CHAPTER XIV

WARSAW TO DRESDEN

IN spite of all these vexations the Emperor continued very cheerful. He seemed delighted to find himself at Warsaw, and was very curious to see whether he would be recognized. I think he would not have been sorry to have met someone who guessed his identity, for he traversed the city on foot and we did not take our seats on our humble sledge until we had crossed the main square. It was so cold that no one who could keep warm within doors set foot abroad, and the Emperor’s green velvet cloak with gold braid only attracted the attention of a few humble passers-by, more eager to regain their own firesides than curious about the names and quality of the travellers, whose costume, however, engaged their attention. They turned to glance, but did not stop. Anyhow, it would have been difficult to recognize the Emperor, for the fur cap he wore covered half his face.

At eleven o‘clock we alighted at the Hôtel de Saxe,71 where Amodru had arrived only a few moments previously. I at once sent to the director-general of posts to order the Duke of Vicenza’s horses for Glogau, for it was always I who was the distinguished traveller, and the Emperor simply my secretary, under the name of M. Rayneval.

Having established the Emperor in front of a poor fire in a room on the ground floor at the end of the courtyard, I made my way to the ambassador’s residence, which was near at hand in the Saxony Palace. On entering the house I encountered M. Rumigny, one of the secretaries of the legation, who had been with me at St. Petersburg, and whom I was delighted to meet again. He announced me to the ambassador, who was not a little astonished to see me, especially dressed as I was,⁷² but who was even more amazed, believing neither his ears nor his eyes, when I said that the Emperor was at the Hôtel de Saxe and was asking for him.

“The Emperor!” he repeated again and again in astonishment.

When he had somewhat recovered from his surprise, he said:

“How does he come to be here, Your Grace? How is the Emperor?”

These were M. de Pradt’s first questions.

“The Emperor is on his way to Paris; we have left the army at Smorgoni; by now it must be in position at Wilna.”

“The Emperor would have been more comfortable here than at the hotel.”

“He wishes to remain incognito; we are starting again at once.”

“Will you not take something, if only a plate of soup, Your Grace?”

“I am taking luncheon with the Emperor at the hotel. But send a bottle of Burgundy there. His Majesty prefers that wine; and as he has been unable to obtain any on the road, he will be very glad to find a good glass.”

“Is the Emperor’s health good? What state is the army in?”

“The army is in a dire plight, overwhelmed by misery, hunger and cold. Only the Guard still looks like a body of troops.”

“M. Bassano writes of nothing but successes....”

“Actually we have beaten the Russians everywhere, even at the crossing of the Beresina, where we took sixteen hundred prisoners, as I counted myself.”

“M. Bassano said six thousand.”

“The fact remains that we beat the Russians, who ought to have beaten us.”

“Why make out that we have taken six thousand prisoners?—and why, in such grave circumstances, when it is essential that he should know the truth, write to an ambassador as if he were the editor of the Moniteur?”

“The number of prisoners is of little matter, as we cannot keep them.”

“What is to hinder us?”

“How are we to feed prisoners when our own men are littering the roadside, dying of hunger?”

“Have we suffered heavy losses?”

“Too heavy,” I answered, with a deep sigh. “These disastrous results are well worthy of those who urged this war. What folly!”

“Not everyone urged it. Not everyone has deceived the Emperor as to what would happen. But what does it matter? Your Grace will have justice done you now, for it is well known that you did your best to prevent it. As for me, I have not hesitated to displease the Emperor by exposing the true facts of the situation and the state of Poland. I continually write to the Duke of Bassano; but he only replies by sending accounts of victories which deceive nobody here. This country is ruined. It has been crushed.”

I stopped the conversation by leaving the ambassador to change his clothes, and returned to the Emperor. He was all the more impatient to see M. de Pradt because, being dissatisfied with him, he was anxious to show his displeasure. Ever since leaving Sierock the Emperor had grown more excited as the moment of meeting the ambassador drew nearer, and he repeated again and again what he had already said about him. For this reason he did not alight at his ambassador’s house, which I had suggested as more comfortable and convenient for seeing various members of the Polish government whom he wished to interview.

“I refuse to stay with a man whom I am going to dismiss,” he said. “He has given me too much cause for complaint.”

I shall omit what the Emperor added to this speech, and so often repeated in the access of his ill-humour. He blamed M. de Pradt for meanness, for lack of tact, for misdirecting the zeal of our adherents.

“He has ruined all my plans with his indolence,” said the Emperor. “He is a chatterbox, and nothing more. I have often wished Talleyrand here.”

The ambassador arrived just when these last words were uttered. The Emperor received him coldly. M. de Pradt came forward eagerly, and asked how His Majesty was. His words had the ring of genuine interest; but this seemed to be even less in his favour. The Emperor would rather have been blamed, even criticized and found fault with by any other man, and was ill-disposed to tolerate this man-to-man air of interest on the part of one against whom he was deeply incensed. Perceiving the effect he had produced, M. de Pradt became colder and more reserved. These preliminaries showed me clearly that I should be doing the ambassador a service by leaving him with no witness, and so giving him an opportunity of private conversation with the Emperor; and I left the room. But the Emperor by the same token desired the presence of a third party to increase M. de Pradt’s discomfiture, and he bade me remain. When I explained, however, that certain orders had to be given for the continuation of our journey, and that I had to buy him an extra cloak, he let me go, bidding me send for Count Stanislas E’otocki, as well as the Minister of Finance. He added that I was to get everything ready for a speedy departure, and to return immediately. I bought the cloak for the Emperor, who suffered severely from the cold at nighttime, although I covered him with half my own cloak, thereby almost freezing myself.

I hurried up the dinner and returned to the room adjoining the Emperor’s, to send off a courier to Wilna. and an outrider to precede us to Posen. As the door between the two rooms closed imperfectly, I could not help hearing the Emperor heaping on his ambassador all the reproaches he had already enumerated in his conversations with me. He concluded by saying that neither his tone, his conduct, nor anything about him, had been French. He reproached him with making plans for a campaign, with acting the soldier when he knew nothing about military matters, and added that he ought to confine himself to politics and saying his Mass. He had been sent to Warsaw to represent France honourably, and not make petty economies and lay plans for a fortune for himself, which would have been assured him had he performed his duty as he ought. But as it was, he had achieved nothing but blunders.

M. de Pradt tried to justify himself, protesting his devotion, his zeal, his regret for any errors he had committed, his desire to do better. He defended and justified Poland for not having done all the Emperor desired for the success of the Russian expedition. He enumerated the sacrifices she had made, the forces she had raised, which he placed as high as eighty thousand men. He declared that everyone was ruined, that not a crown-piece could be found in the whole country, that financial help would have to be given if anything at all was to be done. The more M. de Pradt justified himself, the angrier the Emperor became. He blamed him for the incalculable consequences that must ensue from his neglect to call up the levies, and added that, from the ambassador’s own words, it was plain that he was courting foolish popularity; that a clever man like himself ought to have seen, and made the Poles understand, that to prolong the struggle by withholding the means of bringing it to a speedy end would merely injure themselves.

THE CHATAU AND THE PARK OF CAULAINCOURTY (1843) Watercolor by Comte E. de Montesquiou From the collection of Comte Bernard de Kergorlay

The Emperor called me in; he seemed bored to death with the ambassador’s presence. His gestures, the way he shrugged his shoulders, showed his mood so clearly that I really shared the embarrassment of his victim, who was in an agony of mortification. I felt I should be doing them both a kindness by going out for a moment, and returning an instant later to inform His Majesty that dinner was served. But he had again started his tale of reproaches and went on, now with vehemence, now with cold disdain, until, seeing a card on the mantelpiece, he stopped suddenly in the middle of a sentence, snatched it up, wrote a few words on it, and handed it to me.⁷³

All this time M. de Pradt was trying to get in a few words in self-defence, casting blame on all the French authorities, of whom he complained bitterly, as well as of the generals, and so forth. It seemed to me that, on some grounds, his remarks were not without reason.

This criticism of the military aspect annoyed the Emperor still more; he would not even permit any comments on the operations undertaken by Prince Schwarzenberg. As for the tactics of the troops in the Duchy of Poland, of which the Emperor actually approved no more than did the ambassador, he told him sharply that he would not allow a priest to pass any judgment on the matter. The Emperor spoke of the defence of the Duchy, which he considered would be a simple matter if the levies were raised, although the ambassador held that the country was unprotected and in great peril. The Emperor always argued on the hypothesis that the army would remain at Wilna, and that Schwarzenberg would do what was expected of him. He anticipated holding and defending the Duchy by Polish levies, and by a general mobilization. He even wished to cover his army quarters by a screen of those Polish Cossacks of which he was never tired of talking, though, for lack of money, they had not yet even been collected into depôts.

