had it from the mouth of Gustavus III. himself, that he had been assassinated by his followers. Gustavus had examined his body in the vault; the ball was a pistol-bullet; it had been fired very near, and behind him, &c.
At the beginning of the Revolution, I was well acquainted with Gustavus III., at the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle; and, though I was then very young, I had more than once the honour of conversing with him: he even promised me a place in his navy, if our affairs in France should turn out unfavourably.
Another day the Emperor was reading Paul and Virginia; he gave full effect to the touching passages, which were always simple and natural; those which abounded with the pathos, the abstract and false ideas so much in fashion when the work was published, were all, in the Emperor’s opinion, cold, bad, spoiled. He said he had been infatuated with this book in his youth; but he had little personal regard for its author; he could never forgive him for having imposed on his generosity on his return from the Army of Italy. “Bernardin de St. Pierre’s sensibility and delicacy,” said he, “were little in harmony with his charming picture of Paul and Virginia. He was a bad man; he used his wife, Didot the printer’s daughter, very ill; he was always ready to ask charity, without the least shame. On my return from the Army of Italy, Bernardin came to see me, and almost immediately began to tell me of his wants. I, who in my early youth had dreamed of nothing but Paul and Virginia, and who moreover felt flattered by a confidence which I imagined was reposed in me alone, and which I attributed to my great celebrity, hastened to return his visit, and, unperceived by any one, left on the corner of his chimney-piece a little rouleau of five-and-twenty louis. But how was I mortified on seeing every one laugh at the delicacy of my proceeding, and on learning that such ceremony was entirely superfluous with M. Bernardin, who made it his trade to beg of all comers, and to receive from every body. I always retained some little resentment towards him, for having thus imposed upon me. It was otherwise with my family. Joseph allowed him a large pension, and Louis was constantly making him presents.”
But though the Emperor liked Paul and Virginia, he laughed, for very pity, at the Studies of Nature, by the same author. “Bernardin,” said he, “though versed in the belles lettres, was very little of a geometrician; this last work was so bad that scientific men disdained to answer it: Bernardin complained loudly of their not noticing him. The celebrated mathematician Lagrange, when speaking on this subject, always said, alluding to the Institute, ‘If Bernardin were one of our class—if he spoke our language, we would call him to order; but he belongs to the Academy, and his style is out of our line." Bernardin was complaining as usual, one day, to the First Consul, of the silence of the learned with respect to his works. Napoleon asked, “Do you understand the differential method, M. Bernardin?”—“No.”—“Well, go and learn it, and then you will be able to answer yourself.” Afterwards, when Emperor, every time he perceived St. Pierre, he used to say to him, “M. Bernardin, when are we to have any more Paul and Virginias, or Indian Cottages? You ought to supply us every six months.”
In reading Vertot’s Roman Revolutions, of which in other respects the Emperor thinks highly, he found the declamations much too diffuse. This was his constant complaint against every work he took up; he had in his youth, he said, been much to blame in this respect himself. He may justly be said to have thoroughly reformed afterwards. He amused himself with striking out the superfluous phrases in Vertot; and the result was that, after the erasures, the work appeared much more energetic and animated. “It would certainly be a most valuable and successful labour,” said he, “if any man of taste and discernment would devote his time to reducing the principal works in our language in this manner. I hardly know any writer except Montesquieu who would escape those curtailments. He often looked into Rollin, whom he thought diffuse, and too credulous. Crevier, his continuator, seemed to Napoleon detestable. He complained of our classical works, and of the time which our young people are compelled to lose in reading such bad books. They were composed by rhetoricians and mere professors, he said; whereas such immortal subjects, the basis of all our knowledge throughout life, ought to have been written and edited by statesmen and men of the world.” The Emperor had excellent ideas on this subject; the want of time alone prevented him from carrying them into execution.
The Emperor was still more dissatisfied with our French historians; he could not bear to read any of them. Velly is rich in words, and poor in meaning: his continuators are still worse. "Our history,” said the Emperor, “should either be in four or five volumes, or in a hundred.” He had been acquainted with Garnier, who continued Velly and Villaret; he lived very near Malmaison. He was an old man of eighty, and lodged in a small set of apartments on the ground-floor, close to the road. Struck with the officious attention which this good old man always evinced whenever the First Consul was passing, the latter enquired who he was. On learning that it was Garnier, he comprehended his motives. “He, no doubt, imagined,” said the Emperor pleasantly, “that a First Consul was his property, as historian. I dare say, however, he was astonished to find Consuls, where he had been accustomed to see Kings.” Napoleon told him so, himself, laughing, when he called him one day, and settled a good pension on him. “From that time,” said the Emperor, “the poor man, in the warmth of his gratitude, would gladly have written any thing I pleased, with all his heart.”
A DIFFICULTY OVERCOME.—THE EMPEROR’S PERSONAL DANGER AT EYLAU, JENA, &C.—RUSSIAN, AUSTRIAN, AND PRUSSIAN TROOPS.—YOUNG GUIBERT.—CORBINEAU.—MARSHAL LANNES.—BESSIERES.—DUROC.
27th.—About five o’clock the Emperor went out in his calash; the evening was very fine; we drove rapidly, and the distance to be traversed is very short. The Emperor made the servants slacken their pace, in order to prolong the ride. As we returned, the Emperor, casting his eyes on the camp, from which we were separated only by the ravine, asked why we could not pass that way, which would double the length of our ride. He was told that it was impossible; and we continued our way homeward. But, on a sudden, as if roused by this word impossible, which he had so often said was not French, he ordered the ground to be reconnoitred. We all got out of the carriage, which proceeded empty towards the difficult points; we saw it clear every obstacle, and returned home in triumph, as if we had just doubled our possessions.
During dinner, and afterwards, the conversation turned on various deeds of arms. The Grand Marshal said, that what had most struck him in the life of the Emperor happened at Eylau, when, attended only by some officers of his staff, a column of four or five thousand Russians came almost in contact with him. The Emperor was on foot; the Prince of Neufchatel instantly ordered up the horses: the Emperor gave him a reproachful look; then sent orders to a battalion of his guard to advance, which was a good way behind, and standing still. As the Russians advanced, he repeated several times, “What audacity! what audacity!” At the sight of the grenadiers of the guard, the Russians stopped short. It was high time for them to do so, as Bertrand said. The Emperor had never stirred; all who surrounded him had been much alarmed.
The Emperor had heard this account without making any observation; but, when it was finished, he said that one of the finest manœuvres he remembered was that which he executed at Eckmühl. Unfortunately, he did not proceed, or give any particulars. “Success in war,” said he, “depends so much on quicksightedness, and on seizing the right moment, that the battle of Austerlitz, which was so completely won, would have been lost if I had attacked six hours sooner. The Russians shewed themselves on that occasion such excellent troops as they have never appeared since; the Russian army of Austerlitz would not have lost the battle of the Moscowa.”
“Marengo,” said the Emperor, “was the battle in which the Austrians fought best: their troops behaved admirably there; but that was the grave of their valour. It has never since been seen.
“The Prussians, at Jena, did not make such a resistance as was expected from their reputation. As to the multitudes of 1814 and 1815, they were mere rabble compared to the real soldiers of
