Читать книгу The Life, Exile and Conversations with Napoleon - Emmanuel-Auguste-Dieudonné Las Cases - Страница 52

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November 1st—4th. Our days now passed away in the same uniformity as those which we spent on board the vessel. The Emperor summoned me to breakfast with him about ten or eleven o’clock. That meal being concluded, after half an hour’s conversation, I read to him what he had dictated the evening before, and he renewed his dictations. The Emperor discontinued his practice of dressing as soon as he rose, and walking before breakfast, which had broken up his day too much, and rendered it too long. He never dressed now till about four o’clock. He then walked out, to give the servants an opportunity of making his bed, and cleaning his room. We walked in the garden, which he particularly liked, on account of its solitude. I had the little arbour covered with a canvass, and ordered a table and chairs to be placed in it; and the Emperor henceforward chose this spot for dictating to such of the gentlemen as came from the town for that purpose.

In front of Mr. Balcombe’s house there was a walk bordered by some trees. It was here that the two English soldiers had posted themselves for the purpose of watching us. They were, however, at length removed, by desire of Mr. Balcombe, who felt offended at the circumstance on his own account. Nevertheless, they still continued for some time to move about, so as to get a sight of the Emperor; either attracted by curiosity, or acting in obedience to their orders. At length they entirely disappeared, and the Emperor gradually took possession of this lower walk. This was quite an acquisition to his domain; and he walked here every day before dinner. The two young ladies, with their mother, joined him in this walk, and told him the news. He sometimes returned to the garden after dinner, when the weather permitted; he was then enabled to spend the evening without paying a visit to his neighbours, which he never did when he could avoid it, nor ever till he was satisfied that no stranger was there, which I always ascertained previously, by peeping through the window.

In one of his walks, the Emperor conversed much on the subject of the Senate, the Legislative Body, and particularly the Council of State. The latter, he said, had been of considerable service to him during the whole course of his administration. I will here note down some remarks relative to the Council of State, the more readily, as it was very little understood at the time in the drawing-rooms of Paris; and as it does not now exist on the same footing as formerly, I shall insert, as I proceed, a few lines on its mechanism and prerogatives.

“The Council of State,” said the Emperor, “was generally composed of well-informed, skilful, and honest men. Fermont and Boulay, for example, were certainly of this class. Notwithstanding the immense law-suits which they conducted, and the vast emoluments they enjoyed, I should not be surprised to learn that they are not now in very flourishing circumstances.” The Emperor employed the councillors of state individually in every case, and with advantage. As a whole, they were his real council—his mind in deliberation, as the ministers were his mind in execution. At the Council of State were prepared the laws which the Emperor presented to the Legislative Body, a circumstance which rendered it altogether one of the elements of the legislative power. In the Council, the Emperor’s decrees and his rules of public administration were drawn up; and there the plans of his ministers were examined, discussed, and corrected.

The Council of State received appeals and pronounced finally on all administrative judgments; and incidentally on those of all other tribunals, even those of the Court of Cassation. There were examined complaints against the ministers, and appeals from the Emperor to the Emperor better informed. Thus the Council of State, at which the Emperor uniformly presided, being frequently in direct opposition to the ministers, or occupied in reforming their acts and errors, naturally became the point of refuge for persons or interests aggrieved by any authority whatever. All who were ever present at the meetings of the council must know with what zeal the cause of the citizens was there defended. A committee of the Council of State received all the petitions of the Empire, and laid before the Sovereign those which deserved his attention.

With the exception of lawyers and persons employed in the administration, it is surprising how far the rest of society were ignorant of our political legislation. No one had a correct idea of the Council of State, of the Legislative Body, or of the Senate. It was received, for example, as an established fact, that the Legislative Body, like an assembly of mutes, passively adopted, without the least opposition, all the laws which were presented to it; that which belonged to the nature and excellence of the institution was attributed to its complaisance and servility.

