The Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, Complete

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There was chosen as companion for the little king (as he styled himself)
a young child named Albert Froment, I think, the son of one of the ladies
of honor. One morning as they were playing together in the garden on
which the apartments of the king opened at Saint-Cloud, Mademoiselle
Fanny was watching them without interfering with their games, Albert
tried to take the king's wheelbarrow; and, when the latter resisted,
Albert struck him, whereupon the king exclaimed, "Oh, suppose some one
had seen you! But I will not tell!" I consider this a fine evidence of
character.

One day he was at the windows of the chateau with his governess, amusing
himself by looking at the passers-by, and pointing out with his finger
those who attracted his attention. While standing there he saw below a
woman in deep mourning, holding by the hand a little boy also dressed in
mourning. The little child carried a petition, which he waved from a
distance to the prince, and seemed to be entreating him to receive.
Their black clothing made a deep impression on the prince, and he asked
why the poor child was dressed all in black. "Doubtless because his papa
is dead," replied the governess, whereupon the child expressed an earnest
desire to speak to the little petitioner. Madame de Montesquiou, who
especially desired to cultivate in her young pupil this disposition to
mercy, gave orders that the mother and child should be brought up. She
proved to be the widow of a brave man who had lost his life in the last
campaign; and by his death she had been reduced to poverty, and compelled
to solicit a pension from the Emperor. The young prince took the
petition, and promised to present it to his papa. And next day when he
went as usual to pay his respects to his father, and handed him all the
petitions presented to him the evening before, one alone was kept apart;
it was that of his little protege. "Papa," said he, "here is a petition
from a little boy whose father was killed on your account; give him a
pension." Napoleon was deeply moved, and embraced his son, and orders
for the pension were given that day. This conduct in so young a child
gives undeniable evidence of an excellent heart.

His early training was excellent; as Madame de Montesquiou had an
unbounded influence over him, owing to the manner at once gentle and
grave in which she corrected his faults. The child was generally docile,
but, nevertheless, sometimes had violent fits of anger, which his
governess had adopted an excellent means of correcting, which was to
remain perfectly unmoved until he himself controlled his fury. When the
child returned to himself, a few severe and pertinent remarks transformed
him into a little Cato for the remainder of the day. One day as he was
rolling on the floor refusing to listen to the remonstrances of his
governess, she closed tie windows and shutters; and the child, astonished
by this performance, forgot what had enraged him, and asked her why she
did this. "I did it because I was afraid you would be heard; do you
suppose the French people would want you as their prince, if they knew
that you gave way to such fits of anger?"--"Do you think they heard me?"
he inquired; "I would be very sorry if they had. Pardon, Mamma Quiou
[this was his name for her], I will not do it again."

The Emperor was passionately devoted to his son; took him in his arms
every time he saw him, and jumped him up and down most merrily, and was
delighted with the joy he manifested. He teased him by carrying him in
front of the glass and making grimaces, at which the child laughed till
he cried. While at breakfast he took him on his knee, dipped his finger
in the sauce and made him suck it, and smeared his face with it; and when
the governess scolded, the Emperor laughed still more heartily, and the
child, who enjoyed the sport, begged his father to repeat it. This was
an opportune moment for the arrival of petitions at the chateau; for they
were always well received at such times, thanks to the all-powerful
credit of the little mediator.

The Emperor in his tender moods was sometimes even more childish than his
son. The young prince was only four months old when his father put his
three-cornered hat on the pretty infant.

The child usually cried a good deal, and at these times the Emperor
embraced him with an ardor and delight which none but a tender father
could feel, saying to him,

"What, Sire, you crying! A king weeping; fie, then, how ugly that is!"
He was just a year old when I saw the Emperor, on the lawn in front of
the chateau, place his sword-belt over the shoulders of the king, and his
hat on his head, and holding out his arms to the child, who tottered to
him, his little feet now and then entangled in his father's sword; and it
was beautiful to see the eagerness with which the Emperor extended his
arms to keep him from falling.

