Читать книгу The Life, Exile and Conversations with Napoleon - Emmanuel-Auguste-Dieudonné Las Cases - Страница 54

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11th—13th. We led a most regular life at Briars. Every day, after dictating to me, the Emperor walked out between three and four o’clock. He descended to the garden, where he walked up and down, and dictated to one of the gentlemen who came from the town for that purpose, and who wrote in the little arbour. About half-past five o’clock, he passed Mr. Balcombe’s house, and went into the lower walk, to which he became every day more and more attached. At this time the family were at dinner, and he could enjoy his promenade without interruption. I joined the Emperor here, and he continued his walk until dinner was announced.

After dinner the Emperor again returned to the garden, where he sometimes had his coffee brought to him. My son then visited Mr. Balcombe’s family, and the Emperor and I walked up and down. We frequently remained in the garden until the night was far advanced and the moon rose to light us. In the mildness and serenity of the night we forgot the burning heat of the day. The Emperor never was more talkative, nor seemed more perfectly to forget his cares, than during these moonlight walks. In the familiarity of the conversations which I thus enjoyed with him, he took pleasure in relating anecdotes of his boyhood, in describing the sentiments and illusions which diffused a charm over the early years of his youth, and in detailing the circumstances of his private life, since he had played so distinguished a part on the great theatre of the world. I have elsewhere noted down what I conceived myself at liberty to repeat. Sometimes he seemed to think he had spoken too much at length, and had detailed things too minutely. He would then say to me: “Come, it is your turn now: let me have a little of your history; but you are not a tale-teller.” Indeed I took especial care to be silent; I was too much afraid of losing a syllable of what so deeply interested me.

In one of our nightly walks, the Emperor told me that he had, in the course of his life, been attached to two women of very different characters. The one was the votary of art and the graces; the other was all innocence and simple nature; and each, he observed, had a very high degree of merit.

The first, in no moment of her life ever assumed a position or attitude that was not pleasing or captivating; it would have been impossible ever to discover in her, or to experience from her, any thing unpleasant. She employed every resource of art to heighten natural attractions; but with such ingenuity as to render every trace of it imperceptible. The other, on the contrary, never even suspected that any thing was to be gained by innocent artifice. The one was always beside the truth, her first answer was always in the negative; the other was altogether frank and open, and was a stranger to subterfuge. The first never asked her husband for any thing, but she was in debt to every one: the second freely asked whenever she wanted, which, however, very seldom happened; and she never thought of receiving any thing without immediately paying for it. Both were amiable and gentle in disposition, and strongly attached to their husband. But it must already have been guessed who they are; and those who have ever seen them will not fail to recognise the two Empresses.

The Emperor declared that he had uniformly experienced from both the greatest equality of temper and most implicit obedience.

The marriage of Maria-Louisa was consummated at Fontainebleau, immediately after her arrival. The Emperor, setting aside all the etiquette that had previously been arranged, went to meet her, and, in disguise, got into her carriage. She was agreeably surprised when she discovered him. She had always been given to understand that Berthier, who had married her by proxy at Vienna, in person and age exactly resembled the Emperor: she, however, signified that she observed a very pleasing difference between them.

The Emperor wished to spare her all the details of domestic etiquette, customary on such occasions: she had, however, received careful instructions on the subject at Vienna. The Emperor inquired what directions she had received from her illustrious relatives with regard to him personally. To be entirely devoted to him, and to obey him in all things, was the reply. This declaration, and not the decisions of certain cardinals and bishops, as was reported, proved the solution of all the Emperor’s scruples of conscience. Besides, Henry IV. acted in the same way on a similar occasion.

Maria-Louisa’s marriage, said the Emperor, was proposed and concluded under the same forms and conditions as that of Marie-Antoinette, whose contract was adopted as a model. After the separation from Josephine, negotiations were entered into with the Emperor of Russia, for the purpose of soliciting the hand of one of his sisters: the difficulties rested merely on the settling of certain points relative to religion. Prince Eugene, conversing with M. de Schwartzenberg, learned that the Emperor of Austria would not object to an union between Napoleon and his daughter; and this information was communicated to the Emperor. A council was convoked to decide whether an alliance with Russia or Austria would be most advantageous. Eugene and Talleyrand were for the Austrian alliance, and Cambaceres against it. The majority were in favour of an Archduchess. Eugene was appointed to make the official overture, and the Minister for Foreign Affairs was empowered to sign it that very day if an opportunity should present itself; which proved to be the case.

