Part 32
27th.—About five o’clock the Emperor went out in his calash; the evening was very fine; we drove rapidly, and the distance to be traversed is very short. The Emperor made the servants slacken their pace, in order to prolong the ride. As we returned, the Emperor, casting his eyes on the camp, from which we were separated only by the ravine, asked why we could not pass that way, which would double the length of our ride. He was told that it was impossible; and we continued our way homeward. But, on a sudden, as if roused by this word _impossible_, which he had so often said was not French, he ordered the ground to be reconnoitred. We all got out of the carriage, which proceeded empty towards the difficult points; we saw it clear every obstacle, and returned home in triumph, as if we had just doubled our possessions.
During dinner, and afterwards, the conversation turned on various deeds of arms. The Grand Marshal said, that what had most struck him in the life of the Emperor happened at Eylau, when, attended only by some officers of his staff, a column of four or five thousand Russians came almost in contact with him. The Emperor was on foot; the Prince of Neufchatel instantly ordered up the horses: the Emperor gave him a reproachful look; then sent orders to a battalion of his guard to advance, which was a good way behind, and standing still. As the Russians advanced, he repeated several times, “What audacity! what audacity!” At the sight of the grenadiers of the guard, the Russians stopped short. It was high time for them to do so, as Bertrand said. The Emperor had never stirred; all who surrounded him had been much alarmed.
The Emperor had heard this account without making any observation; but, when it was finished, he said that one of the finest manœuvres he remembered was that which he executed at Eckmühl. Unfortunately, he did not proceed, or give any particulars. “Success in war,” said he, “depends so much on quicksightedness, and on seizing the right moment, that the battle of Austerlitz, which was so completely won, would have been lost if I had attacked six hours sooner. The Russians shewed themselves on that occasion such excellent troops as they have never appeared since; the Russian army of Austerlitz would not have lost the battle of the Moscowa.”
“Marengo,” said the Emperor, “was the battle in which the Austrians fought best: their troops behaved admirably there; but that was the grave of their valour. It has never since been seen.
“The Prussians, at Jena, did not make such a resistance as was expected from their reputation. As to the multitudes of 1814 and 1815, they were mere rabble compared to the real soldiers of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena.”
The night before the battle of Jena, the Emperor said, he had run the greatest risk. He might then have disappeared without his fate being clearly known. He had approached the bivouacs of the enemy, in the dark, to reconnoitre them; he had only a few officers with him. The opinion which was then entertained of the Prussian army kept every one on the alert: it was thought that the Prussians were particularly given to nocturnal attacks. As the Emperor returned, he was fired at by the first sentinel of his camp; this was a signal for the whole line; he had no resource but to throw himself flat on his face until the mistake was discovered. But his principal apprehension was that the Prussian line, which was very near to him, would act in the same manner.
At Marengo the Austrian soldiers had not forgotten the conqueror of Castiglione, Arcole, and Rivoli; his name had much influence over them; but they were far from thinking that he was present; they believed that he was dead: care had been taken to persuade them that he had perished in Egypt; that the First Consul, whom they now heard spoken of, was only his brother. This report had gained so much credit every where that Napoleon was under the necessity of appearing in public at Milan, in order to refute it.
After these anecdotes, the Emperor proceeded to mention a great number of his officers and aides-de-camp, distributing praise and censure amongst them as he went on; he knew them all thoroughly. Two of the circumstances which had most affected him on the field of battle he said, were the deaths of young Guibert and General Corbineau. At Aboukir, a bullet went quite through the breast of the former, without killing him instantly: the Emperor, after saying a few words to him, was obliged, by the violence of his feelings, to leave him. The other was carried away, crushed, annihilated by a cannon-ball, at Eylau, before the Emperor’s face, whilst he was giving him some orders. The Emperor spoke also of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valiant Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Orlando of the army, who, when visited by the Emperor on his death-bed, seemed to forget his own situation, and to feel only for him, whom he loved above every thing. The Emperor had the highest esteem for him. “He was for a long time a mere fighting man,” said he, “but he afterwards became an officer of the first talents.” Some one then said he should like to know what line of conduct Lannes would have pursued in these latter times, if he had lived. “We have learned,” said the Emperor, “not to swear to any thing. Yet I cannot conceive that it would have been possible for him to deviate from the path of duty and honour. Besides, it is hard to imagine that he could have existed. With all his bravery, he would unquestionably have got killed in some of the last affairs, or at least sufficiently wounded to be laid up out of the centre and influence of events. And if he had remained disposable, he was a man capable of changing the whole face of affairs by his own weight and influence.”
