"Who in the world ever had greater treasures at his disposal? I have had many hundred millions in my vaults; many other hundreds composed my domaine de l’extraordinaire: all these were my own. What is become of them?—They were poured out in the distresses of the country. Let them contemplate me here: I live destitute upon my rock. My fortune was wholly in that of France. In the extraordinary situation to which fate had raised me, my treasures were her’s: I had identified myself completely with her destinies. What other calculation was consistent with the height to which I had risen? Was I ever seen occupied about my personal interests? I never knew any other enjoyment, any other riches, than those of the public;—so much so, that when Josephine, who had a taste for the Arts, succeeded under the sanction of my name in acquiring some master-pieces, though they were in my palace, under my eyes, in my family apartments, they offended me, I thought myself robbed: they were not in the Museum.
“Ah! the French people undoubtedly did much for me! more than was ever done before for man! But, at the same time, who ever did so much for them? who ever identified himself with them in the same manner? But to return.—After all, what could be their fears? Were not the Chambers and the new Constitution sufficient guarantees for the future? Those additional Acts, against which so much indignation was expressed, did they not carry in themselves their own corrective—remedies that were infallible? How could I have violated them? I had not myself millions of arms; I was but one man. Public opinion raised me up once more; public opinion might equally put me down again; and, compared with this risk, what had I to gain?”
"But as to surrounding States (I speak particularly as regards England), what could be her fears, her motives, her jealousies? We enquire in vain. With our new Constitution, our two Chambers, had we not adopted her creed for the future? Was not that the sure means of coming to a mutual understanding, to establish in future a community of interest? The caprice, the passions of their rulers, once fettered, the interests of the people move on, without obstacle, in their natural course: look at the merchants of hostile nations; they continue their intercourse, and pursue their business however their governments may wage war. The two nations had arrived at that point.—Thanks to their respective parliaments, each would have become the guarantee for the other: and who can ever tell to what extent the union of the two nations and of their interests might have been carried; what new combinations might have been set to work? It is certain that, on the establishment of our two Chambers and our Constitution, the Ministers of England had in their hands the glory and prosperity of their country,[country,] the destinies and the welfare of the world. Had I beaten the English army and won my last battle, I should have caused a great and happy astonishment; the following day I would have proposed peace, and, for once, it would have been I who scattered benefits with a prodigal hand. Instead of this, perhaps, the English will one day have to lament that they were victorious at Waterloo.
"I repeat it, the people and the sovereigns were wrong: I had restored thrones and an inoffensive nobility; and thrones and nobility may again find themselves in danger. I had fixed and consecrated the reasonable limits of the people’s rights; vague, peremptory and undefined claims may again arise.
“Had my return, my establishment[establishment] on the throne, my adoption, been freely acquiesced in by the sovereigns, the cause of kings and the people would have been settled; both would have gained. Now they are again to try it; both may lose. They might have concluded every thing; they may have every thing to begin again: they might have secured a long and certain calm, and already begun to enjoy it: and, instead of that, a spark may now be sufficient to re-produce a general conflagration! Poor, weak humanity!”
Attached, as I am, to the words and the opinions which I gathered from Napoleon on his rock of exile, and however perfectly persuaded and convinced of their entire sincerity, I do not the less experience an extreme gratification, whenever a testimony from another quarter confirms the truth of them; and I am bound to say that I have that gratification as often as opportunity occurs of obtaining other evidence.
The reader has just perused the foregoing remarkable passage, in which Napoleon expresses his ideas, his intentions, his sentiments. What a value do not these expressions collected at St. Helena acquire, when we find them re-echoed in Europe, at the distance of 2000 leagues, by a celebrated writer, who, with a shade of difference in his opinions, and at a very different time, had himself received them from the same lips! What a fortunate circumstance for history! I cannot, indeed, forbear bringing forward here this extract from M. Benjamin Constant, as well on account of the intrinsic merit of the expressions, as from the weight they acquire from the distinguished writer who records them; and also from the pleasure I feel in seeing them coincide so exactly with what I have collected myself in another hemisphere. There are the same intentions, the same depth of thought, the same sentiments.
