The Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, Complete

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He was slain by a ball from a French cannon, which was discharged
after the close of an action in which he had shown the most
brilliant courage.--CONSTANT.]

Moreover, however great may have been the frailty of Princess Pauline in
regard to her lovers, and although most incredible instances of this can
be related without infringing on the truth, her admirable devotion to the
person of the Emperor in 1814 should cause her faults to be treated with
indulgence.

On innumerable occasions the effrontery of her conduct, and especially
her want of regard and respect for the Empress Marie Louise, irritated
the Emperor against the Princess Borghese, though he always ended by
pardoning her; notwithstanding which, at the time of the fall of her
august brother she was again in disgrace, and being informed that the
island of Elba had been selected as a prison for the Emperor, she
hastened to shut herself up there with him, abandoning Rome and Italy,
whose finest palaces were hers. Before the battle of Waterloo, his
Majesty at the critical moment found the heart of his sister Pauline
still faithful. Fearing lest he might be in need of money, she sent him
her handsomest diamonds, the value of which was enormous; and they were
found in the carriage of the Emperor when it was captured at Waterloo,
and exhibited to the curiosity of the inhabitants of London. But the
diamonds have been lost; at least, to their lawful owner.




CHAPTER XIV.

On the day of General Moreau's arrest the First Consul was in a state of
great excitement.

[Jean Victor Moreau, born at Morlaix in Brittany, 1763, son of a
prominent lawyer. At one time he rivaled Bonaparte in reputation.
He was general-in-chief of the army of the Rhine, 1796, and again in
1800, in which latter year he gained the battle of Hohenlinden.
Implicated in the conspiracy of Pichegru, he was exiled, and went to
the United States. He returned to Europe in 1813, and, joining the
allied armies against France, was killed by a cannon-shot in the
attack on Dresden in August of that year.]

The morning was passed in interviews with his emissaries, the agents of
police; and measures had been taken that the arrest should be made at the
specified hour, either at Gros-Bois, or at the general's house in the
street of the Faubourg Saint-Honore. The First Consul was anxiously
walking up and down his chamber, when he sent for me, and ordered me to
take position opposite General Moreau's house (the one in Paris), to see
whether the arrest had taken place, and if there was any tumult, and to
return promptly and make my report. I obeyed; but nothing extraordinary
took place, and I saw only some police spies walking along the street,
and watching the door of the house of the man whom they had marked for
their prey. Thinking that my presence would probably be noticed, I
retired; and, as I learned while returning to the chateau that General
Moreau had been arrested on the road from his estate of Gros-Bois, which
he sold a few months later to Marshal Berthier, before leaving for the
United States, I quickened my pace, and hastened to announce to the First
Consul the news of the arrest. He knew this already, made no response,
and still continued thoughtful, and in deep reflection, as in the
morning.

Since I have been led to speak of General Moreau, I will recall by what
fatal circumstances he was led to tarnish his glory. Madame Bonaparte
had given to him in marriage Mademoiselle Hulot, her friend, and, like
herself, a native of the Isle of France. This young lady, gentle,
amiable, and possessing those qualities which make a good wife and
mother, loved her husband passionately, and was proud of that glorious
name which surrounded her with respect and honor; but, unfortunately, she
had the greatest deference for her mother, whose ambition was great, and
who desired nothing short of seeing her daughter seated upon a throne.
The influence which she exercised over Madame Moreau soon extended to the
general himself, who, ruled by her counsels, became gloomy, thoughtful,
melancholy, and forever lost that tranquillity of mind which had
distinguished him. From that time the general's house was open to
intrigues and conspiracies; and it was the rendezvous of all the
discontented, of which there were many. The general assumed the task of
disapproving all the acts of the First Consul; he opposed the
reestablishment of public worship, and criticised as childish and
ridiculous mummery the institution of the Legion of Honor. These grave
imprudences, and indeed many others, came to the ears of the First
Consul, who refused at first to believe them; but how could he remain
deaf to reports which were repeated each day with more foundation, though
doubtless exaggerated by malice?