One day in his cabinet the Emperor was lying on the floor, the king
riding horseback on his knee, mounting by jumps up to his father's face,
and kissing him. On another occasion the child entered the council
chamber after the meeting had ended, and ran into his father's arms
without paying attention to any one else, upon which the Emperor said to
him, "Sire, you have not saluted these gentlemen." The child turned,
bowed most gracefully, and his father then took him in his arms.
Sometimes when going to visit the Emperor, he ran so fast that he left
Madame de Montesquiou far behind, and said to the usher, "Open the door
for me, I want to see papa." The usher replied, "Sire, I cannot do it."
--"But I am the little king."--"No, Sire, I cannot open it." At this
moment his governess appeared; and strong in her protection he proudly
repeated, "Open the door, the king desires it."

Madame de Montesquiou had added to the prayers which the child repeated
morning and evening, these words: "My God, inspire papa to make peace for
the happiness of France." One evening the Emperor was present when his
son was retiring, and he made the same prayer, whereupon the Emperor
embraced him in silence, smiling most kindly on Madame de Montesquiou.

The Emperor was accustomed to say to the King of Rome when he was
frightened at any noise or at his grimaces, "Come, come! a king should
have no fear."

I recall another anecdote concerning the young son of the Emperor, which
was related to me by his Majesty himself one evening when I was
undressing him as usual, and at which the Emperor laughed most heartily.
"You would not believe," said he, "the singular reward my son desired of
his governess for being good. Would she not allow him to go and wade in
the mud?" This was, true, and proves, it seems to me, that the greatness
which surrounds the cradle of princes cannot eradicate from their minds
the singular caprices of childhood.




CHAPTER III.

All the world is familiar with the name of the Abbe Geoffroy of satirical
memory, who drove the most popular actors and authors of the time to
desperation. This pitiless Aristarchus must have been most ardently
enamored of this disagreeable profession; for he sometimes endangered
thereby, not his life, which many persons would have desired earnestly
perhaps, but at any rate his health and his repose. It is well,
doubtless, to attack those who can reply with the pen, as then the
consequences of the encounter do not reach beyond the ridicule which is
often the portion of both adversaries. But Abbe Geoffroy fulfilled only
one of the two conditions by virtue of which one can criticise,--he had
much bitterness in his pen, but he was not a man of the sword; and every
one knows that there are persons whom it is necessary to attack with both
these weapons.

An actor whom Geoffroy had not exactly flattered in his criticisms
decided to avenge himself in a piquant style, and one at which he could
laugh long and loud. One evening, foreseeing what would appear in the
journal of the next day, he could think of nothing better than to carry
off Geoffroy as he was returning from the theater, and conduct him with
bandaged eyes to a house where a schoolboy's punishment would be
inflicted on this man who considered himself a master in the art of
writing.

This plan was carried out. Just as the abbe regained his lodging,
rubbing his hands perhaps as he thought of some fine point for tomorrow's
paper, three or four vigorous fellows seized him, and conveyed him
without a word to the place of punishment; and some time later that
evening, the abbe, well flogged, opened his eyes in the middle of the
street, to find himself alone far from his dwelling. The Emperor, when
told of this ludicrous affair, was not at all amused, but, on the
contrary, became very angry, and said that if he knew the authors of this
outrage, he would have them punished. "When a man attacks with the pen,"
he added, "he should be answered with the same weapon." The truth is also
that the Emperor was much attached to M. Geoffroy, whose writings he did
not wish submitted to censure like those of other journalist. It was
said in Paris that this predilection of a great man for a caustic critic
came from the fact that these contributions to the Journal of the Empire,
which attracted much attention at this period, were a useful diversion to
the minds of the capital. I know nothing positively in regard to this;
but when I reflect on the character of the Emperor, who wished no one to
occupy themselves with his political affairs, these opinions seem to me
not devoid of foundation.

Doctor Corvisart was not a courtier, and came rarely to the Emperor,
except on his regular visit each Wednesday and Saturday. He was very
candid with the Emperor, insisted positively that his directions should
be obeyed to the letter, and made full use of the right accorded to
physicians to scold their negligent patient. The Emperor was especially
fond of him, and always detained him, seeming to find much pleasure in
his conversation.

After the journey to Holland in 1811, M. Corvisart came to see the
Emperor one Saturday, and found him in good health. He left him after
the toilet, and immediately went to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, of
which he was exceedingly fond. He was in the habit of not announcing
where he was going, solely in order that he might not be interrupted for
some slight cause, as had happened to him sometimes, for the doctor was
most obliging and considerate. That day after his breakfast, which,
according to custom, he had devoured rapidly, the Emperor was taken
suddenly with a violent colic, and was quite ill. He asked for M.
Corvisart, and a courier was dispatched for him, who, not finding him in
Paris, hastened to his country house; but the doctor was at the chase, no
one knew where, so the courier was obliged to return without him. The
Emperor was deeply vexed, and as he continued to suffer extremely, at
last went to bed, and Marie Louise came and spent a few moments with him;
at last M. Yvan was summoned, and administered remedies which soon
relieved the Emperor.