The discussion had by now taken a turn for the better and was no longer disagreeably personal, and M. de Pradt, zealous in military controversies, adopted a rather dogmatic tone in refuting, with some reason as it seemed to me, what the Emperor laid down in the tone of a master who expects silence rather than disagreement. The ambassador even seemed to allow himself more freedom in his observations than would have been permissible in private conversation. He saw safety only in what we no longer possessed—well-organized and well-paid armies; and he asserted that without money not a horse nor a man could be hoped for in the Duchy.

“Then what do the Poles want?” the Emperor demanded sharply. “It is for them we are fighting, for them that I have lavished my treasure. If they mean to do nothing for their own cause, it is useless for them to work up such a passion for the restoration of their independence.”

“They want to be Prussian,” answered the ambassador.

“Why not Russian?” rejoined the Emperor indignantly.

He turned his back on M. de Pradt, telling him to return in half an hour with the ministers who had been summoned.

When M. de Pradt had gone the Emperor launched into a long and violent tirade against him, accusing him of being afraid of the Russians; of having, throughout the campaign, frightened rather than reassured the Poles; and of having ruined all his plans in Poland.

“Carry out at once the order I gave you,” he said sharply, referring to what he had written on the card which he had handed to me in M. de Pradt’s presence. It said: “Send Maret word that fear of the Russians has made the Archbishop of Malines lose his head—that he is to dismiss him and put someone else in charge.”

I had thrust the card in my pocket. At the moment I continued pacing up and down with the Emperor, without answering or executing his orders.

Noticing his silence, I reminded him that dinner had been growing cold for some time, but he paid little attention to this, directing me again to carry out the order. After a moment I pointed out to him that this change would produce a bad effect on the Council at Warsaw.

“If M. de Pradt,” I said, “has, as Your Majesty thinks, played up to the members of the Council, he will be all the more acceptable to them at a moment of difficulty. No harm will be done by leaving him here for some time. He will do his best to remedy his errors, and circumstances will stimulate his zeal. He will even do better than a new man could do. If you dismiss him, he will say it is for having protected the interests of the Duchy, and that will have a bad effect.”

The Emperor then enumerated the different orders which the Duke of Bassano had given M. de Pradt concerning levies. He went into lengthy details as to the means placed at the disposal of the ambassador and the Duchy, and concluded by saying:

“You shall write from Posen. Now let us dine, so that I can see the ministers and then start off.”

To keep the Emperor from going back on his decision, I threw the card in the fire in his presence. Preoccupied by affairs, anxious to see the ministers and be on the road again, His Majesty did not remain long at table, although the cup of coffee we had snatched at Pultusk had refreshed us but little.

“Business nourishes me,” said the Emperor, “and I have a surfeit from discontent. This priest has annoyed me. What impudence! He complains of everyone, criticizes everything. What has he ever done to entitle him to blame others? He is losing this campaign for me.”

The Emperor also received Count Taillis, lieutenant-general in command at Warsaw, who had nothing to say in praise of the ambassador’s behaviour in the moment of crisis.

The Emperor accorded a good reception to the ministers who accompanied M. de Pradt. These gentlemen spoke of the dangers His Majesty had run, and their happiness in seeing him in such good health. His mere presence was to them a guarantee of better days to come... and so forth, and so on. The Emperor brushed aside the idea that he had ever run any risks. He laughingly observed that rest and quiet were the lot of none but sluggard monarchs, adding that he thrived on fatigue. He told them that the army was still strong in numbers, with more than one hundred and fifty thousand men, which was hardly the truth. The Russians, according to him, were not holding out; they had been beaten in every direction, even at the Beresina. These Russians were no longer the men of Eylau and Friedland. Before three months had elapsed he would have as strong an army as he had when he opened the campaign. His arsenals were full, he had all the essentials in equipment and troops to make a splendid army. From his private study in the Tuileries he could impose his will on Vienna and Berlin better than from army headquarters. “I carry more weight when I am on my throne in the Tuileries than when I am leading my army,” he said. He spoke of Marengo and Essling, battles that had been almost lost yet which, a couple of hours later, had placed Austria at his disposal.⁷⁴

I went into the other room to make certain that everything was ready. The sledges were drawn up before the door. I paid the hotel-keeper, gave a few directions, and made notes of the strange conversation I had just heard. After dinner, while the Emperor was at his toilet, I had jotted down particulars of what I had said to the ambassador and of his conversation with the Emperor. As soon as I was able to pay attention to what was being said now, I heard the Emperor attributing his reverses solely to the climate, and admitting that he had possibly stayed too long at Moscow because, having sent Lauriston to Russian headquarters, he had hoped to be able to conclude a peace. He said that Wilna would be held, but agreed that the Russians had shown strength of character, and that they loved the Tsar Alexander. The burning of Moscow, he acknowledged, had upset his plans. He emphasized the fact that it was the Russians who had set fire to their own capital. He spoke of the need for showing strength of mind on our side, adding that even grave reverses might lead to astounding successes. He talked with eagerness of the levies to be raised, especially of the indispensable Polish Cossacks.

The ministers emphasized the distress of their country. The Emperor did not seem to pay attention to this. M. de Pradt supported them generously when they asked for money. The Emperor granted some millions from the Courland assessment and from an issue of copper coinage, and concluded by announcing the imminent arrival of the diplomatic corps from Wilna. He then started to talk of his journey, and then I entered the room. The ministers urged the Emperor to rest for a few hours while relays were being organized along the road. They enquired whether he would take the Silesia route by Glogau.

“Yes, by Prussia,” answered the Emperor.

This crossing of Prussian territory, short though it was, worried him. He told them, questioning me as he did so, that I had given all the necessary instructions for relays, and that he was about to start at once. He then dismissed the ministers very graciously, amid their renewed expressions of devotion, in which they were all joined by M. de Pradt, who seemed to have forgotten the rebukes administered before dinner.

 

We mounted our sledge without further delay [about seven P.M., December 10], and once again the Emperor gave vent to his spleen against M. de Pradt. He passed the most bitter comments on the Archbishop’s terror when the Russians had nearly reached the Duchy, and on the bad example given by his behaviour on that occasion. He spoke of his breeding and his manners, which were out of keeping, His Majesty said, with the education he had received, with the company in which he must have mixed, particularly with the religious calling he had chosen. The Emperor kept on alleging that M. de Pradt had lost him Poland and ruined his campaign. It had been a mistake to pay heed to foolish intrigues and not send Talleyrand, who would have served him well, as he had previously done at Finckenstein [April-May, 1807].

The most difficult part of our journey had certainly been accomplished, but we had still to cross the little strip of Prussian territory after Glogau; and this worried the Emperor more than all the rest of his journey. We travelled at great speed, but when a shaft of our sledge broke we were obliged to stop at Kutno to have it mended, which delayed us more than two hours.

The sub-prefect recognized the Emperor, and gave him the best reception that lay in his power. His wife and sister, two pretty Polish girls, were thrilled with excitement at having His Majesty under their roof, and were delighted beyond measure at seeing him in good health. No physiognomy is so expressive as the Polish. The Emperor appreciated the warmth of his reception, but had so much business on hand that there was no opportunity for chatting with the ladies or the sub-prefect, and he employed his time in dictating orders for the Duke of Bassano and for Warsaw. He instructed his minister to hurry on the levies and the arming of the Duchy, informing Maret of what he had granted the Poles and ordering him to send a fresh courier to Vienna and to Prince Schwarzenberg. He also issued orders to Lauriston, who was to go to Warsaw, instructing him to remain there, to assume command of the entire army, to arm Modlin and Sierock. To General du Taillis, whom he had seen at Warsaw, he confirmed in writing the orders he had given him verbally: that he was to keep all the troops passing through the city, and to organize and arm the National Guard.

The Emperor grew impatient with my slow writing, my fingers being still numb with cold, and decided to write himself while I made drafts of what he had already dictated. But his own fingers were stiff, his handwriting was at the best illegible, and after writing two letters which he could not even read himself he was obliged to dictate fresh ones to me. Dinner put a stop to this correspondence. I preserved the two historic letters written in the Emperor’s own hand, and sent off the despatches while he dined. By this time the sledge was repaired. His Majesty barely took time to eat; I managed to snatch a piece of bread with which to make my meal as we went on our way. The Emperor was deeply touched by the reception he had met with at Kutno, and instructed me to tell Duroc, when we arrived in Paris, to send a gift to the sub-prefect’s wife.

