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MEMOIRS
OF THE
PRIVATE LIFE,
RETURN, AND REIGN
OF
NAPOLEON
IN 1815.

Ingrata patria, ne ossa quidem habes. Scipio.

BY M. FLEURY DE CHABOULON,

Ex-Secretary of the Emperor Napoleon and of his Cabinets, Master of Requests to the Council of State, Baron, Officer of the Legion of Honour, and Knight of the Order of Reunion.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
1820.

TO THE READER.

The revolution of the 20th of March will form unquestionably the most remarkable episode in the life of Napoleon, so fertile as it is in supernatural events. It has not been my intention, to write the history of it: this noble task is above my powers: I have only attempted, to place Napoleon on the stage of action, and oppose his words, his deeds, and the truth, to the erroneous assertions of certain historians, the falsehoods of the spirit of party, and the insults of those timeserving writers, who are accustomed to insult in misfortune those, to whom they have subsequently paid court.

Hitherto people have not been able to agree on the motives and circumstances, that determined the Emperor, to quit the island of Elba. Some supposed, that he had acted of his own accord: others, that he had conspired with his partisans the downfal of the Bourbons. Both these suppositions are equally false. The world will learn with surprise, perhaps with admiration, that this astonishing revolution was the work of two individuals and a few words.

The narrative of Colonel Z***, so valuable from the facts it reveals, appears to me to merit the reader's attention in other respects. On studying it carefully, we find in it the exhibition of those defects, those qualities, those passions, which, confounded together, form the character, so full of contrasts, of the incomprehensible Napoleon. We perceive him alternatively mistrustful and communicative, ardent and reserved, enterprising and irresolute, vindictive and generous, favourable to liberty and despotic. But we see predominant above all, that activity, that strength, that ardour of mind, those brilliant inspirations, and those sudden resolves, that belong only to extraordinary men, to men of genius.

The conferences I had at Bâle with the mysterious agent of Prince Metternich have remained to this day buried in profound secrecy. The historians, who have preceded me, relate, without any explanation, that the Duke of Otranto laid before the Emperor, at the moment of his abdication, a letter from M. de Metternich; and that this letter, artfully worded, had determined Napoleon to abdicate, in the hope that the crown would devolve to his son. The particulars given in these Memoirs will entirely change the ideas formed of this letter, and of its influence. They confirm the opinion too, pretty generally prevalent, that the allied sovereigns deemed the restoration of the Bourbons of little importance, and would willingly have consented, to place the young Prince Napoleon on the throne.

It had been supposed, that the famous decree, by which Prince de Talleyrand and his illustrious accomplices were sent before the courts of justice, was issued at Lyons in the first burst of a fit of vengeance. It will be seen, that it was the result of a plan simply political: and the noble resistance, which General Bertrand (now labouring under a sentence of death) thought it his duty to oppose to this measure, will add, if it be possible, to the high esteem, merited on so many accounts by this faithful friend to the unfortunate.

The writings published previously to this work, equally contain nothing but inaccurate or fabulous reports, with regard to the abdication of Napoleon. Certain historians have been pleased, to represent Napoleon in a pitious state of despondency: others have depicted him as the sport of the threats of M. Regnault St. Jean d'Angely, and of the artifices of the Duke of Otranto. These Memoirs will show, that Napoleon, far from having fallen into a state of weakness, that would no longer permit him to wield the sceptre, aspired, on the contrary, to be invested with a temporary dictatorship, and that, when he consented to abdicate, it was because the energetic attitude of the representatives disconcerted him, and he yielded to the fear of adding the calamities of a civil war to the disasters of a foreign invasion.

It was perfectly unknown too, that Napoleon was detained a prisoner at Malmaison after his abdication. It was presumed, that he deferred his departure, in the hope of being replaced at the head of the army and of the government. These Memoirs will show, that this hope, if it dwelt within the breast of Napoleon, was not the real motive of his stay in France; and that he was detained there by the committee of government, till the moment when, honour outweighing all political considerations, it obliged Napoleon to depart, to prevent his falling into the hands of Blucher.

The negotiations and conferences of the French plenipotentiaries with the enemy's generals; the proceedings of the Prince of Eckmuhl; the intrigues of the Duke of Otranto; the efforts of those members of the committee, who remained faithful to their trust; the debates on the capitulation of Paris, and all the collateral facts, connected with these different circumstances, had been totally misrepresented; These Memoirs establish or unfold the truth. They bring to light the conduct of those members of the committee, who were supposed to be the dupes or accomplices of Fouché; and that of the marshals, the army, and the chambers. They contain also the correspondence of the plenipotentiaries, and the instructions given to them; documents hitherto unpublished, which will make known, what the politics and wishes of the government of France at that time were.

Finally I shall observe, in order to complete the account I think it right to give the reader of the substance of this work, that it furnishes elucidations of the campaign of 1815, the want of which has been imperiously felt. The causes, that determined Napoleon, to separate from his army at Laon, were not known: I point them out. General Gourgaud, in his narrative, could give no explanation of the march of the corps of Count Erlon at the battle of Ligny, of the conduct of Marshal Ney on the 16th, of the inactivity of Napoleon on the 17th, &c. All these points, I believe, I have elucidated. I show also, that it was not, as General Gourgaud and other writers assert, to raise the spirits, and excite the courage of the French army, that its leader announced to it the arrival of Marshal Grouchy. It is a certain fact, that Napoleon was himself deceived by a brisk firing, which took place between the Prussians and Saxons; and it is falsely, that he has been charged with having knowingly deceived his soldiers, at a moment when the laws of war and of humanity presented to him, to think rather of a retreat, than of continuing the battle.

I had at first rejected from these Memoirs such official papers, as had already been made known: but have since thought, that they ought to be inserted. This work, which embraces all the events of the reign of a Hundred Days, would be imperfect, if the reader were obliged to refer to the papers of the day; to read or consult the act of the congress of Vienna, that placed the Emperor Napoleon out of the pale of the law of nations; the Additional Act, which occasioned his loss of popularity; and the eloquent speeches and nervous declarations by which Napoleon, his ministers, and his counsellors, sought to explain and justify the 20th of March. I have thought, besides, that perhaps the reader would not find it uninteresting, to witness the contests exhibited, at that important period, between the legitimacy of nations and the legitimacy of sovereigns.

The colours under which I represent Napoleon, the justice I do him for the purity of his intentions, will not please all the world. Many persons, who would blindly have believed any ill I could say of the ancient sovereigns of France, will give little credit to my eulogies: they are wrong: if praises lavished on power be suspicious, those bestowed on the unfortunate will be true; to doubt them would be sacrilege.

Neither can I conceal from myself, that the men, who, from principle, see nothing but a hateful conspiracy in the revolution of the 20th of March, will accuse me of having embellished facts, and designedly distorted the truth. No matter: I have depicted this revolution as I saw it, as I felt it. How many others are pleased, to tarnish the honour of the nation, to represent their countrymen as composed of rebels or cowards! For my part, I think it the duty of a good Frenchman, to prove to all Europe, that the king was not guilty of abandoning France:

That the insurrection of the 20th of March was not the work of a few factious persons, who might have been repressed; but a grand national act, against which the efforts and volitions of individuals would have been vain:

That the royalists were not cowards, and all other Frenchmen traitors:

Lastly, that the return from the island of Elba was the terrible consequence of the faults of ministers and the ultras, which called to France the man of fate, as the conductor draws down the lightning from heaven.

This sentiment naturally led me, to conclude these Memoirs by a philosophical examination of the Hundred Days, and a refutation of the reproaches daily bestowed on the men of the 20th of March: but considerations, easy to divine, held my pen. It was my duty, to content myself with placing a statement of the facts before the eyes of the grand jury, the public, and leave it to decide. I know, that the question has been determined in the fields of Waterloo; but a victory is not a judicial sentence.

Whatever opinion the impartial reader may form of this work, I can protest beforehand, that I have not allowed myself to be influenced by any private consideration, by any feeling of hatred, affection, or gratitude. I have followed no impulse but that of my conscience, and I may say with Montaigne: "This is an honest book."

Too young to have participated in the errors or crimes of the revolution, I began and ended my political career without blot, and without reproach. The places, titles, and decorations, which the Emperor deigned to bestow on me, were the reward of several acts of great devotion to his service, and of twelve years of trials and sacrifices. Never did I receive from him any favours or gifts: I entered his service rich, I quitted it poor.

When Lyons opened to him its gates, I was free: I spontaneously embraced his cause: it appeared to me, as to the immense number of Frenchmen, that of liberty, honour, and our country. The laws of Solon declared infamous those, who took no part in civil troubles. I followed their maxims. If the misfortunes of the 20th of March must fall on the heads of the guilty, these guilty, I repeat, will not be in the eye of posterity, the Frenchmen who abandoned the royal standard, to return to the ancient colours of their country; but those imprudent and senseless men, who, by their threats, their acts of injustice, and their outrages, compelled us to choose between insurrection and slavery, between honour and infamy.

During the Hundred Days, there was no person to whom I did an ill turn; frequently I had an opportunity of doing good, and seized it with joy.

Since the return of the regal government, I have lived tranquil and solitary; and, whether from forgetfulness, or from a sense of justice, I escaped in 1815 the persecutions, which the partisans and servants of Napoleon experienced.

This explanation, or this apology, appeared to me necessary: it is right the reader should know, who it is that addresses him.

I could have wished, to abstain from speaking of the royal government in the first part of this work: but it was impossible. It was necessary for me, prominently to exhibit the errors and faults of the king's ministers one by one, to render evident this truth, that they were the sole authors of the 20th of March. When elsewhere, as here, I say the government, I mean not to designate the King, but his ministers. In a constitutional monarchy, in which the ministers are responsible, we cannot, and ought not to confound them with the King. "It is from the King," said the keeper of the seals, when he proposed to the deputies of the nation the project of a law on the responsibility of ministers, "that every act of equity, protection, and clemency, and every regular employment of power, emanates: it is to the ministers alone, that abuses, injustice, and misconduct, are to be imputed."

MEMOIRS,
&c. &c.

Until the close of the Spanish war, Napoleon, whether as the First Consul of the Republic, or as the Chief of the Empire, had never ceased to be the object of the love, the pride, and the confidence of the people. But the multitude neither judge, nor can judge of the actions of their rulers but from appearances which often mislead them in their judgment; and the loyalty of the nation then became enfeebled. The conduct of Napoleon was stigmatized as a series of hateful aggressions; the war, as an unjustifiable act of violence. Disaffection increased. Napoleon was assailed by the anger of his subjects, and, for the first time, they upbraided him with having spilt their blood, and wasted their riches, in gratifying his vain and culpable ambition.

At this juncture the public mind became absorbed in the contemplation of the invasion of Russia, and the general discontent was withdrawn from the events which had taken place in the peninsula.

Our arms were crowned with good fortune and glory at the commencement of the Russian war; but that conflict was ended by a catastrophe which has no parallel in the annals of the world.

The Emperor, who escaped almost alone from the perils of the campaign, returned to the capital. His countenance was that of a hero who defies adversity. But his firmness was deemed to be the result of heartless insensibility. Instead of inspiring the people with hope, it embittered their feelings. Louder murmurs broke forth; their indignation expressed itself with greater emphasis. Yet such was the enthusiasm which was even then inspired by the proud recollections of the triumphs of Napoleon, that France, blushing for her disgrace, implored him to win new victories. Armies formed themselves as if by enchantment, and Napoleon stood again in the midst of Germany, more terrible than ever.

After we had conquered at Lutzen, at Bautzen, and at Dresden, the battle of Leipsic was fought[1]. Never before that day had we been doomed to witness our national armies flying before the enemy. The scattered wrecks of our battalions, which had been created by the last hope, by the last effort of our country, at length reached our frontiers. But our soldiers were no longer the vigorous and resolute warriors of France; they were bowed down by want, toil, and humiliation. Soon afterwards they were followed by wandering trains of military carriages, loaded with diseased and wounded wretches, who festered beneath the corpses amongst which they were heaped, and who at once absorbed and diffused the germs of pestilence and contagion. Even the firmest minds now yielded to despair; and the grief occasioned by the havoc now made amongst our defenders renewed the sorrows of the mothers and the wives of those who erewhile had perished in Russia and in Spain. Curses upon Napoleon, the author of all these evils, resounded from side to side of the empire.

As long as good fortune waited upon Napoleon, his most ambitious attempts commanded the applauses of the nation. We boasted of his profound political wisdom, we extolled his genius, we worshipped his courage. When his fortune changed, then his political wisdom was called treachery, his genius, ambition, and his courage, fool-hardiness and infatuation.

Napoleon was not to be depressed by ingratitude or misfortune. He re-assembled the feeble fragments of his armies, and proclaimed aloud that he would conquer or die at the head of his soldiery. This resolution only produced a momentary impression. The French, who so lately believed that the happiness and salvation of France depended only upon the life of Napoleon, now coolly considered that his death, the fate which he was prepared to encounter, afforded the only means of putting an end to the calamities of war, for peace otherwise appeared unattainable.

Napoleon departed. He achieved prodigies, but to no effect. National spirit no longer existed, and the nation had gradually sunk into that state of insensibility so fatal to sovereigns, when the public mind has no perception of their dangers, and abandons them to their destiny.

France was thus affected when Napoleon consented to divest himself of his crown[2]. The apathy of the nation drove him to this extremity; for it deprived him of the means either of carrying on the war, or of making peace.

Hostilities ended with the abdication of Napoleon. The people of Paris, who had scarcely recovered from the panic with which they were struck by the marauding hordes of Russia, displayed the most extravagant gladness when they thought that they were delivered from the visitation, which again threatened them in the presence of the allies and the imperial army.

The neighbouring departments, which the enemy prepared to invade, rejoiced on being relieved from impending pillage and devastation.

The departments which had been occupied by the enemy were intoxicated with joy, when they anticipated the termination of their sufferings.

Thus almost all the people of France turned away from their discarded sovereign. And they abandoned themselves to joy when they thought that they were delivered from the scourge of war, and that they could hope to enjoy the blessings of peace.

It was in the midst of this pouring out of the spirit of selfishness, that the senate raised the brother of Louis XVI. to the throne. His election was not in conformity to the expectations of the people, and it disappointed the wishes which had been uttered in favour of the Empress and her son; yet the choice of the senate was but slightly opposed, because the recall of Louis seemed to be necessarily the pledge of peace. And peace was more the object of the public wish than any other thing. Besides which, the Bourbons followed the wise counsels which had been given to them. They lost no time in issuing their proclamations, couched in fair language, in order to calm the fears and diminish the antipathies excited by their recall.

"We will guarantee," said they, "the rank, the honours, and the rewards of the military.

"The magistracy and all public functionaries shall retain their offices and their pre-eminence.

"To the people we promise a total oblivion of their political conduct; and we will maintain them in the full enjoyment of their civil rights, their property, and their social institutions."

The French nation, whose confidence is so easily abused, considered these promises as sacred and inviolable, and they delighted in repeating the happy reply of the Count of Artois[3], "Il n'y aura rien de changé en France, il n'y aura que quelques Français de plus." They, the men, who had banished the imperial dynasty, laboured to foster the growing confidence of the nation. The press was brought into full play, and the country teemed with publications in which they represented the sovereign whom they had brought in, as invested with those attributes which were calculated to conciliate the nation. The public were carefully informed, that the king "opened and read all the dispatches himself. It is he who dictates every answer. Where it becomes necessary to meet the ministers of foreign powers, he transacts business with them; he receives the reports of their missions, which he answers either by word of mouth, or in writing. In short, he alone directs all the concerns of the government, both at home and abroad. If his virtues and goodness are such as to cause the French to know that they will now find a kind and affectionate father in their King, they may also look with confidence to the future fate of the nation, relying on his brilliant information, his strength of character, and his aptitude for business[4]."

Thus the people congratulated themselves, when they were assured that their Chief Magistrate was an enlightened sovereign, a kind sovereign, an equitable sovereign, and one who was determined not to allow the guiding reins of the state to slip from his paternal hands into those of his ministers. Our lively imagination gave us a present enjoyment of the blessings, which, as we anticipated, would hereafter be diffused over the kingdom by his goodness, his prudence, and his acquirements. If this glowing vision of hope and loyalty was slightly dimmed by a few secret doubts, such misgivings were checked and repelled by the name of our native country; nay, by the name of the Emperor himself. For when Napoleon bade farewell to his trusty soldiers, it was in these words: "Be faithful to the new sovereign of France; do not rend asunder our beloved and long-suffering land."

These circumstances (nor must the charm of novelty be excluded) united in favour of the king, and won every head and every heart. He appeared—he was received with acclamations of love and gladness, which resounded until he entered the palace of his forefathers.

No counter revolution ever effected the change of a royal dynasty, under such favourable auspices.

The French nation felt jaded by civil dissensions, by misfortune—even their victories had weaned them. They longed for the happiness of repose. Memorable were the words of the king's brother; "let us forget the past, let us look only towards the future, let us all unite in the good work of labouring to heal the wounds of our common country;" and these honoured precepts had become implanted in every mind. They formed the canon of all our feelings and all our duties.

As long as the machinery of the new government did not begin to work, this loyal harmony subsisted, and no longer. For when it became necessary to settle the organization of the army, the ministry, and the magistracy, then self-love gained an easy victory over patriotism, and the bad passions, pride, ambition, and party-hatred, roused themselves from their slumber.

During a quarter of a century, our emigrants had sojourned in a strange country. Useless and troublesome guests to the strangers by whom they were fed, their lives had been droned away in shameless and cowardly idleness. They could not cheat themselves into a belief that they possessed the talents and experience of the sons of the revolution. But they imagined that nobility, as in the old time, might pass for worth; and that their patents and pedigrees still gave them a right to monopolize all power and all honour.

The citizens, the soldiers, the nation, relied on the lawfulness of their rights no less than on the promises of the king. The members of the old privileged caste, instead of exciting suspicion, were only the objects of harmless mirth. The people laughed at the grotesque appearance of some, and at the decrepit sottishness of others. They never dreamed that these pretended warriors, whose bloodless swords had rusted in their scabbards, would attempt to snatch the staff of command from the veteran generals of France; and that nobles who had grown old in sloth and ignorance would aspire to the direction of public affairs.

But though merit and valour were denied to them, they stood upon a vantage ground, which gave them a direful and incalculable preponderance in the state. They surrounded the throne. Soon did their insolence announce that they had craftily availed themselves of the advantages which they possessed; and we foresaw with affliction that inveterate prejudice, malignant prepossessions, and old habits of familiarity, would, sooner or later, crush the principles of justice and equity, however solemnly proclaimed.

The emigrants, rendered arrogant by the prospects which opened upon them, now treated their rivals with contemptuous disdain. They dared not insult the defenders of our country face to face, because the scars of the warriors scared them. But they were spitefully active in disparaging their birth, their services, and their glory, and these noble retainers of royalty took care to impress the soldiers of Napoleon with a due sense of the width of the gulf which was henceforth to separate a gentleman of good family, from an upstart soldier of the revolution.

The women of the ancien régime did not share in the timidity which, to a certain degree, still restrained their husbands. They threw off all decency and all reserve, and indulged in all the fury of their spite and pride. Without attempting to disguise their sentiments, they openly insulted the titled dames belonging to the new nobility, and such of the latter as were compelled to go to court on account of the situations held by their husbands, never entered the saloon without dread, and never quitted it without being bathed in tears.

Uneasy, harassed, and discontented, the people implored the fulfilment of the king's promises: they prayed with confidence; but the government heard them not, and repulsed them harshly. The Doge of Genoa, speaking of Louis XIV, said, "his majesty steals our hearts by his amiability, but his ministers give them back again to us." The apophthegm of the Doge might have been pertinently applied to Louis XVIII. by the people.

Hitherto the government appeared to adhere to the resolution of dealing out impartial justice to both parties, and of performing the covenant which the new monarch had entered into with the nation. But now he was bound by an influence which he could not withstand. Ensnared by the machinations, the threats, and the fears of his emigrant court, and perhaps believing that the new order of things was incompatible with the stability of the Bourbon dynasty, the maxims of his government underwent a total change. He was taught to consider the equality of civil rights as a revolutionary conquest, the liberties of the nation as an usurpation of the authority of the throne, the new constitution as insulting the independence of the sovereign. It was therefore determined that all "dangerous characters[5]" should be led quietly out of all civil and military offices. The old trustworthy nobility of the old kingdom were again to become the sole depositaries of the power of the state: and by slow but sure degrees it was resolved to cancel the royal charter, and either by fair means or by foul, to place the nation again beneath the yoke of absolute power.

The government often appealed to the authority of the King's predecessor on the throne—of Bonaparte. Bonaparte, it was said, had acknowledged that it was dangerous to concede a representative government to the people, and that it was fit and proper to rule them despotically. But Napoleon, he who re-established the authority of royalty, morality, and religion—who had re-organized society—who had given tranquillity to France, at the same time that he rendered her formidable to the world—he had earned his authority by his services and his victories, and, if I may venture to use the expression, he had acquired a legitimate right of despotism, which neither belonged, nor could belong, to a Bourbon. Besides which, in spite of the real or pretended despotism of the imperial government, it was still a national government; a character wholly foreign to the Bourbon government, and which it had no tendency to acquire.

