The Emperor entirely concurred in these ideas. Having mentioned the crime of regicide, he observed that it might truly be said to be the greatest of all crimes, owing to the consequences which it produced. “The man,” said he, “who should have murdered me in France would have subverted all Europe; and how many times have I not been exposed to assassination!”
Lady Loudon, wife of Lord Moira, the Governor-General of India, has been for several days at St. Helena, where she attracts general attention. She is a lady of high rank, corresponding nearly with a French Duchess under the old regime. The English officers treat her with the utmost respect. To-day the Admiral invited her to a little entertainment on board the Northumberland. He sent a messenger on horseback to request me to lend him my Atlas for the evening, in order that he might shew it to Lady Loudon, whose husband was described in it as the first representative of the Plantagenets, and consequently as the legitimate heir to the throne of England.
The Admiral and I were on a footing of perfect indifference; indeed we had been nearly strangers to each other since the moment he put me ashore. The request was not so much a mark of politeness to me, as a compliment to the work itself. The Atlas had been the subject of conversation, the lady had expressed a wish to see it, and the Admiral felt a desire to shew it to her. However, I was unable to satisfy this desire. The book was in the Emperor’s chamber, and such was the answer I returned.
The Emperor smiled at the honour which the Admiral had intended for me; and I could not help pitying the amusement that had been prepared for the lady. This circumstance led the Emperor himself to speak of the Atlas, and to repeat some observations which had fallen from him before. He remarked that he heard my work spoken of at all times and in all places; that he found it sought after by foreigners as well as Frenchmen. He had heard it mentioned on board the Bellerophon and the Northumberland, at the Island of St. Helena, and, in short, every where, persons of information and rank either knew the work, or expressed a wish to become acquainted with it. “This,” said he, in a lively strain, “is what I call enjoying a real triumph, a great reputation in the literary world. I wish you would give me the history of this Atlas. Tell me when and how you conceived the idea of it, the manner in which it was executed, and its results: why you first of all published it under a fictitious name, and why you did not afterwards affix your real name to it: in short, give me a true and particular account; you understand, Mr. Councillor of State?”
I replied that it would be a long story; though to me the recital would not be devoid of pleasure; for, I added, that my Atlas was the history of a great portion of my life, and that, above all, I was indebted to it for the happiness of being now near the person of the Emperor.
The following is the narrative, such as it appeared when corrected after my first hasty notes. Its length, doubtless, requires indulgence; but this I trust the reader will be inclined to grant, on consideration that the details which I here enter into revive the recollection of my happiest years, of the period of my youth, my health and strength, in a word, of the dear but brief interval of the plenitude of life. I once more entreat the reader to pardon the prolixity in which I have indulged; but this statement so forcibly revives my recollections of past happiness that even now, on reading it over, I cannot find it in my heart to cancel any part of it.
"This Work was partly the fruit of chance; but above all, of necessity, which, as the common proverb says, is the mother of industry.... At the time of the first reverses of the French emigrants, I was cast by the political hurricane in the streets of London, without friends, without money, and without resources; but possessing the requisite courage and willingness for exertion. To a man animated by such a spirit, London, at that time, afforded certain sources of emolument.
"After having unsuccessfully made several applications, I determined to rely on myself alone, and, like Figaro, I decided on turning author. For a moment, I had thoughts of becoming a romance writer: this idea was suggested to me by the proposals of a bookseller; but he required too much and was inclined to pay too little. I then turned my thoughts to writing history, which, at all events, was calculated to procure for me a certain moral advantage, by storing my mind with positive knowledge. It was then I conceived the first idea of my Atlas, which I may truly regard as an inspiration from Heaven, for to it I owed my life. The work was at first a simple sketch, a mere nomenclature, very different from the form in which it now appears. However, it sufficed immediately to relieve me from embarrassment, and to secure to me what might be called a little fortune, in comparison with the miseries endured by the other emigrants. Then, Sire, came the Peace of Amiens, and the benefits conferred on us by your amnesty. I was enabled to make a journey to France, merely as a traveller, having no other object in view than to breathe my native air and to see the French capital. There I found myself at liberty to express my sentiments without restraint; investigation was easy; my ideas and my judgment were enlarged; I was master of my time, and I undertook to arrange my Atlas in the form in which it now appears. I proposed publishing regularly four sheets per quarter. I was now vastly improved both in my mind and circumstances. Interest, attention, good offers, money and connexions, poured in upon me; and I may confidently affirm that this was the happiest period of my life.
"In England, I had published my Work under a feigned name, in order to avoid compromising the honour of my own. I happened to fix upon Le Sage, just as I might have decided on Leblanc, Legris, or Lenoir. But I could not have made a more unlucky choice, or, at least, I could not have assumed a more general appellation. Sometime afterwards, a letter intended for me passed through all the different colonies of French emigrants in London, and was delivered by turns to twenty-two priests, who all bore the name of Le Sage. At length one, who had apparently discovered that the name did not belong to me, sent me the letter in a violent rage, observing that, when people thought proper to change their names, they should at least avoid taking those that belonged to other persons.
"In France I still preserved the name of Le Sage, which had now become identified with my Atlas. To have published it under a new name might have led to the supposition that it was a new work. Besides, I did not wish to expose my own name to the chance of failure, to the attacks of the Journals, or to the bickerings of criticism. Even though I had been assured of the complete success of the work, I should not probably have felt the more inclined to affix my real name to it, owing to a remnant of my old prejudices, of which I could not easily divest myself.