During the journey from Warsaw to Kutno, the Emperor had spoken of England, of the difficulty of forcing her to make peace unless some financial crisis or internal embarrassment forced the hands of the cabinet. At the moment he seemed to regret that his idea for the restoration of Poland had embroiled him with Russia. He agreed that she was of great importance in the Continental System.

“Rumiantsof,” he went on, “was aware how advantageous this alliance would be to me. He was no genius, but he was a man of sound judgment, with a thorough understanding of the European situation as it developed after Tilsit, and as we envisaged it at Erfurt. He also realized so fully the advantages we should draw from the alliance in France’s relation to England, that he would not even believe in hostilities until we had crossed the Niemen. He always doubted my real intention of attacking Russia. He thought my object was to make them shut their eyes to what had happened, and that my hostile demonstrations were only to force Russia not to receive neutrals and to consider herself fortunate that I stopped at threats.

“I could not permit this admission of pretended neutrals,” the Emperor continued, “as it furnished the English with a means of eluding the Continental blockade. But I would have passed it over, and we should have reached an understanding if I had been able to entertain any hope of persuading the Tsar Alexander to organize a great expedition on India. At the point we had reached in our struggle with England, whose cabinet was staking its all, this would have been the only way of alarming the London merchants. The nation would have forced the government to treat for peace. But after Erfurt I felt suspicion in the air. For my part, affairs in Spain were more or less spoiling my other projects. Alexander and Rumiantsof did not incline so much as I had expected to the partition of Turkey, and thus all my plans made at Tilsit had to be modified. I may be obliged to look at things from another angle. By some means or other we must get out of the rut we are in, find some means of forcing England to make peace, weaken Russia, solve the problem of Europe by creating a great buffer state. It would be a splendid and noble thing to rob England of any hope of forming a new coalition, by sapping the strength of the only great power which could still be her ally.”

The Emperor told me that he had long thought that Constantinople was coveted by Russia. In the hope of an expedition, or at least a demonstration, against India, he had planned another expedition by sea (possibly independent of the land operation), to which he would have been able to furnish a strong contingent if he could have persuaded the Russians to allow a French corps to march through their country. But from what he knew, and from what the Tsar and Rumiantsof had told him, this would have been difficult to negotiate.

The Emperor appears to have planned his expedition against India in the following manner. He had obtained from the navy all the necessary information. It seemed to him that the main obstacle was the impossibility of carrying sufficient water for twenty-five or thirty thousand men for such a long voyage. Otherwise he had found no insuperable difficulty. He would have directed the expedition against Surat—a landing to be made at some point on the Mahratta coast, where the people were natural enemies of the English and ready at any moment to take up arms against them. The expeditionary force would have been thirty thousand strong. They would put in at only one port, Mauritius, to water and take on board provisions and leave their sick. These latter would have been replaced by two or three thousand negroes for whom the colonists would be paid in ready money.

France, the Empress, and the King of Rome were subjects of daily conversation. His Majesty never wearied of exclaiming how glad he would be to see them again, and expressed the most tender affection for them. The Empress he praised constantly, talking of his home life with a feeling and a simplicity that did one good to hear. Of France and the French he spoke with an enthusiasm which was consoling after so many sacrifices.

“I make myself out to be worse than I really am,” he said to me laughingly; “for I have observed that the French are always ready to eat out of one’s hand. They lack seriousness; consequently, that quality impresses them most. I am supposed to be severe, even hard! So much the better! It saves me from having to be so! My firmness passes for insensibility; and it is partly to this impression that we owe the existing state of good order, although the Revolution is so recent, and although we have a generation among us reared in disorder and with no conception of morality or religion. So I do not complain of my reputation. Believe me, Caulaincourt, I’m only human! Whatever some people may say, I have a tender heart—but it is the heart of a sovereign. The tears of a duchess move me to no pity whatsoever, but I am touched by the woes of peoples. I want to see them happy; and the French shall be so. If I live ten years, there will be contentment everywhere. Don’t you suppose I enjoy giving pleasure? It does me good to see a happy face; but I am compelled to defend myself against this natural disposition, lest advantage be taken of it. I found that out more than once with Josephine, who was always begging me for things, and could even cry me into granting what I ought to have refused her.”

The Emperor often asked me if I too should not be delighted to see my loved ones again. This good and natural manifestation of His Majesty’s real feelings refreshed me more than I can say. I should have liked the ears of all Europe to hear his words, and every echo to repeat them. I am positive that I lost not one syllable of this conversation, which I would gladly have prolonged indefinitely.

The Emperor was most anxious to meet his couriers in order to get the eagerly awaited letters from France—the first we had received since Smorgoni. He accordingly hastened our journey as much as he could. At Posen we would regain the road the army had taken on its way to Königsberg.

Meanwhile the Emperor reviewed his cabinet. He praised Archchancellor Cambacérès as a man of prudent counsel and a great lawyer. His equitable and singularly clear judgment had thrown much light upon several articles in the Code, notably those presenting the greatest difficulties. Alluding to the death of the King, “Only fear,” he said, “prevented him from voting his acquittal.”⁷⁵ Cambacérès, he added, was far from being a revolutionary. He was a man worthy of confidence and incapable of abusing it; he had always made the best use of the trust given him; his high repute was most justly acquired.

The Emperor cited the Duke of Rovigo as a man entirely devoted to him, a man of strong character and independent viewpoint. He had a kind heart, he said; he was thoroughly good-natured, even obliging. He would often have been duped if the Emperor had not stopped him. But he was too self-interested, and this displeased His Majesty, who had decided to deprive him of the gaming monopoly, for he was incessantly asking for money, although he had already been given large sums, and his fortune, since he became a minister, had risen to five or six millions. As for the rest, the public was unjust in its opinion of him. It was held up against him that he had been present at the execution of the Duke of Enghien.

“But,” he added, “he had received orders to attend the execution, and, being commandant of the picked gendarmerie, it was his duty to be there. Anybody else would have obeyed orders exactly as he did. He was a much better man, much less of an inquisitor than Fouché. It is now the fashion to laugh at Savary. It was, indeed, ridiculous that a divisional general, Minister of Police, should be taken from his bed and whisked off to gaol by a madman just escaped from a lunatic asylum. This [Malet] incident very naturally made all Paris roar with laughter; and ridicule is more fatal to those in authority than their mistakes.”

Turning later to the Duke of Otranto [Fouché], he said:

“The man is merely a schemer. He is prodigiously clever and facile with the pen. He is a thief, and steals anything he can lay hands on. He must be worth millions. He was a great revolutionary, a man of blood. He thinks he can atone for his misdeeds, or anyhow cause them to be forgotten, by playing up to the relatives of his victims and making himself out to be the protector of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. He is a man whom it may be useful to employ, for he is still the fugleman of many revolutionaries and is, besides, exceedingly capable. But I can no longer place any confidence in him.”

The Duke of Gaeta, who appeared next in this review, was, His Majesty said, a good financier, a man of method and probity, who had rendered great services in his sphere. M. Barbé-Marbois, whom he named next, was a schemer with the appearance of a Quaker and a deceptive resemblance to an honest man.

“I was duped by him for a long time,” he said, “for he professed a certain rigour in his principles and a severity of judgment on other people, and on events, which made me think he would be no more indulgent to himself. He is discontented with everything, fondling power, detesting it and belittling it. He is, at heart, an unprincipled man, full of envy and faultfinding, devoid of capacity. Thinking him a man of talents, I placed great confidence in him for some time, only to discover too late that I was mistaken. I paid dearly for the error. He is safe in the Court of Accounts; he cannot make blunders there, and he is obliged to carry out his new functions with the probity for which he is renowned.”

Upon my observing that he had the reputation of being virtuous and unimpeachably honest:

“Oh, he is honest enough,” replied the Emperor. “As for being virtuous, that is simply a part he plays; at heart he is a rascal.”

Of M. Fontanes the Emperor said:

“He is too much of a sycophant. He has great talent. He serves me with zeal and for the moment is directing public instruction very competently. The Revolution has made us too full of the Greeks and Romans; we must give our children monarchical ideas, and that is quite in accordance with Fontanes’s opinions; or so he proclaims, at least. If I allowed him, he would go too far in that direction. He is a man of parts, but his head is small. If I had not checked him, he would have given us an education of Louis XV’s style. He thought it would please me, but I stopped him. One day I said to him: ‘Monsieur de Fontanes, at least leave us the Republic of Letters!’ ⁷⁶ Those words put him back on the right road.