The Emperor next mentioned Duroc, on whose character and life he dwelt some time. “Duroc,” concluded he, “had lively, tender, and concealed passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was long before I knew this, so exact and regular was the performance of his duty. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished, and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work began. Chance, or some accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely generous.”
The Emperor said that, on the opening of the campaign at Dresden, he lost two men who were extremely valuable to him, and in the most foolish manner in the world: these were Bessieres and Duroc. In mentioning the circumstance, the Emperor now affected a stoicism which was visibly not natural to him. When he went to see Duroc, after he had received his mortal wound, he attempted to hold out some hopes to him; but Duroc, who did not deceive himself, only replied by begging him to order opium to be given to him. The Emperor, excessively affected, could not venture to remain long with him, and tore himself from this distressing spectacle.
One of the company then reminded the Emperor that, on leaving Duroc, he went and walked up and down by himself before his tent: no one durst accost him. But, some essential measures being requisite against the following day, some one at length ventured to ask him where the battery of the guard was to be placed. “Ask me nothing till to-morrow,” was the Emperor’s answer.
At this recollection, the Emperor, with a marked effort, began abruptly to talk of something else.
Duroc was one of those persons whose value is never known till they are lost: this was, after his death, the common expression of the Court and City, and the unanimous sentiment every where.
He was a native of Nancy, in the department of La Meurthe. The origin of his fortune has been related above. Napoleon found him in the train at the siege of Toulon, and immediately interested himself for him. His attachment to him increased every day, and it might be said that they never more separated. I have elsewhere mentioned that I have heard the Emperor say that, throughout his career, Duroc was the only person who had possessed his unreserved confidence, and to whom he could freely unburden his mind. Duroc was not a brilliant character; but he possessed an excellent judgment, and he rendered essential services, which, owing to their nature as well as to his reserve, were little heard of.
Duroc loved the Emperor for himself: it was rather to the individual, personally, that he was attached, than to the monarch. In being made the confidant of his prince’s feeling, he had acquired the art, and perhaps the right, of mitigating and directing them. How often has he whispered to people struck with consternation by the anger of the Emperor:—“Let him have his way: he speaks from his feelings, not according to his judgment; nor as he will act to-morrow.” What a servant! what a friend! what a treasure! How many storms he has soothed! how many rash orders, given in the moment of irritation, has he omitted to execute, knowing that his master would thank him the next day for the omission! The Emperor had accommodated himself to this sort of tacit arrangement; and on that account gave way the more readily to those violent bursts of temper, which relieve by the vent they afford to the passions.
Duroc died in the most deplorable manner, at a very critical moment; his death was another of the fatalities of Napoleon’s career.
The day after the battle of Wurzen, towards evening, the skirmish of Reichenbach had just ended, the firing had ceased. Duroc was on the top of an eminence, apart from the troops, conversing with General Kirchner, and observing the retreat of the last ranks of the enemy. A piece was levelled at this glittering group, and the fatal ball killed both the generals.[30]
Footnote 30:
General Kirchner was a very distinguished officer of engineers; he was brother-in-law to Marshal Lannes, who had chosen him on account of his courage and capacity.
Duroc had more influence over the Emperor’s resolutions than is imagined. His death was probably, in this respect, a national calamity. There is reason to think that, if he had survived, the armistice of Dresden, which ruined us, would not have taken place; we should have pushed on to the Oder, and beyond it. The enemy would then have instantly acceded to peace, and we should have escaped their machinations, their intrigues, and, above all, the base and atrocious perfidy of the Austrian Cabinet, which has ended in our destruction.
At a subsequent period Duroc might still have exerted an influence over other great events, and probably changed the face of affairs. Finally, even at a later conjuncture, at the time of Napoleon’s fall, he would never have separated his destiny from that of the Emperor: he would have been with us at St. Helena; and this aid alone would have sufficed to counterbalance all the horrible vexations with which Napoleon was studiously oppressed.
Bessieres, of the department of the Lot, was thrown by the Revolution into the career of arms. He commenced as a private soldier in the constitutional guard of Louis XVI. Afterwards, having attained the rank of captain of chasseurs, he attracted the attention of the Commander-in-chief of the army of Italy by acts of extraordinary personal bravery; and, when the general formed his corps of guides, he chose Bessieres to take the command of them. Such was the beginning of Bessieres, and the origin of his fortunes. From that instant we find him always at the head of the Consular or Imperial guard, in charges of the reserve, deciding the battle, or profiting by the victory. His name is gloriously connected with all our great battles.
