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Mirrored as these dialogues are in the eddies of Gourgaud's moods, they may tinge his master's theology with too much of gloom: but, after all, they are by far the most lifelike record of Napoleon's later years, and they show us a nature dominated by the tangible. As for belief in the divine Christ, there seems not a trace.
When la grande Maréchale ventured to desert the Emperor's table on these and other festive occasions, her growing fondness for the English drew on her sharp rebukes from the ex-Emperor and a request not to treat Longwood as if it were an inn. Many jottings in Gourgaud's diary show that the same policy was thenceforth strictly maintained.
The editors of Gourgaud's "Journal" maintain that there was no change; they hint that the "Journal" may have been an elaborate device for throwing dust into Lowe's eyes; and they point to the fact that before leaving the island Gourgaud received secret instructions from Napoleon bidding him convey to Europe several small letters sewn into the soles of his boots.
Helena gave them a convenient weapon, the voyage was for her one long struggle against covert intrigues, thinly veiled sarcasms, sea-sickness, and despair. At last she has to keep to her cabin, owing to some nervous disorder. On hearing of this Napoleon remarks that it is better she should die such is Gourgaud's report of his words.
Mirrored as these dialogues are in the eddies of Gourgaud's moods, they may tinge his master's theology with too much of gloom: but, after all, they are by far the most lifelike record of Napoleon's later years, and they show us a nature dominated by the tangible. As for belief in the divine Christ, there seems not a trace.
This seems consonant with what we know of Gourgaud's character: frank, volatile, and sensitive, he could never have long sustained a policy of literary and diplomatic deceit. He was not a compound of Chatterton and Fouché. His "Journal" is the artless outpouring of wounded vanity and brings us close to the heart of the hero-worshipper and his hero.
It is a well-known axiom that persons who speak or write anything while jealousy or temper holds them in its grip may not be counted as reliable people to follow, and that is exactly what happened in Gourgaud's case. He was the Peter of the band of disciples at St.
Scarce stirred from one room to another, but at bed-time finished a handsome handful of copy. I have quoted Gourgaud's evidence; I suppose he will be in a rare passion, and may be addicted to vengeance, like a long-moustached son of a French bitch as he is. Naboclish! again for that. "Frenchman, Devil, or Don, Damn him, let him come on, He shan't scare a son of the Island." May 28.
Helena gave them a convenient weapon, the voyage was for her one long struggle against covert intrigues, thinly veiled sarcasms, sea-sickness, and despair. At last she has to keep to her cabin, owing to some nervous disorder. On hearing of this Napoleon remarks that it is better she should die such is Gourgaud's report of his words.
This seems consonant with what we know of Gourgaud's character: frank, volatile, and sensitive, he could never have long sustained a policy of literary and diplomatic deceit. He was not a compound of Chatterton and Fouché. His "Journal" is the artless outpouring of wounded vanity and brings us close to the heart of the hero-worshipper and his hero.
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