Russia took umbrage at this; she thought herself trifled with, though without just ground. Nothing of an obligatory nature had yet transpired; both parties remained perfectly free. Political interests predominated over every thing.

The Emperor appointed the Duchess de Montebello to be lady of honour to Maria-Louisa; the Count de Beauharnais to be her gentleman of honour, and the Prince Aldobrandini to be her equerry. In the misfortunes of 1814, these individuals, said the Emperor, did not evince the devotedness which the Empress was entitled to expect from them. Her equerry deserted her without taking his leave; her gentleman of honour refused to follow her; and her lady of honour, notwithstanding the attachment which the Empress entertained for her, thought she had completely fulfilled her duty in attending her mistress as far as Vienna.

The appointment of the Duchess de Montebello to the post of lady of honour was one of those happy selections which, at the time it was made, excited universal approbation. The Duchess was a young and beautiful woman, of irreproachable character, and the widow of a marshal, called the Orlando of the army, who had recently fallen on the field of battle. This choice was very agreeable to the army, and encouraged the national party, who were alarmed at the marriage and the number and rank of the chamberlains who were appointed. This retinue was, by many, looked upon as a step towards the counter-revolution; and endeavours were made to represent it as such. As for the Emperor, he had acted in ignorance of the character of Maria-Louisa, and had been principally influenced by the fear that she would be filled with prejudices respecting birth, that might be offensive at the Court. When he came to know her better, and found that she was wholly imbued with the prevailing notions of the day, he regretted not having made another choice. He conceived that he should have done better to select the Countess de Beauveau, a woman of amiable, mild, and inoffensive manners, who would have been influenced only by the family advice of her numerous relatives, and who might thus have introduced a kind of useful custom, and have occasioned the appointment of well-recommended inferiors. She might also have rallied about the Court many persons who were at a distance; and that without any inconvenience, because these arrangements could only have been brought about by the sanction of the Emperor, who was not the sort of man to allow himself to be abused.

The Empress conceived the tenderest affection for the Duchess de Montebello. This lady had at one time a chance of being Queen of Spain. Ferdinand VII. when at Valency, requested the Emperor’s permission to marry Mademoiselle de Tascher, cousin-german of Josephine, and bearing the same name, after the example of the Prince of Baden, who married Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. The Emperor, who already contemplated a separation from Josephine, refused his consent to the match, not wishing by this connexion to add to the difficulties that already stood in the way of his divorce. Ferdinand then solicited the hand of the Duchess de Montebello, or of any other French lady whom the Emperor might think proper to adopt. The Emperor subsequently gave Mademoiselle de Tascher in marriage to the Duke d’Aremberg, whom he intended to create Governor of the Netherlands; with the view of ultimately compensating Brussels for the loss of the old Court. The Emperor moreover wished to appoint the Count de Narbonne, who had taken part in the Empress’s marriage, Gentleman of honour, in room of the Count de Beauharnais; but the extreme aversion which Maria-Louisa evinced for this change deterred the Emperor from carrying it into effect. The Empress’s dislike to the Count de Narbonne was, however, only occasioned by the intrigues of the individuals composing her household, who had nothing to fear from M. de Beauharnais, but who very much dreaded the influence and talent of M. de Narbonne.

The Emperor informed us that, when he had to make appointments to difficult posts, he usually asked the persons about him to furnish him with a list of candidates; and from these lists, and the information he obtained, he privately deliberated on his choice. He mentioned several individuals who were proposed as lady of honour to the Empress: they were the Princess de Vaudemont, Madame de Rochefoucalt, afterwards Madame de Castellanes, and some others. He then asked us to tell him whom we should have proposed; which occasioned us to take a review of a good part of the Court. One of us mentioned Madame de Montesquiou; upon which the Emperor replied, “She would have done well, but she had a post which suited her still better. She was a woman of singular merit; her piety was sincere, and her principles excellent; she had the highest claims on my esteem and regard. I wanted half a dozen like her; I would have given them all appointments equal to their deserts, and wished for more. She discharged her duties admirably when with my son at Vienna.”

