Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte — Complete
the situation of affairs. Bonaparte told him that he was satisfied with
the existing police, and hinted that it was only to make himself of
consequence that he had given a false colouring to the picture. Fouché
asked him what he would say if he told him that Georges and Pichegru had
been for some time in Paris carrying on the conspiracy of which he had
received information. The First Consul, apparently delighted at what he
conceived to be Fouché's mistake, said, with an air of contempt, "You
are well informed, truly! Regnier has just received a letter from London
stating that Pichegru dined three days ago at Kingston with one of the
King of England's ministers."
As Fouché, however, persisted in his assertion, the First Consul sent to
Paris for the Grand Judge, Regnier, who showed Fouché the letter he had
received. The First Consul triumphed at first to see Fouché at fault;
but the latter so clearly proved that Georges and Pichegru were actually
in Paris that Regnier began to fear he had been misled by his agents,
whom his rival paid better than he did. The First Consul, convinced
that his old minister knew more than his new one, dismissed Regnier, and
remained a long time in consultation with Fouché, who on that occasion
said nothing about his reinstatement for fear of exciting suspicion. He
only requested that the management of the business might be entrusted
to Real, with orders to obey whatever instructions he might receive
from him. I will return hereafter to the arrest of Moreau and the other
persons accused, and will now subjoin the account of a long interview
which I had with Bonaparte in the midst of these important events.
On the 8th of March 1804, some time after the arrest but before the
trial of General Moreau, I had an audience of the First Consul, which
was unsought on my part. Bonaparte, after putting several unimportant
questions to me as to what I was doing, what I expected he should do for
me, and assuring me that he would bear me in mind, gave a sudden turn to
the conversation, and said, "By the by, the report of my connection with
Hortense is still kept up: the most abominable rumours have been spread
as to her first child. I thought at the time that these reports had only
been admitted by the public in consequence of the great desire that I
should not be childless. Since you and I separated have you heard them
repeated?"--"Yes, General, oftentimes; and I confess I could not have
believed that this calumny would have existed so long."--"It is truly
frightful to think of! You know the truth--you have seen all--heard
all--nothing could have passed without your knowledge; you were in her
full confidence during the time of her attachment to Duroc. I therefore
expect, if you should ever write anything about me, that you will clear
me from this infamous imputation. I would not have it accompany my name
to posterity. I trust in you. You have never given credit to the horrid
accusation?"--"No, General, never." Napoleon then entered into a number
of details on the previous life of Hortense; on the way in which she
conducted herself, and on the turn which her marriage had taken. "It has
not turned out," he said, "as I wished: the union has not been a happy
one. I am sorry for it, not only because both are dear to me, but
because the circumstance countenances the infamous reports that are
current among the idle as to my intimacy with her." He concluded the
conversation with these words:--"Bourrienne, I sometimes think of
recalling you; but as there is no good pretext for so doing, the world
would say that I have need of you, and I wish it to be known that I
stand in need of nobody." He again said a few words about Hortense. I
answered that it would fully coincide with my conviction of the truth
to do what he desired, and that I would do it; but that suppressing the
false reports did not depend on me.
Hortense, in fact, while she was Mademoiselle BEAUHARNAIS, regarded
Napoleon with respectful awe. She trembled when she spoke to him, and
never dared to ask him a favour. When she had anything to solicit she
applied to me; and if I experienced any difficulty in obtaining for her
what she sought, I mentioned her as the person for whom I pleaded. "The
little simpleton!" Napoleon would say, "why does she not ask me herself:
is the girl afraid of me?" Napoleon never cherished for her any feeling
but paternal tenderness. He loved her after his marriage with her mother
as he would have loved his own child. During three years I was a witness
to all their most private actions, and I declare that I never saw or
heard anything that could furnish the least ground for suspicion,
or that afforded the slightest trace of the existence of a culpable
intimacy. This calumny must be classed among those with which malice
delights to blacken the characters of men more brilliant than their
fellows, and which are so readily adopted by the light-minded and
unreflecting. I freely declare that did I entertain the smallest doubt
with regard to this odious charge, of the existence of which I was well
aware before Napoleon spoke to me on the subject, I would candidly avow
it. He is no more: and let his memory be accompanied only by that, be it
good or bad, which really belongs to it. Let not this reproach be one
of those charged against him by the impartial historian. I must say,
in concluding this delicate subject, that the principles of Napoleon
on points of this kind were rigid in the utmost degree, and that a
connection of the nature of that charged against him was neither in
accordance with his morals nor his tastes.
