Shortly afterward the rupture between France and England took place, and the English ambassador—before whose house a great crowd had been in the habit of assembling daily, in order to judge of the state of affairs, according to the preparations for departure which they could or could not perceive in the courtyard—left Paris abruptly. M. de Talleyrand communicated to the Senate a statement of the reasons that rendered war inevitable. The Senate replied that they could only applaud the combined moderation and firmness of the First Consul, and sent a deputation to Saint Cloud to express their gratitude and their devotion. M. de Vaublanc, when speaking in the Legislative Assembly, exclaimed enthusiastically, “What chief of a nation has ever shown a greater love of peace?” If it were possible to separate the history of the negotiations of the First Consul from that of his exploits, it would read like the life of a magistrate whose sole endeavor had been the establishment of peace. The Tribunate expressed a desire that energetic measures should be taken; and, after these various acts of admiration and obedience, the session of the Legislative Assembly came to a close.
Then appeared certain violent notes against the English Government, which soon became numerous, and dealt in detail with the attacks of the free daily press in London. Bonaparte dictated the substance of these notes, and M. Maret drew them up. Thus the sovereign of a great empire entered, so to speak, into a war of words with journalists, and lowered his own dignity by allowing it to be seen that he was stung by the criticisms of ephemeral newspapers, whose comments it would have been far wiser to ignore. It was easy for the English journalists to find out how hard their remarks hit the First Consul, and a little later the Emperor of France, and they accordingly redoubled their attacks. How many times, when we saw him gloomy and out of temper, did Mme. Bonaparte tell us it was because he had read some article against himself in the “Courier” or the “Sun”! He tried to wage a pen-and-ink war with the English press; he subsidized certain journals in London, expended a great deal of money, and deceived no one either in France or in England.
I have said that he often dictated notes on this subject for the “Moniteur.” Bonaparte dictated with great ease. He never wrote anything with his own hand. His handwriting was bad, and as illegible by himself as by others; his spelling was very defective. He utterly lacked patience to do anything whatever with his own hands. The extreme activity of his mind and the habitual prompt obedience rendered to him prevented him from practicing an occupation in which the mind must necessarily wait for the action of the body. Those who wrote from his dictation—first M. Bourrienne, then M. Maret, and Menneval, his private secretary—had made a sort of shorthand for themselves, in order that their pens might travel as fast as his thoughts. He dictated while walking to and fro in his cabinet. When he grew angry, he would use violent imprecations, which were suppressed in writing, and which had at least the advantage of giving the writer time to come up with him. He never repeated anything that he once said, even if it had not been heard; and this was very hard on the poor secretary, for he remembered accurately what he had said and detected every omission. One day he read a tragedy in manuscript, and it interested him sufficiently to inspire him with a fancy to make some alterations in it. “Take a pen and paper,” said he to M. de Rémusat, “and write for me.” Hardly giving my husband time to seat himself at a table, he began to dictate so quickly that M. de Rémusat, although accustomed to write with great rapidity, was bathed in perspiration while trying to follow him. Bonaparte perceived his difficulty, and would stop now and then to say, “Come, try to understand me, for I will not repeat what I say.” He always derived amusement from causing any one uneasiness and distress. His great general principle, which he applied to everything, both small and great, was that there could be no zeal where there was no disquiet. Fortunately he forgot to ask for the sheet of observations he had dictated. M. de Rémusat and I have often tried to read it since, but we have never been able to make out a word of it.
M. Maret, the Secretary of State, was a man of very ordinary intellect; indeed, Bonaparte did not dislike mediocrity, because he said he had enough brains to give those about him what they wanted in that way. M. Maret rose to high favor in consequence of his great facility in writing from the First Consul’s dictation. He accustomed himself to follow and seize upon the first indication of Bonaparte’s idea so faithfully that he could report it just as it came from the speaker’s brain without making an observation. His favor with his master was perhaps still more largely due to the fact that he felt or feigned boundless devotion to him, and it was displayed by such enthusiastic admiration that Bonaparte could not help being flattered. So far did M. Maret carry the art of skillful adulation, that it was positively asserted that when he traveled with the Emperor he took the trouble to leave with his wife drafts of letters, which she copied carefully, complaining that her husband was so exclusively devoted to his master that she could not help feeling jealous. As all the letters were delivered at the Emperor’s own quarters while he was traveling, and as he frequently amused himself by opening them, these clever complainings produced exactly the intended effect.
