RESIDENCE AT OFFENBACH.—DETAIL.—ARRIVAL OF MADAME MONTHOLON IN EUROPE.—JOURNEY TO BRUSSELS.—RESIDENCE AT LIEGE, AT CHAUDE-FONTAINE, AT SOHAN, NEAR SPA, AT ANTWERP, AT MALINES.—DEATH OF NAPOLEON.—RETURN TO FRANCE.—CONCLUSION.
Offenbach is a handsome little town in the Grand-Duchy of Darmstadt, situate upon the Maine, two leagues from Frankfort. I settled myself there, according to my custom, in a sort of little hermitage. It was upon the bank of the river, within a step of the town.
My head-aches, under their different symptoms, had never quitted me. At Manheim I suffered very acute pains. A short time after my arrival at Offenbach, my illness suddenly assumed a character new, insupportable, and alarming. It was then that a universal indisposition, an increasing debility, commenced, which, preventing the employment of the faculties, brought with them a complete disgust of life; then also commenced that sudden trembling in my limbs and in my whole frame: those sudden visits of dimness of sight, which I might call the twinkling of existence. How often in this state, and without taking any notice of it, have I gone to bed with the thought, I had almost said the hope, of awaking no more. Madame Las Cases, in the excess of her anxiety, wished that I should give up every kind of occupation whatever, of which, in fact, I was absolutely incapable; she suppressed my letters, and wrote to the relatives of the Emperor, to apprize them of my real situation, and to prevail upon them to appoint a successor to me in the cares which I had created for myself. For a long time past, as a precaution, I myself had entreated them to join with me a person whose happiness it would have constituted, and the choice of whom would have been agreeable to the Emperor.[[44]] He was then with one of them; but, from one cause or another, this was not done, and necessity compelled me to break off without any provision having been made to supply the deficiency. I exhausted in vain all the aid of medicine; and, if the domestic cares, the tender solicitude, which surrounded me on every side, could have availed, my illness would have been only a blessing, from the pleasure of seeing them lavished upon me. One loves to dwell upon that which was sweet, and I could not assuredly better describe the great interest felt for me, and the nature of the recompense which the sentiments I had shewn, the efforts I had made, had obtained for me, than when I say my little hermitage has been honoured with the presence of three Queens, and, I think, on the same day. Two of them, it is true, had been deposed; but they did not the less command every where at that moment, by the elevation of their minds, the simplicity of their manners, the éclat of their other qualities, a universal respect, at least, as much as at the era of their greatest splendour.
It was at Offenbach that the little colony, which Cardinal Fesch sent to St. Helena, was addressed to me on its way to that place. It consisted of a chaplain, a surgeon, a physician, and a valet de chambre; all chosen by the Cardinal. On my arrival in Europe, I had written to him, to be assured that to send a priest, capable also of writing to dictation, and of assisting a little in business, would be very agreeable to the Emperor; and I had employed his mediation to interest, for that purpose, the conscience of the Holy Father, who, in fact, demanded it of the English Ministers, who had hitherto opposed the measure, or attached to it inadmissible conditions. It was also from Offenbach, that I despatched to Longwood two charming portraits: one, the young Napoleon, painted from the life in the same year, and sent by King Jerome; the other that of the Empress Josephine, by Sain, a present from the Queen Hortense. It was mounted in a magnificent tea-caddy, of crystal. This choice of crystal was a delicate precaution of the Queen’s, who also had the mounting executed in such a manner as to render it impossible to suspect any concealed writing. The former of these two portraits reached its destination. The valet de chambre of the Emperor has since told me, that Napoleon, on perceiving it, seized it with avidity and kissed it. I, who know how reserved the Emperor was, can judge from this circumstance the whole extent of his joy and satisfaction. As to the portrait of the Empress Josephine, it never arrived at Longwood, although, by a singular contrariety, it was found, in consequence of some memorandum, to have paid the custom-house duty on its importation into England.