M. Corvisart, somewhat anxious perhaps, came on Monday instead of
Wednesday; and when he entered Napoleon's room, the latter, who was in
his dressing-gown, ran to him, and taking him by both ears, said, "Well,
Monsieur, it seems that if I were seriously ill, I should have to
dispense with your services." M. Corvisart excused himself, asked the
Emperor how he had been affected, what remedies he had used, and promised
always to leave word where he could be found, in order that he might be
summoned immediately on his Majesty's orders, and the Emperor was soon
appeased. This event was really of advantage to the doctor; for he thus
abandoned a bad habit, at which it is probable his patients rejoiced.

M. Corvisart had a very great influence with the Emperor, so much so that
many persons who knew him gave him the soubriquet of doctor of petitions;
and it was very rarely he failed to obtain a favorable answer to his
requests. Nevertheless, I often heard him speak warmly in favor of M. de
Bourrienne, in order to impress upon the Emperor's mind that he was much
attached to his Majesty; but the latter always replied, "No, Bourrienne
is too much of an Englishman; and besides, he is doing very well; I have
located him at Hamburg. He loves money, and he can make it there."

It was during the year 1811 that Cardinal Fesch came most frequently to
the Emperor's apartments, and their discussions seemed to me very
animated. The cardinal maintained his opinions most vehemently, speaking
in a very loud tone and with great volubility. These conversations did
not last more than five moments before they became very bitter, and I
heard the Emperor raise his voice to the same pitch; then followed an
exchange of harsh terms, and each time the cardinal arrived I felt
distressed for the Emperor, who was always much agitated at the close of
these interviews. One day as the cardinal was taking leave of the
Emperor, I heard the latter say to him sharply, "Cardinal, you take
advantage of your position."

A few days before our departure for Russia the Emperor had me summoned
during the day, and ordered me to bring from the treasury the box of
diamonds, and place it in his room, and not to go far away, as he had
some important business for me. About nine o'clock in the evening I was
again summoned, and found M. de Lavalette, director-general of the post,
in the Emperor's room. His Majesty opened the box in my presence, and
examined the contents, saying to me, "Constant, carry this box yourself
to the count's carriage, and remain there till he arrives." The carriage
was standing at the foot of the grand staircase in the court of the
Tuileries; and I opened it, took my seat, and waited until half-past
eleven, when M. de Lavalette arrived, having spent all this time in
conversation with the Emperor. I could not understand these precautions
in delivering the diamonds to M. de Lavalette, but they were certainly
not without a motive.

The box contained the sword, on the pommel of which was mounted the
regent diamond, the handle also set with diamonds of great value; the
grand collar of the Legion of Honor; the ornaments, hatcord,
shoulder-piece, and buttons of the coronation robes, with the
shoe-buckles and garters, all of which were of immense value.

A short time before we set out for the Russian campaign, Josephine sent
for me, and I went at once to Malmaison, where this excellent woman
renewed her earnest recommendations to watch most carefully over the
Emperor's health and safety; and made me promise that if any accident,
however slight, happened to him, I would write to her, as she was
exceedingly anxious to know the real truth concerning him. She wept
much; talked to me constantly about the Emperor, and after a conversation
of more than an hour, in which she gave full vent to her emotions,
presented me with her portrait painted by Saint on a gold snuff-box. I
felt much depressed by this interview; for nothing could be more touching
than to see this woman disgraced, but still loving, entreating my care
over the man who had abandoned her, and manifesting the same affectionate
interest in him which the most beloved wife would have done.

On entering Russia, a thing of which I speak here more according to the
order of my reminiscences than in the order of time, the Emperor sent
out, on three different roads, details of select police to prepare in
advance lodgings, beds, supplies, etc. These officers were Messieurs
Sarrazin, adjutant-lieutenant, Verges, Molene, and Lieutenant Pachot. I
will devote farther on an entire chapter to our itinerary from Paris to
Moscow.