The laws which were prepared in the Council of State were presented by commissioners, chosen from that council, to a committee of the Legislative Body appointed to receive them; they were there amicably discussed, and were often quietly referred back to the Council of State to receive some modifications. When the two deputations could not come to an understanding, they proceeded to hold regular conferences, under the presidency of the Arch-chancellor or the Arch-treasurer; so that, before these laws reached the Legislative Body, they had already received the assent of the two opposite parties. If any difference existed, it was discussed by the two committees, in the presence of the whole of the Legislative Body, performing the functions of a jury; which, as soon as its members had become sufficiently acquainted with the facts, pronounced its decision by a secret scrutiny. Thus every individual had an opportunity of freely giving his opinion, as it was impossible to know whether he had put in a black or a white ball. “No plan,” said the Emperor, “could have been better calculated to correct our national effervescence and our inexperience in matters of political liberty.”

The Emperor asked me whether I thought discussion perfectly free in the Council of State, or whether his presence did not impose a restraint on the deliberations? I reminded him of a very long debate, during which he had remained throughout singular in his opinion, and had at last been obliged to yield. He immediately recollected the circumstance. “Oh, yes,” said he, “that must have been in the case of a woman of Amsterdam, who had been tried for her life and acquitted three several times by the Imperial Courts, but against whom a fresh trial was demanded in the Court of Cassation.” The Emperor hoped that this happy concurrence of the law might have exhausted its severity in favour of the prisoner; that this lucky fatality of circumstances might have turned to her advantage. It was urged in reply that he possessed the beneficent power of bestowing pardon; but that the law was inflexible, and must take its course. The debate was a very long one. M. Muraire spoke a great deal, and very much to the point; he persuaded every one except the Emperor, who still remained singular in his opinion, and at length yielded, with these remarkable words:—“Gentlemen, the decision goes by the majority here, I remain single, and must yield; but I declare, in my conscience, that I yield only to forms. You have reduced me to silence, but by no means convinced me.”

So little was the nature of the Council of State understood by people in general that it was believed no one dared utter a word in that assembly in opposition to the Emperor’s opinion. Thus I very much surprised many persons when I related the fact that, one day, during a very animated debate, the Emperor, having been interrupted three times in giving his opinion, turned towards the individual who had rather rudely cut him short, and said in a sharp tone: “I have not yet done; I beg you will allow me to continue. I believe every one here has a right to deliver his opinion.” The smartness of this reply, notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, excited a general laugh, in which the Emperor himself joined.

“Yet,” said I to him, “the speakers evidently sought to discover what might be your Majesty’s opinion: they seemed to congratulate themselves when their views coincided with yours, and to be embarrassed on finding themselves maintaining opposite sentiments. You were accused, too, of laying snares for us, in order to discover our real opinion.” However, when the question was once started, self-love and the warmth of argument contributed, along with the freedom of discussion which the Emperor encouraged, to induce every one to maintain his own opinion. “I do not mind being contradicted,” said the Emperor; “I seek to be informed. Speak boldly,” he would repeat, whenever the speaker expressed himself equivocally, or the subject was a delicate one; “tell me all that you think; we are alone here; we are all en famille.”

I have been informed that, under the Consulate, or at the commencement of the Empire, the Emperor opposed an opinion of one of the members, and, through the warmth and obstinacy of the latter, the affair at length amounted absolutely to a personal misunderstanding. Napoleon commanded his temper, and was silent; but a few days after, seeing his antagonist at one of the public audiences, he said to him, in a half-earnest manner, “You are extremely obstinate; and if I were equally so!——At all events, you are in the wrong to put power to the trial! You should not be unmindful of human weakness!”

On another occasion, he said in private to one of the members who had likewise driven him to the utmost extreme, “You must take a little more care to consult my temper. You lately rather exceeded the bounds of discretion: you obliged me to have recourse to scratching my forehead. That is a very ominous sign with me: avoid urging me so far for the future.”

Nothing could equal the interest which the presence and the words of the Emperor excited in the Council of State. He presided there regularly twice a week when he was in town, and then none of us would have been absent for the whole world.

I told the Emperor that two sittings in particular had made the deepest impression on me: one entirely of sentiment, relating to matters of internal police, in which he had expelled one of the members of the Council; the other of constitutional decision, in which he had dissolved the Legislative Body.

