Books: Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, V11
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This is, I think, an exact summary, not of all M. Gentz said to me
concerning the secret societies of Germany, but of what I recall; and I
also remember that when I gave the Emperor an account of this
conversation, his Majesty deigned to give most earnest attention, and
even made me repeat certain parts, which, however, I do not now remember
positively. As to the Carbonari, there is every reason to think that
they belonged by secret ramifications to the German societies; but as I
have already said, I have not been able to obtain exact information as to
them. Nevertheless, I will endeavor to repeat here what I heard
concerning the initiation of a Carbonari.
This story, which may perhaps be only imaginary, struck my attention
deeply. Moreover, I give it here with much hesitation, not knowing
whether some one has not already profited by it, as I was by no means the
only auditor of this narration. I obtained it from a Frenchman who lived
in the north of Italy at the time my conversation with M. Gentz occurred.
"A French officer, formerly attached to General Moreau, a man of
enthusiastic but at the same time gloomy and melancholy character, left
the service after the trial instituted against his general at Paris. He
took no part in the conspiracy; but unalterably attached to republican
principles, this officer, whose tastes were very simple, and who
possessed an ample competence, left France when the Empire was
established, and took no pains to disguise his aversion to the head of an
absolute government. Finally, although of most inoffensive conduct, he
was one of those designated under the name of malcontents. After
traveling several years in Greece, Germany, and Italy, he settled himself
in a little village in the Venetian Tyrol. There he lived a very retired
life, holding little communication with his neighbors, occupied in the
study of natural science, given up to meditation, and no longer occupying
himself, so to speak, with public affairs. This was his position, which
appeared mysterious to some persons, at the time the institution of the
ventes of the Carbonari were making such incredible progress in most of
the Italian provinces, especially in those on the borders of the
Adriatic. Several notable inhabitants of the country, who were ardent
Carbonari, conceived the plan of enrolling in their society this French
officer, whom they knew, and being aware of his implacable resentment
against the chief of the Imperial government, whom he regarded as a great
man, in fact, but at the same time as the destroyer of his beloved
republic. In order not to rouse the supposed susceptibilities of this
officer, they organized a hunting-party to meet in the locality where he
usually took his solitary rambles. This plan was adopted, and so well
carried out that the intended meeting took place apparently by chance.
The officer did not hesitate to engage in conversation with the hunters,
some of whom he already knew; and after some desultory remarks the
conversation turned on the Carbonari, those new votaries of secret
liberty. The magic word liberty had not lost its power to stir to its
depths the heart of this officer, and consequently produced upon him the
exact effect they desired, by awaking enthusiastic memories of his youth,
and a joy to which he had long been a stranger; and consequently when
they proposed to add his name to the brotherhood which was now around
him, no difficulty was experienced. The officer was received, the secret
signs and words of recognition were given him, and he took the oath by
which he engaged to be always and at every hour at the disposal of his
brethren, and to perish rather than betray their secrets; and was then
initiated and continued to live as in the past, but expecting every
moment a summons.
The adventurous character of the inhabitants of the Venetian Tyrol afford
a striking contrast to the character of the inhabitants of Italy; but
they have in common suspicious natures, and from suspicion to revenge the
descent is rapid. The French officer had hardly been admitted, than
there were found among them some who condemned this action, and regarded
it as dangerous; and there were some who even went so far as to say that
his being a Frenchman should have been a sufficient impediment, and that,
besides, at a time when the police were employing their best men to
uncover all disguises, it was necessary that the firmness and constancy
of the newly elected should be put to some other proof than the simple
formalities they had required. The sponsors of the officer, those who
had, so to speak, earnestly desired him as a brother, raised no
objections, being perfectly satisfied as to the correctness of their
choice.
This was the state of affairs when news of the disaster of the French
army at Leipzig were received in the neighboring provinces of the
Adriatic, and redoubled the zeal of the Carbonari. About three months
had passed since the reception of the French officer; and having received
no news from his brethren, he thought that the duties of the Carbonari
must be very inconsiderable, when one day he received a mysterious letter
enjoining him to be the following night in a neighboring wood, at a
certain spot exactly at midnight, and to wait there until some, one came
to him. The officer was promptly at the rendezvous at the appointed
hour, and remained until daylight, though no one appeared. He then
returned to his home, thinking that this had been simply a proof of his
patience. His convictions, in this respect, were somewhat changed,
however, when a few days afterwards he received another letter ordering
him to present himself in the same manner at the same spot; and he again
passed the night there in vain expectation.