Bessieres rose with the man who had distinguished him, and shared abundantly in the favours which the Emperor distributed. He was made a marshal of the Empire, Duke of Istria, colonel of the cavalry of the guard, &c.
His qualities developing themselves as he rose, proved him always equal to his fortune. Bessieres was always kind, humane, and generous, of antique loyalty and integrity, and, whether considered as a citizen or as a soldier, a honest worthy man. He often made use of the high favour in which he stood to do extraordinary services and acts of kindness even to people of very different ways of thinking from his. I know some who, if they have a spark of gratitude in them, will confirm my assertion, and can bear testimony to his noble elevated sentiments.
Bessieres was adored by the Guards, in the midst of whom he passed his life. At the battle of Wagram a ball struck him off his horse, without doing him any farther injury. A mournful cry arose from the whole battalion; upon which Napoleon remarked, the next time he saw him: “Bessieres, the ball which struck you drew tears from all my Guard. Return thanks to it; it ought to be very dear to you.”
He was less fortunate at the opening of the campaign of Saxony. On the very eve of the battle of Lützen, a trifling engagement occurred, in which, having advanced into the very midst of the skirmishers, he was shot dead on the spot by a musquet-ball in the breast. Thus, after living like Bayard, he died like Turenne.
I had conversed with him a little before this fatal event. Chance had brought us together by ourselves in a private box at the theatre. After talking of public affairs which deeply interested him, for he idolized his country, his last words, as he left me, were, that he was to set out for the army that night, and hoped we should meet again. “But, at the present crisis,” said he, “with our young soldiers, we leaders must not spare ourselves.” Alas! he was never to return.
Bessieres was sincerely attached to the Emperor; he almost worshipped him; he, like Duroc, would certainly never have abandoned his person or his fortunes. And one would really think that Fate, which proved so decidedly hostile to Napoleon in his latter days, had resolved to deprive him of the sweetest consolation, by thus removing two such valuable friends; and at the same time to prevent these faithful servants from acquiring the very highest claim to glory, that of gratitude to the unfortunate.
The Emperor caused the remains of these two men whom he so much esteemed, and by whom he knew himself to be beloved in return, to be carried to the _Invalides_ at Paris. He intended extraordinary honours for them, of which subsequent events deprived them. But History, whose pages are far more imperishable than marble or bronze, has consecrated them, and secured them for ever from oblivion.[31]
Footnote 31:
The following is extracted from the Campaign of Saxony in 1813, by Baron Odeleben, an eye-witness of the circumstance; under date of the 10th of August, at the time of the resumption of hostilities, two or three months after the death of Duroc.
“During the march from Reichenbach to Gorlitz, Napoleon stopped at Makersdorf, and shewed the King of Naples the place where Duroc fell. He summoned to his presence the proprietor of the little farm on which the Grand Marshal died, and assigned to him the sum of 20,000 francs; 4000 of which were for a monument in honour of the deceased, and 16,000 for the proprietor of the house and his wife. The donation was consummated in the evening, in the presence of the rector and the judge of Makersdorf: the money was counted out before them, and they were charged to get the monument erected.”
STUDY OF ENGLISH.—REFLECTIONS.—RIDE.—MIRED HORSE.
31st.—Our days passed, as it may be supposed, in an excessively stupid monotony. _Ennui_, reflection, and melancholy, were our formidable enemies; occupation our great and only refuge. The Emperor followed his pursuits with great regularity. English was become an affair of importance to him. It was now nearly a fortnight since he took his first lesson, and from that moment he had devoted some hours every day, beginning at noon, to that study, sometimes with truly admirable ardour, sometimes with visible disgust; an alternative which kept me in the greatest anxiety. I considered success as of the utmost importance: every day I dreaded seeing him abandon the ground gained on the day preceding; and consequently being regarded as having wearied him with the most tedious labour, without having produced the fortunate result that I had promised myself. On the other hand, I was also daily spurred on by the consciousness that I was approaching the goal at which I aimed. The attainment of the English language was a real and serious conquest to the Emperor. Formerly, he said, it had cost him a hundred thousand crowns a year, merely for translations; and how did he know whether he had them exact—whether they were faithful? Now that we were imprisoned, as it were, in the midst of this language, surrounded by its productions, all the great changes and questions which the Emperor had given rise to, on the continent, had been taken up by the English on the opposite side; and in their works presented so many new faces to him, to which he had hitherto been a stranger.