“I am not afraid of energetic men; I know how to use and guide them. Besides, I can do nothing which is opposed to equality; and youth, like the nation, clings to equality. If you have talent I can push you forward; if you have merit I can protect you. This is recognized, and it is very useful to me. Fontanes would have reared marquises for me. Their only place is on the comic stage—though the taste of to-day has really dethroned them there, since Molé quit the scene and Fleury broke down. I need councillors of state, prefects, officers, engineers, professors. Therefore the scope of our instruction must be broadened, to season these young heads full of Greek and Roman ideas. It is important to give a monarchic turn to the vitality of those traditions; for that is history. I shall give my first attention to education; it will be my first care as soon as peace is established, for it is the safeguard of the future. I want all instruction to be public—even my son’s, in part. I have a great plan in that connection.”

 

To my great regret this conversation was interrupted by our arrival in the early hours of the morning [December 12] at the Hotel de Saxe, at Posen.

“Give me my despatches,” were the Emperor’s first words.

In accordance with my orders the director of posts had kept the two which came through.⁷⁷ The Emperor’s impatience was such that he would have ripped open the cases if he had had a knife at hand. Numb with cold, my fingers were not quick enough for him in working the combinations of the padlocks. At last I handed him the Empress’s letter, and one from Mme. Montesquiou enclosing the report on the King of Rome. This was the first news since leaving Wilna, for luck had been against us; we had met no courier between that town and Mariampol. The Emperor had never ceased to speculate on the impression that would be caused by the total lack of news of the army, so it can easily be imagined with what eagerness he read the despatches from the Archchancellor and the other ministers. I could not tear the envelopes open quickly enough to keep pace with his impatience. He scanned the pages rather than read them, to obtain a general idea of their contents. After this hasty review he settled down to perusing carefully those despatches which had struck him as being the most important. He did me the honour of reading aloud the letters from the Empress and Mme. Montesquiou.

“Haven’t I got an excellent wife?” he said.

The particulars that the Empress gave him about his son, all of which were confirmed by the governess, delighted His Majesty. Notwithstanding that he was so preoccupied with affairs, in this moment he was just a good husband, indeed the best of husbands, and the fondest of fathers. I cannot describe my pleasure in contemplating him at such moments. His joy, his happiness, glowing in every feature, went to my heart.

He made me read the Archchancellor’s letters, as well as communications from the Ministers of Police and War. I took advantage of the momentary freedom afforded me, while the Emperor was going through his correspondence, to give orders for the continuation of our journey. The travelling carriage had been unable to catch up with us, and, as the Emperor had given me no time to take money out of it when we parted from it, all my funds were exhausted. I had the director of couriers fetch me some money. I notified the general in command in Glogau that I should be arriving, and that he was to have the city gates ready [to open], and supper prepared. I then employed the two hours left before our departure in putting my notes in order, and completing the particulars I had taken of our last conversation since leaving Warsaw.

The Emperor took an hour’s rest. He lunched, and we then took to the road again. We were now meeting the bearers of news, and the further we proceeded the shorter we made the intervals between receiving despatches. In this manner we were able to receive in one day’s journey our friends’ letters covering three or four days. Every letter received was a source of fresh happiness to the Emperor. He made me read most of his despatches, except those in the post [censorship] packet. Only once did he give me a few extracts from this to read, saying, as he did so:

“What imprudence! What fools men are! I have not sufficient opinion of Mankind to be malicious, as they say I am, or eager for revenge!”

The Emperor’s observation was very just. The imprudence and impudence expressed in some of these intercepted letters afforded opportunities for incontestable proof that His Majesty was neither malicious nor vindictive; for in the circumstances he might justly have been severe, whereas when I reached Paris I saw the two persons who had given occasion to these observations, and they had not been in the slightest degree molested or reprimanded. One of them occupied a position at Court.

The Emperor was highly satisfied with the particulars he received as to the situation in Paris and in France. Everyone was so accustomed to seeing him triumph over difficulties, and even extract some advantage from events which seemed the most contrary to his interest, that public confidence had been but little shaken by the long silence of which people complained. This interruption in communications had not produced exactly the effect that he had anticipated.

“In the actual circumstances,” the Emperor said, “this sense of security is rather a pity, for, when it comes, the army bulletin will upset confidence.⁷⁸ A certain disquiet would have been preferable; it would have prepared the ground for bad news.”

Speaking of the Minister of War [Clarke], he called him a typical courtier, the most conceited man he had ever met:

“The greatest happiness that could befall him would be if he could persuade everyone that his grandfather had come out of the Ark. He is an honest man, of mediocre talents, without character, and so addicted to flattering that one never can tell how much reliance to place on any opinion he may express. He does not know me yet,” added the Emperor. “He imagines I am like Louis XV, and that he has to get round me and be agreeable to me. If I kept mistresses he would be their most devoted servant. He considers the Malet affair a great conspiracy with many ramifications. He would like to have many Jacobins arrested—and even some public figures. But I think Pasquier and Savary are right in judging that that insolent attempt was simply hatched in the minds of a few idiots. It was quite right not to arrest any prominent men, for rigorous action causes irritation. If there are any guilty parties at large they will not escape the police, and it would not do to have the government betraying unwarranted suspicion. In the eyes of Europe as of France, it is preferable that this conspiracy should appear as nothing more formidable than a madman’s escapade. Savary anticipated my wishes perfectly by adopting this attitude.”

 

On our arrival at Glogau that evening the general in command was not a little surprised to discover that the Master of Horse was none other than the Emperor himself. His Majesty went closely into the state of the place and the condition of the country, issued various orders, and barely took time to sup, so anxious was he to be on the way once more. We set off in the carriage offered by the general and accepted by the Emperor, who was very tired from being unable to lie at full length in the sledge.

Certain as I was that the snow would prevent us going far on wheels, I took the precaution of having our faithful sledge follow us; and it was as well that I did so, for, being unable to proceed in the carriage at more than a walking pace, we had not left Glogau far behind when we transferred into our less comfortable conveyance. Half frozen in this modest vehicle, which we should have done well not to leave, the Emperor was unable to sleep, and began to talk of the army, of which, owing to the rapidity of our movements, we could have no news. He longed to get into Saxony. He did not like having to cross Prussian territory, and this led to the following conversation.

“If we are stopped, Caulaincourt, what will they do to us? Do you think I shall be recognized, that it will be known that I am here? You are popular enough in Germany, Caulaincourt; you speak the language; you protected the postmasters and took all my gendarmes to furnish them with escorts. They would never allow you to be arrested or ill-treated.”

“I do not suppose they will have very grateful memories of a protection that did not hinder their being pillaged.”

“Bah! They may have suffered for twenty-four hours, but you had their horses given back to them. Berthier never stopped talking of your claims on their behalf. Have you ever been in Silesia?”

“Only with Your Majesty.”

“Then you are not known here?”

“No, Sire.”

“I did not reach Glogau until after the gates had been closed for the night. Unless the general or the courier have been chattering in front of the postilion, it is impossible that anyone should know I am in Prussia.”

“That is true; and no one would imagine that it was the Emperor travelling in this sorry vehicle. As to the Master of Horse, he is not of sufficient importance for the Prussians to compromise themselves by arresting him. Your Majesty’s journey has been so speedy that no one on the road so much as knows about it. Some sort of plan would have to be arranged before any attempt could be made on us; even a spiteful and determined man must get three or four kindred spirits to help him.”

“If the Prussians were to stop us, what would they do to us?”

“If it was the result of a definite plan, not knowing what to do with us they would kill us. So we must defend ourselves to the utmost extremity. We may be lucky; there are four of us.”

“But if they take you alive, what will they do to you, my good Duke of Vicenza?” said the Emperor jokingly.

“If they take me it will be because of my secretary, in which event I shall be in a bad way.”

“If we are stopped,” rejoined the Emperor briskly, “we shall be made prisoners of war, like Francis I. Prussia will get back the millions she has paid, and will ask for millions more.

“If they dared strike such a blow, Sire, we should not get off so cheaply as that.”

“I think you are right. They fear me too much; they would want to keep me.”

“That is highly probable.”

“For fear I should escape, or that some terrible reprisals would be undertaken, the Prussians would hand me over to the English.”

“Possibly!”

“Can you picture to yourself, Caulaincourt, the figure you would cut in an iron cage, in the main square of London?”

“If it meant sharing your fate, Sire, I should not complain.”

“It is not a question of complaining, but of something that may happen at any moment, and of the figure you would cut in that cage, shut up like a wretched negro left to be eaten by flies after being smeared with honey,” rejoined the Emperor, with a laugh.

And there he was for a quarter of an hour, laughing at this foolish notion, and the idea of that man in the cage.

Never had I seen the Emperor laugh so heartily, and his gaiety was so infectious that it was some time before we could speak a word without finding some fresh source of amusement.

It was with considerable relief that the Emperor reflected that nothing could be known of his departure and that the Prussians, even if they did learn about it, would not dare take any action against him while their troops were in the midst of ours and we were as strong as they imagined us to be.

