Fresh Instance of the Governor’s Malignity, &c.—Desperate Project of Santini, the Corsican

29th.—The weather had been bad for some days; the Emperor took advantage of a fine interval to examine a tent, which the admiral had, in a very handsome manner, ordered to be erected for his accommodation by his ship’s crew, having heard him complain, in the course of conversation, of the want of shade, and of the impossibility of enjoying himself in the air out of his apartment. The Emperor conversed with the officer and men who were putting the last hand to the work, and ordered a napoleon to be given to each of the seamen.

We learnt to-day that the last vessel had brought a book on the state of public affairs for the Emperor, written, as it was said, by a Member of Parliament. It had been sent by the author himself, and the following words were inscribed in letters of gold on the outside,—To Napoleon the Great. This circumstance induced the Governor to keep back the work, a rigour, on his part, which formed a singular contrast with his eagerness to supply us with libels, that treated the Emperor so disrespectfully.

During dinner, the Emperor, turning, with a stern look, to one of the servants in waiting, exclaimed, to our utter consternation: “So then, assassin, you intended to kill the Governor!—Wretch!—If such a thought ever again enters your head, you will have to do with me; you will see how I shall behave to you.” And then, addressing himself to us, he said, “Gentlemen, it is Santini, there, who determined to kill the Governor. That rascal was about to involve us in a sad embarrassment. I found it necessary to exert all my authority, all my indignation to restrain him.”

In order to explain this extraordinary transaction, it is necessary for me to observe that Santini, who was formerly usher of the Emperor’s cabinet, and whose extreme devotion had prompted him to follow his master and serve him, no matter, he said, in what capacity, was a Corsican, of deep feeling and a warm imagination. Enraged at the Governor’s ill usage, no longer able to bear with patience the affronts which he saw heaped upon the Emperor, exasperated at the decline of his health, and affected himself with a distracting melancholy, he had, for some time, done no work in the house, and, under pretence of procuring some game for the Emperor’s table, his employment seemed to be that of shooting in the neighbourhood. In a moment of confidence, he told his countryman Cypriani that he had formed the project, by the means of his double barrelled piece, of killing the Governor, and then putting an end to himself. And all, said he, to rid the world of a monster.

Cypriani, who knew his countryman’s character, was shocked at his determination, and communicated it to several other servants. They all united in entreating him to lay aside his design, but their efforts, instead of mitigating, seemed but to inflame his irritation. They resolved then to disclose the project to the Emperor, who had him instantly brought before him: “And it was only,” he told me some time afterwards, “by imperial, by pontifical authority, that I finally succeeded in making the scoundrel desist altogether from his project. Observe for a moment the fatal consequences which he was about to produce. I should have also passed for the murderer, the assassin, of the Governor, and in reality it would have been very difficult to destroy such an impression in the mind of a great number of people.”

The Emperor read to us La Mort de Pompée, which was stated in the journals to be the subject of general interest at Paris, on account of its political allusions. And this gave rise to the remark that government had been obliged to forbid the representation of Richard, and that, certainly on the fifth and sixth of October, Louis XVI. little thought of its ever being prohibited for its allusions to another. “The fact is that times are wonderfully changed,” said the Emperor.

30th.—The Emperor, after a few turns in the garden, went to General Gourgaud’s apartment, where he was a long time employed, with his compasses and pencil, in laying down the coast of Syria, and the plan of Saint Jean d’Acre, which the general was to execute. In marking some points about Acre, he said:—“I passed many unpleasant moments there.”

In the evening we had Le Mariage de Figaro, which entertained and interested us much more than we had been led to expect. “It was,” observed the Emperor, in shutting the book, “the Revolution already put into action.”