Memoirs of the life, exile, and conversations of the Emperor Napoleon. (Vol. I)

by comte de Emmanuel-Auguste-Dieudonné Las Cases

THE EMPEROR’S FIRST RIDE ON HORSEBACK.—SEVERITY OF THE MINISTERIAL INSTRUCTIONS.—OUR VEXATIONS AND COMPLAINTS.—THE EMPEROR’S REMARKS.—RUDE REPLIES.

20th-23rd. The Emperor mounted his horse after breakfast. We directed our course towards the farm: we found the farmer in the Company’s garden, and he attended us over the whole of the grounds.[grounds.] The Emperor asked him a number of questions respecting his farm, as he used to do during his hunting-excursions in the neighbourhood of Versailles, where he discussed with the farmers the opinions of the Council of State, in order to bring forward to the Council in their turn the objections of the farmers. We advanced through the grounds of Longwood, in a line parallel with the valley, until, finding no farther road for the horses, we were compelled to turn back. We then crossed the little valley, gained the height where the troops were encamped, advanced to the Alarm Hill, and passing over its summit, we arrived beyond the camp, near the Alarm House, on the road leading from Longwood to Madame Bertrand’s residence. The Emperor at first proposed calling on her; but, when about half-way thither, he changed his mind, and we returned to Longwood.

The instructions of the English Ministers, with regard to the Emperor at St. Helena, were dictated in that disgraceful spirit of harshness which in Europe had urged the solemn violation of the law of nations. An English officer was to be constantly at the Emperor’s table; this cruel measure was of course calculated to deprive us of the comforts of familiar intercourse. The order was not carried into effect, only because the Emperor, had it been enforced, would have taken his meals in his own chamber. I have very good reason to believe that he regretted not having done so on board the Northumberland. An English officer was to accompany the Emperor in his rides on horseback: this was a severe annoyance, which rendered it impossible that his mind could for a moment be diverted from his unfortunate situation. This order was not, however, enforced within certain limits, which were prescribed to us, because the Emperor had declared that he would not ride on horseback at all on such conditions.

In our melancholy situation, every day brought with it some new cause of uneasiness; we were constantly suffering some new sting, which seemed the more cruel as we were destined to endure it for a long time to come. Lacerated as our feelings undoubtedly were, each fresh wound was sensibly felt; and the motives that were assigned for our vexations frequently assumed the appearance of irony. Thus sentinels were posted beneath the Emperor’s windows, and before our doors; and this we were informed was for our safety. We were impeded in our communications with the inhabitants of the island; we were put under a kind of close confinement; and were told that this was done to free the Emperor from all annoyance. The pass-words and orders were incessantly changed; we lived in the continual perplexity and apprehension of being exposed to some unforeseen insult. The Emperor, whose feelings were keenly alive to all these things, resolved to write to the Admiral, through the medium of M. de Montholon. He spoke with warmth, and made some observations worthy of remark. “Let not the Admiral suppose,” said he, “that I shall treat with him on any of these subjects. Were he to present himself to me to-morrow, in spite of my just resentment, he would find my countenance as serene, and my temper as composed, as usual. This would not be the effect of dissimulation on my part, but merely the fruit of experience. I recollect that Lord Whitworth once filled Europe with the report of a long conversation that he had had with me, scarcely a word of which was true. But that was my fault; and it taught me to be more cautious in future. The Emperor has governed too long not to know that he must not commit himself to the discretion of any one who may have it in his power to say falsely: The Emperor told me so and so; while the Emperor may not have the means of either affirming or contradicting the statement.

“One witness is as good as another. It is, therefore, necessary to employ some one who may be enabled to tell the narrator that, in attributing such and such words to the Emperor, he lies, and that he is ready to give him satisfaction for this expression, which the Emperor himself cannot do.”

M. de Montholon’s letter was couched in sharp terms; the reply was insulting and coarse: “No such thing as an Emperor was known at St. Helena; the justice and moderation of the English government towards us would be the admiration of future ages, &c.” Dr. O’Meara was instructed to accompany this written reply with verbal additions of the most offensive nature: to enquire, for example, whether the Emperor wished that the Admiral should send him sundry atrocious libels and anonymous letters which had been received, addressed to him, &c.

I was engaged with the Emperor at the time this answer was communicated to him. I could not conceal my astonishment and indignation at certain expressions that were employed. But we could only let philosophy take place of resentment: it was sufficient to reflect that all satisfaction was beyond our reach. To address a direct complaint to the Prince Regent would perhaps have been to furnish a gratification to that prince; as well as a recommendation to him who had offended us. Besides, the Emperor could not address complaints to any individual on earth: he could appeal only to the tribunals of Heaven, nations, and posterity.