In proportion as the imprudent speeches of the general were depriving him
of the esteem of the First Consul, his mother-in-law, by a dangerous
obstinacy, was encouraging him in his opposition, persuaded, she said,
that the future would do justice to the present. She did not realize
that she spoke so truly; and the general rushed headlong into the abyss
which opened before him. How greatly his conduct was in opposition to
his character! He had a pronounced aversion to the English, and he
detested the Chouans, and everything pertaining to the old nobility; and
besides, a man like General Moreau, who had served his country so
gloriously, was not the one to bear arms against her. But he was
deceived, and he deceived himself, in thinking that he was fitted to play
a great political part; and he was destroyed by the flatteries of a party
which excited all possible hostility against the First Consul by taking
advantage of the jealousy of his former comrades in arms. I witnessed
more than one proof of affection shown by the First Consul to General
Moreau. In the course of a visit of the latter to the Tuileries, and
during an interview with the First Consul, General Carnot arrived from
Versailles with a pair of pistols of costly workmanship, which the
manufactory of Versailles had sent as a gift to the First Consul. He
took these handsome weapons from the hands of General Carnot, admired
them a moment, and immediately offered them to General Moreau, saying to
him, "Take them, truly they could not have come at a better time." All
this was done quicker than I can write it; the general was highly
flattered by this proof of friendship, and thanked the First Consul
warmly.

The name and trial of General Moreau recall to me the story of a brave
officer who was compromised in this unfortunate affair, and who after
many years of disgrace was pardoned only on account of the courage with
which he dared expose himself to the anger of the Emperor. The
authenticity of the details which I shall relate can be attested, if
necessary, by living persons, whom I shall have occasion to name in my
narrative, and whose testimony no reader would dream of impeaching.

The disgrace of General Moreau extended at first to all those who
surrounded him; and as the affection and devotion felt for him by all
the officers and soldiers who had served under him was well known, his
aides-de-camp were arrested, even those who were not then in Paris. One
of them, Colonel Delelee, had been many months on furlough at Besancon,
resting after his campaigns in the bosom of his family, and with a young
wife whom he had recently married. Besides, he was at that time
concerning himself very little with political matters, very much with his
pleasures, and not at all with conspiracies. Comrade and brother in arms
of Colonels Guilleminot, Hugo, Foy,--all three of whom became generals
afterwards,--he was spending his evenings gayly with them at the
garrison, or in the quiet pleasures of his family circle. Suddenly
Colonel Delelee was arrested, placed in a postchaise, and it was not
until he was rolling along in a gallop on the road to Paris, that he
learned from the officer of the gendarmes who accompanied him, that
General Moreau had conspired, and that in his quality as aide-de-camp he
was counted among the conspirators.

Arrived at Paris, the colonel was put in close confinement, in La Force
I believe. His wife, much alarmed, followed his footsteps; but it was
several days before she obtained permission to communicate with the
prisoner, and then could do so only by signs from the courtyard of the
prison while he showed himself, for a few moments, and put his hands
through the bars of the window. However, the rigor of these orders was
relaxed for the colonel's young child three or four years of age, and his
father obtained the favor of embracing him. He came each morning in his
mother's arms, and a turnkey carried him in to the prisoner, before which
inconvenient witness the poor little thing played his role with all the
skill of a consummate actor. He would pretend to be lame, and complain
of having sand in his shoes which hurt him and the colonel, turning his
back on the jailer, and taking the child in his lap to remove the cause
of the trouble, would find in his son's shoe a note from his wife,
informing him in a few words of the state of the trial, and what he had
to hope or fear for himself. At length, after many months of captivity,
sentence having been pronounced against the conspirators, Colonel
Delelee, against whom no charge had been made, was not absolved as he had
a right to expect, but was struck off the army list, arbitrarily put
under surveillance, and prohibited from coming within forty leagues of
Paris. He was also forbidden to return to Besancon, and it was more than
a year after leaving prison before he was permitted to do so.

Young and full of courage, the Colonel saw, from the depths of his
retirement, his friends and comrades make their way, and gain upon the
battlefield fame, rank, and glory, while he himself was condemned to
inaction and obscurity, and to pass his days in following on the map the
triumphant march of those armies in which he felt himself worthy to
resume his rank. Innumerable applications were addressed by him and his
friends to the head of the Empire, that he might be allowed to go even as
a common volunteer, and rejoin his former comrades with his knapsack on
his shoulder; but these petitions were refused, the will of the Emperor
was inflexible, and to each new application he only replied, "Let him
wait." The inhabitants of Besancon, who considered Colonel Delelee as
their fellow-citizen, interested themselves warmly in the unmerited
misfortunes of this brave officer; and when an occasion presented itself
of recommending him anew to the clemency, or rather to the justice, of
the Emperor, they availed themselves of it.