A short time before the battle of La Moskwa, a man was brought to the
camp dressed in the Russian uniform, but speaking French; at least his
language was a singular mixture of French and Russian. This man had
escaped secretly from the enemy's lines; and when he perceived that our
soldiers were only a short distance from him, had thrown his gun on the
ground, crying in a very strong Russian accent, "I am French," and our
soldiers had at once taken him prisoner.

Never was prisoner more charmed with his change of abode. This poor
fellow, who seemed to have been forced to take arms against his will in
the service of the enemies of his country, arrived at the French
camp, called himself the happiest of men in finding again his
fellow-countrymen, and pressed the hand of all the soldiers with an
ardor which delighted them. He was brought to the Emperor, and appeared
much over-awed at finding himself in the presence of the King of the
French, as he called his Majesty. The Emperor questioned him closely,
and in his reply he declared that the noise of the French cannon had
always made his heart beat; and that he had feared only one thing, which
was that he might be killed by his compatriots. From what he told the
Emperor it appeared that he belonged to that numerous class of men who
find themselves transplanted by their family to a foreign land, without
really knowing the cause of their emigration. His father had pursued at
Moscow an unremunerative industrial profession, and had died leaving him
without resources for the future, and, in order to earn his bread, he
had become a soldier. He said that the Russian military discipline was
one of his strongest incentives to desert, adding that he had strong
arms and a brave heart, and would serve in the French army if the
general permitted. His frankness pleased the Emperor, and he endeavored
to obtain from him some positive information on the state of the public
mind at Moscow; and ascertained from his revelations, more or less
intelligent, that there was much disturbance in that ancient capital.

He said that in the street could be heard cries of, "No more of Barclay!

[Prince Michael Barclay de Tolly, born in Livonia, 1755, of
Scottish extraction; distinguished himself in wars against Sweden,
Turkey, and Poland, 1788 and 1794, and against the French, 1806;
commanded Russian army against Napoleon in 1812, until superseded,
after battle of Smolensk, by Kutusoff, and commanded the right wing
at Borodino; afterwards commanded at Bautzen and Leipsic; died
1818]

Down with the traitor! dismiss him! Long live Kutusoff!" The merchant
class, which possessed great influence on account of its wealth,
complained of a system of temporizing which left men in uncertainty, and
compromised the honor of the Russian arms; and it was thought
unpardonable in the Emperor that he had bestowed his confidence on a
foreigner when old Kutusoff, with the blood and the heart of a Russian,
was given a secondary position. The Emperor Alexander had paid little
attention to these energetic complaints, until at last, frightened by the
symptoms of insurrection which began to be manifest in the army, he had
yielded, and Kutusoff had been named generalissimo, over which important
event there had been rejoicings and illuminations at Moscow. A great
battle with the French was talked of; enthusiasm was at its height in the
Russian army, and every soldier had fastened to his cap a green branch.
The prisoner spoke with awe of Kutusoff, and said that he was an old man,
with white hair and great mustaches, and eyes that struck him with
terror; that he lacked much of dressing like the French generals; that he
wore very ordinary clothes--he who could have such fine ones; that he
roared like a lion when he was angry; that he never started on a march
without saying his prayers; and that he crossed himself frequently at
different hours of the day. "The soldiers love him because they say he
so much resembles Suwarrow. I am afraid he will do the French much
harm," said he. The Emperor, satisfied with this information, dismissed
the prisoner, and gave orders that he should be allowed the freedom of
the camp; and afterwards he fought bravely beside our soldiers. The
Emperor made his entrance into Gjatsk with a most singular escort.

Some Cossacks had been taken in a skirmish; and his Majesty, who was at
this time very eager for information from every quarter, desired to
question these savages, and for this purpose had two or three brought to
his headquarters. These men seemed formed to be always on horseback, and
their appearance when they alighted on the ground was most amusing.
Their legs, which the habit of pressing their horses' sides had driven
far apart, resembled a pair of pincers, and they had a general air of
being out of their element. The Emperor entered Gjatsk, escorted by two
of these barbarians on horseback, who appeared much flattered by this
honor. I remarked that sometimes the Emperor could with difficulty
repress a smile as he witnessed the awkward appearance made by these
cavaliers from the Ukraine, above all when they attempted to put on airs.
Their reports, which the interpreter of the Emperor had some difficulty
in comprehending, seemed a confirmation of all his Majesty had heard
concerning Moscow. These barbarians made the Emperor understand by their
animated gestures, convulsive movements, and warlike postures, that there
would soon be a great battle between the French and the Russians. The
Emperor had brandy given them, which they drank like water, and presented
their glasses anew with a coolness which was very amusing. Their horses
were small, with cropped manes and long tails, such as unfortunately can
be seen without leaving Paris.