The following anecdote will afford a correct idea of the manner in which Madame de Montesquiou managed the King of Rome. The apartments of the young Prince were on the ground floor, and looked out on the court, of the Tuileries. At almost every hour in the day, numbers of people were looking in at the window, in the hope of seeing him. One day when he was in a violent fit of passion, and rebelling furiously against the authority of Madame de Montesquiou, she immediately ordered all the shutters to be closed. The child, surprised at the sudden darkness, asked Maman Quiou, as he used to call her, what it all meant. “I love you too well,” she replied, “not to hide your anger from the crowd in the court-yard. You, perhaps, will one day be called to govern all those people, and what would they say if they saw you in such a fit of rage? Do you think they would ever obey you, if they knew you to be so naughty?” Upon which, the child begged her pardon, and promised never again to give way to such fits of anger.

“This,” observed the Emperor, “was language very different from that addressed by M. de Villeroi to Louis XV. ‘Behold all those people, my Prince,’ said he, ‘they belong to you; all the men you see yonder are yours.’”

Madame de Montesquiou was adored by the young King of Rome. At the time of her removal from Vienna it was found necessary to employ stratagems to deceive the child: it was even feared that his health would suffer from the separation.

The Emperor had conceived many novel ideas relative to the education of the King of Rome. For this important object he decided on the Institut de Meudon, of which he had already laid down the principle, with the view of farther developing it at his leisure. There he proposed to assemble the Princes of the Imperial house, particularly the sons of those branches of the family who had been raised to foreign thrones. This plan, he contended, would have combined the attentions of private tuition with the advantages of public education. “These children,” said the Emperor, “who were destined to occupy different thrones, and to govern different nations, would thus have acquired conformity of principles, manners, and ideas. The better to facilitate the amalgamation and uniformity of the federative parts of the Empire, each Prince was to bring with him from his own country ten or twelve youths of about his own age, the sons of the first families in the state. What an influence would they not have exercised on their return home! I doubted not,” continued the Emperor, “but that Princes of other dynasties, unconnected with my family, would soon have solicited, as a great favour, permission to place their sons in the Institute of Meudon. What advantages would thence have arisen to the nations composing the European association! All these young Princes,” said he, “would have been brought together early enough to be united in the tender and powerful bonds of youthful friendship: and they would, at the same time, have been separated early enough to obviate the fatal effects of rising passions—the ardour of partiality—the ambition of success—the jealousy of love.”

The Emperor wished that the education of the Princes should be founded on general information, extended views, summaries, and results. He wished them to possess knowledge rather than learning, judgment rather than attainments; he preferred the application of details to the study of theories. Above all, he objected to the pursuing of any particular study too deeply, for he regarded perfection, or too great success in certain things, whether in the arts or sciences, as a disadvantage to a prince. A nation, he said, will never gain much by being governed by a poet, a virtuoso, a naturalist, a chymist, a turner, a locksmith, &c. &c.

Maria-Louisa confessed to the Emperor that, when her marriage with him was first proposed, she could not help feeling a kind of terror, owing to the accounts she had heard of Napoleon from the individuals of her family. When she mentioned these reports to her uncles, the Archdukes, who were very urgent for the marriage, they replied,—“That was all very true, while he was our enemy: but the case is altered now.“

“To afford an idea of the sympathy and good will with which the different members of the Austrian family were taught to regard me,” said the Emperor, “it is sufficient to mention that one of the young Archdukes frequently burned his dolls, which he called roasting Napoleon. He afterwards declared he would not roast me any more, for he loved me very much, because I had given his sister Louisa plenty of money to buy him play-things.”

Since my return to Europe, I have had an opportunity of ascertaining the sentiments entertained by the House of Austria towards Napoleon. In Germany, a person of distinction informed me that having had a private audience of the Emperor Francis, during his tour in Italy in 1816, the conversation turned on Napoleon. Francis spoke of him in the most respectful terms. One might almost have supposed, said my informant, that he still regarded him as the ruler of France, and that he was ignorant of his captivity at St. Helena. He never alluded to him by any other title than the Emperor Napoleon.

I learned from the same individual that the Archduke John, when in Italy, visited a rotunda, on the ceiling of which was painted a celebrated action of which Napoleon was the hero. As he raised his head to look at the painting, his hat fell off, and one of his attendants stooped to pick it up. “Let it be,” said he; “it is thus that the man who is there portrayed should be contemplated.”

