No man possessed greater sensibility, or evinced more constancy in his affections than Napoleon. He tenderly loved his mother, he adored his wife, and he was fondly attached to his sisters, brothers, and other relatives. All, with the exception of his mother, caused him the bitterest vexation; yet he never ceased to overwhelm them with riches and honours. Of all his relations, his brother Lucien proved himself the most determined opposer of his views and plans. One day, while they were disputing warmly on a subject which has now escaped my recollection, Lucien drew out his watch, and dashing it violently on the ground, he addressed to his brother these remarkable words: "You will destroy yourself, as I have destroyed that watch; and the time will come when your family and friends will not know where to shelter their heads." He married a few days after, without obtaining his brother's consent, or even signifying his intention to him. This, however, did not prevent Napoleon from receiving him in 1815; though it was not without being urged to do so: Lucien was obliged to wait at the out-posts; but he was speedily admitted to the Emperor's presence.

Napoleon did not confine his generosity to his relatives; friendship, services, all met their due reward. On this I can speak from experience. I returned from Egypt, in the rank of aide-de-camp to the brave General Desaix, and with two hundred louis which I had saved, and which constituted my whole fortune. At the time of the abdication, I possessed an income of 400,000 francs, arising out of endowments, appointments, emoluments, extraordinary allowances, &c. I have lost five sixths of this income; but I do not regret it: that which I still possess forms a vast contrast to my early fortune. But what I regret is the glory acquired at the price of so much blood and exertion: it is for ever lost, and for that I am inconsolable.

I was not the only one who shared the bounty of Napoleon; a thousand others were in like manner overwhelmed with favours; and the injury which he suffered, through the misconduct of some, proved no bar to the exercise of his kindness. Whatever might be the depth of these injuries, they were forgotten as soon as he was convinced that the heart had no share in producing them. I could cite a hundred instances of his indulgence in this respect; but the following will suffice.

When he took the title of Emperor, the changes that were made in his household, which had been hitherto exclusively military, gave umbrage to several of us. We had been accustomed to enjoy the intimacy of the great man, and we felt displeased at the reserve imposed upon us by the imperial purple.

Generals Regnier and Damas were at that time in disgrace: I was intimate with both, and I was not in the habit of abandoning my friends in misfortune. I had exerted every effort to remove Napoleon's prejudices against these two general officers; but without success. I one day resumed my intercession in favour of Regnier; and Napoleon becoming impatient and out of humour, told me, dryly, that he wished to hear no more about him. I wrote to inform the brave General, that all my endeavours had proved unavailing: I entreated him to have patience; and added a few phrases dictated by the disappointment of the moment. I was so imprudent as to entrust my letter to the conveyance of the post; and the consequence was, that it was opened and sent to the Emperor. He read it over three or four times, ordered some of my writing to be brought to him for the purpose of comparing it, and could scarcely persuade himself that I had written it. He flew into a violent rage, and despatched a courier from Saint Cloud to the Tuileries, where I was lodged. I thought I was summoned for a mission, and set out immediately. I found Caulincourt in the saloon of the household with Cafarelli, and I asked him what was the news. He had heard the whole affair; he seemed much vexed by it: but he said not a word about it to me. I entered the apartments of Napoleon, who came out of his closet, with the letter in his hand, in a furious rage. He darted upon me those angry glances, which so often excited dismay. "Do you know this writing?" said he.—"Yes, Sire,"—"It is yours?"—"Yes, Sire."—"You are the last person I should have suspected of this. Is it possible that you can hold such language to my enemies? You, whom I have treated so well! You, for whom I have done so much! You, the only one of all my aides-de-camp, whom I lodged in the Tuileries!"—The door of his closet was ajar: he observed this, and he threw it wide open, in order that M. Menneval, one of the secretaries, might hear what passed. "Begone," said he, scanning me from head to foot, "begone; you are an ungrateful man!"—"Sire," I replied, "my heart was never guilty of ingratitude."—"Read this letter," said he, presenting it to me, "and judge whether I accuse you wrongfully."—"Sire, of all the reproaches that you can heap upon me, this is the most severe. Having lost your confidence, I can no longer serve you."—"Yes, you have indeed forfeited my confidence." I bowed respectfully, and withdrew.

I resolved to retire to Alsace, and I was making preparations for my departure, when Josephine sent to desire me to return and make my best apologies to Napoleon. Louis, however, gave me contrary advice, and I was not much inclined to obey the directions of the Empress, as my resolution was formed. Two days elapsed, and I heard no news from Saint Cloud. Some friends, among whom was Marshal BessiÈres, called on me. "You are in the wrong," said the Marshal, "you cannot but acknowledge it. The respect and gratitude you owe to the Emperor render it a duty to confess your fault." I yielded to these suggestions. No sooner had Napoleon received my letter, than he desired me to attend him in one of his rides on horseback. He was out of humour with me for some time; but one day he sent for me very early at Saint Cloud. "I am no longer angry with you," said he, with exceeding kindness of manner; "you were guilty of a great piece of folly; but it is all over—I have forgotten it. It is my wish that you should marry." He mentioned two young ladies, either of whom, he said, would suit me. My marriage was brought about; but unfortunately it did not prove a happy one.

Bernadotte was in the deepest disgrace, and he deserved it. I met him at PlombiÈres, whither he had been permitted to go, accompanied by his wife and son, for the benefit of the waters; and I had visited the place for the same purpose. I had always admired Bernadotte's kind and amiable disposition. I saw him frequently at PlombiÈres. He communicated to me the circumstance that most distressed him, and begged that I would use my influence to bring about his reconciliation with the Emperor, whom he said he had never ceased to admire, and who had been prepossessed against him by calumnious reports. On my return I learned that his friends, his brother-in-law, and Madame Julie herself, had uselessly interceded in his behalf. Napoleon would hear nothing they had to say; and his irritation against Bernadotte continually increased. But I had promised to do what I could for him; and I was bound to keep my word. The Emperor was preparing to set out for Villiers, where Murat was to give a fÊte: he was in high good-humour, and I determined to avail myself of this favourable circumstance. I communicated my design to Marshal BessiÈres, who, with myself, was to attend the Emperor: he tried to dissuade me from my intention. He informed me that Madame Julie had that very morning been at Malmaison, and that she had departed in tears for the ill success of her suit. This circumstance was not calculated to inspire me with confidence; but I nevertheless ventured on my mediation. I informed Napoleon that I had seen Bernadotte at PlombiÈres, that he was dejected and deeply mortified by his disgrace. "He protests," added I, "that he has never failed in his love and devotion for your Majesty."—"Do not speak of him; he deserves to be shot," said Napoleon; and he set off at full gallop. At Murat's fÊte, I met Joseph and his wife; and I told them how unlucky I had been. The affair came to the knowledge of Bernadotte, who thanked me for my good intentions. Notwithstanding his numerous misunderstandings with Bernadotte, Napoleon subsequently forgave all his past offences, and loaded him with wealth and honours. The Prince Royal is now about to ascend the throne, while the author of his fortune is exiled to a rock in the midst of the ocean.