circumspection, and to manifest the utmost apparent confidence in his own strength. It was, above all, necessary to look forward to the future.

His great fault, his fundamental error, was in supposing that his adversaries always had as much judgment and knowledge of their own interests, as he himself possessed. From the first, he said, he suspected that Austria would avail herself of the difficulties in which he was placed, in order to secure great advantages to herself; but he never could have believed that the Monarch was so blind, or his advisers so treacherous as to wish to bring about his (Napoleon’s) downfall, and thereby leave their own country henceforth at the mercy of the uncontrolled power of Russia. The Emperor pursued the same train of reasoning with regard to the Confederation of the Rhine, which, he admitted, might, perhaps, have cause to be dissatisfied with him; but which, he concluded, must dread still more the idea of falling under the power of Austria and Prussia. Napoleon conceived that the same arguments were not inapplicable to Prussia; which, he presumed, could not wish entirely to destroy a counterpoise, that was necessary to her independence, and her very existence. Napoleon made full allowance for the hatred of his enemies, and for the dissatisfaction and malevolence which, perhaps, existed among his allies; but he could not suppose that either wished for his destruction, since he felt himself to be so necessary to all; and he acted accordingly. Such was Napoleon’s ruling idea throughout the whole of this important period. It was the key of his whole conduct to the very last hour, and even to the moment of his fall. It must be carefully borne in mind, for it serves to explain many things, perhaps, all;—his hostile attitude, his haughty language, his refusal to treat, his determination to fight, &c.

If he should be successful, he thought he could then make honourable sacrifices, and a glorious peace; while the illusion of his superiority would remain undiminished. If, on the contrary, he should experience reverses, it would still be time enough to make concessions; and he concluded that the interest of the Austrians and all true Germans must secure him the support of their arms or of their diplomacy; for he supposed they were convinced, as he himself was, that his power had henceforth become indispensable to the structure, repose, security, and existence of Europe. But that of which he had reason to doubt proved most prosperous: victory continued faithful to him; his first successes were admirable, and almost incredible. On the other hand, that which he believed to be infallible was precisely what failed him:—his natural allies betrayed him, and hastened his downfall.

In support of what I have just alleged, and with the view of throwing light on the Emperor’s remarks above quoted, I shall here insert a brief recapitulation of the events of that fatal campaign. In France, at the time, we were made acquainted only with its results; the bulletins gave us but little information, and we received no foreign publications. Besides, the period is now distant, and so many important events have since occurred to occupy public attention, that these details may be partly forgotten by those who once knew them. They are here arranged in chronological order.

I extract this recapitulation from a work written by M. de Montveran, which was published in 1820. The author has bestowed great care on the collection of official and authentic documents; and he has availed himself of the information furnished by preceding writers. I am, therefore, of opinion, that this work is, unquestionably, the best that has been written on the subject. M. de Montveran is far from being favourable to Napoleon; however, it is but just to admit that he maintains a tone of impartiality which does credit to his character, while, at the same time, it enhances the merit of his work.

“On the 2nd of May, Napoleon opened the campaign of Saxony by the victory of Lützen, a most surprising event, and one which reflects immortal honour on the conquerors. A newly embodied army, without cavalry, marched to face the veteran bands of Russia and Prussia; but the genius of the Chief, and the valour of the young troops whom he commanded, made amends for all. The French had no cavalry; but bodies of infantry advanced in squares, flanked by an immense mass of artillery, presenting the appearance of so many moving fortresses. Eighty-four thousand infantry, consisting of French troops, or troops of the Confederation, with only 4,000 cavalry, beat 107,000 Russians or Prussians with more than 20,000 cavalry. Alexander and the King of Prussia witnessed the conflict in person. Their celebrated guards could not maintain their ground against our young conscripts. The enemy lost 18,000 men; our loss amounted to 12,000, and our want of cavalry prevented us from reaping the usual fruit of our conquests. However, the moral result of the victory was immense. The enthusiasm of our troops resumed its ascendency, and the Emperor recovered the full influence of opinion. The Allies retreated before him without venturing the chances of another battle.[14]

Footnote 14:

At the victory of Lützen the Emperor sustained a severe loss in the
death of the brave and loyal Marshal Bessières, Duke of Istria, who
was so sincerely devoted to Napoleon. The King of Saxony raised a
monument to his memory on the very spot where he received his
death-blow. By a glorious coincidence the monument is similar to that
of Gustavus Adolphus, and is placed not far distant from it. It
consists of a simple stone surrounded by poplars. This is not the only
instance in which foreigners have rendered that homage to the memory
of brave Frenchmen, which their own countrymen have neglected.