It was, I believe, on the return from Prussia and Poland that from all
parts of France there came deputations charged with congratulating the
Emperor upon his several victories. Colonel Delelee was unanimously
elected member of the deputation of Doubs, of which the mayor and prefect
of Besancon were also members, and of which the respectable Marshal
Moncey was president, and an opportunity was thus at last offered Colonel
Delelee of procuring the removal of the long sentence which had weighed
him down and kept his sword idle. He could speak to the Emperor, and
complain respectfully, but with dignity, of the disgrace in which he had
been so long kept without reason. He could render thanks, from the
bottom of his heart, for the generous affection of his fellow-citizens,
whose wishes, he hoped would plead for him with his Majesty.

The deputies of Besancon, upon their arrival at Paris, presented
themselves to the different ministers. The minister of police took the
president of the deputation aside, and asked him the meaning of the
presence among the deputies of a man publicly known to be in disgrace,
and the sight of whom could not fail to be disagreeable to the chief of
the Empire.

Marshal Moncey, on coming out from this private interview, pale and
frightened, entered the room of Colonel Delelee:

"My friend," said he, "all is lost, for I have ascertained at the bureau
that they are still hostile to you. If the Emperor sees you among us, he
will take it as an open avowal of disregard for his orders, and will be
furious."

"Ah, well, what have I to do with that?"

"But in order to avoid compromising the department, the deputation, and,
indeed, in order to avoid compromising yourself, you would perhaps do
well "--the Marshal hesitated. "I will do well?" demanded the Colonel.

"Perhaps to withdraw without making any display"--

Here the colonel interrupted the president of the deputation: "Marshal,
permit me to decline this advice; I have not come so far to be
discouraged, like a child, before the first obstacle. I am weary of a
disgrace which I have not deserved, and still more weary of enforced
idleness. Let the Emperor be irritated or pleased, he shall see me; let
him order me to be shot, if he wishes. I do not count worth having such
a life as I have led for the last four years. Nevertheless, I will be
satisfied with whatever my colleagues, the deputies of Besancon, shall
decide."

These latter did not disapprove of the colonel's resolution, and he
accompanied them to the Tuileries on the day of the solemn reception of
all the deputations of the Empire. All the halls of the Tuileries were
packed with a crowd in richly embroidered coats and brilliant uniforms.
The military household of the Emperor, his civil household, the generals
present at Paris, the diplomatic corps, ministers and chiefs of the
different administrations, the deputies of the departments with their
prefects, and mayors decorated with tricolored scarfs, were all assembled
in numerous groups, and conversed in a low tone while awaiting the
arrival of his Majesty.

In one of these groups was seen a tall officer dressed in a very simple
uniform, cut in the fashion of several years past. He wore neither on
his collar, nor even on his breast the decoration which no officer of his
grade then lacked. This was Colonel Delelee. The president of the
deputation of which he was a member appeared embarrassed and almost
distressed. Of the former comrades of the colonel, very few dared to
recognize him, and the boldest gave him a distant nod which expressed at
the same time anxiety and pity, while the more prudent did not even
glance at him.

As for him, he remained unconcerned and resolute.

At last the folding doors were opened, and an usher cried "The Emperor,
gentlemen."

The groups separated, and a line was formed, the colonel placing himself
in the first rank.

His Majesty commenced his tour of the room, welcoming the president of
each delegation with a few flattering words. Arrived before the
delegation from Doubs, the Emperor, having addressed a few words to the
brave marshal who was president, was about to pass on to the next, when
his eyes fell upon an officer he had not yet seen. He stopped in
surprise, and addressed to the deputy his familiar inquiry, "Who are
you?"

"Sire, I am Colonel Delelee, former aide-de-camp of General Moreau."

These words were pronounced in a firm voice, which resounded in the midst
of the profound silence which the presence of the sovereign imposed.

The Emperor stepped back, and fastened both eyes on the colonel. The
latter showed no emotion, but bowed slightly.

Marshal Moncey was pale as death.

The Emperor spoke. "What do you come to ask here?"

"That which I have asked for many years, Sire: that your Majesty will
deign to tell me wherein I have been in fault, or restore to me my rank."

Among those near enough to hear these questions and replies, few could
breathe freely. At last a smile half opened the firmly closed lips of
the Emperor; he placed his finger on his mouth, and, approaching the
colonel, said to him in a softened and almost friendly tone, "You have
reason to complain a little of that, but let us say no more about it,"
and continued his round. He had gone ten steps from the group formed by
the deputies of Bescancon, when he came back, and, stopping before the
colonel, said, "Monsieur Minister of War, take the name of this officer,
and be sure to remind me of him. He is tired of doing nothing, and we
will give him occupation."