I cannot tell whether what followed was a portion of his premeditated
conversation with me, or whether it was the result of the satisfaction
he had derived from ascertaining my perfect conviction of the purity
of his conduct with regard to Hortense, and being assured that I would
express that conviction. Be this as it may, as I was going out at the
door he called me back, saying, "Oh! I have forgotten something." I
returned. "Bourrienne," said he, "do you still keep up your acquaintance
with the Fauchers?"--"Yes, General; I see them frequently."--"You are
wrong."-- "Why should I not? They are clever, well-educated men, and
exceedingly pleasant company, especially Caesar. I derive great pleasure
from their society; and then they are almost the only persons whose
friendship has continued faithful to me since I left you. You know
people do not care for those who can render them no service."--"Maret
will not see the Fauchers."--"That may be, General; but it is nothing to
me; and you must recollect that as it was through him I was introduced
to them at the Tuileries, I think he ought to inform me of his reasons
for dropping their acquaintance."--"I tell you again he has closed his
door against them. Do you the same; I advise you." As I did not seem
disposed to follow this advice without some plausible reason, the First
Consul added, "You must know, then, that I learn from Caesar all that
passes in your house. You do not speak very ill of me yourself, nor does
any one venture to do so in your presence. You play your rubber and go
to bed. But no sooner are you gone than your wife, who never liked me,
and most of those who visit at your house, indulge in the most violent
attacks upon me. I receive a bulletin from Caesar Faucher every day when
he visits at your house; this is the way in which he requites you
for your kindness, and for the asylum you afforded his
brother.--[Constantine Rancher had been condemned in contumacy for the
forgery of a public document.--Bourrienne.]--But enough; you see I know
all--farewell;" and he left me.
The grave having closed over these two brothers,--[The Fauchers were
twin brothers, distinguished in the war of the Revolution, and made
brigadier-generals at the same time on the field of battle. After the
Cent Jours they refused to recognise the Bourbons, and were shot by
sentence of court-martial at Bordeaux. (Bouillet)]--I shall merely state
that they wrote me a letter the evening preceding their execution, in
which they begged me to forgive their conduct towards me. The following
is an extract from this letter:
In our dungeon we hear our sentence of death being cried in the streets.
To-morrow we shall walk to the scaffold; but we will meet death with
such calmness and courage as shall make our executioners blush. We are
sixty years old, therefore our lives will only be shortened by a brief
space. During our lives we have shared in common, illness, grief,
pleasure, danger, and good fortune. We both entered the world on the
same day, and on the same day we shall both depart from it. As to you,
sir....
I suppress what relates to myself.
The hour of the grand levee arrived just as the singular interview which
I have described terminated. I remained a short time to look at this
phantasmagoria. Duroc was there. As soon as he saw me he came up, and
taking me into the recess of a window told me that Moreau's guilt was
evident, and that he was about to be put on his trial. I made some
observations on the subject, and in particular asked whether there were
sufficient proofs of his guilt to justify his condemnation? "They
should be cautious," said I; "it is no joke to accuse the conqueror of
Hohenlinden." Duroc's answer satisfied me that he at least had no doubt
on the subject. "Besides," added he, "when such a general as Moreau has
been between two gendarmes he is lost, and is good for nothing more.
He will only inspire pity." In vain I tried to refute this assertion
so entirely contrary to facts, and to convince Duroc that Moreau would
never be damaged by calling him "brigand," as was the phrase then,
without proofs. Duroc persisted in his opinion. As if a political crime
ever sullied the honour of any one! The result has proved that I judged
rightly.
No person possessing the least degree of intelligence will be convinced
that the conspiracy of Moreau, Georges, Pichegru, and the other persons
accused would ever have occurred but for the secret connivance of
Fouché's police.
Moreau never for a moment desired the restoration of the Bourbons. I was
too well acquainted with M. Carbonnet, his most intimate friend, to be
ignorant of his private sentiments. It was therefore quite impossible
that he could entertain the same views as Georges, the Polignacs,
Riviera, and others; and they had no intention of committing any
overt acts. These latter persons had come to the Continent solely to
investigate the actual state of affairs, in order to inform the Princes
of the House of Bourbon with certainty how far they might depend on the
foolish hopes constantly held out to them by paltry agents, who were
always ready to advance their own interests at the expense of truth.
These agents did indeed conspire, but it was against the Treasury of
London, to which they looked for pay.
Without entering into all the details of that great trial I will relate
some facts which may assist in eliciting the truth from a chaos of
intrigue and falsehood.
Most of the conspirators had been lodged either in the Temple or La
Force, and one of them, Bouvet de Lozier, who was confined in the
Temple, attempted to hang himself. He made use of his cravat to effect
his purpose, and had nearly succeeded, when a turnkey by chance
entered and found him at the point of death. When he was recovered he
acknowledged that though he had the courage to meet death, he was unable
to endure the interrogatories of his trial, and that he had determined
to kill himself, lest he might be induced to make a confession. He did
in fact confess, and it was on the day after this occurred that Moreau
was arrested, while on his way from his country-seat of Grosbois to
Paris.