The prognostics of the re-action which the ministers intended to bring about were disclosed in all parts of the body politic. Alarm seized even the Chamber of Deputies: it hastened to become the organ of the uneasiness of the people, and to remind the King of the warranty which he had given to the nation.

In the address, or rather in the protest presented by the chamber on the 15th of June, the national representatives say, "The charter secures to the voice of truth every channel which leads to the throne, since it consecrates the liberty of the press, and the right of petition.

"Amongst the guarantees which it contains, the nation will attend to that which insures the responsibility of any minister who may betray the confidence reposed in him by your Majesty, by trespassing on the public or private rights insured by the constitutional charter.

"By virtue of this charter, nobility in all future times will only command the respect of the people as surrounded by proofs of honour and glory, which the recollections of feudality will not have the power of tarnishing.

"The principles of civil liberty are founded upon the independence of judicial authority, and the retention of trial by jury, that invaluable guarantee of all our rights."

If the King had known the truth, this energetic address would have attained its end. But the truth could not reach him. At first he intended to bestow his personal confidence upon the greater part of the leading "notables" of the revolution; but by means of remonstrances and recriminations, another party contrived to place his good sense again under the yoke of prejudice, and he surrounded himself with old nobility alone, with men who had refused to obey the constitution sanctioned by Louis XVI., because it destroyed their privileges; and who, for the same reason, had refused to acknowledge the new constitution, against which they had even dared to protest. His companions were so blinded, so besotted by their presumption, that they imagined that decrees and ordinances gave them the faculty of overturning the edifice which the nation had erected during five and twenty years of revolution. His confidents were those alone who, instead of wishing to reveal to their sovereign the object of the projects of the ministry, and of the faction which had rendered the ministry their tools, had become the accomplices of ministerial guilt, joint conspirators in the plot which was to destroy the royal charter.

The cabinet contained, however, some able and experienced statesmen. They were convinced that instead of teasing the nation by holding out the probability of the restoration of ancient privileges, it was the duty of government to tranquillize the country by guaranteeing the stability of the new system of polity. These ministers were aware of the impolicy of attempting to re-establish the monarchy on its ancient principles; because by such an attempt it would be deprived of the only advantage which it possessed over the late government—that of being liberal. And, lastly, they felt that if despotism and violence had been the distinguishing characteristics of the government of Napoleon, it was necessary that moderation and justice should be the attributes of the government of a Bourbon.

But they had not sufficient authority or personal influence to enable them to struggle against the emigrants, and the protectors of the emigrant faction. In the council chamber their opinions, often well concerted, and always benevolent, were sanctioned and approved. Out of the council, each minister acted according to his own plans; and, unfortunately, those departments which ramify most deeply into the nation and its affairs were confided to men who seemed to think that they were bound to irritate and sour the public mind.

General Dupont obtained the important office of minister of the war department, as a reward due to his proscription. According to the government party, the general had been proscribed by the Emperor. An odious name was thus given to the lenient punishment which had been inflicted upon Dupont, he who had shuffled off the allegiance which he owed to his Emperor, and whose cowardice had surrendered into captivity the legions intrusted to his command[6]. Weak, indolent, irresolute, devoid of character and resources, he never had the wish or the ability of becoming any thing else than the pliant functionary of the court and the ruling courtiers.

Another, the Abbé de Montesquiou, received the "porte-feuille" of the home department. When a member of the Constituent Assembly he had been honourably distinguished by his soft and persuasive eloquence. The temperance of his public conduct seemed to be insured by his personal character; he was a servant of the altar, his health was delicate, he had lived long in quiet retirement. But Montesquiou, meek, mild, and timid as long as he was in the background, became scornful, angry, and overbearing the instant that he stepped into power. He detested and despised the revolution—I may almost say, he detested and despised the nation. This sentiment was the principle which guided him. Montesquiou never deigned to inquire whether any given portion of our polity was sound or useful, whether it had been formed with difficulty, whether it could be modified, or ameliorated, or fitted into existing circumstances. He only inquired into the date of its institution—and the date decided the question.

A third, Dambray, the chancellor, and the chief law officer of the nation, had distinguished himself in his youth as a Judge of Parliament. His credit arose from his prudence and his principles no less than from his talents. He had been long since recalled to his country. During the reign of Napoleon he fulfilled the duties of a citizen and a subject with zeal and fidelity. We never doubted but that he would protect those constitutional forms of government under which he had flourished in peace and honour. Scarcely, however, was the Chancellor clothed in his robe, when he became the oppressor of the magistracy, the antagonist of our new system of jurisprudence, and the dull partisan of those slavish forms and barbarous customs and oppressive edicts, which had been long since annihilated by reason, liberty, and knowledge.

The trust reposed in this portion of the cabinet was a source of unhappiness to the nation, but it was not the only one. Louis, according to the promises held out on his restoration, was to reign in person; and the more the French have ever been desirous to obey their sovereign with cheerful alacrity, the greater is the repugnance which they feel to submit to the orders of his minions. Dismay, therefore, prevailed throughout the kingdom when we learnt that Louis, weakened by an obstinate and painful disease, had entirely divested himself of his royal authority in favour of Monsieur de Blacas. And how much more painful did our consternation become, when we were able to understand the views and projects of this Mayor of the palace, and when we ascertained the baneful extent of his ascendancy.

It was impossible that the royal government, including such elements in its composition, could retain its hold on public opinion. It was seen too clearly that the effects of a despicable coterie would tend either to involve our country in a civil war, or overwhelm us again with the wretchedness and slavery from which we had been delivered by the revolution.

The absolute necessity of rising in opposition to these nefarious attempts was felt by the entire country. Not a man would remain neuter.

During the earliest period of the reign of Louis, the emigrant faction comprehended nothing but the party composed of the relics of the ancient privileged cast. The parvenus of the imperial government alone constituted the so called Bonapartists. Considering their private gratification and profit as of greater importance than the public cause, each party had hitherto only wrangled for place and power. Their war was a matter of calculation and selfishness. But soon their disputes involved the fate of the main interests created by the revolution the emigrants directed their attacks not only against individuals but also against principles, and the people, who had hitherto only looked on, now shared the quarrel, and all France was divided into two great hostile parties[7].

The court, the courtiers, and the ministry appeared as the central phalanx of the pure royalists. As their auxiliaries, they had the old nobility,—the priesthood,—a certain number of apostates who had skulked away from the imperial government,—and lastly, all those who had been disqualified by their incapacity and disloyalty from obtaining employment under Napoleon. It was the undisguised wish of this party to wash out every stain of the revolution, and to effect a full and unqualified restoration of the ancien régime in all its parts, and to all intents and purposes.

On the other side were arrayed the party designated as that of the Bonapartists, led on by our most honourable and most virtuous citizens, and numbering within its ranks the great body of the people; this party strove to withstand the impending resuscitation of the privileges and abuses of the old government, and which was to be effected only by the total subversion of our existing institutions.

The pure royalists endeavoured to annihilate the charter, which their opponents defended, and thus a strange contradiction took place. The royal charter had the royalists for its enemies, whilst its defenders were only found amongst those who were stigmatized as the adherents of Bonaparte.

Abortive attempts were made by the pure royalists to palliate the treachery of the government. They tried to persuade the people that the tranquillity and welfare of the nation depended but on the re-establishment of an absolute monarch, of a feudal aristocracy, and of all the trumpery of superstition. Such was the tendency of the publications which issued from the ministerial press, owing their birth to writers who had either sold themselves to the government, or who had denationalized themselves by their political intolerance. But it must not be supposed that liberty could remain in need of advocates.

Each of the earliest stages of the growth of the young government of royalty had been marked by obscure yet decisive symptoms of bad faith, not the less mischievous because they were restricted to signs, and symbols, and phrases. Instead of the constitution voted by the senate, and which the king had engaged to accept and ratify, he graciously granted and conceded a charter, by which he gave a new form to the government; and which, according to its tenor, emanated from the sovereign in the full and free exercise of his royal authority. The tricoloured cockade worn by Louis XVI. and which our armies had rendered illustrious, was exchanged for the white, though to the mind's eye the latter was seen drenched in the blood of the people. Louis took the title of Louis XVIII. King of France and Navarre, and he dated his proclamations and ordinances in the 19th year of his reign, and thus it was to be inferred, that the nation had been in a state of rebellion during five and twenty years. He had disdained to receive his crown from the will of the people, and rather chose to hold it by divine right and the good offices of the Prince Regent. These ungracious affronts wounded the national feelings, but no notice was taken of them at the time, because it was apprehended that angry recriminations might endanger the profit which had resulted from the important sacrifices to which we had consented for the public good. But when the government unveiled its deformity, the silence of the patriotic party was at end, and they attacked the government most unrelentingly. The editors of the Censeur were most conspicuous. Every abuse of power, every violation of the charter, was proclaimed to France by these young tribunes of the people; and the country was loud in applauding their zeal, their talents, and their courage. Other writers of a more lively class stung the emigrants to the quick by sarcasms and satire, and brought down the chastisement of contempt and ridicule upon those who had been spared by the gravity of the Censeur.

The nation also obtained a clear development of the anti-revolutionary conspiracy of the administration, from the "Memoir" of Carnot, and the pamphlets of Benjamin Constant. The undeniable facts, and the unwelcome truths which were brought forward and stated by these writers, apprized the people that their rights and liberties were in fearful danger.

A judicial blindness had fallen upon the ministers. All warnings, all lessons, all reproaches, were lost upon them. Far from being awed by public opinion, they thought they deserved high honour for defying it. The ministers had made up their mind. Deceived by the opinions which they had formed respecting the preponderance of their faction, they miscalculated the influence and resources of the partizans of the revolution. Confiding in their power, and in the fear inspired by their power, they thought it useless to maintain any further reserve; and that they could charge onwards to the end of the career which they had in view. Intoxicated by their ignorant enthusiasm, they insulted the nation in the person of each individual, whilst they encroached upon the rights which he valued most, and insulted him both in his interests and his feelings. The imperial guard was removed from Paris: the emigrants grudged the renown of these troops, and feared their patriotism. It was given out that the discontent evinced by the guard when the king came in, was the cause of the punishment which they received[8].—But had not the government called forth this discontent? Surely it was ungenerous to compel those heroes to walk as attendants in the triumph of a new master. Their grief and fidelity deserved not to be thus insulted. I then saw these honoured warriors. Haggard looks and sullen silence revealed their feelings. Absorbed by grief, they appeared to be insensible to the outward world. "Vive la Garde Impériale" was the shout of the pitying Parisians, who wished to cheer them. These salutations, which, perhaps, they despised, were unheeded. Submissive to their superiors, they obeyed the word of command which told them that they must march: they marched, and that was all.

Troops of the line replaced the imperial guards, who were drafted out of the capital with great expedition. Little time elapsed before the dissatisfaction of the new troops became manifest. The regiments were wholly disorganized; officers were thrust upon the soldiers, amongst whom they stood as complete strangers. In consequence of these changes the troops were put out of temper; and they became disgusted with service, because they were wearied by endless parades and reviews which took place, not to perfect them in their discipline, but for the instruction of their raw commanders. The government broke their spirit by affronting them: they were compelled to present arms to the king's body guard, whom they detested. The re-establishment of the "Maison du Roi" was opposed by the general feeling of the nation, and it particularly tended to rouse the jealousy and discontent of the garrison of Paris. The troops of the line and the national guards who were on duty at the Tuileries could not submit to acknowledge the "gardes du corps" as their superiors, and refused to present arms to them. The "gardes du corps" complained, and it was ordered that the troops of the line should salute them with military honours, or be punished. After this victory, the young "gardes du corps," who were proud of it, used to walk up and down before the sentinels, in order to force the latter to worship their epaulettes. It may easily be imagined how such childish insults, which were never checked, must have mortified the old soldiers of Napoleon: and we all know that the self-love of a Frenchman is not to be offended with impunity.

Self-love is the medium through which the soldier ascends into glory. When Napoleon earned immortal fame in Italy, he nourished and dignified this passion by addressing his soldiers in language breathing the lofty spirit of the heroic age, he rekindled the courage of his army, and every man became a conqueror. But the royalist officers sought to destroy all warlike sentiment by expressing their contempt for our national victories, by displaying the puffed insolence of birth and rank; and they lost the confidence and the esteem of the army which they were appointed to command.

Widely different, indeed, was the example which was set by the most exalted and most formidable of our enemies. It is needless to name him. This sovereign never tried to undervalue our glory: he was only happy when he could bear testimony again and again to the talents and the courage of the French nation. When he received our officers he did not treat them with that ill-concealed disdain, so often lavished on the conquered, but with the honest esteem inspired by valour; and with that delicacy, I would almost say respect, which is due to honourable misfortune. The subject of his discourse sometimes compelled him to allude to our reverses; but he never failed to allay the smart by lavishing his praises on the efforts which we had made to deprive him of victory. He seemed to be astonished that he had been able to withstand us.

How deeply were our warriors affected when they contrasted his chivalrous magnanimity with the endeavours of their royalist masters, who tried incessantly to poison the fond recollection of their former triumphs, and to deprive them of the only consolation which remained to them in the hour of affliction.

Whatever discontent might prevail amongst the troops, yet the greater part of the staff and regimental officers had transferred themselves to the Bourbons with cordial sincerity. Perhaps a few, who were less confident than the rest, still appeared distrustful and lukewarm; but they might have been easily won over, either by those sugared and alluring phrases which sound so sweetly when pronounced by royalty, or even by merely leaving them quiet until their resentment could cool of itself.

When Henry IV. recovered his throne, the bigoted partisans of the league, whom he had pardoned, continued still to threaten and revile him. It was suggested that he should punish them; but Henry said, "No,—we must wait, they are yet vexed." Those who were constantly invoking the memory of good king Henry, never sought to imitate his conduct. Instead of allowing time to our generals to get over their vexation, they embittered their temper by daily insults. Our officers were treated like ruffian bandits; they were branded as rebels, who were too happy if they obtained a pardon. Praise and favour fell only to the share of the army of Condé, the Vendeans, and the Chouans. The triumphal arches destined to eternize the exploits of our armies were menaced with sacrilegious ruin; and it was solemnly proposed to erect a monument to the memory of the Vendeans and the emigrants who fell at Quiberon.

Certainly our deluded brethren deserved to be regretted and mourned. Yet they had turned their weapons against the sacred bosom of their country. They were either the auxiliaries or the hirelings of our implacable enemies the English, and if honours were paid to them as illustrious victims, it was equivalent to a declaration that their conquerors were their murderers.

Our warriors had been graced with titles of nobility, bought with the blood which they had shed in the defence of the country. Their honours were treated with insolent scorn, and the ghost of Georges Cadoudal, a murderer in effect, and a traitor in intent, was ennobled by the gracious patent which was bestowed upon his father.

Georges in attempting the life of Napoleon had committed an act against all law, whether human or divine. If such a crime was decked out as a virtue, if signal rewards were allotted to the memory of the criminal, the government abetted assassination and regicide. The safety of Louis XVIII. and of every other monarch was compromised, and a sanction was given to the dangerous and antisocial doctrine which teaches that any individual may sit in judgment on the legitimacy of the title of the occupier of the throne, and then determine to murder his sovereign if he doubts the validity of his rights.

Other affronts exactly of the same complexion were offered to France and to the army. Titles, military commissions, and pensions, were showered, in La Vendée, upon the heads of such of the Chouans as were most celebrated for their cruelty[9], and these marks of favour were distributed amongst them in the presence of the victims of their rapine and ferocity.

The members of the ruling faction thought that they had not done enough in endeavouring to honour the French enemies of France at the expense of her defenders, and therefore they compassed the degradation and destruction of the institutions which reminded the people of the praises and the glory of our national armies.

In despite of the most solemn engagements the government robbed the legion of honour of its prerogatives. Then the ministerial papers hinted that henceforward the order of St. Louis was to be the only military order; and that the legion of honour was to be the reward of civil merit. The blow was aimed at the heart; the army shuddered, our marshals burned with indignation. The government was compelled to disclaim and abandon its intent.

Yet one sure method of debasing the legion of honour was completely in the power of government; they could make it cheap, and to this plan they resorted. Under Napoleon the Cross was never granted until it had been long and truly deserved: now it became the prey of meanness. The order was prostituted and cast to favourite underlings and intriguers, to whom it was distributed by caprice or bribery.

Our soldiers, who had purchased this distinction with their blood,—the magistrates, the functionaries, the learned, the manufacturers, who had received it as the reward of the services which they had rendered to the state, to the arts, to useful industry,—all were filled with consternation when they found themselves elbowed by a mean and worthless mob. Yielding to their honest pride, the greater part of our old legionaries refused to wear the insignia, which, instead of conferring distinction, could only confound them with men whom public opinion had branded and proscribed.

Success encouraged the government, and they did not stop. Richly endowed asylums for the daughters of the deceased members of the legion had been founded by the Emperor. Under the pretext of economy, of saving the annual sum of forty thousand francs, the ministers took the King by surprise, and hurried the Sovereign into the signature of an order for turning the orphans out of doors. Marshal Macdonald declared in vain that the old leaders of the army would never abandon the children of their companions, and that they were ready to defray the expense which was falsely assigned as the motive of the expulsion of the girls. Equally fruitless was the generosity of Madame Delchan, the matron of the establishment of Paris, who offered to continue its management without any assistance from the government, and to expend her entire fortune in the support of her pupils. Nor did the ministers pay the least attention to those who stated that the greater part of the children had neither friends nor relations, and that if they were thrown destitute upon the world, they would be inevitably consigned to misery or vice. No consideration could move the pity of the ministry.

But at length the indignation of the public found a voice in the Lower House, and the representatives of the people were about to remonstrate with the Sovereign. Ministers were disconcerted and abashed, and they abandoned their profligate enterprise.

This check, however, did not amend them. A few days afterwards they dissolved the military academies of St. Cyr and St. Germain, alleging that they were superfluous; and at the same moment the "École Royale Militaire" was re-established, "in order that the nobility of the kingdom might enjoy the advantages secured to them by the edict of January 1757."

By this impudent violation of the principles of the charter our representatives were again roused, and the ministers were again obliged to recede.

Irritated by these defeats, they sought revenge and actuated by an ill-judged hope of weakening the resisting obstacles, they dismissed a countless multitude of military officers, who were turned out of the army upon half pay, though their full pay had been formally guarantied. It must be acknowledged that the number of the officers of the imperial army was much greater than was required by the strength of the royal army; but as it was alleged that they were useless and expensive, it was not right to insult them in their misfortunes by ministerial profusion; for, at the same time, they saw the government granting rank and pay to a number of emigrants who were good for nothing in the army. The government raised six thousand "gardes du corps," troops of musketeers and light horse, "gendarmes de la garde," &c. who scandalized Paris, and disgusted the army by their new epaulettes, and their sumptuous and splendid uniforms. Lastly, the government, led on by its innovating madness, did not respect those veterans whom Death had spared on the field of battle. Without pitying age or infirmities, the ministers, using their accustomed pretext of economy, withdrew the benefactions which a grateful nation had bestowed upon two thousand five hundred of these objects of compassion.

Since the ministers did not dread giving public offence to the army, and in matters where the offence would be felt most acutely,—since they refused to recognize both its services and its rights, it may be easily supposed that the military were disgusted and oppressed when they appeared before the ministry as individuals. It is not intended to detail the complaints and accusations which then justly abounded; but one fact may be stated as giving a double illustration of the spirit which prevailed.

General Milhaud had distinguished himself in the course of our national wars, by success and bravery. At the time when France was invaded by the allies, he "covered himself with glory" at the head of a handful of dragoons, who cut a considerable corps of the enemy's troops entirely to pieces. This officer, in consequence of his rank, his standing, and his services, had been appointed a chevalier de St. Louis as a matter of right; but at the moment of his reception, the cross was taken from him with ignominy, because he had been so unfortunate as to vote for the death of the King twenty years before.

Louis XVIII., when he returned to France, had promised that he would not inquire into the votes which had been given against his august brother. This promise, which had been demanded from him, and which he ratified by his charter, could not be otherwise than a painful victory over the feelings of his heart. He must have grieved when he found himself under the necessity of admitting those judges into his court, who had condemned Louis XVI. to the scaffold, and to present them to the daughter of the murdered monarch. But still he had sworn not to avenge his death, and the oaths by which a monarch binds himself to his people should be inviolable.