“But a secret assassination, an ambuscade would be easy,” said His Majesty, thus betraying his lively desire to be across this strip of Prussian territory, which gave him food for such serious as well as amusing reflections.

This thought so preoccupied him that he asked if our pistols were in good order, at the same time making sure his own was ready to hand. I had inspected them at Posen, so we firmly made up our minds to give a warm reception to the first person who interfered with us. Any inquisitive fellow who had thrust his head in at our door that night would have fared ill.

The change of relays interrupted our conversation. As the Emperor had not wished the courier from Glogau to be more than an hour ahead of us, and as he had travelled slower than we had, he was only a short distance in front, and the relay horses were not ready. The Emperor could think of nothing but this delay. Accustomed to having everyone at his beck and call, he could not understand that it should take more than the half hour, which was all the advance-notice the courier could give, to have his horses ready. We were at a Prussian posting-house, and what I attributed to nothing but the habitual slowness of Prussian postmasters seemed to him intentional delay. I had satisfied myself as to the real causes of this delay, but had not succeeded in arousing the postmaster from his imperturbable nonchalance; nor had I been able to urge on the postilions who, according to their wont, harnessed their horses as slowly as possible so as to leave them time to feed. I spent my time going to and fro between the stables and the sledge where the Emperor sat, shivering with cold. To while away the time he asked for some tea, which can be had at any posting-house in Germany. Two cups warmed him up a little, but they did not seem to allay his impatience, which increased every instant. He asked if our escort had followed us. Of the six gendarmes we had taken from Glogau only the two were left who sat at the back of the sledge, and they were half-dead with cold. At last, after waiting for an hour, we took the road again.

We passed one of the most painful nights on the whole journey. The change of vehicle had frozen us. For my own part, it was thirty-six hours before I was warm again.

“I thought,” said the Emperor laughingly, as soon as we were on the move again, “that the curtain was rising on the first act of the cage play. How was it possible to take two hours to harness four horses, or even six, which were waiting in the stables?”

But ill fortune dogged our steps. Our sledge broke down, and this made our progress slow. However, we reached Buntzlau ⁷⁹ where we had to stop to have it mended. We took advantage of this delay to have our breakfast. The Emperor chatted with the inn-keeper, a worthy German. I acted as interpreter. His Majesty asked him as to the state of the country, taxation, the administration, and what they thought of the war. Taking us for simple travellers, the inn-keeper replied to all his questions with the utmost candour. The less his replies were made to please the Emperor, the more the latter plied him with questions, often observing to me with a smile:

“He is right: he has more common sense than many a man at the head of affairs. He isn’t merely a courtier.”

The kindliness and sincerity of this inn-keeper delighted the Emperor. His place was taken by a seller of glass beads who forced her way into the Emperor’s room. The confiding nature of this woman, who did not know in the least who we were, yet wanted to let him have the whole of her stock on trust, without receiving any money or even giving any indication of why she placed this confidence in us, amused him very much. He bought some necklaces, rings, et cetera, and said to me:

“I will take them to Marie Louise as a souvenir of my journey. It is only fair, Caulaincourt, that we should divide them between us. You must give some to the lady of your heart. Never had man such a long tête-à-tête with his sovereign as you have had. This journey will be a historic memory for your family. The Emperor will never forget all the care you have devoted to him.”

He was so good as to give me half of what he purchased, instructing me to pack up the other half for the Empress. He then threw himself on a hard bed, telling me to let him know as soon as the sledge was ready. While the Emperor rested I hurried up the repairs to the sledge, and occupied myself with the continuation of my notes, from the time we left Posen.

All the Emperor’s remarks showed that his mind was continually occupied with the army, and that he persisted in believing it could be rallied at Wilna. His opinion did not change. He made all his arrangements and based all his plans on this presumption.

“The bad effect of our disasters will be balanced in Europe by my return to Paris,” he said.

The consolation afforded by reflections such as these made our journey a happy one. The nearer we got to France, where all his hopes were centred, the less did the Emperor seem preoccupied and careworn.

“Schwarzenberg is a man of honour,” he said. “He will keep his corps in readiness. He has no wish to become a traitor at the first moment Fortune turns her back on us. The Prussians will model their conduct on that of the Austrians. I shall be at the Tuileries before anyone knows of my disaster or dares to betray me. My cohorts make an army of more than a hundred thousand men, well-disciplined soldiers led by war-trained officers. I have the money and arms to form excellent cadres, and before three months have passed I shall have conscripts and five hundred thousand men under arms on the banks of the Rhine. The cavalry will take the longest to collect and form, but in the coffers of the Tuileries I have the wherewithal to do everything.”

The further we went, the more snow we found. The gales that had been blowing continuously for some days had caused such drifts in several places that the difficulties of the road made our progress too slow even for the liking of our phlegmatic Saxon postilions and horses.

The Emperor often spoke of the effect that would be produced by his return.

“The nation needs me,” he said. “If it responds to my attentions all will soon be put right.”

The news from Paris did not make him forget the army. He was more certain than ever than it would hold Wilna, and based all his calculations on this hypothesis. For my own part, I reckoned aloud the days it would occupy in its retreat, as far as the Vistula at least, without arousing the Emperor’s annoyance.

“You see the black side of everything; you are not encouraging,” was his remark.

What I had observed in the Duchy of Poland left me with no doubts as to the abandoning of Wilna.

“If there are no Polish Cossacks there can be no rest for your army,” I said to the Emperor, who agreed that this shortage of cavalry somewhat changed the situation.

He would not, however, admit of the necessity for evacuating Wilna. He enumerated his forces, from the Prince of Schwarzenberg’s corps to that of the Duke of Taranto, and was no doubt justified in thinking that numerically he had more men than were necessary to stop the Russians, provided that every one of them had done his duty. He thought that the sense of discouragement in the army had been allayed as soon as they got into touch with the stores at Wilna, and he tried to persuade himself that the levies were already raised, or at least were being collected while we were on our way to Paris. To hear him, one might have imagined that no more need be done but march them from the barracks to the frontier. Not admitting the need for the evacuation of Lithuania, he also refused to admit the existence of those almost insurmountable obstacles which the near approach of the enemy and the fear of invasion would place in the way of raising the levies.

 

Thus the Emperor journeyed on towards his capital, cherishing illusions such as these and in no way put out with me for not sharing in them. As was natural, our conversation continually reverted to the army, to politics, to the administration, to men we knew, to various institutions, to what he would do to better these, and to his son. He asked me once more who could be entrusted with his education; and added that France, so rich in talent, was yet poor in superior men, when it came to making a choice like that.

“Are you not hard put to it, Caulaincourt, to name a single one?—to make a choice, even from amongst all the people we have discussed?” “... Fontanes,” he said, “is too much the man of letters. Since he is head of the University, that choice would be pleasing—the more so because he directs public instruction in the right spirit. Though distinguished for his great gift of eloquence, he is not gifted with great ideas; with the broad grasp of politics and administration that constitutes the statesman. Besides, he has extolled me so highly that the public would not fail to say that I was setting my most confirmed flatterer to be preceptor for my son.”

He asked me to look about for a tutor. He passed in review nearly all the men in official positions or at Court, even those of little prominence. The way he spoke of several confirmed in me more than ever the belief that, in general, he had but a poor opinion of Mankind. It seems to me that this explains the absence of any animosity towards various persons who had done him real injury; he had every reason to heap reproaches on them, but he contented himself with dismissing them at once and not saying a word. He seemed to place great value on the delicacy of mind and honourable sentiments inculcated by good training in early years.

“It corrects the most vicious traits in a man’s character,” I have heard him say more than once. “The man who has not been well brought up has a certain uncouthness, a basis of egotism that makes it difficult to rely upon him. Self-interest is his only criterion. He lacks a sense of restraint, and this makes him prone to do anything.”

He mentioned several notable men whom he employed in very responsible situations, adding that he did not trust them, that they were capable of betraying him at the first opportunity when they considered it in their interest to do so, although they owed everything to him. According to the Emperor, the binding nature of an oath, fidelity in the execution of the functions or service in which one is employed, the sense of honour that makes it impossible to betray the man one serves, meant nothing to these men: religion and fidelity were sentiments wholly lacking in their natures.

“Even patriotism,” he went on, “is a word that conveys nothing to them if it is not consonant with their own interests.... When certain people meet with the slightest disappointment, such as the refusal of a post they have requested for some rascal who happens to be a relation, they turn against me; some are even ready to plot against me if I put a stop to their peculations and open pillage.”

In this connection the Emperor mentioned certain names so prominent that I dare not commit them to writing. I have no wish to tarnish the glory of these names, which will go down in history.

