Napoleon acts like a brat on St. Helena; his valet ignores stupid accusations
Un certain jour, l'Empereur, pour être couché plus au large, eut l'idée de se faire un grand lit de ses deux petits lits de campagne en les faisant accoupler ensemble. Sa volonté fut aussitôt exécutée. Mais les couvertures, assez grandes pour les petits lits séparés, ne le furent plus assez pour garnir la longueur et la largeur des deux lits réunis. Un soir, étant un peu de mauvaise humeur, et ne sachant à qui ou à quoi s'en prendre, il trouva que ses épaules n'étaient pas assez garnies ; il prétendit que nous avions coupé les couvertures. C'était une idée comme une autre, mais à laquelle il n'y avait rien à répliquer; une justification était inutile. Ce que l'on avait de mieux à faire, quand il était mal monté, c'était de garder le silence, eût-on raison ou tort ; et le parti que nous prenions, c'était de redoubler de zèle pour son service et de ne rien négliger de ce qui pouvait lui être utile ou agréable. Si parfois il lui arrivait de chagriner ceux qui étaient constamment autour de lui, il savait toujours revenir à eux et leur prodiguer ses caresses. Les deux lits restèrent accouplés pendant une quinzaine environ, et ensuite ils furent séparés et remis à leurs places primitives.
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One day, the Emperor, in order to lie more spaciously, had the idea of making a large bed from his two small campaign beds by having them brought together. His wish was immediately carried out. But the blankets, large enough for the separate small beds, were no longer large enough to cover the length and width of the two beds joined together. One evening, being a little bad-tempered, and not knowing who or what to blame, he found that his shoulders were not sufficiently covered; he claimed that we had cut the blankets. It was an idea like any other, to which there was no reply; an excuse was useless. The best thing to do, when he was bad tempered, was to keep silent, whether one was right or wrong; and the course we took was to redouble our zeal for his service and to neglect nothing that could be useful or agreeable to him. If sometimes he happened to upset those who were constantly around him, he always knew how to return to them and lavish them with his caresses. The two beds remained coupled for about fifteen days, and then they were separated and put back in their original places.
Comtesse de Kielmannsegge meets Napoleon for the first time, is enchanted
She is sitting in an armchair in an anteroom waiting for an audience with the Emperor.
(Translated)
The Emperor's attendant, whom I did not know, sat down next to my armchair, against the fireplace. After considering me for a moment, he finally said, "Madame, the Emperor knows you better than you think." To which I replied, "God grant it, sir!" Finally, the Grand Master of Ceremonies, the Count de Ségur, advanced, looking important, cane in hand, toward Madame de Luçay and told her that she would be shown in alone with the Duchess of Courland to the Emperor. As he said this, Monsieur de Ségur looked at me out of the corner of his eye in such a meaningful way that I felt faint for a moment. The audience was short, and when the ladies reappeared in the antechamber, the chamberlain, who was standing at the door of the imperial study, called me in. I entered. The door closed. Before me, the Emperor, standing, looked at me with such charming kindness and gentleness that, for a sensitive and troubled heart like mine, it was as if heaven had opened. "So you are finally here!" he said. "You know what is happening. Your compatriots and friends cannot deny the facts. What do you think of this affair? What would you like from me?" "Sire," he replied, "I would like a word of consolation from your lips, and only from yours. I would like Your Majesty to release M. von Kielmannsegge, because he is the father of my children, although I have no reason to be pleased with him. Your Majesty should be deeply moved by the loyalty and gratitude I will always feel for this favor." The Emperor then elaborated on this subject. He spoke to me with warm emotion about myself and my children. He informed me of many things and granted me Kielmannsegge's release on the condition that I remain in Paris with my children and that, as far as possible, I do not support my husband's projects financially. He himself wrote to the King of Saxony about this shortly afterward. Then he dismissed me with these words: "I am and will remain your best friend. Count on me. You will see that I will be a father to your children. You have suffered enough. I want happiness to come to you now from me." I could only reply: "Sire, I will always be happy with you."
Mémoires de la comtesse de Kielmannsegge sur Napoléon Ier, d'aprés la manuscrit original des archives du comte Guerrino zu Lynar / Translated from the German by Joseph Delage v.1-2, p.31, 1863.
