REMARKS ON SEVERAL IMPORTANT SUBJECTS.—NAPOLEON’S DEBUT IN DIPLOMACY.—CONCENTRATION OF THE NATIONS OF EUROPE.—CONQUEST OF SPAIN.—DANGER OF RUSSIA.—BERNADOTTE.
11th.—The Emperor did not leave his chamber to-day. I spent nearly the whole of the day with him; for I only left him to go to dinner.
The conversations of the day were diffuse and interesting, for the Emperor was exceedingly chatty. He discussed numerous subjects, perfectly heterogeneous in their nature, though they were naturally introduced one by another. His conversation abounded with ideas and facts totally new to me. But the number and importance of the Emperor’s remarks rendered it impossible for me to seize them all. My eagerness to note down the past observation sometimes occasioned the present one to escape me; but, for this very reason, I can, with the greater confidence, vouch for the accuracy of what I have preserved.
Speaking of the elements of society, the Emperor said: “Democracy may be furious; but it has some heart, it may be moved. As to aristocracy, it is always cold and unforgiving.”
At another time, after some preliminary observations, he said;—“All human institutions present two opposite points of view; all have their advantages and disadvantages: for example, both republican and monarchical government may be defended and opposed. Doubtless, it is easy to prove in theory that both are equally good, and very good; but this is not quite so easy in application.” He remarked that the extreme boundary of the government of many was anarchy; and that the extreme boundary of the government of a single one was despotism; that a just medium between both was unquestionably the best, were it in the power of wisdom steadily to pursue such a course. He added, these truths had been repeated until they had become absolutely commonplace, without producing any good result; that on this subject many volumes had been written, and many would still be written without effect.
The Emperor at another moment said: “Despotism is not absolute; but merely relative. A man cannot with impunity absorb all power within himself. If a Sultan strikes off the heads of his subjects, according to the whim of the moment, he runs the risk of losing his own by the same sort of caprice. Excess will always incline either to one side or the other. What the sea gains by encroachment in one direction, it loses elsewhere. When I was in Egypt, a conqueror, an absolute ruler and master, dictating laws to the people by mere orders of the day, I could not have presumed to search the houses, and it would have been out of my power to prevent the inhabitants from speaking freely in their coffee-houses, where liberty and independence prevailed even in a greater degree than in Paris. The people yielded like slaves in all other places; but they resolved to enjoy full liberty in their coffee-houses, which were absolutely the citadels of freedom, the bazaars of public opinion. Here they loudly declaimed, and passed judgment, on the measures of the day: it would have been impossible to close their mouths. If I happened to enter these places, all bowed before me, it is true; but this was a mark of esteem to me personally. No such homage was shewn to any lieutenants.
“Be this as it may,” said he, alluding to another topic, “France, when subject to the opposing influences of many, was on the point of falling beneath the blows of combined Europe: but she placed the helm in the hands of one, and immediately the First Consul laid down the law to Europe. Such is the power of unity and concentration; these are facts which must be convincing to the meanest understandings.
“It was curious to observe that the old cabinets of Europe were unable to conceive the importance of this change, and that they continued to treat with unity and concentration, in the same manner as they had done with the multitude and dispersion. It is not less remarkable that the Emperor Paul, who was looked upon as a madman, was the first to appreciate this difference; while the English Ministers, reputed to be so skilful and experienced, were the very last. ‘I set aside the abstractions of your Revolution,’ Paul wrote to me, ‘I confine myself to a fact; that is sufficient for me: in my eyes you are a government, and I address myself to you, because we can understand each other, and I can treat with you.’
“With regard to the English Ministry, I was ever obliged to conquer and force to peace, and absolutely to detach England from the rest of Europe, before I could make them to listen to me; and even when they opened negotiations with me, they drawled on in the ruts of the old routine. They tried to divert my attention by delays, protocols, forms, ceremonies, precedents, and I know not what. But I felt myself so powerful that I could afford to laugh at all this!
“A new state of things required a new line of conduct; but the English Ministers seemed to have no idea of the age, or of the men and things belonging to it. My manner quite disconcerted them. I commenced in diplomacy, as I had already commenced in arms. These are my propositions, said I, to the English Ministry:—we are masters of Holland and Switzerland; but I am ready to resign both, in return for the restitutions that you make to us or our allies. We are also masters of Italy, of which I will surrender one portion and retain the other, for the purpose of guaranteeing the existence of all. These are my bases; build upon them as much as you please; I care not for that; but the object and result must remain as I have specified. I will not yield a hair’s breadth of my determination. My object is not to purchase concessions from you; but to enter into reasonable, honourable, and lasting engagements. This is the circle I have traced out. It appears to me that you have formed no notion of our respective situations or resources. I fear not your refusal, your efforts, or any difficulties you may throw in my way. I have a strong arm, and I only want a weight to lift.
“This unusual language,” continued the Emperor, “produced the desired effect. In the negotiations at Amiens, they had intended merely to divert us; but they now began to treat seriously. Not knowing at what point I was vulnerable, they offered to make me King of France. This was a good idea! King, by the grace of foreigners, when I was already Sovereign by the will of the people!...
