Napoleon (O'Connor 1896)/Chapter 2

by T. P. O'Connor

CHAPTER II.

THE ESTIMATE OF A WORSHIPPER.^[1]

I have not paused in my quotations from Taine to point out where I think the author has been unjust to Napoleon. As I have indicated, that would be contrary to the rôle I have given myself of interpreter rather than critic. Besides, I am about to give a picture of Napoleon drawn by a worshipper in immediate succession to this tremendous indictment by an enemy; and the unbridled eulogy will be the best antidote to the unsparing attack.

I.

MÉNEVAL.

Anybody acquainted with Napoleonic literature will know that Madame de Rémusat's Memoirs form the groundwork of Taine's picture; and especially in those portions which describe life at Napoleon's Court. I heard a clever Frenchman once, when discussing the famous Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat, quote what I thought an excellent comment upon them. The Memoirs, said the commentator, were clever, but they were the Memoirs which might have been written by a femme de chambre, "and I do not love domestics," added this critic, "who speak badly of their masters." M. de Méneval was a servant of Napoleon, but he does not speak badly of his master. I cannot read these Memoirs—indiscriminate in their praise, partial, uncritical, not very luminous—I cannot read them without feeling that Méneval was a downright good fellow. To Méneval Napoleon is always the hero; always right, always high-minded, always unselfish, always wronged. I need scarcely say that this is not the view of Napoleon's character which even the most benevolent student of his career can adopt; but do you suppose I am going to find fault with our good Méneval for this? There are some people who forgive anything to intellect; my tendency is to forgive anything to heart. I have always regarded a good disposition as much more attractive than a good brain. And, then, I like people who have the talent of admiration. Carlyle exploded the doctrine that nobody is a hero to his own valet, with the pertinent remark that perchance that was the fault of the valet. For my part, I always look with a certain suspicion on a man who has not the power of admiration. It marks, I think, not a superiority, but an inferiority of temperament.

II.

A HERO WORSHIPPER.

Our friend Méneval, as I have said, had the bump of admiration in a remarkable degree. He would perhaps have been a better writer of Memoirs if he had been a less fervent worshipper; but let us forgive the good fellow for his defects in style because of the pleasant impression he leaves of himself. He was introduced to Napoleon by Joseph Bonaparte. He was not very eager to enter into the service of the great captain. "I did not," he says, "feel myself at all capable of filling the post for which he intended me, and confessed that I feared the loss of my independence." But it was of no avail:

"On the morning of the second of April Joseph Bonaparte gave me a letter from General Duroc, who wrote to tell me that the First Consul could receive me at five o'clock in the afternoon of that day. I was obliged to accept an invitation which was really a command. General Duroc conducted me to Madame Bonaparte, who received me with exquisite grace and politeness. She was kind enough to talk to me of the business which had brought me to the Tuileries. I was encouraged by her kindness to tell her the objections I felt to a gilded chain. She succeeded in making me agree to remain three years only with the First Consul. I should be free to retire at the end of that time, and she assured me that the First Consul would reward me with an honourable post, and further undertook to gain his consent to this arrangement. I mention this circumstance to show with what cleverness she could enter into the feelings of others, and appear to share their illusions. On reflection I had no reason to hope that the First Consul would agree to a bargain of this kind, or would, indeed, approve of my dictating terms. Madame Bonaparte did me the honour to say that I must be her guest at dinner that night. A moment after Madame Louis Bonaparte entered the drawing-room, and the conversation became general. In the meanwhile time was passing."

III.

NAPOLEON APPEARS.

And now Napoleon makes his appearance. His entrance, like everything else this strange creature does, is effective:

"At last, at about seven o'clock, the sound of hurried steps on the staircase, which led to the room in which we were sitting, announced the arrival of the First Consul. Madame Bonaparte introduced me to him. He condescended to receive me with a kindness which at once dissipated the respectful awe in which I stood. He walked rapidly into the dining-room, whither I followed Madame Bonaparte and her daughter. Madame Bonaparte made me sit next her. The First Consul spoke to me several times during dinner, which only lasted twenty minutes. He spoke of my studies, and of Palissot, with a kindness and a simplicity which put me entirely at my ease, and showed me how gentle and simple this man, who bore on his forehead and in his eyes the mark of such imposing superiority, was in his private life. When I returned to the drawing-room we found General Davoust. The First Consul walked up and down the room with him, conversing, and a quarter of an hour later disappeared by the staircase from which he had come, without having spoken to me on the matter for which he had ordered my attendance."

This whole picture is so like Napoleon; the hurried entrance, the equally hurried dinner, and then the resumption immediately after of the interrupted threads of work. Let us go on:

"I remained with Madame Bonaparte until eleven o'clock. I had asked her to be so good as to tell me whether I should go away, thinking that I had been forgotten. She told me to remain, and assured me that the First Consul would send for me. True enough, a footman came to fetch me. I followed him down a long passage to a staircase by which we reached a little door, at which he knocked. There was a wicket in this door, which I examined with curiosity. My state of mind was such that I seemed to be outside the place of eternal imprisonment, and involuntarily I raised my eyes to see whether I could not read over the door that inscription of Dante's, ' Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate' An usher, who had looked through the wicket, opened the door after some words with the footman, and I was shown into a small drawing-room poorly lighted. Whilst I was being announced I cast a rapid glance around the room, being anxious to acquaint myself with what was to be my prison. The furniture consisted of some chairs covered with green morocco, and a very luxurious roll-top writing-table, which was loaded with gilt bronze ornaments, and inlaid with rosewood mosaics representing various musical instruments. I afterwards learned that these pieces of furniture had belonged to Louis XVI. It was subsequently sent to the garde meuble as useless. A low book-case ran round one side of the room. Some papers were scattered on the top."