All resentment was to be repressed. The voters had been pardoned, and therefore the government could not be justified in reviving the memory of their crime, and in bringing down vengeance and death upon their heads. A funeral veil ought to have been drawn over that period of our revolution, during which we were all equally misled or guilty. Besides, we must state plainly and distinctly, that the grief excited by the murder of Louis XVI., was not the true cause of the invectives with which the regicides were assailed by the emigrants. Unfortunately the effect produced at Coblentz by the trial and execution of the king, is too well known. If the errors of some of the men of the revolution were hunted out with so much malignant zeal, it was only for the purpose of coming to this result—that as the revolution was the work of crime, it was necessary to root out every thing which had proceeded from the revolution.

The insult to which General Milhaud was subjected, was therefore rather a political movement, than a punishment inflicted on an individual. In selecting Milhaud as the object of the first assault against the regicides, the government gave a proof of their want of tact; for if they wanted to render the regicides contemptible or odious, they should have avoided attacking an officer who had long since washed away the stains of the blood of his King, by imbruing himself in the blood of our enemies!

But whilst the military, from the highest to the lowest, were exposed to the persecution and tyranny of the prevailing faction, the magistracy, and the civil functionaries of the state, suffered no less from ill treatment and injustice. Commissioners had been despatched into the departments, even at the beginning of the new reign, "in order to consolidate the royal government, and to examine into the conduct of the public functionaries under existing circumstances;" that is to say, at the moment of the restoration of the Bourbons.

Such was the confidence which the nation placed in the promises of the King, that no jealousy was excited by this measure. On the contrary, people expected that great good would result from it, that party heat would be allayed, and public interest and opinion become more speedily united to the throne.

This pleasing illusion was soon dispelled. A great number of emigrants, who had just come in again, were appointed commissioners. Instead of listening to cool and experienced advisers, they gave themselves up to the priests and nobles who beset them, and who were neither moderate nor enlightened.

The middling classes, who, from their habitual intercourse with the lower orders, possess so great an influence over the body of the people, were considered by the commissioners as a rabble multitude of upstart "roturiers." They treated the middling class with disdain and contempt. Deceived by the recollection of the excesses of the revolution, they fancied, that whoever could win the populace, became the ruler of the country. When money is not to be had, the surest way of getting over the multitude, is by appealing to its passions. They therefore announced, that they were sent to do justice to the people, to listen to their complaints, to reform abuses, and to abolish the "droits réunis," and the conscription.

Meetings were announced in the villages and in the country towns. All persons of respectability kept away; but the populace, who are always delighted with uproar and novelty, crowded in. There was no end to the preposterous charges which were preferred against the magistrates, the prefects, the under-prefects, the mayors, the administrators of public affairs, the officers of revenue; in short, none of the depositaries of public authority were spared.

Instead of despising such accusations, or submitting them to an impartial inquiry, the commissioners hailed the popular clamour with transport. They triumphed in the tumult; they were overflowing with happiness at the fancied success of their efforts; they continued exclaiming with increasing joy, "that is right, Good People; the King is your father; these fellows are nothing but canaille; upon our word of honour, we will kick them out."

These promises were kept. The public officers and functionaries of all classes were gradually dismissed, and their places given to informers, or to the old nobility. As the common people cooled, they became undeceived, and it was found that they had gained neither in riches nor in loyalty. The commissioners, instead of adding as they expected to the popularity of the government, only helped to cry it down. The cause of royalty was compromised by the scenes of riot which they encouraged, and they degraded it by acts of injustice and oppression. The non-emigrant commissioners acted far otherwise. They knew how to value the lying declamations of the nobles, and of the mob whom the nobles had set on. From the different conduct pursued by each party, effects resulted which exhibited the most striking contrast. In one department the public functionaries retained their situations, in another they were disgraced and vituperated.

These scandalous proceedings excited the general indignation of the country. The government was universally blamed. The important task of instituting inquiries, which were to affect the honour and the civil existence of the most respectable characters, had been entrusted to emigrants who had lived amongst strangers during the best part of their lives. And these men, who knew nothing of the forms, the principles, or even the faults of the imperial government, were consequently wholly unable to appreciate the conduct, whether praiseworthy or blameable, of the depositaries of public authority.

The people discovered that they had been cheated, and that this measure, disguised by specious representations, was in truth adopted only for the purpose of more effectually displacing the old functionaries of the nation. And, lastly, it was evident that this general dismission would carry off those authorities who were the natural guardians of every individual who had taken a part in the revolution. And that all who were thus affected would be placed beneath the sway of their sworn enemies, the nobles, the priests, and their adherents.

Indications were given by the government that a "purification" of the courts of justice was in contemplation; and the public apprehension increased. The independence and immovability of the judges had been guaranteed to the nation, and this guarantee was certainly the most valuable of the rights which we had gained. But on account of its importance, the government were the more desirous of violating it.

When the proposed "purification" became known, our national magistrates trembled in their chairs, and they foresaw that they would be plucked out for the purpose of making way for the antiquated survivors of the courts of parliament.

The nation was alarmed, and protested against the measure. But the "purification" was not to be stopped in its swoop. The process began in the supreme tribunal of the kingdom, the Court of Cassation. And, to remove all doubts respecting the ulterior object of the government, it was officially announced that the elimination, disguised under the name of the "installation royale," had been deferred only for the purpose of "obtaining the information which was necessary to direct or decide the choice of the judges, and that it would take place successively in all the courts and tribunals of the kingdom."

The "installation" was felt to be not only a breach of faith, but an open conspiracy against the security of the person and property of the subject. We knew that the tribunals would now be filled with magistrates whose prejudices, principles, and interest, must be in perpetual hostility against our national laws, and that the new men would seek to elude or crush our juridical system. The royal magistrates, as it was but too evident, would be the relations, the friends, or the creatures of the nobility, the emigrants, and of all who claimed to be restored to their rights and privileges. Nor could we hope that judges so constituted would deal out impartial justice between the ci-devant privileged tribes, whom they would naturally consider as the victims of revolutionary principles, and the children of the revolution, who, according to the same mode of reasoning, they could not fail to consider as the oppressors and robbers of the privileged tribes.

The owners of national property were most alarmed by the approaching expulsion of the revolutionary judges. By the charter, the inviolability of their property had been guaranteed to them. But they had not forgotten that a violent debate arose on the "redaction" of this article; and that the ministers had been already accused on account of the obscurity of the clause, which they refused to correct into such words as might prevent all future quibbling and special pleading.

If the emigrants, the priesthood, and the nobility, did not scruple to express their hopes aloud that the sales of the national domains might be declared null and void, it was equally well known to the public that certain Great Personages entertained the same hopes in secret. Doubts respecting the legality, and, consequently, of the validity of the sales, were expressed in the ministerial journals; and various publications were industriously disseminated, in which the purchases were directly impugned. The authors of these works were favoured and protected[10]; and it was whispered that the Great Personages, to whom we have already alluded, had deliberated on the means of realizing their hopes. All these tokens of the times united in giving too reasonable a ground for the apprehensions entertained by the proprietors of the confiscated lands; and the disorganization of the tribunals was considered as a national calamity.

It is calculated that the individuals who are interested directly or indirectly either in the purchases of the national domains, or in the rights and liabilities arising out of them, amount in number to somewhat between nine and ten millions.

An opportunity offered itself when all the uneasiness felt by this integral portion of the population of France might have been removed. It was when the law; by which the emigrants recovered possession of such part of their property as had not been alienated, came under consideration. It was natural to suppose that the administration would take advantage of the capability of the proceeding, in order to revive the confidence of the public, and to renew the guarantee of the charter. Such was not their conduct. On the contrary, M. Ferrand, the government orator, one of the men who did most mischief to the King and the kingdom, abandoned himself—we borrow the expression of the reporter of the committee—to all the acrimony of his passions, and all the profligacy of his principles. His fury could only be equalled by his folly. He did not scruple to maintain, in the midst of the representatives of the nation, that the emigrants had the greatest right to claim the justice and favour of the royal government, because they alone had not wandered from the righteous path. And starting with this position, he represented the forfeiture and sale of their property, not as the justifiable acts of a legislative body, but as revolutionary outrages and robberies which the nation ought to hasten to make good.

The Chamber of Deputies passed their censure upon the inflammatory doctrines and language of the royalist orator, and expunged the word "restitution" from the law. It had not been inserted without design, for "restitution" supposes a previous robbery, and the emigrants had not been robbed of the property: it had been confiscated by virtue of a law sanctioned by the King; and which law was only a new application of the system of confiscation created and followed up by the King's predecessors.

Without travelling into more remote periods, we may ask if it was not with the spoils of the victims who had been sacrificed to the murderous policy of Richelieu, and the religious intolerance of Louis XIV., that the first families had been enriched? And who can tell whether the lands which the emigrants reclaimed with so much pride and bitterness, were not the same which their ancestors had received without a blush from the bloody hands of Richelieu and Louis?

It must be confessed that the unalterable fidelity of a certain number amongst the emigrants bound the royal government to reward their fidelity and to alleviate their misfortunes. But all had not an equal right to the affection and gratitude of the King. If some had generously sacrificed their fortunes and their country in the cause of royalty, yet others only fled from France because they wished to escape their creditors[11], and thought that in strange countries they might find dupes to feed upon, and thus exist upon swindling resources to which they could no longer resort with impunity at home.

It was therefore necessary to separate the first class of emigrants from the last; and after establishing this distinction, the government should have made a fair appeal to the justice and generosity of the nation. Frenchmen, who yield so readily to every dignified sentiment, would not have allowed the faithful and virtuous servants of their King to languish in poverty. We may appeal to the universal assent which was given to the proposal[12] made by the marshal duke of Tarentum, that ten millions of francs should be annually appropriated for the indemnification of the emigrants who had been deprived of their property, and of the soldiers who had lost their "dotations."

But the government party should not have attempted to assist the emigrants by resorting to means offensive to the nation, and derogatory to the charter. And, above all, they should not have puffed up the emigrants with proud and silly hopes. If they had been left to themselves, they would have fallen in with the purchasers of their property, they would have treated for an amicable settlement of their claims, and they would have regained possession of their hereditary estates without jarring and without scandal.

The partiality which was shown towards the emigrants on all occasions produced another evil of still greater extent. It contributed, even more than the efforts of disaffection, in persuading the peasantry that the government wished to chain them again to the soil, and to render them once more the tributaries both of the nobility and of the priesthood.

The revolution has taught the countryman to know that he is somebody in the state. After the revolution the peasants became rich, and they were delivered from the double vassalage of former days, when they crouched before the priest and the lord: therefore they could not think of any alteration without horror. Day after day they heard or they read (in France every body reads now,) that the government intended to restore the "ancien régime." And the restoration of the "ancien régime" was interpreted by them, as well as by many others, to mean the restoration of tithes, vassalage, and feudal rights. They were confirmed in their dangerous and disquieting opinion by the outrageous claims of the emigrants, and the declamations of the priests. It was to no purpose that the government tried to re-assure them. They had been already deceived and it seldom happens that you can catch a French peasant twice in the same snare. The abolition of the conscription had been promised, and the old code was continued in force with all its harshness, and still the refractory conscripts were sent away in chains, whilst fines were imposed upon their families. The abolition of the "droits réunis" had also been promised, and they were not only levied with greater rigour and harshness than before, but even some of these imposts had been greatly increased.

Such was the fatality which influenced all the actions of the government, that all proceedings which in themselves were simple and reasonable, became venomous and corrupted when conducted by the ministry, and only added to the general disorder and discontent, instead of producing the good effects which they might have been justly expected to produce.

The discontent of the people, the inevitable result of the injuries inflicted on the feelings and interests of individuals[13], was increased by the open infringement of the rights of the people, although these rights were secured to the country by a compact which seemed to be inviolable.

Liberty of conscience had been promised by the charter, and this liberty was immediately annihilated. An ordonnance was issued by the police[14], which revived regulations enacted in an age of intolerance, for enforcing the strict and universal observance of the Lord's day, and the festivals of the church. Napoleon, anxious to preserve a strict neutrality between the catholics and the protestants, prohibited the religious processions of the former in all towns containing places of worship belonging to the latter communion. His prohibition was removed, and the catholic priesthood exulted in their processions, in which they marched in triumph. They ought to have tranquillized the apprehensions of their opponents, and to have edified the faithful by humility, or at least by feigning humility; but they disdained to conciliate the public, whom they scandalized by their pride and irritated by their violence[15].

The imagination of the priests became fired by the victory which they supposed they had gained. They dreamt that they were in full possession of their ancient power; and they wished immediately to revive it according to their ancient fashion. An actress belonging to the Theatre Français died without being absolved, and without suspecting that it was necessary to be absolved, from the excommunication which had been formerly fulminated against stage players; and which, as every body knows, deprived Moliere of Christian burial.

Following the same precedents, the clergy would not allow the rites of sepulture to the actress in question. The populace, who followed the funeral out of curiosity, learnt the affront which was thus offered to her remains. Transported by sudden indignation, they rushed to the hearse, and dragged it onwards. The doors of the interdicted church were burst open in a moment. They called for a priest; no priest appeared. The tumult augmented. The church and the neighbouring streets resounded with the groans and threats of ten thousand persons. Their agitation became more violent, and there was no possibility of foreseeing where the effervescence of popular feeling would stop, when a messenger arrived from the court, who ordered, in the name of the King, that the funeral should proceed.

The accounts of this event, and the comments to which it gave rise, excited the most lively interest in Paris and throughout France: nor did it fail to give the greatest pleasure to the enemies of religion. The friends of public decency and good order accused the government of encouraging the alarming progress of sacerdotal despotism. It was particularly in the smaller towns, and in the country, that the priests behaved with the most blamable audacity, abusing the privilege of speech which had been restored to them[16]. The pulpit became a tribunal from whence they pronounced sentence of present infamy, with the reversion of eternal damnation, upon all who refused to participate in their opinions and bigotry. Making common cause with the emigrants, they employed hints, inuendoes, insinuations, arguments, promises, and threats of every species, for the purpose of compelling the owners of the national property to yield up their lands, and of leading the wretched peasantry again beneath the tyrant yokes of feudality and superstition.

During the revolution, the priesthood had betrayed its real character. Contempt had fallen on the clergy, and it was out of the power of the government to invest them suddenly with the salutary influence which they had lost. This influence ought to be gained by wise and prudent conduct, by active and impartial benevolence, by the practice of sacerdotal virtues. It cannot be gained by ordonnances of police, by abuse, by violence, by mumming processions, which, in our times, are out of character and ridiculous.

By the charter the liberty of the press had been guarantied as well as the liberty of public worship; yet every day innumerable publications were seized or suppressed contrary to the laws. M. Durbach, a deputy who never equivocated with his conscience or yielded to danger, complained on this subject in the chamber: the opinion of the house went along with him; and the government, pretending to yield to the feeling of the deputies, presented a bill to the chambers through the medium of M. de Montesquiou, which, instead of delivering the press from its slavery, gave full establishment to the censorship, and legalized the tyranny which had been exercised over the press by mere force under the former government.

Benjamin Constant attacked the bill with vigour: the same side was taken by the public journals, and by all public writers; but there was no possibility of putting M. de Montesquiou out of countenance. It was demonstrated to him that his law would wholly destroy the liberty of the press. By holding the charter before his eyes, the advocates of public rights proved that the charter only declared that the licence of the press was to be restrained, and that his bill was therefore radically unconstitutional, because the preliminary censorship was not intended to restrain abuses, but to prevent their taking place. Montesquiou answered gravely, that the persons with whom such objections originated did not understand French; that the words "prévenir" and "réprimer" were perfectly synonymous: and that the bill, instead of being offensive or unconstitutional, contained a most complete and a most liberal development of the clause in the charter.

This unparalleled endeavour of Montesquiou, who persuaded himself that he could convince an assembly of Frenchmen that they did not understand their own language, was justly considered by the chamber as a matchless specimen of impudence and folly. Lexicographical subtleties were employed with bitter mockery for the purpose of destroying a public right, consecrated by the constitutional compact. Never had insolence and bad faith been displayed so prominently: Raynouard, the reporter of the committee, exclaimed in the language of grief and indignation, "Minister of our King, confess, at least, that your law is contrary to the constitution, since you cannot refute the evidence adduced against it: your obstinacy in contesting such an indisputable truth would not then inspire us with such just alarms."

The law was ultimately adopted by both chambers; ministerial influence triumphed over reason, and rased the most important bulwark of the rights guarantied to the nation. The result of the conflict produced the most lively sensation. No man who was capable of forethought and reasoning could remain undisturbed. Notwithstanding the patriotism of Dupont (of the department of the Eure), of Raynouard, of Durbach, of Bedoch, of Flaugergues, it was seen too clearly that the chamber of deputies could not oppose any effectual obstacle to the despotic and anti-constitutional plans of the government; and that the ministers would have full power, whenever they thought proper, to interpret the clauses of the charter according to their own way, and to rob the French nation of the few rights which it yet might promise to them. "By means of such interpretations," the people said, "the senate sacrificed the independence of the nation to Napoleon. But at least the imperial despotism assumed a character by which it was justified and ennobled. It tended to render our nation the greatest nation in the world; but the despotism which awaits us has no other accompaniment but bad faith, and no other end except the degradation and slavery of France."

By such reflections, the suspicion and disgust and aversion inspired by the government, were excited to the utmost pitch. The public feeling did not stop there: the French people are naturally inconstant in their opinions and sentiments; and their former prejudices against Napoleon were changed into transports of admiration. France, under the royal government, was humiliated, disorganized, and degenerate; and they contrasted the present state of the country with the influence, the strength, the compactness, which it enjoyed under the reign of Napoleon; and He, who had lately been cursed as the root of all evil, now appeared to be the greatest of men, and the greatest of heroes, though in misfortune.

The government knew that Napoleon was again admired by the people, and that they regretted his loss. To counteract these sentiments, coarse and vulgar caricatures were exposed to the eyes of the populace; and his person and his character became the theme of false and scandalous libels published under the direction of the ministry. No effect was produced. The mob looked at the caricatures with a smile of contempt; and the actions of Napoleon, which, under his reign, excited the greatest censure and disapprobation, now found the most zealous apologists and defenders.

If Napoleon was accused of having overthrown the republican government, and enslaved the country by the revolution of the 18th Brumaire, they answered[17]:—"At that era, anarchy, emboldened by the misfortunes of the country, could only be repressed by victory. Civil war had been organized in twenty departments; insurrections had taken place in many, rapine infected them all; robbery and murder took place with impunity on many of the principal high roads. Two dreadful laws, the law of the hostages, and that of the forced loans, occasioned greater evils than they could cure. No nation had ever existed in which the finances of the state were in equal confusion; and a succession of partial bankruptcies prolonged the opprobrium of the general bankruptcy of the country. The money of the public was robbed whilst in transit on the high roads. Robbers even carried it off from the houses of the receivers, and the deficiency could not be made good by the most violent exactions. The jacobins were on the point of recommencing their reign of terror. The royalists had recourse without scruple to all the measures which might enable them to satiate their revenge; and the peaceable friends of the law were placed between the conflicting parties in a state of disgraceful weakness and neutrality. Such was the desperate situation of France when Napoleon seized the helm of the state. Instead of imputing the slavery of the country to him, he ought to have been blessed; for he delivered us from the spoliations, the murders, and the tyranny which were consequent upon the reign of anarchy and terror."

Was it maintained that Napoleon had reigned despotically? They held that this accusation was unjust; and they had recourse to the following reasoning. "Anarchy was silenced by Napoleon." It became necessary, that order should take the place of disorder; that the authority of one should be substituted for the authority of all. Parties were to be restrained within the bound of moderation; traitors were to be annihilated. It was necessary to curb the prejudices of the nobility, and the revolutionary habits and manners of the jacobins. This great work could not be accomplished, without engaging in a conflict against individual interests and opinions. Napoleon was considered as a despot; this was inevitable. Whenever the existing polity of a state has been totally subverted, he who first raises the edifice of society from its ruins, is necessarily accused of despotism, because apparently he has no other rule except his own will. Nor must we forget that Napoleon had been accustomed to command implicit obedience in the camp. He retained his military attitude on the throne. He usually addressed his courtiers, his connexions, and his ministers, in the tone which he had formerly adopted when speaking to his soldiers or their generals[18]. An appearance of despotism was certainly given to his way of reigning and commanding, by such language which is seldom heard in civil society. And in almost all cases, appearance is taken for reality.

At first the imperious tone adopted by Napoleon was blamed, next it was admired. He soon employed it in his intercourse with foreign ambassadors, with foreign sovereigns. The wily forms of ancient diplomacy were discarded. Napoleon did not negociate; he issued his orders. With one hand he brandished his victorious sword; in the other he held crowns and sceptres. He bade the sovereigns of Europe make their choice; he offered his friendship or his hatred, kingdoms or blows. The monarchs who stood before his throne were taught wisdom by experience. They knew that Napoleon could reward and punish; they crowded into the ranks of his allies; and they consoled themselves for their weakness, by crying out upon his tyranny[19].