Hello napowarsblr. Here is my review for "Monsieur N" from 2003, in case anyone else had this in their watchlist. do I recommend? No. So little happens I can't even get super annoyed by historical inaccuracy it seems like they just wanted a bunch of their OCs to meet Napoleon...
Also this might be one of the worst Napoleon actors of all time he looks nothing like him. usually I try not to get too bogged down with the "he doesn't look like him!" But this is so bad I genuinely couldn't pick him out from the rest of the cast when they were wearing casual clothing. Maybe I also have face blindness
(I stand by my last point someone needs to make a biopic about Joseph seeing the Jersey Devil)
Napoleon messes around with his ridiculous feathered hat
Friday, January 1st [1813]. The Empress and her retinue of forty ladies of the palace attended mass at the Tuileries. Beside the two Majesties was Queen Hortense. Although the Emperor has put on weight, he looks unwell and aged. He wore his tunic embroidered with scarlet velvet, a toque with feathers, and all the diamond decorations. One can guess his character from the way he fiddles with his toque, nervously folding and crumpling it between his fingers without any consideration; But the object, yielding to pressure, gives way and resumes its original shape without any apparent damage. After Mass, there was the Emperor's circle. The Sovereign passed without stopping before several ladies of a higher rank than mine and advanced amicably towards me. I curtsied to him, and he returned my bow with a slightly mischievous air, giving me an equally deep one, accompanied by that pleasant smile he wears in his good moments.
“Good morning, Madame de Kielmannsegge,” he began.
“Yes, Sire,” I replied, “a fine and good day, which has brought us Your Majesty.”
But scarcely had I uttered these words when his face darkened, and he continued: “As for you, yes, I know, you have pitied me. We have suffered greatly.”
“We too, Sire, for you were far away, and we wished you were here.”
“This evening you will go to the Empress. You will tell me about your affairs, and I will tell you about mine.”
Napoleon Bonaparte and Joséphine announce the end of their marriage.
9 p.m.: “At the Assemblée de famille, present at which were Napoleon, Josephine, Murat, Jérôme Bonaparte, Louis Bonaparte, Eugène de Beauharnais, Cambacérès, Regnault de St Jean d’Angély (Secretary of State for the Imperial Family) Julie Clary (wife of Joseph Bonaparte), Hortense de Beauharnais, Pauline Bonaparte and Caroline Bonaparte, the official dissolution of the civil marriage was announced.”
Afterwards, the couple gave official statements in the Salle du Trône to the assembled dignitaries.
Napoleon: “God knows what such a decision has cost to my heart! But there is no sacrifice that is beyond my courage if it is shown to be for the good of France. I must add that, far from having any reason for reproach, I have nothing but praise for the attachment and the affection of my beloved wife: she has graced fifteen years of my life; the memory of them will remain engraved in my heart. She was crowned by my hand; I desire that she retain the rank and title of crowned empress, but more than this, that she never doubt my feelings and that she value me as her best and dearest friend.”
Joséphine:
“With our most august and dear husband’s permission, I must declare that no longer holding out any hope for a child that could satisfy both his political needs and the good of France, I give to him the greatest proof of attachment and devotion that has ever been given on this earth. Everything I have comes from his greatness; it is his hand that crowned me, and up on this throne, I have received evidence of nothing but affection and love from the French people.
“I acknowledge these feelings in agreeing to the dissolution of this marriage, which from this moment on is an obstruction to the well-being of France, depriving it from the joy of one day being governed by the descendants of a great man clearly chosen by Providence to eradicate the evils of a terrible revolution and re-establish the altar, the throne and social order. Nevertheless, the dissolution of my marriage will change nothing of the feelings in my heart: the Emperor will have in me always his greatest friend. I know how much this act, called for by politics and greater interests, has pained his heart; but glorious is the sacrifice that he and I make for the good of our nation.”
The dissolution of their marriage was adopted and granted by the government the following day.
If I was a famous musician, I would make the exact same album twice but swap the pronouns on all the songs in one the recordings but make the cover the same for both versions, so whoever is buying the album has a 50% chance of buying the gay version and 50% for the hetero version
[This Englishman's journal was found in an attic with a bunch of other old stuff.]