IV.

MÉNEVAL STARTS WORK.

"I was announced, and immediately afterwards was ushered into a room, where I saw the First Consul seated behind a writing-table. A threebranched flambeau, covered with a shade, cast a strong light on the table. The rest of the room was in the shade, broken only by the light from the fire on the hearth. The First Consul's back was towards me, and he was occupied in reading a paper, and finished reading it without taking notice of my entrance. He then turned round on his chair towards me. I had remained standing at the door of his cabinet, and on seeing him turn round I approached him. After having examined me for a moment with a piercing glance, which would have greatly intimidated me if I had seen it then for the first time, he told me that he wished to attach me to his service, and asked me if I felt myself strong enough to undertake the task which he proposed to confide to me. I answered him with some embarrassment, with the commonplace remark that I was not very sure of myself, because I knew that he would not like them, and, besides, the way in which he had received me at dinner had considerably weakened them. He did not seem dissatisfied with my answer, the he rose from his seat and came up to me smiling, rather sardonically, it is true, and pulled my ear, which I knew to be a sign of favour. He then said to me, "Very well, come back to-morrow morning at seven, and come straight here." That was all the conversation which preceded my admission into this sanctuary, which I pictured as a sort of place from which nothing but invisible oracles proceeded, accompanied by lightning and thunder. Such was the very simple investiture by which I received a post, the responsibility of which seemed so terrible that, when it was proposed to me, I could only think of it with terror. After this short audience, and this laconic dialogue, the First Consul made a sign with his hand which I took for an order to withdraw, and left me to go into an adjoining drawing-room, where no doubt, some business awaited him. Slightly reassured by the simplicity of this commencement I went back the way I had come, preceded by my guide, who had waited for me outside the door. Nothing but solitude and silence reigned in the dimly-lighted corridors through which I passed. I met nobody on my way out, except a sentry placed at the gate of the inner court."

V.

FIRST DICTATION.

Our poor Méneval, who was then only twenty-four years of age, went home to bed, but had a sleepless night. He was probably relieved when the night was over, for, as he goes on to say:

"I got up before daybreak, and made my way to the Tuileries, arriving there before the appointed hour. I rather feared that I should not be able to find my way in the intricacies of the palace, and that I should have difficulty in explaining to the sentries who I was, and was very much surprised at the ease with which I made my way to the door through which I had passed the previous evening, and which I recognised by the wicket in it. As soon as he saw me the usher showed me into the cabinet, which was empty. The First Consul was in his drawing-room with the Minister of Finance, M. Gaudin, who afterwards became Due de Gaëte. I sat down at a table which stood in the embrasure of a window, and waited for nearly two hours for the return of the First Consul. He arrived at last, holding a paper in his hand. Without appearing to pay any attention to my presence in his study, just as if I had always been there, and had always occupied the same place, he dictated a note for the Minister of Finance with such volubility that I could hardly understand or take down half of what he was dictating. Without asking me whether I had heard him or whether I had finished writing, he took the paper away from me, and would not let me read it over, and on my remarking that it was an unintelligible scribble, he said it was on a matter well known to the Minister, who would easily be able to make it out, and so saying, he went back to the drawing-room. I never knew if M. Gaudin was able to decipher my writing. I feared that the paper might be sent back to me, and that I might be asked to explain what I had written, which would have been quite impossible. I never heard any more about it."

VI.

A PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON.

Méneval had little more to do on this eventful day of his life, and pauses to give us a portrait of Napoleon as he then was. The date, it will be remembered, was 1802, and Napoleon was still First Consul:

"Napoleon was at that time moderately stout. His stoutness was increased later on by the frequent use of baths, which he took to refresh himself after his fatigues. It may be mentioned that he had taken that habit of bathing himself every day at irregular hours, a practice which he considerably modified when it was pointed out by his doctor that the frequent use of hot baths, and the time he spent in them, were weakening, and would predispose to obesity. Napoleon was of mediocre stature—about five feet two inches—and well built, though the bust was rather long. His head was big, and the skull largely developed. His neck was short, and his shoulders broad. The size of his chest bespoke a robust constitution, less robust, however, than his mind. His legs were well-shaped, his foot was small and well-formed. His hand, and he was rather proud of it, was delicate and plump, with tapering fingers. His forehead was high and broad, his eyes gray, penetrating, and wonderfully alert; his nose was straight and well-shaped. His teeth were fairly good, the mouth perfectly modelled, the upper lip slightly drawn down toward the corner of the mouth, and the chin slightly prominent. His skin was smooth, and his complexion pale, but of a pallor which denoted a good circulation of the blood. His very fine chestnut hair, which, until the time of the expedition to Egypt, he had worn long, cut square, and covering his ears, was clipped short. The hair was thin on the upper part of the head, and left bare his forehead, the seat of such lofty thoughts. The shape of his face and the ensemble of his features were remarkably regular. In one word, his head and his bust were in no way inferior in nobility and dignity to the most beautiful bust which antiquity has bequeathed to us. Of this portrait, which in its principal features underwent little alteration in the last years of his reign, I will add some particulars furnished by my long intimacy with him. When excited by any violent passion his face assumed an even terrible expression. A sort of rotary movement very visibly produced itself on his forehead and between his eyebrows; his eyes flashed fire; his nostrils dilated, swollen with the inner storm. But these transient movements, whatever their cause may have been, in no way brought disorder to his mind. He seemed to be able to control at will these explosions, which, by the way, as time went on, became less and less frequent. His head remained cool. The blood never went to it, but flowed back to the heart. In ordinary life his expression was calm, meditative, and gently grave. When in a good humour, or anxious to please, his expression was sweet and caressing, and his face was lighted up by a most beautiful smile. Amongst familiars his laugh was loud and mocking."

