RESIDENCE AT BRIARS. (continued 3)

ORIGIN OF THE CORPS OF GUIDES.—ANOTHER DANGER INCURRED BY NAPOLEON.—THE GERMAN OFFICER.

December 1st—3rd. Many incidents fill up this interval: some I reject as unnecessary, some it is proper I should withhold. I here note down only a few anecdotes of the General-in-chief of the Army of Italy.

After the passage of the Mincio, Napoleon, having concerted all his plans, and pursued the enemy in every direction, entered a castle on the left bank of the river. He was troubled with the head-ache, and he used a foot-bath. A large detachment of the enemy, in great confusion, 247arrived, having ascended the river as far as the castle. Napoleon had only a few persons with him; the sentinel on duty at the gate had just time to close it, exclaiming, “To arms!” and the General of the Army of Italy, in the hour of victory, was compelled to escape through the back gates of the garden, with but one boot on. Had he been made prisoner, before his reputation was established, the acts of genius which had marked the commencement of his career would, perhaps, by the common run of mankind, have been considered merely as fortunate and blameable enterprises. The danger which the French General had just escaped (a circumstance which, through his method of operations, was likely often to recur) was the origin of the guides appointed to guard his person. These guides have since been introduced in other armies.

In the same campaign, Napoleon incurred another imminent risk:—Wurmser, who had been compelled to throw himself into Mantua, and who was debouching suddenly on an open plain, learned from an old woman, that, only a few moments before his arrival, the French General, with but a few followers, had stopped at her door, and that he had fled within sight of the Austrians. Wurmser immediately despatched parties of cavalry in every direction, calculating with certainty on the precious capture. “But,” said the Emperor, “I must do him this justice, he gave particular orders that I should not be killed or harmed in any way.” Fortunately for the young General, his happy star and the swiftness of his horse preserved him.

The new system of military operations practised by Napoleon disconcerted every one. The campaign was scarcely opened, when Lombardy was inundated with troops in every direction, and the French approached Mantua pell-mell with the enemy. The General-in-chief, when in the neighbourhood of Pizzighitone, met a great fat German Captain or Colonel, who had been made prisoner. Napoleon took a fancy to question him, without being known, and enquired how affairs were going on. “Very badly,” replied the officer; “I know not how it will end; but no one seems to understand what 248is doing; we have been sent to fight a young blockhead, who attacks you on the right and the left, in front and in rear, so that there is no knowing how to proceed. This mode of carrying on war is intolerable; and for my part, I am very glad to have done with it....”

Napoleon used to relate that, after one of his great actions in Italy, he passed over the field of battle with two or three other persons, before the dead bodies had been interred. “In the deep silence of a beautiful moonlight night,” said the Emperor, “a dog, leaping suddenly from beneath the clothes of his dead master, rushed upon us, and then immediately returned to his hiding-place, howling piteously. He alternately licked his master’s face, and again flew at us; thus, at once soliciting aid and seeking revenge. Whether owing to my own particular turn of mind at the moment,” continued the Emperor, “the time, the place, or the action itself, I know not; but certainly no incident on any field of battle ever produced so deep an impression on me. I involuntarily stopped to contemplate the scene. This man, thought I, perhaps has friends in the camp or in his company; and here he lies forsaken by all except his dog! What a lesson Nature here presents through the medium of an animal! What a strange being is man! and how mysterious are his impressions; I had, without emotion, ordered battles which were to decide the fate of the army; I had beheld, with tearless eyes, the execution of those operations, by which numbers of my countrymen were sacrificed; and here my feelings were roused by the mournful howling of a dog! Certainly at that moment I should have been easily moved by a suppliant enemy; I could very well imagine Achilles yielding up the body of Hector at the sight of Priam’s tears.”

WAR.—PRINCIPLES.—APPLICATION.—OPINIONS ON SEVERAL GENERALS.

4th—5th. My eyes had become so bad that I was obliged to suspend my occupation: I had nearly lost my sight in the Campaign in Italy.

For some time past a sensible change had taken place 249in the weather. We knew nothing about the order of the seasons. As the sun passed twice over our heads in the course of the last year, we said we ought, at least, to have two summers. Every thing was totally different from what we had been accustomed to; and, to complete our embarrassments, we were obliged, being now in the southern hemisphere, to make all our calculations in a manner quite the reverse of that which we had practised in Europe. It rained frequently, the air was very damp, and it grew colder than before. The Emperor could no longer go out in the evening; he was continually catching cold and did not sleep well. He was obliged to give up taking his meals beneath the tent, and he had them served up in his own chamber. Here he found himself better; but he could not stir from his seat.

