examination of the letters of citizens, he regarded that as a measure calculated to do more harm than good. “It is rarely,” said he, “that conspiracy is carried on through such channels; and with respect to the individual opinions obtained from epistolary correspondence, they may be more dangerous than useful to a sovereign, particularly among such a people as the French. Of whom will not our national volatility and fickleness lead us to complain? The man whom I may have offended at my levee will write to-day that I am a tyrant, though but yesterday he overwhelmed me with praises, and perhaps to-morrow will be ready to lay down his life to serve me. The violation of the privacy of correspondence may, therefore, cause a prince to lose his best friends, by wrongfully inspiring him with distrust and prejudice towards all; particularly as enemies capable of mischief are always sufficiently artful to avoid exposing themselves to that kind of danger. Some of my ministers were so cautious, in this respect, that I could never succeed in detecting one of their letters.”
I think I have already mentioned that, on the Emperor’s return from Elba, there were found in M. De Blacas’ apartments in the Tuileries, numerous petitions and letters, in which Napoleon was spoken of most indecorously. He caused them to be burnt. “They would have formed a most odious collection,” said the Emperor. “For a moment I entertained the idea of inserting some of them in the Moniteur. They would have disgraced certain individuals; but they would have afforded no new lesson on the human heart: men are always the same!”
The Emperor was far from knowing all the measures taken by the police in his name, with respect to writings and individuals; he had neither time nor opportunity to enquire into them. He now daily learns from us, or from pamphlets that happen to fall in his way, the arrests of individuals, or the suppression of works, of which he had never before heard.
In alluding to the works that had been suppressed by the police during his reign, the Emperor observed that, having plenty of leisure-time during his residence at Elba, he amused himself with glancing over some of these works, and that he was frequently unable to conceive the motives which had induced the police to suppress them.
He then proceeded to converse on the subject of the liberty and restriction of the press. This, he said, was an interminable question, and admitted of no medium. The grand difficulty, he observed, did not lie in the principle itself, but in the treatment of the accused party, or the circumstances under which it might be necessary to apply the principle taken in an abstract sense. The Emperor would have been favourable to unlimited liberty. In all our conversations at St. Helena, he constantly treated every great question in the same point of view and with the same arguments. Thus Napoleon truly was, and must remain in the eyes of posterity, the type, the standard, and the prince of liberal opinions; they belonged to his heart, to his principles, and to his mind. If his actions sometimes seemed to be at variance with these ideas, it was when he was imperatively swayed by circumstances. This is proved by the following fact, to which I now attach more importance than I did when it first came to my knowledge.
In one of the evening-parties at the Tuileries, Napoleon, conversing aside with three or four individuals of the Court, who were grouped around him, closed a discussion on a great political question with the following remarkable words:—“For my part, I am fundamentally and naturally favourable to a fixed and moderate government.” And, observing that the countenance of one of the interlocutors expressed surprise, “You don’t believe me!” continued he; “why not? Is it because my deeds do not seem to accord with my words? My dear sir, how little you know of men and things! Is the necessity of the moment nothing in your eyes? Were I to slacken the reins only for a moment, we should have fine disorder; neither you nor I would probably sleep another night at the Tuileries.”
THE EMPEROR’S FIRST RIDE ON HORSEBACK.—SEVERITY OF THE MINISTERIAL INSTRUCTIONS.—OUR VEXATIONS AND COMPLAINTS.—THE EMPEROR’S REMARKS.—RUDE REPLIES.
20th-23rd. The Emperor mounted his horse after breakfast. We directed our course towards the farm: we found the farmer in the Company’s garden, and he attended us over the whole of the grounds. The Emperor asked him a number of questions respecting his farm, as he used to do during his hunting-excursions in the neighbourhood of Versailles, where he discussed with the farmers the opinions of the Council of State, in order to bring forward to the Council in their turn the objections of the farmers. We advanced through the grounds of Longwood, in a line parallel with the valley, until, finding no farther road for the horses, we were compelled to turn back. We then crossed the little valley, gained the height where the troops were encamped, advanced to the Alarm Hill, and passing over its summit, we arrived beyond the camp, near the Alarm House, on the road leading from Longwood to Madame Bertrand’s residence. The Emperor at first proposed calling on her; but, when about half-way thither, he changed his mind, and we returned to Longwood.
The instructions of the English Ministers, with regard to the Emperor at St. Helena, were dictated in that disgraceful spirit of harshness which in Europe had urged the solemn violation of the law of nations. An English officer was to be constantly at the Emperor’s table; this cruel measure was of course calculated to deprive us of the comforts of familiar intercourse. The order was not carried into effect, only because the Emperor, had it been enforced, would have taken his meals in his own chamber. I have very good reason to believe that he regretted not having done so on board the Northumberland. An English officer was to accompany the Emperor in his rides on horseback: this was a severe annoyance, which rendered it impossible that his mind could for a moment be diverted from his unfortunate situation. This order was not, however, enforced within certain limits, which were prescribed to us, because the Emperor had declared that he would not ride on horseback at all on such conditions.
In our melancholy situation, every day brought with it some new cause of uneasiness; we were constantly suffering some new sting, which seemed the more cruel as we were destined to endure it for a long time to come. Lacerated as our feelings undoubtedly were, each fresh wound was sensibly felt; and the motives that were assigned for our vexations frequently assumed the appearance of irony. Thus sentinels were posted beneath the Emperor’s windows, and before our doors; and this we were informed was for our safety. We were impeded in our communications with the inhabitants of the island; we were put under a kind of close confinement; and were told that this was done to free the Emperor from all annoyance. The pass-words and orders were incessantly changed; we lived in the continual perplexity and apprehension of being exposed to some unforeseen insult. The Emperor, whose feelings were keenly alive to all these things, resolved to write to the Admiral, through the medium of M. de Montholon. He spoke with warmth, and made some observations worthy of remark. “Let not the Admiral suppose,” said he, “that I shall treat with him on any of these subjects. Were he to present himself to me to-morrow, in spite of my just resentment, he would find my countenance as serene, and my temper as composed, as usual. This would not be the effect of dissimulation on my part, but merely the fruit of experience. I recollect that Lord Whitworth once filled Europe with the report of a long conversation that he had had with me, scarcely a word of which was true. But that was my fault; and it taught me to be more cautious in future. The Emperor has governed too long not to know that he must not commit himself to the discretion of any one who may have it in his power to say falsely: The Emperor told me so and so; while the Emperor may not have the means of either affirming or contradicting the statement.
“One witness is as good as another. It is, therefore, necessary to employ some one who may be enabled to tell the narrator that, in attributing such and such words to the Emperor, he lies, and that he is ready to give him satisfaction for this expression, which the Emperor himself cannot do.”
M. de Montholon’s letter was couched in sharp terms; the reply was insulting and coarse: “No such thing as an Emperor was known at St. Helena; the justice and moderation of the English government towards us would be the admiration of future ages, &c.” Dr. O’Meara was instructed to accompany this