At this period of his life, Napoleon, says Méneval, "was in the enjoyment of vigorous health." He had just been cured by Corvisart of that cutaneous disease which he had contracted from the gunner whose work he did at the siege of Toulon. Napoleon had neglected at the time to undergo treatment:

"In the carelessness of youth, and being entirely absorbed in his work, he had neglected to undergo any treatment. He contented himself with some remedies which only caused the outward signs of the disease to disappear, but the poison had been driven into his system, and caused great damage. This was the reason, it was added, of the extreme thinness, and poor, weak look of Napoleon during the campaigns in Italy and Egypt."

Mr. Sherard, the editor and translator of these volumes, quotes appropriately here the statement from Stendhal that a lady who met Napoleon several times in April and May, 1795, spoke of him as "the thinnest and queerest being I ever met," and "so thin that he inspired pity."

VII.

NAPOLEON AT TABLE.

Méneval confirms what other writers have told us of the Spartan simplicity of Napoleon's method of daily life:

"He dined with Madame Bonaparte and with some persons of his family. On Wednesdays, which were the days of the Council, he kept the Consuls and the Ministers to dinner. He lunched alone, the simplest dishes being served, whilst for drink he contented himself with Chambertin diluted with water, and a single cup of coffee. All his time being occupied, he profited by the lunch hour to receive the people with whom he liked to converse. These were generally men of letters or artists."

As has already been seen, there were none of the elaborate precautions around the Palace of the Tuileries which in those stormy times one might have expected in the case of a great ruler. There were, nevertheless, plenty of conspiracies against Napoleon's life. Napoleon had a "conviction of the impotence of . . . conspirators," "a conviction produced either by his confidence in his destiny, or by his contempt for danger." But when at last an attempt was made to kill him by an infernal machine which exploded a few seconds after his carriage had passed, and wounded nearly eighty people—he for a time consented to precautions and to rigorous measures. But this was not long continued—he fell back into his usual feeling of security, ceasing to trouble himself about the dangers which might menace his person:

"He even listened with impatience to the reports on this subject which were transmitted to him by the police or by the persons around him; he needed all his calm; he made no change in his habits, and continued his work without allowing himself to be turned aside from his path. When I entered the Consular Palace, I did not see any of those precautions which denote suspicion and fear."

VIII.

LIFE AT MALMAISON.

At La Malmaison Napoleon's life was even more homely:

"He used to spend the hours which were not taken up by work, exercise, or shooting, with Josephine. He used to lunch alone, and during this repast, which was a relaxation for him, he received the persons with whom he liked to converse on science, art, and literature. He dined with his family, and after dinner would look in at his cabinet, and then, unless kept there by some work, would return to the drawing-room and play chess. As a general rule he liked to talk in a familiar way. He was fond of discussions, but did not impose his opinions, and made no pretension of superiority either of intelligence or of rank. When only ladies were present he liked to criticise their dresses, or tell them tragical or satirical stories—ghost stories for the most part. When bed-time came Madame Bonaparte followed him to his room. Napoleon wasted very little time in preparing for the night, and used to say that he got back to bed with pleasure. He said that statues ought to be erected to the men who invented beds and carriages. However, this bed into which he threw himself with delight, though often worn out with fatigue, was quitted more than once during the course of the night. He used to get up after an hour's sleep as wide awake and as clear in his head as if he had slept quietly the whole of the night. As soon as he had lain down his wife would place herself at the foot of the bed, and begin reading aloud. As she read very well he took great pleasure in listening to her. At La Malmaison Napoleon used to spend the moments which were not taken up in his work-room in the park, and there again his time was not wasted."

IX.

JOSEPHINE'S OCCUPATIONS.

Méneval was fond of Josephine; but this picture he gives of her is not very flattering:

"Josephine spent her time as she chose. She received numerous callers during the day. She used to lunch with some friends, and with new and old acquaintances. She had no accomplishments, did not draw, and was not a musician. There was a harp in her apartment on which she used to play for want of anything better to do, and it was always the same tune that she played. She used to work at tapestry, and would get her ladies or her visitors to help her. In this way she had made the coverings for the furniture in the drawing-room at La Malmaison. Napoleon approved of this busy life. The re-establishment of peace with England had allowed Josephine to correspond with some English botanists and the principal London nurserymen, from whom she received rare and new plants and shrubs to add to her collection. She used to give me the letters from England, written in connection with this business, to translate into French. At La Malmaison, Josephine used to visit her fine hothouses regularly and took great interest in them. In the evening she would take the backgammon board, a game she was very fond of, and which she played well and quickly. Family theatricals were also played at La Malmaison in a little theatre which accommodated about two hundred spectators. Eugene Beauharnais, who excelled in footman's parts, and his sister Hortense, were the principal actors, not only by rank but by talent. . . . Napoleon was regularly present at the performances, which consisted of little comedies, and thoroughly amused himself. He took pleasure in praising or criticising the actors' performances. His remarks, which were often words of praise, and which were always interesting, showed what an interest he took in these spectacles. On Sundays there were little balls given, at which Napoleon used to dance. He found a charm in this patriarchal life. In his retreat at La Malmaison, Napoleon appeared like a father in the midst of his family. This abnegation of his grandeur, his simple and dignified manners, the pleasing ways and gracious familiarity of Madame Bonaparte had a great charm for me."

