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Page 13
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 apace.
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.
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