On the 23rd the Doris frigate arrived from the Cape, bringing seven horses that had been purchased there for the Emperor.

THE EMPEROR’S DISDAIN OF POPULARITY; HIS REASONS, ARGUMENTS, &C.—CONVERSATION RESPECTING MY WIFE.—ON GENERAL GOURGAUD’S MOTHER AND SISTER.

24th.—The Emperor had been reading some publication in which he was made to speak in too amiable a strain; and he could not help exclaiming against the mistake of the writer. “How could they put these words into my mouth?” said he. “This is too tender, too sentimental, for me: every one knows that I do not express myself in that way.” “Sire,” I replied, “it was done with a good intention; the thing is innocent in itself, and may have produced a good effect. That reputation for amiableness, which you seem to despise, might have exercised great influence over public opinion; it might at least have counteracted the effect of the colouring in which a certain European system has falsely exhibited your Majesty to the world. Your heart, with which I am now acquainted, is certainly as good as that of Henri IV., which I did not know. Now, his amiableness of character is still proverbial: he is still held up as an idol; yet I suspect Henri IV. was a bit of a quack. And why should your Majesty have disdained to be so? You have too great an aversion to that system. After all, quackery rules the world; and it is fortunate when it happens to be only innocent.”

The Emperor laughed at what he termed my prosing. “What,” said he, ”is the advantage of popularity and amiableness of character? Who possessed those qualities in a more eminent degree than the unfortunate Louis XVI.? Yet what was his fate? His life was sacrificed!—No! a sovereign must serve his people with dignity, and not make it his chief study to please them. The best mode of winning their love is to secure their welfare. Nothing is more dangerous than for a sovereign to flatter his subjects: if they do not afterwards obtain every thing they want they become irritated, and fancy that promises have been broken; and if they are then resisted, their hatred increases in proportion as they consider themselves deceived. A sovereign’s first duty is doubtless to conform with the wishes of the people; but what the people say is scarcely ever what they wish: their desires and their wants cannot be learned from their own mouths so well as they are to be read in the heart of their prince.

“Each[“Each] system may, no doubt, be maintained: that of mildness as well as that of severity. Each has its advantages and its disadvantages; for every thing is mutually balanced in this world. If you ask me what was the use of my severe forms and expressions, I shall answer, to spare me the pain of inflicting the punishment I threatened. What harm have I done after all? What blood have I shed? Who can boast that, had he been placed in my situation, he could have done better? What period of history, exhibiting any thing like the difficulties with which I was surrounded, presents such harmless results? What am I reproached with? My government archives and my private papers were seized; yet what has there been found to publish to the world? All sovereigns, situated as I was, amidst factions, disorders, and conspiracies, are surrounded by murders and executions! Yet, during my reign, what sudden tranquillity pervaded France!—You are, no doubt, astonished at this chain of reflection,” continued he, smiling, “you, who frequently display the mildness and simplicity of a child.”

I could not but admit the force of his arguments, and now, in my turn, maintained that both systems might have their peculiar advantages. “Every individual,” said I, “should form a character for himself by means of education; but he should be careful, at the same time, to lay its foundation on the character he has received from Nature; otherwise he runs a risk of losing the advantages of the latter, without obtaining those of the character which he wishes to acquire; and his education may prove an instrument to mislead him. After all, the course of a man’s life is the true result of his character, and the proper test by which it should be judged. Of what, then, can I have to complain? From the lowest degree of misery, I raised myself, by my own efforts, to tolerable independence; and from the streets of London, I penetrated to the steps of your throne, and to the benches of your Council-chamber; all this, too, without having cause to blush in the presence of any individual for any thing that I have ever spoken, written, or done. Have I not then also performed my little wonders in my own little way? What could I have done better had another turn been given to my character?”

The conversation was here interrupted by some one entering, to announce that the Admiral and some ladies, who had arrived by the Doris, solicited the favour of being presented to the Emperor; but he answered drily, that he would see no one, and that he did not wish to be disturbed.

Under our present circumstances, the personal politeness of the Admiral was felt only as an additional insult: and with regard to those who accompanied him, as no one could approach us but with the Admiral’s permission, the Emperor did not choose that the honours of his person should be thus performed. If it were intended that he should remain in close confinement, he ought to be told so; but, if not, he should be allowed to see whom he pleased without the interference of any person. Above all, it was not fair that they should pretend in Europe to surround him with every sort of attention and respect, while, on the contrary, they were annoying him with every kind of indecorum and caprice.

