Counts Drouot and Bertrand were retained in their posts of grand marshal of the palace, and major-general of the guards. It had been imagined, that the Emperor would have conferred on them the t.i.tles of Duke of Porto Ferrajo, and Duke of Porto Longone, as memorials of their fidelity. He did no such thing. They were fully recompensed, however, by the veneration, with which Frenchmen and foreigners were inspired for them both. Still, for what reason, I cannot conceive, a higher value was generally set on the devoted attachment of General Bertrand.

When the Emperor had laid down his crown, Count Drouot did not hesitate an instant, to preserve that fidelity to him in adversity, which he had sworn in his prosperity: and this fidelity was not in his eyes a proof of attachment, still less a sacrifice; it appeared to him only the natural fulfilment of a duty imposed on him by the kindnesses and misfortunes of Napoleon.

To follow him, he abandoned all that is most dear to a well-born mind, his family and his country, as well as the military career, in which he had acquired the most glorious renown.

Transported into the midst of the seas, he frequently cast his looks towards the land of his birth: but no regret, no complaint, escaped from his heart. His conscience was satisfied, how could he be unhappy?

As disinterested in the service of the sovereign of the island of Elba, as he had been in that of the Emperor of the French[75], though poor, he would receive no reward from Napoleon: "Give me food and clothing," said he, "I want nothing more." The most seducing offers were lavished on him, to draw him over to the Bourbons. To these he was insensible; and he felt no difficulty in preferring the rock of Napoleon to the l.u.s.tre of their throne.

[Footnote 75: He constantly refused the emoluments and allowances of considerable offices, attached to the rank of major-general of the guards. The appointments of a lieutenant-general and aide-de-camp appeared to him, to pay him more than his services deserved.]

Such was General Drouot; and such also was his worthy rival, Count Bertrand; for there existed no difference in the generosity of their conduct, and none ought to exist in the admiration they deserve.

The Emperor himself was not free from this injustice: he seemed to give the preference to Count Bertrand. This difference proceeded, I believe, from that degree of intimacy, which the functions of the grand Marshal established between the Emperor and him, and perhaps from the suitableness of their characters.

Bertrand, amiable, witty, insinuating, united the agreeable and polished manners of a courtier with an air of distinction. Feeble, irresolute, in the ordinary conduct of life; he yielded to no one in courage and firmness, on occasions of difficulty and danger. A stranger to intrigue, inaccessible to seduction, he was in the camp, as in the palace, a man of honour, a man of probity.

Drouot, simple in his manners, affectionate in his speech, displayed that rare a.s.semblage of virtues, which compel us to love the sages of antiquity, and the heroes of the days of chivalry. He had the wisdom, the prudence of Aristides, the valour, the modesty, the loyalty of Bayard. The favour he enjoyed, the military power with which he was invested, inspired him with no pride: he was not less humble and timid at court, than he was terrible and daring in the field of honour.

Bertrand, when he was consulted, delivered his opinion with the caution and skill of a courtier; Drouot, with the precision and frankness of a soldier: but neither was false to his conscience. Their language, though different in structure, was the same in substance; it was always that of truth and honour.

The Emperor, though greatly fatigued by nocturnal marches, reviews, perpetual harangues, and his labours in the closet, which for the last thirty-six hours had occupied all his moments, would nevertheless review the troops, that previously composed the army of the Duke of Berri.

He caused them to be a.s.sembled in the court of the Tuileries; and, to use his own words, "The whole capital was witness to the sentiments of enthusiasm and attachment, by which those brave troops were animated: they seemed to have reconquered their country, and found again in the national colours the remembrance of all those generous sentiments, which have ever distinguished the French nation."

After having gone through the ranks, he made the troops form square battalions, and said to them:

"Soldiers, I came to France with six hundred men, because I reckoned on the love of the people, and the remembrance of the old soldiers. I have not been deceived in my expectations: soldiers, I thank you. The glory of what we have just done belongs wholly to you and to the people, mine is only that of having known you, and judged you rightly.

