4thly. We receive the bill of the British Parliament, which converts into a law the act of oppression of the English ministers towards the person of Napoleon.
5thly. Lastly, Commissioners come in the name of their Sovereigns, to watch over the fetters, and contemplate the sufferings of the victim. Thus our horizon grows darker and darker, our chains are shortened, all hopes of amelioration vanish, and the most gloomy prospects are all that the future presents.
The arrival of the new Governor is the signal for the infliction of greater hardships. For the person of the Emperor it is the commencement of a new series of torments; every day he is wounded by the recurrence of some petty vexation.
The first step of Sir Hudson Lowe is an insult; his first word one of cruelty; one of his first acts, an act of inhumanity.
After that, he seems to have no other occupation, to have received no other instruction, than to torment us and make us suffer under every shape, on every occasion, and in every way.
The Emperor, who had at first resolved to adopt a system of strict stoicism, is nevertheless moved with indignation at this conduct, and expresses himself in strong terms. Conversations grow warm; the breach is made; it will grow wider every day.
The Emperor’s health is visibly affected, and we can observe a rapid alteration. Contrary to his natural temperament, he very frequently feels indisposed; on one occasion he is confined to his room for six days running, without going out at all. A secret melancholy, which endeavours to conceal itself from every eye, and perhaps from his own, begins to take possession of him; the latent seeds of disease appear already to be lurking in his system. He contracts every day the circle, already so confined, of his movements and his diversions. He gives up riding on horseback; he no longer invites any English to dinner,—he even abandons his daily occupations. The dictations in which he had hitherto seemed to take pleasure, are suspended. Disgust had seized him, he would sometimes say to me, and he could not muster courage enough to resume them. The greatest part of his days is passed in turning over books in his own apartment, or in conversing with us either publicly or in private; and in the evening, after dinner, he reads to us some plays of our great poets, or any other work which chance or the choice of the moment brings to his hand.
Yet the serenity of his mind, the equanimity of his disposition towards us, are not in the least impaired; on the contrary, we seem more united like one family. He is more ours, and we belong more to him; his conversations offer a greater degree of confidence, freedom, and interest.
He would now often send for me into his room, to converse with him; and these private conversations would sometimes lead him to subjects of great importance,—such as the war in Russia, that of Spain, the conferences of Tilsit and Erfurth, which will be found in this portion of my Memoirs.
END OF VOL. II.