“Such was the ascendency I had acquired that, even while the negotiations were pending, I caused the Italians to assign to me the Presidency of their Republic; and this circumstance, which, in the ordinary course of European diplomacy, would naturally have created so many obstacles, occasioned no interruption of the proceedings. Matters were brought to a conclusion; and I gained my point by plain dealing, better than if I had fallen into all the usual diplomatic subtleties. Many libellous pamphlets, and manifestoes of no better character, accused me of perfidy, and of breach of faith in my negotiations; but I never merited these charges, which, on the contrary, might always have been justly applied to the other cabinets of Europe.
“At Amiens, I sincerely thought that the fate of France and Europe, and my own destiny, were permanently fixed; I hoped that war was at an end. However, the English Cabinet again kindled the flame. England is alone responsible for all the miseries by which Europe has since been afflicted. For my part, I intended to have devoted myself wholly to the internal interests of France; and I am confident that I should have wrought miracles. I should have lost nothing in the scale of glory; and I should have gained much in the scale of happiness. I should then have achieved the moral conquest of Europe, which I was afterwards on the point of accomplishing by force of arms. Of how much glory was I thus deprived!
“My enemies always spoke of my love of war; but was I not constantly engaged in self-defence? After every victory I gained, did I not immediately make proposals for peace?
“The truth is that I never was master of my own actions. I never was entirely myself. I might have conceived many plans; but I never had it in my power to execute any. I held the helm with a vigorous hand; but the fury of the waves was greater than any force that I could exert in resisting them; and I prudently yielded, rather than incur the risk of sinking through stubborn opposition. I never was truly my own master; but was always controlled by circumstances. Thus, at the commencement of my rise, during the Consulate, my sincere friends and warm partisans frequently asked me, with the best intentions, and as a guide for their own conduct, what point I was driving at? and I always answered that I did not know. They were surprised, probably dissatisfied, and yet I spoke the truth. Subsequently, during the Empire, when there was less familiarity, many faces seemed to put the same question to me; and I might still have given the same reply. In fact, I was not master of my actions, because I was not fool enough to attempt to twist events into conformity with my system. On the contrary, I moulded my system according to the unforeseen succession of events. This often appeared like unsteadiness and inconsistency, and of these faults I was sometimes unjustly accused.”
After alluding to some other subjects, the Emperor said, “One of my great plans was the re-uniting, the concentration, of those same geographical nations which have been separated and parcelled out by revolution and policy. There are in Europe, dispersed, it is true, upwards of thirty millions of French, fifteen millions of Spaniards, fifteen millions of Italians, and thirty millions of Germans; and it was my intention to incorporate these people each into one nation. It would have been a noble thing to have advanced into posterity with such a train, and attended by the blessings of future ages. I felt myself worthy of this glory!
“After this summary simplification, it would have been possible to indulge the chimera of the beau ideal of civilization. In this state of things, there would have been some chance of establishing, in every country, a unity of codes, principles, opinions, sentiments, views, and interests. Then, perhaps, by the help of the universal diffusion of knowledge, one might have thought of attempting, in the great European family, the application of the American Congress, or the Amphictyons of Greece; and then what a perspective of power, greatness, happiness, and prosperity! What a grand, what a magnificent, spectacle!
“The concentration of the thirty or forty millions of Frenchmen was completed and perfected; and that of the fifteen millions of Spaniards was nearly accomplished; for nothing is more common than to convert accident into principle. Because I did not subdue the Spaniards, it will henceforth be argued that they were invincible. But the fact is that they were actually conquered, and at the very moment when they escaped me, the Cortes of Cadiz were secretly in treaty with me. They were not delivered either by their own resistance or the efforts of the English, but by the reverses which I sustained at distant points; and, above all, by the error I committed in removing with all my whole forces to the distance of a thousand leagues from them, and in having perished there; for nobody can deny that if, as soon as I entered that country, Austria had not declared war against me, but had left me four months longer quietly in Spain,[[6]] the business would have been finished there; the Spanish Government would have been consolidated; the public mind would have been tranquillized; the different parties would have rallied. Three or four years would have restored the Spaniards to profound peace and brilliant prosperity: they would have become a compact nation, and I should have well deserved their gratitude; for I should have saved them from the tyranny by which they are now oppressed, and the terrible agitations that await them.
“With regard to the fifteen millions of Italians, their concentration was already far advanced: it only wanted maturity. The people were daily becoming more firmly established in the unity of principles and legislation; and also in the unity of thought and feeling, that certain and infallible cement of human concentration. The union of Piedmont with France, and the junction of Parma, Tuscany and Rome, were, in my mind, but temporary measures, intended merely to guarantee and promote the national education of the Italians.[[7]] You may judge of the correctness of my views, and of the influence of common laws. The portions of Italy that had been united to France, though that union might have been regarded as the insult of conquest on our part, were, in spite of their Italian patriotism, the very parts that continued by far the most attached to us. Now that they are restored to themselves, they conceive that they have been invaded and disinherited; and so they certainly have been!...
“All the South of Europe, therefore, would soon have been rendered compact in point of locality, views, opinions, sentiments, and interests. In this state of things, what would have been the weight of all the nations of the north? What human efforts could have broken through so strong a barrier?