Nothing further had occurred, when a third and similar rendezvous was
appointed, at which the French officer presented himself with the same
punctuality and inexhaustible patience. He had waited several hours,
when suddenly, instead of witnessing the arrival of his brethren, he
heard the clash of swords; and moved by irresistible impulse, he rushed
towards the spot from which the noise issued and seemed to recede as he
advanced. He soon arrived at a spot where a frightful crime had just
been committed, and saw a man weltering in his blood, attacked by two
assassins. Quick as lightning he threw himself, sword in hand, on the
two murderers; but, as they immediately disappeared in the thick woods,
he was devoting his attention to their victim, when four gendarmes
arrived on the scene; and the officer then found himself alone with
unsheathed sword near the murdered man. The latter, who still breathed,
made a last effort to speak, and expired while indicating his defender as
his murderer, wherepon the gendarmes arrested him; and two of them took
up the corpse, while the others fastened the arms of the officer with
ropes, and escorted him to a neighboring village, one league distant,
where they arrived at break of day. He was there conducted before a
magistrate, questioned, and incarcerated in the prison of the place.
Imagine the situation of this officer, with no friends in that country,
not daring to recommend himself to his own government, by whom his well-
known opinions had rendered him suspected, accused of a horrible crime,
well aware of all the proofs against him, and, above all, completely
crushed by the last words of the dying man! Like all men of firm and
resolute character, he accepted the situation without complaint, saw that
it was without remedy, and resigned himself to his fate. Meanwhile, a
special commission had been appointed, in order to make at least a
pretense of justice; but when he was led before this commission, he could
only repeat what he had already said; that is to say, give an exact
account of the occurrence, protest his innocence, and admit at the same
time that appearances were entirely against him. What could he reply
when asked wherefore, and with what motive, he had been found alone in
the night, armed with a sword, in the thickest of the wood? Here his
oath as Carbonari sealed his lips, and his hesitation was taken as
additional proof. What could he reply to the deposition of the gendarmes
who had arrested him in the very act? He was consequently unanimously
condemned to death, and reconducted to his prison until the time fixed
for the execution of his sentence.
A priest was first sent to him. The officer received him with the utmost
respect, but refused to make confession, and was next importuned by the
visit of a brotherhood of penitents. At last the executioner came to
conduct him to the place of punishment; and while he was on the way,
accompanied by several gendarmes and a long line of penitents, the
funeral procession was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the
colonel of the gendarmerie, whom chance brought to the scene. This
officer bore the name of Colonel Boizard, a man well known in all upper
Italy, and the terror of all malefactors. The colonel ordered a halt,
for the purpose of himself questioning the condemned, and made him give
an account of the circumstances of the crime and the sentence. When he
was alone with the officer, he said, "You see that all is against you,
and nothing can save you from the death which awaits you. I can,
nevertheless, save you, but only on one condition. I know that you
belong to the society of the Carbonari. Give me the names of your
accomplices in these terrible conspiracies and your life shall be the
reward."--"Never!"--"Consider, nevertheless."--"Never, I tell you; lead
me to execution."
It was then necessary to set out anew for the place of execution. The
executioner was at his post; and as the officer with a firm step mounted
the fatal scaffold, Colonel Boizard rushed up to him and begged him still
to save his life on the conditions he had offered. "No! no! never!"
Instantly the scene changed; the colonel, the executioner, the gendarmes,
the priest, penitents, and spectators, all gathered round the officer,
each one eager to press him to their hearts, and he was conducted in
triumph to his dwelling. All that had passed was simply an initiation.
The assassins in the forest and their victim, as well as the judges and
the pretended Colonel Boizard, had been playing a role; and the most
suspicious Carbonari now knew how far their new brother would carry the
constancy of his heroism and the observance of his oath.