Our conversation continued after the dinner was removed from table. To-day the Emperor attacked General Gourgaud on the elements and first exercises of artillery. The General had recently belonged to that department of the service, and all his professional science was quite fresh. The discussion was very curious, and was maintained with great spirit. Napoleon never proved himself to be the weaker party: one might have been tempted to believe that he had just passed his examination at the academy.

The conversation then turned on war and great commanders. “The fate of a battle,” observed the Emperor, “is the result of a moment—of a thought: the hostile forces advance with various combinations, they attack each other and fight for a certain time; the critical moment arrives, a mental flash decides, and the least reserve accomplishes the object.” He spoke of Lützen, Bautzen, &c.; and afterwards, alluding to Waterloo, he said, that had he followed up the idea of turning the enemy’s right, he should easily have succeeded; he, however, preferred piercing the centre, and separating the two armies. But all was fatal in that engagement; it even assumed the appearance of absurdity: nevertheless, he ought to have gained the victory. Never had any of his battles presented less doubt to his mind; nor could he now account for what had happened. Grouchy, he 250said, had lost himself; Ney appeared bewildered, and his countenance at once expressed the remorse he felt for the transactions of Fontainebleau and of Lons-le-Saunier; d’Erlon was useless; in short, the generals were no longer themselves. If, in the evening, he had been aware of Grouchy’s position, and could have thrown himself upon it, he might, in the morning, with the help of that fine reserve, have repaired his ill success, and perhaps, even have destroyed the allied forces by one of those miracles, those turns of Fortune, which were familiar to him, and which would have surprised no one. But he knew nothing of Grouchy; and besides, it was not easy to act with decision amongst the wrecks of the army. It would be difficult to imagine the condition of the French army on that disastrous night; it was a torrent dislodged from its bed, sweeping away every thing in its course.

Turning to another subject, he said that the dangers incurred by the military commanders of antiquity were not to be compared with those which attend the generals of modern times. There is, he observed, no position in which a general may not now be reached by artillery; but anciently a general ran no risk, except when he himself charged, which Cæsar did only twice or thrice.

“We rarely,” said he, “find, combined together, all the qualities necessary to constitute a great general. The object most desirable is that a man’s judgment should be in equilibrium with his personal courage; that raises him at once above the common level.” This is what the Emperor termed being well squared, both by the base and perpendicular.

“If,” continued he, “courage be a general’s predominating quality, he will rashly embark in enterprises above his conceptions; and, on the other hand, he will not venture to carry his ideas into effect, if his character or courage be inferior to his judgment.”

He then cited the example of the Viceroy, whose sole merit consisted in this equilibrium of character, which, however, sufficed to render him a very distinguished man.

Physical and moral courage then became the subject 251of discourse. “With respect to physical courage,” the Emperor said, “it was impossible for Murat and Ney not to be brave, but no men ever possessed less judgment; the former in particular. As to moral courage,” observed he, “I have very rarely met with the two o’clock in the morning courage. I mean, unprepared courage, that which is necessary on an unexpected occasion, and which, in spite of the most unforeseen events, leaves full freedom of judgment and decision.” He did not hesitate to declare that he was himself eminently gifted with this two o’clock in the morning courage, and that, in this respect, he had met with but few persons who were at all equal to him. He remarked that an incorrect idea was generally formed of the strength of mind necessary to engage in one of those great battles on which depends the fate of an army or nation, or the possession of a throne. “Generals,” added he, “are rarely found eager to give battle; they choose their positions; establish themselves; consider their combinations; but then commences their indecision: nothing is so difficult, and at the same time so important, as to know when to decide.”

He next proceeded to notice several generals, and condescended to reply to some questions that were asked him. “Kleber,” said he, “was endowed with the highest talent; but he was merely the man of the moment: he pursued glory as the only road to enjoyment; but he had no national sentiment, and he could, without any sacrifice, have devoted himself to foreign service.” Kleber had commenced his youthful career among the Prussians, to whom he continued much attached. Dessaix possessed, in a very superior degree, the important equilibrium above described. Moreau scarcely deserved to be placed in the first rank of generals; in him nature had left her work unfinished; he possessed more instinct than genius. In Lannes, courage at first predominated over judgment; but the latter was every day gaining ground, and approaching the equilibrium. He had become a very able commander at the period of his death. “I found him a dwarf,” said the Emperor, “but I lost him a giant.” In another general, whom he named, 252judgment was, on the contrary, superior to courage; it could not be denied that he was a brave man; but he, like many others, did not forget the chance of the cannon-ball.