It is a matter of history that the King of Naples made a most favorable
impression on these barbarians. When it was announced to the Emperor one
day that they desired to appoint him their hetman, the Emperor was much
amused by this offer, and said jestingly that he was ready to indorse
this choice of a free people. The King of Naples had something
theatrical in his appearance which fascinated these barbarians, for he
always dressed magnificently. When his steed bore him in front of his
column, his beautiful hair disordered by the wind, as he gave those grand
saber strokes which mowed down men like stubble, I can well comprehend
the deep impression he made on the fancy of these warlike people, among
whom exterior qualities alone can be appreciated. It is said that the
King of Naples by simply raising this powerful sword had put to flight a
horde of these barbarians. I do not know how much truth there is in this
statement, but it is at least possible.

The Cossacks, in common with all races still in their infancy, believe in
magicians. A very amusing anecdote was told of the great chief of the
Cossacks, the celebrated Platoff. Pursued by the King of Naples, he was
beating a retreat, when a ball reached one of the officers beside him, on
which event the hetman was so much irritated against his magician that he
had him flogged in presence of all his hordes, reproaching him most
bitterly because he had not turned away the balls by his witchcraft.
This was plain evidence of the fact that he had more faith in his art
than the sorcerer himself possessed.

On the 3d of September, from his headquarters at Gjatsk, the Emperor
ordered his army to prepare for a general engagement. There had been for
some days much laxity in the police of the bivouacs, and he now redoubled
the severity of the regulations in regard to the countersigns. Some
detachments which had been sent for provisions having too greatly
prolonged their expedition, the Emperor charged the colonels to express
to them his dissatisfaction, adding that those who had not returned by
the next day could not take part in the battle. These words needed no
commentary.

The country surrounding Gjatsk was very fertile, and the fields were now
covered with rye ready for the sickle, through which we saw here and
there broad gaps made by the Cossacks in their, flight. I have often
since compared the aspect of these fields in November and September.
What a horrible thing is war! A few days before the battle, Napoleon,
accompanied by two of his marshals, made a visit of inspection on foot in
the outskirts of the city.

On the eve of this great event he discussed everything in the calmest
manner, speaking of this country as he would have done of a beautiful,
fertile province of France. In hearing him one might think that the
granary of the army had here been found, that it would consequently
furnish excellent winter quarters, and the first care of the government
he was about to establish at Gjatsk would be the encouragement of
agriculture. He then pointed out to his marshals the beautiful windings
of the river which gives its name to the village, and appeared delighted
with the landscape spread before his eyes. I have never seen the Emperor
abandon himself to such gentle emotions, nor seen such serenity
manifested both in his countenance and conversation; and at the same time
I was never more deeply impressed with the greatness of his soul.

On the 5th of September the Emperor mounted the heights of Borodino,
hoping to take in at a glance the respective positions of the two armies;
but the sky was overcast. One of those fine, cold rains soon began to
fall, which so often come in the early autumn, and resemble from a
distance a tolerably thick fog. The Emperor tried to use his glasses;
but the kind of veil which covered the whole country prevented his seeing
any distance, by which he was much vexed. The rain, driven by the wind,
fell slanting against his field-glasses, and he had to dry them over and
over again, to his very great annoyance. The atmosphere was so cold and
damp that he ordered his cloak, and wrapped himself in it, saying that as
it was impossible to remain there, he must return to headquarters, which
he did, and throwing himself on the bed slept a short while. On awaking
he said, "Constant, I hear a noise outside; go see what it is." I went
out, and returned to inform him that General Caulaincourt had arrived; at
which news the Emperor rose hastily, and ran to meet the general, asking
him anxiously, "Do you bring any prisoners?" The general replied that
he had not been able to take prisoners, since the Russian soldiers
preferred death to surrender. The Emperor immediately cried, "Let all
the artillery be brought forward." He had decided that in his
preparations to make this war one of extermination, the cannon would
spare his troops the fatigue of discharging their muskets.