This is almost exactly the recital which I heard, as I have said, with
the deepest interest, and which I take the liberty of repeating, though I
well understand how much it will lose by being written. Can it be
implicitly believed? This is what I would not undertake to decide; but I
can affirm that my informant gave it as the truth, and was perfectly
certain that the particulars would be found in the archives of Milan,
since this extraordinary initiation was at the time the subject of a
circumstantial report addressed to the vice-king, whom fate had
determined should nevermore see the Emperor.
CHAPTER XVIII.
I digressed considerably, in the preceding chapter, from my recollections
of Paris subsequent to our return from Germany after the battle of
Leipzig, and the Emperor's short sojourn at Mayence. I cannot even now
write the name of the latter town without recalling the spectacle of
tumult and confusion which it presented after the glorious battle of
Hanau, where the Bavarians fought so bravely on this the first occasion
when they presented themselves as enemies before those in whose ranks
they had so recently stood. It was, if I am not mistaken, in this last
engagement that the Bavarian general, Wrede, was, with his family, the
immediate victims of their treachery. The general, whom the Emperor had
overwhelmed with kindness, was mortally wounded, all his relatives in the
Bavarian army were slain, and his son-in-law, Prince of Oettingen, met
the same fate. It was one of those events which never failed to make a
deep impression on the mind of his Majesty, since it strengthened his
ideas of fatality. It was also at Mayence that the Emperor gave orders
for the assembling of the Corps Legislatif on the 2d of December. The
opening was delayed, as we shall see; and far better would it have been
had it been indefinitely postponed; since in that case his Majesty would
not have experienced the misfortunes he afterwards endured from their
opposition, symptoms of which now manifested themselves for the first
time in a manner which was, to say the least, intemperate.
One of the things which astonished me most at the time, and which still
astonishes me when I recall it now, was the incredible activity of the
Emperor, which, far from diminishing, seemed to increase each day, as if
the very exercise of his strength redoubled it. At the period of which I
now speak, it is impossible to describe how completely every moment of
his Majesty's time was filled. Since he had again met the Empress and
his son, the Emperor had resumed his accustomed serenity; and I rarely
surprised him in that open abandonment to dejection to which he sometimes
gave way, in the retirement of his chamber, immediately after our return
from Moscow. He was occupied more ostensibly than usual in the numerous
public works which were being prosecuted in Paris, and which formed a
useful distraction to his engrossing thoughts of war and the distressing
news which reached him from the army. Almost every day, troops, equipped
as if by magic, were reviewed by his Majesty, and ordered immediately to
the Rhine, nearly the whole course of which was threatened; and the
danger, which we then scarcely thought possible, must have appeared most
imminent to the inhabitants of the capital, not infatuated, like
ourselves, by the kind of charm the Emperor exercised over all those who
had the honor of approaching his august person. In fact, for the first
time he was compelled to demand of the senate to anticipate the levy for
the ensuing year, and each day also brought depressing news. The prince
arch-treasurer returned the following autumn, forced to quit Holland
after the evacuation of this kingdom by our troops; whilst Marshal
Gouvion Saint-Cyr was compelled at Dresden to sign a capitulation for
himself and the thirty thousand men whom he had held in reserve at that
place.
The capitulation of Marshal Saint-Cyr will never, surely, occupy an
honorable place in the history of the cabinet of Vienna. It is not my
province to pass judgment on these political combinations; but I cannot
forget the indignation which was generally manifested at the palace when
it was learned that this capitulation had been shamelessly violated by
those who had now become the stronger party. It was stated in this
capitulation that the marshal should return to France with the troops
under his command, carrying with him a part of his artillery, and that
these troops should be exchanged for a like number of the allied troops;
that the wounded French who remained at Dresden should be returned to
France on their restoration to health; and that, finally, the marshal
should begin these movements on the 16th of November. No part of this
agreement was complied with. Imagine, then, the indignation of the
Emperor, already so deeply afflicted by the capitulation of Dresden, when
he learned that, contrary to every stipulation agreed upon, these troops
had been made prisoners by the Prince von Swarzenberg. I remember one
day the Prince de Neuchatel being in his Majesty's cabinet, which I
happened to enter at the moment, the Emperor remarked to him, with
considerable vehemence, "You speak to me of peace. How can I believe in
the good faith of those people? You see what happened at Dresden. No,
I tell you, they do not wish to treat with us; they are only endeavoring
to gain time, and it is our business not to lose it." The prince did not
reply; or, at least, I heard no more, as I just then left the cabinet,
having executed the duty which had taken me there. Moreover, I can add,
as an additional proof of the confidence with which his Majesty honored
me, that when I entered he never interrupted himself in what he was
saying, however important it might be; and I dare to affirm that if my
memory were better, these souvenirs would contain much more valuable
information.