The Emperor walked out in the garden at five o’clock. The Colonel of the 53rd regiment waited on him there, and begged permission to present to him, next day, the officers of his regiment. The Emperor granted his request, and appointed three o’clock as the hour to receive them. The Colonel took his leave, and we prolonged our walk. The Emperor stopped awhile to look at a flower in one of the beds, and asked me whether it was not a lily. It was indeed a magnificent one.

After dinner, while we were playing our usual game of reversis, of which, by the by, the Emperor began to grow weary, he suddenly turned to me and said, “Where do you suppose Madame Las Cases is at this moment?”—“Alas, Sire,” I replied, “Heaven knows!”—“She is in Paris,” continued he; “to-day is Tuesday; it is nine o’clock; she is now at the Opera.”—“No, Sire, she is too good a wife to go to the theatre while I am here.”—“Spoken like a true husband,” said the Emperor, laughing, “ever confident and credulous!” Then turning to General Gourgaud, he rallied him in the same style with respect to his mother and sister. Gourgaud seemed very much downcast, and his eyes were suffused with tears, which the Emperor perceiving, cast a side-glance towards him, and said, in the most interesting manner, “How wicked, barbarous and tyrannical I must be thus to trifle with feelings so tender!”[^[29]]

The Emperor then asked me how many children I had, and when and how I had become acquainted with Madame Las Cases. I replied that my wife had been the first acquaintance of my life; that our marriage was a tie which we had ourselves formed in early youth, yet that it had required the occurrence of the greater part of the events of the Revolution to bring about its accomplishment.

THE EMPEROR FREQUENTLY WOUNDED IN HIS CAMPAIGNS.—COSSACKS.—JERUSALEM
DELIVERED.

25th.—The Emperor, who had not been well the preceding evening, was still indisposed this morning, and sent word that it would be impossible for him to receive the officers of the 53rd, as he had appointed. He sent for me about the middle of the day, and we again perused some chapters of the Campaign of Italy. I compared that which treats of the battle of Arcole to a book of the Iliad.

Some time before the dinner-hour, he assembled us all around him in his chamber. A servant entered to announce that dinner was ready; he sent us away, but, as I was going out last, he called me back. “Stay here,” said he, “we will dine together. Let the young people go; we old folks will keep one another company.” He then determined to dress, intending, as he said, to go into the drawing-room after dinner.

While he was dressing, he put his hand on his left thigh, where there was a deep scar. He called my attention to it by laying his finger in it; and, finding that I did not understand what it was, he told me that it was the mark of a bayonet wound by which he had nearly lost his limb, at the siege of Toulon. Marchand, who was dressing him, here took the liberty of remarking that the circumstance was well known on board the Northumberland; that one of the crew had told him, on going on board, that it was an Englishman who first wounded our Emperor.

The Emperor, on this, observed that people had in general wondered and talked a great deal of the singular good fortune which had preserved him, as it were, invulnerable in so many battles. “They were mistaken,” added he; “the only reason was that I always made a secret of all my dangers.” He then related that he had had three horses killed under him at the siege of Toulon; several others killed and wounded in his campaigns of Italy; and three or four at the siege of St. Jean-d’Acre. He added that he had been wounded several times; that, at the battle of Ratisbon, a ball had struck his heel; and at the battle of Esling, or Wagram, I cannot say which, another had torn his boot and stocking, and grazed the skin of his left leg. In 1814, he lost a horse and his hat at Arcis-sur-Aube, or in its neighbourhood. After the battle of Brienne, as he was returning to head-quarters in the evening, in a melancholy and pensive mood, he was suddenly attacked by some Cossacks, who had passed over into the rear of the army. He thrust one of them off with his hand, and was obliged to draw his sword in his own defence; several of the Cossacks were killed at his side. “But what renders this circumstance very extraordinary,” said he, “is, that it took place near a tree which at that moment caught my eye, and which I recognized as the very one under which, when I was but twelve years old, I used to sit during play-hours and read Jerusalem Delivered.” ... Doubtless on that spot Napoleon had been first fired by the love of glory!

The Emperor repeated that he had been very frequently exposed to danger in his different battles, but it was carefully kept secret. He had enjoined once for all, the most absolute silence on all circumstances of that nature. He said that it would be impossible to calculate the confusion and disorder which might have resulted from the slightest report or the smallest doubt relative to his existence. On his life depended the fate of a great Empire, and the whole policy and destinies of Europe. He added that this habit of keeping circumstances of that kind secret had prevented him from relating them in his campaigns; and indeed he had now almost forgotten them. It was only, he said, by mere accident, and in the course of conversation, that they could recur to him.