"Soldiers, the imperial throne only can guarantie the rights of the people, and more especially the first of our interests, that of our glory. Soldiers, we are going to march, to chase from our territories those princes, who are the auxiliaries of foreigners. The nation will not only second us with its good wishes, but will follow our impulse.

The French people and myself depend upon you: we will not interfere with the affairs of foreign nations; and wo to the nation, that shall interfere with ours!"

At this moment General Cambronne, and some officers of the guards of the battalion of the island of Elba, appeared with the ancient eagles of the guard: the Emperor resumed his harangue, and said[76]: "Here are the officers of the battalion, who accompanied me in my adversity: they are all my friends, they were dear to my heart! Whenever I saw them, they reminded me of the different regiments of the army; for among these six hundred brave fellows are men from every regiment.

They recalled to my mind those great victories, the remembrance of which is so dear; for they are all well covered with honourable scars received in those memorable battles! In loving them, it was all of you, soldiers, of the whole French army, whom I loved. They bring back to you these eagles; let them serve you as a rallying point: in giving them to the guards, I give them to the whole army."

[Footnote 76: I cannot avoid remarking the beauty of this pa.s.sage.]

"Treason and unfortunate circ.u.mstances had covered them with a funereal veil: but, thanks to the French people and to you, they appear again resplendent with all their glory. Swear, that they shall always be found, wherever the interests of our country call them! that traitors, and those who would invade our territories, shall never stand their appearance."

"We swear it," answered all the soldiers with enthusiasm. They then filed off with shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" and to the sound of military music, playing the favourite tunes of the revolution, and the Ma.r.s.eillese march, so celebrated in the annals of our crimes and our victories.

When the review was over, the Emperor returned to his closet, and applied himself immediately to business. His situation rendered it necessary, that he should ascertain without delay the precise state of the country, of the government of which he had resumed the reins. This was so vast an undertaking, that the faculties of any other man would have been overwhelmed by it. He found the writing table covered with mystic authors[77]; and subst.i.tuted for them plans and maps. "The closet of a French monarch," said he, "should resemble the tent of a general, not an oratory." His eyes rested on the map of France. After having contemplated its recent limits, he exclaimed in a tone of profound sorrow, "_Poor France_!" He kept silence a few minutes, and then began to hum in a low voice one of his usual burdens of songs:

"S'il est un tems pour la folie, Il en est un pour la raison[78]."

[Footnote 77: The king departed with such suddenness, that he had not time to carry away his private papers. In his writing table was found his family port-folio. It contained a great number of letters from Madame the d.u.c.h.ess of Angouleme, and from some of the princes. Napoleon cast his eye over several of them, and gave me the port-folio, with orders, that it should be scrupulously preserved. Napoleon would have respect paid to royal majesty, and to every thing that pertained to the person of kings.

The king habitually used a small table, that he had brought from Hartwell. Napoleon took pleasure in writing on it for a few hours: he afterwards ordered it to be removed, and the greatest care to be taken of it.

The Merlin's chair used by the king, not being suited to Napoleon, whose limbs and health were in full strength and vigour, was banished to the back closet. Some person being found sitting in it, when the Emperor pa.s.sed through unexpectedly, he gave him an angry look, and the chair was removed.

One of his valets de chambre, thinking to please him, ventured to place over his mantel-piece some insulting caricatures of the Bourbons: these he disdainfully threw into the fire, and severely enjoined the valet, never in future to be guilty of such an impertinence.]

[Footnote 78:

"If we sometimes play the fool, Reason should resume her rule."]

The Emperor entered his closet habitually before six in the morning, and seldom quitted it till night.

Impatience and vivacity are almost always incompatible with order and precision. Napoleon, destined to be like no other person, added to the fire of genius the methodical habits of cold and little minds. For the most part, he took care to arrange his numerous papers himself. Each of them had its settled place. Here was found whatever related to the war department: there, the budgets, the daily statements of the treasury and finances: farther on, the reports of the police, his secret correspondence with his private agents, &c. He carefully returned every thing to its place, after having used it: compared with him the most methodical clerk would have been but a bungler.