A religious party was fomenting civil discord in the State, by secretly circulating bulls and letters from the Pope. They were shewn to a Councillor of State, appointed to superintend religious worship; and who, if he did not himself circulate them, at least neither prevented nor denounced their circulation. This was discovered, and the Emperor suddenly challenged him with the fact in open Council. “What could have been your motive, sir?” said he: “were you influenced by your religious principles? If so, why are you here? I use no control over the conscience of any man. Did I force you to become my Councillor of State? On the contrary, you solicited the post as a high favour. You are the youngest member of the Council, and perhaps the only one who has not some personal claim to that honour; you had nothing to recommend you but the inheritance of your father’s services. You took a personal oath to me; how could your religious feelings permit you openly to violate that oath, as you have just now done? Speak, however; you are here in confidence: your colleagues shall be your judges. Your crime is a great one, sir. A conspiracy for the commission of a violent act is stopped as soon as we seize the arm that holds the poniard. But a conspiracy to influence the public mind has no en: it is like a train of gunpowder. Perhaps, at this very moment, whole towns are thrown into commotion through your fault!” The Councillor, quite confused, said nothing in reply: the first word had sufficed to convict him. The members of the council, to the majority of whom this event was quite unexpected, were struck with astonishment, and observed profound silence.—“Why,” continued the Emperor, “did you not, according to the obligation imposed by your oath, discover to me the criminal and his plots? Am I not at all times accessible to everyone of you?” “Sire,” said the Councillor, at length venturing to reply, “he was my cousin.”—“Your crime is then the greater, sir,” replied the Emperor sharply; “your kinsman could only have been placed in office at your solicitation: from that moment all the responsibility devolved on you. When I look upon a man as entirely devoted to me, as your situation ought to render you, all who are connected with him, and all for whom he becomes responsible, from that time require no watching. These are my maxims.” The accused member still remained silent, and the Emperor continued: “The duties which a Councillor of State owes to me are immense. You, sir, have violated those duties, and you hold the office no longer. Begone: let me never see you here again!” The disgraced Councillor, as he was withdrawing, passed very near the Emperor: the latter looked at him and said, “I am sincerely grieved at this, sir, for the services of your father are still fresh in my memory.” When he was gone, the Emperor added, “I hope such a scene as this may never be renewed; it has done me too much harm.—I am not distrustful, but I might become so! I have allowed myself to be surrounded by every party; I have placed near my person even emigrants and soldiers of the army of Condé; and, though it was wished to induce them to assassinate me, yet, to do them justice, they have continued faithful. Since I have held the reins of government, this is the first individual employed about me, by whom I have been betrayed.” And then, turning towards M. Locré, who took notes of the debates of the Council of State, he said, “write down betrayed—do you hear?”

What an interesting collection were those reports of M. Locré! What has become of them? All that I have here related would be found in them word for word.

With respect to the dissolution of the Legislative Body, the Council of State was convoked either on the last day, or the last day but one of December, 1813. We knew that the debate would be an important one, without however knowing its object: the crisis was of the most serious nature, the enemy was entering on the French territory.

“Gentlemen,” said the Emperor, “you are aware of the situation of affairs, and the dangers to which the country is exposed. I thought it right, without being obliged to do so, to forward a private communication on the subject to the Deputies of the Legislative Body. I wished thus to have associated them with their dearest interests: but they have converted this act of my confidence into a weapon against me; that is to say, against the country. Instead of assisting me with all their efforts, they seek to obstruct mine. Our attitude alone would be sufficient to check the advance of the enemy, while their conduct invites him; instead of shewing him a front of brass, they unveil to him our wounds. They stun me with their clamorous demands for peace, while the only means to obtain it was to recommend war; they complain of me, and speak of their grievances; but what time, what place, do they select for so doing? These are subjects to be discussed in private, and not in the presence of the enemy. Was I inaccessible to them? Did I ever shew myself incapable of arguing reasonably? It is time, however, to come to a resolution: the Legislative Body, instead of assisting me in saving France, wishes to accelerate her ruin. The Legislative Body has betrayed its duty—I fulfil mine—I dissolve it.”