Towards the end of the summer, Madame Las Cases, by order of the physicians, carried me to the waters of Schwalbach, where I was an object of pity to every one. I returned without having derived any benefit from them; but a circumstance then revived my strength for an instant, and caused me to quit Germany.
All of a sudden, I learnt from the public papers the return of Madame Montholon to Europe; she had been, like myself, repulsed from England, and landed at Ostend. I was not able to resist going to seek authentic details, of which I had so long been deprived. I hastened to rejoin her, whether she should be permitted to stay in the country, or should be forced, after my example, to run up and down the highways, for in that case I should be useful to her; I had had experience.
Travelling with mystery, for I remembered too well all the ill treatment I formerly received in the Netherlands, I joined the Countess of Montholon at Brussels. Not only was she at liberty to reside there, but she had been received with the most particular respect; and a journal of the place having announced that she would be obliged to continue her route, a semi-official article refuted this news, upon this ground, especially, that the Netherlands was the land of hospitality. I wanted no more; Belgium appeared to me nearly as France; in the midst of the Belgians, I should think myself among my countrymen. I wrote, therefore, to Madame Las Cases to acquaint her with our good fortune, and desiring that she might hasten to come and join me. Shunning Brussels, for the same reasons which had made me leave Frankfort, I chose Liege; remembering the kind reception which I had there experienced, at the time of my unfortunate passage, eighteen months before; and I settled there, not without apprehension of some new ill luck. But I was wrong; for I must with truth and gratitude say that, during nearly two years and a half that I have since traversed the country in all directions, without any request, any solicitation, not even a previous announcement, that country, formerly so baneful to me, has ever since been the land of hospitality; never having afterwards had occasion to perceive any authority whatever, otherwise than by the tranquillity, the repose, which I enjoyed under its shade.
Influence and foreign malice had ceased; it was at this time that my son requested leave, anew, and on his own account, to return to Longwood. I have the answer of Lord Bathurst, who refused it. Subsequently, the Princess Pauline, who succeeded in obtaining leave to repair thither, wrote to me to know if my son wished to accompany her: but then, alas! it was too late.
Neither the affection nor the care of my friends at Liege, where I remained the whole winter; nor the rural situation of Chaude-Fontaine, where I spent the spring; nor the generous hospitality of the worthy and excellent proprietor of that charming spot Justlanville, who forced me to accept for the summer, at a few steps from him, the residence called Johan, at the gates of Spa and of Verviers; nor the benevolence of all his family, so numerous, so kind, so respected in the country; were able to ameliorate my condition, or fix my stay. Yet it would be difficult for me to describe, as they deserve, the extreme kindness, the touching dispositions, the sympathetic spirit, of the whole population of these countries, so prosperous, so rich, so flourishing, under the imperial reign, and which continues so grateful.
I spent my second winter at Antwerp, with some sincere friends whom I tenderly love, and whom my arrival on the expedition to Flushing, ten years before, had procured for me; and in the spring I reached Malines, without any particular motive; for I was not able to remain a long time in the same place. I stood in need of change. I was the patient who tosses and turns in his bed, seeking in vain the sweets of sleep. Twice, during the two years in Belgium, Madame Las Cases wished to take me to the south; and twice, at the very moment of setting out, imperative circumstances happened to stop us:—disappointments, however, which were to us so many real favours of fortune. But for the first of them, we should have found ourselves advanced a day’s journey within the frontier, at the very moment of a fatal and sanguinary catastrophe; and, but for the second, we should have arrived at Nice precisely at the moment of the constitutional explosion in Piedmont; and no doubt that, in both cases, and naturally enough, we should have been subjected to at least temporary inconvenience.
Meanwhile the Congress of Laybach was held, and I could not refrain from attempting new solicitations. I addressed a new letter to each of the three high Sovereigns. The following is that to the Emperor Alexander:—
“Sire,—A new and solemn occasion presents itself for preferring to your Majesty my humble and respectful accents. I seize it anew with eagerness.
“I am not afraid of rendering myself importunate: my excuse and my pardon are in the generosity of your soul.
