Books: The Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, v3

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RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PRIVATE LIFE OF NAPOLEON, V3

By CONSTANT

PREMIER VALET DE CHAMBRE

TRANSLATED BY WALTER CLARK

1895

CHAPTER XIII.

The First Consul left Boulogne to return to Paris, in order to be present
at the marriage of one of his sisters. Prince Camille Borghese,
descendant of the noblest family of Rome, had already arrived at Paris
to--marry Madame Pauline Bonaparte, widow of General Leclerc, who had
died of yellow fever in San Domingo. I recollect having seen this
unfortunate general at the residence of the First Consul some time before
his departure on the ill-starred expedition which cost him his life, and
France the loss of many brave soldiers and much treasure. General
Leclerc, whose name is now almost forgotten, or held in light esteem, was
a kind and good man. He was passionately in love with his wife, whose
giddiness, to put it mildly, afflicted him sorely, and threw him into a
deep and habitual melancholy painful to witness. Princess Pauline (who
was then far from being a princess) had married him willingly, and of her
own choice; but this did not prevent her tormenting her husband by her
innumerable caprices, and repeating to him a hundred times a day that he
was indeed a fortunate man to marry the sister of the First Consul. I am
sure that with his simple tastes and quiet disposition General Leclerc
would have preferred less distinction and more peace. The First Consul
required his sister to accompany her husband to San Domingo. She was
forced to obey, and to leave Paris, where she swayed the scepter of
fashion, and eclipsed all other women by her elegance and coquetry, as
well as by her incomparable beauty, to brave a dangerous climate, and the
ferocious companions of Christophe and Dessalines. At the end of the
year 1801 the admiral's ship, The Ocean, sailed from Brest, carrying to
the Cape (San Domingo) General Leclerc, his wife, and their son. After
her arrival at the Cape, the conduct of Madame Leclerc was beyond praise.
On more than one occasion, but especially that which I shall now attempt
to describe, she displayed a courage worthy of her name and the position
of her husband. I obtained these details from an eye-witness whom I had
known at Paris in the service of Princess Pauline.

The day of the great insurrection of the blacks in September, 1802, the
bands of Christophe and Dessalines, composed of more than twelve thousand
negroes, exasperated by their hatred against the whites, and the
certainty that if they yielded no quarter would be given, made an assault
on the town of the Cape, which was defended by only one thousand
soldiers; for only this small number remained of the large army which had
sailed from Brest a year before, in brilliant spirits and full of hope.
This handful of brave men, the most of them weakened by fever, led by the
general-in-chief of the expedition, who was even then suffering from the
malady which caused his death, repulsed by unheard of efforts and heroic
valor the repeated attacks of the blacks.

During this combat, in which the determination, if not the number and
strength, was equal on both sides, Madame Leclerc, with her son, was
under the guard of a devoted friend who had subject to his orders only a
weak company of artillery, which still occupied the house where her
husband had fixed his residence, at the foot of the low hills which
bordered the coast. The general-in-chief, fearing lest this residence
might be surprised by a party of the enemy, and being unable to foresee
the issue of the struggle which he was maintaining on the heights of the
Cape, and against which the blacks made their most furious assaults, sent
an order to convey his wife and son on board the fleet. Pauline would
not consent to this. Always faithful to the pride with which her name
inspired her (but this time there was in her pride as much greatness as
nobility), she spoke to the ladies of the city who had taken refuge with
her, and begged them to go away, giving them a frightful picture of the
horrible treatment to which they would be exposed should the negroes
defeat the troops. "You can leave. You are not the sisters of
Bonaparte."