He then ordered the reading of a decree, the purport of which was that two-fifths of the Legislative Body had already gone beyond their power; that on the first of January another fifth would be in the same situation, and that consequently the majority of the Legislative Body would then be composed of members who had no right to be in it; that, in consideration of these circumstances, it was, from that moment, prorogued and adjourned, until fresh elections should be made.

After the reading of this document, the Emperor continued: “Such is the decree which I issue; and were I assured that it would bring the people of Paris in a crowd to the Tuileries to murder me this very day, I would still issue it; for such is my duty. When the people of France placed their destinies in my hands, I took into consideration the laws by which I was to govern them: had I thought those laws insufficient, I should not have accepted them. I am not a Louis XVI. Daily vacillations must not be expected from me. Though I have become Emperor, I have not ceased to be a citizen. If anarchy were to resume her sway, I would abdicate and mingle with the crowd to enjoy my share of the sovereignty, rather than remain at the head of a system in which I should only compromise all, without being able to protect any one. Besides,” concluded he, “my determination is conformable to the law; and if every one here will do his duty this day, I shall be invincible behind the shelter of the law as well as before the enemy.” But, alas! every one did not perform his duty!

Contrary to the received opinion, the Emperor was far from being of an arbitrary temper, and he was so willing to make concessions to his Council of State that he has frequently been known to submit to discussion, or even to annul a decision that he had adopted, because one of the members might afterwards privately advance new arguments, or hint that the personal opinion of the Emperor had influenced the majority. Let the chiefs of the sections be referred to on this head.

The Emperor was accustomed to communicate to members of the Institute every scientific idea that occurred to him, and also to submit his political ideas to Councillors of State: he often did this with private, and even secret, views. It was a sure way, he said, to go to the heart of a question; to ascertain the powers of a man and his political bias; to take measure of his discretion, &c. I know that in the year XII. he submitted to three Councillors of State the consideration of a very extraordinary question: namely, the suppression of the Legislative Body. It was approved by the majority; but one opposed it strenuously; he spoke at great length, and much to the purpose. The Emperor, who had listened to the discussion with great attention and gravity, without uttering a single word, or suffering any indication of his opinion to escape him, closed the sitting by observing, “A question of so serious a nature deserves to be maturely considered; we will resume the subject.” But it was never again brought forward.

It would have been well had the same precautions been adopted at the time of the suppression of the Tribunate; for that has always continued to be a great subject of declamation and reproach. As for the Emperor, he viewed it merely as the suppression of an expensive abuse, and an important economical measure.

“It is certain,” said he, “that the Tribunate was absolutely useless, while it cost nearly half a million; I therefore suppressed it. I was well aware that an outcry would be raised against the violation of the law; but I was strong: I possessed the full confidence of the people, and I considered myself a reformer. This at least is certain, that I did all for the best. I should, on the contrary, have created the Tribunate, had I been hypocritical or evil-disposed; for who can doubt that it would have adopted and sanctioned, when necessary, my views and intentions? But that was what I never sought after in the whole course of my administration. I never purchased any vote or decision by promises, money, or places; and if I distributed favours to ministers, councillors of state, and legislators, it was because there were things to give away, and it was natural and even just that they should be dealt out among those whose avocations brought them in contact with me.

“In my time all constituted bodies were pure and irreproachable: and I can firmly declare that they acted from conviction. Malevolence and folly may have asserted the contrary; but without ground. If those bodies were condemned, it was by persons who knew them not, or wished not to know them: and the reproaches that were levelled at them, must be attributed to the discontent or opposition of the time; and above all, to that spirit of envy, detraction, and ridicule, which is so peculiarly natural to the French people. The Senate has been much abused; great outcry has been raised against its servility and baseness; but declamation is not proof. What was the Senate expected to do? To refuse conscripts? Was it wished that the committees of personal liberty and of the liberty of the press should bring disgrace upon the Government? or that the Senate should do what was done in 1813 by a committee of the Legislative body? But where did that measure lead us? I doubt whether the French people are now very grateful for it. The truth is that we were placed in forced and unnatural circumstances: men of understanding knew this, and accommodated themselves to the urgency of the moment. It is not known that, in almost every important measure, the senators, before they gave their vote, came to communicate to me privately, and sometimes very decidedly, their objections, and even their refusal; and they went away convinced either by my arguments or by the necessity and urgency of affairs. If I never gave publicity to this fact, it was because I governed conscientiously, and because I despised quackery, and every thing like it.

