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