Speaking of military ardour and courage, the Emperor said, “I know the depth, or what I call the draught of water, of all my generals. Some,” added he, joining action to his words, “will sink to the waist, some to the chin, others over head; but the number of the latter is very small, I assure you.” Suchet, he said, was one whose courage and judgment had been surprisingly improved. Massena was a very superior man, and, by a strange peculiarity of temperament, he possessed the desired equilibrium only in the heat of battle; it was created in the midst of danger. “The generals,” finally observed the Emperor, “who seemed destined to rise to future distinction were Gerard, Clausel, Foy, Lamarque, &c. These were my new marshals.”

SITUATION OF THE SPANISH PRINCES AT VALENCEY.—THE POPE AT FONTAINEBLEAU.—REFLECTIONS, &C.

6th.—The Emperor, after dictating to me this morning, was successively engaged with the other gentlemen, with whom he prolonged his walk for some time. When they withdrew, I followed him into the lower path: he was dull and silent, and his countenance appeared somewhat harsh and ruffled. “Well,” said he, as we were returning to dinner, “we shall have sentinels under our windows at Longwood. They wished to force me to have a foreign officer at my table and in my drawing-room. I cannot mount my horse without being accompanied by an officer; in short, we cannot stir a step under pain of being insulted!...” I replied that this was another drop of sorrow added to the bitter cup which we were doomed to drink to his past glory and power; but that his philosophy was sufficient to defy the malice of his enemies, and to make them blush for their brutality in the face of the whole world. I ventured to remark that the Spanish Princes at Valencey, and the Pope at Fontainebleau, had never experienced such treatment. “Certainly not,” resumed he; “the Princes 253hunted and gave balls at Valencey, without being physically aware of their chains; they experienced respect and courtesy at all hands. Old King Charles IV. removed from Compiegne to Marseilles, and from Marseilles to Rome, whenever he wished. And yet how different are those places from this! The Pope at Fontainebleau, whatever may have been the reports circulated in the world, was treated in the same manner. And yet how many persons, in spite of all the indulgences he enjoyed, refused to be appointed to guard him!—a circumstance which gave me no offence, for I thought it perfectly natural. Such employments are subject to the influence of delicacy of feeling; and our European manners require that power should be limited by honour.” He observed that, for his own part, as a private man and an officer, he should without hesitation have refused to guard the Pope, whose removal to France, he added, had never been ordered by him.—I manifested great surprise.—“You are astonished,” said he: “you did not know this? But it is nevertheless true, as well as many other similar facts, which you will learn in course of time. But, with reference to the subject on which we have just been speaking, it is necessary to distinguish the conduct of the sovereign, who acts collectively, from that of the private man, whose sentiments are without constraint. Policy permits, nay, frequently demands, from the one, what would be unpardonable in the other.” The hour of dinner, by introducing various subjects of conversation, diverted his melancholy, and cheerfulness finally prevailed.

Meanwhile the Emperor seriously determined to quit his present wretched abode, whatever inconvenience his new residence might present. On going to pass the remainder of the evening with our host, the Emperor directed me to present him a box bearing his cypher, and to tell him he was sorry for all the trouble he had occasioned to him.

ON THE NOUVELLE HÉLOÏSE, AND ON LOVE.

7th.—The Emperor summoned me to attend him at an early hour. He began to read the Nouvelle Héloïse, 254frequently remarking on the ingenuity and force of the arguments, the elegance of the style and expressions: he read for upwards of two hours. This reading made a powerful impression on me; it produced a deep melancholy—a mingled feeling of tenderness and sorrow. I had always been fond of the work; and it now awakened happy recollections, and excited deep regret: the Emperor frequently smiled at me. During breakfast the Nouvelle Héloïse was the topic of conversation.

“Jean-Jacques has overcharged his subject,” said the Emperor; “he has painted madness: love should be a source of pleasure, not of misery.” I alleged that Jean-Jacques had described nothing which a man might not feel, and that even the misery to which the Emperor alluded was, in reality, happiness.—“I see,” said he, “you have a little touch of the romantic: has Love’s misery rendered you happy?”—“I do not complain of my fate, Sire,” replied I; “were I to begin life again, I should wish to retrace the course I have already pursued.”

The Emperor resumed his reading after breakfast; but he paused occasionally: the enchantment seemed to seize him in his turn. He at length laid down the book, and we went out to the garden. “Really,” said he, as we walked along, “this work is not without fire; it moves, it rouses the feelings.” We discussed the subject deeply; we were very prolix in our remarks, and we at length agreed that perfect love is like ideal happiness; that both are equally airy, fugitive, mysterious, and inexplicable; and that, finally, love is the business of the idle man, the recreation of the warrior, and the ruin of the sovereign.