“The votes of the Senate was always unanimous, because their conviction was universal. Endeavours were made at the time to cry up an insignificant minority, whom the hypocritical praises of malevolence, together with their own vanity, or some other perversity of character, excited to harmless opposition. But did the individuals composing that minority evince, in the last crisis, either sound heads or sincere hearts? I once more repeat that the career of the Senate was irreproachable; the moment of its fall was alone disgraceful and culpable. Without right, without power, and in violation of every principle, the Senate surrendered France, and accomplished her ruin. That body was the sport of high intriguers, whose interest it was to discredit and degrade it, and to ruin one of the great bases of the modern system. It may be truly said that they succeeded completely; for I know of no body that ought to be described in history with more ignominy than the French Senate. However, it is but just to observe that the stain rests not on the majority, and that among the delinquents there was a multitude of foreigners, who will at least be in future indifferent to our honour and interests.”

On the arrival of the Count d’Artois, the Council of State exerted every effort to attract his attention, and secure his favour. A deputation of the Council was twice presented to him, and permission was solicited to send one to meet the King at Compèigne. To this solicitation the Lieutenant-General of the kingdom replied, that the King would willingly receive the individual members of the Council; but that the sending of a deputation was a thing not to be thought of. It is true that the gros bonnets, that is to say the Chiefs of the Section, were absent. All this agitation had no other object than to insure the payment of their salary, and, perhaps, the retention of their places. Thus the Council of State immediately signed its adherence to the resolutions of the Senate, avoiding, it is true, every expression that might be offensive to Napoleon; “And you signed it,” said the Emperor. “No, Sire, I declined signing that adherence, on the ground that it was an egregious piece of folly to endeavour to remain successively the councillor and the confidential servant of two antagonists; and that, besides, if the conqueror were wise, the best pledge that could be offered to his notice would be fidelity and respect towards the conquered party.”—“And you reasoned rightly,” observed Napoleon.

5th.—Nearly all our party were assembled round the Emperor in the garden. Those who were lodged in the town complained much of the inconvenience and continual vexations to which they were exposed. The Emperor, for the last fortnight, had laid down the rule of making no communication on this head, except in writing, which he conceived to be the manner most suitable and best calculated to produce the wished-for result. He had drawn up a note on this subject, which should have been delivered some days ago, but which had been neglected. He alluded several times to this business, and in a tone of displeasure. All his indirect arguments and observations applied to the Grand Marshal. The latter at length took umbrage: for who is not rendered irritable by misfortune? He expressed himself in rather pointed language. His wife, who was standing near the garden-gate, despairing of being able to appease the storm, withdrew. I had now an opportunity of observing how the impressions produced by this circumstance succeeded each other with rapidity in the Emperor’s mind. Reason, logic, and it may be added, sentiment, always prevailed.—“If,” said he, “you did not deliver the letter because you considered it to be couched in offensive terms, you performed a duty of friendship; but surely this did not require a delay of more than twenty-four hours. A fortnight has elapsed without your mentioning it to me. If the plan was faulty, if the letter was ill-expressed, why not have told me so? I should have assembled you all to discuss the matter with me.”

We all stood near the arbour at the extremity of the path, while the Emperor walked to and fro before us. At a moment, when he had gone to a little distance from us, and was out of hearing, the Grand Marshal, addressing himself to me, said:—“I fear I have expressed myself improperly, and I am sorry for it.”—“We will leave you alone with him,” said I; “you will soon make him forget the offence.” I accordingly beckoned the other individuals who were present to leave the garden.

In the evening, the Emperor, conversing with me about the events of the morning, said:—“It was after we had made it up with the Grand Marshal—It was before the misunderstanding with the Grand Marshal,”—and other things of the same sort, which proved that the affair had left no impression on his heart.