We were in a lane about five yards wide; as the Emperor advanced, we drew back and formed a line on his right, standing uncovered. The Emperor Napoleon stopped his horse short and touched his hat. The first impression on my mind was—can this be the great Napoleon? Is that graceless figure, so clumsy and awkward, the figure that has awed emperors and kings, has gained victory on victory, and the sight of whom has been equivalent to ten thousand men on the field of battle. Surely, it is impossible? That countenance—it is totally devoid of expression, it appears even to indicate stupidity. Such were the thoughts that rushed through my mind, and though I soon found reason to change my opinion as far as his countenance was concerned, I still think the figure of Napoleon unmartial, clumsy and awkward. His height appears to be about five feet seven inches, he looks about forty-five years of age, has a very large corporation [stomach], and his thighs are large—out of all proportion. Campbell maintains that, though very fat, he is a well-made man. My companions are all of my opinion. He wore a cocked hat low over his eyes, which in some measure contributed to give him the appearance of stupidity at first sight. His hat is very high behind; low before; its brownness seems to indicate that it has seen many a campaign; it bore a cockade of white and red. His military coat was green, faced with red; the skirt of it began to slope off from as high as the waist, above that it was close-buttoned; and as his neck is very short, one could scarcely see his black stock. He had two shabby silver epaulettes, a shabby star on his breast, as Commander of the Legion of Honour, and the three small buttons of the orders of the Legion of Honour, Réunion, and Iron Cross. Under his coat appeared a red sash—the grand cordon of the Legion. His waistcoat, breeches and gloves were white. His boots were old and shabby, his silver spurs were fastened with black buckles. He rode a small brown Corsican horse, with holsters in his saddle, and a dirty bridle and bit. Although his clothes were old, his person looked clean and neat altogether, for his gloves, waistcoat and breeches were white as snow. He leans very forward when riding. While talking with us, his horse suddenly lifted its hind foot. Napoleon turned quickly round as if he was nervous. He took snuff once only during the interview, from a small black box on which were three white cameos. His hand was particularly white, his fingers small and tapering. His hair is black and hangs down very long in candle ends (to use an expression more expressive than elegant) over his coat collar. His eyes are blue and small, eyebrows black and rather large, his nose and mouth handsome and of moderate size. His chin is not very pointed, his complexion is pale with a yellowish tinge, his forehead square and prominent.
An Englishman at home and abroad, 1792-1828, with some recollections of Napoleon: being extracts from the diaries of J. B. Scott of Bungay, Suffolk, 1930.
It's Duroc's birthday! Here's a translation of a letter of his that I've always liked, as quoted in Jean de la Tour's 1913 biography (and, I believe, somewhere in Laure Junot's memoirs, but I can't remember which volume). He's writing from Warsaw in late December 1806 or early January 1807, to Jean-Andoche Junot, who had been left behind in France due to his post as governor of Paris and was deeply unhappy about it, to the point that Laure called that period his "widowhood".
His Majesty the Emperor arrived at Posen on November 27, in perfect health. We stayed there twenty-seven days.
It's a sorry city, despite its fine resistance to the Hero of the North [Charles XII]. As for us, apparently either we're more formidable or the inhabitants have changed their character, for instead of defending themselves, they flocked to the Emperor, their magistrates at the head, and received him with an enthusiasm difficult to understand, at least until you recollect that they're not Prussians.
His Majesty published a proclamation on December 2nd, to remind the soldiers that it was the anniversary of the coronation, and above all of Austerlitz. I've never seen the troops so moved. If the Emperor wanted to lead them to China, I guarantee that he could. It's a delirium, and when the proclamation of the same day announced that the Russians had arrived on the banks of the Vistula, a cry arose from all sides: We'll fight them again!
We're here [in Warsaw], in winter quarters, and we're well. For a while I've known that Polish women are the most pleasant in Europe; but it was necessary to go to Poland to understand the charm that surrounds them. Warsaw is very agreeable. The society is charming. The Polish men love us even more, I think, than the Polish women. The country wants to take a leader from us: a king. Murat pleases them very much, with his plumes and his sparkling uniforms, but above all with his courage, because you know it's of genuine worth. We receive deputations every day. I've never seen the Emperor in a better mood. He had, however, a fit of temper over the incident of Marshal Lannes and Bennigsen [the battle of Pułtusk]. The Emperor scolded him sharply: Lannes responded that everything was won when the enemy left the battlefield, but it's true that we lost a lot of people. Lannes also complained of a division of Davout's which should have helped him and which didn't back him up well. I don't know, in truth, what happened. Lannes is our friend and he never lies. That's all I can say about it. No doubt you've heard about poor Rapp's wound? He's an unlucky man. He only has to enter the fighting and he's hit.