We were joined by the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud, who had just come from Longwood. The admiral had for some days past been urgent for our removal thither; and the Emperor was not less anxious to go, the accommodation at Briars being so very bad. However, before he removed, it was necessary that the smell of the paint should be entirely gone, for, owing to his peculiar organization, he could not possibly endure it. In the Imperial palaces, care had been taken never to expose him to it. In his different journeys, the slightest smell 255of paint frequently rendered it necessary to change the apartments that had been prepared for him; and on board of the Northumberland the paint of the ship had made him very ill. He had been informed on the preceding evening that all was ready at Longwood, and that the disagreeable effect of the paint was entirely gone. He accordingly determined to remove on the Saturday following, as he would thus be rid of the annoyance of the workmen on Sunday; but the Grand Marshal and M. Gourgaud now came to say that they had visited the place, and that it was not habitable. The Emperor expressed much vexation at the first account he had received, and the resolution which it had led him to adopt. The two gentlemen withdrew, and we entered the lower walk. The Emperor was much out of humour. M. de Montholon now arrived, very mal-a-propos, from Longwood, declaring that all was ready, and that the Emperor might remove as soon as he wished. These two accounts, so contradictory and so close upon each other, strongly excited his displeasure. Fortunately, dinner was announced, which diverted his attention from the subject. The cloth was laid in the Emperor’s chamber; for he had so severe a cold that he could not endure the tent. After dinner he resumed his reading; and ended the day, as he had begun it, with the Nouvelle Héloïse.

THE ENGLISH LIEUTENANT.—A SINGULAR CIRCUMSTANCE.—DEPARTURE FOR LONGWOOD DETERMINED ON.—STATE OF FRANCE.—MEMORIAL IN JUSTIFICATION OF NEY.

8th—9th. Owing to the doubt which had yesterday arisen respecting the paint, I determined to go myself to ascertain the real state of the case, and to acquaint the Emperor with it at breakfast-time. I accordingly set out very early, walking three parts of the way, because nobody was up who could get ready a horse for me. I returned before nine o’clock. The smell of the paint was certainly very slight; but it was too much for the Emperor.

On the 9th the Captain of the Minden of 74, was introduced to the Emperor in the garden. The captain 256had arrived from the Cape of Good Hope, and was on the eve of sailing for Europe. He had had the honour of being presented to Napoleon at Paris, under the Consulate, about twelve years before. He requested permission to introduce one of his Lieutenants to the Emperor, on account of some personal circumstances, which we thought very singular. The young man was born at Bologna, precisely at the period when the French army entered that city. The French General, Napoleon, had by some accident been present at the christening of the child, to whom he gave a tri-coloured cockade, which has since been carefully preserved in the family.

After the departure of these gentlemen, the Grand Marshal arrived from Longwood. He thought the paint by no means offensive; the Emperor’s present accommodation was very bad, and a portion of his property had already been removed; he therefore resolved to proceed to Longwood on the following day, of which I was heartily glad. I had for some days past had an opportunity of observing that a determination had been adopted to compel the Emperor to quit his present abode. I had kept to myself all the communications, public or private, that had been made to me on the subject. I made it a rule to spare him every cause of vexation that I possibly could, and merely contented myself with acting in the way that I thought most advisable. Two days before, an officer was sent to carry away the tent, though we had expressed no wish to that effect. The officer had also been directed to remove the outside shutters from the Emperor’s windows; but this I opposed, telling him it could not be done, as the Emperor had not yet risen, and I sent him away. On another occasion, with the view of alarming me, I was told as a great secret that if the Emperor did not immediately remove, it was intended to station a hundred soldiers at the gates of the enclosure. “Very well,” I replied, and took no further notice. What could be the occasion of all this hurry? I suspect that the caprice of our jailors, and the desire of pushing their authority to the utmost, had more concern in the business than any thing else.

