Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte — Complete
continually turning on the warm water to raise the temperature, so that
I was sometimes enveloped in such a dense vapour that I could not see to
read, and was obliged to open the door.
Bonaparte was exceedingly temperate, and averse to all excess. He knew
the absurd stories that were circulated about him, and he was sometimes
vexed at them. It has been repeated, over and over again, that he was
subject to attacks of epilepsy; but during the eleven years that I was
almost constantly with him I never observed any symptom which in
the least degree denoted that malady. His health was good and his
constitution sound. If his enemies, by way of reproach, have attributed
to him a serious periodical disease, his flatterers, probably under the
idea that sleep is incompatible with greatness, have evinced an equal
disregard of truth in speaking of his night-watching. Bonaparte made
others watch, but he himself slept, and slept well. His orders were that
I should call him every morning at seven. I was therefore the first to
enter his chamber; but very frequently when I awoke him he would turn
himself, and say, "Ah, Bourrienne! let me lie a little longer." When
there was no very pressing business I did not disturb him again till
eight o'clock. He in general slept seven hours out of the twenty-four,
besides taking a short nap in the afternoon.
Among the private instructions which Bonaparte gave me, one was very
curious. "During the night," said he, "enter my chamber as seldom as
possible. Do not awake me when you have any good news to communicate:
with that there is no hurry. But when you bring bad news, rouse me
instantly; for then there is not a moment to be lost."
This was a wise regulation, and Bonaparte found his advantage in it.
As soon as he rose his 'valet de chambre' shaved him and dressed his
hair. While he was being shaved I read to him the newspapers, beginning
always with the 'Moniteur.' He paid little attention to any but the
German and English papers. "Pass over all that," he would say, while I
was perusing the French papers; "I know it already. They say only what
they think will please me." I was often surprised that his valet did not
cut him while I was reading; for whenever he heard anything interesting
he turned quickly round towards me.
When Bonaparte had finished his toilet, which he did with great
attention, for he was scrupulously neat in his person, we went down to
his cabinet. There he signed the orders on important petitions which had
been analysed by me on the preceding evening. On reception and parade
days he was particularly exact in signing these orders, because I used
to remind him that he would be likely to see most of the petitioners,
and that they would ask him for answers. To spare him this annoyance
I used often to acquaint them beforehand of what had been granted or
refused, and what had been the decision of the First Consul. He next
perused the letters which I had opened and laid on his table, ranging
them according to their importance. He directed me to answer them in his
name; he occasionally wrote the answers himself, but not often.
At ten o'clock the 'maître d'hôtel' entered, and announced breakfast,
saying, "The General is served." We went to breakfast, and the repast
was exceedingly simple. He ate almost every morning some chicken,
dressed with oil and onions. This dish was then, I believe, called
'poulet à la Provençale'; but our restaurateurs have since conferred
upon it the more ambitious name of 'poulet à la Marengo.'
Bonaparte drank little wine, always either claret or Burgundy, and the
latter by preference. After breakfast, as well as after dinner, he took
a cup of strong coffee.
--[M. Brillat de Savarin, whose memory is dear to all gourmands, had
established, as a gastronomic principle, that "he who does not take
coffee after each meal is assuredly not a man of taste."--
Bourrienne.]--
I never saw him take any between his meals, and I cannot imagine what
could have given rise to the assertion of his being particularly fond
of coffee. When he worked late at night he never ordered coffee, but
chocolate, of which he made me take a cup with him. But this only
happened when our business was prolonged till two or three in the
morning.
All that has been said about Bonaparte's immoderate use of snuff has no
more foundation in truth than his pretended partiality for coffee. It is
true that at an early period of his life he began to take snuff, but
it was very sparingly, and always out of a box; and if he bore
any resemblance to Frederick the Great, it was not by filling his
waistcoat-pockets with snuff, for I must again observe he carried his
notions of personal neatness to a fastidious degree.
Bonaparte had two ruling passions, glory and war. He was never more gay
than in the camp, and never more morose than in the inactivity of
peace. Plans for the construction of public monuments also pleased
his imagination, and filled up the void caused by the want of active
occupation. He was aware that monuments form part of the history of
nations, of whose civilisation they bear evidence for ages after those
who created them have disappeared from the earth, and that they likewise
often bear false-witness to remote posterity of the reality of merely
fabulous conquests. Bonaparte was, however, mistaken as to the mode of
accomplishing the object he had in view. His ciphers, his trophies, and
subsequently his eagles, splendidly adorned the monuments of his reign.
But why did he wish to stamp false initials on things with which neither
he nor his reign had any connection; as, for example the old Louvre? Did
he imagine that the letter, "N" which everywhere obtruded itself on the
eye, had in it a charm to controvert the records of history, or alter
the course of time?