“The concentration of the Germans must have been effected more gradually; and therefore I had done no more than simplify their monstrous complication. Not that they were unprepared for concentralization; on the contrary, they were too well prepared for it, and they might have blindly risen in re-action against us, before they had comprehended our designs. How happens it that no German Prince has yet formed a just notion of the spirit of his nation, and turned it to good account? Certainly, if heaven had made me a Prince of Germany, amidst the many critical events of our times, I should, infallibly, have governed the thirty millions of Germans united; and, from what I know of them, I think I may venture to affirm that, if they had once elected and proclaimed me, they would not have forsaken me, and I should never have been at St. Helena.”
Then, after some melancholy details and comparisons, he thus resumed: “At all events, this concentration will be brought about, sooner or later, by the very force of events. The impulse is given; and I think that, since my fall and the destruction of my system, no grand equilibrium can possibly be established in Europe, except by the concentration and confederation of the principal nations. The sovereign who, in the first great conflict, shall sincerely embrace the cause of the people, will find himself at the head of all Europe, and may attempt whatever he pleases.
“It will perhaps be asked why I did not suffer these ideas to transpire? why I did not submit them to public discussion; since they would, doubtless, have become popular, and popularity would have been an immense re-inforcement to me? My answer is, that malevolence is ever more active than good intention; that, at the present day, the power of wit overrules good sense, and obscures at pleasure the most luminous points; and that, to have submitted these important subjects to public discussion would have been to consign them to the mercy of party-spirit, passion, intrigue, and gossiping, while the infallible result would have been discredit and opposition. I conceived, therefore, that secrecy was the most advisable course. I surrounded myself with that halo of mystery which pleases and interests the multitude; gives birth to speculations, which occupy the public mind; and, finally, affords opportunities for those sudden and brilliant disclosures, which exercise such important influence. It was this very principle that accelerated my unfortunate march to Moscow. Had I been more deliberate, I might have averted every evil; but I could not delay and afford time for comment. With my career already traced out, with my ideas formed for the future, it was necessary that my movement and my success should seem, as it were, supernatural.” The Emperor here adverted to the Russian expedition, repeating many of the observations which I have already recorded elsewhere. I now note down only what I conceive to be new.
“I will name another occasion,” said he, “on which accident was taken for principle. I failed in my expedition against the Russians; and they, therefore, consider themselves invincible. But can any thing be more erroneous? Ask men of sense and reflection among them! Ask Alexander himself, and let him recollect the opinions he entertained at the time! Was I defeated by the efforts of the Russians? No! my failure must be attributed to pure accident, to absolute fatality. First a capital was burnt to the ground, in spite of its inhabitants and through foreign intrigues, and in defiance of its inhabitants; then winter set in with such unusual suddenness and severity that it was regarded as a kind of phenomenon. To these disasters must be added a mass of false reports, silly intrigues, treachery, stupidity, and, in short, many things that will perhaps one day come to light, and which will excuse or justify the two great errors I committed in diplomacy and war; namely, to have undertaken such an enterprise, leaving on my flanks, which soon became my rear, two cabinets of which I was not master, and two allied armies, which, on the least check would become my enemies. But to come to a conclusion, and to annul with a word every charge that can be brought against me, I may say that this famous war, this bold enterprise, was perfectly involuntary on my part. I did not wish to fight; neither did Alexander;—but being once in presence, circumstances urged us on, and fate accomplished the rest.”
After a few moments’ silence, and as if waking from a reverie, the Emperor added:—“A Frenchman had in his hands the fate of the world! If he had possessed judgment and spirit equal to the exalted situation in which he was placed, if he had been a good Swede as he pretended to be, he might have restored the glory and power of his adoptive country, have retaken Finland, and arrived at St. Petersburgh before I reached Moscow. But he was swayed by personal considerations, silly vanity, and all sorts of mean passions. His head was turned, when he saw that he, an old Jacobin, was courted and flattered by legitimates; when he found himself holding political and friendly conferences face to face with an Emperor of all the Russias, who took great pains to cajole him. It is affirmed that hints were even thrown out to him of the possibility of his obtaining the hand of one of the sisters of the Russian Emperor, by divorcing his wife; and, in a letter addressed to him by a French Prince, the writer remarked, with complacency, that Bearn was the cradle of both their houses! The house of Bernadotte forsooth!
“In his intoxication, he sacrificed both his new and his mother country, his own glory, his true power, the cause of the people, and the welfare of Europe! For this he will pay dearly! No sooner had he accomplished all that was expected of him than he began to feel what awaited him. It is said that he has repented of his conduct; but he has not yet expiated it. He is now the only upstart sovereign in Europe. The Scandal cannot remain unpunished; it would be too dangerous an example.”
THE EMPEROR HAS BUT LITTLE CONFIDENCE IN THE ISSUE OF 1815.—THEMISTOCLES.—IN THE CRISIS OF 1814, NAPOLEON HIMSELF MOMENTARILY ENTERTAINED A THOUGHT OF RESTORING THE BOURBONS.—BARON FAIN’S MANUSCRIPT OF 1814.—THE ABDICATION OF FONTAINEBLEAU, &C.