257We received newspapers down to the 15th of September; and they became the subject of conversation. The Emperor analyzed them. The future appeared enveloped in clouds. “However,” said the Emperor, “three great events present themselves to the imagination;—the division of France, the reign of the Bourbons, or a new dynasty. Louis XVIII.,” observed he, “might easily have reigned in 1814, by rendering himself a national monarch. Now he has only the odious and uncertain chance arising out of excessive severity—a reign of terror. His dynasty may be permanently established, or that which is to succeed him may still be in the secret of futurity.” Some one present observed, “that the Duke of Orleans might be called to the throne;” but the Emperor, by a string of very forcible and eloquent reasoning, proved that, unless the Duke of Orleans came to wear the crown in his turn by the natural order of succession, it was the well-understood interest of all the sovereigns of Europe to prefer him (Napoleon) to the Duke of Orleans, coming to the throne by a crime. “For,” said he, “what is the doctrine of Kings against the events of the present day? Is it to prevent a renewal of the example which I furnished, against what they call legitimacy? Now the example which I have set cannot be renewed above once in the course of many ages; but that of the Duke of Orleans, the near relative of the monarch on the throne, may be renewed daily, hourly, and in every country. There is no sovereign, who has not, in his own palace, and about his person, cousins, nephews, brothers, and other relations, who could easily follow such an example if it were once given.”

We read, in the same papers, an abstract of the memorial, in justification of Marshal Ney.—The Emperor thought it most pitiable. It was not calculated to save his life, and by no means to maintain his honour. The arguments in his defence were, to say the least of them, feeble and destitute of point. After all he had done, he st¡ll protested his devotedness to the King, and his aversion of the Emperor, “An absurd plan,” said Napoleon, “but one which has been generally adopted by those who have figured in the present memorable times, and 258who seem not to have considered that I am so entirely identified with our prodigies, our monuments, our institutions, and all our national acts, that to separate me from them is to wrong France. The glory of France is to acknowledge me! And, in spite of all the subtlety, evasion, and falsehood, that may be employed to prove the contrary, my character will still be fairly estimated by the French nation. Ney’s defence,” continued he, “was plainly traced out. He was led on by a general impulse which he thought calculated to ensure the welfare of his country; he had obeyed without premeditation, and without any treasonable design. A change of fortune had ensued, and he was cited before a tribunal; this was all he had to say with respect to the great events that had taken place. As to the defence of his life, there was nothing to be said on that point, except, indeed, that he was protected by a solemn capitulation, which guaranteed to every individual silence and oblivion with regard to all political acts and opinions. Had he pursued that line of defence, and were his life, nevertheless, to be sacrificed, it would be, in the face of the whole world, a violation of the most sacred laws. He would leave behind him the recollection of a glorious character; carrying to the grave the sympathy of every generous mind, and heaping disgrace and reprobation on his murderers. But this enthusiasm is probably beyond his moral strength,” said the Emperor. “Ney is the bravest of men, and nothing more.”

It is certain that when Ney quitted Paris, he was wholly devoted to the King; and that he did not turn until he saw that all was lost. If he then proved himself enthusiastic in the opposite course, it was because he felt that he had much to atone for. After his famous order of the day, he wrote to Napoleon that what he had done was principally with a view to the welfare of the country; and that, as he could not henceforth be agreeable to the Emperor, he begged that he would grant him permission to retire. The Emperor desired him to come, and said he would receive him as he did on the day after the battle of the Moscowa. Ney presented himself to Napoleon, and said that, after what had occurred at 259Fontainebleau, he must of necessity entertain doubts of his attachment and fidelity; and that therefore he solicited no other rank than that of a grenadier in the Imperial guard. The Emperor replied by stretching forth his hand to him, and calling him the bravest of the brave, as he was accustomed to do. The Emperor compared the situation of Ney to that of Turenne. Ney might be defended: but Turenne was unjustifiable. And yet Turenne was pardoned and loaded with honours, while Ney was probably doomed to die.

“In 1649,” said he, “Turenne commanded the royal army, which command had been conferred on him by Anne of Austria, the Regent of the kingdom. Though he had taken the oath of fidelity, yet he bribed his troops, declared himself for the Fronde, and marched on Paris. But when he was declared guilty of high treason, his repentant army forsook him; and Turenne took refuge with the Prince of Hesse, to avoid the pursuit of justice. Ney, on the contrary, was urged by the unanimous wish and outcry of his army. Only nine months had elapsed since he had acknowledged a monarch, who had been preceded by six hundred thousand foreign bayonets: a monarch who had not accepted the constitution presented to him by the Senate, as the formal and necessary condition of his return, and who, by declaring that he had reigned nineteen years, proved that he regarded all preceding governments as usurpations. Ney, whose education had taught him to respect the national sovereignty, had fought for five-and-twenty years to support that cause; and, from a private soldier, had raised himself to the rank of marshal. If his conduct on the 20th of March was not honourable, it is at least explicable, and in some respects pardonable; but Turenne was absolutely criminal, because the Fronde was the ally of Spain, which was then at war with his Sovereign, and because he had been prompted by his own interest and that of his family, in the hope of obtaining a sovereignty at the expense of France, and consequently to the prejudice of his country.”

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