His first business was to read his correspondence, and the despatches that had arrived in the night. He put aside the interesting letters, and threw the rest on the floor: this he called his _answered_.

He afterwards examined the copies of letters opened at the post office, and burnt them immediately. It seemed, as if he wished to annihilate all traces of the abuse of power, of which he had been guilty.

He finished by casting an eye over the newspapers. Sometimes he said, "That's a good article; whose is it?" He must know every thing.

These several readings ended, he set to work; and it may be said without exaggeration, that he was then as extraordinary, as incomparable, as at the head of his armies.

As he would entrust to n.o.body the supreme care of the government, he saw every thing himself; and it is easy to conceive, on what a multiplicity of objects he had to fix his eyes. Independently of his ministers, the Duke of Ba.s.sano, the commandant of the first division of Paris, the prefect of the police, the inspector general of the gendarmerie, the major-general of guards, the grand marshal of the palace, the great officers of the crown, the aides-de-camp, and the orderly officers (_officiers d'ordonnance_) on missions, daily sent him circ.u.mstantial reports, which he examined, and answered immediately: it being a maxim with him, to put nothing off till to-morrow. And let it not be supposed, that he satisfied himself with a superficial judgment of affairs: he read every report through, and examined every voucher attentively. Frequently the super-human sagacity, with which he was gifted, enabled him to perceive errors and imperfections, that had escaped the scrutinizing eyes of his ministers; and then he corrected their labours. But still more frequently he fashioned them anew from beginning to end; and what was a fortnight's work to a whole ministry, scarcely cost the genius of Napoleon a few minutes.

The Emperor rarely sat down, but dictated as he walked about. He did not like to repeat his words; and if you asked him a word not clearly understood, he answered impatiently, "_I said_," and went on.

When he had to treat a subject worthy of himself, his style, habitually nervous and concise, rose to the level of his grand conceptions: it became majestic and sublime.

If the possibility of expressing his ideas was shackled by the want of the proper word; or if the customary terms did not appear to him sufficiently strong, sufficiently animated, he brought together words, that were astonished to find themselves in each other's company, and created a language of his own, a language rich and impressive, that might sometimes infringe established rules, but compensated this happy fault, by giving more loftiness and vigour to his thoughts[79].

[Footnote 79: I have been a.s.sured, that Napoleon in his youth composed a history of Paoli, and of the war of liberty: may he realize the design of writing the history of his own reign, for the instruction of future ages! This reign is so fertile in extraordinary events, and unforeseen catastrophes, and displays to our view such numerous examples of human vicissitudes, that its history may supply the place of all others, and become itself alone a lesson for kings and people.]

Sometimes, hurried away by the impetuosity of his character, and eager to arrive more quickly at his object, he did not take time to weigh his words, his ideas, his desires. When his orders had been dictated to us in such a fit of hastiness, we were careful, as far as possible, not to present them for signing the same day. The next day, they were almost always modified, softened, or torn. Napoleon was never displeased with us, for endeavouring to guard him against the dangers of precipitancy. They who think, that he never corrected a false step, are mistaken: if under certain circ.u.mstances his determinations were inflexible, in a number of others he yielded to remonstrance, and relinquished his projects and resolves without difficulty.

The Emperor seldom wrote with his own hand. Words of many syllables were tedious to him; and, not having patience to write them at length, he mutilated them. This habit, added to the defective formation of his letters, rendered his writing altogether illegible. Frequently, too, from carelessness, or absence of mind, he infringed the laws of orthography; and people have not failed thence to infer, that he was completely ignorant.