12th.—The Emperor, adverting to his return from the Island of Elba and his second fall at Waterloo, made some remarkable observations on both these subjects. “It is very certain,” said he, “that, during the events of 1815, I relinquished the anticipation of ultimate success: I lost my first confidence. Perhaps I found that I was wearing beyond the time of life at which fortune usually proves favourable; or, perhaps, in my own eyes, in my own imagination, the spell that had hung over my miraculous career was broken;—but, at all events, I felt that something was wanting. Kind Fortune no longer followed my footsteps, and took pleasure in lavishing her smiles upon me; she was now succeeded by rigid Fate, who took ample revenge for the few favours which I obtained, as it were, by force. It is a remarkable fact that every advantage I obtained at this period was immediately succeeded by a reverse.
“I marched through France, and arrived in the capital amidst the enthusiasm and universal acclamations of the people; but no sooner had I reached Paris than, by a sort of magic, and without any adequate motive, all around suddenly shrank from me and grew cold.
“I had adduced plausible reasons for obtaining a sincere reconciliation with Austria, whither I had despatched agents, more or less avowed.[[8]] But Murat was there with his fatal enterprise. It was concluded, at Vienna that he was acting under my orders; and, measuring me by their own scale, they regarded my whole conduct as a complication of artifice, and determined to overreach me by counter-intrigue.
“The opening of my campaign was well managed and proved most successful. I should have surprised the enemy in detail; had not a deserter from among our generals given him timely notice of my plans.
“I gained the brilliant victory of Ligni; but my lieutenant robbed me of its fruits. Finally, I triumphed even at Waterloo, and was immediately hurled into the abyss. Yet I must confess that all these strokes of fate distressed me more than they surprised me. I felt the presentiment of an unfortunate result. Not that this in any way influenced my determinations and measures; but the foreboding certainly haunted my mind.”
That such was really Napoleon’s state of feeling at the period here alluded to is evident from the following anecdote, which is so very remarkable that I cannot forbear presenting it to the reader. When on the banks of the Sambre, the Emperor early one morning approached a bivouac fire, accompanied only by his aide-de-camp on duty (General C—--); some potatoes were boiling on the fire, and the Emperor asked for one, and began to eat it. Then, with a meditative and somewhat melancholy expression, he uttered the following broken sentences:—“After all, it is good, it is endurable.... Man may live in any place, and in any way.... The moment perhaps is not far distant.... Themistocles!...” The aide-de-camp above mentioned, who himself related this circumstance to me, since my return to Europe, observed that, had the Emperor been successful, these words would have passed away without leaving any impression on him; but that, after the catastrophe, and particularly after reading the celebrated letter to the Prince Regent, he had been struck with the recollection of the bivouac of the Sambre; and Napoleon’s manner, tone, and expression, had since so haunted his mind, that he could never banish the circumstance from his memory.
It is a mistake to suppose that Napoleon was on all occasions inspired by that internal confidence which his acts and decisions seemed to denote. When he quitted the Tuileries, in January 1814, to enter upon his immortal but unfortunate campaign in the environs of Paris, his mind was depressed by gloomy apprehensions:—and a circumstance that bears evidence of his penetration and foresight is that, at the period in question, he felt convinced of what the majority of those about him were far from suspecting;—namely, that if he fell, it would be by the Bourbons. This idea he communicated to a few of his particular friends, who vainly endeavoured to rouse his confidence by representing that the Bourbons were forgotten, that they were wholly unknown to the present generation:—“There is the real danger,” was his invariable reply. Thus, immediately after his eloquent and impressive harangue to the officers of the national guard, in which among other things he said:—“You elected me, I am your work, and it is for you to defend me;” and which he concluded by presenting to them the Empress and the King of Rome, saying, “I[“I] go to oppose the enemy, and I consign to your care all that I hold most dear:”—immediately after delivering this address, when on the point of quitting the Tuileries, he foresaw at that decisive moment the treachery and perfidy that awaited him, and he resolved to secure the person of him who proved to be the main-spring of the plot, by which his overthrow was effected. He was prevented from executing his intention only by representations, and it may even be said, offers of personal responsibility, on the part of some of his Ministers, who assured him that the individual suspected had more reason than any one else to dread the return of the Bourbons. Napoleon yielded; at the same time emphatically expressing fears that he might have cause to regret his forbearance!...
The following circumstance, which is but little known, is important, since it proves how much, in the height of the crisis. Napoleon’s thoughts were directed towards the Bourbons. After the check sustained at Brienne, the evacuation of Troyes, the forced retreat on the Seine, and the degrading[degrading] conditions which were transmitted from Chatillon, but which were so generously rejected, the Emperor, who was closeted with one of his friends, overpowered at sight of the miseries that were impending on France, suddenly rose from his chair, exclaiming with warmth:—“Perhaps I still possess the means of saving France.... What if I were myself to recal the Bourbons! The Allies would then be compelled to arrest their course, under pain of being overwhelmed with disgrace and detected in their duplicity; under pain of being forced to acknowledge that their designs were directed against our territory rather than against my person. I should sacrifice all to the country. I should become the mediator between the French people and the Bourbons. I should oblige the latter to accede to the national laws, and to swear fidelity to the existing compact: my glory and name would be a guarantee to the French people. As for me, I have reigned long enough. My career is filled with acts of glory; and this last will not be esteemed the least. I shall rise the higher by descending thus far....” Then, after a pause of some moments, he added:—“But can a repulsed dynasty ever forgive?... Can it ever forget?... Can the Bourbons be trusted?... May not Fox be right in his famous maxim respecting restorations?...”
