With Napoleon in His Last Days

In what did Napoleon's two wives differ from each other? Did Napoleon consider himself great? What were his views on love, divorce, and children? What was his greatest blunder?

The American magazine "Cosmopolitan" recently published a document it called "one of the greatest documents in all of history": the memoirs of Marshal Bertrand, who accompanied Napoleon in his last days and recorded everything he said and everything that befell him until the day of his death.

"The Woman's Voice" is pleased to reproduce in its pages, for the first time in the Arabic language, extracts from these memoirs, believing that a reading of them will profit its gracious lady readers.

"Suffering, like happiness — has its limit!"

The Emperor heard that the wife of General Montholon, who was with him in exile, had given birth to a daughter whom she named Josephine, and that she had suffered greatly during the delivery. He grimaced, and said dismissively:

"Suffering, like happiness, has its limit... and there is not in childbirth so much grievous pain as they claim."

Napoleon was on affectionate terms with the wife of the said general, and the author of the memoirs says that those relations deserved the chief credit for the standing the general enjoyed with the Emperor. He adds: the Emperor, even after he descends from his throne, remains a man...

After that comment, Napoleon passed on to say:

"The father has no great part in the begetting of offspring. He is needed only to play the part of the electric spark of life. But no father will ever be able to be sure that he himself is his child's father... while the mother who has carried it nine months can be sure that she is its mother."

"Tears pain me..."

Under the date of July 1, 1819, the author of the memoirs records the following:

Tomorrow Madame de Montholon (mentioned above) will depart for Europe, after speaking long and harshly to the Emperor, and after "bargaining" with spirit, demanding the price of her love and requiring him to pay it dear!

To the last moment Napoleon went on showering his tenderness upon this woman, whose parting grieved him deeply. He ordered the servants to carry to the ship great quantities of sweets to suffice her for the whole voyage, and to furnish her with everything she needed. And as a final blessing he bestowed on her two hundred thousand francs, a retirement pension of twenty thousand francs, and a golden box containing his portrait surrounded by large pieces of diamond.

When the moment of parting came, the Emperor received her with her children in his room. All of them began to weep — the woman and the children. The Emperor himself was shaken; he embraced them all and hurried out.

After her departure the Emperor said: "Tears pain me!" And he added: "I pity poor Montholon; grief will kill him. He will find a great emptiness in the house when he returns to it alone..."

"Love is an artificial sentiment..."

What did the man of war and politics think of love?

Napoleon said to the Marshal one day: "Love is an artificial sentiment created by society... I may not be the best judge to pronounce on this subject, since I am not a sentimental man... yet I am a man of feeling: I once passed a whole week — indeed, even two weeks — during which I did not sleep, on account of a woman... but I will not call that love!

Love does not endure in the absence of the beloved... And I do not believe that men are capable of keeping permanent feelings — if we except right thinking and honor...

I recall an incident: in the days when I was a junior officer in one of the camps at Auxonne, a girl fell deeply in love with a young man, but her mother did not approve of him. One day the mother ordered the carriage brought, and took her daughter with her on the pretext that they were going for an outing — and the carriage kept driving until it brought her to Bordeaux. The girl spent the first days weeping, and refused to take food. She remained so for a while, but then she began gradually to return to her former self, and before long she had forgotten everything. Do you not agree with me that love vanishes with the absence of the lover?"

Are women silly?!

"In my life I have met a good number of silly women; indeed, that led me to believe, for a time, that all women are so... But when I conversed with them, I would be astonished to find them capable of conscious argument, and of taking a definite position which they knew how to defend. Women are better than men at understanding certain things. And I would notice that there were matters and facts which men shrank from mentioning before me, while women mentioned them and took them up."

Divorce

On the subject of his divorce from Josephine, Napoleon declared:

"The divorce was a step of the utmost political importance, and so it was no problem for me. I was certain that I could easily win Josephine's consent.

When I had resolved upon it, I persuaded the Empress that the divorce was for her own good. I made her feel that I was crowning her head with a crown in divorcing her... and I said to her: What is the best way for me to secure for you, and for the future, the lofty station you have enjoyed? Is it not by strengthening my government and my dynasty? Hence it was necessary that I should have children, and it was for Josephine's good that the divorce should take place... She was convinced by all this, and all parties agreed upon this view."

His second wife

Napoleon confided one day to the Marshal:

"When I took the Empress Marie Louise as my wife, she was an innocent child who knew nothing of life. When she arrived, I asked her what instructions they had given her before she left Vienna. She said: To do whatever you want me to do! I said: Very well, then — I want you to spend this night with me!

He continued speaking of her, and said:

"She had one great, singular merit: she always told the truth, and she behaved in a way that proved she concealed nothing. In this she was the opposite of the Empress Josephine, who was made for lying...

The Empress Marie Louise always refused to read novels, for she believed that reading them corrupted her mind, and that she had no need of books to pass the time; she had occupations enough to fill her leisure: she had music, painting, and women's handiwork..."