Most a.s.suredly the ignorance of Napoleon, were it proved, would detract nothing from his glory and renown. Charlemagne could scarcely sign his own name. Louis XIV., and I quote him by choice, though born on a throne, was unacquainted with _the rules of grammar_. Yet Charlemagne and Louis were nevertheless great kings. The imputation, however, is as false as it is absurd. Napoleon, educated at the school of Brienne, was distinguished there by that facility of comprehension, that disdain of pleasure, that fondness for study, that enthusiastic regard for models of greatness, which commonly indicate superior minds. Destined for the profession of arms, he would not aspire to become a man of letters, a man of reading, a learned man: his object, for he had an object in his earliest years, was to become some day a distinguished officer, perhaps even a great captain. It was to the military sciences, therefore, he bent his genius ... the universe knows the rest.

But do I say his genius? the detractors of Napoleon also a.s.sert, that his mind was too subject to irregularities, for the possession of genius to be granted him: do they not know, or do they pretend to be ignorant, that such irregularities are on the contrary the proof, the distinguishing characteristics, of this precious gift of nature.

"Genius," says one of our philosophers, "rises and stoops by turns; it is often imperfect, because it does not take the trouble to improve itself. It is great in great things, because they are adapted to excite its sublime instinct, and call it into action. It is negligent in ordinary things, because they are beneath it, and have nothing in them to stir it up: if, however, it do turn its attention to them, it fertilizes them, aggrandizes them, and gives them a new and unexpected appearance, that had escaped vulgar eyes."

And with how vast a genius must he have been endowed! he, who, occupied by the torments of ambition, military calculations, political schemes, and the anxieties inspired by the enemies of his crown and of his life, still found sufficient time, sufficient calmness, sufficient power, to command his numerous armies; to govern twenty foreign nations, and forty millions of subjects; to enter solicitously into all the particulars of the administration of his states; to see every thing; to sift every thing to the bottom; to regulate every thing; in fine, to conceive, create, and realize those unexpected improvements, those bold innovations, those n.o.ble inst.i.tutions, and those immortal codes, that raise the civil glory of France to a degree of superiority, which alone can match its military glory. But I know not why I attempt to combat such adversaries: they who are blind to the genius of Napoleon, have never known genius itself, and I ought to give them no answer, but that of Rousseau: "Silence, ye uninitiated!"

The Emperor, by his decrees issued at Lyons, had in some degree repaired the wrongs imputed to the royal government. One grievance still remained for him; the slavery of the press. The decree of the 24th of March[80], by suppressing the censors, the censorship, and the superintendance of the bookselling trade, completed the imperial restoration.

[Footnote 80: This decree, and all those previously dated from the palace of the Tuileries, contained no t.i.tle but simply that of "Emperor of the French." The "&c. &c.," noticed with anxiety in the proclamations and decrees from Lyons, were suppressed. They had been inserted without reflection, without object, and merely from custom.

The Emperor, too, would not have his familiar letters continue to be concluded in the usual form: "On which I pray G.o.d, to have you in his holy keeping, &c." "All those antiquated things," said he, "must be laid aside; they are well enough for kings by the grace of G.o.d."]

This last concession was unquestionably the greatest, that Napoleon could make to public opinion. A press in the general interest of the people is the surest protection of their rights. It is the most n.o.ble conquest liberty can gain over despotism: to honest men it gives dignity; it inspires them with the love of their country, and of the laws; in fine, according to the English definition, it is the mother of all liberty: but in times of trouble and of revolution, it is a dangerous weapon in the hands of the wicked; and the Emperor foresaw, that the royalists would employ it in the cause of the Bourbons; and the Jacobins, to calumniate his sentiments, and render his designs suspected. But, a declared enemy of half-measures, he resolved, since he had set thought at liberty, that it should circulate unshackled[81].

[Footnote 81: Never, in fact, at any period of the revolution, did writers enjoy such complete liberty and impunity. The seizure of the _Censeur Europeen_, which made such noise, was the work of M. Fouche. The Emperor knew nothing of this infringement of the law, till it had been carried into effect; and he immediately ordered, that the copies seized should be returned to the editors of the _Censeur_, and that they should be at liberty to circulate them freely.]