Catinat; Turenne; Condé.—Questions Respecting the Greatest Battle Fought by the Emperor; The Best Troops, &C

28th.—The Emperor did not go out until four o’clock; he had spent three hours in the bath. The weather was very unpleasant, and in consequence he merely took a few turns in the garden. He had just written to inform the Governor that henceforth he would receive no strangers, unless they were admitted to Longwood by passes from the Grand Marshal, as in the time of Admiral Cockburn.

The Emperor proposed playing a game at chess; but, before he sat down to do so, he took up a volume of Fenelon. It was La Direction de Conscience d’un Roi. He read to us several articles, criticising them with considerable spirit and gaiety. At length he threw down the volume, saying that the name of an author had never influenced him in forming an opinion of his writings; that he always judged of works according to the sentiments with which they inspired him; being always equally willing to praise or to censure. He added that, in spite of the name of Fenelon, he had no hesitation in declaring that the work he had just looked through was a mere string of rhapsodies; and truly it would be difficult to refute this assertion.

After dinner, the Emperor conversed about the old marine establishment, and alluded to M. de Grasse, and his defeat on the 12th of April. He wished to learn some particulars on this subject; and he asked for the Dictionary of Sieges and Battles. He looked over it, and it afforded him matter for a multitude of observations. Catinat came under his consideration, and the remarks he made on that commander lowered him infinitely in our estimation. Napoleon said that he thought him very inferior to the reputation he enjoyed, after viewing the scenes of his operations in Italy, and reading his correspondence with Louvois. “Having risen from the tiers-état,” said he, “and being educated for the law, distinguished for urbanity of manners and moral integrity, affecting the practice of equality, residing at St. Gratien, at the gates of Paris, Catinat became the favourite of the literati of the capital and the philosophers of the day, who exalted him beyond his real merits. He was in no way comparable to Vendôme.”

The Emperor said, that he had endeavoured, in the same manner, to study the characters of Turenne and Condé, suspecting that they were also the objects of exaggerated eulogy; but that he was convinced those two men were fully entitled to all the commendation that has been bestowed on them. With regard to Turenne, he remarked that his intrepidity encreased in proportion as he acquired experience; as he grew old, he evinced greater courage than he seemed to possess in early life. The contrary was observable in Condé, who displayed so much dauntless valour at the commencement of his career.

Now that I am alluding to Turenne, Condé, and other distinguished men, I may mention, as a curious fact, that I never, by any chance, heard Napoleon utter the name of Frederick the Great. Yet many circumstances prove that Frederick held a high rank in Napoleon’s regard. The large silver watch, a kind of alarum used by that Prince, which hangs by the fire-place in the Emperor’s apartment at St. Helena;—the eagerness with which Napoleon, on his entrance into Potzdam, seized the sword of the Prussian hero, exclaiming, “Let those who will seek other spoil; I value this beyond millions!”—finally, his long and silent contemplation of the tomb of Frederick—sufficiently attest the deep interest which Napoleon attached to every thing connected with that sovereign.

In the Dictionary of Sieges and Battles, which the Emperor was looking over to-day, he found his name mentioned in every page; but connected with anecdotes either totally false, or at least misstated. This led him to exclaim against the whole swarm of inferior writers, and their unworthy abuse of the pen. “Literature,” he said, “had become the food of the vulgar, while it ought to have been reserved exclusively for people of refined taste.

“For example,” said the Emperor, “it is affirmed that, when at Arcole, I one night took the post of a sentinel who had fallen asleep. This idea was doubtless conceived by a citizen, by a lawyer, perhaps, but certainly not by a soldier. The author evidently wishes to represent me in a favourable point of view; and he of course imagined that nothing could reflect greater credit on me than the story he has invented. He certainly wrote it with the view of doing me honour; but he knew not that I was totally incapable of the action he describes. I was much too fatigued for any such thing; and it is very probable that I should myself have fallen asleep before the sentinel.”

We then enumerated about fifty or sixty great battles that had been fought by the Emperor. Some one present having asked which was the greatest, the Emperor replied that it was difficult to answer that question, since it was first necessary to enquire what was meant by the greatest battle. “Mine,” continued he, “cannot be judged of separately. They had no unity of place, action or design. They formed merely a portion of extensive plans. They can therefore only be judged of by their results. The battle of Marengo, which was so long undecided, procured for us the dominion of all Italy; Ulm annihilated a whole army; Jena threw the whole Prussian monarchy into our hands; Friedland opened to us the Russian empire; and Eckmühl decided the fate of a war. The battle of Moscow was one in which the greatest talent was displayed, and in which the fewest results were obtained. Waterloo, where every thing failed, would, had every thing succeeded, have saved France and re-established Europe.”

Madame de Montholon having asked what troops might be accounted the best, “Those who gain victories, Madam,” replied the Emperor. “But,” added he, “soldiers are capricious and inconstant, like you ladies. The best troops were the Carthagenians under Hannibal; the Romans under the Scipios; the Macedonians under Alexander; and the Prussians under Frederick.” He thought, however, he might safely affirm that the French troops were, of all others, those who could most easily be rendered the best, and preserved so.

“With my complete guard of 40 or 50,000 men, I would have pledged myself to march through all Europe. It may, perhaps, be possible to produce troops as good as those who composed my army of Italy and Austerlitz; but certainly nothing can ever surpass them.”

The Emperor, who had dwelt for a considerable time on this subject, which was so interesting to him, suddenly recollecting himself, asked what it was o’clock. He was informed that it was eleven.—“Well,” said he, rising, “we at least have the merit of having got through our evening without the help of either tragedy or comedy.”