Now that I am on this subject, I will note down a few particulars which I collected in Germany since my return to Europe; and to mark the degree of credit to which they are entitled, I may mention that I obtained them from individuals holding high diplomatic posts. Every one knows that these members of diplomatic corps form among themselves a sort of family, a kind of free-masonry, and that their sources of information are of the most authentic kind.

The Empress Maria-Louisa complained that, when she quitted France, M. de Talleyrand reserved to himself the honour of demanding from her the restitution of the Crown jewels, and ascertaining whether they had been restored with the most scrupulous exactness.

In 1814, during the disasters of France, many tempting and brilliant proposals were made to Prince Eugene. An Austrian General offered him the crown of Italy, in the name of the Allies, on condition of his joining them. This offer afterwards came from a still higher quarter, and was several times repeated. During the reign of the Emperor there had been some idea of raising the Prince to a throne; and those of Portugal, Naples, and Poland, were thought of.

In 1815, men of high influence in European diplomacy endeavoured to sound his opinions, with the view of ascertaining whether, in case Napoleon should again be constrained to abdicate, and the choice should fall on him, he would accept the Crown. On this occasion, as on every other, the Prince steadily pursued a line of duty and honour which will immortalize him. Honour and fidelity was his constant reply; and posterity will make it his device.

On the distribution of States in 1814, the Emperor Alexander, who frequently visited the Empress Josephine at Malmaison, signified a wish to procure for her son the sovereignty of Genoa. She, however, declined this proposition, at the instigation of one of the ruling diplomatists, who falsely flattered her with the hope of something better.

At the Congress of Vienna, the Emperor Alexander, who honoured Prince Eugene with particular marks of favour, insisted that he should be made the Sovereign of at least three hundred thousand subjects. He testified the sincerest friendship for him, and they were every day seen walking about together arm-in-arm. The landing at Cannes put an end, if not to the sentiment, at least to the manifestation of it; and changed the political interests of the Emperor of Russia.—The Austrian government even entertained the idea of seizing the person of Prince Eugene, and sending him a prisoner to a fortress in Hungary; but the King of Bavaria, his father-in-law, indignantly represented to the Emperor of Austria that Eugene had gone to Vienna under his protection and guarantee, and that they should not be violated. Thus Eugene remained free on his own private parole and that of the King his father-in-law.

So lately as 1814, gold twenty and forty-franc pieces were struck at Milan with the head of Napoleon and the date of 1814. Either from motives of economy or some other cause, no new die had yet been engraved.

After the fall of Napoleon, Alexander on several occasions manifested a marked and decided dislike to him. In 1815 he was the promoter of the second crusade against Napoleon; he directed every hostile measure with the utmost degree of animosity, and seemed to make it almost a personal affair; alleging, as the cause of his aversion, that he had been deceived and trifled with. If this tardy resentment was not a mere pretence, there is every reason to believe that it was stirred up by an old confidant of Napoleon’s, who, in private conversations, had artfully wounded the vanity of Alexander, by statements, true or false, of the private opinion of Napoleon with regard to his illustrious friend.

In 1814 there appeared reason to believe that Alexander would not be averse to see young Napoleon placed on the throne of France. After the Emperor’s second abdication, he seemed far less favourably disposed to the continuance of Napoleon’s dynasty.

In the second crusade, the Emperor Alexander marched at the head of innumerable forces. He was heard to declare, at that period, that the war might last for three years; but that Napoleon would nevertheless be subdued in the end.

On the first intelligence of the battle of Fleurus, the chiefs of all the Russian columns immediately received orders to halt; while all the Austrian and Bavarian corps instantly turned off, with the view of detaching themselves and forming a separate force. Had the Congress of Vienna been broken up on the 20th of March, it is almost certain that the crusade would not have been renewed; and had Napoleon been victorious at Waterloo, it is also tolerably certain that the crusade would have been dissolved.

The news of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes was a thunderbolt to the French plenipotentiary at Vienna. He indeed drew up the famous declaration of the 13th of March; and, virulent as it is, the first draft was still more so: it was amended by other ministers. The countenance of this plenipotentiary, as he gradually learned the advance of Napoleon, was a sort of thermometer, which excited the laughter of all the members of the Congress.

