Kitabı oku: «Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)», sayfa 14

Such were my impressions on my first sight of the Emperor Napoleon. So much has he been seen and scrutinised throughout the world, – so familiar must his countenance have been to millions, – so many descriptions have been given of his person and of his features by those who knew him well, – that any portrait by me must appear to be at least superfluous. Every person, however, has a right to form his own independent judgment on subjects of physiognomy, and it is singular enough that I have never yet met any one with whom I entirely coincided as to the peculiar expression of Napoleon’s features; – and I have some right to speak, for I saw him at periods and under circumstances that wrought on and agitated every muscle of his fine countenance, and have fancied (perhaps ridiculously) that I could trace indications of character therein unnoticed by his biographers. Several who have confidently spoken of his physiognomy never saw him; by such, therefore, any estimation of its cast cannot be very accurate.

On this day my observations must necessarily have been superficial: yet I thought I could perceive, in the movement of a single feature, some strong-excited feeling, some sensation detached and wandering away from the ordinary modes of thinking, though I could not even guess from what passion or through what impulse that sensation originated. After I had seen him often, I collated the emotions palpable in his countenance with the vicissitudes of his past life, fancying that I might thence acquire some data to go upon in estimating the tone of his thoughts: but at this first sight, so diversified were the appearances as he leaned over the gallery, that even Lavater could not have deciphered his sensations. He was uneasy, making almost convulsive motions, and I perceived occasionally a quiver on his lip: on the whole, my anxiety was raised a hundredfold to be placed in some situation where I might translate at leisure the workings of his expressive countenance. That opportunity was after a short interval fully given me.

On the same day I had indeed a second occasion of observing the emperor, and in a much more interesting occupation – more to his taste, and which obviously changed the entire cast of his looks, quite divesting them of that deep, penetrating, gloomy character, which had saddened his countenance during the time he was at chapel. After mass he first came out upon the balcony in front of the Tuileries: his personal staff, marshals, generals, and a few ladies surrounded him; while the civil officers of the court, in the richest dresses, stood in small groups aside, as if wishing to have nothing to do with the military spectacle. Napoleon was now about to inspect eight or ten thousand of the army in the Place Carousel. The transition from an array of priests to a parade of warriors – from the hymns of the saints to the shouting of the soldiery – from the heavy, although solemn, music of the organ to the inspiriting notes of the drum – added greatly to the effect of the scene, which strongly impressed my mind, alive and open to all these novel incidents. Age had not then, nor has it yet, effaced the susceptibility of my nature. I own the latter scene was on that day to my mind vastly preferable to the first: the countenance of Napoleon was metamorphosed; it became illuminated; he descended from the balcony, and mounted a gray barb. He was now obviously in his element: the troops, as I have said, amounted to about ten thousand: I did not conceive the court of the Tuileries could hold so many.

Napoleon was now fully exposed to our view. His face acknowledged the effect of climate: his forehead, though high and thinly strewn with hair, did not convey to me any particular trait; his eyebrows, when at rest, were not expressive, neither did his eyes on that occasion speak as much as I should have expected; but the lower part of his face fixed my attention at once. It was about his mouth and chin that character seemed to be concentrated. I thought, on the whole, that I could perceive a mixture of steadiness and caprice, of passion and generosity, of control and impetuousness; but I could decide on nothing.

My attention, however, was soon turned to the inspection itself. There was not a soldier who did not appear nearly frantic with exultation, and whose very heart, I believe, did not beat in unison with the hurrahs wherewith they received their favourite leader.

It was the first time I had ever heard a crowd express its boisterous pleasure in a tone of sensibility unknown in our country. The troops were in earnest, and so was the general. The old guard (including such as had returned from Elba and such as had rejoined their colours) formed a body of men superior to any I ever before witnessed. Descriptions of Napoleon amidst his soldiers are however so common, that I will not occupy either the reader’s time or my own by enlarging further on the subject.