“On the 9th, Napoleon entered Dresden as a conqueror, conducting back to his capital the King of Saxony, who, from the consciousness of his own interests, as well as the wish to remain faithful to his engagements, had retired on the approach of the Allies, whose proposals he had constantly rejected.

“On the 21st and 22d, Napoleon again triumphed at Würtzen and Bautzen. The Allies had chosen their ground, which the brilliant campaigns of Frederick had rendered classic. They had intrenched themselves, and they thought their position impregnable: but every thing yielded to the grand views and well-conducted plans of the French general who, at the very commencement of the conflict, declared himself to be certain of the victory.

“The Allies lost 18,000 or 20,000 men. They were unable to retain their position, and they retired in disorder. The Emperor pursued them. He had already passed through Lusatia, crossed Silesia, and reached the Oder, when the Allies demanded an armistice to treat for peace; and Napoleon, thinking the favourable moment had arrived, granted it.

“On the 4th of June, the armistice of Pleissvitz was concluded. This event had the most decisive influence in producing our misfortunes; it was the fatal knot to which were attached all the chances and destinies of the campaign.

“Should the Emperor have granted this armistice, or have followed up his advantages? This was, at the moment, a problem which time, and the events that have proved so fatal to us, solved when too late. The Emperor, crowned with victory, halted before his fallen enemies, to whom he could now make concessions without compromising his dignity; his sacrifices could be regarded only as moderation. Austria, hitherto uncertain as to what course she should pursue, struck with our success, rejoined us. Napoleon now reasonably hoped to see the ratification of a peace which he wished for, and he would not let slip so favourable an opportunity, to run the risk of a check that might have lost all, and which was the more likely to take place since his army had marched forward in haste and in the utmost disorder, and his rear was uncovered and harassed by the enemy. He conceived that the armistice, at all events, afforded him an opportunity of concentrating and organizing his forces, and opening his communications with France, by which means he should be enabled to receive immense reinforcements, and to create a corps of cavalry.”

Unfortunately, in spite of all the Emperor’s calculations, this fatal armistice proved advantageous only to our enemies: it was maintained for nearly three months, and it served only to bring about their triumph and our destruction. Austria, who was still our ally, by a deception, which history will justly characterize, availed herself of that title to oppose us with the greater advantage. Requiring delay, she obtained it. The Russians, who were waiting for reinforcements, received them; the Prussians doubled their numbers; the English subsidies arrived, and the Swedish army rejoined. Secret associations were set on foot; a general insurrection of the whole German population was excited; while, at the same time, the defection of the Cabinets of the Rhenish Confederation, and the corruption of the Allied officers, were effected. Treason also began to creep into the superior ranks. General Jomini, the Chief of the Staff of one of our army corps, went over to the enemy with all the information he had been able to collect respecting the plans of the campaign, &c.[15]

Footnote 15:

A reference to Count Montholon’s Memoirs of Napoleon will shew that
the Emperor admits the falsehood of this charge against Jomini, who he
says was not even acquainted with his plans.

The result sufficiently proved to the Emperor all the errors of the armistice, and convinced him that he would have done better had he persisted in pressing forward; for had he continued successful, the Allies, alarmed at finding themselves deprived of the aid of Austria, with whom they could no longer have maintained intelligence, cut off from the Prince of Sweden, who would have remained behind, seeing blockades of the fortresses of the Oder raised, and the war carried back to Poland, to the gates of Dantzick, amidst a people ready to rise in a mass—the Allies, I say, would infallibly have treated. If, on the other hand, we had sustained a reverse, the consequences could not have been more fatal than those which were actually experienced. The judicious calculations of the Emperor ruined him: that which seemed to be indiscretion and temerity would probably have saved him.

CONGRESS OF PRAGUE ON THE 29TH OF JULY.—

“After two months of difficulties and obstacles, the Congress opened under the mediation of Austria; if, indeed, the term Congress can be properly applied to an assembly in which no deliberations took place, and where one party had determined beforehand that none should be held.

