“War,” said the Emperor, “had some time since re-commenced with England, when suddenly our coasts, our high roads, and the capital, were inundated with agents from the Bourbons. A great number of them were arrested; but their plans could not yet be discovered. They were of all ranks and descriptions. All the passions were roused, the agitation of the public became extreme; a storm was gathering; the crisis assumed the most alarming aspect; the agents of the police had exhausted all their means, without being able to obtain any information. My own sagacity saved me,” observed Napoleon. “Having risen on one occasion in the night, to work, as I used frequently to do, chance, which governs the world, directed my eyes to one of the last reports of the police, containing the names of those persons who had already been arrested in consequence of this affair, to which no clue had yet been obtained. Amongst those names I observed that of a surgeon in the army; I immediately concluded that such a man must be an intriguer rather than a devoted fanatic, and I ordered every measure likely to extort a prompt confession to be instantly resorted to against him. The affair was immediately placed in the hands of a military commission; in the morning he was sentenced, and threatened with immediate execution if he did not speak. Half an hour afterwards he had disclosed every thing, even to the most minute details. The nature and the extent of the plot, which had been got up in London, was then known, and the intrigues of Moreau, and the presence of Pichegru in Paris, &c. were discovered soon after.”
I omit all the details of that affair; they may be seen in the Letters written from the Cape in refutation of those of Dr. Warden, and in the work of Mr. O’Meara. The particulars which I should relate would be precisely the same as those contained in the work last mentioned; they are derived from the same source. With respect to the accusation relative to the death of Pichegru, who was said to have been strangled by order of the First Consul, Napoleon said that it was too absurd, and that it would be degrading to attempt to repel it:—“What advantage,” he observed, “could accrue to me from his death? A man of my stamp does not act without some powerful motive. Have I ever been known to shed blood through caprice? Notwithstanding all the efforts that have been made to blacken my reputation and misrepresent my character, those who know me know that crime is foreign to my nature. There is not a private act that has occurred during the whole course of my administration, of which I might not speak openly before a tribunal, not only without any disadvantage, but even with some credit to myself. The fact is that Pichegru found himself placed in a hopeless situation; his high mind could not bear to contemplate the infamy of a public execution; he despaired of my clemency, or disdained to appeal to it, and put an end to his existence.
“Had I been disposed to crime,” continued the Emperor, “it is not against Pichegru, who could do no harm, that I should have levelled the blow, but at Moreau, who had at that moment placed me in a most perilous situation. If the latter had unfortunately also killed himself while in prison, my justification would have been rendered much more difficult, on account of the great advantage it would have been to me to get rid of him. You gentlemen who were abroad, and the ultra-royalists who were in France, have never known the true state of public opinion in France. Pichegru, having been once unmasked, and exposed as a traitor to the nation, no longer excited sympathy in any breast; and this feeling went so far that the circumstance of his being connected with Moreau was sufficient to effect the ruin of the latter, who saw himself abandoned by many of his adherents; for, in the struggle of parties, the majority of the people cared more about the commonwealth than about individuals. I judged so correctly in this business that, when Real came to propose to me to arrest Moreau, I rejected the proposal without hesitation. Moreau is a man of too much importance, said I to him; he is too directly opposed to me, I have too great an interest in getting rid of him, to expose myself thus to the conjectures of public opinion. But, replied Real, if Moreau conspires with Pichegru?—The case is then different; prove that to me, shew me that Pichegru is in Paris, and I will instantly sign the order for the apprehension of Moreau. Real had received indirect information of Pichegru’s arrival; but had not yet been able to trace his steps. Run to his brother’s, said I; if he has left his residence, it will be a strong indication that Pichegru is in Paris; if he is still in his lodgings, arrest him: his surprise will soon inform you of the truth. This brother had been a monk, and lived in a fourth floor in Paris. As soon as he found himself arrested, he asked, before any question was put to him, what fault he had committed, and whether it was imputed to him as a crime that he had received, against his will, a visit from his brother. He had been the first, he said, to represent to him the peril of his situation, and to advise him to go away again. This was quite enough. Moreau’s arrest was ordered and carried into effect. Moreau appeared at first to be under no apprehension; but, when he found, after he had been conducted to prison, that he was arrested for having conspired with Pichegru and Georges against the state, he was quite disconcerted and extremely agitated. As for the greater number of those who composed that party,” added Napoleon, “the name of Pichegru seemed to them a triumph; they exclaimed on all sides that Pichegru was in London, and that in a few days this would be proved; for they either did not know that he was in Paris, or believed that it would be easy for him to escape thence.”
