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XIII. had dedicated France to the Virgin, and was therefore already a national festival. As to his name, which he wished to have spelled and pronounced Bonaparte, its true orthography was decidedly Italian, Buona-Parté: he tells O'Meara, that

When he first commanded the army of Italy, he had used the U, to please the Italians; that after his return from Egypt, he dropped it; that in fact the chiefs of the family, and those who had been highest, had spelled their names with the U; adding what a mighty affair had been made of so trivial a matter.'—vol. ii. p. 93.

This latter stroke must have been aimed at ourselves, who first, we believe, detected this trick: the observation, however, is not so trivial a matter as Buonaparte would have us think; in itself, indeed, the matter is utterly indifferent; but as a test of Buonaparte's veracity, it is of importance-it is the straw which we throw up, to see how the wind sets.

* !

Now so far is it from being true, that he used the U to please the Italians, on obtaining the command of the army of Italy, that the very pages of the Moniteur contradict him. At the siege of Toulon he was Buona-Parte. On the 13h Vendémiaire, Barras first brings him to public notice as General Buona-Parte; soon after he is appointed second in command of the army of the interior, by the name of Buonaparte; and we will venture to assert, that no document, written or printed, can be produced, of the word Bonaparte, until he began to form his plans for mounting to the sovereign power, and wished to persuade his intended subjects, who would have despised a Genoese-Corsican, that he was a Frenchman.


In the wide circle of his enmities there is hardly any one whom he marks with grosser abuse than Talleyrand; he admits him to have been a clever man, but there is scarcely any vice of which a man in private or in public can be guilty, of which he does not accuse his former minister; but he dwells particularly on his being an intriguer and a liar. We do not mean to undertake M. Talleyrand's defence; but as we happen to be in possession of a most curious document, which not only proves that poor Talleyrand was not the author of all the intrigues he may have practised, or of all the lies he may have told, we think it but justice to him to lay it before the world. We also are the more pleased in being able to do so, because Buonaparte, with his usual justice and urbanity, has characterised our amiable and excellent countryman Lord Whitworth as being also an intriguer. The paper which we are about to produce will satisfy our readers of the value of such a charge out of the mouth of Buonaparte. But it is still more valuable as an historical record, and as a proof at once of the shrewdness of Napoleon, and of the mean and


tricky spirit which actuated even his most important proceedings. The paper has been known in the higher circles ever since 1815, when it fell into the hands of a distinguished Englishman at Paris, who has preserved it as a most curious autograph; but no copy that we know of has ever been laid before the public. It is a confidential answer in Buonaparte's own handwriting to a communication made by Talleyrand in the last days of Lord Whitworth's negociation at the Consular Court in 1803, and contains not only instructions for the tricks which Talleyrand is to endeavour to practise on the English ambassador, but prescribes to Talleyrand himself the very air, the very look he is to assume, and the very spot of his apartment in which he is to make this or that observation.

Of so curious a paper we shall give both the original and a translation.


* **.1

St. Cloud a 4.

'Je reçus votre lettre que m'a été remise à la Malmaison. Je desire que la conference ne se tourne pas en parlage. Mettez vous y, froid, altier et même un peu fier!



Si la note contient le mot ultimatum fait lui sentir que ce mot renferme celui de guerre, que cette maniere de negocier est d'un superieur à un inferieur, si la note ne contient pas ce mot, fait qu'il le mette, en lui observant qu'il faut enfin savoir à quoi nous en tenir, que nous sommes las de cet état d'anxieté, que jamais on n'obtiendra de nous ce que l'on a obtenu des dernieres années des Bourbons, que nous ne sommes plus ce peuple qui recevoit un commissaire à Dunkerque, que l'ultimatum remis tout deviendra rompu.

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Effrayez le sur les suites de cette remise s'il est inebranlable, accompanez le dans votre salon; au point de vous quitter dites lui "mais le cap et l'isle de Goree sont ils evacues," radoucissez un peu la fin de la conference, et invitez le à revenir avant d'ecrire a sa Cour enfin que vous puisiez lui dire l'impression qu'elle a fait sur moi-qu'elle pouvoit etre diminuée par l'assurance de l'evacuation du Cap et de l'isle de Goree. · B.


'St. Cloud 44.

I received your letter at Malmaison. I desire that the conference* (with Lord Whitworth) may not turn into talk-put on an air, cold, high, and even a little haughty.

If the (British) note contains the word ultimatum, observe to him that this word includes the word war-that such a style of negociation is that of a superior towards an inferior. If the note does not contain that word, make him put it in by observing to him that we must know

*This relates to the conference of the 26th April, 1803. It will be seen, in the papers laid before Parliament, that Lord Whitworth baffled Buonaparte's trick, by not delivering any note, and by confining himself to a VERBAL explanation of his former communications.


clearly and finally what we are about-that we are tired of this state of anxiety that never shall they obtain from us what they obtained during the last years of the Bourbons-that we are no longer the same people who submitted to have an (English) commissary at Dunkirk— that if the ultimatum be postponed all will be broken off.

Frighten him on the consequences of the postponement.

'If you cannot shake him, accompany him through the outward room, and just when you are about to quit him say" but the Cape and the island of Gorée, have they been evacuated ?” (which he knew they had).


Soften a little towards the end of the conference, and invite him to see you again before he writes to his Court, "in order that you may "tell him the impression it has made upon me, which may be dimi"nished by the assurance of the evacuation of the Cape and Goree."'..