Overcome by grief and anxiety, he threw himself on his couch, and was shortly after roused to be made acquainted with the march of the flank of Blucher’s corps, on which he had for some time been secretly keeping watch. He rose to put into action that new spring of resources, energy, and glory, which will for ever consecrate the names of Champ-Aubert, Montmirail, Chateau-Thierry, Vaux-Champ, Nangis, Montereau, Craon, &c. These marvellous successes dismayed Alexander and the English, and suggested to them the expediency of treating: they might indeed have entirely changed the face of affairs, had not Napoleon’s designs been thwarted by accidents beyond the reach of human calculation. For example, the important orders which did not reach the Viceroy, the defection of Murat, the indolence and negligence of certain Chiefs, and finally, even the successful movements of the French, which, by separating the Emperor of Austria from the other Allied Sovereigns, left the latter entirely free to plan the abdication of Fontainebleau, an event which will ever be celebrated in the history of our destiny and our moral character.
Philosophic thinkers, painters of the human heart, turn your eyes to Fontainebleau, and contemplate the fall of the greatest of monarchs! Observe how the retinue by which the unfortunate hero was surrounded,—those whom he had loaded with favours, honours, and riches,—at the first frown of fortune, forsook, betrayed, and even sought to insult him!... Mark how the first among them in rank, in favour, in confidence—he whom the great Prince had vainly sought to inspire with exalted sentiment, by treating him as his companion and his friend,—mark how this man degraded himself to the level of the Mameluke, whose native manners rendered him perhaps more excusable, and who thought it perfectly natural to forsake his fallen master.
At Fontainebleau, the crisis being accomplished, and while Napoleon was earnestly engaged, this favourite companion presented himself before him to solicit permission to proceed to Paris, only, as he said, for a short time, and for the purpose of settling some business, after which, he declared that he should return to the Emperor, never again to leave him. But Napoleon could read the secrets of the human mind, and that person had scarcely withdrawn, when the Emperor, breaking from the subject on which he was engaged, said to him with whom he had been conversing:—“There he goes to seal his own degradation; and, in spite of all his protestations, he will never come back again,“ He spoke truly; the deserter hastened to greet the first rays of the rising sun; and no sooner had it shone upon him than he renounced his benefactor, his friend, and master!... In speaking of the Emperor, he was even known to use the expression that man! And yet Napoleon so readily forgave human weakness, and was so superior to every feeling of rancour and resentment, that, on his return from Elba, he expressed regret at not seeing the individual who had acted so treacherous a part, adding, with a smile:—“The rogue is afraid of me, I suppose; but he has no reason to be so. The only punishment I should have inflicted on him would have been to require him to appear before me in his new costume. They tell me he looks even uglier than usual.“
And how many instances of private turpitude might not be mentioned! I myself can attest that an important personage, who had been most remarkable for his base conduct on returning from Fontainebleau, appeared one of the most forward at the Tuileries, on the 20th of March. He appeared very much disconcerted at the accidental or intended solitude in which he was left by all the rest. A witness of his late misconduct, burying the recollection of past troubles in the present joy, hastened to him and relieved him from his embarrassment. Such generosity cost little at that moment.
I refer to the Manuscript of 1814, for a picture of these mortifying events.[[9]] The reader may there learn—But no, he will learn nothing new—In all circumstances, at all times, and in all countries, men, and particularly courtiers, are ever the same; and it must be recollected that, by this time, Napoleon’s camp had become a Court.—Let not these men say that their conduct was dictated by regard for the welfare and interest of their country. The thought of securing the undisturbed enjoyment of the wealth and honours they had acquired superseded in their minds every patriotic consideration. But history will be just. I say history, for the bulk of the present generation cannot even claim this sad honour. Where was our indignation? Where was our reprobation authentically and solemnly pronounced?... And let it be understood that this is a point wholly unconnected with political considerations. The question is not what cause these men supported: but merely, what moral principle they professed. But it must not be supposed that discontented misanthropy would lead me to draw a picture discouraging to all hearts, and to conclude with the proscription of all mankind. By no means:—I am well aware that the moment of great trials is that of great extremes; and that, amidst the basest passions, the most brilliant heroism and noble virtue shine conspicuous. Therefore, honoured be those veteran bands, whose bitter tears attested their sincere sorrow! Honoured be those innumerable subaltern officers to whom a word would have been the signal for shedding every drop of their blood! Honoured be the generous peasantry, who presented to our troops their last morsel of bread; and, disregarding their own privations, parted with all, to aid the brave defenders of their country! Honoured be those generous sentiments that were expressed by the citizens of every class, sex, and age! If, on the one side, the heart is roused to indignation, it finds a delicious source of gratification on the other.
At St. Helena, the Emperor dictated an account of the events of Fontainebleau, and his removal to the Island of Elba; but my memory does not enable me to quote any of the facts thus detailed. I took no notes of them, because, with a view of abridging my own labour, I laid down the rule of passing over those subjects that were dictated to others, being assured that they would be faithfully recorded. I shall, therefore, merely subjoin a few particulars which are collected from Napoleon’s conversations, or other authentic sources.