Vandamme conducted himself very well during the campaign. This doesn't surprise me, because he's brave, but he showed real talent during this military tour of Silesia. The Emperor is very content with him.
I promised, my dear Junot, to tell you what has been happening to me and you see that I've kept my word. In truth, I can't write to you as often as I'd like; my work, as you know, is very busy and still increasing: but it never prevents me from keeping the fondest and most constant friendship for you.
Goodbye, my dear Junot, tell me in return of your carnival and your entertainments. I've heard that you're amusing yourselves greatly. Tell me all about it.
My regards to Madame Junot.
Just read your Duroc rant, do YOU think that maybe there was more between them? (Not asking for sources/evidence, just your piece)
(Rant in the tags on this post, for context.)
Anon, I can’t complain about people not giving any citations for their claims and then not provide sources myself. 😉
That said, the short answer is no, I don’t think so. I think they were extraordinarily close—I wrote a while back about how intimately entwined their lives were—but their relationship simply doesn’t strike me as romantic in the way that, say, Junot’s feelings towards Napoleon do. (Or, to be strictly accurate, the way Laure Junot portrays her husband’s feelings towards Napoleon in her memoirs does.)
The much longer and more rambling answer, with sources:
Obviously, there’s no way to truly know how someone who’s been dead for over two hundred years felt. Even so, Duroc is particularly hard to grasp—leaving aside that he died too suddenly to leave behind any kind of memoirs, or that his administrative correspondence is far more voluminous than his personal correspondence, his reserve during his lifetime was notorious. Caulaincourt mentions at one point in his memoirs that Napoleon claimed that Duroc “was devoted to me, but he did not love me”. (Though he allegedly made this remark in April 1814, so I’d imagine he may have been in a particularly cynical mood at the time.) Duroc’s devotion, certainly, is unquestionable—he and Napoleon were essentially inseparable from the first Italian campaign onward, and he wore an astonishing number of hats over the course of his career as he stepped into whatever role Napoleon asked of him, whether that was beginning diplomatic overtures to Russia in 1801, acting as a go-between with Marie Walewska in the winter of 1806-07, or overhauling the entire Imperial Guard in early 1813. Duroc’s role as Grand Marshal, responsible for running the imperial household, meant their lives were intertwined to a degree that was unusual even by the standards of how the Empire revolved around Napoleon (to quote Philippe-Paul de Ségur, who was Duroc’s aide de camp for a time, “They were so closely associated by nature, by habit, by everything, that we [i.e. the staff of imperial household] no longer imagined that they could live apart”). And Duroc seems to have highly valued his closeness to Napoleon, from writing to him from his diplomatic mission to Moscow in 1801 that “although I’ve been received warmly here, I am never better than when I am near you” (emphasis his) to telling Laure Junot that it would be a mark of disgrace if Napoleon gave him a marshal’s baton: “What would I do away from his side?” There’s love there, to my mind at least.
As for Napoleon, his feelings towards Duroc are more well-documented by virtue of the sheer mass of sources, though of course there’s a certain amount of after-the-fact romanticization going on due to having lost one of his closest friends in an incredibly awful way (such as his letter to Marie Louise the day after Duroc’s death, in which he wrote, “He had been my friend for 20 years. I never had a reason to complain about him; he gave me nothing but comfort.”). And there’s an element of myth-making to it as well: his claim that Duroc was the only person who “had his intimacy and possessed his entire confidence” comes in the Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, which is firmly aimed at establishing his legacy. That said, the sheer number of people who described his death as an “irreparable loss” for Napoleon were getting at something important. They’d been friends since at least 1796; while I’ve never found a truly convincing source for the frequently-cited claim that Duroc was allowed to tutoyer him in private, I do think that it was a friendship that transcended their official roles as the Emperor and his Grand Marshal, and that Duroc was, while not unique, certainly in an increasingly small number of people who loved and saw Napoleon Bonaparte the individual as well as Napoleon the Emperor of the French. (Back to the Mémorial, Las Cases argues that Duroc was devoted to the private man rather than the monarch.) When Napoleon surrendered to the British in 1815, envisioning that he was going to live out a comfortable retirement in the English countryside, he suggested he could live under the name of Colonel Duroc: they were still inseparable, even two years after Duroc’s death.