When these causes were united, they aided in persuading the world that Napoleon was really a despot. For, as Montesquieu observes, there are some things which we believe at last, merely because we hear them continually repeated. But if the government of Napoleon is considered impartially, we shall feel convinced, that the despotism attributed to him existed rather in words and forms, than in deeds. Let the acts of his reign be scrutinized, and none will be found impressed with the character of real despotism; that is to say, of despotism founded on the mere arbitrary will and pleasure of the prince. On the contrary, they all prove that the interest and aggrandizement of France entered alone into the views of Napoleon, and that instead of being under a tyrannical government, the people never enjoyed the benefits of distributive justice with greater equality, and were never protected more completely against the oppressions of public functionaries, and of the higher ranks. He may, perhaps, be censured for having violated certain laws, for violations in which the senate and the representatives of the people were his accomplices. But laws are only binding upon sovereigns in the ordinary course of things, and the most rigid writers on the law of nations acknowledge this principle. When extraordinary and unforeseen circumstances take place, it is the duty of the sovereign to be above the law. In order to judge fairly of the actions of a monarch, we must not consider them separately. Many an action which, if taken singly, appears unjustifiable or hateful, loses that character when viewed as one of the series of events from which it arose, as a connecting link in the political chain of which it forms a part. Neither should the conduct of a sovereign be judged according to the principles of natural equity. In the estimation of those, upon whom the task of ruling nations has devolved, necessity and the public safety ought to know no law. Every apprehension of injuring private interest vanishes, and must ever vanish, before state considerations.

"After all," continued they, "the real point at issue is, not whether the government of Napoleon was more or less despotic; but whether it was such as was required by the character of his people and of his times,—such as it needed to be, in order that France might become tranquil, happy, and powerful." Now it is impossible to deny but that, during the reign of Napoleon, the interior of France enjoyed an unruffled calm, and that the ascendancy of his genius bestowed upon the country a degree of power and prosperity, which it never attained before, and which probably it will never possess again.

Was the emperor taxed with boundless ambition? Were the calamities of Spain and Russia laid to his charge?—his indefatigable apologists found a ready answer.—The Spanish war, instead of being an unjust aggression, was an enterprise guided by the soundest political talent. It had been provoked by the wavering treachery of that allied government, which, in spite of its engagements, was secretly negociating with the English; and which, yielding to their instigations, had endeavoured to take advantage of our difficulties and of the absence of our armies, in order to invade our territory, and to become a sharer in the plots of our enemies.

The detention of Ferdinand ceased to be an odious breach of faith. It resulted necessarily from his duplicity, his parricidal projects, and his English connexions. The nomination of Joseph as King of Spain and the Indies, had been universally attributed to the excessive vanity of Napoleon, who, as it was supposed, was determined to drop a crown upon the head of every member of the imperial family. But now opinion changed. King Joseph's promotion was felt to have been caused by the necessity of placing Spain for ever out of the reach of English influence. Had not Napoleon allowed the Cortes of Spain to elect their monarch of their own uncontrolled authority? Had he not said to them in public, "Dispose of the throne. Little do I care whether the king of Spain is called Ferdinand, or whether he is called Joseph; let him only be the ally of France, and the enemy of England[20]?"

It was still more easy to justify the Russian war. A Quixotic love of the marvellous was no longer supposed to be the passion which excited it. In making war against Russia, he was actuated by the desire of avenging the injuries which that power had occasioned to France, at the moment when the Russian government again opened its ports to the English, thus snatching from the nation the reward of the sacrifices which we had made for the establishment and consolidation of the continental blockade,—of that universal barrier which made England and her thousand vessels tremble!

The invasion of Germany was no longer the effect of Napoleon's insatiate thirst of power and glory[21]. It was seen, that there was no other sure method, by which the English, the irreconcilable enemies of France, could be deprived of their fatal continental influence, by which they could be compelled to abandon the empire of the seas. In short, Napoleon was only inflicting a salutary and equitable punishment, deserved by those sovereigns of all sizes. After having implored or obtained the alliance of Napoleon, and after having ratified the bond by engagements and promises upon which he generously relied, they compelled him to take up arms, in order to prevent them from receiving the agents of England into their cabinets, and her merchandizes into their ports.

Thus the partisans of Napoleon invented arguments by which they palliated his faults and justified his errors. No objection, no reproach was left without its answer. After defending him against his accusers they became his advocates; and, turning to the fairer pages of his history, their praises knew no bounds; these eulogiums were certainly more just, and, perhaps, more sincere.

"Napoleon," said they, "had all the great qualities of the greatest monarchs, whilst he was exempted from their vices. Napoleon was not stained by the lechery of Cæsar, nor by the drunkenness of Alexander, nor by the cruelty of Charlemagne."

At an age when others scarcely start in life, his years were outnumbered by his victories; and the kings of Europe, conquered by his sword or subjugated by his genius, cowered before the imperial eagle.

In France, when aggrandized by the conquests of Napoleon, the empire of ancient Rome was re-produced before the astonished world. The French name, tarnished by the crimes of the revolution, regained its ancient honour and its mastery. The nation was feared, admired, and respected by the entire universe.

Philosophy graced Napoleon no less than warlike prowess. After he had covered the nation with glory by his victories, he was willing to insure our welfare by his laws. He bestowed upon us that immortal code of jurisprudence which invested him with the title of the legislator of France, a title to which our former kings had aspired in vain. He organised that admirable system of finance and administration, which their subjects, groaning under misrule, implored but without effect.

Still he had not accomplished enough to satisfy his noble and beneficent ardour. Arts, sciences, and industry were to flourish in our country. The munificent aids[22] which were granted by Napoleon, created the thousands and thousands of manufactories from whence proceeded those finished works of skill and labour which became the pride of the French, and the despair and ruin of foreign nations. The sons of Apollo[23], on whom he lavished his gifts and favours, seized the crayon, the compass, and the chisel. Paris became a second Athens, when adorned by the wonders of art to which his munificence gave birth. We then saw the venerable Louvre rise, as by enchantment, from its deserted ruins; the palaces of our Kings became more gorgeous; the temples of the arts were enriched by productions which rivalled the relics of antiquity; our native land brought forth those establishments so proudly useful to the public, and those monuments destined to transmit the recollections of our fame and glory to the most distant posterity.

At the same moment his sovereign will guided the hands which curbed the waves of the ocean, and caused them to roll over a new abyss. He directed those labours which substituted wide harbours, superb dock-yards, and fertilizing canals, in the place of desert shores and pestilential marshes, restoring commerce and existence to the innumerable inhabitants of the sea coast, and of the banks of the Scheld and the Somme. At the same moment his voice created those Roman highways, branching through all parts of France, and Germany, and Italy, equally useful and majestic, and which afforded to the inhabitants of those countries means equally speedy and secure of communicating with each other, and of exchanging the products of their industry: and never will the friend or even the enemy of Napoleon cross the summits of the Alps, or ascend their craggy sides, without venerating the magnanimous sovereign, who, anxious to guide the steps and protect the life of the traveller, has enclosed the precipice, chained the torrent, and linked the great mountains of the earth, which during so many ages have braved the might of man and time. When future ages shall gather up in memory the glorious and transcendent deeds of Napoleon; when they shall number the blessings which he dispensed, and the victories which he gained, never will they believe that one man can have worked such miracles in so short a period. They will rather fancy that the historian was playing with the credulity of posterity, that he culled out all the great deeds performed by successive generations of the greatest men during an infinite series of ages, and that he has attributed them all to his ideal hero.

The soldiers who had bled beneath the banners of Napoleon would not listen in silence to the praises which others bestowed upon his name. His foreign conquests, which even they had lately considered as the causes of our misfortunes, became again the sources of inexhaustible admiration.

They recollected that Napoleon had ruled as the master of Madrid, of Lisbon, of Munich, of Warsaw, of Hamburgh, of Berlin, of Vienna, of Milan, of Amsterdam, of Rome, of Moscow, of Cairo.

Some recalled the memory of the day of Lodi. They saw him standing on the bridge re-animating his dispirited followers, defying danger and death whilst he waved the national flag, and drove the enemy from their entrenchments, and blasted their glory. Others pointed him out whilst crossing the perpetual snows and yawning chasms of Mount St. Bernard, and then victorious on the plains of Marengo, where he won that battle which insured the peace and glory of the country.

Austerlitz had its chroniclers, who described Napoleon as he fell with the rapidity and violence of the thunderbolt on the battalions of the Austrian and the Russian, and when he afforded to those trembling monarchs an example of magnanimity which they knew not how to imitate when generosity became their duty. Nor did his enthusiastic advocates omit the field of Jena, where his victorious ensigns chased the flying troops of Frederic, who, deceived by their recollections, yet held themselves to be the paragons of military worth. They retraced his paths amidst the burning sands of Egypt, amidst the icy wastes of Muscovy; and in either region Napoleon supported fire and frost without ostentation, and taught resignation and endurance to his soldiers by his unshaken constancy.

More recent and more painful victories contributed equally to endear him. They saw Napoleon in Champagne, when his veteran army scarcely equalled one of the numerous divisions of the enemy. At the head of his scanty troops he watched, and avoided, and surprised the Austrians, the Russians, and the Prussians: wounding them on all sides by his victorious weapons, and with such promptitude, that he seemed to have bestowed wings upon iron and death. They placed him at Arcis sur Aube, advancing before his squadrons, and rushing forward to meet the balls and bullets of the enemy; for he sought to sacrifice on the field of battle that life, which he foresaw he could no longer dedicate on the throne, to the glory and prosperity of the nation.

In short, generals, officers, and soldiers, all vied with each other in calling to mind the marches, the sieges, the conflicts, the attacks, the days, which had immortalized their general[24]; and is there a heart amongst us which does not beat higher at these recollections?

The sentiments thus awakening in favour of Napoleon were cherished by his friends, and by all those who, wearied of the Bourbons or discontented with their government, now wished for his return. His name, which lately we had scarcely dared to utter, was now in every mouth, his image in every mind. The nation began to regret the Emperor, then they longed for him; and every one was impressed by a secret presentiment that these expectations would soon be realized.

Whilst this formidable revulsion of opinion was increasing and appearing throughout the kingdom, it was scarcely heeded by the ministry, the court, and the emigrants, who reposed with complacent security on the volcano which they had kindled, and without entertaining the slightest apprehension of the approaching explosion.

"If they wish to go out of the kingdom," said M. de Chateaubriand, when alluding to the partisans of the Emperor, "if they wish to return again, to receive or despatch letters, to send expresses, to make proposals, to circulate false intelligence, and even to distribute bribes, to assemble in secret or in public, to menace, to disseminate libels, in short, to conspire against the government,—they are at liberty to do their worst. The royal government, which began but eight months ago, now rests upon so sure a basis, that, were it now to be obstinate in repeating folly after folly, it would hold good in spite of all its errors."

This infatuation, however, soon diminished. Without understanding the full extent of the evil, the government ascertained that the army and the nation were agitated and discontented, and they deliberated on the methods which it would be proper to employ, not for the purpose of conciliation, but for enforcing silence.

Acquainted with the uneasiness of the government, certain frantic Chouans gave out that it was full time to despatch the Bonapartists. One chieftain, celebrated in the annals of La Vendée, was even so audacious as to declare to general Ex..... that he only waited for the arrival of his faithful Vendeans, and then he would fall upon the Jacobins.

The news of this massacre soon reached the ears of the intended victims. Some quitted Paris, others armed themselves, and prepared to sell their lives as dearly as they could. It is said that the government became acquainted with the bloody conspiracy of the Chouans, and that they relieved France and the world from the spectacle of another St. Bartholomew's day.

This intended massacre (I have never been able to believe in it,) persuaded the revolutionists that they could expect neither respite nor mercy from the royalists, and that one of the two parties would be compelled to destroy the other. The soldiers of Napoleon began to unite, and to make themselves ready. The ministers were anxious to disperse these assemblages, which gave them uneasiness; orders were issued, by which all officers, whether of the staff or regimental, were prohibited from residing at Paris without permission; and all who were not Parisians by birth were ordered to return to their native provinces. This measure increased the exasperation of the military, and it did not diminish the danger. The reduced officers, instead of conforming to the order, encouraged each other in disobedience. According to the regulations of the war department, their contumacious residence at Paris would subject them to the loss of their half-pay; and many of them, though in poverty, preferred independence to submission. The ministers were irritated by this resistance, and they determined to make an example. It happened that a letter of congratulation which General Excelmans addressed to his former sovereign, the king of Naples, was intercepted. This opportunity was gladly seized by the new Minister at war[25]. He put the General on the half-pay list, and ordered him to retire immediately, and until further orders, to the distance of sixty leagues from Paris. Excelmans maintained that the Minister at war had no right to remove an officer, not being in active service, from his domicile; and he would not go: upon this he was immediately taken into custody. It was pretended that he had been guilty of a traitorous intercourse with the enemies of the King, and that he was also guilty of disobedience to his Majesty's orders. The government expected that this blow would produce the best possible effect; but it recoiled against them: Excelmans was known to all France; he was valued as one of her bravest and most estimable children. The spite and hatred of the ministers had loaded him with accusations; but his alleged treasons, far from depriving him of public esteem and public affection, only endeared him to his companions in arms, and to the nation at large.

Excelmans was brought to trial, and the court acquitted him[26]. The council of war, by sanctioning the disobedience of the General, declared that the government did not possess that authority over reduced officers which they had assumed; and from this moment the government was ruined. The decision by which the half-pay military were enfranchised, and which left them at liberty to brave the commands of the government, was a shock which beat the royal authority to the ground.

Here I shall stop. It would be of no further use to lengthen the history and the investigation of the absurd tyranny of the government. If we trace the progress of the principles successively enounced by the ministry, and the actions of which they were the authors, we shall see that they had formed and executed the project of re-establishing the old monarchy, and of overturning the constitutional government either by artifice or by main force. The royal charter was spurned by them, and they trampled without scruple on the civil and political rights which it consecrated. Every guarantee given to the army, the magistracy, the public functionaries, or the nation, was forgotten, attacked, or violated. Our national glory was insulted; public feeling was wounded. The manners and customs and opinions of the new era were all treated with harshness: all ranks and classes of citizens experienced those vexations which filled them with discontent. By injustice and bad faith the government deprived the King of our confidence and love, and caused the restoration of the Emperor to become the hope of the nation. In spite of the obstacles experienced by the ministry, in spite of the affronts to which they had been subjected, in spite of the retrograde steps which they had been compelled to take, they still clung to the baneful system which they had fostered; and, bigoted to these plans, they continued to persevere in those errors which recalled Napoleon from his exile, just as Napoleon persevered in the errors which recalled the Bourbons back from theirs.

But whilst the storm was gathering in France, how was Napoleon employed? Ambition had taken flight, and he was seen to prefer a life of unostentatious retirement to all his former grandeurs. Repose had greater charms for him than the noble turmoil of war; and his genius, no longer teeming with meditation, yielded to the pleasures of retirement. The study of botany, the cares of his household, the plantations which he had made, and those which he was still planning, beguiled his hours[27]; and, like the Roman Diocletian, he might have said to those who suspected that he longed in secret after the throne, "Come and see me in my retirement: I will show you the gardens which I have planted, and you will talk no more to me about the empire."

Napoleon, during the early part of his retirement in Elba, felt only a vague desire of reigning. Grieved by the miseries of France, the country which he loved so truly, wearied by the vicissitudes of fortune, disgusted with mankind, he feared that, if he attempted to seize the sceptre again, he should involve France and himself in new troubles; and, without abandoning his expectation of re-ascending the throne, he resolved to allow his resolutions to be guided by futurity.

The turn taken by public affairs soon roused the Emperor from this state of indifference and hesitation. At first he hoped, and I have heard him say so, that the Bourbons, instructed by adversity, would confer liberty and happiness upon the nation. But when he witnessed the power which was bestowed upon the priesthood, the emigrants, and the courtiers, he foresaw that the very same causes which had produced the first revolution, would soon occasion a second. From that period he watched the continent; nor did he lose sight, even for a moment, of the congress, or of France, or of the Bourbons. He could tell the talents[28], the principles, the vices, and the virtues of all those who had acquired the confidence of Louis XVIII, either by intrusion or by favour. He could measure the degrees of influence which each was capable of acquiring and exercising, and he calculated beforehand on the errors which they would inevitably induce his docile successor to commit.

Napoleon now employed himself again in reading the public journals of France and of foreign countries; he read assiduously all periodical works of a political tendency; he studied these productions; he investigated them with acuteness, and he could well divine the meaning of a writer who was compelled to be silent, and conjecture the nature of intelligence which an editor was forced to suppress.

Strangers of distinction, and particularly the English, were received by Napoleon with affability and kindness, and he used to talk freely with his visitors on public affairs. He knew how to draw them out, and to lead them to expatiate on points which he wished to penetrate; and he seldom failed to obtain much useful information from those interviews. By these simple methods Napoleon obtained a correct idea of the events which were taking place on the continent; he was too well acquainted with revolutions not to be sensible that the sway of events would open the gates of France, and admit him; and he was too wary to enter into a private correspondence with his partisans, when any accident might have revealed his secret wishes, and have afforded a pretext to his enemies for attacking his independence and his liberty.

Napoleon thus waited in silence till the fated time of his re-appearance in France should arrive, when a French Officer[29], disguised as a sailor, disembarked at Porto Ferrajo.

Some few days before this Officer set out to join the army in the year 1815, he gave over to me the manuscript narrative of his voyage to the Isle of Elba. "To you," added he, "I deliver my history, which is also that of the revolution of the 20th of March. As the Emperor, when regaining his throne, did not think fit to speak of me, I was therefore bound to be silent; but I am as eager to live in the memory of after-ages as he can possibly be[30]. It is my wish that posterity may learn, that I too shared in the glorious enterprise of subverting the Bourbon government, and of bringing back the Emperor. My mind misgives me. I have a presentiment that I shall die in this campaign. Keep my manuscript, and promise to publish it when the time shall arrive." I gave my word accordingly; and the forebodings of my friend were realised, for he was killed at Waterloo.

I now fulfil my promise. I have not dared to make any alterations in the narrative: if I had, I should have felt that I was betraying the wishes of my friend. But I have suppressed the names of the parties concerned, and I have expunged some passages, in which the Bourbon family were treated with disrespect.

HISTORY OF THE REVOLUTION OF THE 20th OF MARCH.

When Napoleon resigned his crown, I broke my sword. I swore that I never more would use it in the service of France, or of the new Sovereign of the nation. But the generous farewell of the Emperor could not fail to affect me; and, conquered by the irresistible influence which the love of glory and of our native land exercises upon a French soldier, I soon awoke to more praiseworthy and more tempered feelings. My recollections faded, my regrets were softened, and I aspired most sincerely to the honour of being again useful to my country, and to my country's King.

At first the character which I had earned, procured for me the most gratifying reception. Dazzling prospects were held out to me. I believed that I was treated with sincerity. This error was of short duration. Deceived and baffled, I now understood that they were cheating the army and myself. They affected to honour us in the aggregate, because they were afraid of us; and they insulted us individually, in conformity to their systematic hated. My character was too proud to allow me to bear with the insults and the contempt which they wished to pour out upon me. I resigned my commission. France and her government sickened me; but my military enthusiasm had not abated. I thought that I should be recollected by the Emperor, who had distinguished me in the field of battle; and that he would deign to grant that boon which was dearest to my heart; that he would allow me to live and die in his service. I therefore made up my mind to visit the isle of Elba.

Just, however, as I was on the point of departing, I was stopped by a sudden thought. Abandoned, betrayed, and denied, by men whom he has heaped with rewards and honours, will the Emperor really believe that I am really attached to him? Perhaps he will even suspect that I am a spy, and that the Bourbons have sent me to watch his words and actions. I was still in relation with those persons who had formerly enjoyed the confidence of the Emperor. Since the restoration, their conduct had been marked by frankness and honesty. Their feelings led them to be faithful to the person of Napoleon; their patriotism and their principles led them to be devoted to his cause; and they had not sought to conceal either their fidelity or their devotion. Many efforts had been made to gain them over to the royal party, but they had continued immoveable. I therefore thought, that whatever recommendation I could obtain from any one of the persons in question, would protect me from the suspicions of the Emperor; and to them I therefore confided my plans and the causes of my uneasiness, without hesitation or reserve.

The first, and the second, to whom I thus applied, severally assured me that they took the most lively interest in the undertaking, and they betrayed the most tender anxiety for its result. They desired me to express to the Emperor the grief which his loss had occasioned to them, and their hopes of seeing him once more; but both were afraid to compromise themselves by writing to him, and I quitted them without having obtained my wishes. Then I proceeded to the third, whom I shall call Monsieur X. We had known each other in those eventful periods when men are put to the test, and he had kindly formed and retained a favourable opinion of my character and courage. I unveiled my projects and my fears. "Your fears," answered he, "are well founded. The Emperor will distrust you, and probably he will not allow you to continue with him. My recommendation would, without doubt, be of great utility to you, but I cannot give it without danger. Not that I should be in danger, for my affection towards the Emperor is well known to all the world, but we might put the Emperor himself in jeopardy; for, if they were to take my letter from you, they might give it over to a spy, nay, even to an assassin."