“But these men,” the Emperor added, “are heroes nonetheless.”

He concluded these reflections by observing that some people were wrong in complaining that he did not fill up all the appointments in his gift. Not wishing to exclude any who might claim preferment by right of their eminent services, he chose rather to leave the whole question to be solved by time, which would settle many things.

“By then,” he said, “the children will be well educated and will make their start in life at a period of peace and calm; they will not have their fortunes to make, and I will give them the recompense earned by the good services of their fathers.”

This conversation led the Emperor to speak of various episodes in his life. It was with pleasure that he recalled some of the incidents of his youthful days—his success at the military academy—his family, which had met with so little favour from Fortune, though of distinguished rank in Corsica. He spoke of various affairs of gallantry, of the preference that some society women had shown him above that granted to comrades who were at that time more conspicuous than himself.⁸⁰

“The reading of history,” he said, “very soon made me feel that I was capable of achieving as much as the men who are placed in the highest ranks of our annals, though I had no goal before me, and though my hopes went no further than my promotion to general. All my attention was fixed upon the great art of warfare, and on increasing my knowledge of that branch in which I believed my destiny to lie. I was not long in discovering that the knowledge I had set out to acquire, and had hitherto regarded as the end I needed to attain, was very far short of the distance to which my abilities might carry me. So I redoubled my application; what seemed to present difficulty to others to me appeared to be simple.”

Of a serious nature, and inspired with a thoughtful turn of mind by love of his profession, the future Emperor sought in every direction for knowledge, and for the development of the ideas and views germinating in his head, principally by conversing with those of his senior officers and comrades in whom he had remarked some superiority of intellect. The Revolution marched forward with giant strides; its ideas began to seethe in his young head as in many others. The corps in which he served was, by its composition and instructional training, peculiarly susceptible to new impressions and notions. He watched the progress of the Revolution with enthusiasm, though he condemned not only its excesses, but also its mistakes, with more severity than one would have expected from one of his age. Although he was without any experience himself, the conduct of the Court seemed to him ill-chosen, perfidious and, above all, weak. He was no Republican; he wanted a constitutional monarchy; he would have defended the King if the King had wished to be defended, although Louis and his Court did not appear to be acting in good faith. Like so many even among the ardent royalists, the young Corsican wished to have the way of promotion opened to merit, to have advancement possible without distinction of class, without the necessity of being the relation or friend of someone in high places or of invoking the patronage of a lady entitled to demand favours. He was quite unable to understand how the Princes of the Blood and the nobility could take refuge outside France while abandoning the King to danger. He was disgusted at the way the émigrés wandered about Europe exhibiting their incapacity and immorality, instead of putting themselves at the head of a party in France or forming one that would rally the waverers to their side.

The Emperor would have ranged himself on the side of the émigrés, he said, if they had raised their standard in France and chosen prudent leaders to unite the ranks.

“The French,” he went on, “never forgive cowardice; and it is cowardice to fly from danger and go begging foreigners for help against one’s country when there is such a noble cause to fight for at home. One should never wash dirty linen in public.”

He had always been sorry for the King. All his concern was for him; he would have liked to have been able to defend him when his life was threatened.

“His death,” said the Emperor, “seemed to me a disgrace to the nation, though, so far as that goes, the nation was innocent of the crime, for it was Coblentz that killed him. As for the King’s judges,” he went on, “with many of them it was fear rather than hatred or spite that inspired their sentence. What I have already done at Saint-Denis,⁸¹ and what I count upon doing at the Madeleine, will prove that I have always considered his death a crime, and that I thought so before I became a sovereign myself. Since I have worn a crown I have shown clearly enough that I mean to close the doors against revolution. The sovereigns of Europe are indebted to me for stemming the torrent of revolutionary spirit that threatened their thrones; but to prevent the evil breaking out again it is useless to rake up the memory of wrongs done at a time of general upheaval. People must be induced to forget, or remember only in order to prevent a recurrence. I am far from being an advocate of the Convention; but if anyone is to be called to account for the evils done at that time, it is not the men of the Convention, who were carried away by the frenzy of the moment, but the Revolution which had been brought about by the Court itself. As a matter of strict justice the reckoning for our past misfortunes should be laid to the Princes and men of the Court who caused the Revolution. The Montmorencys, the Lameths, the d’Aiguillons, the Talleyrands, the Lafayettes, the Rochefoucaulds, Monsieur (the King’s brother), and many others were the real malefactors.

“These men,” he went on, “ought to have laid down their lives on the steps of the throne instead of attacking it. Speaking generally, the nobility ought to have fought to the death instead of saving themselves by flight abroad, which was nothing but a convenient way of escaping danger by professing a false devotion. As for the others, those called revolutionaries, they belonged to a lower class which naturally wanted to raise itself. They looked after themselves, and circumstances proved stronger than they were. Those who carried on intrigues abroad did more to bring about the death of the King than the Convention. To be perfectly just, it is impossible to say who is to blame for that death which is now known as the Cause of Sovereigns. The two million individuals who clamoured for it in the addresses they sent up to the Convention were more guilty than many of those who were frightened into voting for it by the knives of the Paris Jacobins. My government has always acted on the principle that what happened prior to its establishment did not take place, always making an exception of services rendered. That is the principle to adopt in order to avert reaction, to quench all hatred and stifle revenge. The greatest seigneurs of the Old Régime, the leaders of the Emigration, those whose families have perished by the axe of the Revolution, dine with the Duke of Otranto and even have relations with him and Merlin, not to speak of other revolutionaries. My government has brought about this fusion. Incomplete though they are, the institutions guarantee the existing state of affairs and are made for the benefit of the sovereign as much as of the people.

“I am, however, designing a monument which, without wounding the living, will honour the names of the dead, and will keep alive in the minds of our children sufficient memories of the unhappy times we have passed through so that they shall know that kings are not to be killed, and that monarchs are not to be buried like private individuals.”

The Emperor then asked me if I shared the general opinion that the Madeleine was meant for a temple to La Gloire.

“You are the first,” he told me, “to know all my ideas for this scheme. I have raised too many monuments to the immortal glory of the French for there to be any need thus to consecrate the Madeleine. I am not a pagan monarch. I have given enough proof of that, for none of the Kings of France, not even the most pious of them, did as much for religion as I have done. The re-establishment of the Church is due to me; only power and a will like mine could have brought this about. Although I am not always in political agreement with the Pope, I venerate him from a religious point of view. I respect his character. I have great projects. Give me a year of peace, and the development of my plans will amaze———, as it will these upstarts who date everything from their own time and dislike to hear their predecessors mentioned. I will exhibit the glory of ancient France beside that of modern France —her old civilization with her new—her sciences and arts, which are the oldest in Europe, along with her present-day marvels; in a word, I will exhibit her kings along with her Emperor. All her illustrious men, of all ranks, of all conditions and all ages, belong to the fair France of to-day. They must mingle and speak to our children, calling forth their admiration as much as that of the rest of the world.

“I want no idols made of me, nor even any outdoor statues. It was to my great disgust, and without consulting me, that Denon had my statue made for the column in the Place Ven-dôme. Indeed, it is very likely that I shall change this arrangement, although the publicity already given to the plan may make it inconvenient to make any alterations. They can do what they like after I am dead. If France attains to the summit of glory and prosperity that I purpose for her, they may decree a statue in my honour if they feel like it. If I succumb in the carrying out of my enterprises, it is better that there should be nothing left exposed to the criticism of the world. I want no homage in the form of flattery, nor, as happened to Louis XV, a statue subjected to public ridicule.⁸² A nation, like history itself, rarely takes account of anything but success.”

The Emperor went on to say it would be impossible to raise a Temple of Glory in a Christian country. Having achieved more than all the other generals or statesmen, and being Emperor, people would not be slow to say, and perhaps with some degree of justification, that he had raised a fane in his own honour—that he was the real object of worship within it, under the conventional name of Glory. He repeated his words that that Glory was the heritage of all Frenchmen, that he would immortalize its memories in every monument, every establishment of public utility which he had created or was yet to create. It was upon reminders such as these that he rested his imperishable fame. Had he announced, in advance, the project of raising an expiatory monument to all the victims of the Revolution, especially to the most distinguished, he would have awakened unhappy memories and given offence to many men who, when the Revolution was finished, rendered eminent services to France, and to whom—it ought never to be forgotten—France owed the honour and glory of having resisted the power of all Europe. Her legal codes and her good administration were partly their work.