The always-astute @thiswaycomessomethingwicked wrote something a few months ago that chimes with my interpretation also: that Napoleon was on some level attracted to men as well as women (see the infamous quote from Caulaincourt’s memoirs about how his closest friendships with men started with feelings in the loins “and another place which shall be nameless”), but the cultural taboos and baggage of late 18th/early 19th century France meant that he wasn’t fully aware of or able to understand it, let alone being in a position to act on that attraction or considering himself in a similar category to people like Cambacérès.
The quote I was complaining about in my original post frames Duroc and Napoleon’s relationship in a strikingly similar way to a couple of contemporary publications (Lewis Goldsmith’s scandalous The Secret History of the Cabinet of Bonaparte (1810), and an 1813 article in an English paper that was essentially a spotter’s guide to the French court): a remarkably handsome young man with no particular talents or family to recommend him, who nevertheless attains a high rank at the imperial court owing solely to Napoleon’s favor. I don’t think that’s an accurate description of Duroc at all, but it positions him in a particular, established mode of court favorite (the Buckingham to Napoleon’s James I, to pick another example I’ve been reading about recently), with the corresponding implications of a sexual relationship with the monarch. We can speculate as to whether these characterizations were responding to something specific, but I think it’s more likely that they were simply another angle for the English press to calumniate Napoleon (Goldsmith’s book also repeats the claim that Napoleon was sleeping with his stepdaughter Hortense, for example).
Also, to expand on my tag rant a little, that’s not the first time I’ve seen a published work suggest that Napoleon’s intense grief at Duroc’s death meant that his feelings towards him must have been romantic. (And then there’s Frank McLynn’s Napoleon bio, in which he compares Napoleon’s grief for Duroc to Achilles’s for Patroclus and Alexander’s for Hephaestion, and then immediately follows that with “but the inference of homosexuality is unjustified”—maybe he should have picked some different comparisons, then! Just saying.) I don’t think that this interpretation is necessarily a huge reach: it’s an unusually strong moment of emotion from Napoleon (and unusually public—it got a lengthy paragraph in the Moniteur). There are about as many versions of their final conversation as there are memoirs of the era, and we’ll never know exactly what they said to each other, so it’s very fertile ground for whatever interpretation you want to put on their relationship. I can never pass up the opportunity to quote Ségur’s Histoire et mémoires (published posthumously in 1873), because his depiction is spectacularly homoerotic:
But Napoleon still could not resign himself [to leaving Duroc’s deathbed]; falling again into his previous stupor, he fastened on his unfortunate friend one of those long and profound looks that, in those solemn and final moments, seemed to want to, in defiance of fate, indissolubly merge their souls; striving more than ever to tighten so many bonds on the verge of breaking, and to gather everything it was possible to wrest from inexorable death!
But equally, I simply don’t think it’s possible to make an absolute determination of whether Napoleon’s feelings towards Duroc were platonic or romantic—not that that should be a cut and dried binary, either—and certainly not based only on his reaction to Duroc’s death (people can be devastated at the deaths of their friends, too, obviously). This has been a whole lot of rambling to say, basically, that it’s complicated!
« In these excursions through the city, [Napoleon] was always dressed in a dark blue frock, as in recent times, fully buttoned up the chest; he wore a round hat with a wide brim. His companion also wore nothing that could reveal his rank. These walks were good for Napoleon, as far as they broke up the monotony of almost continuous work. Whether it was high morning or the night’s end, when Duroc saw Napoleon out of his apartment interiors and dressed, he knew in advance what he had to do, and without further instruction, he would disguise himself in a bourgeois coat. Sometimes also instead of leaving the palace by one of the garden pavilions, especially if it was in summer and the Tuileries were still open to pedestrians, he crossed the courtyard of the chateau and escaped by the window which faces the Rue de l’Echelle. Duroc gave him his arm. They came together into the shops on Rue Saint-Honoré to bargain or even buy a few objects of little value. It sometimes happened that they would risk entering the galleries of the Royal Palace; but a small world was found there. Ordinarily the evening excursions could not go any further.