The First Consul had long since broken with Moreau, who was entirely governed by his wife. “This,” said the Emperor, “is always a great misfortune, because a man in that case is neither himself nor his wife, he is nothing.” Moreau shewed himself sometimes favourable to the First Consul, and sometimes against him; sometimes obsequious and sometimes sarcastic. The First Consul, who had wished to conciliate the affection of Moreau, found himself under the necessity of giving him up altogether. “Moreau,” he had said, “will in the end commit himself most seriously; he will some day break his head against the columns of the Palace.” And to this he was but too much instigated by the inconsiderate conduct and the ridiculous pretensions of his wife and his mother-in-law. The latter went so far as to contend for precedence with the wife of the First Consul. “The Minister for Foreign Affairs,” said Napoleon, “had been obliged once, on the occasion of an entertainment given by the ministers, to use violence to oblige her to desist.”
After Moreau had been arrested, the First Consul sent him word that it would be enough for him to confess that he had seen Pichegru, in order to put a stop to all proceedings against him. Moreau answered by a letter, in which he assumed a high tone; but afterwards, when Pichegru himself was arrested, and the affair began to assume a serious aspect, Moreau wrote to the First Consul a very submissive letter, but it was too late.
It was perfectly true that Moreau had conferred with Pichegru and Georges; and had given the following answer to their proposals:—“In the present state of affairs I could not do any thing for you, I could not even depend upon my own aides-de-camp; but get rid of the First Consul, I have a party in the Senate, and shall be immediately appointed in his stead. You, Pichegru, will be examined upon the charge which is brought against you, of having betrayed the national cause; depend upon it, it is necessary that you should be put upon your trial, but I will be answerable for the result: from that moment you will be Second Consul; and we will afterwards choose a third according to our wish, and proceed all together in concert and without interruption.” Georges, who was present, and whom Moreau had never known before, very urgently claimed that third place for himself. “That cannot be,” said Moreau, “you have no knowledge of the state of public opinion in France; you have always been a white,[[20]] and you see that Pichegru will be obliged to wash off the stain of having had the intention to become one.” “I understand you,” said Georges, highly incensed. “What farce are we playing here, and whom do you take me for? You are then working for yourselves alone, and not at all for the King? If that is the case, and if there must be a blue[[21]] at the head of the government, I prefer the one who is there now.” Upon this they separated in dudgeon, and Moreau requested Pichegru not to bring that brute, that bull, destitute of sense and of all information, any more.
“On the trial,” said Napoleon, “the firmness of the accomplices, the magnanimity by which they dignified their cause, and the line of absolute denial recommended by his advocate, saved Moreau. On being questioned whether the charges brought against him of having held conferences and had interviews were true, he answered, No. But the victor of Hohenlinden was unaccustomed to falsehood; a sudden blush suffused every feature of his countenance, and none of the bystanders were deceived. However, he was acquitted, and most of the accomplices were condemned to death. I pardoned several of them; all those whose wives succeeded in penetrating into my presence, or in whose favour strong intercessions were made, obtained their lives. The Polignacs, M. de Riviere and others, would indubitably have perished, but for the intervention of some fortunate circumstances. Others less known, such as a man named Borel, Ingand de St. Maur, Rochelle, &c. were equally fortunate. It is true,” added he, “that they did not afterwards shew themselves very grateful for such a favour, and that, if they were worthy to have their conduct investigated, it would be found that their actions have not been of a nature to encourage clemency. One of them, who had on the occasion above mentioned owed his life chiefly to the solicitations of Murat, was precisely the same man who set a price on Murat’s head in Provence, in the year 1815. If he thought that fidelity should outweigh gratitude, the sacrifice must at least have been most painful to him. Another is the man who has most contributed to circulate the imputation, as ridiculous as that concerning Pichegru was absurd, of the murder of the English Lieutenant Wright,[[22]] &c.