“It is to the energy shown by several of their number that France owes the conclusion of the Reign of Terror,” he said. “By hurting the feelings of some of these men I should likewise wound the self-respect of their families and connections. Ultimately this would wound the susceptibility of the nation. Time brings things to pass imperceptibly; the great art is to act opportunely. As the monument of the Madeleine will take some years to complete, I have time to make such preparations as shall ensure that its inauguration will fulfil my purpose without giving offence to anyone. From now on we shall enjoy peace. Our internal situation thus permitting me to complete our institutions, the great changes that I plan and that I shall then put into execution will distract public attention. The Senate will become a Chamber of Peers, but in a truly national spirit. All things being so bound up together and simultaneously intermingled, no one will feel that his sensibilities have been wounded.”

The Emperor envisaged the peerage in the following manner. He had drawn the families of the old aristocracy into his service so that names that were famous in history, appearing side by side in our ranks with those associated with our modern glory—taking the same chances with them and encountering the same dangers—should no longer be objects of jealousy with the old campaigners. His purpose had been to identify the youth of the old families with the glory and great deeds of modern days, and thus bind the new and old names together by means of a personal pride in the most recent events. He wished to place them in such a situation that he might with justice mend the fortunes of several who had fallen on hard times. It was contrary to his wishes for a Montmorency to be poor when Ney was rich. It was not right that the nephew of Cambacérès, if he should come into the title and fortune of his uncle, should splash a d’Aguesseau or a Mole with the mud from his carriage wheels....

But time was necessary for him to make the fortunes of those who had the right to a peerage and were not wealthy enough to keep up the position. He spoke of men of the old stamp and of the new stamp. All the notabilities would be admitted to the peerage. It was for this purpose that he would retain his “extraordinary domain” ⁸³ and devote the annual revenue from it to increase the capital: for he did not intend this Chamber of Peers to be a charge on the State. The peer-age would carry no privileges outside the Chamber nor would noble rank give any, the social distinction being nothing but a question of title and thus in no way offensive to national ideas. The law must be the same for all. Otherwise the idea of a peerage would so shock public opinion that it would rather bring down on its recipients a torrent of public hatred than confer on them the distinction of holding a title. The door of promotion to all posts and functions being open to merit, no matter what a man’s extraction or condition of life, the nation would be less offended by his creation of titles. There could be no question of the need for instituting this distinction, yet no act of his had made him more enemies.

As the career lay open for any soldier to become a general, a baron, a duke and then a marshal; or for the son of any peasant, schoolmaster, lawyer or local mayor to become councillor of state, minister and duke, this peerage would, in time, cease to offend any susceptibilities, as it would afford a means of rewarding everyone impartially.

It was his intention to summon to the peerage all the chief men of note, so that the French people, whom he had been the first to proclaim as a great nation, should feel itself honoured in the selection of its most distinguished men, who would, moreover, have sufficient means to be independent; for those who are governed have no guarantee of safety if their representatives lack the first element of independence, especially in a country like France where property must necessarily be the first condition for any form of eminence.

He went on to say that many people thought him violent and despotic because he had an adamantine will; yet at the Council of State, when the Code was being discussed, he had been the most moderate of all those present. It was to him that France owed the Code which would be her eternal glory, the envy of all other peoples and the object of admiration to posterity. He might have let things remain in the chaos in which they had been left by the Old Régime and the Revolution, and ruled the country as he pleased. As it was, no one could deny that France was governed by law.

“That is sufficient answer to make,” he said, “to those who construe my firmness of will as despotism.”

The Emperor cited several examples of officials and magistrates being dismissed and censured for having been drawn into taking measures or making arbitrary decisions through a mistaken zeal or ill-considered notions of government. He said once again that his principle of government, his own tendency and that of his Council of State, was to uphold, so far as justice allowed, the weak against the strong, and, as a corollary of this, the private individual against the authorities, who, having power on their side, were prone to encroach and carry off things with a high hand. As a broad principle, he exhorted his ministers to be vigilant—to prevent evil rather than be obliged to punish it. The people who observed and were in a position to judge of his government realized perfectly well that the repute in which his strength of will was held served him more than his reputation for severity.

“Everything goes to prove this,” he went on. “It is said that I love power. Well, has anyone, in any department, cause for complaint? Never have the prisons been so empty. Does anyone complain of a prefect without obtaining justice? Forty-five out of every fifty complaints are decided against the prefects. The government is strong, my hand is steady, and the officials are sensible that I shall not slacken the reins. So much the better for the people, for while this system traces out a definite path for each to follow, my watchfulness inspires the authorities with vigilance; officials fulfil their duties; all citizens and all forms of property are equally well-protected. The roads have never been safer. Thanks to me there are no more squabbles, no more petty spites, no more parties. Such things are no longer known in France. I have never wished to be anyone’s man, I have never sought support from public opinion nor from any class of men. I rely on myself, on the results of what I have successively created in the interests of France, on my institutions, on the moral effect of a government that is not swayed by outside opinions.

“Whether as First Consul or as Emperor, I have been the people’s king; I have governed for the nation and in its interests, without allowing myself to be turned aside by the outcries or the private interests of certain people. This is well known throughout France, and the French people love me. I say the French people, and by that I mean the nation, for I have never shown undue favour to the class that some folk understand by the word ‘people’-the dregs of the populace. Nor have I shown favour to the landed gentry, for if the unenlightenment and miseries of the former make them very prone to creating disorders, so do the pretensions of the latter render them quite as dangerous to those in authority. Constantly restive against any sort of power that does not emanate from themselves, if they dared they would be in a continuous state of revolt. Are they not always preaching, in every salon of the undisciplined Faubourg Saint-Germain, the revolt that they dare not raise? It is the same now as in the days of the League. The leaders of the Vendee fought better for their own privileges than for the rights of the Crown. The unfortunate people is always the dupe. It was the pretensions of the petty squires, even more than those of the greater gentry, that kept that war going. An aristocracy is necessary for France, but it must be on a different basis from that of the old one, which has become incompatible with the new regime.

“Woe to the sovereign who delivers himself into the hands of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, for it has not changed its nature! Into whatever excesses the Revolution may have been swept, the populace has generally been found to have bowels of mercy. The Faubourg Saint-Germain has none. It wants to reconquer an influence which it imagines belongs to it by right. In its opinion, kings are its own choice, the people are its vassals. Kings must govern by its authority and in its interests, and the people must obey. That is the limit to which the grands seigneurs would permit the king to go, if the good old times were ever to return. At one time the Faubourg thought I was its Messiah and would have taken me up. I am still acceptable in their eyes for lack of a better and because they hope my son will prove more manageable than myself. Not daring to rise in revolt, they have submitted without being converted. It matters little to me. As the children of this old aristocracy grow up they will form fresh ideas, they will see that what I offer them is more suitable to the present age than that which their fathers want to restore. The small country landowners, too, will find it advantageous to submit, and my institutions will do the rest. Some of them, perceiving that I want to be a protector to all classes, have withdrawn apart. They will come back, for above all else they like power and the Court. If they keep up their attitude they may find it too late. At the moment these folk are almost ready to make common cause with such hare-brained visionaries as Lafayette and Tracy, who cry out against despotism as though the very fact that they can protest, intrigue, and criticize at their ease were not proof enough that no such thing as despotism exists in France.

“The Legion of Honour,” he said, “is the finest of my institutions. It is, with all due deference to poor Moreau and his dreams, one of the greatest conceptions of modern times and as well suited to the needs of the Throne as to those of the people. It establishes a fraternity of honour between the civil and the military, between the marshal and the private, between the peasant and the duke.

“I am the only man alive who knows the French thoroughly, as well as the needs of the peoples and of European society. The Old Regime was full of excellent things which now need only to be adapted to modern conditions. Those people who think that they have a right to interpose themselves between the people and the Emperor do as much harm as the Jacobins, who desired no government of any sort, or at best an authority so split up that it was tantamount to none at all, our habits and failings being what they are. If I had accepted the beliefs of the Jacobins I should have founded a government on the lines of that established in the United States; but I knew France too well not to see that such a thing would be impossible. The lessons we have learned from the Directory have shown this clearly enough. Others, such as Lannes, who had no fixed ideas, would have liked liberty for themselves and their friends, but none for those who held opposite views. The security of the Consul or President would have depended on the loyalty of the Guard. Pretorian guards are greedy, insatiable, and are a heavier drag on the people than on the sovereign. I did not consider that method of governing suitable. Relying on the support of partisans, one becomes a despot despite oneself; and this form of power was repugnant to me. I threw off that yoke soon after I was named First Consul. My eyes were opened to the embezzlement carried on by the Guard. It is impossible to give any idea of what was going on. Being unable to obtain any accounts, I dismissed the chiefs who tried to hamper me by forming round me a ring of apparently devoted men, as though one could govern France by such means.”