This argument appeared conclusive to me, but I answered, "A lucky thought flashes across my mind. You have acted so long and so often in connexion with the Emperor, that surely you must be able to recollect some circumstances, some disclosures known only to yourselves, which, if I relate them to his Majesty, will prove to him that you trust me, and that I am worthy of his trust."—"Your idea is excellent; yet," added he, "I must either give you insignificant details, and then the Emperor will have forgotten them, or I must reveal important secrets to you, and I am forbidden by my duty to do so; yet I will turn the matter over in my mind. Call here again to-morrow morning."

I called again. "I have ransacked my memory," said M. X*** as he accosted me, "and here is the very thing which you want." He then delivered a note to me. "I had only considered your expedition to Elba," continued M. X***, "in relation to your own concerns; but it is of much greater importance than you imagine, or than I myself thought it would be. It may produce tremendous consequences. It is impossible that the Emperor can be indifferent to what is going on in France. If he was to put any questions to you on that head, how would you answer him? You must be fully aware how very dangerous it might be if you were to give him an erroneous idea of our political situation."—"Though I am a soldier by profession, yet I am not an utter novice in politics. I have often reflected on the present position of France. I really think that I understand enough of the matter to be able to satisfy the curiosity of Napoleon."—"I don't doubt it: but, come, what is your opinion of affairs?"

In answer to this interrogatory, I entered into an illustrative analysis of the faults of government, and of the consequences ensuing therefrom. Our conversation became warmer, and when, after having discussed the time present, we began to contemplate futurity, our thoughts were evolved with so much rapidity; we were carried so much further than we intended, that we ourselves were astonished, and we then both continued during a short interval in a kind of reverie. I was the first who broke silence. "Well," said I, "suppose the Emperor, after having questioned me, were to ask, Do you think the time of my re-appearance in France is arrived, what must I answer?"—"You will tell his Majesty that I could not dare to decide so important a question; but that he may consider it as a positive and incontestible fact that our present government (as you have well observed) has wholly lost the confidence of the people and of the army; that discontent has increased to the highest pitch; and that it is impossible to believe that the government can stand much longer against the universal dislike. You will add, that the Emperor is the only object of the regret and hope of the nation. He, in his wisdom, will decide what he ought to do."—"If he asks me whether this opinion is only yours, or whether Messrs. ******* all share in it, what shall I answer?"—"Tell him that since his abdication those persons have ceased to be in communication with each other, but that my opinion is conformable to the general opinion."—"I am now able to answer all the questions which the Emperor may ask. Adieu."

We embraced each other repeatedly, and we parted.

As soon as I had quitted M. X*** all that had passed between us filled my mind again. I now contemplated at leisure the mission which I was called upon to fulfil. I measured its extent, and weighed its consequences, and I could not help feeling astonished, and in some measure alarmed, by the result of this self-examination. So long as I merely intended to go to Elba for the sole purpose of offering my services to the Emperor, my journey appeared to be nothing out of the common course of things, and I thought that I should not have hesitated to declare to the government that I was going to rejoin my former benefactor, the Sovereign of my choice; but since the object of my journey had become so much more important; since, to use the words of M. X***, it might produce tremendous consequences, it seemed that the government would not fail to watch me; that it would dog me in my path, and endeavour to spy out all my words and actions.

Hence I became suspicious and uneasy. The note of M. X*** appeared an immense burthen. I got it by heart, and then I threw it in the fire. Instead of asking at once for a passport to Genoa or Leghorn, as I had at first intended, I asked for a passport to Milan. There was a General officer then residing in that city whom I knew; and I thought that if the Police were to question me, I might then declare that I was going to Milan in order to settle my accounts with my friend the General, he being in my debt for money which I had advanced to him.

Having thus settled my plan, I went on to the "prefecture de police." Whilst I was stepping across the threshold of the door, my heart began to beat so violently that I could hardly move or breathe. If at that instant any body had cried out to me, "Rascal, what are you about?" I think I should have dropped, and that I should have let out the whole secret. It must not be thought that my confusion arose from cowardly fear; no, it was the impression which every honest man ought to feel, when, for the first time in his life, he commits an action which he is under the necessity of concealing.

In a few minutes I came to myself again. In I went, and presented myself boldly to Monsieur Rivière, the Prefect of Police. He cross-questioned me at full length, but my answers were clear and firm. My countenance was unabashed, and appeared to preclude all suspicion, and he granted my passport. Yet, at all events, I thought it prudent to ascertain whether I was watched, and to my great surprise I found that during two days I was closely followed. I did not give any token by which my spy could ascertain that I was aware of his company, and, in order to mislead him, I went to the messageries, where I took and paid for a place in the Lyons diligence. But when night came I hired post-horses under a feigned name, and set off as fast as possible, and in a few days I was at Milan.

My friend the General was absent: I wrote to him, and he hastened to meet me. I confessed that I intended to try to obtain employment under Napoleon.—"You won't get it," said he; "Napoleon has not ready money enough to pay his body guard. A good many of my old officers have joined him, and for themselves and their families they only receive fifty, or perhaps sixty francs a month. They are in a state of starvation and despair."—"No matter; I love the Emperor, and come what may, I will join him. Do tell me how I can soonest put to sea."—"The thing is not easy; there is no place from whence you can sail, except only from Leghorn or from Genoa; and those two points are under such close inspection, that you will be sure to be taken up, if you are known to be a Bonapartist. You might slip through with greater ease if you could pass for a tradesman of this town. I will try to get you a passport, but I am afraid it will be a difficult job."—"Besides, there is another difficulty, which is still greater; ma foi! I can't speak a dozen words of Italian."—"Is it possible?"—"Yes, I am in earnest."—"And you would venture on such a scheme! are you crazy?"—"Crazy or not, I will venture; but can I really embark no where but at Leghorn or Genoa?"—"There are very many small ports on the coast of Tuscany, but if you go to any of them you must stop till there is an opportunity of getting out; and in the mean time you would be under the surveillance of the authorities, who are, one and all, exceedingly ill-disposed towards the Emperor and his people. Perhaps you might be able to embark immediately in the gulf of Spezzia at Lerici; but, in order to get there, you must go through Genoa, and along the shore; and then there is great reason to fear that you may be snapped either by the Piedmontese carabineers, or by the new consul at Genoa, who, according to what I hear, is quite outrageous. There is another road through the mountains of Spezzia, but it has not been used for a long time, and you would run the risk either of breaking your neck, or of being knocked on the head."—"No matter, if there is no danger in the victory there is no glory in the triumph. That road suits me; and to-morrow I will set out on my expedition."—"Is your passport all right?"—"I will go and get it marked for Lerici."—"Another piece of stupidity; don't you know that here you have to deal with our implacable enemies, the Austrians, who will raise all kinds of difficulties; but I know a Tedesco Colonel (in Italy an Austrian is called a Tedesco), who will probably be able to do the needful for us: we will ask him to come and dine with us. Business or quarrels can all be settled with these gentry when they are feeding."

Our Tedesco Colonel really got my passport through the office. I left my "calèche" and my baggage at Milan, and the next day I started in a "seggiola," a kind of a little cabriolet, in which you drive along at an infernal rate. I travelled through cross roads till I came to the foot of the mountains. As it was impossible to ascend them in a wheeled carriage, I was compelled, though reluctantly, to separate myself from my "conducteur." I bought two horses, one for myself, and the other for my new guide; this new guide could not speak a word of French. I had taken care to provide myself with a pocket dictionary, French and Italian; but I was completely ignorant, or at least very nearly so, of the way either of pronouncing Italian words, or of arranging them; and thus our conversation was reduced on both sides to a few detached phrases, which were often mutually unintelligible.

We set out at break of day. About noon the snow began to fall, and we had the greatest difficulty imaginable in reaching a hamlet, the name whereof I have forgotten. The next day the weather became still more wretched; my guide's horse foundered in the snow, and we lost two hours in hauling him out again. My guide was an Italian, and, like all Italians, he was full of superstition, and easily discouraged. He considered this accident as a bad omen, and he wanted to turn back; I could only conquer his repugnance by means of a double Napoleon d'or. Scarcely had I given it to him when I felt the extent of my imprudence; I was exciting his avarice, and perhaps exposing myself to become his victim. As we advanced, the road became worse and worse; at every step we encountered pits and holes, or the road was stopped by rocks which had fallen in, and which forced us to scramble through new paths. So much snow had fallen in the north of Italy, and particularly in the district which we were then crossing, that even the muleteers had deserted the mountains: and my guide, unable to discern the beaten road, was compelled to make a survey at every step, lest we should either lose ourselves, or else tumble down the precipices which bordered our road of danger. The next day we arrived at Borcetto; the perils which I had escaped taught me caution: I hired two more horses, and another guide; and for this addition to my train, I paid out of all reason. I then met with a custom-house officer, who either out of kindness, or for the purpose of alarming me, I know not which, warned me to be particularly on my guard in crossing "la Size," a very lofty and dangerous mountain, for he told me that it swarmed with robbers. I put fresh priming in my pistols; I turned up my eyes toward Heaven to implore its protection, and I set out. When we had proceeded half way up the mountain, I was accosted by a soldier, who compelled me to enter the guard-house, and to produce my passport. This post, which had been lately established for the security of travellers, was occupied by a subaltern and by six soldiers, who had all served in the imperial army. They guessed by my looks that I had seen some service, and, after a short conversation, they asked me to come in and warm myself by drinking the health of the Emperor Napoleon. I refused at first, lest I should be entrapped, but they insisted so frankly that I was compelled to yield. On taking leave I gave them a twenty-franc piece, in order to drink the health of Napoleon, and mine too; and I begged them to recommend my guides to take care of me. The commandant called the guides, and at the same time that he fired a volley of oaths and curses, he declared that if any accident happened to me, he would shoot them both on their return. My worthy military friends also escorted me during a considerable distance, and we separated with feelings which no one but a soldier can appreciate or understand.

We were to sleep at Pontremoli. Our halt retarded us, and night overtook us. In order to shorten the distance, my guides led me by a broad path which wound round the side of the mountain. The descent was so steep that our horses came down every moment, and we ourselves were obliged to slide along. I found myself at the foot of the mountain in a spot which was so dark and dreary, that I fancied my guides had conducted me thither in order to dispatch me. After having groped along for some time, my guides stopped. The darkness and the snow concealed the face of the country to such a degree, that they did not know where they were, nor which way they ought to turn: their fear became excessive; they prayed to all the Saints in heaven in their turn: they shook each other by the hand, and embraced each other like sailors on the point of being shipwrecked. My sang froid did not desert me; I took one of the horses which looked like an old roadster; I dropped the bridle on his neck, and gave him a sound cut with my whip; he started, I followed, and a few minutes afterwards, to the inexpressible surprise, and also to the inexpressible satisfaction of my guides, we found ourselves in the right road, and within half an hour's ride of Pontremoli, where we arrived towards midnight.

From Pontremoli to Spezzia there was yet a journey of four-and-twenty hours; and four-and-twenty hours on such roads as I had gone over are equal to four-and-twenty centuries. But how great was my delight on quitting Pontremoli, when, instead of the frozen rocks and deserts, which I had crossed the eve before, I saw nothing as I looked around, but valleys clothed with verdure, and enamelled with flowers; and hills surrounded and crowned by evergreens and olive-trees. On the day before, winter reigned with all his severity; the day after exhibited spring with all her charms. This pleasing transition beguiled my impatience; and the agitations which had become habitual to my soul were succeeded by that happy tranquillity, which is inspired by the contemplation of the beauties and the gifts of nature.

A few leagues beyond Pontremoli the road is interrupted by a deep and rapid stream. There is a ford across this torrent. It had scarcely been indicated to me by my guides, beyond whom I had advanced, when I dashed into the water; but instead of guiding my horse to the right (as I ought to have done), I took the opposite direction. My guides, who saw my mistake, screamed out in Italian, "fermate, fermate!" which means, "stop, stop!" I thought it meant "firm, firm!" so I whipped and spurred my horse with all my might; he lost his footing, and I narrowly escaped drowning. When I reached the opposite shore my guides treated me with a sermon, which I dare say was very energetic, and in which the "Devil and the Frenchman" appeared to be the leading actors.

I arrived on the **** at Lerici. I rejoiced when I saw the sea before me, when I saw the last obstacle which was interposed between the fulfilment of my hopes and the termination of my labours. But unhappily my joy was of short duration; in the course of the night I was attacked by an oppression on my chest, accompanied by a burning fever: this was the result of the cold bath which I had taken in the river. My mental sufferings were severe: I thought to myself, if I should be so unlucky as to get an inflammation on my lungs, what will become of me here without help, without friends, and in a strange land? Ah, my beloved country! ah, my dear mother! have I left you both, in order to perish in the arms of hirelings and of strangers! Have I only reached the long wished-for shores of Spezzia but to experience the grief of not being able to sail from them! Ah, if I could but have reached the Emperor, if I could but have spoken to him, if I could but have expired at his feet, then I should not have regretted life! My devoted attachment would have been known; my memory honoured; my name, linked to the destiny of the Emperor, would, perhaps, have descended with his unto posterity.... I sent for a doctor: by singular good fortune, the medical man who came to attend me was a retired army surgeon, a worthy man, and a great admirer of the French. When I was quite out of danger, he expressed a wish to know the motives which had induced me to cross the mountains to Lerici: and he gave me to understand that he guessed my views. A man who speaks is always liable to less suspicion than a man who says nothing; I therefore thought it right to allay the doctor's curiosity. After exhorting him to secrecy, and making a great mystery of the matter, I confessed that I was a Colonel in the French army, and that an officer who held a high rank in the service of Napoleon had married my sister. My sister, I proceeded to state, was so afflicted and broken down by the expatriation of her husband, that her medical attendants had declared her life to be in the greatest danger. My sister's illness, and the care of her four small children, prevented her from rejoining her husband; and therefore, in order to restore health and happiness to my poor dear sister, I had determined to go to Elba, for the purpose of reminding my brother-in-law of the duty which he owed to his wife and children, and that I hoped to be able to induce him to return to France, at least for a short time.

I took care to diversify my romance with sighs and sentimental reflections, and it appeared to affect him exceedingly. He condoled with me, he tried to console me; he gave me the most flattering hopes, and he promised to serve me to the utmost of his power, and with all his heart and soul.

As soon as I was in a state of convalescence, I became more ardent than before, in search of an immediate opportunity of embarking. My complaisant doctor introduced me to the captain of a running felucca, and I hired his vessel for a fortnight.

The captain asked me for my passport, in order that he might receive his "feuille de bord" and his "boletta" from the port officer. This was in consequence of regulations of which I was wholly ignorant. The fact is, that no vessel can clear out of one port, or enter another, without a "feuille de bord," stating the complement of the crew, and the number of passengers; and a "boletta," or certificate, delivered by the health officers to each of the passengers and crew individually, stating that the bearer has not been attacked by any infectious disorder. These papers are only delivered on the production of the passports, to which they must correspond exactly. I did not expect this proceeding; my plans were all disorganized: my passport did not authorize me to embark; and I was afraid if I produced it, (for in such situations we are afraid of every thing), that difficulties might arise, and that they would refer to the Consul or his agents.

The Captain guessed the cause of my uneasiness, and he offered to procure a passport and a boletta under a feigned name. I refused: I thought it more advisable to run the risk of being punished as a Bonapartist than as an impostor. "Since you will not do so," said the captain, "there is but one course which you can pursue: you must get on board a boat, and pass for a common sailor. I will manage the business for you."—Some hours afterwards the captain came to me with a Gallo-Genoese sailor, who offered to take me, without any papers, wherever I wished to go. He added, that he had a relation who was a gunner on board the Inconstant, a brig belonging to Napoleon, and that he should be very glad to see him again. I judged that my design of going to Elba had got wind: I therefore determined, if possible, to depart that very night. It was therefore agreed that Salviti, so the sailor was called, should fetch me, and that we should put out to sea, however bad the weather might prove.

Whilst these arrangements were going on my doctor paid me a visit. The doctor told me that the commandant of the town, whom he attended, was going to send a file of his carabineers to bring me before him in order to ascertain the reason of my arrival, and of my residence on the shores of the gulf. "I told him," continued the doctor, "that you are unwell, and that you are going to your family in Corsica, and that you intend to begin your voyage as soon as you are able to support the fatigue. I think I have made him easier, yet don't trust him: be off as quick as you can."—"I shall be off to-night; but as your commandant or his gensdarmes might take a fancy to lay hold of me between this and then, I therefore think it will be more prudent for me to go to him of my own accord, and to confirm the story which you have had the goodness to tell him." Accordingly I went immediately to the Commandant; and as the doctor had let me into the character of the man, I easily succeeded in pleasing and tranquillizing him. However, he made me promise that I would bring my passport to him to-morrow. I gave as many promises as he could wish. At midnight we set sail; and by break of day we had already lost sight of the gulf of Spezzia, and of the majestic scenery which surrounds it. The bark which carried me and all my fortunes was only a common boat with four oars and a lateen sail. The crew consisted of six men; Salviti could speak French, and he was a good-looking fellow: the countenances of the others displayed want and utter profligacy. They examined me with great curiosity, and they were constantly talking about me. Salviti interpreted their discourse. I gave them civil language. We even seek to please sailors when we are in need of their help[31]. I was sea-sick without intermission; and to complete my misfortunes I had omitted to furnish myself with provisions. I was therefore obliged to mess with my companions; and their food consisted of stinking salt fish, and chiefly of bacalao, or salt cod, which is eaten quite raw.

The wind was against us, therefore we did not come in sight of the lighthouse of Leghorn until the morning of the second day. How can I express my surprise and anger when I saw that our vessel was making the mouth of the harbour! "Salviti, where are you taking me?"—"To Leghorn."—"I won't go to Leghorn," I exclaimed with a great oath. "It is not to Leghorn that you promised to take me."—Salviti answered, with confusion, that he was not the owner of the vessel, but that he hired it in partnership with the rest of the crew, that they were all smugglers, and that they were going to Leghorn for the purpose of arranging an expedition of consequence with other smugglers there. Their business would be soon settled, and then they would take me to Porto Ferrajo; and he declared that he gave his word of honour that he would do so, and that I might trust him.—"I will not agree to all this," I exclaimed, presenting my pistols to his breast: "Let us go straight on to Elba, or I will shoot you."—"Shoot away, if you like, but you will not do yourself much good: my companions will heave you into the sea, or else you will be guillotined at Leghorn." The coolness of the fellow completely disarmed me. "Well, then," said I, "swear that you will take me to-morrow to the isle of Elba."—"I have told you already that I am a scoundrel if I break my word." The sailors did not understand a word of our dialogue, nor could they make out what was the cause of my fury. One of them, who had deserted from the English navy, seized a big knife in the shape of a stiletto. The others seemed to wait the result, in order to throw themselves upon me. When this scene had finished, I endeavoured to bribe Salviti to turn back, but no; he had given his word of honour to go to Leghorn, and his word of honour was inviolable. Thus I was conducted against my will into the trap which I wished to avoid. I was worked up to the highest pitch of fury and vexation; I foamed with rage and despair. Thus, thought I, wringing my hands, these ruffians will deprive me of the reward which I was to obtain for my sufferings. Alas! the Emperor, the Emperor! so near him—under his eyes—at the moment that—"Rascal!" I cried out to Salviti, "I will follow you like your shadow, and sooner than allow myself to be arrested, I will blow out your brains!"—Salviti shrugged up his shoulders, and answered, "Well and good; but, in the mean time, strip, and dress yourself like a sailor."—"Why?"—"Why! why, because you have no passport, and they will lock you up."—I submitted to this new tribulation. One of the wretches pulled off a heavy jacket with a hood attached to it, in which I arrayed myself. A coloured handkerchief, all drenched with sweat and filthiness, was taken from the neck of another of them, and tied round mine. A third gave me his woollen cap; and in spite of my unavoidable disgust, I was compelled to draw it on my head down to my eyes. My beard, by good luck, did not disgrace my unshaved messmates, and in order that the colour of my hands might not betray me, I washed them in the bilge-water which stagnated beneath the flooring of our boat. More remained to be done: our "feuille de bord" stated that our crew consisted of six men: we were seven. It therefore, became necessary to hide one[32]. We chose him who was the shortest, and the most slender. He nestled at the end of the boat, and we covered him with some old mats and sailors' jackets. These preparations being terminated, I was told to seat myself in the place of a rower, and to take an oar in my hand; and at night-fall we came into the road of Leghorn.

Salviti presented his papers. The date was too old[33]. The officers raised objections: he lost his temper; and by way, both of punishment and precaution, we were ordered to submit to the lesser quarantine, that is to say, to remain prisoners in the roads during three days.

Salviti came with a sorrowful visage and announced this fresh misfortune; our vessel tacked about, and we reached our station of exile.