This would not be the place to make any historical observations on this very important document as connected with the rupture with France in 1803, nor shall we attempt to decide how far diplomacy may justify such tricks as the above paper prescribes. The Chancellor Seguier said, two hundred years ago,

Qu'il y avoit deux sortes de conscience-l'une d'etat, qu'il falloit accommoder a la necessité des affaires : l'autre a nos actions particulieres,' But under any circumstances a person who thinks himself justified in practising such falsehood and duplicity has no right to charge such errors in the grossest language on two persons, one of whom was the instrument and the other only the object of his own intended fraud.

It would require a volume as large as O'Meara's to develope all the falsehoods and calumnies which Buonaparte registers against so many individuals; but there is one so very black and malignant, that we must give its refutation a place.

"Madame Campan," continued Napoleon, “had a very indifferent opinion of Marie Antoinette. She told me that a person, well known for his attachment to the queen, came to see her at Versailles, on the 5th or 6th October, where he remained all night. The palace was stormed by the populace. Marie Antoinette fled undressed from her own chamber to that of the king for shelter, and the lover descended from the window. On going to seek the queen in her bed-room, Madame Campan found she was absent, but discovered a pair of breeches, which the favourite had left behind in his haste, and which were immediately recognized."-vol. i. p. 122.

This diabolical story fixes a more indelible disgrace on Buonaparte's character, than any thing we have ever heard concerning him. This abominable slander of that heroic woman, may be placed by the side of the before-unparalleled calumny with which, at her trial, Hebert insulted human nature. If Madame Campan had told Buonaparte this horrible tale, he must have


known it to be false. The scene and circumstances of the dreadful night between the 5th and 6th October are too notorious to leave any doubt, how, and where, and with whom the unhappy queen passed every moment of that horrible interval: every body knows that the palace had been blockaded from an early hour in the evening by fiends, who particularly besieged the apartments of the queen; the female part of the crowd showing the aprons in which they intended, they said, to carry off-why should we pollute our language with such horrors?' les entrailles de l'Autrichienne, dont elles feraient des cocardes. The windows of this apartment are about thirty feet from the ground; and it was this very night of horrors that Buonaparte affected to believe the queen had dedicated to an adulterous intrigue! and it was from this window, and into this crowd, that he supposed the naked lover to have escaped! No, not in all the obscene and absurd libels of the Revolution was there any thing so false and so absurd as this; it was reserved for Buonaparte and O'Meara, and it is worthy of them.

But, oh! wonderful coincidence! while we are writing these lines, we receive the Memoirs of Madame Campan herself-memoirs, the existence of which neither Buonaparte nor O'Meara knew of, and which-in a manner that, on such a subject, we may almost venture to call providential-disprove the black ca lumny, and fix, in burning characters, on the forehead of Buonaparte himself, that name which he was so ready to give to others LIAR.'

Madame Campan was first woman of the bed-chamber to the queen; after escaping, almost by a miracle, through the reign of terror, she, for her maintenance, applied her talents to the educa→ tion of young ladies; her rank, her character, (and particularly on account of her fidelity to her late mistress) soon placed her at the head of the most extensive, and one of the most respectable, seminaries in France: under her care were placed the young Beauharnais, Buonaparte's step-children;—hence an acquaintance with Buonaparte, which he has abused, to give currency and colour to the scandalous falsehood which O'Meara has published.

Madame Campan died last year; and in her bureau were found most curious and authentic memoirs of her life during her service about the queen, which was so intimate and assiduous, that the memoirs may well be called memoirs of the queen herself. We have suspended this review to read them; we have read them with delight, and with most delight to find, not an argumentative, but a plain direct physical proof-not merely of the queen's innocence; that required none; but-of the entire and absolute falsehood of Buonaparte. Not only was it impossible




that such a fact could have happened, but it is equally impossible that Madame Campan could have told any thing like it to Buonaparte: she adored the queen; she, on all occasions, indignantly refutes the various slanders (none so bad as this) with which the O'Mearas of that day, and perhaps Buonaparte himself, who was a violent though obscure jacobin, reviled that innocent and admirable woman.

The queen, Madam Campan relates, sat up that night, accom panied by her family and usual attendants, harassed by the infuriate yells of the furies who had surrounded her apartment from an early hour the preceding evening. About two o'clock in the morning fatigue subdued a little the noise and violence of the mob; and the queen herself, wearied out by the toils and the troubles of the eventful day, was undressed, as usual, by her two ladies, (one was Madame Campan's sister,) and soon fell asleep. She, with her usual kindness, ordered these ladies also to retire to repose;they fortunately disobeyed her; perhaps, indeed, they might have found some difficulty in getting away, for the mob was on the staircases, and besieged the doors. They, therefore, with their own two femmes-de-chambre, sat down clustered together-with their backs against the door of the queen's bed-chamber; in this feverish state they remained for about two hours; but at halff-past four o'clock, shots and dreadful cries announced the renewal of the attack; the apartment was assailed by the reinforced mob; the doors were forced; the garde du corps who attempted to defend them, massacred; and the ladies had barely time to hurry the queen away, by a back passage which communicated with the king's apartment. While the queen thus sought the king, he, equally alarmed for her, had proceeded to her chamber; he pursued a private passage which communicated from his bed-room to her's, and of which he had the keys;-(what a scene for a dishonourable intrigue!)-but, on his arrival, found only the guards, who, beaten from the exterior room, had barricaded themselves in this; he then hurried back to his own apartment, and there had the momentary consolation of finding his wife and children safe and assembled. So far we have traced the queen. Now for Madame Campan, who, it appears, never visited the queen's room at all that morning; she happened not to be in waiting; but before the royal family were dragged to Paris, the queen sent for her to confide to her care, and that of her father-in-law, some valuable effects; directing her, with tears and caresses, to follow her to Paris, where she would endeavour to have the consolation of her service.

If we wished merely to create a sensation of horror against a monster worse than the wretches who only murdered the unhappy


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