“Sire, to recal, at this moment, to your recollection, and to that of your high Allies, the august captive, whom you, a long time, called your brother and your friend; to seek to divert your thoughts and theirs to that victim whose cruel suffering is always present to me; this is, I know it, to make the knell of death heard amidst joy and feasting. But therein, Sire, I trust that, even in the eyes of your Majesty, I fulfil an honourable and pious duty, the performance of which must remain always sweet to me, however perilous it may be!
“Sire,—reduced to a state of infirmity and weakness which leaves me scarcely able to connect a few ideas, I follow the instinct of my heart in default of the faculties of my head, in merely repeating literally here to your Majesty the note which I presumed to address to you at Aix-la-Chapelle; for, the circumstances having remained the same, no change having since taken place in that respect, what could I do better than to place under the eyes of your Majesty the same picture, the same facts, the same reasoning, the same truths.
“Only if, in spite of that which I then thought was certain, the illustrious victim, contrary to my expectation and that of the faculty, still breathes; if he has not yet fallen, I shall dare to observe to your Majesty that this unexpected prolongation of his life, which has been to him only a continuation of torment, is perhaps, to your Majesty, a blessing from heaven, which Providence reserves for your heart and for your memory.... Ah! Sire, there is then time still!... But the precious opportunity may every moment escape from all your power!... And what would be then the tardy, impotent regrets which could neither appease your heart, nor restore to your memory an act magnanimous, generous—a glory of a nature the most soothing, the most moral, the most commendable in the eyes of posterity, the best understood, perhaps, with which you could have embellished your glorious life? I mean oblivion of injuries, disdain of vengeance, remembrance of old friendship; in fine, the respect due to royal majesty—to one of the Lord’s anointed!!!
“Sire,—since my return to Europe, separated from the society of men, a prey to hopeless sufferings originating in St. Helena itself, belonging for the future and unalterably much more to another life than to this, I ardently raise every day in my retreat my hands to the Almighty, praying that he will deign to touch the heart of your Majesty, and to enlighten it upon so essential a part of its interests and its glory.
“I am, &c.
“COUNT DE LAS CASES.”[[45]]
How prophetic were many of these lines! Alas, they were scarcely before the eyes of the monarchs when he was no more!—He had ceased to live, to suffer!—On opening the Moniteur, I found there the fatal announcement. Though it could not surprise me, having been a long time certain to my understanding, I was not the less struck, overcome as at an unexpected event that was never to happen.
The next day I received a melancholy letter from London with circumstantial details, and conjectures for which these details might furnish matter; and this letter concluded by saying, “It was on the fifth of May, at six o’clock in the evening, at the very instant when the gun was firing at sunset, that his great soul quitted the earth.”
How strange the coincidences that sometimes happen!—When about the person of Napoleon, and under his influence, I had contracted the habit of keeping a diary, and he frequently expressed his regret that he had not done the same. “A line to assist the memory,” said he, “merely two or three indicatory words.” I had continued this practice ever since; and, as it may easily be imagined, I hastened to turn to the fifth of May, to see where I was, what I had been doing, and what had happened to me at that fatal moment. And what should I find?—Sudden storm; shelter under a shed; awful clap of thunder. Taking a ride, towards evening, in the country beyond Malines, the weather being delightful, there came on suddenly one of those summer storms, of such violence that I was obliged to seek shelter on horseback beneath a shed; and while in this situation there was a thunder-clap so tremendous that it seemed to be close to me. Alas! and what was passing elsewhere, at such a distance, at the same moment!—The circumstance may perhaps appear more than strange, but no doubt there are at Malines, or in its environs, naturalists or meteorologists who keep an account of the weather: it is for them to confirm or to contradict my statement.
THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
London: Published for Henry Colburn, March, 1836.
On the report of the death of Napoleon, it must, however, be said, that there was but one single cry, one selfsame sentiment in the streets, in the shops, in the public places; even the saloons shewed some feeling: the cabinets alone shewed themselves insensible, worse than insensible! But, after all, it was natural, they breathed, at length, at their ease....