THE ENGLISH IN PARIS

Doctor and Mrs. Marshall – Col. Macirone, aide-de-camp to Joachim Murat, while king of Naples – General Arthur O’Connor – Lord and Lady Kinnaird – His lordship under the surveillance of the police – Suspected of espionage, and arrested, but set at liberty immediately after – Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce – Dr. Marshall’s correct information as to passing events – Real character of the coterie at his house —Madame la parente du ministre Fouché– Misconception of the minister’s Swiss porter – Henry Thevenot.

Shortly after this period I became particularly intimate with Dr. Marshall, a circumstance which, in the paucity of English who had remained in Paris, was productive to me of great satisfaction. He was a man of prepossessing appearance and address; had travelled much; had acted (he informed me) as physician to the army in Egypt, &c.; and had gone on some confidential missions to Murat while king of Naples. His wife was a pretty woman, rather en bon point, about thirty, and with the complete appearance and address of a gentlewoman. The doctor kept a very handsome establishment, and entertained small companies splendidly.

The society I met there consisted, generally, of Col. Macirone, who had been aide-de-camp to Murat, and has published an account of the romantic circumstances attendant on the death of that ill-fated man. Another member of the society was Count Julien, formerly, I believe, some secretary or civil officer of Murat, a boisterous, overbearing fat man, consequential without being dignified, dressy without being neat, and with a showy politeness that wanted the elements of civility. Count Julien was the only person I met at Doctor Marshall’s whose character or occupation I had much curiosity about.

Fouché was then the emperor’s minister of police, and they all appeared to be more or less acquainted with him: but I had not then the slightest idea that most of them were in some way employés of the police minister, and hollow friends, if not absolute enemies to Napoleon.

I met several other gentlemen less remarkable at Doctor Marshall’s; many of them I never saw again: some were Italians, but mostly French. Only one lady appeared besides the mistress of the house. This was a plain, rational, sedate woman under forty. She was introduced to us by Mrs. Marshall as the wife of a relative of Fouché, and at that time (with her husband) on a visit to his excellency at his hotel, Rue Cerutti.

One day before dinner, at Dr. Marshall’s house, I observed this lady, just on our arrival, hurrying into Mrs. Marshall’s boudoir, and when dinner was announced she re-entered decked out with a set of remarkable coral ornaments, which I had seen Mrs. Marshall wear several times. This circumstance struck me at the moment, but was neither recollected nor accounted for till we paid an unlucky visit to that “relative of Fouché,” when the whole enigma became developed, and my suspicions fairly aroused.

Dr. Marshall meanwhile continued to gain much on my esteem. He saw that I was greedy of information as to the affairs of Italy; and he, as well as Col. Macirone, saturated me in consequence with anecdotes of the court of Naples, and of Murat himself, highly entertaining, and I believe authentic; for I do really think that Macirone was sincerely attached to that king, and attended his person with friendship and sincerity. On the contrary, Count Julien seemed to me incapable of much feeling, and perfectly indifferent as to any body’s fate but his own. This, however, I only give as my individual opinion: I soon lost sight of the man altogether. Once (I think the day of the abdication) I saw him at Fouché’s office, whither I strolled to make observations. He was lavishing the most boundless invectives against the ex-emperor.

In the midst of this society I passed my time during the greater part of the Hundred Days: and Doctor Marshall informing me, I believe truly, that he was on terms of confidence (though not immediately) with Fouché, and well knowing that he might with perfect security communicate any thing to me (I should be silent for my own sake), scarce a day passed but we had much conversation in his garden; and he certainly did give me very correct information as to the state of affairs and the condition of the emperor, together with much that was not equally correct, regarding himself. This I occasionally and partially perceived; but his address was imposing and particularly agreeable: he was good-natured and hospitable.

We had also cultivated our acquaintance (originated through the adventure of the shawls) with Colonel Gowen, of the national guards, whose hotel in Rue Clichy bore a most extraordinary castellated appearance, and was surrounded by very large gardens, where we were often nobly entertained: the leads of the hotel overlooked Tivoli, and indeed every place about Paris. The colonel lived extremely well; spoke English perfectly; and might, in fact, be mistaken for an hospitable colonel of British yeomanry.