Children

In exile Napoleon was fond of the children who played around him. He would invite them to visit him, especially on Sundays, and would sometimes seat them with him at table, where he offered them sweets and gifts. He followed their news and what happened to them at school, and encouraged them to study by giving prizes to the outstanding. The author of the memoirs says:

"Tonight the Emperor decided to give a prize to whoever came first in reciting the multiplication table. Little Hortense, eight years old, won. But the Emperor was at a loss what prize to give her, so he chose a prize he knew would win her pleasure: he bestowed on her his red coat, which had been the emblem of his first consulship, which had come to him as a gift from the city of Lyon, and in which the artist Ingres had painted his portrait. As he handed it to her he said: Take this, and make yourself a smart frock out of it!"

One of the Emperor's attendants discovered one day a treasure in one of the chests: a splendid leather case containing a portrait of his son, whom he used to call "the little falcon."

When Napoleon saw it, his face lit up and tears started to his eyes. He whispered: "Poor child... how cruel are the fates!..."

Then he turned to his attendant and said:

"Leave this case open on my table, so that I may see it every day."

"The men of the navy call me: half a great man!" said Napoleon. "But what is a great man?

If the great man is he who has left a mark upon the century in which he lived, as he has upon countries other than his own, and upon the future itself, then I am a great man. Voltaire, Montesquieu, Racine, Frederick, Turenne — all are great men; it is unjust to confine greatness to military men.

I grew up owning nothing, yet I mounted the greatest throne in the world. Nay, I mounted it and remained upon it without there being laid to my charge the accusation laid to most kings — the committing of crimes and massacres. I have left a mark upon France and upon Europe, a mark whose influence will endure for a thousand years. No history of England, or Holland, or Denmark, or Sweden, or Russia, or Prussia, or Austria, or Spain, or Italy will ever be written in which I have no mention.

I have fought in every corner of the world. I have transformed the art of war. My campaigns are immortal. I have taken part in more battles, drawn up the plans of more campaigns, and won more victories than any other man ever has."

"My greatest blunder," said Napoleon, "was my marriage to Marie Louise. I ought to have married a Russian, and thereby avoided the war with Russia. Marriage to an Austrian ran counter to my aims...

As for my war with Russia, it was no blunder. Were not Prussia and Austria at my side? Any man would have done what I did. As for the defeat that befell us — it is to be traced to other causes."

Suicide was a thought that crossed Napoleon's mind from time to time. He thought of it after the defeat of Waterloo; he thought of it at Fontainebleau, on the island of Aix, and in his exile at Saint Helena.

He said to the Marshal, the author of the memoirs:

"There is no doubt that a man has the right to kill himself... I thought of suicide at Fontainebleau; but had I carried it out, my act would have been an act of cowardice, from which it would be concluded that I could not bear misfortunes.

I ought to have died in the Kremlin, in Russia. I was then at the summit of my glory. My fame surpassed the fame of any man who ever lived. I had conquered most of the civilized countries and stormed all the capitals of Europe. Caesar himself did not then come up even to the straps of my shoes...

But had I perished at Waterloo, the matter would have been different: for by then I had come back from Russia beaten, and everyone knew my failing. So I say that I ought to have died in the Kremlin, in Moscow!"

At the opening of the year 1821, the author of the memoirs wrote:

The fates will not grant the Emperor to see the end of the year whose dawn breaks today.

New Year's Day. His waking today was a sad one. When the attendant entered his room in the morning and drew back the curtains, he heard a faint voice coming from the bed — a voice that scarcely reached the other end of the bed itself.

The Emperor asked:

"And now, what do you intend to give me for this New Year?"

He answered: "The hope, Sire, of seeing Your Majesty recover your health as quickly as possible, and leave this place, whose climate does your health the gravest harm."

Napoleon replied, saying: "This state of things will not last much longer, my boy. My end draws near. I cannot live much longer..."

His last hours

May 3, 1821:

From this day on, the Emperor no longer spoke to anyone. Only from time to time did disconnected words and phrases escape his dying lips. Thus, whenever the doctor gave him sweetened wine, he would repeat after every sip these words, repeating them with the sweetness and innocence of a child:

"Good, good, very good..."

He is very weak. He has not strength enough to refuse anything, but accepts all that is given him, submissively. He would sneeze, and say: "Marchand, you lucky rascal!..."

He would keep silent for a long while — and then suddenly cry out:

"What is my son's name?!"

And Marchand would answer him: "Napoleon!"

His death

May 5, 1821:

The Emperor could not open his eyes. He is more like a corpse than anything else. His chest is covered with the saliva issuing from his mouth. The windows of the room are open.

The doctor arrives, and lays his fingers on his stomach to examine it; it sounds like a drum. From six to a quarter past six he sneezes and moans with pain. He looks to the left, but his eyes see nothing.

At eight in the morning deep groans arise, whistling. They seem to the listener to come from a machine, not from a human body. A tear rolls from the edge of his left eye. I wiped it away for him. Arnott marvels at the Emperor's attachment to life.

Between half past ten and eleven, stillness. He breathes quietly. His whole body is without motion, though in the depths of his eyes there are faint movements. But life has lost its last traces.

*

And at 39 minutes past 5 on the afternoon of that same day, Napoleon died.