During his life, in the time of his power, he had been assailed with pamphlets and libels; on his death, we were suddenly inundated with productions in his praise—a contrast, nevertheless, that gives a little relief from so much meanness of the human heart. There were every where, and from all parts, compositions in prose and in verse, paintings, portraits, pictures, lithographs, and a thousand little things more or less ingenious, proving much better than all the pomp of kings could do the sincerity, the extent, the vivacity of the sentiments which he left behind him. A clergyman on the banks of the Rhine, the place of whose residence had received some particular favour from the Emperor, assembled his parishioners, and made them pray for their old benefactor. In a large city of Belgium, a great number of citizens subscribed for a solemn funeral service, and if they abstained from the performance of it, it was much more from etiquette than in consequence of any interdict. Then these words of Napoleon, which I have often heard him repeat, were verified:—“In the course of time, nothing will be thought so fine, or strike the attention so much, as the doing of justice to me.... I shall gain ground every day in the minds of the people. My name will become the star of their rights; it will be the expression of their regrets.” And all these circumstances are verified in every country and every where. Without reckoning things of this kind, of which I am no doubt unaware, a peer of Great Britain shortly after said in open Parliament, “That the very persons who detested this great man have acknowledged that for ten centuries there had not appeared upon earth a more extraordinary character. All Europe,” added he, “has worn mourning for the hero; and those who have contributed to that great sacrifice are devoted to the execrations of the present generation as well as to those of posterity.”[[46]]
Two German professors, who either had always known his real character, or had been cured of their national prejudices, have erected upon their grounds a monument to his memory, with some inscriptions, indicating that, with him, fell a funereal veil over the rights of the people, and the ascendant impulse of civilization.
Our writers have defended his memory, our poets have celebrated it, and our orators, in the legislative tribunal, have proclaimed aloud the attachment which they had felt for him, or that they are honoured by the distinctions which they had received from him.
Nothing now remained for me but to return to my country. In crossing the frontier, at the end of the second emigration, I could not avoid thinking of the circumstances of my return after the first, and what a difference of sentiment distinguished them! Then I seemed, at every step, to advance amidst a hostile population; now I felt as if I was entering into my family. I soon beheld again all my companions of Longwood, and, while embracing them, I could not deny myself one melancholy reflection—we were all met again; but he for whom we had sought the fatal rock, he alone remained there! I recollected that he had told us it would be so, and many other things besides. I learned from all these eye-witnesses the details and the circumstances of the ill treatment which, since my departure, had been daily increasing; and I saw that the times which I had known had not even been the most unhappy moments.
STATUE OF NAPOLEON
ON THE COLUMN OF THE PLACE VENDÔME.
London: Published for Henry Colburn, December, 1835.
I read his last will; I there found my name, three or four times, in his own hand!—What were my emotions!—Assuredly I did not stand in need of them for my reward. For a long time I have carried it within my breast. But the remembrances, however, were dear and precious—how much more precious than millions! And yet he joined to them large sums from those of his family who were most nearly connected with him, and were dearest to him. If they ever pay them, so much the better; that will concern them hereafter more than me. I should have liked to consider myself only as a kind of depository. I even wished to anticipate them, but I found it necessary to stop: my means did not allow me to make these advances. My happiness would have been great in affording a retirement to a few civil and military veterans. In our long evenings, we should have often spoken of his battles or discoursed of his heart.
At last I received (thanks to the zealous interposition of one of the most distinguished characters of the English peerage!) the papers which had been detained from me at St. Helena: and which, in spite of all the power of the laws, I no longer reckoned upon. In the situation in which I found myself, with the sentiments with which it had inspired me, I felt myself under the indispensible obligation to assist, since I had some means to do it, in making better known him who had been so much misrepresented; and, in spite of my infirmity, I set about this work. Heaven has blessed my efforts in permitting me to reach the end, and to finish it, however ill; this I have the happiness to do at this instant. If I have succeeded in reconciling hearts, if I have destroyed prejudices, conquered prepossessions, I have obtained my dearest, my sweetest object; my mission is accomplished.
Passy, August 15, 1823.