On the morning of the third day Salviti informed me that, according to custom, they intended to put an "inspector of health" on board of our vessel, who would pass the night with us, in order to ascertain whether we were all well. From the person who had brought, or who, rather, had thrown us our provisions (for all contact is prohibited under pain of death), he had ascertained the name of our intended inspector. He was a gamester and a drunkard. Salviti procured cards and wine; and he assured me that he would manage the inspector in such a manner as to prevent his taking any notice of me.

As for me, I was not as easy as Salviti. I was afraid lest the inspector might discover the sailor whom we had hidden, or that he might guess by my manner, my looks, and my awkwardness, that I was not really the character which I seemed to be. Besides, a single question would have ended the matter. I did not understand a single word of Italian, and I should have betrayed myself either by answering him, or by remaining silent. It came into my head to counterfeit deafness: this would excuse me from taking a part in the conversation: and to make believe that I had a wound in my hand: this would account for my inactivity, and prevent his observing how little I knew of my pretended occupation. I drew a few drops of blood, which I smeared upon some dirty rags, in which I wrapped my hand. Salviti explained my stratagem to my companions, and their loud peals of laughter explained to me that they approved of it. The inspector arrived. I kept myself to myself. Salviti acted his part admirably. So did I: and to my great delight the evening closed, and nothing disagreeable had happened. Until this night I had always slept separately from the rest on a tolerable mattress. But the inspector was now accommodated with my birth and my bed; and I was compelled to lie on the floor with the sailors; my head being placed even with the feet of my two next neighbours. The stench and closeness of the atmosphere of my den drove the blood into my head, and I thought I should have been suffocated. Early in the morning my companions began to eat and drink: I kept at a distance. "Come here, and eat," said Salviti.—"I can't."—"The inspector will fancy that you are ill, and that will be enough to give us another quarantine."—I ate. At ten o'clock the health-officers came near us; and as our inspector made a favourable report, we were allowed to enter the harbour. I remained on board with one of the crew, whom I kept as a hostage. The smugglers broke up their cabinet council about two o'clock; and at three o'clock we quitted our anchorage. A fair wind filled the sail, and I forgot all my sufferings and my dangers when I perceived the rock where I was to meet with Napoleon the Great.

We entered the road of Porto Ferrajo[34], without any difficulty, at the moment when the cannon fired, announcing that the harbour was about to close. I heard the French drums sounding the roll: my heart beat high: I passed the night on the deck of the boat. Notwithstanding the joy which I felt at my arrival, I could not help indulging in a certain degree of melancholy, inspired, perhaps, by the silence of the night, and the aspect of the arid and gloomy mountains which surrounded me. Ah, how vain is human grandeur! thought I. The air of that sterile islet is breathed by that incomprehensible man who lately felt that he had not breathing room in Europe. It is in that humble hovel that he now dwells with his scanty train of faithful followers; He whom I have seen in the palace of the Cæsars, receiving the homage and the worship of the most brilliant court in the world; He whom I have seen sitting covered, whilst eight Kings stood before him with their hats in their hands. It is over this little tribe alone, not exceeding the population of a village, that Napoleon the Great is now doomed to reign! Napoleon the Great! He who endowed the thrones of his allies with the leavings of his conquests—He who so long was the master and the terror of the universe!

The sun rose, and put an end to my musings. My joy was inexpressible when I recognized on the ramparts those old grenadiers whom I had so often admired and honoured on the field of battle.

I jumped on shore, and I rushed into the nearest inn for the purpose of putting off my sailor's dress, and then flying to the palace of Napoleon. But I had been watched and followed: and the functionaries despatched by general Cambronne, the Commandant of the town, immediately appeared to secure me. I tranquillized them, and they accompanied me to the town-house, where General Bertrand then lodged. I sent in my name, and the General came out. "Sir, do you come from France?"—"Yes, Monsieur le Maréchal."—"What do you want here?"—"I wish to see the Emperor, and to solicit employment."—"Does the Emperor know you?"—"Yes, Sir, and M. X*** has also given me the means of proving to the Emperor that I am not unworthy of his goodness."—"Do you bring us any news from France?"—"I do, Monsieur le Maréchal; and I think that the intelligence which I bring is good."—"Well, Heaven hears you; as for us, we are so wretched—I am dying with impatience to have a talk with you about France; but I must inform the Emperor of your arrival. Perhaps he may not be able to see you immediately. To-day the English corvette[35] is here, and those people are suspicious of every thing: is it publicly known who you are?"—"It is known that I am a French officer."—"So much the worse; hide your decorations, hold your tongue, and remain within doors and rest yourself at your inn. I will send for you."—Half an hour afterwards the Marshal desired me to proceed as quickly as possible to the Emperor's garden-gate: the Emperor, would come there, and speak to me without appearing to know me. I went accordingly: the Emperor, according to his custom, was walking with his hands behind his back. He passed several times before me without lifting up his eyes; at last he looked at me: he stopped, and asked me in Italian what countryman I was. I answered in French that I was a Parisian; that business had called me to Italy; and that I could not resist the desire of seeing my old sovereign.—"Well, Sir, talk to me about Paris and France;"—and as he finished these words he began to walk again. I accompanied him; and after he had put several indifferent questions to me aloud, he desired me to enter his apartments: he then ordered Bertrand and Drouot to retire, and forced me to sit down by his side. Napoleon began in a reserved and absent manner: "The grand Marshal tells me that you have just arrived from France."—"Yes, Sire."—"What do you want here?"—"Sire, I wish to offer my services to you; my conduct in 1814—" Napoleon interrupting me,—"Sir, I do not question but that you are a very good officer, however I have so many officers with me already, that it will be very difficult for me to assist you; yet we will see: it appears that you know M. X***."—"Yes, Sire."—"Has he sent a letter for me by you?"—"No, Sire."—Napoleon, interrupting me, "I see he forgets me just like the rest; since I have been here, I have not heard a word of him or of any body."—I interrupted the Emperor in my turn, "Sire, he has never ceased to entertain those sentiments of devotion and attachment towards your Majesty which are still cherished by all true Frenchmen; and—" Napoleon, with disdain; "What, do they still think of me in France?"—"Never will they forget you."—"Never! that is a strong expression; the French have another Sovereign, and they are commanded both by their duty and their tranquillity to think on him alone." This answer did not please me: the Emperor, thought I to myself, is out of humour because I have not brought him any letters; he mistrusts me: it was not worth while to come so far for the sake of such an ungracious reception.—Napoleon, continuing, "What do they think about me in France?"—"There, your Majesty is universally deplored and regretted."—"Yes, and there, also, they manufacture all sorts of lies concerning me. Sometimes they say that I am mad, sometimes that I am ill, and you may see (here the Emperor looked at his embonpoint), if I look like an ailing man. It is also given out that they intend to transport me either to St. Helena or to Malta. I would not advise them to try. I have provisions for six months, and brave followers to defend me: but I cannot think that Europe will be so dishonourable as to rise in arms against a single man, who has neither the power nor the inclination of hurting others. The emperor Alexander has too much love for posterity to lend himself to such a crime. They have guaranteed the sovereignty of the isle of Elba to me by a solemn treaty. Here I am in my own home; and as long as I do not go out to pick a quarrel with my neighbours, they have no right to come and disturb me ... have you served in the grand army?"—"Yes, Sire, I had the felicity of distinguishing myself under your Majesty's eyes in the plains of Champagne; your Majesty appeared to take such particular notice of me, that I had dared to hope that your Majesty would recollect me."—"Why, yes; I thought, somehow, that I knew your face when I saw you, but I have only a confused recollection of you."—Poor mortals! thought I to myself, go and expose your lives for the sake of Kings, go and sacrifice your youth, your repose, your happiness for their sake!—"In what affairs have you distinguished yourself?"—"Sire, at *****, and at ***** Marshal Ney there presented me to your majesty, saying, 'Sire, here is the intrepid S.... P..... of whom I have spoken to your Majesty.'"—"Ah! ah! I really do recollect—yes, I was very well pleased indeed, with your behaviour at **** and at ****; you showed much resolution, much strength of character. Did I not 'decorate' you on the field of battle?"—"Yes, Sire."—Napoleon, with greater warmth and confidence, "Eh bien! how are they all treated in France by the Bourbons?"—"Sire, the Bourbons have not realized the expectations of the French, and the number of malcontents increases every day."—Napoleon, sharply; "So much the worse, so much the worse: but how, has not X. sent me any letters?"—"No, Sire; he was afraid lest they might be taken from me; and as he thought that your Majesty, being now compelled to be vigilant, and to distrust all the world, might distrust me also, he has revealed several circumstances to me, which are only known to your Majesty and to himself; thus enabling me to give a proof that I am worthy of your Majesty's confidence."—"Let us hear them." I began my detail, but he exclaimed, without allowing me to finish, "that's enough; why did you not begin by telling me all that? there is half an hour that we have lost." This storm[36] disconcerted me. He perceived my confusion, and resumed his discourse with mildness.—"Come, make yourself easy, and repeat to me, with the greatest minuteness, all that has passed between you and X****." I then related the circumstances which had induced me to have an interview with Monsieur X****. I repeated our conversation word for word. I gave him a complete account of all the faults and excesses of the royal government; and I was going to draw the inferences which had occurred to Monsieur X**** and me. But the Emperor, who, when he was affected, was incapable of listening to any recital without interrupting it, and making his comments at every moment, stopped my mouth. "I thought so, too," said he, "when I abdicated, that the Bourbons, instructed and disciplined by adversity, would not fall again into the errors which ruined them in 1789. I thought that the King would govern you 'en bon homme.' This was the only way by which he could obtain a pardon from you, for having been put upon you by foreigners. But since they have stepped into France, they have done nothing but acts of madness. Their treaty of the twenty-third of April," (raising his voice,) "has made me deeply indignant: with one stroke of the pen they have robbed France of Belgium, and of all the territory acquired since the revolution. They have deprived the nation of its docks, its arsenals, its fleets, its artillery, and the immense materiel which I had collected in the fortresses and the ports which they have ceded. Talleyrand has led them into this infamous business: he must have been bribed. Peace is easy upon such terms. If, like them, I had consented to the ruin of France, they would not now be on my throne:" (with energy,) "I would sooner have cut off my right hand. I preferred renouncing my throne rather than to retain it by staining my glory, and the honour of the French nation.... A degraded crown is an intolerable burthen. My enemies have published everywhere, that I obstinately refused to make peace. They have represented me as a wretched madman, eager only for blood and carnage: this language answered their turn. When you wish to hang your dog, you give out that he is mad: Quand on veut tuer son chien, il faut bien faire accroire qu'il est enragé. But Europe shall know the truth: I will let the world know all that was said and done at Chatillon. I will unmask the Austrians, the Russians, and the English with a powerful hand. Europe shall judge: Europe shall say who was the rogue, and who was wishing to shed human blood. If I had been mad for war, I might have retired with my army beyond the Loire, and I might have enjoyed mountain warfare to my heart's content. I would not; I was tired of carnage ... my name, and the brave fellows who remained faithful to me, yet made the allies tremble, even in my capital. They offered Italy to me as the price of my abdication: I refused it. After once reigning over France, one ought not to reign anywhere else. I chose the isle of Elba. They were too happy to give Elba to me. This position suited me. I can watch France and the Bourbons. All that I have done has been only for France. It is for her sake and not for mine that I wished to render her the first nation in the universe. My glory is made for myself[37] *******. If I had only thought of myself, I would have returned to a private station, but it was my duty to retain the imperial title for my family and my son.... Next to France, my son is the dearest object in the world to me."

During the whole of this discourse, the Emperor continued striding up and down, and appeared violently agitated. He paused a little while, and then he began again. "They (i.e. the emigrants) know too well that I am here, and they would like to assassinate me. I discover new plots, new snares every day. They have sent to Corsica one of the assassins of Georges, a wretch whom the English journals themselves have pointed out to Europe as a blood-thirsty assassin; but let us be on the alert. If he misses me, I won't miss him. I shall send my grenadiers after him, and he shall be shot as an example to others."

After a few moments of silence, he said, "Do my generals go to court? they must cut a sad figure there." I waited for the end of this digression, in order to resume the thread of my discourse. As I was convinced that I could not possibly lead the conversation, I resolved to let the Emperor have it according to his own way, and I answered, "Yes, Sire, and they are furious to see themselves superseded in favour by emigrants who have never heard the sound of a cannon."—"The emigrants will never alter. As long as they were only required to dance attendance in my anti-chamber, I had more than enough of them. When it was necessary to show any heart, they slunk away like.... I committed a great error, when I recalled that anti-national race into France. If it had not been for me, they would have died of starvation abroad; but then I had great motives. I wanted to reconcile Europe to us, and to close the revolution.... What do my soldiers say about me?"—"The soldiers, Sire, talk constantly about your immortal victories. They never pronounce your name but with respect, admiration, and grief. When the Princes give money to the soldiers, they drink it out to your health, and when they are forced to cry Vive le Roi! they add in a whisper, de Rome."—"And so they still love me?" (smiling.)—"Yes, Sire, and I may even venture to say, more than ever."—"What do they say about our misfortunes?"—"They consider them as the effect of treachery; and they constantly repeat, that they never would have been conquered, if they had not been sold to their enemies. They are particularly indignant with respect to the capitulation of Paris."—"They are right: had it not been for the infamous defection of the Duke of Ragusa, the allies would have been lost. I was master of their rear, and of all their resources; not a man would have escaped. They too would have had their twenty-ninth bulletin. Marmont is a wretch; he has ruined his country, and delivered up his sovereign. His convention with Schwartzenburg would alone suffice to dishonour him. If he had not known when he surrendered, that he compromised my person and my army, he would not have found it necessary to make stipulations in favour of my liberty and life. This piece of treachery is not the only one. He has intrigued with Talleyrand to take the regency from the Empress, and the crown from my son. Caulincourt, Macdonald, and the rest of the marshals, have been cheated and gulled by him in the most shameful manner. All his blood would not be sufficient to expiate the harm which he has done to France.... I will devote his name to the execration of posterity. I am glad to learn that my soldiers retain the feeling of their superiority, and that they attribute our great misfortunes to the right authors. I collect with great pleasure, from the intelligence which you have brought, that the opinion which I had formed respecting the situation of France, is correct. The family of the Bourbons is not fit to reign. Their government may be good for priests, nobles, and old fashioned countesses: it is good for nothing for the present generation. The revolution has taught the people to know their rank in the state. They will never consent to fall back into their former nullity, and to be tied up by the nobility and the clergy. The army can never belong to the Bourbons. Our victories and our misfortunes have established an indissoluble tie between the army and myself. It is only through me that the soldiers can earn vengeance, power, and glory. From the Bourbons they can get nothing but insults and blows. Kings can only retain their power by the love of their subjects or by fear. The Bourbons are neither loved nor feared. At last they will throw themselves off their throne; but they may yet retain their position for a long time. Frenchmen do not know how to conspire."

In pronouncing these words, the Emperor continued walking hastily, and using many gestures. He rather appeared to be soliloquizing than addressing any one else; he then continued, looking at me aside, "Does M. X*** think that those people can stand much longer?"—"His opinion on this point is exactly conformable to the general opinion; that is to say, it is now the general impression and conviction, that the government is hastening to its fall. The priests and the emigrants are its only partisans; every man of patriotism or soul is its enemy."—Napoleon (with energy), "Yes, all men in whose veins any national blood is flowing must be its enemies; but how will all this end? Is it thought that there will be a new revolution?"—"Sire, discontent and irritation prevail to such an extent, that the slightest partial effervescence would inevitably cause a general insurrection, and nobody would be surprised if it were to take place to-morrow."—"But what would you do were you to expel the Bourbons: would you re-establish the republic?"—"The republic, Sire! nobody thinks about it; perhaps they would create a regency."—Napoleon (with vehemence and surprise), "A regency! And wherefore? am I dead?"—"But your absence...."—"My absence makes no difference. In a couple of days I would be back again in France, if the nation were to recal me. Do you think it would be well, if I were to return?" The Emperor turned away his eyes, and I could easily remark, that to this question he attached more importance than he cared to manifest, and that he expected my answer with anxiety. "Sire, I dare not personally attempt to answer such a question, but...."—Napoleon (abruptly), "That's not what I am asking you; answer yes or no."—"Why then, Sire,—yes."—Napoleon (with tenderness), "You really think so?"—"Yes, Sire, I am convinced, and so is M. X****, that the people and the army would receive you as their deliverer, and that your cause would be embraced with enthusiasm."—Napoleon (appearing agitated and impatient), "Then X*** advises me to return?"—"We had foreseen that your Majesty would make inquiries on this point, and the following is literally his answer. You will tell his Majesty that I would not dare to decide so important a question, but that he may consider it as a positive and incontrovertible fact, that our present government has wholly lost the confidence of the people and of the army; that discontent has increased to the highest pitch, and that it is impossible to believe that the government can stand much longer against the universal dislike. You will add, that the Emperor is the only object of the regret and hope of the nation. He, in his wisdom, will decide what he ought to do."

The Emperor became silent and pensive; and, after a long meditation, he said, "I will reflect upon it; I will keep you with me. Come here to-morrow at eleven o'clock."

On leaving the Emperor, I met the Grand Marshal, who said, "the Emperor has detained you a long time. I am in terror lest this interview should have been noticed. We are surrounded by English spies. The slightest indiscretion might cost us dear. I do not ask you to relate to me any thing which was reserved for the Emperor; but if, without violating your duty, you could give me any details relating to France, you would be doing me a great favour. We hear nothing of what is going forward, except from the journals and a few commercial travellers; and the intelligence which we thus obtain is so trifling and so contradictory, that we do not know what to make of it."—"I can satisfy you, Monsieur le Maréchal, and without acting indiscreetly: what I have told to the Emperor is known to all France. Discontent is at its greatest height, and the royal government is on its last legs."—"I cannot tell what futurity promises to us; but whatever our fate may be, we cannot be worse off than we are at present. Our resources are dwindling away daily; we are becoming home-sick. If we were not a little upheld by hope, I really do not know what would become of us. Has the Emperor allowed you to remain with us?"—"Yes, Monsieur le Maréchal."—"I give you joy, but I pity you. There is no happiness out of one's own country. I do not regret having followed the Emperor—this step was dictated to me by my duty and my gratitude; but I regret France, like an infant who has lost its mother; like a lover who has lost his mistress." The Grand Marshal's eyes were filled with tears; he pressed my hand affectionately, and then said, "Come and breakfast with us to-morrow morning. I will introduce you to my wife; it will be as good as a fête to her when she has an opportunity of receiving a Frenchman, and above all, a true Frenchman."

It was soon known all over the town, that a Frenchman had arrived from the continent. My inn was besieged by a crowd of officers and grenadiers, who overwhelmed me with inquiries after their friends and relations. They seemed to think that I must be acquainted with every living creature in France. Many inquired respecting the state of public affairs. I evaded their interrogatories, by declaring that I had quitted France five months since.

I waited on the Grand Marshal according to his invitation. He resided in one wing of the building occupied by the municipality. In his apartment, there was hardly any thing to be seen except the four walls. He took notice that I was surveying its appearance.—"You are contemplating our misery," said he: "Perhaps it contrasts itself with the opinion which you may have formed respecting our situation. It is supposed throughout Europe, that the Emperor carried off immense treasures; but his camp-plate, his camp bed, and a few broken down horses, are the only objects which he has preserved, or which he wished to preserve. Like Saladin, he could cause an outcry to be made at his door, whilst he exposes our tatters,—behold all that Napoleon the Great, the conqueror of the universe, has retained from his conquests!"

The General was as good as his word: he introduced me to Madame la Maréchale. I was enchanted by her manners and her amiability. Our conversation turned upon France and the Isle of Elba, the present and the future; and on quitting Madame Bertrand, I did not know what I ought most to admire—the lively graces of her mind, or the dignity and energy of her character.

At eleven o'clock I attended, to present myself to the Emperor. They made me wait in his saloon on the ground floor. The striped silk hangings were half worn out and faded; the carpet was threadbare, and patched in several places; a few shabby arm chairs completed the furniture of the apartment. I thought upon the splendour of the imperial palaces, and I drew a deep and melancholy sigh. The Emperor arrived: he had assumed a degree of calmness in his manner, which was belied by his eyes. It was easy to see that he had been violently agitated. "Sir," said he, "I declared to you yesterday, that I retained you in my service. I repeat the same to you to-day. From this instant you belong to me, and I hope you will fulfil your duties towards me like a good and faithful subject: you swear that you will—is it not so?"—"Yes, Sire, I swear."—"That's right." After a pause, "I had foreseen the crisis to which France would come, but I did not think that things were so ripe. It was my intention not to interfere any longer in political affairs. The intelligence which you have brought to me has changed my resolutions. I have caused the misfortunes of France; therefore I must remove them: but before I commit myself, I wish to have a thorough knowledge of the state of our affairs. Sit down: repeat to me all that you told me yesterday; I like to hear you."