Another gentleman, a Mr. Lewins, I also happened accidentally to meet, who was an Irishman, and whom I had known many years previously. We became intimate, and I derived utility and information from that acquaintance. This gentleman knew, and had long known, much more of past French affairs and individuals than any of my other acquaintances; and seeming at the same time replete with good-nature (with his politics, which I really believe were very undecided, I had nothing to do), I could not fail to be a gainer by our intercourse, which continued.

Another more remarkable and very clever person, Mr. Arthur O’Connor, was then a French general unemployed. I had known him thirty years before: he had married the daughter and sole heiress of the unfortunate and learned Marquis de Condorcet; and was prohibited from returning to his native country by act of parliament. General Arthur O’Connor was a remarkably strong-minded, clever man, with a fine face and manly air: he had besides a great deal of Irish national character, to some of the failings whereof he united several of its best qualities. I met him, and relished his company highly. For old acquaintance sake I professed and truly felt a friendship for him; and, differing as we did upon public subjects, we talked over all without arguing upon any, which is the only agreeable method of conversation among persons whose opinions do not coincide.

Lord and Lady Kinnaird were also in Paris at that period. I did not pay my respects to them for a very singular, though at such a time a very sufficient reason. Her ladyship was the daughter of one of my most respected friends, the late Duke of Leinster, to every member of whose family I owe all possible attention: but Lord Kinnaird, by over-acting his part, had drawn on himself an absurd degree of suspicion; and I had been informed by a friend, in confidence, that every person who was seen visiting him was immediately suspected likewise, and put secretly under surveillance, which would not have been particularly agreeable to me. In a little time this information was curiously illustrated. I was informed that Lord Kinnaird had been arrested by order of Fouché: but Fouché soon found he had fallen into a very ridiculous error; and I believe his lordship was immediately liberated with an ample apology. I heard also incidentally among the employés, (for I took care at all times to display no inordinate curiosity even though I might be literally bursting with that feeling,) that his lordship was accustomed to express himself so hyperbolically in favour of Napoleon, that the police (to whom every thing was made known by unsuspected domestics) could not give his lordship credit for sincerity, and therefore took for granted that he was playing some double game: in fact, they fancied he was a spy! – using ultra eulogiums on the emperor to cloke a secret design.

Messrs. Hobhouse and Bruce were both in Paris at the same period, and I have often regretted that I did not know them. I afterward knew the latter well, when in La Force with Sir R. Wilson and my friend Mr. J. Hutchinson, for assisting the escape of Lavalette. I found in Mr. Bruce an able man with some excellent qualities, and a thirst after information, which I admire in any body.

These, together with the family of Mr. Talbot, were the only English whom I met in Paris immediately after my arrival and during the most momentous crisis Europe ever witnessed.⁴³ That point of time formed it was then supposed the pivot whereon the future destiny of every nation in the fairest quarter of the globe was vibrating: – but I am here trenching on a subject in which the nature of this work does not permit me to indulge.

The successive occurrences at Paris, after Napoleon’s return, were daily published, and are known to every body. The press seemed free from restraint, and every public act was recorded: it was therefore to the private acts and characters of men I applied my observation, as forming the best ground for speculative opinions, (which that portentous interval necessarily tended to stimulate,) and likewise as calculated to yield the best materials for future entertainment.

Dr. Marshall was, as I have already stated, on certain occasions confidentially employed by Fouché; and placing some confidence in me – perhaps not duly estimating the extent of my curiosity, – he was very communicative. (I think he hated the principles of Fouché.) In fact, not a day passed, particularly after Napoleon’s return from Waterloo, that I did not make some discovery through the doctor, as much from his air of mystery as from direct admissions. From him I collected Fouché’s flagitious character, and the ductility and total absence of principle exhibited by some of his attachés.

The intelligence I daily acquired did not surprise, but greatly disgusted me. Napoleon had many false friends. I hate treachery in all its ramifications: it is not, generally speaking, a French characteristic; but Fouché certainly displayed a complete personification of it. Men of that description generally do each other strict justice, by the operation and exercise of mutual hatred, contempt, and invective. I never heard one such person say a kind word of another behind his back; and when a man is necessitated by policy to puff a brother villain, it is not difficult for a stander-by to decipher the sneer of jealousy and mental reservation distorting the muscles of the speaker’s countenance, and involuntarily disclosing the very feeling which he was perhaps desirous to conceal.

