On our return to Longwood, we found the Grand Marshal, who had just returned from Plantation House, where he had been to hold a conference on the subject of the communications of yesterday. We anxiously awaited the answer he might bring back. He informed us that a proposition had been made, which was nothing less than that four of us should be separated from the Emperor. There were many other minor points of a very vexatious nature; but this one caused us to lose sight of all the rest. The Governor had, however, finally agreed to remove only the Pole and three of the domestics. According to the report of the Grand Marshal, I was the individual upon whom the storm had lowered, of whom the Governor most particularly complained, and whose removal, he said, he should certainly have decided upon, had he not thought me too useful to the Emperor. He complained that I was constantly writing to Europe, declaiming against the Government and the injustice and oppression which I alleged were exercised towards us. His other subjects of complaint were, that I spoke of the Emperor to the strangers who visited Longwood in such a way as to excite their interest; that I was constantly endeavouring to establish communications with different individuals on the island (and he mentioned the instance of Mrs. Sturmer); that I had addressed, or endeavoured to transmit, various documents to Europe, &c. However, after having spoken of me in the most angry terms, for some reason or other, he endeavoured to soften down what he had said by a few complimentary observations. He remarked that he could scarcely have expected such conduct in a man possessing so much information, and whose good character was established throughout Europe.
After dinner, the Emperor amused himself by solving some problems in geometry and algebra: this, he said, reminded him of his youthful days; and it surprised us all to find that the subjects were still so fresh in his recollection.
PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCE CONNECTED WITH MY JOURNAL.—THE
EMPIRE OF OPINION.—TALMA, CRESCENTINI, &C.
6th—7th. During these two days, a circumstance has occurred, which is so nearly connected with the nature of the present work, that I cannot omit noticing it. I have just mentioned that the Emperor had expressed himself well satisfied with my journal: he alluded to it several times in the course of the day, assuring me that he should feel great pleasure in perusing and correcting it. This information, as it may be supposed, was highly gratifying to me. The moment which I had so long and ardently looked for had at length arrived. That which I had hastily, and, perhaps, inaccurately, collected, was now about to receive an inestimable correction and sanction. Imperfect points would be developed, chasms filled up, and obscurities explained. What a fund of historical truths and political secrets was I about to receive! Elated by these expectations, I the first day presented myself to the Emperor at the usual hour, having my journal with me; but he began to dictate to me on a totally different subject, and I was obliged to put up with the disappointment. Next day, the same thing occurred again. I now wished to call the Emperor’s attention to my Journal; but he did not appear to understand me, and I took the hint. I know Napoleon so well! He possesses in the highest degree the art of not seeming to understand; he resorts to it frequently, and always for some particular object. In the present instance I understood him sufficiently, and I did not again attempt to draw his attention to the subject. At first I was much puzzled to guess the motive that had induced him to act thus; and I made several conjectures, which have probably occurred to the reader, as well as to myself. A few days afterwards I was forced away from him, though I had not the least cause in the world to anticipate this fatal event.
I have dwelt on this circumstance with scrupulous exactness, because I conceive that it affords a new guarantee of my sincerity, and serves to explain precisely the nature of my Journal. Of the great bulk of its contents, and in particular the important events described in it, no doubt can be entertained. Some involuntary errors may, however, have crept into the details, from the hasty manner in which they were collected, and from my being deprived of the advantage of having the manuscript revised by the only individual who was capable of correcting its inaccuracies.
The Emperor, while he was dressing and waiting for the Grand Marshal to take his turn in writing, amused himself by conversing on different subjects.
He spoke of the influence of opinion, to which he so frequently alludes. He traced its secret progress, its uncertainty, and the caprice of its decisions. He then adverted to the natural delicacy of the French, which he said was exquisite in matters of decorum, the laudable susceptibility of our manners, and the graceful action and gentleness of touch which authority must employ, if an attempt is made to interfere with the national feeling.
“In conformity with my system,” observed he, “of[“of] amalgamating all kinds of merit, and of rendering one and the same reward universal, I had an idea of presenting the cross of the Legion of Honour to Talma; but I refrained from doing this, in consideration of our capricious manners and absurd prejudices. I wished to make a first experiment in an affair that was unimportant, and I accordingly gave the Iron Crown to Crescentini. The decoration was foreign, and so was the individual on whom it was conferred. This circumstance was less likely to attract public notice or to render my conduct the subject of discussion; at worst, it could only give rise to a few malicious jokes. Such,” continued the Emperor, “is the influence of public opinion. I distributed sceptres at will, and thousands readily bowed beneath their sway: and yet I could not give away a bit of ribbon without the chance of incurring disapprobation; for I believe my experiment, with regard to Crescentini, proved unsuccessful.” “It did, Sire,” observed some one present. “The circumstance occasioned a great outcry in Paris; it drew forth a general anathema in all the drawing-rooms of the metropolis, and afforded ample scope for the expression of malignant feeling. However, at one of the evening parties of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, a bon-mot had the effect of completely stemming the torrent of indignation. A pompous orator was holding forth, in an eloquent strain, on the subject of the honour that had been conferred on Crescentini. He declared it to be a disgrace, a horror, a perfect profanation, and inquired what right Crescentini could have to such a distinction? On hearing this, the beautiful Madame G—— who was present, rose majestically from her chair, and, with a truly theatrical tone and gesture, exclaimed, ‘Et sa blessoure Monsieur! do you make no allowance for that?’ This produced a general burst of laughter and applause, and poor Madame G—- was very much embarrassed by her success.”
The Emperor, who now heard this anecdote for the first time, was highly amused by it. He often afterwards alluded to it, and occasionally related it himself.
At dinner, the Emperor informed us that he had worked for twelve hours; and we observed that his day was not yet ended. He seemed to be ill and fatigued.