“The mediator and the adversaries were equally our enemies; all concurred in their hostility to us, and they had already decided on war. Why then did they wait? Because Austria still possessed a shade of modesty, and she wished, in the debates, to gain a pretence for declaring war against us. Prussia and Russia, on their part, thought it necessary to preserve their credit in Europe by this false manifestation of their desire and their efforts to preserve peace. All were merely affixing the seal to their Machiavelian system.

“For them the real Congress was not the assembly at Prague; it had already taken place two months before. Time has since thrown into our hands the authentic records of the intrigues, machinations, and even treaties, in which they were engaged during that interval. It is now evident that the armistice was resorted to by pretended friends and avowed enemies, only for the sake of artfully cementing the union that was to effect the overthrow of Napoleon, and creating the triumvirate destined to oppress Europe while it pretended to deliver her.

“Austria had, from interested motives, long delayed the opening of the Congress of Prague. Resolved to repair her losses at any price, she did not hesitate to sacrifice her honour, the better to ensure her success. She masked her perfidy under the disguise of friendship. Declaring herself our ally, and eagerly complimenting us on every new triumph, she insisted, with an air of the warmest interest, on being our mediatrix when she had already entered into an agreement to make common cause with our enemies. Her propositions were accepted. But she wished to gain time for her preparations; and thus every day fresh obstacles were started, while the utmost tardiness was evinced in settling them.

“Austria at first offered her services as a mediatrix; but, changing her tone in proportion as her warlike preparations advanced, she soon signified her wish to become an arbitress, at the same time intimating that she expected great advantages in return for the services she might render. At length, after an armistice of two months, when Austria thought herself perfectly prepared, and when every thing was agreed upon among the coalesced powers, they opened the Congress, not to treat of peace and to establish amicable relations, but to develop their real sentiments, and to insult us unreservedly. The Russians, in particular, behaved with unusual ill grace. They were no longer the Russians who anxiously solicited an armistice after the routs of Lützen, Würtzen, and Bautzen. They now looked upon themselves as the dictators of Europe, which, indeed, they have since really become, by the spirit of their diplomacy, the blindness of their allies, their geographical situation, and finally by the force of things. But whom did Alexander select as his minister to this Congress? Precisely one who, by personal circumstances, was, according to the laws of France, unqualified for such a post;—one who was by birth a Frenchman. Certainly it would have been difficult to offer a more personal and direct insult. Napoleon felt it; but he concealed his resentment.

“Under such circumstances much could not be expected from the Congress: during the few days of its sitting, our enemies merely drew up a series of notes more or less acrimonious, while the conduct of Austria was marked by the most odious partiality.

“On the 10th of August, only two days after the first meeting of the negotiators, the Russians and Prussians haughtily withdrew; and on the 12th, Austria, that faithful ally, that obsequious and devoted friend, who had shewn herself so eager to become our mediatrix and arbitress, suddenly laid aside those titles to declare war against us, allowing no interval save that required for the signature of the manifesto, which she had been for two months secretly concerting with her new allies, and which will ever remain a record of her shame and degradation, since it acknowledges the sacrifice of an Archduchess to the necessity of crouching before a detested ally. History will decide on these acts. However, to the honour of the throne and of morality, there is reason to believe that most of these transactions, and in particular the real course of affairs, was unknown to the Emperor Francis, who is reputed to be the most gentle, upright, moral, and pious of princes. It has been affirmed that many of these acts were determined on without his knowledge, and that others were represented to him under a totally false colouring. The whole of these disgraceful proceedings must be attributed to British gold, to the craftiness of Russian diplomacy, and to the passions of the Austrian aristocracy, excited by the English faction which at that time ruled Europe.

“The Congress broke up with mutual feelings of irritation. The Emperor then expressed his sentiments in official and public documents, in the most forcible language, and in a tone of the highest superiority. But this he did with the view of creating a favourable impression on the public mind; for he remained so far master of himself as that, though hastening to take up arms, he nevertheless demanded a renewal of the negotiations, which were resumed at Prague. He deemed it advisable not to lose the advantages of constant communications: Austria would be easily detached if we obtained advantages, and she would be easily convinced if we sustained reverses. Such was the Congress of Prague.