It may be added that French books were scarce with us; that the Emperor knew them all, and had read them even to satiety; whilst we could easily procure a multitude of English works altogether new to him. Besides, to learn the language of a foreigner, always prepossesses him in our favour; it is a satisfaction to one’s self; it facilitates intercourse, and forms in a certain degree the commencement of a sort of connection between the parties. However this may be, I began to perceive the limits of our difficulties; I anticipated the moment when the Emperor would have got through all the inevitable disagreeables incident to beginners. But let any one form an idea, if possible, of what the scholastic study of conjugations, declensions, and articles must have been to him. It could never have been accomplished without great courage on the scholar’s side and some degree of artifice on the part of the master. He often asked me whether he did not deserve the ferula, of which he now comprehended the vast utility in schools; he declared, jestingly, that he should have made much greater progress himself, had he stood in fear of correction. He complained of not having improved; but, in reality, the progress he had made would have been extraordinary in any one.
The more grand, rapid, and comprehensive the mind is, the less it is capable of dwelling on regular minute details. The Emperor, who discovered wonderful facility in apprehending all that regarded the philosophy of the language, evinced very little capacity for retaining its material mechanism. He had a quick understanding and a very bad memory; this vexed him much; he conceived that he did not get on. Whenever I could subject the matters in question to any regular law or analogy, they were classed and comprehended in an instant; the scholar even preceded the master in his applications and deductions; but as to learning by heart, and retaining the gross elements of the language, it was a most difficult affair. He was constantly confounding one thing with another; and it would have been thought too fastidious to require too scrupulous a regularity at first. Another difficulty was that, with the same letters, the same vowels, as ours, a totally different pronunciation is required; the scholar would allow of none but ours; and the master would have multiplied the difficulties and disagreeables tenfold, had he required any better. Besides, the scholar, even in his own language, was incorrigibly addicted to maiming proper names and foreign words; he pronounced them quite at his own discretion, and when once they had passed his lips, they always remained the same in spite of every thing, because he had thus got them, once for all, lodged, as it were in his head. The same thing happened with respect to most of our English words: and the master found it best to have the prudence and patience to let it pass; leaving it to time to rectify by degrees, if it should ever be possible, all these defects. From these concurring circumstances actually sprang a new language. It was understood by me alone, it is true; but it procured the Emperor the pleasure of reading English, and he could, in the strictest sense, make himself understood by writing in that language. This was a great deal; it was every thing.
In the mean time, the Emperor regularly continued his Campaigns of Egypt with the Grand Marshal. My Campaign of Italy had long been finished; we were always touching and retouching it, with respect to its typographical form, the arrangement of the chapters, the division of the paragraphs, &c.
From time to time he also dictated separate parts to Messrs. Gourgaud and Montholon. To all this work he added a very little exercise: a walk now and then, sometimes a ride in the calash, scarcely ever on horseback. On the 30th, however, he chose to return to our Valley of Silence, which we had long deserted. We were near the middle of the vale; the passage was stopped up with dead bushes, and a kind of bar to keep out cattle. The servant (the faithful Aly) dismounted, as usual, to clear the way for us. We passed on: but, whilst the servant was engaged in assisting us, his horse had strayed from him, and, when he attempted to catch him, ran away. A great quantity of rain had fallen, and the horse sank into a quagmire, similar to that in which the Emperor, a few days after our arrival at Longwood, had stuck so tenaciously as to make it doubtful whether he would not remain in it. The servant ran after us to say that he must remain for the purpose of disengaging his horse. We were in a very difficult narrow road, riding one by one. It was not until some time after that the Emperor heard us mention to one another the accident of the servant. He found great fault because we had not waited for him, and desired the Grand Marshal and General Gourgaud to return for him. The Emperor dismounted to wait for them, and ascended a little elevation, on which he looked like a figure on a pedestal in the midst of ruins. He had the bridle of his horse passed round his arm, and began to whistle an air; mute nature echoed the strains, but only to the barren desert. “Yet,” thought I, “a short time ago, how many sceptres he wielded! how many crowns belonged to him! how many kings were at his feet! It is true,” said I, “that in the eyes of those who approach him, who daily see and hear him, he is still greater than ever! This is the sentiment, the opinion of all about him. We serve him with no less ardour; we love him with greater affection than ever.”