When the disasters of 1814 were apparent, when the danger was imminent, particularly after the entrance of the Allies into Paris, many of the French Generals began to waver. Those in whom selfishness prevailed over patriotism; those who would rather retire from the fatigues of war, than obey the dictates of duty, honour and glory; urged on the catastrophe, instead of seeking to avert it. The most distinguished Chiefs ventured to advise the abdication, and declared it to be indispensable. Some even went so far as to hint to the Emperor that they could not answer for the consequences of the dissatisfaction and indignation which the soldiers manifested towards him; while, on the contrary, as Napoleon himself said, “such was the attachment of the troops, and the devotedness of the officers, that, if I had made known the machinations that were plotting, I certainly should have endangered those who were guilty of such misrepresentation. A single word from me would have sacrificed them.” Napoleon reviewed the troops: their acclamations were enthusiastic and general. It appeared as though adversity served only to render the Emperor the more dear to them, for their attachment was never so decidedly expressed. “It was impossible that it could be otherwise,” said Napoleon, “such was the identity of these brave men with me, and such our mutual sympathy, I never entertained a doubt of their attachment.”
In this extremity, Napoleon profoundly reflected on what course it was advisable for him to pursue. He yet possessed forty or fifty thousand troops, the best and most devoted in the world; he might, without risk, have overawed or dismissed the faithless Generals. In this state of things, three different measures, by turns, presented themselves to his mind.
The first was to return to Paris; for he imagined that no General on earth would be bold enough to give him battle with that immense capital in his rear. “At my command,” said the Emperor, “the whole population would have risen. I should suddenly have found my forces recruited, by the addition of one or two hundred thousand men. But the Allies, on retiring, might have burnt the capital; and this disaster would have been accounted my work. It is true, the burning of Paris might have proved in reality the salvation of France, as the burning of Moscow was the salvation of Russia; but such sacrifices can only be made by the parties interested.”
The second idea which suggested itself to the Emperor’s mind was to proceed to Italy, to form a junction with the Viceroy. “But this,” said Napoleon, “would have been a desperate course, without the chance of obtaining an adequate result. It would have removed the theatre of conflict to too remote a point. Public enthusiasm would have had time to subside; and we should no longer have been fighting in France, on whose sacred soil alone we could hope to work the prodigies that had become indispensable.”
Neither of these two measures would have been practicable. Only the third course, therefore, remained, and this was, to continue on the defensive, to dispute every foot of ground, and to maintain the war until new chances should arise. The stupor, which the presence of the invaders had produced, would soon be dispelled; the miseries they created would soon render them the objects of execration: the national enthusiasm would revive; and the Allies would find their graves in the land which they had presumed to violate. But this must necessarily have been the work of time; in a word, success was doubtful, or, at least, remote; while the sufferings of the people were certain, immediate, and incalculable. The noble mind of Napoleon was moved; and he resolved to abdicate.
Meanwhile, he despatched to the Emperor Alexander a deputation of Marshals, among whom was the Duke of Ragusa, one of those to whom he was most fondly attached. The Deputation was instructed to propose the abdication of Napoleon, in favour of his son. The Emperor thus hoped to save France, to secure her independence and the duration of her existing institutions. The Emperor Alexander, who had several days before publicly declared that he would not treat either with Napoleon or any of the members of his family, nevertheless discussed the subject contradictorily with that party of the Senate who proposed the abdication. The Marshals spoke vehemently, and in the name of the whole army. Alexander’s determination was shaken, and the party favourable to the Regency seemed likely to prevail, when intelligence arrived of the defection of the Duke of Ragusa; and this circumstance confirmed Alexander in his previous resolution. The event came upon him like a ray of light: the army, then, is not unanimous, thought he! From that moment, setting aside all reserve, he declared himself to be inflexible. In this state of things, Napoleon was surrounded, urged, and harassed to sign his positive and unconditional abdication. He yielded, after a great internal struggle, and dictated the act of abdication, in the following terms:—
“The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the only obstacle to the re-establishment of the peace of Europe, the Emperor, faithful to his oath, renounces for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and declares that there is no sacrifice, even that of life, which he is not ready to make for the interests of France.”
This declaration, which the Allies were far from expecting in so absolute a form, smoothed every difficulty, and the Marshals returned with what is called the treaty of Fontainebleau, which I shall presently insert.
I find in Baron Fain’s Manuscript of 1814, a complete explanation of certain remarks made by the Emperor, which I noted down at the time, without exactly comprehending their meaning. In a former part of this Journal, the Emperor, alluding to the treaty of Fontainebleau, says, “I will have nothing to do with that treaty; I disclaim it. Far from being proud of it, I blush for it. It was discussed for me, and against my will,” &c. And, on another occasion, he says, “When the history of the events of Fontainebleau comes to be known, it will afford ample room for surprise.” The Manuscript of 1814 proves that Napoleon had, indeed, nothing to do with the treaty of Fontainebleau. The utmost exertions were employed to prevail on him to sign the treaty; and he was, at length, only influenced by the public considerations that were adduced in support of it. He thought it both degrading and useless to sign the treaty. Having survived his greatness, he wished thenceforth to live as a private individual; and he was mortified to reflect that the vast sacrifice which had been made, for the peace of the world, should be mingled with pecuniary arrangements. “Of what use is a treaty,” said he, “since they will not settle the interests of France with me? If only my personal interests are concerned, there is no need of a treaty. I am conquered; I yield to the fate of arms. All I ask is that I may not be accounted a prisoner of war: and for that a mere cartel is sufficient!”