“In the midst of the affairs of Georges, Pichegru, and Moreau,” said the Emperor; “that of the Duke d’Enghien happened, and rendered the whole a strange complication.” And he then related that affair in detail. This latter circumstance is the reason that induced me at the time to displace and postpone to this day the whole of the article which I now give, for I felt a very great repugnance to touch upon a subject so painful in itself, and so afflicting to several of my acquaintances, who had been in direct relation with the Prince, or personally attached to him. Above all, I dreaded to awaken the legitimate grief of a high personage, who has formerly honoured me with some marks of kindness, of which I have ever treasured the recollection. These are my motives; they will be understood and appreciated. But, however, I am now approaching to the end of my work, and my duty, as a faithful historian, imperatively commands me to take up this melancholy subject, lest my absolute silence should be misinterpreted. Nevertheless, I shall, for reasons before stated, omit all the details which are already known, and which may have been read in the works already quoted (Letters from the Cape, and Mr. O’Meara’s work): my account would be the same, for all of them were heard from Napoleon’s own mouth; I shall only relate a few particulars which have not found their way into the books above mentioned, and only such as appear to me too intimately connected with the characteristic shades of Napoleon’s disposition, not to impose upon me the obligation of mentioning them.
This event had made, at the time, a deep impression on my mind, as well as on that of the inhabitants of Paris. I, perhaps, had felt it still more forcibly on account of the principles of my childhood, the habits and connexions of my younger days, and the line of my political opinions; and I was, at that time, far from having got the better of this feeling. That first impression had still remained in all its force, and my ideas on this point were such that I certainly should not have dared to pronounce the name of the Prince in the presence of the Emperor: it would have seemed to me to convey the idea of a reproach. I carried the feeling so far that, the first time I heard him pronounce the name himself, I turned red with embarrassment. Fortunately, I was walking behind him in a narrow path; otherwise, he would certainly have observed my confusion. Yet, notwithstanding all these previous dispositions on my part, the first time the Emperor developed this affair in all its general bearings, its details, and circumstances; when I heard him expose his various motives, with that conciseness, brilliancy, and power of persuasion which form the characteristics of his logic, I must confess that the affair seemed to wear a new aspect. When he had ceased to speak, I remained surprised, absorbed in thought; I silently called to mind my former objections; I was angry with myself for having little or nothing to answer at this moment, and I was obliged to confess, internally, that I found myself stronger in feelings than in arguments or solid objections.
The Emperor often resumed this subject, which gave me an opportunity of observing in him some very strongly marked characteristic shades. I have, on those occasions, most distinctly and frequently seen in him the private man struggling against the public character; and the natural feelings of his heart contending against those which were suggested by his pride and the dignity of his station. In the unreserved moments of familiar intercourse, he shewed himself not indifferent to the fate of the unfortunate Prince; but, if his conversation had reference to public concerns, it was altogether quite a different thing. One day, having spoken to me of the youth and the untimely end of this ill-fated Prince, he concluded by saying: “And I have since learnt, my dear Las Cases, that he was favourable to me. I have been assured that he used to speak of me with some degree of admiration; such is retributive justice in this world!” These last words were pronounced with such an expression, every feature of his face was so much in harmony with that expression, that I have no doubt, if the individual whom Napoleon pitied had been at that moment in his power, he would have been freely forgiven, whatever his acts or intentions might have been. This was no doubt a sentiment expressed in an unguarded moment, in which I had, as it were, taken him by surprise; and I do not suppose that many persons have found themselves similarly placed. This delicate subject was too sensibly connected with Napoleon’s pride, and the peculiar cast of his mind, to allow him to be lavish in his expression of such feelings; and he therefore varied his arguments and his words on the subject, as the circle of his hearers increased. We have just seen how he expressed himself in the confidence of a private conversation; his language was even different, when we were all assembled together: the affair, he would then say, might have occasioned him some regret, but had not given rise to any remorse, or even to any scruples. But when strangers were present, he would declare that the Prince had deserved his fate.