When entering a shop, Duroc cast his eyes on objects that he appeared to want to buy, and during this time, Napoleon began his role as questioner. There was nothing more comic than to try to see the manners, the language and the tone taken by a man of fashion, he usually was so positive, so simple and so natural. That awkwardness that came from no sign of appreciation ended when raising the edges of his black tie, standing up on tiptoe and lowering himself all of a sudden on his calves, he said in a patronizing tone:
—Well! Madam, what do you say now that the First Consul has made peace? … Are we content? … Your successful business? … Your shop seems pretty well supplied, it must be the home to many buyers?
At these words of shop fairly well supplied, which sounded odd in the ear of the merchant, he looked across to this singular questioner; his figure became darker, and he didn’t respond except in single words, or did not respond at all, not knowing to whom he was dealing at all. Sometimes even, suspecting that this could at least be a revolutionary, to cut short the indiscreet questions of a trawling net whose drift were not those of a man in need, she called her husband, or a clerk to get rid of this unwelcomed one. One day even occurred (it was shortly after the coronation) that the Emperor had requested in a mocking tone to a jeweler of the Rue de la Loi (Rue Richelieu) what was thought of this joker Napoleon, the latter, who was one of his most dedicated admirers believed he had been transacting with a former Jacobin or a poorly disguised spy of the police, assaulted him with a broom which was he found at the door and threatened the man daring enough to speak before him, with so much irreverence, for His Majesty the Emperor and King. The grand marshal hastened to intervene, apologizing, for good as for evil, his friend, who had taken the time to get out avoiding anything other than threats. According to Napoleon, the moment when, having spoken ill of himself in this shop, he avoided being hunted to death with a broom, was one of the most gay and happiest of his life.
(From a translation of Émile Marco de Saint-Hilaire’s Histoire populaire et anecdotique de Napoléon, 1857)
I also remember reading something where they went to a café and Napoleon told Duroc to pay the bill and then just walked out and left him to it, only for Duroc to realise neither of them had bothered to bring any money. I’ll look around for it.
Imagine your favorite historical figure being your tourist guide as they walk you through the places where they lived and show you their personal items
Napoléon’s comforting letters to his mother and grand-Uncle (Lucien) Luciano on the death of his father.
(Paris, March 29, 1785)
Ma chère mère
It is today, that time has somewhat calmed the first transports of my grief, that I hasten to show you the gratitude inspired in me by the kindness you have always had for us. Let us contain it my dear mother, circumstances demand it; we will redouble our care and our gratitude , and happy if we can by our obedience compensate you a little for the inestimable loss of this beloved husband. I conclude, my dear Mother, my grief commands me to do so, by asking you to calm your grief.
My health is perfect and I pray every day that heaven will grant you a similar one. Present my respects to Zia Gertruda, Minana Saveria and Minana Fesch & etc.—————-PS The Queen of France gave birth to a prince named the Duke of Normandy, on March 27 at 7 o'clock)—(he talking about the birth of future Louis XVII)—in the evening.~Your very humble and affectionate son, & Napoléon Bonaparte
——————————————————
Royal Military School, Paris, 23 March, 1785
My dear Uncle (U me caru zìu)
It would be useless to tell you how affected I have been by the tragedy that has befallen us. We have lost in him a father, and God knows what a father he was, what is tenderness and love for us! Alas! In everything he was the protector of our youth. You have lost in him an obedient and grateful nephew.
You know better than I how much he loved you. I will even dare to say that through his death our country has lost an enlightened and disinterested citizen. That dignity with which he has several times been honoured shows the confidence his compatriots had in him, and yet heaven lets him die, and where?
A hundred leagues from home, in a strange country, far from all he held most dear. One son, it is true, was present at that terrible moment; that must have been a great consolation to him, but certainly not to be compared with the triple joy he would have felt if he had ended his career in his own house, beside his wife and all his family. But the supreme Being has not allowed it to be so. His will is immutable. He alone can console us. Alas! Though he has taken from us what we held most dear, he has at least left those who alone can replace him.
Agree, then, to be for us as the father we have lost. Our affection and gratitude will be equal to so great a service. I end by wishing that your health may be like my own.~~Your very humble and obedient servant and nephew, Napoleone di Buonaparte