Since I have spoken of the evil tidings which overwhelmed the Emperor in
such quick succession during the last months of the year 1813, there is
one I should not omit, since it affected his Majesty so painfully. I
refer to the death of Count Louis de Narbonne. Of all those who had not
begun their careers under the eyes of the Emperor, M. de Narbonne was the
one for whom he felt the deepest affection; and it must be admitted that
it was impossible to find a man in whom genuine merit was united to more
attractive manners. The Emperor regarded him as a most proper person to
conduct a negotiation, and said of him one day, "Narbonne is a born
ambassador." It was known in the palace why the Emperor had appointed
him his aide-decamp at the time he formed the household of the Empress
Marie Louise. The Emperor had at first intended to appoint him chevalier
of honor to the new Empress, but a skillfully concocted intrigue caused
him to refuse this position; and it was in some degree to make amends for
this that he received the appointment of aide-de-camp to his Majesty.
There was not at that time a position more highly valued in all France;
many foreign and even sovereign princes had solicited in vain this high
mark of favor, and amongst these I can name Prince Leopold de Saxe-
Coburg,
--[Later he became King of the Belgians (in 1831), and the next year
married the daughter of Louis Philippe. His first wife, Princess
Charlotte of England, whom he married in 1816, died the same year.
Leopold was born 1790, and died 1865.]--
who married Princess Charlotte of England, and who refused to be King of
Greece, after failing to obtain the position of aide-de-camp to the
Emperor.
I would not dare to say, according to my recollection, that no one at the
court was jealous on seeing M. de Narbonne appointed aide-de-camp to the
Emperor; but if there were any I have forgotten their names. However
that may have been, he soon became very popular, and each day the Emperor
appreciated more highly his character and services. I remember on one
occasion to have heard his Majesty say--I think it was at Dresden--that
he had never thoroughly known the cabinet of Vienna until the fine nose
of Narbonne--that was the Emperor's expression--had scented out those old
diplomats. After the pretended negotiations, of which I have spoken
above, and which occupied the entire time of the armistice at Dresden,
M. de Narbonne had remained in Germany, where the Emperor had committed
to him the government of Torgau; and it was there he died, on the 17th of
November, in consequence of a fall from his horse, in spite of all the
attentions lavished on him by Baron Desgenettes. With the exception of
the death of Marshal Duroc and Prince Poniatowski, I do not remember to
have ever seen the Emperor show more sincere sorrow than on this
occasion. Meanwhile, almost at the very moment he lost M. de Narbonne,
but before he had heard of his death, the Emperor had made arrangements
to fill the place near his person of the man he had loved most, not even
excepting General Desaix. He had just called General Bertrand to the
high position of grand marshal of the palace; and this choice was
generally approved by all who had the honor of Count Bertrand's
acquaintance. But what is there for me to say here of a man whose name
in history will never be separated from that of the Emperor? This same
period had seen the fall of the Duke of Istria, one of the four colonel-
generals of the guard, and Marshal Duroc: and this same appointment
included the names of their successors; for Marshal Suchet was appointed
at the same time as General Bertrand, and took the place of Marshal
Bessieres as colonel-general of the guard.
--[Louis Gabriel Suchet, born at Lyons, 1770. Served in the Italian
campaign in 1796. Brigadier-general, 1797; general of division,
1799. Governor of Genoa, 1800, and served at Austerlitz, 1805. For
his brilliant services in Spain he was created Duke of Albufera and
marshal, 1811. At St. Helena, Napoleon stated he was the ablest of
his generals then surviving. Suchet married the niece of the wives
of Joseph Bonaparte and Bernadotte, and his widow died as recently
as 1891. Suchet died 1826.]--
At the same time his Majesty made several other changes in the higher
offices of the Empire. A committee of the senate having conferred on the
Emperor the right to appoint, of his own choice, the president of the
Corps Legislatif, his Majesty bestowed this presidency on the Duke of
Massa, who was replaced in his former position as grand judge by Count
Mole, the youngest of the Emperor's ministers. The Duke of Bassano
became the secretary of state, and the Duke of Vicenza received the
portfolio of foreign relations.