--[When Louis XVIII. returned to the Tuileries in 1814 he found that
Bonaparte had been an excellent tenant, and that he had left
everything in very good condition.]--
Be this as it may, Bonaparte well knew that the fine arts entail lasting
glory on great actions, and consecrate the memory of princes who protect
and encourage them. He oftener than once said to me, "A great reputation
is a great noise; the more there is made, the farther off it is
heard. Laws, institutions, monuments, nations, all fall; but the noise
continues and resounds in after ages." This was one of his favourite
ideas. "My power," he would say at other times, "depends on my glory,
and my glory on my victories. My power would fall were I not to support
it by new glory and new victories. Conquest has made me what I am, and
conquest alone can maintain me." This was then, and probably always
continued to be, his predominant idea, and that which prompted him
continually to scatter the seeds of war through Europe. He thought that
if he remained stationary he would fall, and he was tormented with the
desire of continually advancing. Not to do something great and decided
was, in his opinion, to do nothing. "A newly-born Government," said he
to me, "must dazzle and astonish. When it ceases to do that it falls."
It was vain to look for rest from a man who was restlessness itself.
His sentiments towards France now differed widely from what I had known
them to be in his youth. He long indignantly cherished the recollection
of the conquest of Corsica, which he was once content to regard as his
country. But that recollection was effaced, and it might be said that he
now ardently loved France. His imagination was fired by the very thought
of seeing her great, happy, and powerful, and, as the first nation in
the world, dictating laws to the rest. He fancied his name inseparably
connected with France, and resounding in the ears of posterity. In all
his actions he lost sight of the present moment, and thought only of
futurity; so, in all places where he led the way to glory, the opinion
of France was ever present in his thoughts. As Alexander at Arbela
pleased himself less in having conquered Darius than in having gained
the suffrage of the Athenians, so Bonaparte at Marengo was haunted by
the idea of what would be said in France. Before he fought a battle
Bonaparte thought little about what he should do in case of success, but
a great deal about what he should do in case of a reverse of fortune. I
mention this as a fact of which I have often been a witness, and leave
to his brothers in arms to decide whether his calculations were always
correct. He had it in his power to do much, for he risked everything and
spared nothing. His inordinate ambition goaded him on to the attainment
of power; and power when possessed served only to augment his ambition.
Bonaparte was thoroughly convinced of the truth that trifles often
decide the greatest events; therefore he watched rather than provoked
opportunity, and when the right moment approached, he suddenly took
advantage of it. It is curious that, amidst all the anxieties of war and
government, the fear of the Bourbons incessantly pursued him, and the
Faubourg St. Germain was to him always a threatening phantom.
He did not esteem mankind, whom, indeed, he despised more and more in
proportion as he became acquainted with them. In him this unfavourable
opinion of human nature was justified by many glaring examples of
baseness, and he used frequently to repeat, "There are two levers for
moving men,--interest and fear." What respect, indeed, could Bonaparte
entertain for the applicants to the treasury of the opera? Into this
treasury the gaming-houses paid a considerable sum, part of which
went to cover the expenses of that magnificent theatre. The rest was
distributed in secret gratuities, which were paid on orders signed by
Duroc. Individuals of very different characters were often seen catching
the little door in the Rue Rameau. The lady who was for a while the
favourite of the General-in-Chief in Egypt, and whose husband was
maliciously sent back by the English, was a frequent visitor to the
treasury. On an occasion would be seen assembled there a distinguished
scholar and an actor, a celebrated orator and a musician; on another,
the treasurer would have payments to make to a priest, a courtesan, and
a cardinal.
One of Bonaparte's greatest misfortunes was, that he neither believed in
friendship not felt the necessity of loving. How often have I heard him
say, "Friendship is but a name; I love nobody. I do not even love my
brothers. Perhaps Joseph, a little, from habit and because he is my
elder; and Duroc, I love him too. But why? Because his character pleases
me. He is stern and resolute; and I really believe the fellow never shed
a tear. For my part, I know very well that I have no true friends. As
long as I continue what I am, I may have as many pretended friends as I
please. Leave sensibility to women; it is their business. But men should
be firm in heart and in purpose, or they should have nothing to do with
war or government."
In his social relations Bonaparte's temper was bad; but his fits of
ill-humour passed away like a cloud, and spent themselves in words. His
violent language and bitter imprecations were frequently premeditated.
When he was going to reprimand any one he liked to have a witness
present. He would then say the harshest things, and level blows
against which few could bear up. But he never gave way to those violent
ebullitions of rage until he acquired undoubted proofs of the misconduct
of those against whom they were directed. In scenes of this sort I have
frequently observed that the presence of a third person seemed to give
him confidence. Consequently, in a 'tête-à-tête' interview, any one
who knew his character, and who could maintain sufficient coolness and
firmness, was sure to get the better of him. He told his friends at St.