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[“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."