When M. Maret was Minister of Foreign Affairs, he took care not to follow the example of M. de Talleyrand, who used to say that it was, above all, Bonaparte himself whom it was necessary for that minister to manage. Maret, on the contrary, fostered all Bonaparte’s passions, and was surprised that foreign sovereigns should dare to be angry when he insulted them, or should offer any resistance to their own ruin. He thus advanced his personal fortune at the expense of Europe, whose just interests an honest and able minister would have endeavored to protect. A courier was always in readiness, by whom he might dispatch to any one of the sovereigns the first angry words that escaped from Bonaparte, when he heard news which displeased him. His weak complaisance was sometimes injurious to his master. It caused more than one rupture which was regretted when the first outbreak of violence had passed, and it probably contributed to the fall of Bonaparte; for, in the last year of his reign, while he lingered at Dresden uncertain what to do, Maret delayed for eight days the retreat it was so important to make, because he had not the courage to inform the Emperor of the defection of Bavaria, a piece of intelligence it was most necessary he should learn. An anecdote of M. de Talleyrand may be related here, as a sample of the skill with which that astute minister managed Bonaparte, and also of the completeness of his own ascendancy.
A treaty of peace between England and France was being arranged at Amiens in the spring of 1810. Certain difficulties which had arisen between the plenipotentiaries were giving rise to some little uneasiness, and Bonaparte was anxiously expecting dispatches. A courier arrived, and brought to the Minister of Foreign Affairs the much-desired signature. M. de Talleyrand put it in his pocket and went to the First Consul. He appeared before him with that immovable countenance which he wears on every occasion. For a whole hour he remained with Bonaparte, transacting a number of important matters of business, and when all was done, “Now,” said he, smiling, “I am going to give you a great pleasure; the treaty is signed, and here it is.” Bonaparte was astounded at this fashion of announcing the matter. “Why did you not tell me at once?” he demanded. “Ah,” replied M. de Talleyrand, “because then you would not have listened to me on any other subject. When you are pleased, you are not always pleasant.” The self-control displayed in this reticence struck the Consul, “and,” added M. de Talleyrand, “did not make him angry, because he saw immediately how far it might be made useful to himself.”
Another person, who was really more attached to Bonaparte, and quite as demonstrative in his admiration for him as M. Maret, was Marshal Berthier, Prince of Wagram. He had served in the campaign in Egypt, and had become strongly attached to his General. Berthier’s friendship for him was so great that, little as Bonaparte valued anything coming from the heart, he could not but respond to it in some degree. The sentiment was, however, very unequally divided between them, and was used by the powerful one of the two as a means of exaction. One day Bonaparte said to M. de Talleyrand: “I really can not understand how a relation that bears some appearance of friendship has established itself between Berthier and me. I don’t indulge in useless sentiments, and Berthier is so uninteresting that I do not know why I should care at all about him; and yet, when I think of it, I believe I really have some liking for him.” “If you do care about him,” replied M. de Talleyrand, “do you know the reason why? It is because he believes in you.”
These anecdotes, which I set down as they recur to my memory, did not come to my knowledge till a much later period, when my greater intimacy with M. de Talleyrand revealed to me the chief traits in Bonaparte’s character. At first I was completely deceived by him, and was very happy to be so. I knew he had genius, I saw that he was disposed to make amends for the passing wrongs he did his wife, and I remarked his friendship for Berthier with pleasure; he caressed little Napoleon in my presence, and seemed to love him. I regarded him as accessible to kindly natural feelings, and my youthful imagination arrayed him in all those qualities which I desired to find in him. It is only just to him also to admit that excess of power intoxicated him; that his passions were increased in violence by the facility with which he was enabled to gratify them; but that while he was young, and as yet uncertain of the future, he frequently hesitated between the open exhibition of vice and, at least, the affectation of virtue.
After the declaration of war with England, somebody (I do not know who) suggested to Bonaparte the idea of an invasion by means of flat-bottomed boats. I can not say with certainty whether he really believed in this plan, or whether he only used it as a pretext for collecting and increasing his army, which he assembled at the camp of Boulogne. So many people maintained that a descent upon the shores of England in this way was practicable, that it is quite possible he may have thought fate had a success of the kind in store for him. Enormous works were begun in our ports, and in some of the Belgian towns; the army marched to the coast, and Generals Soult and Ney were sent to command it at different points. The idea of a conquest of England fired the general imagination; and even the English themselves began to feel uneasy, and thought it necessary to make some preparations for defense. Attempts were made to excite the public mind against the English by dramatic representations; scenes from the life of William the Conqueror were represented at the theatres. The conquest of Hanover was easily effected, but then came the blockade of our ports that did us so much harm.
During the summer of this year (1803) a journey to Belgium was arranged, and Bonaparte required that it should be made with great magnificence. He had little trouble in persuading Mme. Bonaparte to take with her everything that could make an impression on the people to whom she was about to exhibit herself. Mme. Talhouet and I were selected to accompany her, and the Consul gave me thirty thousand francs for those expenses which he prescribed. He set out on the 24th of June, with a cortège of several carriages, two generals of his guard, his aides-de-camp, Duroc, two Prefects of the Palace (M. de Rémusat and a Piedmontese named Salmatoris), and commenced the journey in great pomp.