"There was a harp in her apartment on which he used to play for want of anything better to do, and it was always the same tune that she played." What a delightful picture of this strange, empty-headed, frivolous, attractive creature! I suppose when Napoleon at twenty-six was paying court to her, this harp did duty as an evidence of her numerous accomplishments. Poor Josephine! She made the most of herself; but why not?

X.

MÉNEVAL CHARMED.

Méneval, it will seem, was a good deal happier in his new position than he had expected:

"I could not conceal my surprise at finding such simplicity of habits in a man like Napoleon, who from afar seemed so imposing. I had expected to find him brusque, and of uncertain temper, instead of which I found him patient, indulgent, easy to please, by no means exacting, merry with a merriness which was often noisy and mocking, and sometimes of charming bonhomie. This familiarity on his part did not, however, awake corresponding familiarity. Napoleon played with men without mixing with them. He desired to put me entirely at my ease with him, from the very first days of my service, and, in consequence, from the very first I felt no embarrassment in his presence. Doubtless he impressed me to some extent, but I was no longer afraid of him. I was fortified in this state of mind by all that I saw of his pleasant and affectionate ways with Josephine, the assiduous devotion of his officers, the kindliness of his relations with the Consuls and the Ministers, and his familiarity with the soldiers."

XI.

THE SHADOW OF A CRIME.

I make a big skip in the Memoirs, and come to a striking description of the day which followed the execution of the Due d'Enghien:

"La Malmaison presented a sad spectacle that day. I can still remember the silence which reigned that evening in Madame Bonaparte's drawing-room. The First Consul stood with his back against the mantelpiece, whilst Madame de Fontanes read from some book, of which I have forgotten the name. Josephine, with a melancholy look and moist eyes, was seated at the far end of a couch; the persons in attendance, very few in number at the time, had withdrawn into the neighbouring gallery, where they conversed in whispers on the topic which absorbed all minds. Some people came from Paris, but struck by the doleful appearance of the room, remained standing at the door. The First Consul, anxious or preoccupied, or listening attentively to what Madame de Fontanes was reading, did not appear to notice their presence. The Minister of Finance remained standing in the same place for a quarter of an hour without being spoken to by anybody. Not wishing to go away as he had come, he approached the First Consul, and asked him if he had any orders to give him; the Consul made a negative gesture in reply."

XII.

NAPOLEON'S POWER OF WORK.

As time went on, and Napoleon became involvéd in his great wars, the demands upon his energies were greater. His power of work rose at once to the exigencies of the new situation. Poor Méneval must have had a very hard time of it; but he speaks of his experiences with a cheerful fortitude which reveals the real loyalty and kindliness of his nature. "His activity," he says of Napoleon, "grew in proportion to the obstacles put in his way, and he sorely taxed my strength, which was by no means equal to my zeal."

"To give an idea of how the gravity of the situation had developed his faculties, and of the increase in work which had resulted therefrom, and that one may judge how his prodigious activity was equal to everything, it is necessary to acquaint the reader with the new order which Napoleon had established in the despatch of his numerous affairs. The Emperor used to have me waked in the night, when, owing either to some plan which he considered ripe for execution, and which had to be carried out, or to the necessity of maturing the preliminaries of some new project, or to having to send off some courier without loss of time, he was obliged to rise himself. It sometimes happened that I would hand him some document to sign in the evening. 'I will not sign it now,' he would say. 'Be here to-night at one o'clock, or at four in the morning; we will work together.' On these occasions I used to have myself waked some minutes before the appointed hour. As in coming downstairs I used to pass in front of the door of his small apartment, I used to enter to ask if he had been waked. The invariable answer was, 'He has just rung for Constant,' and at the same moment he used to make his appearance, dressed in his white dressing-gown, with a Madras handkerchief round his head. When by chance he had got to the study before me, I used to find him walking up and down with his hands behind his back, or helping himself from his snuff-box, less from taste than from preoccupation, for he only used to smell at his pinches, and his handkerchiefs were never soiled with the snuff. His ideas developed as he dictated, with an abundance and clearness which showed that his attention was firmly riveted to the subject with which he was dealing; they sprang from his head even as Minerva sprang, fully armed, from the head of Jupiter. When the work was finished, and sometimes in the midst of it, he would send for sherbet and ices. He used to ask me which I preferred, and went so far in his solicitude as to advise me which would be better for my health. Thereupon he would return to bed, if only to sleep an hour, and could resume his slumber as though it had not been interrupted. The solid en cas of food which used to be brought in at night at the Court before the Revolution, were not supplied at Napoleon's Court, for the Emperor had not inherited the enormous appetites of the princes of the ancient dynasty; but one of the Imperial cooks used to sleep near the larder to serve such refreshments as might be asked for in the night, and which were prepared in advance."

Sometimes Napoleon would not wake his zealous secretary; as thus:

"When the Emperor rose in the night, without any special object except to occupy his sleepless moments, he used to forbid my being waked before seven in the morning. On those occasions I used to find my writing-table, in the morning, covered with reports and papers annotated in his writing. On his return from his levée, which was held at nine o'clock, he used to find, on his return to his cabinet, the answers and decisions which he had indicated drawn up and ready to be sent off."