Thus was it with various tools of that treacherous minister; and in his own countenance were engraven distinctly the characteristics of plausibility, cunning and insincerity. From the first moment I saw Fouché, and more particularly when I heard him coldly swear fidelity to his imperial master, I involuntarily imbibed a strong sensation of dislike. His features held out no inducement to place confidence in their owner: on the contrary, they could not but tend to beget distrust and disesteem. The suspicions which they generated in me I never could overcome, and the sequel proved how just were my anticipations.

After awhile, I began slightly to suspect the composition of the society I was associating with, and it occurred to me to request that Lady Barrington would pay a visit to the lady we had met at Doctor Marshall’s, and whom we had understood from Doctor and Mrs. Marshall to be on a visit to Fouché, her relative. I proposed to go also, and leave my card for her husband, whom we had not yet seen. We accordingly waited on them at Fouché’s hotel, and asked the Swiss if madame was at home.

“Madame!” said the porter; “madame! quelle madame?” as if he had heard us imperfectly. We had forgotten her name, and could therefore only reply, “madame la parente de monsieur le ministre.”

“Parente de monsieur le ministre?” repeated the Swiss. “There is no such person here, monsieur,” with a half-saucy shrug.

“Oh yes,” exclaimed I: “she is on a visit to the Duc D’Otrante.”

“No, no, monsieur et madame,” repeated the pertinacious Swiss: “point du tout!” and he seemed impatient to send us away; but after a moment’s pause, the fellow burst out into a fit of laughter. “I beg your pardon, monsieur et madame,” said he, “I begin to understand whom you mean. Your friend undoubtedly resides in the hotel, but she is just now from home.”

I handed him our cards for her and her husband. On reading “Le Chevalier et Milady,” the man looked more respectful, but apparently could not control his laughter. When, however, he at length recovered himself, he bowed very low, begged pardon again, and said he thought we had been inquiring for some vraie madame. The word stimulated my curiosity, and I hastily demanded its meaning; when it turned out that monsieur was the maitre d’hotel, and madame, his wife, looked to the linen, china, &c. as femme de confiance: – in English, housekeeper!

We waited to hear no more. I took up our cards and away we went; and my suspicions as to that lady’s rank were thus set at rest. I did not say one word of the matter at Dr. Marshall’s, but I suppose the porter told the lady, as we never saw her afterward, nor her husband at all.

I now began to see my way more clearly, and redoubled my assiduity to decipher the events passing around me. In this I was aided by an increased intimacy with Colonel Macirone, whom closer acquaintance confirmed as an agreeable and gentlemanly man.

I perceived that there was some plot going forward, the nature of which it was beyond my power to develope. The manner of the persons I lived among was perpetually undergoing some shade of variation; the mystery thickened; and my curiosity increased with it.

In the end this curiosity was completely gratified; but all I could determine on at the moment was, that there existed an extensive organised system of deception and treachery, at the bottom of which was Fouché himself: whether, however, my acquaintances would ultimately adhere to the emperor or his minister, seemed quite problematical. I meanwhile dreaded every body, yet affected to fear none, and listened with an air of unconcern to the stories of my valet, Henry Thevenot, though at that time I gave them no credit: subsequent occurrences, however, rendered it manifest that this man procured, somehow or other, sure information.

Among other matters, Thevenot said he knew well there was an intention, if opportunity occurred, of assassinating Napoleon on his road to join the army in Belgium.⁴⁴ I did not much relish being made the depositary of such dangerous reports, and ordered my servant never to mention before me again “any such ridiculous stories,” otherwise I should discharge him as an unsafe person. Yet I could not keep his tongue from wagging, and I really dreaded dismissing him. He said “that Fouché was a traitor to his master; that several of the cannon at Montmartre were rendered unserviceable; and that mines had been charged with gunpowder under various parts of the city, preparatory to some attempt at counter-revolution.”