It must not be forgotten that in sending the Duke d’Enghien before a court-martial, Napoleon had before him certain documentary evidence which we do not now possess. The Duke’s own papers, Talleyrand’s opinion, and the reports of certain officials disappeared from the archives after the Bourbons returned in 1814—just as the documentary evidence against Marie Antoinette was destroyed, and the letters which crowned heads of Europe had written Napoleon stolen and carried away.
Peculiarly awful must have been the vision of sudden death to this youthful prince of the blood-royal, as he was dragged from bed in the dismal darkness of early morning, and hurried to face a file of silent soldiers beside an open grave. After the first shock and outcry of amazement, the courage in which his race has rarely been wanting came to the condemned, and he met his fate with a soldier’s nerve.
In 1805, during the march upon Vienna, Napoleon received at his bivouac M. de Thiard, who had known d’Enghien well. For a long while the Emperor sat talking with this officer, asking many questions about the Duke, and listening with interest to all that was told him.
“He was really a man, then, that prince?” he asked, and this casual remark was his sole comment.
Among all those who believe that the life of a prince is more sacred than that of a plebeian, among aristocrats of all countries, and among the crowned heads of Europe, there was a burst of grief and rage when it became known that Napoleon had shot a Bourbon duke. Thousands of pages were written then, thousands have been written since, in denunciation of this so-called murder. Men who had never uttered a word in condemnation of Lord Nelson’s treatment of Carraccioli, could find no words harsh enough for Napoleon’s usage of d’Enghien. Alexander of Russia, who had whimpered in the palace while his father was being stamped, choked, and smothered to death in the adjoining room, and who had promoted the assassins to high trusts in his own service, took Napoleon’s conduct more to heart than did any of the royal fraternity. Assuming the lofty moral attitude of one who is missioned to rebuke sin, he broke off diplomatic relations with France and put the Russian court in mourning. Napoleon launched at the Czar a crushing reminder on the subject of Paul’s death, and Alexander suffered the subject to drop.
Paris, stunned at first by the tragedy, recovered itself immediately; and when Napoleon appeared at the theatre a few nights afterward, he was acclaimed as usual. Talleyrand gave a ball, and society was there with the same old stereotyped smile upon its vacuous face.
Nevertheless, it is certain that the death of this young Duke injured Napoleon in public esteem, was of no political service to him, armed his enemies with a terrible weapon against him, and gave to the exiled Bourbons a sympathy they had not enjoyed since the Revolution. Said Fouché, “It is worse than a crime; it is a blunder.” But there is no evidence that Napoleon ever regretted it. It is true that he became enraged when Talleyrand denied his share in the transaction, and that he always maintained that Talleyrand had advised it; but he never shirked his own responsibility.
When he lay upon his death-bed at St. Helena, an attendant read to him from an English publication a bitter attack upon those guilty of the alleged murder of d’Enghien. The dying Emperor had already made his will; but he roused himself, had the paper brought, and interlined with his own hands these final words in which he assumed full responsibility:—
“I had the Duke d’Enghien arrested and tried because it was necessary to do so for the safety, the honor, and the interest of the French people at a time when the Count of Artois openly admitted that he had sixty paid assassins in Paris. Under similar circumstances I would do so again.”
The trials of Moreau, Georges, and the other conspirators did not take place until Napoleon had become emperor. The prosecution was clumsily managed; and as to Moreau, public opinion was divided. His services, so recent and so great, gave some color to the story that Napoleon was actuated by jealousy in having him classed with criminals. However, Moreau weakened his defence by an exculpatory letter he wrote Napoleon, and this together with such proofs as the government could furnish, and such influence as it could bring to bear on the court, resulted in a conviction and a sentence of two years in confinement. This penalty Napoleon changed into one of banishment. Georges and a number of others were shot. Pichegru and Wright committed suicide. The Polignacs and Rivière, as guilty as the guiltiest, were pardoned—they being of gentle birth, and being fortunate in having the friendship of some who stood near Napoleon.