Business seemed to be M. Daru’s element; he was incessantly occupied. Soon after he was appointed Secretary of State, one of his friends was expressing a fear that the immense business in which he would thenceforth be absorbed might prove too much for him. “On the contrary,” replied Daru, “I assure you that, since I have entered upon my new functions, I seem to have absolutely nothing to do.” On one occasion only was his vigour ever known to relax. The Emperor called him up, after midnight, to write from his dictation: M. Daru was so completely overcome by fatigue that he scarcely knew what he was writing; at length he could hold out no longer, and he fell asleep over his paper. After enjoying a sound nap, he awoke, and, to his astonishment, perceived the Emperor by his side quietly engaged in writing. The shortness of the candles informed him that his slumber had been of considerable duration. While he sat for a few moments overwhelmed with confusion, his eyes met those of the Emperor, who said to him: “Well, Sir, you see I have been doing your work, since you would not do it yourself. I suppose you have eaten a hearty supper, and passed a pleasant evening; but business must not be neglected.”—“I pass a pleasant evening, Sire!” said M. Daru. “I have been for several nights without sleep, and closely engaged. Of this your Majesty now sees the consequence, and I am exceedingly sorry for it.”—“Why did you not inform me of this?” said the Emperor, “I do not want to kill you. Go to bed. Good night, M. Daru.” This was certainly a characteristic trait, and one that was well calculated to remove the false notions which were generally entertained respecting Napoleon’s harshness of temper. But I know not by what fatality facts of this kind were concealed from our knowledge, while any absurd inventions unfavourable to the Emperor were so actively circulated. Was it because the courtiers reserved their flattery for the interior of the palace, and sought to create a sort of counterpoise, by assuming elsewhere an air of opposition and independence? Be this as it may, had any individual related traits of the above kind in the saloons of Paris, he would probably have been told that he had invented them, or would have been looked upon as a fool for giving credit to them.
The Grand Marshal and his lady came to dine at Longwood, which they were accustomed to do every Sunday.
During dinner, the Emperor jokingly alluded to the faded finery of the ladies. He said that their dresses would soon resemble the gay trappings of those old misers who purchase their wardrobes from the dealers in second-hand clothes; they no longer displayed the freshness and elegance that characterized the millinery of Leroi, Despeaux, Herbault, &c. The ladies craved indulgence for St. Helena; and their husbands reminded the Emperor of his fastidiousness with regard to female dress at the Tuileries, which, it was remarked, had proved the ruin of some families. At this the Emperor laughed, and said that the idea of his scrupulous taste in dress was a mere invention of the ladies of the Court, who made it a pretence, or an excuse, for their extravagance. The conversation then turned on our splendour at St. Helena. The Emperor said that he had told Marchand he would wear every day the hunting-coat which he then had on, until it was completely worn out: it was already very far gone.
Both before and after dinner the Emperor played a few games at chess: he felt low-spirited and nervous, and retired to bed early.
THE CAMPAIGN OF SAXONY IN 1813.—REFLECTIONS.—ANALYSIS.—BATTLES
OF LUTZEN AND WURTZEN.—NEGOTIATIONS.—BATTLES
OF DRESDEN, LEIPSIC, HANAU,
&c.
Sept. 2.—To-day there was some horse-racing at the camp, at which one of the Emperor’s suite was present.
The Emperor did not go out until late, and he walked to the calash. The wind blew very hard, and he renounced his intention of taking a drive. He sat down beneath the tent: but, finding it not very pleasant without doors, he retired to his library, where he took up the Letters of Madame de Chateauroux, looked through the Expedition to Bohemia, and analysed the Life of Marshal de Belle-Isle. He again went out to take a walk in the garden; but he returned almost immediately, and directed me to follow him.
He took up a book relating to our last campaigns, and, after perusing it for some time, he threw it down, saying, “It is a downright rhapsody—a mere tissue of contradictions and absurdities.” He conversed for a considerable time on the two celebrated campaigns of Saxony: his observations were principally moral, and few or none military; I noted down the following as the most remarkable: “That memorable campaign,” said he, “will be regarded as the triumph of courage in the youth of France; of intrigue and cunning in English diplomacy; of intelligence on the part of the Russians; and of effrontery in the Austrian Cabinet. It will mark the period of the disorganization of political societies, the great separation of subjects from their Sovereigns; finally, the decay of the first military virtues—fidelity, loyalty, and honour. In vain people may write and comment, invent falsehoods and suppositions; to this odious and mortifying result we must all come at last: time will develop both its truth and its consequences.
“But it is a remarkable circumstance, in this case, that all discredit is equally removed from sovereigns, soldiers, and people. It was entirely the work of a few military intriguers and headlong politicians, who, under the specious pretext of shaking off the foreign yoke and recovering the national independence, purposely sold their own rulers to envious rival Cabinets. The results soon became manifest: the King of Saxony lost half his dominions, and the King of Bavaria was compelled to make valuable restitutions. What did the traitors care for that? They enjoyed their rewards and their wealth, and those who had proved themselves most upright and innocent were visited with the severest punishment. The King of Saxony, the most honest man who ever wielded a sceptre, was stripped of half his territories; and the King of Denmark, so faithful to all his engagements, was deprived of a crown! This, however, was affirmed to be the restoration and the triumph of morality!... Such is the distributive justice of this world!...
“To the honour of human nature, and even to the honour of Kings, I must once more declare that never was more virtue manifested than amidst the baseness which marked this period. I never for a moment had cause to complain individually of the Princes our allies. The good King of Saxony continued faithful to the last; the King of Bavaria loyally avowed to me that he was no longer his own master; the generosity of the King of Würtemburg was particularly remarkable; the Prince of Baden yielded only to force, and in the very last extremity. All, I must render them this justice, gave me due notice of the storm that was gathering, in order that I might take the necessary precautions. But, on the other hand, how odious was the conduct of subaltern agents! Military history will never obliterate the infamy of the Saxons, who returned to our ranks for the purpose of destroying us! Their treachery became proverbial among the troops, who still use the term Saxonner to designate the act of a soldier who assassinates another. To crown all, it was a Frenchman, a man for whom French blood purchased a crown, a nursling of France, who gave the finishing stroke to our disasters! Gracious God!