Austria soon knew the real state of affairs: her couriers informed her admirably well of all that was passing. The members of the French Legation alone were involved in doubt: they were still circulating a magnanimous letter from the King to the other Sovereigns, informing them that he was resolved to die at the Tuileries, when it was already known that Louis had left the capital, and was on his way to the frontier.

A member of the Congress and Lord Wellington, in a confidential conversation with the members of the French Legation, with the map in their hands, assigned the 20th or the 21st for Napoleon’s entry into Paris.

As the Emperor Francis received the official publications from Grenoble and Lyons, he regularly forwarded them to Schöenbrunn, to Maria Louisa, to whom they afforded extreme joy. It is very true that, at a somewhat later period, an idea was entertained of seizing young Napoleon, in order to convey him to France.

The French Plenipotentiary at length quitted Vienna, and proceeded to Frankfort and Wisbaden, whence he could more conveniently negotiate either with Ghent or Paris. Never was a time-serving courier thrown into greater embarrassment and anxiety. The ardour with which he had been inspired, on receiving the intelligence of Napoleon’s landing at Cannes, was very much abated when he heard of the Emperor’s arrival at Paris; and he entered into an understanding with Fouché that the latter should be his guarantee with Napoleon, pledging himself, on the other hand, to be Fouché’s guarantee with the Bourbons. There is good ground for believing that the offers made by this Plenipotentiary to the new Sovereign went very great lengths indeed; but Napoleon indignantly rejected them, lest, as he said, he should degrade his policy too far.

In 1814, before M. de Talleyrand declared himself for the Bourbons, he was for the Regency; in which, however, he himself wished to play the principal part. Events fatal to the Napoleon dynasty prevented this moment of uncertainty from being turned to good account. Every thing tends to prove that the result which was at that period adopted was far from being agreeable to the intentions of Austria; that power was duped, betrayed, or at least carried by assault.

The fatality attending the military movements was such that the Allies entered Paris without the concurrence of the Austrian Cabinet. Alexander’s famous declaration against Napoleon Buonaparte and his family was also made without the Austrian Power being consulted; and the Count d’Artois only entered France by contriving to slip in secretly in spite of the orders at the Austrian head-quarters, where he had been refused passports.

It appears that Austria, on the retreat from Moscow, exerted sincere efforts in London for negotiating a peace with Napoleon; but the influence of the Russian Cabinet was all-powerful in London, and no proposals for peace were listened to. The armistice of Dresden then arrived, and Austria declared for war.

During this interval, the Austrian minister in London could never obtain a hearing. He however remained for a considerable time in the English capital, and did not leave it until the Allies had reached the heart of France, and Lord Castlereagh hinted at the possibility, for a moment, that the heroic success of Napoleon might render negotiations indispensable.

If this minister had not previously been sent to London, he would have been destined for Paris; and there probably his influence might have brought about a turn of negotiations different from those which arose during his absence between the Tuileries and Vienna.

In the height of the crisis he found himself detained in England as if by force. In his impatience to reach the grand centre of negotiations, he quitted his post, and proceeded to Holland, braving a violent tempest. No sooner had he arrived on the theatre of events than he fell into the hands of Napoleon at Saint-Dizier; but the fate of France was then decided, though the fact was not yet known at the French head-quarters. Alexander was entering Paris.

The Austrian minister in London exerted every endeavour to procure a passport to enable him to join his Sovereign by passing through Calais and Paris; but in vain. This circumstance; whether accidental, or premeditated, was another fatality. But for this disappointment, the Austrian minister would have reached Paris before the Allies, would have joined Maria-Louisa, would have defeated the last projects of M. de Talleyrand, and would have altogether produced new combinations.

Opinion was divided in the Austrian Cabinet. One party was for the union with France; the other was for the alliance with Russia. Intrigue or chance decided in favour of Russia, and Austria, from that moment, was merely led on.

14th.—The coffee that was served at our breakfast this morning was better than usual; it was even good. The Emperor expressed himself pleased with it. Some moments after he observed, placing his hand on his stomach, that he felt the benefit of it. It would be difficult to express what were my feelings on hearing this simple remark. The Emperor, by thus appreciating so trivial an enjoyment, contrary to his custom, unconsciously proved to me the effect of all the privations he had suffered, but of which he never complained.