As soon as the audience was over, the struggle was, who should be most
attentive to the colonel. He was surrounded, congratulated, embraced,
and pulled about. Each of his old comrades wished to carry him off, and
his hands were not enough to grasp all those extended to him. General
Savary, who that very evening had added to the fright of Marshal Moncey,
by being astonished that any one could have the audacity to brave the
Emperor, extended his arm over the shoulders of those who pressed around
the colonel, and shaking his hand in the most cordial manner possible,
"Delelee," cried he, "do not forget that I expect you to-morrow to
breakfast."

Two days after this scene at court, Colonel Delelee received his
appointment as chief of staff of the army of Portugal, commanded by the
Duke d'Abrantes. His preparations were soon made; and just before
setting out he had a last interview with the Emperor, who said to him,
"Colonel, I know that it is useless to urge you to make up for lost time.
In a little while I hope we shall both be satisfied with each other."

On coming out from this last audience, the brave Delelee said there was
nothing wanting to make him happy except a good opportunity to have
himself cut to pieces for a man who knew so well how to close the wounds
of a long disgrace. Such was the sway that his Majesty exercised over
the minds of men.

The colonel had soon crossed the Pyrenees, passed through Spain, and been
received by Junot with open arms. The army of Portugal had suffered much
in the two years during which it had struggled against both the
population and the English with unequal forces. Food was secured with
difficulty, and the soldiers were badly clothed, and half-shod. The new
chief of staff did all that was possible to remedy this disorder; and the
soldiers had just begun to feel the good effects of his presence, when he
fell sick from overwork and fatigue, and died before being able,
according to the Emperor's expression, to "make up for lost time."

I have said elsewhere that upon each conspiracy against the life of the
First Consul all the members of his household were at once subjected to a
strict surveillance; their smallest actions were watched; they were
followed outside the chateau; their conduct was reported even to the
smallest details. At the time the conspiracy of Pichegru was discovered,
there was only a single guardian of the portfolio, by the name of
Landoire; and his position was very trying, for he must always be present
in a little dark corridor upon which the door of the cabinet opened, and
he took his meals on the run, and half-dressed. Happily for Landoire,
they gave him an assistant; and this was the occasion of it.

Angel, one of the doorkeepers of the palace, was ordered by the First
Consul to place himself at the barrier of Bonshommes during the trial of
Pichegru, to recognize and watch the people of the household who came and
went in the transaction of their business, no one being allowed to leave
Paris without permission. Augel's reports having pleased the First
Consul, he sent for him, was satisfied with his replies and intelligence,
and appointed him assistant to Landoire in the custody of the portfolio.
Thus the task of the latter became lighter by half. In 1812 Angel was in
the campaign of Russia, and died on the return, when within a few leagues
of Paris, in consequence of the fatigue and privations which we shared
with the army.

However, it was not only those attached to the service of the First
Consul, or the chateau, who were subject to this surveillance.

When Napoleon became Emperor, the custodians of all the imperial palaces
were furnished with a register upon which all persons from outside, and
all strangers who came to visit any one in the palace were obliged to
inscribe their names, with that of the persons whom they came to see.
Every evening this register was carried to the grand marshal of the
palace, and in his absence to the governor, and the Emperor often
consulted it. He once found there a certain name which, as a husband, he
had his reasons, and perhaps good ones, to suspect. His Majesty had
previously ordered the exclusion of this person; and finding this unlucky
name again upon the custodian's register, he was angry beyond measure,
believing that they had dared on both sides to disobey his orders.
Investigation was immediately made; and it was fortunately ascertained
that the visitor was a most insignificant person, whose only fault was
that of bearing a name which was justly compromised.




CHAPTER XV.

The year 1804, which was so full of glory for the Emperor, was also the
year which brought him more care and anxiety than all others, except
those of 1814 and 1815. It is not my province to pass judgment on such
grave events, nor to determine what part was taken in them by the
Emperor, or by those who surrounded and counseled him, for it is my
object to relate only what I saw and heard. On the 21st of March of that
year I entered the Emperor's room at an early hour, and found him awake,
leaning on his elbow. He seemed gloomy and tired; but when I entered he
sat up, passed his hand many times over his forehead, and said to me,
"Constant, I have a headache." Then, throwing off the covering, he
added, "I have slept very badly." He seemed extremely preoccupied and
absorbed, and his appearance evinced melancholy and suffering to such a
degree that I was surprised and somewhat anxious. While I was dressing
him he did not utter a word, which never occurred except when something
agitated or worried him. During this time only Roustan and I were
present. His toilet being completed, just as I was handing him his
snuff-box, handkerchief, and little bonbon box, the door opened suddenly,
and the First Consul's wife entered, in her morning negligee, much
agitated, with traces of tears on her cheeks. Her sudden appearance
astonished, and even alarmed, Roustan and myself; for it was only an
extraordinary circumstance which could have induced Madame Bonaparte to
leave her room in this costume, before taking all necessary precautions
to conceal the damage which the want of the accessories of the toilet did
her. She entered, or rather rushed, into the room, crying, "The Duke
d'Enghien is dead! Ah, my friend! what have you done?" Then she fell
sobbing into the arms of the First Consul, who became pale as death, and
said with extraordinary emotion, "The miserable wretches have been too
quick!" He then left the room, supporting Madame Bonaparte, who could
hardly walk, and was still weeping. The news of the prince's death
spread consternation in the chateau; and the First Consul remarked this
universal grief, but reprimanded no one for it. The fact is, the
greatest chagrin which this mournful catastrophe caused his servants,
most of whom were attached to him by affection even more than by duty,
came from the belief that it would inevitably tarnish the glory and
destroy the peace of mind of their master.