Re-assured by these words, and by a look full of kindness and benignity, I abandoned myself without reserve to all the inspirations of my heart and soul. The picture which I drew of the sufferings and hopes of the nation, which I presented to the Emperor, was so touching and so animated, that he was astonished. "You are a noble young fellow," said he, "you have truly the soul of a Frenchman; but are you not carried away by your imagination?"—"No, Sire; the recital which I have made to your Majesty is quite faithful. I may have expressed myself with warmth, because I cannot express my feelings otherwise; but all that I have told you is exact and true. Under such important circumstances, I should have thought it a crime to substitute the inspirations of my imagination in the place of truth."—"You therefore think that France awaits her redemption from me; that I shall be received as a deliverer."—"Yes, Sire; I will even say more: the royal government is so exceedingly hateful and disgusting to the French, the government weighs so very heavily on the nation and the army, that not only your Majesty, but any body else who would endeavour to liberate the French would find them disposed to second him."—Napoleon (with dignity): "Repeat that to me again."—"Yes, Sire, I do repeat it. The French are so wearied, and degraded, and incensed, by the anti-national yoke of the emigrants and the priests, that they are ready to join any one who will promise to deliver them."—"But if I were to disembark in France, is there not reason to fear that the patriots may be massacred by the emigrants and the chouans?"—"No, Sire, I do not think so; we are the most numerous and the bravest party."—"Yes, but they may heap you in the prisons, and cut your throats."—"Sire, the people will not let them do that."—"I hope you may not be deceived; to be sure, I shall get to Paris so speedily, that they won't have time to consider where they are to hide their heads. I shall be there as soon as the news of my disembarkation.... Yes," the Emperor continued, after taking a few steps, "I have resolved.... It was I who gave the Bourbons to France, and it is I who must rid France of them.... I will set off.... The enterprise is vast, it is difficult, it is dangerous, but it is not beyond me. On great occasions fortune has never abandoned me.... I shall set off, but not alone; I won't run the risk of allowing myself to be collared by the gensdarmes. I will depart with my sword, my Polanders, my grenadiers ... all France is on my side. I belong to France; and for her I will sacrifice my repose, my blood, my life, with the greatest joy." After this speech, the Emperor stopped; his eyes sparkled with hope and genius: his attitude announced energy, confidence, victory; he was grand, he was beautiful, he was adorable!—he resumed his discourse, and said, "Do you think that they will dare to wait for me?"—"No, Sire."—"I don't think so, either: they will quake when they hear the thunder of my name; and they will know that they can only escape me by a speedy flight. But what will be the conduct of the national guards? Do you think they will fight for them?"—"I think, Sire, that the national guards will remain neutral."—"Even that's a great deal; as to their 'gardes du corps,' and their red regiments, I am not afraid of them: they are either old men or boys: they will be frightened by the mustachios of my grenadiers. I will make my grenadiers hoist the national flag;" lifting up his voice and his hand: "I will appeal to my old soldiers; I will speak to them. None of them will refuse to hear the voice of their old general.... It is certain that the soldiers cannot hesitate to choose between the white flag and the tricoloured flag; between me, by whom they have been covered with rewards and glory, and the Bourbons, who wish to dishonour them.... And the Marshals, what will they do?"—"The Marshals, who are full of money and titles, have nothing to wish for but repose. They would fear to compromise their existence by embracing a doubtful party; and perhaps they will continue merely spectators of the crisis. Perhaps even the fear lest your Majesty may possibly punish them for their defection or treason in 1814 may induce them to adhere to the king."—"I will punish no one. Do you take me rightly? Tell M. **** clearly, that I will forget every thing. We have all reason to reproach each other."—"Sire, I will tell him so with the greatest joy. This assurance will completely gain all opinions over to your side; because even amongst your partisans there are men who dread your return; lest you should revenge yourself."—"Yes, I know that it is thought that I am revengeful, and even sanguinary; that I am considered as a kind of ogre, as a man-eater. They are mistaken: I will make every one do his duty, and I will be obeyed; and that's all. A weak sovereign is a calamity to his subjects. If he allows criminals and traitors to fancy that he does not know how to punish, there is no longer any security either for the state or for individuals. More crimes are prevented than repressed by severity. A sovereign must govern by his head, and not by his heart. Yet, tell X*** that I except Talleyrand, Augereau, and the Duke of Ragusa, out of the general pardon. They caused all our misfortunes. The country must be revenged."—"But why exclude them, Sire? Is there not reason to fear that this exclusion may deprive you of the fruits of your clemency, and may even raise doubts as to your sincerity in future?"—"It would be much more exposed to doubt were I to pardon them."—"But, Sire...."—"Don't you trouble your head about it ... what is the strength of the army?"—"Sire, I do not know; I only know that it has been much weakened by desertion and by discharges, and that few of the regiments consist of more than three hundred men."—"So much the better; those who are good for nothing have probably left the army; the good soldiers will have remained. Do you know the names of the officers who command the maritime districts, and the eighth division?"—"No, Sire."—Napoleon (out of temper), "Why did not X*** give you that information?"—"Sire, both M. X*** and myself were far from supposing that your Majesty would immediately embrace the glorious resolution of re-appearing in France; besides which, he might believe, according to the common report, that your agents did not allow you to remain in ignorance of any circumstance which might interest you."—"I do know that the newspapers gave out that I had agents.... It is an idle story. It is true that I sent some of my people to France, in order to learn what was going on; but they stole my money, and only treated me with the gabble of the canaille. C**** has been to see me, but he knew nothing. You are the first person from whom I have ascertained the situation of France and the Bourbons under all its extensive bearings. Had it not been for you, I should never have known that the hour of my return had struck. Had it not been for you, they would have left me here to dig in my garden. I have received—I do not exactly know from what quarter—the description of certain assassins, hired against me; and one or two anonymous letters besides—all from the same hand, in which I was told to remain quiet, that the embroideries were coming into fashion, and other nonsense in the same style; but that's all. It is not upon such data that one is induced to attempt a crash. But how do you think foreigners will like my return: there is the great question?"—"Foreign nations, Sire, have been compelled to confederate against us in order to protect themselves; allow me to say it...."—"Speak out, speak out."—"In order to protect themselves against the effects of your ambition, and the abuse of your strength. Now that Europe has recovered her independence, and that France has ceased to be dangerous, foreign powers will probably be unwilling to run the risk of a new war, which may end by restoring to us that ascendancy which we have lost."—"If the allied sovereigns were at home in their capitals they would certainly consider the matter twice before they would take the field again; but they are yet face to face; and it is to be feared that war may become an affair of vanity. Do you think it is true that they are on ill terms with each other?"—"Yes, Sire, it appears that discord reigns in the congress; that each of the great powers wishes to seize the largest share of the booty."—"It appears, also, that their subjects are discontented: is it not so?"—"Yes, Sire; kings and people, every thing seems to unite in our favour. The Saxons, the Genoese, the Belgians, the inhabitants of the banks of the Rhine, the Polanders, all refuse the new sovereigns to whom they are to be given. Italy, tired of the avarice and the grossness of the Austrians, pants for the moment of withdrawing from their sovereignty. Experience has taught the King of Naples that you are his surest protector, and he will assist the rising of the Italians whenever you wish it. The princes of the confederation of the Rhine, warned by the example of Saxony, will become the allies of your majesty after the first victory. Prussia and Russia will sit quiet, if you will only allow them to retain their new acquisitions. The Emperor of Austria, who has every thing to fear from Russia and Prussia, and nothing to hope for from the King of France, will easily consent, if you only guarantee Italy to him, to allow you to do what you think best with the Bourbons. In short, all the powers of Europe, England only excepted, are more or less interested in not declaring themselves against you; and before England can have corrupted, or raised the continent, your Majesty will be so firmly fixed on the throne, that your Majesty's enemies may try in vain to make you totter."

Napoleon (shaking his head), "All this is very fine; ... however, I consider it as certain, that the Kings who have fought against me are no longer guided by the same unity, the same views, the same interests. The Emperor Alexander must esteem me: he must be able to estimate the difference which exists between Louis XVIII. and myself. If he were to understand his policy rightly, he would rather see the French sceptre in the hands of a powerful sovereign, the relentless enemy of England, than in the hands of a weak sovereign, the friend and vassal of the Prince Regent. I would give him Poland, and a great deal more, if he wished it: he knows that I have been always more inclined to tolerate his ambition than to restrain it. If he had continued my friend and my ally, I would have made him greater than he ever will be now. Prussia, and the petty Kings of the Rhenish confederation, will follow the lot cast by Russia. If I had Russia on my side, she would secure me all the second-rate powers. As to the Austrians, I do not know what they would do: they have never treated me candidly. I suppose I could keep Austria in order by threatening to deprive her of Italy. Italy is yet very grateful to me, and much attached to me: if I were to ask that country for an hundred thousand men, and an hundred millions, I should have the men and the money. If they were to force me to make war, I could easily revolutionize the Italians; I would grant them whatever they might wish, independence or Eugene. Mejean and some others have done him harm, but, in spite of that, he is warmly loved, and highly esteemed: he deserves to be so; he has shown that he possesses a noble mind. Murat is ours. I have had great reason to complain of him. Since I have been here, he has wept for his errors, and has done his utmost to repair the injuries which he has inflicted upon me. He has regained my friendship and my confidence: his assistance, if I were engaged in war, would be very useful to me. He has little brains; he has nothing but hand and heart; but his wife would direct him. The Neapolitans like him tolerably well; and I have yet some good officers amongst them who would keep them in the right way. As to England, we should have shaken hands from Dover to Calais, if Mr. Fox had lived; but as long as that country continues to be governed by the principles and passions of Mr. Pitt, we must always be as hostile as fire and water.... From England I expect no quarter, no truce.... England knows that the instant I place my foot in France, her influence will be driven back across the seas ... as long as I live I will wage a war of extermination against her maritime despotism. If the continental powers had seconded me; if they had not been afraid of me; if they had understood my ambition, their flags would have floated from the mast-head throughout the universe, and the world would have enjoyed peace. All things considered, foreign powers have great reasons to declare war against me; whilst there are also great reasons to induce them to remain at peace with me. It is to be feared, as I have already said to you, that they may turn the war into an affair of vanity, or that they make it a point of honour. On the other hand, it is possible that they may renounce their coalition, which has now no longer any object, in order to watch their subjects; preserving at the same time an armed neutrality, until I shall have given them sufficient guarantees.

"Their determinations, whatever they may be, will not influence mine. France speaks, and that is sufficient for me. In 1814 I had to deal with all the powers in Europe, but they should not have laid down the law to me if France had not left me to wrestle alone, against the entire world. Now the French know my value; and, as they have regained their courage and their patriotism, they will triumph over the enemies who may attack them, just as they triumphed in the good days of the revolution. Experience has shown that armies cannot always save a nation; but a nation defended by the people is always invincible.

"I have not settled the day of my departure: by deferring it I should have the advantage of allowing the Congress to run out; but then, on the other hand, I should run the risk of being kept here as a close prisoner by the vessels of the Bourbons and of the English, if, as every thing appears to indicate, there should be a rupture amongst foreign powers. Murat would lend me his navy if I wanted it; but if we do not succeed he would be compromised. We must not be anxious about all these matters: we must allow some room for destiny to come into play.

"I think we have considered all the points upon which it was important that I should be settled, and that we should understand each other. France is tired of the Bourbons; she demands her former sovereign. The people and the army are for us: foreign powers will be silent. If they speak, we shall be able to reply: this, in short, is the state of the present time and of the future.

"Depart. Tell X*** that you have seen me, and that I have determined to expose myself to every danger for the purpose of yielding to the prayers of France, and of ridding the nation of the Bourbons.... Say also that I shall leave this place with my guard, on the first of April—perhaps sooner. I pardon every thing. I will give to France and to Europe all the guarantees which can be expected or demanded of me. I have renounced all my plans of aggrandizement, and I wish to repair the evils which war has caused to us, by a permanent peace.

"You will also tell X*** and the rest of my friends to nourish and strengthen the good disposition of the people and the army by all possible means. Explain to X*** that if the excesses of the Bourbons should hasten their fall, if the French should drive them out before my disembarkation, then I will not allow of a regency, or any thing in the shape of it; but let them establish a provisional government, composed of ... of ... of ... of ... and of.... Go, Sir, I hope that we shall soon meet again."—"Sire, where shall I land?"—"You must proceed to Naples; here is a passport of the island, and a letter for ****. Pretend to place great trust in him, but do not trust him with any thing. You will give him a loose account of the French news; and you may tell him that I send you there to explore the soundings, and settle some concerns of moment. I have directed **** to furnish you with a passport, in order that you may be able to return to Paris without meeting with any obstacle or danger."—"Your Majesty has then determined to send me back to France?"—"It must absolutely be so."—"Your Majesty knows my attachment, and that I am ready to prove it in any way which may be required. But, Sire, deign to consider, both for your interest and for that of France, that my departure has been remarked, and that my return will excite still more notice, and that it may give rise to suspicion, and perhaps induce the Bourbons to put themselves on their guard, and cause them to watch the coasts and the island of Elba."—"Bah! do you suppose that fellows of the police know every thing, and can foresee every thing? More is invented than is discovered by the police. The agents of our police were decidedly as good as those of the present people, and yet they frequently knew nothing of what was going on but at the end of a week or a fortnight; and then they found it out only by chance, or incaution, or treason. I don't fear that any disclosures will be obtained from you by any of these means. You are clever and decided, and, if they were to work upon you, you would easily get clear. Besides, when you once arrive at Paris, don't show yourself; creep into a corner, and nobody will think of ferreting you out. I could certainly confide this mission to some of the people who are about me; but I do not wish to make any additional confidant: you are trusted by X***: I trust you; and, in one word, you are exactly the man whom I want. Your return is certainly exposed to objections, but they are as nothing when compared to its advantages. All that we have said about the Bourbons, and about France, and about myself, is mere talk, and talk won't overturn a throne. In order that my enterprise may not be rendered abortive, it must be seconded, and the patriots must prepare to attack the Bourbons on one side, whilst I shall occupy them on the other. And, above all, it is necessary that they should know that they may depend upon me; that they may know my sentiments, my views, and the resolution which I have made of submitting to every sacrifice, and exposing myself to every danger, for the purpose of saving the country."—The Emperor stopped to look at me. He certainly thought that I was one of those men who only appear reluctant to obey, in order to enhance the price of their services; so he said, "Money is always wanted in travelling; I will order them to pay you a thousand Louis, and then you may set off."—"A thousand Louis!" I exclaimed with indignation, "Sire, I must answer your Majesty in the words with which the soldier answered his general, 'These actions are not performed for pay.'"—"That's very right; I like to see pride."—"Sire, I am not proud, but I have a soul; and if I thought that your Majesty could believe that I embraced your Majesty's cause for the sake of filthy lucre, I should request your Majesty to cease to rely on my services."—"If I had believed that to be the case, I should not have trusted you. No person ever received a more honourable and splendid proof of my confidence, than that which I am now bestowing upon you, in deciding, merely on the strength of your word, to quit the isle of Elba, and in directing you, as my precursor, to announce my speedy arrival in France. But do not let us talk any more on that head; and tell me if you recollect fully all that I have told you."—"I have not lost one of your Majesty's expressions. They are all engraven on my memory."—"Then I have only to wish you a pleasant journey. I have directed that everything should be got ready for your departure.

"This evening, at nine o'clock, you will find a guide and horses at the gate of the town: you will be taken to Porto Longone. The commandant has been authorised to furnish you with the necessary quarantine documents. He knows nothing; say nothing to him. At midnight a felucca will leave the port, by which you will reach Naples. I am sorry to have hurt your feelings by offering money to you, but I thought you might be in want of it. Adieu, Monsieur; be cautious. I hope we shall soon meet again, and I shall acknowledge, in a manner worthy of your merits, your exertions in favour of the country and of myself."

Hardly had I gone down to the town, when he sent for me again. "I have considered," said he, "that it is desirable that I should know what regiments are stationed in the eighth and tenth military divisions, and the names of the commanding officers. You will take care to procure this information during your journey, and transmit it to me without the slightest delay. Write triplicates of your letters. Send one by way of Genoa, the second by Leghorn, and the third by Civita Vecchia. You will take care to write this name legibly, (here he gave me a memorandum containing the name of an inhabitant of the island). Fold your letters in a business-like way. In order that the secret of your correspondence may not be discovered, should any accident happen, you will put your intelligence in the shape of commercial transactions, and you will imitate the usual style of bankers. I will suppose, for example, that between Chambery and Lyon, going by the way of Grenoble, there are five regiments. You will write to me ... in my way I have seen the five merchants whom you mentioned; their views continue the same: your credit is increasing daily. The concern will turn out well ... do you understand me?"—"Yes, Sire; but how am I to send the names of the colonels and the generals in command?"—"Transpose the letters of their names, and nothing will be more easy. There is not a single colonel or general whom I do not know, and I shall soon be able to recompose their names."—"But, Sire, the anagrams which I shall make will perhaps be so uncouth, that it will be seen at the post-office, that the names are disguised on purpose."—"Do you think then, that they amuse themselves at the post-office by opening and reading all the letters of business which pass through? They could not get through them. I have attempted to unravel the correspondence carried on under the disguise of banking transactions, but I could never succeed. The post-office is like the police, only fools are caught; yet think of any other method: I shall have no objection."

After I had considered a little while, I said to the Emperor, "Sire, there is a method which perhaps will do. Your majesty has the imperial calendar."—"Yes, sure."—"Well, Sire, the calendar contains the lists of the general officers and colonels of the army. Now, I will suppose, for example, that the regiment quartered at Chambery is commanded by Colonel Paul. I look into the calendar, and I find that Paul stands forty-seven in the list of colonels. I will also suppose that, between ourselves, 'bill of exchange' means 'colonel' or 'general.' Then I shall write to your Majesty, I have seen your correspondent at Chambery; he has paid me the amount of your bill of exchange, No. 47. Your Majesty will turn to your Majesty's calendar, and then your Majesty will see, that the 47th colonel who commands the regiment of Chambery, is called 'Paul.' And, lastly, in order that your Majesty may be able to tell when I speak of a colonel, a general, or a marshal, I shall take care to indicate the rank of the officer by one, two, or three dots, placed after the 'No.' The colonel will have one dot, No. .; the general two, No. .., &c."—"Very good, very good. Here is a calendar for you. Bertrand has one which I will take."

The calendar given to me by the Emperor was richly bound, and stamped with the imperial arms. I tore off the binding. The Emperor kept walking up and down, and saying, as he laughed, "It is really excellent; they will never be able to see through it." When I had finished, he said, "One thought brings on another. I have asked myself how you would manage to write to me, if you should have any thing of unexpected importance to communicate. For instance, suppose any extraordinary event should make you think that my disembarkation ought to be accelerated or retarded; if the Bourbons were to be on their guard; in short, I know not what." He remained silent, and then began again. "I only know one way to provide for it: the confidence which I place in you ought to be unbounded. I will give you the key to a cipher which was composed for my use, in order that I might employ it in corresponding with my family under the most important circumstances. I need not tell you that you must keep it with care: always carry it about you, lest it should be lost: and if the smallest danger arises, burn it or tear it at the slightest suspicion. With this cipher you may write any thing to me which you like. I would rather that you should use it, than be under the necessity of coming back, or of sending any messenger to me. If they intercept a letter written in my cipher, it will take them three months to read it; whilst the capture of an agent might ruin all in an instant." He then went and looked out his cipher; he made me employ it under his eyes, and delivered it to me, exhorting me not to use it unless all other modes of communication should become insufficient.