“I went to the Tuileries,” says M. Benjamin Constant in his account; "I found Bonaparte alone. He began the conversation: it was long: I will only give an analysis of it; for I do not propose to make an exhibition of an unfortunate man. I will not amuse my readers at the expense of fallen greatness; I will not give up to malevolent curiosity him whom I have served, whatever might be my motive; and I will not transcribe more of his discourse than is indispensable: but in what I shall transcribe, I will use his own words.
“He did not attempt to deceive me either as to his views, or the state of affairs. He did not present himself as one corrected by the lessons of adversity: he did not desire to take the merit of returning to liberty from inclination; he investigated coolly, as regarded his interest, and, with an impartiality too nearly allied to indifference, what was possible and what was preferable.
“‘The nation,’ said he, ‘has rested for twelve years from all political agitation, and for a year it has been undisturbed by war: this double repose has begotten a necessity for motion. It desires, or fancies it desires, a public rostrum and assemblies; it has not always desired them. It cast itself at my feet when I came to the government; you must remember, you who made trial of its opinion. Where was your support, your power? No where. I took less authority than I was invited to take. Now all is changed. A weak government, opposed to the interests of the nation, has given these interests the habit of taking up the defensive, and of cavilling at authority. The taste for constitutions, debates, harangues, seems to return.... However, it is only the minority that desires it, do not deceive yourself. The people, or if you like it better, the mob, desire me alone; you have not seen them, this mob, crowding after me, rushing from the tops of the mountains, calling me, seeking me, saluting me.[[1]] On my return hither from Cannes, I did not conquer—I administered.... I am not only, as it has been said, the Emperor of the soldiers; I am the Emperor of the peasants, of the lower ranks in France.... Thus, in spite of all that is past, you see the people return to me—there is a sympathy between us. It is not so with the privileged classes; the nobility have served me, have rushed in crowds into my ante-chambers, there are no offices that they have not accepted, solicited, pressed for. I have had my Montmorencies, my Noailles, my Rohans, my Beauveaus, my Mortemarts. But there was no analogy between us. The steed curvetted, he was well trained, but I felt him quivering under me. With the people it is another thing; the popular fibre responds to mine: I am come from the ranks of the people, my voice has influence over them. Observe these conscripts, these sons of peasants, I did not flatter them, I treated them with severity; they did not the less surround me, they did not the less shout ‘The Emperor for ever!’ It is because between them and me there is an identity of nature; they look to me as their support, their defender against the nobles.... I have but to make a sign, or rather to turn away my eyes, and the nobles will be massacred in all the departments. They have carried on such fine intrigues for these six months!... But I will not be the King of a Jacquerie. If there are any means of governing with a Constitution, well and good..... I wished for the empire of the world; and, to insure it, unlimited power was necessary to me. To govern France only, a Constitution may be better.... I wished for the empire of the world, and who in my situation would not have wished for it? The world invited me to govern it: sovereigns and subjects vied with each other in hastening beneath my sceptre. I have rarely found any opposition in France; but I have, however, met with more from some obscure unarmed Frenchmen, than from all those kings, so vain at present of no longer having a popular man for their equal.... Consider, then, what seems to you to be possible. Give me your ideas. Free elections, public discussions, responsible ministers, liberty, all this is my wish.... The liberty of the press in particular: to stifle it is absurd—I am satisfied upon this point.... I am the man of the people, if the people sincerely wish for liberty: I owe it to them. I have recognised their sovereignty; I am bound to lend an ear to their desires, even to their caprices. I never desired to oppress them for my own gratification. I had great designs, fate has decided them; I am no longer a conqueror, I can no more become so. I know what is possible and what is not; I have now but once charge—to relieve France, and to give her a government that is suited to her.... I am not inimical to liberty: I set it aside when it obstructed my road; but I comprehend it, I have been educated in its principles.... At the same time, the work of fifteen years is destroyed; it cannot begin again. It would require twenty years, and the sacrifice of two millions of men.... Besides I am desirous of peace, and I shall obtain it only by dint of victories. I will not hold out false hopes to you; I cause reports to be circulated that negotiations are on foot; but there are none. I foresee a difficult contest, a long war. To maintain it, the nation must support me; but in return, it will require liberty,—and it shall have it.... The situation is new. I desire no better than to receive information; I grow old; a man is no longer at forty-five what he was at thirty. The repose of a constitutional monarch may be well suited to me. It will assuredly be still more suitable to my son.’”