18th,—19th.—The conversation turned on Poland, roused as she had been at the voice of Napoleon. We spoke of the individuals who seemed to have been destined to ascend the throne of that country: each made his own conjectures on this subject. The Emperor remained silent for some time, and at length interrupted us, saying: “Poniatowski was the real King of Poland. He possessed every quality requisite for that high station.” He said no more.
At another moment, the Emperor smiled at the pains that had been taken to obliterate his emblems and devices on the public monuments which he had erected, “They may,” said he, “be withdrawn from the public eye; but they cannot be erased from the page of history, or from the recollection of connoisseurs and artists. I acted differently,” added he; “I respected all the vestiges of royalty that existed when I came into power. I even restored the fleurs-de-lis, and other royal emblems, when chronological correctness required it.”
An individual present remarked that Prince Lucien had manifested precisely the same sentiments. The Palais Royal was assigned as his place of residence on the Emperor’s return in 1815, and, observing, as he ascended the staircase, the groupes of fleurs-de-lis on the tapestry that overhung the walls, he said to the officer who attended him: “This will all be taken down, I presume?”—“Why, Monseigneur?” “Because these are the devices of the enemy.” “Well! Monseigneur, why should they not remain as our trophies?”—“You are right,” replied the Prince, “this is exactly my way of viewing the matter.”
To-day, I have been able to collect but little from the Emperor’s conversation.... I shall, therefore, fill up this void, and that of the succeeding day, by inserting some anecdotes which I find in scattered memoranda on the cover of my ordinary Journal: for here I noted down such particulars as I found I had forgotten to insert in their proper place, together with any old reminiscences that happened to occur to me, or delicate points which, in our state of captivity, required to be treated with prudence and circumspection. These notes also contain many facts, which have been subsequently collected from unquestionable sources.
Many of these articles have no relation to each other; but, they are all connected with the object of the present work, whether they serve to prove the false colours in which Napoleon has been painted, or whether, on the contrary, they develop the real traits of his character. May the perusal of this Journal induce those who have been about the Emperor to record on their parts all they know, or have heard respecting him!
Formerly, a great deal was said about the excessive severity and violence exercised by the Emperor towards the individuals about his person. Now, however, it is acknowledged that every one who served him adored him, precisely for his kindness of heart and manners. Since my return to Europe, a gentleman of high rank, whose name alone would be sufficient to command credit, and whose high functions kept him constantly about the person of the Emperor, in foreign expeditions as well as in the interior of the palace, has assured me that he never in his life knew Napoleon to strike a servant, except on one occasion. This was when one of his grooms, at the retreat of Saint Jean d’Acre, refused to give up his horse for the transport of the invalids, while he, the General-in-Chief, had surrendered his, and had obliged all his staff to do so likewise. But, after all, added my informant, it was easy to perceive that this act was prompted by policy rather than by natural severity of temper: the scene took place in the presence of dispirited troops, to whom it was necessary to give proofs of the lively interest that was felt for them.
It used to be a common remark that Napoleon was not less morose to the individuals of his Court than to those in his service; and that he never had any thing complimentary or agreeable to say to any one. Among the multitude of facts that might be adduced in contradiction to this assertion, I will mention the following, to which I was myself a witness. On his return from the disastrous campaign of Leipsic, the Emperor received the officers of his household at an unusual hour. He presented himself to us with an air of melancholy. Stepping up to the individual who was next me (M. de Beauveau, I think,) whose son, yet a youth, had served in the campaign, in the guard of honour, or some other corps. Napoleon said to him: “Your son’s conduct has been admirable. He has conferred honour on his name. He has been wounded; but what of that? He may proudly boast of having thus early shed his blood for his country.”
At[At] the same period, at one of his levees, after giving some orders to General Gerard, whose reputation was then beginning to attract attention, the Emperor concluded with some words evidently kindly meant, though somewhat obscure. After advancing a few paces to continue his circuit, he turned back to General Gerard, apparently having read in his countenance that he had not precisely understood him, and he said very distinctly: “I observed that, if I had many men like you, I should consider all my losses repaired, and should think myself master of my fortune.”
About the same period, I had an opportunity of witnessing a proof of the ascendency which the Emperor could exercise over the human mind, and the sort of veneration with which he was regarded. A General, whose name I do not know, and who had been severely wounded in the leg, attended the Emperor’s levee. Napoleon had been informed that amputation was pronounced to be absolutely indispensable, but that the unfortunate officer obstinately refused to submit to it. “Why do you object to an operation that will preserve your life?” said Napoleon: “It cannot be want of courage, since you have so often braved danger on the field of battle! Is it contempt of life? But does not your heart tell you that, even with the remaining limb, you may be useful to your country, and render her signal services?” The officer was silent; the expression of his countenance was calm and placid, but still negative. The Emperor seemed sorry for him, and passed on to speak to some other persons, when the officer, who had apparently formed a sudden resolution, turned to the Emperor, saying, “Sire, if your Majesty orders me to submit to the operation, I will immediately do so,”—“My dear Sir,” replied the Emperor, “I have no power to do that. I wished to move you by persuasion; but Heaven forbid that I should command you!” I think I have heard it said that, on leaving the palace, the wounded officer submitted to the operation.
The Emperor, on his return from the Isle of Elba, arrived at the Tuileries very late in the evening. His levee, on the following day, was, as may be supposed, exceedingly numerous. When the door was thrown open, and he presented himself before us, it would be difficult for me to explain what were my ideas and sensations. The Emperor appeared the same as usual; just as though he had never left the palace, and had held a levee but yesterday; his countenance, attitude, dress, manners, all were unaltered. I was powerfully affected, and I believe my sensations were shared by all present. The force of sentiment prevailed over respect; and all rushed forward to meet him. The Emperor himself was visibly moved; and he embraced several of the most distinguished persons. He then commenced his circuit as usual. His voice was mild, his countenance placid, and his manner affable: he spoke with kindness to every one. “How!” said he, addressing a certain individual, “What! the Major-General of the white army two paces from me!” Several of those present seemed to be labouring under a little embarrassment, owing to the extraordinary events that had just taken place; as for Napoleon, he appeared as though nothing had happened. He did not forget that he had released them all from their allegiance at Fontainebleau.