The Emperor continued, "I do not suppose that you will have occasion to return here before my departure, unless the sudden overthrow of our projects should force you to seek an asylum here. In such a case, apprise me of your intended return, and I will send for you to any place which you may name. But we must hope that victory will declare for us. She loves France.... You have not spoken to me about the affair of Excelmans: if such a thing had happened in my time, I should have thought myself lost: when the authority of the master is not recognised, all is over. The more I think upon the matter (here he displayed a sudden emotion), the more I am convinced that France is mine, and that the patriots and the army will receive me with open arms."—"Yes, Sire, I swear to you, upon my soul, the people and the army will declare for you as soon as they hear your name, as soon as they see the caps of your grenadiers."—"Provided the people do seek to do themselves justice before my arrival, a popular revolution would alarm foreign powers: they would dread the contagion of example. They know that royalty only hangs by a thread, that it does not agree with the ideas of the age; they would rather see me seize the throne, than allow the people to give it to me. They have re-established the Bourbons in order to convince the people that the rights of sovereigns are sacred and inviolable. They have blundered. They would have done more for the cause of legitimacy by leaving my son there, than by re-establishing Louis XVIII. My dynasty had been recognised by France and by Europe; it had been consecrated by the Pope. They ought to have respected it. By abusing the rights of victory, it was in their power to deprive me of the throne: but it was unjust, odious, impolitic, to punish the son on account of the wrongs of his father, and to deprive him of his inheritance. I was not an usurper: they may say so as long as they like; nobody will believe them. The English, the Italians, the Germans, are now too enlightened to allow themselves to be crammed with old ideas, with antiquated notions. In the eyes of nations, the Sovereign who is chosen by the entirety of the nation, will always be the legitimate Sovereign.... The sovereigns who sent their ambassadors to me with servile solemnity; who placed in my bed a girl of their breed; who called me their brother, and who, after doing all this, have stigmatized me as an usurper, they have spit in their own faces by trying to spit at me. They have degraded the majesty of kings. They have covered majesty with mud. What is the name of an emperor? A word like any other. If I had no better title than that, when I shall present myself to future ages they would scorn me. My institutions, my benefactions, my victories—these are the true titles of my glory. Let them call me a Corsican, a corporal, an usurper.... I don't care.... I shall not be less the object of wonder, perhaps of veneration, in all future time. My name, new as it is, will live from age to age, whilst the names of all these kings, and their royal progeny, will be forgotten before the worms will have had time to consume their carcases." The Emperor stopped, and then continued; "I forget that time is precious; I will not detain you any longer. Adieu, Monsieur; embrace me, and depart; my thoughts and good wishes follow you."—Two hours afterwards I was at sea. My attention, my faculties were wholly absorbed by the Emperor, his words, his disclosures, his plans. I had neither leisure nor opportunity to think of myself. As soon as I was quite out at sea, my ideas were filled by the extraordinary part which chance had assigned to me. I contemplated it with pride, and I returned my thanks to destiny for having selected me as the instrument by which its impenetrable decrees were to be accomplished. Perhaps no man was ever placed in so "imposing" a situation. I was the arbiter of the fate of the Bourbons, and of the Emperor, of France and Europe. With one word I could destroy Napoleon; with one word I could save Louis. But Louis was nothing to me: in him I only saw a sovereign who had been forced upon the throne by foreign hands still imbrued with French blood. In Napoleon I saw the sovereign to whom France had freely offered the crown as the reward of twenty years of danger and of glory. The perspective of the evils which the attempt of Napoleon might bring upon France did not arise before my imagination. I was persuaded that all foreign powers (England excepted), would remain neutral; and that the French would receive Napoleon as a deliverer, and as a father. Still less did I consider myself as engaged in treason or conspiracy against the Bourbons. Since I had taken the oath of allegiance to Napoleon, I considered him as my legitimate sovereign; and I rejoiced to think that the confidence which Napoleon reposed in me had induced him to call upon me to concur in restoring to France the liberty, the power, and the glory of which the country had been unjustly deprived. I enjoyed, by anticipation, the public eulogiums, which, after his success, he would bestow upon my courage, my self-devotion, my patriotism. In short, I abandoned myself with rapture and with pride to all the thoughts, and all the generous resolutions which can be inspired by the love of fame and the love of our country.

The dialogues which had taken place between me and the Emperor continued impressed on my memory; yet, lest I might vary them, or omit any part, I employed my time during the voyage in recalling his own expressions, and in classing his questions and my answers. I afterwards got the whole by heart, just as a scholar learns his lesson, in order that I might be able to affirm to M. X*** that I was making a faithful and literal report to him of all that the Emperor had said, and of all that he had ordered me to tell him.

The weather being tolerably favourable, we soon reached Naples. I went immediately to M. ****: he put a great number of indiscreet questions to me; and I replied by an equal number of unmeaning answers. He probably thought that I knew no better, and therefore my caution did not offend him. When our preliminary conversation was exhausted, I desired him to give me my passport; he did so immediately: it was a Neapolitan passport. "This won't do for me," said I; "I must have a French passport."—"I have not got one."—"The Emperor told me that you could get one."—"That is just like the Emperor; he thinks every thing is possible: where does he suppose that I can procure it? I am doing a great deal in giving you a passport as a subject of his Majesty. It is already known that we are in relation with the isle of Elba. If they were to find out that you are attached to Napoleon, and that you are going back to France by his directions, and with the assistance of the King, all Europe would hear of it, and the King would be committed. Why does not the Emperor keep himself quiet? he will ruin himself, and ruin us all along with him."—"It is not fit that I should examine the conduct of his Majesty, much less that I should censure it. I am in his service; and my duty commands me to obey him. I want a French passport: can you, or can you not get me one?"—"I tell you again that it is impossible: it is doing too much if I give you one as a Neapolitan subject."—"Then I must return to Porto Ferrajo: but I cannot conceal from you that the Emperor is very desirous that I should return to France; and he will certainly be very much displeased, both with you and with the King."—"Then he will act unfairly: the King has done, and will do, every thing in his power for him: but the Emperor should know what the King may do under his present critical situation, and what he may not. But why won't you take the passport which I offer you?"—"Because I do not understand Italian, and consequently your passport would expose me to greater suspicion than my own."—"Then why don't you try to push on as far as Rome? there you will find the family of the Emperor. Louis XVIII. has a legation there; and perhaps money may get you a passport."—"Your idea is excellent: I will go. Inform the Emperor of the delay which I have experienced, in order that he may send another agent, if he thinks it advisable so to do."

When the mind is in perpetual activity, and constantly assailed by new feelings, there is no time for reflection. I thus went to Rome, full of the idea that I should visit the family of the Emperor, and request their help to aid me out of my difficulties. But when the time came, and I was to present myself, it then struck me that the Emperor, though aware that I was to pass through Rome, had not directed me to see them; and I concluded that he had his reasons. I therefore determined to continue my route. From Naples I have proceeded to Rome without any obstacle; and I shall proceed, thought I to myself, from Rome to Milan without any greater obstacle: there I shall meet my friend and his Tedesco; I will get them to legalize my French passport for the second time, and destiny will accomplish the rest.

I therefore presented myself boldly to the police at Rome, in order to have my Elba passport indorsed for Milan. I was introduced to his Eminence the Director-general, who, as I believe, had been shut up at Vincennes under the imperial government. He received me with great rudeness; and he wished to compel me to present myself to the French embassy. I would not consent. I answered, firmly, "The King of France is no longer my sovereign; I am the subject of the Emperor Napoleon: the allied sovereigns have proclaimed and recognized him as the sovereign of the isle of Elba: he therefore reigns at Porto Ferrajo like the Pope at Rome, George at London, and Louis XVIII. at Paris. The Emperor and his Holiness are on good terms with each other. The subjects and the vessels of the Roman states are well received in the isle of Elba[38], and therefore you are bound to afford aid and protection to the Elbese, so long as the holy father shall not become the enemy of Napoleon."

This reasoning produced its effect; and his Eminence ordered, though he continued grumbling, that my demand was to be granted. "What are you going to do at Milan?" said he, and I think he muttered an oath between his teeth: "I am going," I answered, "relative to the dotations which were assigned to us upon the 'Mont Napoléon.'" He was satisfied with my answer, and so was I. I wrote to M. ****, the Neapolitan consul, transmitting my letter; and I requested him to send to the island an account of my new route.

I continued my journey. My passport was headed by the imperial arms. The name of Napoleon, and his title of Emperor, were inscribed in large letters. I was the first Frenchman from the island who had been able or who had dared to traverse Italy. How many things there were which roused curiosity and commanded attention! I was overwhelmed with questions relative to Porto Ferrajo and its illustrious sovereign. I answered as fully as they wished. Whilst they were busying themselves about the Emperor, they did not think of me, and that was what I wanted. In order to avoid troublesome examinations, I took care to pass through the towns at night, and never to stop in them. At length, thanks to my address and good fortune, I arrived safe and sound at Milan; there I found my friend and his colonel, and every thing was settled admirably.

I set off again for Turin with all possible speed. When I arrived on the Place of ... I perceived several numerous groups of persons, who appeared exceedingly animated. How great was my surprise when I found that they were talking of Napoleon, and his escape from the isle of Elba. This piece of intelligence, which had been just received, put me in a violent passion: I accused the Emperor of perfidiousness. I reproached him with having misled, deceived, and sacrificed me.

When my first fit of ill humour was calmed, I considered the conduct of the Emperor under another aspect. I thought that unexpected considerations might have induced him to embark precipitately. I was ashamed of my suspicions and of my violence, and I only wished to fly to his footsteps; but already orders had been given to prevent communication. I passed eight days, which appeared so many ages, in soliciting permission to return to France; and at last I obtained it. I arrived at Paris on the 25th of March: on the 26th M. X*** presented me to the Emperor: he embraced me, and said, "I have weighty reasons for wishing that you and X*** may both forget whatever passed at the isle of Elba. I alone will not forget it. Rely on my esteem and protection on all occasions[39]."

Here ends the memoir of M. Z****.

This officer had scarcely quitted the island of Elba, when the Emperor (and I had the particulars from his Majesty himself) acknowledged and deplored the imprudence of which he had been guilty, in sending Z*** to the continent. The character and firmness of this faithful servant were sufficiently known to him, to prevent his feeling any anxiety on his account. He was certain (I use his own words), that he would suffer himself to be cut to pieces, before he would open his mouth: but he was afraid, that the inquiries he had directed him to make on the road, the letters he might address to him, or the conferences he might have at Paris with M. X*** and his friends, would excite the suspicions of the police; and that the Bourbons would station cruizers, so as to render an escape from the island of Elba, and a landing on the coast of France, altogether impossible.

Thus the Emperor felt that there was but one way of preventing the danger, that of departing immediately.

On this point he did not hesitate. From that moment every thing assumed a different aspect in the island of Elba.

This island, but the moment before the abode of philosophy and peace, became in an instant the imperial head-quarters. Couriers, orders, and counter-orders, were incessantly going and returning from Porto Ferrajo to Longone, and from Longone to Porto Ferrajo. Napoleon, whose fiery activity had been so long enchained, gave himself up, with infinite delight, to all the cares, that his audacious enterprise demanded. But in whatever mystery he fancied he had shrouded himself, the unusual accounts he had caused to be delivered in, the particular attention he had paid to his old grenadiers, had excited their suspicion; and they scarcely doubted, that he had it in contemplation to quit the island. Every one supposed, that he would land at Naples, or in some other port of Italy: no one ventured even to imagine, that his plan was to go and expel Louis XVIII. from the throne.

On the 26th of February, at one o'clock, the guard and the officers of his household received orders to hold themselves in readiness to depart. Every thing was in motion: the grenadiers with joy resumed their arms, that so long had lain idle, and spontaneously swore, never to quit them but with life. The whole population of the country, crowds of old men, women, and children, eagerly rushed to the shore; the most affecting scenes were exhibited on all sides. They thronged round the faithful companions of Napoleon in his exile, and contended with each other for the pleasure, the honour, of touching them, seeing them, embracing them for the last time. The younger members of the families of the first distinction in the island solicited as a favour, the danger of sharing in the perils of the Emperor. Joy, glory, hope, sparkled in every eye. They knew not whither they were going, but Napoleon was present, and with him could they doubt of victory?

At eight in the evening a gun gave the signal for departure. A thousand times embraces were immediately lavished and returned. The French rushed into their boats; martial music struck up; and Napoleon and his followers sailed majestically from the shore, amid the shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" a thousand times repeated[40].

Napoleon, when he set foot on board his vessel, exclaimed with Cæsar, "The die is cast!" His countenance was calm, his brow serene: he appeared to think less of the success of his enterprise, than of the means of promptly attaining his object. The eyes of Count Bertrand sparkled with hope and joy: General Drouot was pensive and serious: Cambronne appeared to care little about the future, and to think only of doing his duty well. The old grenadiers had resumed their martial and menacing aspect. The Emperor chatted and joked with them incessantly: he pulled their ears and their mustachios, reminded them of their dangers and their glory, and inspired their minds with that confidence, with which his own was animated.

All were burning to know their destination: respect did not allow any one to ask the question: at length Napoleon broke silence. "Grenadiers," said he, "we are going to France, we are going to Paris." At these words every countenance expanded, their joy ceased to be mingled with anxiety, and stifled cries of "France for ever!" attested to the Emperor, that in the heart of a Frenchman the love of his country is never extinct.

An English sloop of war, commanded by Captain Campbell, appeared to have the charge of watching the island of Elba[41]: she was continually sailing from Porto Ferrajo to Leghorn, and from Leghorn to Porto Ferrajo. At the moment of embarkation she was at Leghorn, and could occasion no alarm; but several vessels were descried in the channel, and their presence gave room for just apprehensions. It was hoped, however, that the night breeze would favour the progress of the flotilla, and that before daybreak it would be out of sight. This hope was frustrated. ""Scarcely had it doubled Cape St. Andrew, in the island of Elba, when the wind fell and the sea became calm. At daybreak it had advanced only six leagues, and was still between the islands of Elba and Capræa.

""The danger appeared imminent: several of the seamen were for returning to Porto Ferrajo. The Emperor ordered them to hold on their course, as, at the worst, he had the chance either of capturing the French cruiser, or of taking refuge in the island of Corsica, where he was assured of being well received. To facilitate their manœuvres, he ordered all the luggage embarked to be thrown overboard, which was cheerfully executed at the instant.""

About noon the wind freshened a little. At four o'clock they were off Leghorn. One frigate was in sight five leagues to leeward, another on the coast of Corsica, and a man-of-war brig, which was perceived to be Le Zéphir, commanded by Captain Andrieux, was coming down upon the imperial flotilla right before the wind. It was first proposed to speak to him, and make him hoist the three-coloured flag. "The Emperor, however, gave orders to the soldiers of the guard to take off their caps and conceal themselves below, choosing rather to pass by the brig without being known, and reserving himself in case of necessity, for the alternative of making him change his colours. At six o'clock the two brigs passed alongside of each other, and their commanders, who were acquainted, spoke together. The captain of Le Zéphir inquired after the Emperor, and was answered through a speaking trumpet by the Emperor himself, that he was extremely well.

""The two brigs, steering opposite courses, were soon out of sight of each other, without Captain Andrieux having any suspicion of the valuable prize, that he had allowed to escape.

""In the night of the 27th the wind continued to freshen. At day-break a seventy-four was descried, which appeared steering for San Fiorenzo or Sardinia, and it was soon perceived, that she took no notice of the brig[42].""

The Emperor, before he quitted the island of Elba, had prepared with his own hand two proclamations, one addressed to the French people, the other to the army; and he was desirous of having them copied out fairly. His secretary and General Bertrand, being neither of them able to decipher them, carried them to Napoleon, who, despairing of doing it himself, threw them into the sea from vexation. Then, after meditating for a few moments, he dictated to his secretary the two following proclamations on the spot.

Proclamation.

Gulf of Juan, March the 1st, 1815.

Napoleon, by the grace of God and constitution of the empire, Emperor of the French, &c. &c. &c.

To the Army.

Soldiers!

We have not been vanquished: two men, who issued from our ranks, betrayed our laurels, their country, their prince, their benefactor.

Shall they, whom we have seen for five and twenty years traversing all Europe, to stir up enemies against us—who have spent their lives in fighting against us in the ranks of foreign armies, and cursing our lovely France—now pretend to command us, and to enchain our eagles, the looks of which they could never withstand? Shall we suffer them to inherit the fruits of our glorious toils? to seize upon our honours, and our property, and calumniate our fame? Should their reign continue, all would be lost, even the remembrance of our memorable victories.

With what virulence do they distort them! They endeavour to poison what is the admiration of the world; and if any defenders of our glory still remain, it is among those very enemies whom we combated in the field.

Soldiers! in my exile I heard your voice: I am arrived through every obstacle, through every danger.

Your general, called to the throne by the voice of the people, and raised on your shields, is restored to you. Come and join him.

Tear down those colours, which the nation has proscribed, and which for five and twenty years served as a signal to rally all the enemies of France. Mount that tricoloured cockade, which you wore in our great victories. We must forget, that we have been the masters of other nations; but we must not suffer any to interfere in our affairs. Who shall pretend to be our master? Who is able to be so? Resume the eagles you bore at Ulm, at Austerlitz, at Jena, at Eylau, at Wagram, at Friedland, at Tudela, at Eckmuhl, at Essling, at Smolensko, at Moscow, at Lutzen, at Wurtchen, at Montmirail. Think you that handful of Frenchmen, now so arrogant, can support their sight? They will return whence they came; and there, if they please, they may reign, as they pretend to have reigned for nineteen years.

Your property, your rank, your glory—the property, the rank, the glory of your children—have no greater enemies than those princes, who have been imposed on us by foreigners. They are the enemies of our glory; since the recital of so many glorious actions, which have rendered illustrious the French people, fighting against them to emancipate themselves from their yoke, is their condemnation.

The veterans of the armies of the Sambre and Meuse, of the Rhine, of Italy, of Egypt, of the west, of the grand army, are humiliated; their honourable scars are disgraced; their successes would be crimes, the valiant would be rebels, if, as the enemies of the people assert, legitimate sovereigns were among the foreign armies. Their honours, rewards, affections, are for those who have served them, against us and against our country.

Soldiers, come and arrange yourselves under the standards of your chief: his existence consists only of yours; his rights are only those of the people and of you; his interest, his honour, his glory, are no other than your glory. Victory will march forward with the charge step: the eagle, with the national colours, will fly from steeple to steeple till it reaches the towers of Notre Dame. You may then display your scars with honour, you may then boast of what you have done: you will be the deliverers of your country.

In your old age, surrounded and respected by your fellow citizens, they will listen with veneration to the recital of your noble deeds: you may proudly say, I too was in that grand army which twice entered the walls of Vienna, and those of Rome, of Berlin, of Madrid, and of Moscow, and which cleansed Paris from the stain inflicted on it by treason and the presence of the enemy. Honour to those brave soldiers, the glory of their country! and eternal shame to those guilty Frenchmen, in whatever rank it was their fortune to be born, who fought for five and twenty years in company with foreigners, to wound the bosom of their country.

Signed, Napoleon.

By the Emperor.

The grand marshal, executing the functions of major-general of the grand army.

Signed, Bertrand.

Proclamation.

Gulf of Juan, March 1, 1815.

Napoleon, by the grace of God and the constitution of the empire, Emperor of the French, &c. &c. &c.

To the French People.

Frenchmen!

The defection of the Duke of Castiglione gave up Lyons without defence to our enemies. The army, the command of which I had entrusted to him, was capable, from the bravery and patriotism of the troops of which it was formed, of beating the Austrian army opposed to it, and taking in the rear the left flank of the enemy's army, that threatened Paris.

The victories of Champ Aubert, of Montmirail, of Château Thierry, of Vauchamp, of Mormane, of Montereau, of Craone, of Rheims, of Arcy-sur-Aube, and of St. Dizier; the insurrection of the brave peasantry of Lorraine, of Champagne, of Alsace, of Franche Comté, and of Burgundy; and the position I had taken in the rear of the enemy's army, cutting it off from its magazines, its parks of reserve, and convoys, and all its waggons, had placed it in a desperate situation. The French were on the point of being more powerful than ever, and the flower of the enemy's army was lost without resource; it would have found its grave in those vast countries, which it had so pitilessly ravaged, when the treachery of the Duke of Ragusa delivered up the capital, and disorganized the army. The unsuspected conduct of these two generals, who betrayed at once their country, their prince, and their benefactor, changed the fate of the war: the situation of the enemy was such, that, after the affair that took place before Paris, he was without ammunition, in consequence of being separated from his parks of reserve[43].

Under these new and important circumstances, my heart was torn, but my mind remained unshaken: I consulted only the interests of our country, and banished myself to a rock surrounded by the seas: my life was useful to you, and was destined still to be so. I would not permit the great number of citizens, who were desirous of accompanying me, to share my fate: I deemed their presence advantageous to France, and I took with me only the handful of brave fellows necessary for my guard.

Raised to the throne by your choice, every thing that has been done without you is illegal. Within these five and twenty years France has acquired new interests, new institutions, new glory, to be guarantied only by a national government, and a dynasty born under these new circumstances. A prince who should reign over you, who should be seated on my throne by the power of the same armies, that have ravaged our territories, would seek in vain to support himself by the principles of feudal right; he could secure the honour and the rights only of a small number of individuals, enemies to the people, who have condemned them in all our national assemblies for five and twenty years. Your tranquillity at home, and estimation abroad, would be lost for ever.

Frenchmen! in my exile I heard your complaints and wishes: you called for that government of your own choice, which alone is legitimate; you blamed my long slumber; you reproached me with sacrificing the great interests of the country to my own repose.

I have crossed the seas amid perils of every kind: I arrive among you to resume my rights, which are also yours. Every thing that individuals have done, written, or said, since the taking of Paris, I shall consign to everlasting oblivion; it shall have no influence on the remembrance I retain of the important services they have rendered, for there are events of such a nature, that they are above the frame of man.

Frenchmen! there is no nation, however small, that has not possessed the right of withdrawing, and that has not withdrawn itself, from the disgrace of obeying a prince imposed upon it by an enemy temporarily victorious. When Charles VII. re-entered Paris, and overturned the ephemeral throne of Henry VI., he acknowledged, that he held his crown from the valour of his brave people, and not from the Prince Regent of England.

It is to you only, and to the brave men of the army, that I make, and shall always make it my glory, to owe every thing.

Signed, Napoleon.