"I never ceased to find him good, patient, and indulgent in his treatment of me," says Méneval, after he has told the story of the one row he ever had with his great master.

XIII.

NAPOLEON IN HIS STUDY.

Méneval is most interesting when he describes Napoleon in his study. There it was that the two saw most of each other; there Méneval is supreme as an authority. When Méneval speaks about general politics, he is nothing but a blind partisan; he retains throughout the curious misunderstanding of the English character and the English policy which created the master passion and the master mistake of Napoleon's mind and career; and all our poor Méneval has to say on these subjects may be skipped and dismissed. But when he brings us to the presence and to the side of the great man, he becomes once again fascinating. For instance, can you not see—nay, actually hear—Napoleon pacing up and down his study as you read this sketch?

"When some lengthy answer was rendered necessary by the reading of a report or despatch; when some spontaneous idea was suggested to him by his observations or comparisons; or when this idea having sprung up in his mind, elaborated by his meditations, had reached its maturity, and the moment to set it in motion had arrived, Napoleon could not keep still. He could not, like the pythoness, remain attached to his tripod. He collected his thoughts, and concentrated his attention on the subject which was occupying him, taking a strong hold on his mind. He would rise slowly, and begin to walk slowly up and down the whole length of the room in which he found himself. This walk lasted through the whole of his dictation. His tone of voice was grave and accentuated, but was not broken in upon by any time of rest. As he entered upon his subject, the inspiration betrayed itself. It showed itself by a more animated tone of voice, and by a kind of nervous trick which he had of twisting his right arm and pulling at the trimmings of his sleeve with his hand. At such times, he did not speak any faster than before, and his walk remained slow and measured."

XIV.

NAPOLEON AS A MAN OF LETTERS.

The extracts which I have given from Taine's sketch of Napoleon will have removed from the minds of my readers the idea—if ever they had it—that Napoleon was simply the inarticulate or the reticent soldier. Frenchmen themselves are also learning to have a new conception in this respect of Napoleon. Some time ago I heard M. Jusserand, the brilliant and well-informed editor of the French Men of Letters Series, speak of a projected book on Napoleon as a Man of Letters. I have no doubt that when the book comes to be written, it will be found that Napoleon is entitled to as high a place in literature as Caesar.

Here is a very vivid picture of him as he improvises:

"He had no difficulty in finding words to express his thoughts. Sometimes incorrect, these very errors added to the energy of his language, and always wonderfully expressed what he wished to say. These mistakes were not, moreover, inherent to his composition, but were created rather by the heat of his improvisation. Nor were they frequent, and were only left uncorrected when, the despatch having to be sent off at once, time was short. In his speeches to the Senate and to the Legislative Body; in his proclamations; in his letters to sovereigns, and in the diplomatic notes which he made his Ministers write, his style was polished and suited to the subject."

Méneval confirms Taine's statement as to the excessive nervous irritability which prevented Napoleon from writing with his own hand. Rarely, if ever, could he be got to do so.

"Writing tired him; his hand could not follow the rapidity of his conceptions. He only took up the pen when by chance he happened to be alone, and had to put the first rush of an idea on to paper; but after writing some lines he used to stop and throw away his pen. He would then go out to call his secretary, or, in his absence, either the second secretary, or the Secretary of State, or General Duroc, or sometimes the aide-de-camp on duty, according to the kind of work in which he was engaged. He made use of the first who answered his call without irritation, but rather with a visible satisfaction at being relieved from his trouble. His writing was a collection of letters unconnected with each other and unreadable. Half the letters to each word were wanting. He could not read his own writing again, or would not take the trouble to do so. If he was asked for some explanation he would take his draft and tear it up, or throw it into the fire, and dictate it over again the same ideas, it is true, but couched in different language and a different style."

XV.

NAPOLEON'S ORTHOGRAPHY.

Napoleon, like other great men, had curious and almost unaccountable intellectual hiatuses. He was not correct in spelling—he was not perfect in arithmetic.

"Although he could detect faults in the spelling of others, his own orthography left much to be desired. It was negligence which had become a habit; he did not want to break or tangle the thread of his thoughts by paying attention to the details of spelling. Napoleon also used to make mistakes in figures, absolute and positive as arithmetic has to be. He could have worked out the most complicated mathematical problems, and yet he could rarely add up a sum correctly. It is fair to add that these errors were not always made without intention. For example, in calculating the number of men who were to make up his battalions, regiments, or divisions, he always used to increase the sum total. One can hardly believe that in doing so he wanted to deceive himself, but he often thought it useful to exaggerate the strength of his armies. It was no use pointing out any mistake of this kind; he refused to admit it, and obstinately maintained his voluntary arithmetical error. His writing was illegible, and he hated difficult writing. The notes or the few lines that he used to write, and which did not demand any fixed attention, were, as a rule, free from mistakes of spelling, except in certain words over which he invariably blundered. He used to write, for instance, the words 'cabinet,' 'Caffarelli,'—'gabinet,' 'Gaffarelli'; 'enfin que,' 'enfant que,'—'infanterie,' 'enfanterie.' The first two words are evidently reminiscences of his maternal language, the only ones which remained over from his earliest youth. The others, 'enfin que' and 'infanterie,' have no analogy with the Italian language. He had a poor knowledge of this language, and avoided speaking it. He could only be brought to speak it with Italians who did not know French, or who had difficulty in expressing themselves in our language. I have sometimes heard him conversing with Italians, and what he said was expressed in Italianised French with words terminating in i, o, and a."

XVI.

LAPSES.

