The librarian was particularly obliging, and suffered me to see and examine many of the most curious old documents. But the original manuscript of Rousseau’s “Confessions,” and of his “Eloisa,” afforded me a real treat. His writing is as legible as print: the “Eloisa,” a work of mere fancy, without one obliteration; while the “Confessions,” which the author put forth as matter of fact, are, oddly enough, full of alterations in every page.
When I wished for an hour of close observation, I used to draw my chair to a window, get Rousseau into my hand, and, while apparently rivetted on his “Confessions,” watch from the corner of my eye the earnest gesticulation and ever-varying countenances of some agitated group of deputies: many of them, as they passed by, cast a glance on the object of my attention, of which I took care that they should always have a complete view.
Observing one day a very unusual degree of excitement amongst the members in the chamber, and perceiving the sally of the groups into the library to be more frequent and earnest than ordinary, I conceived that something very mysterious was in agitation. I mentioned my suspicions to a well-informed friend: he nodded assent, but was too wise or too timorous to give any opinion on so ticklish a subject. I well knew that Napoleon had been betrayed, because I had learned from an authentic source that double dispatches had been actually sent by Fouché to the allies, and that the embassy to the emperor of Russia, from M. Lafitte, &c. had been some hours anticipated and counteracted by the chief commissioner of government.
It was clear to every body that Napoleon had lost his fortitude: in fact, to judge by his conduct, he seemed so feeble and irresolute that he had ceased to be formidable, and it occurred to me that some sudden and strong step was in the contemplation of his true friends to raise his energies once more, and stimulate him to resistance. I was led to think so, particularly, by hearing some of his warmest partisans publicly declare that, if he had not lost all feeling both for himself and France, he should take the alternative of either reigning again or dying in the centre of his still-devoted army.
The next day confirmed my surmises. A letter had been written without signature,[[48]] addressed to Count Thibaudeau, disclosing to him in detail the treachery of Fouché, &c. and advising the emperor instantly to arrest the traitors, unfold the treason to the chambers, then put himself at the head of his guards, re-assemble the army at Vilette, and, before the allies could unite at Paris, make one effort more to save France from subjugation. This was, I have reason to believe, the purport of the letter; and I also learned the mode and hour determined on to convey it to Count Thibaudeau. It was to be slipped into the letter-box in the ante-room of the chamber, which was used, as I have already mentioned, as a library. I was determined to ascertain the fact; and, seated in one of the windows, turning over the leaves and copying passages out of my favourite manuscript, I could see plainly where the letter-box was placed, and kept it constantly in my eye. The crowd was always considerable; groups were conversing; notes and letters were every moment put into the box for delivery; but I did not see the person who I believed was about to give Count Thibaudeau the information. At length, however, I saw him warily approach the box: he was obviously agitated—so much so indeed, that far from avoiding, his palpable timidity would have excited observation. He had the note in his hand: he looked around him, put his hand toward the box, withdrew it, changed colour, made a second effort—and, his resolution again faltering, walked away without effecting his purpose. I afterward learned that the letter had been destroyed, and that Count Thibaudeau received no intimation till too late.
[48]. The writer of that letter, whose real politics I was extremely doubtful of, but which I afterward perceived were unfixed and speculative, lived to become an ultra loyalist. He was a British subject, and a bigot in every thing: his prejudices pro or con were invincible. He died long since the first edition of this book was published.
This was an incident fraught with portentous results: had that note been dropped, as intended, into the box, the fate of Europe might have remained long undecided; Fouché would surely have met his due reward; Bonaparte would have put himself at the head of the army assembling at Vilette—numerous, enthusiastic, and desperate. Neither the Austrian nor Russian armies were within reach of Paris; while that of the French would, I believe, in point of numbers, have exceeded the English and Prussian united force: and it is more than probable, that the most exterminating battle which ever took place between two great armies, would have been fought in the suburbs, perhaps in the boulevards of Paris.
Very different indeed were the consequences of that suppression. The evil genius of Napoleon pressed down the balance; and instead of any chance of remounting his throne, he forfeited both his character and his life; while Fouché, dreading the risk of detection, devised a plan to get the emperor clear out of France, and either end him, or at least put him into the power of the British government, as is detailed in a subsequent chapter.