When we returned from our evening walk, the Emperor read to me a chapter on the Provisional Consuls, which he had dictated to M. de Montholon. Having finished reading, the Emperor took a piece of ribbon, and began to tie together the loose sheets of paper. It was late; the silence of night prevailed around us. My reflections were on that day of a melancholy cast. I gazed on the Emperor. I looked on those hands which had wielded so many sceptres, and which were now tranquilly, and perhaps, not without some degree of pleasure, occupied in the humble task of tying together a few sheets of paper. On these sheets, indeed, were traced events that will never be forgotten; portraits that will decide the judgment of posterity. It is the book of life or death to many whose names are recorded in it. These were the reflections that passed in my mind. “And the Emperor,” thought I, “reads to me what he writes; he familiarly converses with me, asks my opinion, and I freely give it. After all, I am not to be pitied in my exile at St. Helena.”

15th.—Immediately after dinner the Emperor walked in his favourite path. He had his coffee carried down to him in the garden, and he drank it as he walked about. The conversation turned on love. I must have made some very fine and sentimental remarks on this important subject; for the Emperor laughed at what he styled my prattle, and said that he understood none of my romantic verbiage. Then speaking with an air of levity, he wished to make me believe that he was better acquainted with sensations than sentiments. I made free to remark that he was trying to be thought worse than he was described to be in the authentic, but very secret, accounts that were circulated about the palace. “And what was said of me?” resumed he, with an air of gaiety. “Sire,” I replied, “it is understood that, when in the summit of your power, you suffered yourself to be bound in the chains of love; that you became a hero of romance; that, fired by an unexpected resistance, you conceived an attachment for a lady in private life; that you wrote her above a dozen love-letters; and that her power over you prevailed so far as to compel you to disguise yourself, and to visit her secretly and alone, at her own residence, in the heart of Paris.”—”And how came this to be known?” said he, smiling; which of course amounted to an admission of the fact. “And it was doubtless added,” continued he, “that that was the most imprudent act of my whole life; for, had my mistress proved treacherous, what might not have been my fate—alone and disguised, in the circumstances in which I was placed, amidst the snares with which I was surrounded? But what more is said of me?”—“Sire, it is affirmed that your Majesty’s posterity is not confined to the King of Rome. The secret chronicle states that he has two elder brothers: one the offspring of a fair foreigner, whom you loved in a distant country; the other, the fruit of a connection nearer at hand, in the bosom of your own capital. It was asserted that both had been conveyed to Malmaison, before our departure; the one brought by his mother, and the other introduced by his tutor; and they were described to be the living portraits of their father.”23

The Emperor laughed much at the extent of my information, as he termed it; and being now in a merry vein, he began to take a frank retrospect of his early years, relating many of the love-affairs and numerous adventures in which he had been engaged. I omit the first; amongst the second he mentioned a supper that took place in the neighbourhood of the Saone at the commencement of the Revolution, and at which he had been present in company with the faithful Desmazzis. He described the whole with the utmost pleasantry.—He had got himself, he observed, into a wasp’s nest, where his patriotic eloquence had to contend strenuously against the contrary doctrines of the other guests, and had nearly brought him into a serious scrape. “You and I,” he continued, “were at that time very far from each other.”—”Not so very far, in point of distance, Sire,” replied, “though certainly very remote with respect to doctrines. At that time I was also in the neighbourhood of the Saone, on one of the quays of Lyons, where crowds of patriots were declaiming against the cannon which they had just discovered in some boats, and which they termed a counter-revolution. I very inopportunely proposed that they should make sure of the cannon, by administering to them the civic oath. However, I narrowly escaped being hanged for my folly. You see, Sire, that I might precisely at that moment have balanced your account, had any disaster befallen you among your aristocrat companions.” This was not the only curious coincidence that was mentioned in the course of the evening. The Emperor, having related to me an interesting circumstance that took place in 1788, said, “Where were you at that time.”—“Sire,” replied I, after a few moments recollection, “I was then at Martinique, supping every evening with the future Empress Josephine.”

A shower of rain came on and we were obliged to retire from our favourite path, which, the Emperor observed, we might probably at a future period look back to with pleasure. “Perhaps so,” I replied; “but certainly that will not be until we have forsaken it for ever. Meanwhile we must content ourselves with naming it the Path of Philosophy, since it cannot be called the Path of Lethe.”