In Méneval Napoleon appears, as we have seen, as the most persistent and unsparing of workers. But there are very curious glimpses of Napoleon at intervals when that terrible brain was not working—or at least apparently not working—at its usual high pressure:

"He used sometimes to spend whole days without doing any work, yet without leaving the palace, or even his work-room. In these days of leisure—which was but apparent, for it usually concealed an increase of cerebral activity—Napoleon appeared embarrassed how to spend his time. He would go and spend an hour with the Empress, then he would return and, sitting down on the settee, would sleep, or appear to sleep, for a few minutes. He would then come and seat himself on the corner of my writing-table, or on one of the arms of my chair, or sometimes even on my knees. He would then put his arm round my neck and amuse himself by gently pulling my ear, or by patting me on the shoulder, or on the cheek. He would speak to me on all sorts of disconnected subjects, of himself, of his manias, of his constitution, of me, or of some plan that he had in his head. He was fond of teasing, never bitterly or nastily, but on the contrary with a certain amount of kindness, and accompanied with loud laughter. He would glance through the titles of his books, saying a word of praise or blame on the authors, and would linger with preference over the tragedies of Corneille and Voltaire. He would read tirades from these tragedies aloud, then would shut up the book and walk up and down reciting verses from 'The Death of Caesar.' . . . When he was tired of reading or reciting, he would begin to sing in a strong, but false voice. When he had nothing to trouble him, or he was pleased with what he was thinking about, it was shown in the choice of his songs. These would be airs from 'Le Devin du Village,' or other old operas. . . . When he was in a more serious frame of mind, he used to sing verses from the Revolutionary hymns and chants, such as the Chant du Depart: 'Veillons au salut de l'Empire.'"

XVII.

WAS NAPOLEON SUPERSTITIOUS?

Méneval says emphatically, No; though he does admit that Napoleon was something of a fatalist. Josephine, being a Creole, was of course intensely superstitious, and Méneval suggests that a good deal of the money she threw away so recklessly went into the pockets of Madame Lenormand, the famous conjurer of the period. If Napoleon, as is reported, ever did pay Lenormand a visit in Josephine's company, it was at the period when he was too much in love with Josephine to refuse even her most unreasonable request. But Napoleon retained from his early days the "habit of involuntarily signing himself with the cross, on hearing of some great danger; or on the discovery of some important fact, where the interests of France or the success of his plans were concerned, or at the news of some great and unexpected good fortune, or of some great disaster."

But though Napoleon believed in his star, he never trusted much to luck.

"He was always prepared in advance for every reverse he might meet."

"Before finally deciding upon his plans he would subject them to the minutest scrutiny; every hazard, even the most improbable, being discussed and provided for. I saw Napoleon enjoying prosperity with the keenest pleasure, but I never once saw him betray any surprise. His measures were so well taken, and adverse chances so minimised by his calculations and arrangements, that if anything could have surprised him, it would have been the failure of plans which he had prepared with so much skill and so much care."

XVIII.

CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS.

NAPOLEON'S constitution, Méneval declares, was "naturally robust; and the oath which he had taken from his youth to break off all bad habits had fortified it. He had all the advantages of the bilio-sanguine temperament."

"I never saw Napoleon ill; he was only occasionally subject to vomiting bile, which never left any after effects. . . . He had feared, for some time, that he was affected with a disease of the bladder . . . but this fear was found to be without foundation. It has been noticed that men are rarely really suffering from the disease with which they imagine themselves to be affected. The existence of the disease which killed the Emperor was not suspected at that time, and I never heard him complain of pains in the stomach."

But like many robust people, Napoleon was extremely sensitive in certain respects. "The slightest evil smell was sufficient to upset him greatly," and he had "so keen a sense of smell that he could detect the vicinity of a subterranean passage, a cellar, or a sewer, a long way off."

Here is an even more peculiar instance of his sensitiveness:

"He had been anxious to gain some acquaintance with anatomy, and for this purpose Doctor Corvisart had brought him some anatomical models in wax, representing parts of the heart and stomach. The Emperor had set aside the hour which followed his luncheon for this study, but the illusion produced by the attention given to these parts of our animal organisation filled him with such disgust that it used to make him sick. He tried in vain to resist this revolt of his senses, but he was forced to give up his lessons. Nevertheless, the same man, riding over a field of battle after a bloody fight, was not disgusted by the contact of wounds of disgusting appearance and odour. He often used to get off his horse and place his hand on the chest of the wounded man to see whether he still breathed; he would raise him up, with the help of his officers, and put to his lips a bottle of brandy, which his servant Roustan always carried with him."

Finally, as to Napoleon's physiognomy, here is a curious fact which I see recorded for the first time:

"When his coffin was opened at St. Helena, twenty years after it was closed down, Napoleon appeared to be sleeping. His teeth had preserved their whiteness, his beard and nails seemed to have grown since his death. His hands had the colour of life—they were supple, and resisted pressure."

XIX.

DAILY HABITS.

