While we were ascending the hill of Meaux, the Emperor himself, deeply engrossed in a book he was reading, not paying any attention to what was passing on the route, a young girl caught hold of the door of His Majesty's carriage and clung to it in spite of the efforts, feeble enough, in point of fact, made by the cavaliers of the escort to detach her, and, opening it, sprang inside. All this was done in less time than it takes me to describe it. The Emperor, inexpressibly surprised, cried: "What the devil does this mad woman want of me?" Then, recognizing the young girl after examining her features more attentively, he added with marked ill-humor: "Ah! is it you again? Will you never leave me at peace?" The young girl, not frightened by this rude reception, yet not without shedding many tears, said that the only favor she came to implore for her father was that his prison should be changed, and that he should be taken from the château d'If, where the dampness was ruining his health, to the citadel of Strasbourg. "No! no!" exclaimed the Emperor, "don't think of it. I have a good many other things to do besides receiving your visits. If I should grant you this request also, in a week you would have imagined another." The poor damsel insisted with a firmness worthy of a better success; but the Emperor was inflexible. On reaching the summit of the hill, he said to the young girl, "I hope you mean to get out now and leave me to finish my journey. I am very sorry, but what you ask is impossible." And he dismissed her without listening to anything further.
While this was going on, I was climbing the hill on foot, a few paces from the carriage of His Majesty, and when this disagreeable scene was over, and the young person, obliged to depart without having gained anything, passed, sobbing, in front of me, I recognized Mademoiselle de Lajolais, whom I had already seen in similar circumstances, but when her courageous affection for her parents had obtained a better result.
General de Lajolais had been arrested, together with all his family, on the 18th Fructidor (5th September). After having been subjected to a detention of twenty-eight months, he had been tried at Strasbourg by a council of war, on an order given by the First Consul, and unanimously acquitted. Later on, when the conspiracy of Generals Pichegru, Moreau, George Cadoudal, and MM. de Polignac, de Rivière, etc., was discovered, General de Lajolais, who was concerned in it, was condemned to death with them; his wife and daughter were transferred to Paris by the gendarmerie. Madame de Lajolais was placed in the closest confinement, and her daughter, separated from her, took shelter with some friends of the family. It was at this time that the young girl, hardly fourteen as yet, displayed a courage and strength of character beyond her years. When she learned that her father had been condemned to death, without acquainting any one with her resolution, she set off alone, on foot, without a guide or introducer, at four o'clock in the morning, and presented herself, all in tears, at the château of Saint-Cloud, where the Emperor was. She found great difficulty in getting in; but she would not allow herself to be hindered by any obstacle, and made her way to me. "Sir," said she, "I have been promised that you would conduct me at once to the Emperor" (I do not know who had told her this tale); "I ask you no other favor, do not refuse it, I entreat you!" Touched by her confidence and her despair, I went to tell Her Majesty the Empress.
She, although greatly moved by the resolution and the tears of a child so young, nevertheless did not dare to lend her aid at once, lest she should rekindle the wrath of the Emperor, which was very great against those who had been implicated in the conspiracy. The Empress ordered me to say to the young de Lajolais that she was grieved to be unable to do anything for her at the moment; but that she must return to Saint-Cloud at five o'clock the next morning, and that she and Queen Hortense would find some means to give her access to the Emperor. The young girl came back the next day at the appointed hour. Her Majesty the Empress had her placed in the green salon. There, during ten hours, she watched for the moment when the Emperor, coming from the council, would pass through this room to go to his cabinet.
The Empress and her August daughter gave orders to have her served with breakfast and dinner; they even came themselves to beg her to take some nourishment, but their efforts were fruitless. The poor child had no other need nor thought than that of obtaining her father's life. At five o'clock in the afternoon the Emperor at last appeared. Some one made a sign to Mademoiselle de Lajolais to show her which was the Emperor, and she sprang toward him. He was surrounded by several state officials and officers of his household. A heartbreaking scene ensued, which lasted for some time. The young girl dragged herself at the Emperor's knees, imploring him, with clasped hands and in the most touching accents, to pardon her father. The Emperor began by repulsing her, saying in the severest tone: "Your father is a traitor, this is the second time he has been guilty toward the State, I can grant you nothing." To this outburst of His Majesty, Mademoiselle de Lajolais responded: "The first time, my father was tried and declared innocent; this time it is his pardon which I implore!" At last the Emperor, overcomes by such courage and devotion, and a little wearied, besides, by a séance which the perseverance of the young girl seemed inclined to prolong still further, yielded to her prayers, and the life of General de Lajolais was spared. Worn out with fatigue and hunger, his daughter fell unconscious at the feet of the Emperor; he raised her himself, had her cared for, and presenting her to those who had witnessed the scene, he praised her filial piety.
His Majesty at once gave orders to have her taken back to Paris, and several superior officers disputed the privilege of accompanying her. Generals Wolff, aide-de-camp of Prince Louis, and Lavalette, were deputed for this purpose, and they took her to her father at the Conciergerie. On entering his dungeon, she threw herself on his neck to announce the pardon she had just extorted, but overwhelmed by so many emotions, she was unable to pronounce a single word, and it was General Lavalette who told the prisoner what he owed to the courageous persistence of his daughter. . . . The next day she obtained, through the Empress Josephine, the liberty of her mother, who was to have been transported. 1
After having obtained the life of her father and the liberty of her mother, as I have just related, Mademoiselle de Lajolais wished also to try and save their unfortunate companions who had been condemned to death. She joined the Breton ladies, whom the success she had already gained induced to seek her assistance, and she hastened with them to Malmaison to ask renewed favors. The ladies had succeeded in having the execution of the condemned deferred for two hours; they hoped that the Empress Josephine might induce the Emperor to relent; but he was inflexible, and this generous attempt was unsuccessful. Mademoiselle de Lajolais returned to Paris, grieved to have been unable to wrest a few more unhappy persons from the rigors of the law.