Every endeavour to turn his thoughts to his personal situation, his existence, and future wants, proved unavailing. To all such suggestions, he energetically replied, “What matters it? A horse and a crown a day are all that I want.”
I, for my own part, can bear witness that the Emperor infinitely regretted having ratified the treaty of Fontainebleau; and this was not the only decision of the period which weighed heavily on his mind. He also very much regretted having yielded, when in his position at St. Dizier and Doulevant, to the various representations and suggestions by which he was assailed, and which brought him back against his inclination upon Paris. “Here[Paris. “Here] I wanted firmness,” said he; “I should have followed up my intention of advancing to the Rhine, collecting reinforcements from all the garrisons on my way, and exciting the peasantry to rise. By this means, I should soon have possessed an immense army. Murat would immediately have rejoined me; and he and the Viceroy would have made me master of Vienna, if the Allies had presumed to deprive me of Paris. But no: the enemy would have shrunk from the dangers with which he would have been surrounded. The Allied Sovereigns would have regarded it as a favour to have been permitted to retire; and then the volcano of foreigners against us would have been completely extinguished. Peace would have been concluded and sincerely maintained; for all were exhausted; all had wounds to heal!... Abroad, war could no longer have been thought of; and at home, such a result must have had the effect of destroying all illusion, frustrating every evil design, and permanently blending the opinions, views, and interests of all parties. I should once more have seated myself triumphantly on the throne, surrounded by my invincible bands. The heroic and faithful portion of the people would have harmonized those who had wavered; and the men who had shewn themselves so eager for repose might have enjoyed it. A new generation of chiefs would have remoulded our character. Every effort would have been directed to the internal welfare of the country; and France would have been happy!”
When speaking of the confusion created in Paris, by the approach of the Allies; the dejection, to use no stronger term, that was evinced by the upper classes; the good spirit and enthusiasm manifested by the great body of the people, who were ready to fight, if they could have procured arms,—I observed that the departure of the Empress had produced a fatal effect on the public mind. I mentioned, as a singular circumstance, that the young King of Rome, contrary to custom, obstinately refused to quit the palace: he wept bitterly, and it was found necessary to carry him away by force. I also added that it was universally reported that the Empress wished to remain, and that the Council was inclined to second her wishes, until precise orders were received from the Emperor, directing her to quit Paris, in case of urgent danger on the part of the enemy. “Yes,” said the Emperor, “and[“and] those orders were very necessary. The Empress was young and totally inexperienced. Had she been capable of personal decision, my directions would have been quite the contrary. Paris then would have been her proper post. But I foresaw the intrigues of which she would be the object; and I wished to prevent at Paris what subsequently occurred at Orleans. There the men who were planning the Regency, in the expectation of ruling under the Empress, prevented her from joining me. What fatal consequences were thus produced! Would to Heaven that I had also despatched timely orders, directing her to quit Orleans!”
It is certain that at Fontainebleau[Fontainebleau] Napoleon was, almost at one and the same moment, the victim of every kind of mental distress with which man can possibly be assailed. Subdued by defection and not by force of arms, he felt all that could rouse the indignation of a lofty mind, or break an affectionate heart. His friends forsook him; his servants betrayed him; one surrendered his army; another his treasure. The men whom he had reared, maintained and loaded with favours, were those who wrought his overthrow. The members of the senate, who, only the day before, had supplied him profusely with conscripts to oppose the enemy, scrupled not to become the instruments of that very enemy. Under the impulse of foreign bayonets, they imputed to him as a crime that which was their own work; and basely broke the idol which they had themselves created, and so servilely worshipped. What a depth of disgrace and degradation!... Finally (and this stroke Napoleon felt more severely than all the rest), his wife and child were carried away from him; and, in defiance of treaties and laws, in opposition to all moral principle, he was never allowed to see them more!...
It appears that Napoleon, oppressed by this weight of affliction, surrounded by this odious turpitude, in his utter contempt of human nature, and all things connected with this world, formed the resolution of putting an end to his life. A letter has been preserved, written in his own hand to the Empress, in which he says that the moment has arrived when she must prepare her mind for every thing; that all is possible, even the death of the Emperor. This was, doubtless, an allusion to the mysterious event of the night of the 12th of April, which was wrapt in profound secrecy. The Manuscript of 1814, however, contains some particulars relative to this occurrence, which, if they be correct, will not leave the furious enemies of Napoleon even the satisfaction of repeating the stupid and vulgar remark, that he had not courage to die; ... for, according to the Manuscript, it appears, on the contrary, that he could not die! This is not the least extraordinary event in Napoleon’s career. His remark, Heaven has ordained that I shall live! and the calm and noble resignation, which from that moment succeeded, appear truly sublime.
Napoleon’s celebrated farewell address to his troops, and his last embrace of those eagles which he had immortalized, are well known. A Prussian diplomatist, who was present, has assured me that the scene produced an impression on him which time can never obliterate. He added that the English Commissioner, who stood near him, and who had previously been an inveterate enemy of Napoleon’s, was so deeply moved that he shed tears.