Napoleon, though he came from Corsica, and though he was the ruler of a nation which even yet leaves something to be desired in the practice of and provision for the bath, was extremely careful as to his personal cleanliness. All his intimates have called attention to his constant habit of taking hot-water baths—almost of boiling heat—whenever and wherever he could. Ultimately, as Méneval has recorded, he had to abandon this habit because it tended to increase the inclination to obesity which came to him after his fortieth year, and which, by the way, helped to change the whole face of the world by seriously diminishing his powers of work and of immediate decision. Here is Mdneval's description of his daily toilet:

"He used to brush his arms and his broad chest himself. His valet finished by rubbing him very vigorously on the back and shoulders; but he often used to make Roustan, who was much stronger, do this for him. He formerly used to be shaved, but for a long time, that is to say, since about 1803, he had shaved himself—after he had changed his valet. A small mirror was held before him, and turned as required in the process of shaving. He then used to wash himself with a great quantity of water in a silver basin which, from its size, might have been taken for a vat. A sponge dipped in Eau de Cologne was passed over his hair, and the rest of the bottle was poured over his shoulders. His flannel singlets, his vests and pants of kerseymere, were changed every day. He never gave up wearing his green or blue uniform coats―the only coats he ever wore―until he was told that they were beginning to show signs of wear. His allowance for dress had at first been fixed at sixty thousand francs; he had reduced this amount to twenty thousand francs, all included. He was fond of saying that with an income of twelve hundred francs and a horse he should have all he wanted. He often referred to the times when he was an artillery lieutenant, and delighted in speaking of the order he put in his expenditure, and the economies which he attempted to avoid getting into debt, especially when the triumph of the English party in Corsica had cut off all supplies from home, and he had charge of his brother Louis, whom he was bringing up and maintaining on his pay. At such times he would censure the example of luxury which his aides-de-camp and the principal officers of his household gave to the officers of lower rank, who were attached to his person. Nevertheless, he liked to be surrounded with splendour and a kind of pomp. He often used to say to those on whom he lavished his money: 'Be economical and even parsimonious at home; be magnificent in public.' He followed this maxim himself. Nobody was more modest in his dress, or less particular about his food, and all that concerned him personally. He told me one day that when he was quite a young officer he had sometimes travelled from Paris to Versailles in what used to be called the Court carriages, which were a kind of cheap coach; very comfortable, he used to add, and where he met very nice people. Only it was not a very expeditious way of travelling, for these carriages took five hours to do the journey."

XX.

NAPOLEON IN THE FIELD.

ONE of the grand secrets of Napoleon's influence with his army was the true spirit of camaraderie which he introduced the moment he went into the field. "In the camp," says Méneval, "all etiquette was banished in the entirely military relations between the sovereign and his comrades-in-arms:

"The private was authorised to leave the ranks, on presenting arms, and to lay any request he might have to make before the Emperor, either verbally or in writing. Such requests, whether they were granted or refused, were immediately attended to by the Emperor. When it happened that the petition could not be granted, the soldier was always told the reason of such refusal, which was explained to him with kindness. Very often the refusal was compensated for by the grant of some other favour. If any officer had a confession to make to Napoleon, the Emperor was always ready to hear him, and would listen to him in a paternal manner."

It was one of the curiosities of this extraordinary temperament, that even in the midst of his campaigns Napoleon insisted on doing the work, and it might even be said, all the work, of civil administration at home. His Ministers had to write to him every day; he answered all their reports, and a constant succession of messengers were kept busy between him and Paris.

"Economical with his time, he calculated the moment of his departure so as to find himself at the head of his troops at the moment when his presence there became necessary. He would then proceed thither in his carriage in full speed. But even during this journey he did not remain idle, but busied himself in reading his despatches, and very often received reports from his generals and answered them forthwith . . . . By means of a lamp which was placed at the back of his carriage, and which lighted up the carriage during the night, he was able to work as though he had been in his work-room."

This picture of a great soldier on the way to a bloody battle-field, and to the tremendous issues of life and death, empire or disgrace, calmly reading the details of administration, is certainly one of the marvels of history. Let us follow him to the battle-field:

"Such was the privileged constitution of this extraordinary man that he could sleep an hour, be awakened to give an order, go to sleep again, be awakened anew, without suffering for it in his health or in his rest. Six hours of sleep were sufficient for him, whether taken consecutively or whether spread over intervals in the twenty-four hours. On the days which preceded the battle he was constantly on horseback, reconnoitring the enemy's forces, deciding upon the battle-field, and riding round the bivouac of his army corps. Even in the night he used to visit the lines to assure himself once more of the enemy's forces by the number of its fires, and would tire out several horses in the space of a few hours. On the day of the battle he would place himself at some central point, whence he could see all that was going on. He had his aides-de-camp and orderly officers by him, and used to send them to carry his orders in every direction. At some distance behind the Emperor were four squadrons of the guard, one belonging to each branch of the service, but when he left this position he only took a platoon with him as escort. He used usually to inform his Marshals of the place which he had chosen, so as to be easily found by the officers whom they might send to him. As soon as his presence became necessary he would ride off there at a gallop."

XXI.

THE DESCENT BEGUN.

I shall pass rapidly over much intervening ground, and bring the reader to the days when fortune had turned against Napoleon, and he sank, never again to rise.

In the midst of the disastrous retreat from Moscow, Napoleon for the first time thought of suicide as an outlet from his troubles. He feared above all things being taken prisoner by the Czar, and being paraded as part of his triumph:

"He asked his ordinary medical adviser, Doctor Yvan, in consequence, to give him a dose of poison, which was contained in a sachet which he could carry round his neck, and which was to spare him the humiliation of falling alive into the hands of the Cossacks, and of being exposed to the insults of these savages."