However, as the danger became more pressing every moment, General Leclerc
sent an aide-de-camp to his residence, and enjoined on him, in case
Pauline still persisted in her refusal, to use force, and convey her on
board against her will. The officer was obliged to execute this order to
the letter. Consequently Madame Leclerc was forcibly placed in an arm-
chair which was borne by four soldiers, while a grenadier marched by her
side, carrying in his arms the general's son. During this scene of
flight and terror the child, already worthy of its mother, played with
the plume of the soldier who was carrying him. Followed by
her cortege of trembling, tearful women, whose only source of strength
during this perilous passage was in her courage, she was thus conveyed to
the seashore. Just as they were going to place her in the sloop,
however, another aide-de-camp of her husband brought news of the defeat
of the blacks. "You see now," said she, returning to her residence, "I
was right in not wishing to embark." She was not yet out of danger,
however; for a troop of negroes, forming part of the army which had just
been so miraculously repulsed, in trying to make good their retreat to
the dikes, met the small escort of Madame Leclerc. As they appeared
disposed to attack, it was necessary to scatter them by shots at short
range. Throughout this skirmish Pauline preserved a perfect equanimity.
All these circumstances, which reflected so much honor on Madame Leclerc,
were reported to the First Consul.

His self-love was flattered by it; and I believe that it was to Prince
Borghese that he said one day at his levee, "Pauline is predestined to
marry a Roman, for from head to foot she is every inch a Roman."

Unfortunately this courage, which a man might have envied, was not united
in the Princess Pauline with those virtues which are less brilliant and
more modest, and also more suitable for a woman, and which we naturally
expect to find in her, rather than boldness and contempt of danger.

I do not know if it is true, as has been written somewhere, that Madame
Leclerc, when she was obliged to set out for San Domingo, had a fancy for
an actor of the Theatre Francais. Nor am I able to say whether it is
true that Mademoiselle Duchesnois had the naivete to exclaim before a
hundred people in reference to this departure, "Lafon will never be
consoled; it will kill him!" but what I myself know of the frailty of
this princess leads me to believe that the anecdote is true.

All Paris knew the special favor with which she honored M. Jules de
Canouville, a young and brilliant colonel who was handsome and brave,
with a perfect figure, and an assurance which was the cause of his
innumerable successes with certain women, although he used little
discretion in respect to them. The liaison of Princess Pauline with this
amiable officer was the most lasting that she ever formed; and as,
unfortunately, neither of them was discreet, their mutual tenderness
acquired in a short while a scandalous publicity. I shall take occasion
later to relate in its proper place the incident which caused the
disgrace, banishment, and perhaps even the death, of Colonel de
Canouville. A death so premature, and above all so cruel, since it was
not an enemy's bullet which struck him, was deplored by the whole army.

[Monsieur Bousquet was called to Neuilly (residence of the
Princess Pauline) in order to examine the beautiful teeth of her
Imperial Highness. Presented to her, he prepared to begin work.
"Monsieur," said a charming young man in a wrapper, negligently
lying on a sofa, "take care, I pray, what you do. I feel a great
interest in the teeth of my Paulette, and I hold you responsible for
any accident."--" Be tranquil, my Prince; I can assure your Imperial
Highness that there is no danger." During all the time that
Bousquet was engaged in working on the pretty mouth, these
recommendations continued. At length, having finished what he had
to do, he passed into the waiting-room, where he found assembled the
ladies of the palace, the chamberlains, etc., who were awaiting to
enter the apartments of the Princess.

They hastened to ask Bousquet news of the princess, "Her Imperial
Highness is very well, and must be happy in the tender attachment
her august husband feels for her, which he has shown in my presence
in so touching a manner. His anxiety was extreme. It was only with
difficulty I could reassure him as to the result of the simplest
thing in the world; I shall tell everywhere what I have just
witnessed. It is pleasant to be able to cite such an example of
conjugal tenderness in so high a rank. I am deeply impressed with
it." They did not try to stop good M. Bousquet in these expressions
of his enthusiasm. The desire to laugh prevented a single word; and
he left convinced that nowhere existed a better household than that
of the Prince and Princess Borghese. The latter was in Italy, and
the handsome young man was M. de Canouville.

I borrow this curious anecdote from the "Memoirs of Josephine," the
author of which, who saw and described the Court of Navarre and
Malmaison with so much truth and good judgment, is said to be a
woman, and must be in truth a most intellectual one, and in a better
position than any other person to know the private affairs of her
Majesty, the Empress.--CONSTANT.

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps to withdraw without making any display"--

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

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

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

As for him, he remained unconcerned and resolute.

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

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

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

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

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

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