Such were the sentiments of respect and veneration naturally inspired by Napoleon that, in spite of the danger and inconvenience occasioned by his presence in France, no one presumed to hasten his departure; and he was allowed full time to make all the arrangements that he wished.
The treaty of abdication is dated the 11th of April, and Napoleon did not quit Fontainebleau until the 20th, nine days after. Throughout the first part of his journey, he was the object of universal respect, and often of the warmest and most affectionate interest.[[10]]
Hitherto, foreigners seemed to have formed no idea of the spirit that prevailed in France, or of the real feelings of the people with regard to the Emperor. However, it was deemed prudent to arrange matters so that Napoleon should reach Lyons in the night; or, I rather believe, it was intended to prevent his entering that city at all. I received the following particulars from an English gentleman, one of those who had been long detained in France, and who happened, at the period in question, to be residing at Lyons. My informant and the Austrian General went out in disguise, and mingled with the crowd that had assembled to see the dethroned monarch pass by. They expected to be much amused with the imprecations of which, they concluded, he would be the object. But, as soon as the Emperor appeared, deep silence prevailed among the multitude; and an old woman, to all appearance above the common class, habited in deep mourning, and with a countenance full of enthusiasm, rushed forward to the door of the Emperor’s carriage. “Sire,” said she, with an air of solemnity, “may the blessing of Heaven attend you! Endeavour to make yourself happy. They tear you from us; but our hearts are with you wheresoever you go.” The Austrian General, quite disconcerted, said to his companion, “Let us begone; I have no patience with this old mad woman. The people have not common sense.”
A little beyond Lyons, the General-in-chief of the army of the East appeared on the road; and Napoleon, alighting from his carriage, walked with him for a considerable way. When the General had taken his leave, one of the allied Commissioners ventured to express his surprise that the Emperor should have treated him with such an appearance of friendship and confidence. “Why should I not?” inquired Napoleon.—“Your Majesty is, perhaps, not aware of his conduct?“—“What has he done?“—“Sire, he entered into an understanding with us several weeks ago.” “It was even so,” said the Emperor, “he to whom I had entrusted the defence of France on this point, sacrificed and betrayed the country.” After many complaints of the perfidy of men in whom he had reposed confidence, he concluded by saying: “The Marshal was no longer the soldier. His early courage and virtues had raised him above the multitude; but honours, dignities, and fortune, again reduced him to the common level. The conqueror of Castiglione might have left behind him a name dear to his country. But France will execrate the memory of the traitor of Lyons, and all who acted as he did, unless, indeed, their future services shall make amends for their past wrongs.”
This circumstance dictated the famous proclamation which the Emperor issued on his return. “Frenchmen,” said he, “the defection of the Duke of Castiglione left Lyons defenceless and at the mercy of the enemy. The army, the command of which I had entrusted to that Chief, was, from the number of its battalions, and the courage and patriotism of its troops, capable of defeating the corps of the Austrian army opposed to it, and advancing on the rear of the left flank of the enemy’s force that threatened Paris. The victories of Champ[Champ]-Aubert, Montmirail, Chateau-Thierry, Vaux-Champ, Mormans, Montereau, Craon, Rheims, Arcis-sur-Aube, and St. Dizier; the rising of the brave peasantry of Lorraine, Champagne, Alsace, the Franche-Comte, and Burgundy; the position which I had taken up in the rear of the enemy, intercepting his magazines, parks of reserve, convoys, and equipages—all had thrown the invading forces into a desperate situation. The French people never had the prospect of becoming more powerful. The enemy’s picked corps would have been irretrievably lost, and would have found their graves in those plains which they so mercilessly ravaged, when the treason of the Duke of Ragusa delivered up the capital, and disorganized the army. The unlooked-for conduct of these two generals, who at once betrayed their country, their Prince, and their benefactor, changed the fate of the war. Such was the disastrous situation of the enemy, after the affair which took place before Paris, that he was absolutely destitute of ammunition, by being separated from his parks of reserve,” &c.[[11]]
Napoleon was less favourably received in proportion as he approached Provence; for there the machinations of his enemies had anticipated his arrival. He had escaped the ambush of Maubreuil, but he could not avoid that of Orgon; and this part of his dictated narrative is not the least curious.
On his arrival at the place of embarkation, he found two vessels in readiness to receive him; the one French and the other English. Napoleon went on board the English frigate, observing that, he would never allow it[it] to be said that a Frenchman had conveyed him away.
Such is a brief account of the great event, the details of which, dictated by Napoleon himself, will, as I have already mentioned, hereafter be presented to the public. France was, at the time, inundated with pamphlets on the subject, so full of falsehood and absurdity that every honest and sensible man now blushes for having given credit to them, or having had even the courage to read them.
The following is the treaty of Fontainebleau, to which I have already alluded. It was carefully suppressed at the time it was drawn up, was never published in the Moniteur, and remained long unknown. It is to be found only in official collections, and even there the copies differ one from another. I presume, therefore, that its insertion here will not be deemed superfluous. It is intimately connected with the subject of which I have just been treating, and many of its articles are still the topics of daily conversation; and it must of course be satisfactory to be enabled to discuss with a full knowledge of facts.