The Emperor observed that, on his return from Elba, he had experienced far less embarrassment in composing his Court. “It was, indeed,” said he, “all ready formed, by the ladies whom I termed my widows. These were Madame Duroc, the Duchess of Istria, Mesdames Regnier, Lagrand, and all the other widows of my first generals. I told the Princesses, who consulted me on the method of recomposing their Courts, to follow my example. Nothing was more natural and proper. These ladies, though still young, were already experienced in the world; and among them were several beautiful and fascinating women. Most of them have now lost their fortunes; some, I have been told, are re-married, and have changed their names;[[17]] so that, of all the wealth and rank founded by me, no traces will perhaps remain; even names will disappear. If this should really be the case, will it not afford ground for saying that, after all, there must have been a radical error in the selections I made. But it will be the worse for the parties themselves; they will by this means only furnish a triumph and a ground of insolence to the old aristocracy.”
We again reminded the Emperor of his intended ride on horseback: we urged him not to neglect it, because we knew it to be absolutely necessary for his health. But we could not prevail on him to leave the garden. “We are very well here,” said he; “we will have some tents pitched on this spot.” We began to talk about the Faubourg St. Germain, and the Hotel de Luynes, which the Emperor termed its metropolis. He described to us the cause of the banishment of Madame de Chevreuse. He said, he had frequently threatened to visit her with this punishment, and for conduct of the most mischievous and insolent nature. One day, when urged to the utmost extremity, he addressed her as follows:—"Madam, according to the feudal notions and doctrines, entertained by you and your friends, you pretend to be the sovereigns of your estates! Now, on the same principles, I may style myself the Sovereign Lord of France. I may claim Paris as my village, and may banish from it every individual who is obnoxious to me. I judge you by your own laws. Begone! and never venture to return!" On decreeing her exile, the Emperor was firmly resolved never to be prevailed on to recal her; because, he said, he had endured much before he had decreed her punishment, and he found himself compelled to set an example of severity to spare the necessity of repeating it on others. This was one of his grand principles.
I told the Emperor that I had frequently visited the Hotel de Luynes, and that I had been well acquainted with Madame de Chevreuse and her mother-in-law, for whom I had always entertained a great regard. The latter had evinced singular and constant affection for her daughter-in-law, having shared her exile, and accompanied her in her different journeys from place to place. When proceeding on my mission to Illyria, I one night met them both in an inn at the foot of the Simplon. To be thus able to procure in the desert the most trivial details relating to Paris and the Court, was to them a source of unfeigned joy, and a most unexpected instance of good fortune. They listened to me with no less eagerness than that evinced by Fouquet on hearing the accounts of Lauzun. Their banishment from the capital had been to them an absolute sentence of death; it had overwhelmed them with despair!
Finally, I assured the Emperor that, for a considerable period, I had observed the Hotel de Luynes, if not subdued, at least calmed and reduced to something less than indifference; but our unexpected disasters had revived its former spirit.
As to Madame de Chevreuse, who was a handsome, intelligent, and amiable woman, with a somewhat romantic turn of mind, she had doubtless been seduced by the charms of notoriety, or urged on by her numerous flatterers and admirers, some of whom were very unworthy of her regard. “I know it,” observed the Emperor; “she hoped to recommence the Fronde; but I was not a minor Sovereign.”
The Musquito brig which left England on the 23rd of March, arrived with files of the Journal des Debats down to the 5th of March, and London papers to the 21st. On retiring to his closet, the Emperor desired me to follow him. He began to peruse the Journal des Debats; and, meanwhile, a letter was delivered to me from the Grand Marshal. It had just arrived from Europe, and was addressed to the Emperor. I handed it to him. He read it over once and sighed; and, then, having read it a second time, he tore it, and threw the fragments beneath the table. This letter was delivered open! The Emperor then resumed his perusal of the Journals, and, suddenly stopping, he said, after a few moments’ silence:—"That letter was from poor Madame: she is well, and wishes to come to reside with me at St. Helena!" After this he continued his reading. This, which was the first letter that the Emperor had received from any individual of his family, was in the handwriting of Cardinal Fesch. The Emperor was evidently much hurt by its having been delivered to him open.
MOREAU, GEORGES, AND PICHEGRU.—DIFFERENCE OF OPINION PRODUCED BY THEIR CONSPIRACY IN THE CAMP OF BOULOGNE AND IN PARIS.
30th.—The Emperor went out about two o’clock, and we all attended him. He began to converse about the intelligence contained in the French papers which he had just received, and alluded to the statues which, it was stated, were to be erected to the memory of Moreau and Pichegru. “A statue to Moreau,” said he, “whose conspiracy in 1803 is now so well proved! Moreau, who, in 1813, died fighting under the Russian standard! A monument to the memory of Pichegru, who was guilty of one of the most heinous of crimes! who purposely suffered himself to be defeated, and who connived with the enemy in the slaughter of his own troops! And after all,” continued he, “history is only made up of reports which gain credit by repetition. Because it has been repeatedly affirmed that these were great men, who deserved well of their country, they will at length pass for such, and their adversaries will be despised.”
Some one present remarked that it might have been thus in the dark ages of ignorance; but that now the multitude of monuments and public documents, the arts of printing and engraving, and the general diffusion of knowledge, must always render truth accessible to those who wish to come at it; and, as each party has its own historians, the thinking reader will always be enabled to form an impartial opinion.
The Emperor then described at length the affairs of Moreau, Georges, and Pichegru, to which I have before alluded, and of which I promised further details. He now informed us that the man who made the first confessions indicated, though without naming him, a person to whom Georges and the other leaders of the conspiracy never spoke without taking off their hats, and whom they treated with the utmost consideration and respect. It was at first supposed that this individual must have been the Duke de Berri; and some concluded him to have been the Duke d’Enghien, during his momentary appearance. Charles d’Hosier, one of the conspirators, unexpectedly drew aside the veil. A few days after his arrest, he was seized with a fit of melancholy and hanged himself in prison. The alarm was however given, and he was cut down. Stretched on his bed, and while yet struggling between life and death, he vented repeated imprecations against Moreau, and accused him of having treacherously seduced many well-disposed men, and held out to them promises of assistance which he never realized. He likewise mentioned the names of Georges and Pichegru. This was the first circumstance that excited suspicion against Georges and Pichegru; there was previously no idea of either the one or the other having been engaged in the conspiracy. Real, who had hastened to this sort of death-bed confession of d’Hosier, proposed to the Consul that he should order the arrest of Moreau.