Napoleon carried the black taffeta sachet around his neck until he reached Paris. Then, in the midst of his cheerful surroundings, and of his engrossing occupations, he laid it aside, depositing it in one of his travelling bags. But 1814 came, and Napoleon, ruined, deserted, lonely, at Fontainebleau, remembered the sachet:

"One day, after having consulted Yvan on the various means of putting an end to one's life, he drew out the sachet in question before the doctor's eyes and opened it. Yvan, terrified by this action, seized part of its contents and threw it into the fire. It appears that on the morrow, a prey to the blackest thoughts, despair seized upon the Emperor's mind, and he rose without summoning anybody, diluted the rest of the poison in a goblet, and swallowed it. What remained of this lethal substance was no doubt insufficient in quantity or had been too much diluted to cause death. On April 11, 1814, towards eleven in the evening, the silence of the palace of Fontainebleau was suddenly disturbed by the sound of groans, and the noise of comings and goings. The Ducs de Bassano and de Vicence, and General Bertrand, rushed to the Emperor's side, whilst Yvan himself was sent for. Napoleon was stretched out on a sofa in his bedroom, with his head leaning on his hands. He addressed himself to Doctor Yvan: 'Death will have nothing to do with me. You know what I have taken.' Yvan, dumbfounded, troubled, stammered, saying that he did not know what His Majesty meant, that he gave him nothing; at last he lost his head altogether, and rushed out of the room to throw himself into an arm-chair in the adjoining room, where he had a violent fit of hysterics. Napoleon passed a fairly quiet night. On the morrow Doctor Yvan, M. de Turenne, and others, presented themselves at the Emperor's levée, and found him almost recovered from this violent moral and physical shock. He was calm, deeply sad, and deplored the unhappy state in which he was leaving France. As to Doctor Yvan, still troubled by the scene of the previous night, and under the impression of the terror with which Napoleon had filled him, he at once decided to remain no longer in the palace. And so, on leaving the levée, he rushed down into the courtyard, and finding a horse tied to one of the gates, jumped on its back and galloped away."

XXII.

NAPOLEON's FORLORN YOUNG MEN.

Two scenes, finally, I shall quote in the closing hours of the great Napoleon drama. Méneval was attached to the person of Marie Louise for some time after the abdication of the Emperor, and only returned to France when Napoleon came back from Elba and had again mounted the throne. Honest Méneval gives a pathetic picture of his last interview with the poor boy who had inherited Napoleon's name:

"Before leaving, I went to take leave of the young Prince at the Imperial Palace of Vienna. It grieved me to notice his serious and even melancholy air. He had lost that childish cheerfulness and loquacity which had so much charm in him. He did not come to meet me as he was accustomed to do, and saw me enter without giving any sign that he knew me. One might have said that misfortune was already beginning its work on this young head, which a great lesson of Providence had seemed to have adorned with a crown on his entrance into life, so as to give a fresh example of the vanity of human greatness. He was like one of those victims destined for sacrifice who are adorned with flowers. Although he had already spent six weeks with the persons to whom he had been confided, with whom I found him, he had not yet got accustomed to them, and seemed to look upon their faces, still strange to him, with distrust. I asked him in their presence if he had a message which I could take for him to his father. He looked at me in a sad and significant way, then gently freeing his hand from my grasp, he withdrew silently into the embrasure of a window some distance off. After having exchanged some words with the persons who were in the drawing-room, I approached the spot to which he had withdrawn, and where he was standing looking on with an attentive air. As I bent down to him to say farewell, struck with my emotion, he drew me towards the window, and looking at me with a touching expression, he whispered to me: 'M. Meva, you will tell him that I am still very fond of him!'"

XXIII.

A DOOMED MAN.

Méneval was not long with Napoleon without discovering that Napoleon, after the return from Elba, had lost his nerve, and knew he was a doomed man:

"He told me . . . that in making his attempt he had understood that he could appeal only to the courage and patriotism of the nation and to his sword. 'And for the rest,' he added, with a melancholy smile, 'God is great and merciful.' All his words were stamped with a calm sadness and a resignation which produced a great impression upon me. I no longer found him animated with that certainty of success which had formerly rendered him confident and invincible. It seemed as if his faith in his fortune, which had induced him to attempt the very hardy enterprise of his return from the island of Elba, and which had supported him during his miraculous march through France, had abandoned him on his entry into Paris."

Finally, after Waterloo, Méneval followed Napoleon to Malmaison, the scene of his early greatness and of his final overthrow:

"Walking one day with the Emperor in the private garden which adjoined his cabinet, he told me that he counted on me to follow him. I had no other intention. As I needed a little time to put my affairs in order, I asked him where I was to meet him. He told me that his first intention had been to go to America, but as there were some obstacles in the way of the realisation of this plan, he intended to go and live in England, and added that he meant to insist on the rights which were enjoyed by every English citizen. As I expressed some surprise at this resolution, he exclaimed: 'Without that condition I shall put myself at the head of affairs again.' My surprise increased on hearing this sudden revelation, and I could not help saying: 'But, sire, if such is your thought, do not wait until the time has passed; at some paces from here devoted generals and a faithful army call for you; you are not a prisoner, I suppose?' 'I have here,' he answered, 'a battalion of my guard who would arrest Becker, if I said one word, and would act as my escort. Young man,' he added, after a moment's silence, and with the gesture of pulling my ear, 'such resolutions are not improvised.' I then saw that the threat of placing himself at the head of affairs had only been torn from him by a flash of natural pride, and that it had never really been in his thoughts. This scene has remained engraved on my memory."

Méneval had to go back to Paris that night; when he was able to return to Malmaison, Napoleon had gone to Rochefort—his first milestone on the road that ended in St. Helena—and Méneval never saw him more.

1. Memoirs to serve for the history of Napoleon I. from 1802-1815. By B. de Méneval. Translated by N. H. Sherard. (London: Hutchinson.)