As I have said, during the autumn of 1813 his Majesty frequently visited
the public works. He usually went almost unattended, and on foot, to
visit those of the Tuileries and the Louvre, and afterwards mounted his
horse, accompanied by one or two officers at most, and M. Fontaine, and
went to examine those which were more distant. One day,--it was about
the end of November, having seized the opportunity of his Majesty's
absence to take a walk through the Faubourg Saint Germain, I unexpectedly
encountered his Majesty on his way to the Luxembourg, just as he arrived
at the entrance of the Rue de Tournon; and it is impossible to describe
the intense satisfaction with which I heard shouts of "Vive l'Empereur"
break forth as he approached. I found myself driven by the crowd very
near the Emperor's horse, and yet I did not imagine for a moment that he
had recognized me. On his return, however, I had proofs to the contrary.
His Majesty had seen me; and as I assisted him to change his clothing the
Emperor gayly remarked to me, "Well, M. le Drole! Ah! ah! what were
you doing in the Faubourg Saint Germain? I see just how it is! A fine
thing really! You spy on me when I go out," and many other jests of the
same kind; for on that day the Emperor was in such fine spirits that I
concluded he had been much pleased with his visit.
Whenever at this time the Emperor experienced any unusual anxiety, I
noticed that in order to dispel it he took pleasure in exhibiting himself
in public more frequently, perhaps, than during his other sojourns in
Paris, but always without any ostentation. He went frequently to the
theater; and, thanks to the obliging kindness of Count de Remusat, I
myself frequently attended these assemblies, which at that time always
had the appearance of a fete. Assuredly, when on the occasion of the
first representation of the ballet of Nina, their Majesties entered their
box, it would have been difficult to imagine that the Emperor had already
enemies among his subjects. It is true that the mothers and widows in
mourning were not there; but I can affirm that I have never seen more
perfect enthusiasm. The Emperor enjoyed this from the depths of his
heart, even more, perhaps, than after his victories. The conviction that
he was beloved by the French people impressed him deeply, and in the
evening he condescended to speak to me of it--shall I dare to say like a
child puffed up with pride at the reward he has just received? Then in
the perfect freedom of privacy he said repeatedly, "My wife! my good
Louise! Truly, she should be well satisfied." The truth is, that the
desire to see the Emperor at the theater was so great in Paris, that as
he always took his place in the box at the side, opening on the
proscenium, each time that he made his appearance there the boxes
situated on the opposite side of the hall were rented at incredible
figures, and even the uppermost tiers were preferred to those from which
they could not see him easily. No one who lived in Paris at that time
can fail to recognize the correctness of this statement.
Some time after the first representation of the ballet of Nina, the
Emperor again attended the theater, and I was also present. As formerly,
the Emperor accompanied her Majesty; and I could not keep back the
thought, as the play proceeded, that the Emperor had some memories
sufficient to distract his attention from the exquisite music. It was at
the Italian theater then occupying the Odeon. The Cleopatra of Nazzolini
was played; and the representation was among the number of those called
extraordinary, since it was on the occasion of Madame Grassini's benefit.
It had been only a short while since this singer, celebrated in more ways
than one, had first appeared in public on a Parisian stage, I think this
was really only the third or fourth time; and I should state, in order to
be exactly correct, that she did not produce on the Parisian public
exactly the impression which had been expected from her immense
reputation. It had been long since the Emperor had received her
privately; but, nevertheless, her voice and Crescentini's had been
reserved until then for the privileged ears of the spectators of Saint-
Cloud and the theater of the Tuileries. On, this occasion the Emperor
was very generous towards the beneficiary, but no interview resulted;
for, in the language of a poet of that period, the Cleopatra of Paris did
not conquer another Antony.
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