I have already said two things which I feel obliged to repeat in this place: the first is that, far from binding myself to relate events in their chronological order, I will write them down as they occur to my memory; the second is that I consider it as an obligation and a duty to recount all the actions of the Emperor which may serve to make him better known, and which have been forgotten, either involuntarily or of set purpose, by those who have written his life. I rather fear to be accused of monotony on this point, and reproached with making nothing but a panegyric; but if that should happen, I would say: So much the worse for those who tire of the recital of good actions! I have undertaken to tell the truth about the Emperor, whether good or bad; any reader who expects nothing that is not bad concerning His Majesty in my Memoirs, like him who should expect to find nothing but good, would do well to go no further, for I have determined to tell all I know. I am not to be blamed if the benefits conferred by the Emperor have been so numerous that my recitals must often turn to his praise. I have thought it well to make these brief remarks before relating another pardon granted by His Majesty at the time of his coronation, and of which the adventure of Mademoiselle de Lajolais has reminded me.
On the day when the first distribution of the decorations of the Legion of Honor took place in the church of the Invalides, and just as the Emperor was about to withdraw, at the close of this imposing ceremony, a very young man threw himself on his knees on the steps of the throne, crying: "Pardon! pardon for my father." Touched by his interesting face and his profound emotion, His Majesty approached and tried to raise him; but the youth, refusing to change his attitude, only repeated his request in a tone of supplication. "What is your father's name?'' inquired the Emperor. "Sire," replied the young man, hardly able to make himself heard, "he has made it but too well known, and his enemies have greatly calumniated him to Your Majesty; but I swear that he is innocent. I am the son of Hugues Destrem."—"Sir, your father is gravely compromised by his connection with the incorrigible factions, but I will attend to your request. M. Destrem is fortunate in having a son so devoted to him." His Majesty added a few more consoling words, and the youth withdrew with the certainty that his father would be pardoned. Unfortunately, the pardon arrived too late. M. Hugues Destrem, who had been transported to the isle of Oléron after the attempt of the 3d Nivose (24th December), in which, however, he had taken no part, died in exile without learning that the solicitations of his son had obtained entire success.
On our return from the glorious campaign of Austerlitz, the commune of Saint-Cloud, which had been greatly benefited by the sojourn of the court, decided to distinguish itself on this occasion by manifesting its affection for the Emperor. The mayor of Saint-Cloud was M. Barré, a man of excellent education and much goodness. He was particularly esteemed by Napoleon, who was fond of conversing with him; hence he was sincerely regretted by his fellow-citizens when he was removed from them by death. M. Barré had erected a triumphal arch of very simple construction, yet noble and in good taste, at the foot of the avenue leading to the palace, and adorned it with the following inscription:
TO ITS BELOVED SOVEREIGN
THE HAPPIEST OF COMMUNES.
On the evening when the Emperor was expected, the mayor and his assistants, with the obligatory harangue, spent part of the night at the foot of this monument. But, being old and a valetudinarian, M. Barré at last retired, but not without placing one of his fellow-citizens as a sentry, charged to apprise him of the arrival of the first courier. A ladder was stretched across the triumphal arch, so that no one should pass under it before His Majesty. Unfortunately the municipal Argus fell asleep; the Emperor came in the morning, and passed beside the arch, laughing a good deal at the obstacle which prevented him from en joying the signal honor intended for him by the worthy people of Saint-Cloud. That same day, a little sketch made the rounds of the palace, representing the authorities sleeping beside the monument. The ladder that barred the passage was not omitted, and below it was the inscription: L'arc barré, a pun on the name of the mayor. The inscription had been travestied in this fashion;
TO ITS BELOVED SOVEREIGN
THE SLEEPIEST OF COMMUNES.
Their Majesties were much amused by this pleasantry.
While the court was at Saint-Cloud, the Emperor, having worked very late with M. de Talleyrand, invited him to sleep at the château. The Prince, who preferred to return to Paris, refused, alleging, in excuse, that the beds had a very disagreeable odor. There was nothing in it, however; for, as may readily be believed, the greatest care was taken of the furniture and the bedding in all the imperial palaces. The motive assigned by M. de Talleyrand had been given at random; he might just as well have offered another. Nevertheless, the observation struck the Emperor, and that evening, on entering his chamber, he complained that his bed smelt bad. I assured him to the contrary, and promised His Majesty to convince him of his mistake on the following day. But, far from being persuaded, on rising, the Emperor repeated that his bed had a very disagreeable odor and positively must be changed. M. Charvet was immediately summoned, to whom His Majesty complained of his bed and ordered another to be brought. M. Desmasis, keeper of the spare furniture, was also sent for. He examined the mattresses, feather-beds, and coverlets, turning them over and over; others did the same, and all remained convinced that the bed had no odor whatever. In spite of so many testimonies, the Emperor, not because he was unwilling to have his statements proved incorrect, but solely through a whimsicality to which he was rather subject, persisted in his first notion and insisted that his bed should be changed. Seeing that he must be obeyed, I sent it to the Tuileries, and had the Paris bed brought to the château of Saint-Cloud. The Emperor was pleased with this alteration, and when he went back to the Tuileries, he did not perceive the change, but found his bed in that château very good. The most amusing thing about it all was that the ladies of the palace on learning that the Emperor had complained of his bed, likewise found an insupportable odor in theirs. Everything had to be turned upside down, and a small revolution was the result. The caprices of sovereigns are frequently epidemic.