THE ODYSSEY—COMBAT BETWEEN ULYSSES AND IRUS.
8th. When I entered the Emperor’s apartment this morning, I found him engaged in reading the files of the Journal des Debats, which had lately arrived. At three o’clock he began to dress. His first valet de chambre was ill; and he observed that those who acted as his substitutes were not equal to him in address.
The weather was tolerable, and we walked to the extremity of the wood, where the calash was to take us up.
I had a disposable sum of money in London, which I had conveyed thither in 1814. The recollection of the privations I had endured during my emigration, and the chance of being exposed to future want, had prompted me to this act of prudence, and I was now reaping the fruits of it. Owing to this circumstance, I was more at my ease, as to pecuniary affairs, than any other individual of the Emperor’s suite at St. Helena; but what led me to regard this sum as an inestimable treasure was the happiness of being able to lay it at the feet of the Emperor. I had already several times proposed that he should accept it; and I now once more repeated the offer, while I adverted to the renewed outrages which we had just experienced from the Governor. At this moment we were joined by Madame de Montholon, who had set out after us. She observed that the Emperor walked so fast that she should certainly have lost sight of him, had not my gesticulations enabled her to keep her eye upon us; and that she had been puzzled to guess the cause of my vehemence of manner. “Madam,” said the Emperor with the most captivating grace, “he has been trying to make me accept his bounty; he has been offering to support us here.”
We returned almost immediately to the house, as the weather was very damp and the Emperor complained of tooth-ache. For some time past he has been troubled with a profuse secretion of saliva.
After dinner he resumed the reading of the Odyssey: we had arrived at the passage describing the combat between Ulysses and Irus, on the threshold of the palace, both in the garb of beggars. The Emperor very much disapproved of this episode, which he pronounced to be mean, incongruous, and beneath the dignity of the King. “And yet,” continued he, “independently of all the faults which, in my opinion, this incident presents, I still find in it something to interest me. I fancy myself in the situation of Ulysses, and then I can well conceive his dread of being overpowered by a wretched mendicant. Every prince or general has not the broad shoulders of his guards or grenadiers; every man has not the strength of a porter. But Homer has remedied all this by representing his heroes as so many giants. We have no such heroes now-a-days. What would become of us,” he added, glancing round at us all, “if we lived in those good times when bodily vigour constituted real power? Why, Noverraz (his valet-de-chambre) would wield the sceptre over us all. It must be confessed that civilization favours the mind entirely at the expense of the body.”