The First Consul probably understood our feelings perfectly; but however
that may be, I have here related all that I myself saw and know of this
deplorable event. I do not pretend to know what passed in the cabinet
meeting, but the emotion of the First Consul appeared to me sincere and
unaffected; and he remained sad and silent for many days, speaking very
little at his toilet, and saying only what was necessary.

During this month and the following I noticed constantly passing,
repassing, and holding frequent interviews with the First Consul, many
persons whom I was told were members of the council of state, tribunes,
or senators. For a long time the army and a great number of citizens,
who idolized the hero of Italy and Egypt, had manifested openly their
desire to see him wear a title worthy of his renown and the greatness of
France. It was well known, also, that he alone performed all the duties
of government, and that his nominal colleagues were really his
subordinates. It was thought proper, therefore, that he should become
supreme head of the state in name, as he already was in fact. I have
often since his fall heard his Majesty called an usurper: but the only
effect of this on me is to provoke a smile of pity; for if the Emperor
usurped the throne, he had more accomplices than all the tyrants of
tragedy and melodrama combined, for three-fourths of the French people
were in the conspiracy. As is well known, it was on May 18 that the
Empire was proclaimed, and the First Consul (whom I shall henceforward
call the Emperor) received at Saint-Cloud the Senate, led by Consul
Cambaceres, who became, a few hours later, arch-chancellor of the Empire;
and it was by him that the Emperor heard himself for the first time
saluted with the title of Sire. After this audience the Senate went to
present its homage to the Empress Josephine. The rest of the day was
passed in receptions, presentations, interviews, and congratulations;
everybody in the chateau was drunk with joy; each one felt that he had
been suddenly promoted in rank, so they embraced each other, exchanged
compliments, and confided to each other hopes and plans for the future.
There was no subaltern too humble to be inspired with ambition; in a
word, the antechamber, saving the difference of persons, furnished an
exact repetition of what passed in the saloon. Nothing could be more
amusing than the embarrassment of the whole service when it was necessary
to reply to his Majesty's questions. They would begin with a mistake,
then would try again, and do worse, saying ten times in the same minute,
"Sire, general, your Majesty, citizen, First Consul." The next morning
on entering as usual the First Consul's room, to his customary questions,
"What o'clock is it? What is the weather?" I replied, "Sire, seven
o'clock; fine weather." As I approached his bed, he seized me by the
ear, and slapped me on the cheek, calling me "Monsieur le drole," which
was his favorite expression when especially pleased with me. His Majesty
had kept awake, and worked late into the night, and I found him serious
and preoccupied, but well satisfied. How different this awakening to
that of the 21st of March preceding! On this day his Majesty went to
hold his first grand levee at the Tuileries, where all the civil and
military authorities were presented to him. The brothers and sisters of
the Emperor were made princes and princesses, with the exception of
Lucien, who had quarreled with his Majesty on the occasion of his
marriage with Madame Jouberton. Eighteen generals were raised to the
dignity of marshals of the empire. Dating from this day, everything
around their Majesties took on the appearance of a court and royal power.
Much has been said of the awkwardness of the first courtiers, not yet
accustomed to the new duties imposed upon them, and to the ceremonials of
etiquette; and there was, indeed, in the beginning some embarrassment
experienced by those in the immediate service of the Emperor, as I have
said above; but this lasted only a short while, and the chamberlains and
high officials adapted themselves to the new regime almost as quickly as
the valets de chambre. They had also as instructors many personages of
the old court, who had been struck out of the list of emigres by the
kindness of the Emperor, and now solicited earnestly for themselves and
their wives employment in the new imperial court.