de Staël, unacquainted with him, from the mere sympathy of glory, instantly professed for him sentiments of enthusiasm worthy of her own Corinne; she wrote him long and numerous epistles, full of wit, imagination, and metaphysical erudition: it was an error, she observed, arising only from human institutions, that could have united him with the meek, the tranquil, Madame Bonaparte; it was a soul of fire like her’s (Madame de Staël’s) that nature had undoubtedly destined to be the companion of a hero like him.
I refer to the Campaigns in Italy to shew that this forwardness on the part of Madame de Staël was not checked by the circumstance of meeting with no return. With a perseverance never to be disheartened, she succeeded, at a later period, in forming some degree of acquaintance, so far even as to be allowed to visit; and she used this privilege, said the Emperor, to a disagreeable extent. It is unquestionably true, as has been reported, that the General, wishing to make her sensible of it, one day caused her to be told, by way of excuse, that he was scarcely dressed; and that she replied promptly and seriously, that it was unimportant, for that genius was of no sex.
From Madame de Staël we were naturally led to her father, M. Necker. The Emperor related, that at Geneva, in his way to Marengo, he received a visit from him, wherein he made known, in an awkward manner enough, his desire to be admitted again to the Administration—a desire, by the by, which M. Calonne, his rival, subsequently came to Paris to express with a degree of levity beyond conception. M. Necker afterwards wrote a dangerous work upon the policy of France, which he attempted to prove could no longer exist either as a monarchy or a republic, and in which he called the First Consul l’homme necessaire.
The First Consul proscribed the work, which, at that time, might have been highly prejudicial to him, and committed the task of refuting it to the Consul Lebrun, “who in his elegant prose,” said the Emperor, executed prompt and ample justice upon it. The Necker coterie was irritated, and Madame de Staël, engaging in some intrigues, received an order to quit France: thenceforth she became an ardent and strenuous enemy. Nevertheless, on the return from the Island of Elba, she wrote or sent to the Emperor, to express, in her peculiar way, the enthusiasm which this wonderful event had excited in her; that she was overcome; that this last act was not that of a mortal; that it had at once raised its author to the skies. Then, returning to herself, she concluded by hinting that, if the Emperor would condescend to allow the payment of the two millions, for which an order in her favour had already been signed by the King, her pen and her principles should be devoted for ever after to his interest.—The Emperor desired she might be informed, in answer, that nothing could flatter him more highly than her approbation, because he fully appreciated her talents; but that he really was not rich enough to purchase it at that price.
MY NEW LODGING DESCRIBED.—MORNING VISIT, &C.
21st.—I had at length taken possession of the new lodging built for me instead of my former oven. Upon a soil constantly damp had been placed a floor eighteen feet long by eleven wide; this was surrounded by a wall of a foot and half in thickness, composed of loam, and which might have been kicked down with the foot: at the height of seven feet it was covered with a roof of boards, defended by a coating of paper and tar. Such were the construction and the outline of my new palace, divided into two apartments, one of which contained two beds separated by a chest of drawers, and afforded room for only a single chair; the other, at once my saloon and my library, had a single window strongly fastened up on account of the violence of the winds and rain: on the right and left of it were two writing-tables, for me and my son; on the opposite side a couch and two chairs. This was the whole of the furniture and accommodations: add to this that the aspect of the two windows is towards a wind constantly blowing from the same quarter, and generally accompanied with rain, often very heavy, and which, previously to our taking possession, already forced its way through the cracks, or soaked through the walls and the roof. I had just passed my first night in these new quarters; I was indisposed, and my change of bed had prevented me from sleeping. I was informed about seven o’clock, that the Emperor was going out on horseback; I replied that, not feeling myself well, I should endeavour to take some rest; but only a few minutes had elapsed when a person hastily entered my apartment, opened my curtains with an air of authority, found fault with me for being so idle, and pronounced that my ailments must be shaken off; then, struck with the smell of the paint, the extreme smallness of the room, and the closeness of the two beds, he decided that we could no longer be suffered to sleep huddled together in that way; that it was far too unwholesome; and that I must return to the bed in the topographical cabinet, which I ought not to abandon through false delicacy; and that, if I occasioned any inconvenience there, I should be told of it. It will have been guessed that this person was the Emperor. I was, of course, soon out of bed, dressed, and well. The Emperor was, however, already far off: I had to seek him in the park. After I had overtaken him, our conversation turned on the long audience that he had given to Governor Wilks on the preceding day. He dwelt, with much good humour, on the great importance which my work appeared to have given me in the Governor’s eyes, and the extreme good-will towards me with which it seemed to have inspired him. “Of course,” continued he, “it is understood that these sentiments are to be mutual; the usual regard and fraternity of authors, as long as they do not criticize each other. And is he aware of your relationship to the venerable Las Casas?” I answered that I knew nothing of the matter; but General Gourgaud, who was on the other side of the Emperor, replied in the affirmative. “And how do you know it yourself?” said the Emperor to me; “Are you not romancing with us?” “The following, Sire, are my proofs. Our family had been two hundred years in France, when Barthelemi de Las Casas flourished in Spain; but the Spanish historians all describe him as a native of the same city from which we ourselves came, that is to say, Seville. They all mention him as of an ancient family, of French origin, and state his ancestors to have passed into Spain precisely at the time when our family went there.”—“What, then, you are not Spanish? He was French, as well as you!”—“Yes, Sire.”—“Let us hear all about it; come, Sir Castellan, Sir Knight-errant, Sir Paladin,—let us see you in your glory; unrol your old parchments; come, enjoy yourself.”—“Sire, one of my ancestors followed Henry Count of Burgundy, who, at the head of a few crusaders, achieved the conquest of Portugal, about the year 1100. He was his standard-bearer at the famous battle of Ourique, which founded the Portugese monarchy. Afterwards we returned to France with Queen Blanche, when she came to be married to the father of St. Louis. Sire, this is the whole.”
THE EMPEROR’S READINGS.—MADAME DE SEVIGNÉ.—CHARLES XII.—PAUL AND VIRGINIA.—VERTOT.—ROLLIN.—VELLY.—GARNIER.
22nd–26th. These days were rendered unpleasant by almost incessant rain. The Emperor was only twice able to ride out—in the park one morning, and once in the afternoon through our usual valley, which the weather had rendered almost impassable. Nor was it more practicable to make use of the calash; we were therefore compelled to confine ourselves to a few turns in the garden, and to share in the gloom of the weather. We worked, however, the more on this account. The Emperor regularly took excellent and long lessons in English. It is his custom to pass all the morning in reading; he reads whole works of very considerable extent regularly through, without feeling in the least fatigued; he always read some part of them to me before he began his English lessons.
One of them was the Letters of Madame de Sevigné, the style of which is so easy, and depicts so faithfully the manners of the time. Reading the death of Turenne, and the trial of Fouquet, he observed, with respect to the latter, that Madame de Sevigné seemed to evince too much warmth, too much earnestness and tenderness, for mere friendship.
Another was Charles XII., in reading whose defence of his house, at Bender, against the Turks, he could not help laughing, and repeating as they did, “Ironhead!
