The Emperor described the Fanatic of Schönbrunn, as the son of a protestant minister of Erfurt, who, about the time of the battle of Wagram, had laid a plan for the assassination of Napoleon, with all due parade. He had passed the sentinels at some distance from the Emperor, and had twice or thrice been driven back, when General Rapp, in the act of pushing him aside with his hand, felt something concealed under his coat. This proved to be a knife about a foot and a half long, pointed, and sharp at both edges. “I shuddered to look at it,” said the Emperor; “it was merely rolled up in a piece of newspaper.”
Napoleon ordered the assassin to be brought into his closet. He called Corvisart, and directed him to feel the criminal’s pulse while he spoke to him. The assassin stood unmoved, confessing his intended crime, and frequently making quotations from the Bible. “What was your purpose here?” enquired the Emperor. “To kill you.” “What have I done to offend you? By whose authority do you constitute yourself my Judge?”—"I wish to put an end to the war." “And why not address yourself to the Emperor Francis?” “To him!” said the assassin, “and wherefore? he is a mere cipher. And besides, if he were dead, another would succeed him; but, when you are gone, the French will immediately retire from Germany.” The Emperor vainly endeavoured to move him. “Do you repent?” said he. “No.” “Would you again attempt the perpetration of your intended crime?” “Yes.” “What, if I were to pardon you?” Here, said the Emperor, nature for an instant resumed her sway; the man’s countenance and voice underwent a momentary change. “Even though you do,” said he, “God will not forgive me.” But he immediately resumed his ferocious expression. He was kept in solitary confinement and without food for four-and-twenty hours. The Doctor examined him once more. He was again questioned, but all was unavailing; he still remained the same man, or, to speak more properly, the same ferocious brute. He was at length abandoned to his fate.
MEASURES THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN ADOPTED AFTER
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
3rd.—In the morning the Emperor dictated in the shady part of the garden. The day was delightfully clear and serene. He had been reading the account of Alexander’s expedition in Rollin’s History; and had several maps spread out before him. He complained that the narrative was destitute of taste, and without any proper plan. He observed that it afforded no just idea of the grand views of Alexander; and he expressed a wish himself to write an account of the expedition.
About five o’clock, I joined him in the garden, where he was walking, attended by all the gentlemen. As soon as he perceived me, he said: “Come, we must have your opinion on a point which we have been discussing for the last hour. On my return from Waterloo, do you think I could have dismissed the Legislative Body, and have saved France without it?”—"No," I replied, “it would not have been dissolved voluntarily. You would have found it necessary to employ force; which would have excited protestations, and would have been regarded as scandalous. The dissatisfaction excited in the Legislative Body would have spread through the whole nation. Meanwhile the enemy would have arrived; and your Majesty must have succumbed, accused by all Europe, accused by foreigners, and even by Frenchmen; perhaps loaded with universal maledictions, regarded merely as an adventurer carrying every thing by violence. But as it was, your Majesty issued pure and unsullied from the conflict, and your memory will be everlastingly cherished in the hearts of those who respect the cause of the people. Your Majesty has, by your moderation, ensured to yourself the brightest character in history, while, by a different line of conduct, you might have incurred the risk of reprobation. You have lost your power, it is true; but you have attained the summit of your glory.”
“Well, this is partly my own opinion,” said the Emperor. "But after all, am I certain that the French people will do me justice? Will they not accuse me of having abandoned them? History will decide! Instead of dreading, I invoke, its decree!—I have often asked myself whether I have done for the French people all that they could expect of me; for that people did much for me. Will they ever know all that I suffered during the night that preceded my final decision?
"In that night of anguish and uncertainty, I had to choose between two great courses: the one was to endeavour to save France by violence; and the other was to yield to the general impulse. The measure which I pursued was, I think, most advisable. Friends and enemies, the good and the evil disposed, all were against me, and I stood alone. I could not but yield, and my decision being once adopted, could not be revoked. I am not one who takes half measures; and, besides, sovereignty is not to be thrown off and on like one’s cloak. The other course demanded extraordinary severity. It would have been necessary to arraign great criminals and to decree great punishments. Blood must have been shed; and then who can tell where we should have stopped! What scenes of horror might not have been renewed! By pursuing this line of conduct, should I not have drowned my memory in the deluge of blood, crimes, and abominations of every kind, with which libellers have already overwhelmed me? Should I not thereby have seemed to justify all that they have been pleased to invent? Posterity and History would have viewed me as a second Nero or Tiberius. If, after all, I could have saved France at such a price!... I had energy sufficient to carry me through every difficulty!... But, is it certain that I should have succeeded? All our dangers did not come from without; the worst existed in our internal discord. Did not a party of mad fools dispute about shades, before they had ensured the triumph of the colour? How would it have been possible to persuade them that I was not labouring for myself alone, for my own personal advantage? How could I convince them of my disinterestedness, or prove that all my efforts were directed to save the country? To whom could I point out the dangers and miseries from which I sought to rescue the French people? They were evident to me, but the vulgar mass will ever remain in ignorance of them until they are crushed beneath their weight.
“What answer could be given to those who exclaimed: Behold the despot, the tyrant! again violating the oaths which he took but yesterday! and who knows whether amidst this tumult, this inextricable complication of difficulties, I might not have perished by the hand of a Frenchman, in the civil conflict! Then how would France have appeared in the eyes of the universe, in the estimation of future generations? The glory of France is to identify herself with me. I could not have achieved so many great deeds for her honour and glory without the nation, and in spite of the nation. France was inclined to elevate me to too high a point!... As I said before, History will decide!...”
He then adverted to the plan and details of the Campaign, dwelling with pleasure on its glorious commencement, and with regret on the terrible disaster that marked its close.
“Still,” continued he, "I should have considered the state of affairs as by no means desperate, had I obtained the aid I expected. All our resources rested in the Chambers. I hastened to convince them of this; but they immediately rose against me, under pretence that I was come to dissolve them. What an absurdity! From that moment all was lost.[[8]]