Reverting to the subject of the Senate, the Emperor said that it was composed of nothing but spent torches or dark lanterns which would lead the country on the wrong road, even if it overcame its greater difficulties. The greater part of the Senators would, if the occasion arose, imitate Frochot, who liked the Emperor, if the Duke of Bassano was to be believed, but who had nonetheless shown not the slightest objection to having a room in his house prepared as the council chamber for the government that was to be set up by Malet and Lahorie. What Frochot wanted was to remain Prefect of the Seine. (The continual changes of government since the Revolution have made men too familiar with such a state of things. This is an evil which only time will cure.)

“Not only does Frochot owe everything to me; he has also sworn fidelity. Yet, when he believed that I was dead, he was faithless to my son and to his oath—and still thought himself an honest man thereafter. If he had promised you a hundred millions he would have paid you on the appointed day. Nothing would make him fail his given word, yet he broke his oath without the slightest scruple. Such are the men and the notions begotten by the times we live in. Who is to be trusted?”

My remarks directed the conversation to various things that had caused discontent in France, notably conscription, into which the needs of continual warfare had swept all those who compose the classes liable to service. The Emperor replied:

“I agree that conscription is a law that bears harshly upon families, on account of the frequent calls which circumstances have caused me to make; but it is national, because it allows of neither privilege nor exception. In times of peace it will even become popular, for the French love the career of arms, and as the door to promotion is open to ability and courage, an honourable career will thereby be opened to many young men. In this, as in so many things, the appreciation of principles of equality gives strength to the government and ensures success to the levies. If I granted exemption to one single conscript, if there were a single privilege granted to anyone, no matter whom, not one man would obey the order to march.

“The notions of equality that made the Revolution are to-day an integral part of the government’s strength. It is because no one anticipates or suspects any preferential treatment and because it has no interest in showing favouritism that the government inspires no distrust. Public confidence in the justice of its dealings gives it as much authority as the exercise of its power. That is the secret of my success. It is said that I love war, but as its charges are laid upon all alike, as I show no preference for anyone and reward all alike if they show courage, everyone submits to it. To inspire people with supreme confidence in my sense of justice—to convince them that I favour no man’s interest above that of his neighbour—there lies the grand secret of how to govern the French. That is my all-powerful lever.”

The Emperor made another remark to the effect that a Frenchman is a fault-finder by nature.

“Society in the salons,” he said, “is always in a state of hostility against the government. Everything is criticized and nothing praised. Although society men and women are in general courtiers, and the greater numbers of them frankly flatterers, even in their chattering they are nonetheless inimical to the government in power. There was a great outcry because I happened to banish from Paris for a few months certain persons who would have had to be arrested a fortnight later if I had not sent them out of the country in time and had not in that way brought their intrigues to naught. That is what they call my tyranny. I am said to be a tyrant because I will not allow a few schemers and fools to get themselves talked about as conspirators; their plots make me laugh, and I would let them come to a head if it did not mean that I should have to exercise severity; whereas it is my desire to be firm, not harsh. Under the Old Regime no one at Versailles was willing to obey. This sort of privilege ruined and discredited the Court. Mistresses and favourites were all intriguing to make or unmake ministers, for they knew that the sovereign was weak; this was actually conspiring against his authority.

“Did it not reach the point of risking our fame just for the sake of ruining such-and-such a general or minister, without a thought of the blood that this treasonable behaviour would cost France and the consequences that a defeat might bring upon the country? Robbery was carried on with impunity in those days, if one had a certain amount of credit and the support of a few men in office. The entire Court, even the Princes of the Blood, were interested in business enterprises or took allowances from contractors. Money was made out of everything. The streets of Paris were badly swept and even worse lighted because the Princes, notably the Count of Artois and the highest of the nobility, accepted commissions or pensions from the scavenging and lighting contractors. I have the proof of it in my possession.

“Such an abuse as this,” he continued, “is unknown in my government. There are no gratuities, so far as I am aware. Men are paid good salaries, they are paid regularly, and it is well known that I should show no mercy on swindlers, still less to officials who did business on their own account. Never has the Treasury been in such good order. It has been necessary to make examples. Sometimes the delinquents have been men who were connected with prominent personages; but I have stopped for no considerations of that sort. Feeling myself strong enough to do what was right, I have gone on to my goal allowing nothing to turn me aside, paying no heed to the outcries of various cliques.

“Who makes an outcry in France? A few salons; a few people who have soon forgotten their debt to me for the position or fortune they now enjoy; others whom I have brought back from exile and restored to their property, which they would never have recovered but for me; a few obscure lordlings who are discontented at no longer being sprinkled with holy water on Sundays; a number of self-centred shopkeepers who are under a cloud at the moment because they can find no scope for speculation; some army contractors, veritable bloodsuckers whose ill-gotten gains I have made them disgorge. These are the people who cry out against me. The great mass of the nation is just: the nation sees that I am striving for its good fame, its happiness, its future.

“What can I personally wish for? Born of a distinguished class, though of an unlucky family, I now occupy the greatest throne in the world. I have given law to the whole of Europe. To make the fortunes of those who have served France well, I have furnished millions without touching the State revenues. In my privy purse, and in the ‘extraordinary domain,’ I possess all the money and treasure that a man could possibly desire; but I have no need of money for myself. No one is less occupied than I in personal affairs.

“That France should prosper under my government is the object of my desires, of my ambition, of my entire attention. It is I who have re-established order, regulated finance, paid the country’s debts. I am becoming too heavy and stout not to like rest or have need of it—not to feel a great weariness of the constant movement and activity demanded by warfare. As with all men, my physical condition affects my mental state. You tell me, and everyone likes to believe it, that I love glory and war, that I envisage what you call universal monarchy. But this universal empire is a dream, and I have awakened from it. If, once upon a time, I might have been carried away by this warlike passion, it would, like all passions, have misled me for but a moment.”

The conversation reverted to the subject of England.

“If it were possible to have a three or four years’ truce,” he said, “Europe would feel soon enough the unparalleled and hostile sway of that power’s commerce, and the intolerable burden her monopoly imposes. Before long we should see the petitions of Germany asking to have back the prohibitive System that is followed to-day with such repugnance, and demanding vengeance on this foreign government that proves such an enemy of any kind of industry—on this colossus of commerce that cannot exist save at others’ expense, and can only meet the interest on its debts, pay its subsidies and confront its own cost by the monopoly it enforces against other nations. But by then it will be too late. Europe will never again be situated so favourably as to-day. The period of quiet will only render these sacrifices more painful. The capital that has been amassed as a result of peace will be put in jeopardy and, to avoid losing it all, we shall have to resign ourselves to our painful lot. I seized the only available instant. I acted as a wise and far-seeing policy dictated. Had I done otherwise, I should have earned the undying reproaches of posterity and history.”

The Emperor insisted at some length on the possible advantages of the situation created by the events that had ranged the United States against England.⁸⁴ He had no doubt that the actual struggle would end to the advantage of the former. He considered this to be the real turning-point of their political emancipation and their development as a great power. He talked of the respective methods of aggression and defence, as well as of the endeavours that England might make; but he came to the conclusion that reverses at some points, where they might be caught unawares, would simply arouse the Americans and temper the national spirit.

“The English,” he said, “will end by subscribing to all that the Americans desire, and the American government, placed in the hands of able statesmen, will gain increased strength. It will profit by the opportunity to make the nation give it the means of organizing and maintaining a larger army, of forming the nucleus of a permanent force, and will obtain more facilities for assembling and forming a militia. If the Americans are wise they will build forts, even strong fortresses, at certain important points, and this will be of the utmost service to them in the future. This juncture, ”he said, “will give the United States an anti-English turn that will strengthen our French system, and in the future that country will be England’s most powerful adversary. Before thirty years have passed it will make her tremble.”

This conversation, from my record of which I have suppressed many details of less importance than the points I have noted, brought us to Görlitz. From that town I sent Amodru in advance to warn Baron Serra, our minister at Dresden, of our approach. I told him that the Emperor would sup and sleep at his house, and that he was to inform the King of Saxony that His Majesty would go to see him incognito. The snow had drifted to such depths in the valleys that our progress was slow. When, at last, we reached the posting-house of Bautzen, we were kept waiting so long for fresh horses that I had to alight from the sledge and go in person to ascertain the reason of the delay. This was occasioned by nothing more than the habitual dilatoriness of the postmaster, and the prevalent bad habit of giving the horses their feed just when the traveller arrived. In vain did I urge the postmaster to hasten matters. There was nothing to be done but exercise patience and get warm while waiting. The Emperor took the opportunity to snatch a nap for three-quarters of an hour; for my part, I made notes of the interesting conversations I had just had with His Majesty.