burst of anger being soothed, that which was the cause of hatred was at
the same time the ground of esteem. Bonaparte's animosity was,
I confess, very natural, for he could not disguise from himself the real
meaning of a resignation made under such circumstances. It said plainly,
"You have committed a crime, and I will not serve your Government, which
is stained with the blood of a Bourbon!" I can therefore very well
imagine that Bonaparte could never pardon the only man who dared to give
him such a lesson in the midst of the plenitude of his power. But, as I
have often had occasion to remark, there was no unison between
Bonaparte's feelings and his judgment.

I find a fresh proof of this in the following passage, which he dictated
to M. de Montholon at St. Helena (Memoires, tome iv. p 248). "If," said
he, "the royal confidence had not been placed in men whose minds were
unstrung by too important circumstances, or who, renegade to their
country, saw no safety or glory for their master's throne except under
the yoke of the Holy Alliance; if the Duc de Richelieu, whose ambition
was to deliver his country from the presence of foreign bayonets; if
Chateaubriand, who had just rendered valuable services at Ghent; if they
had had the direction of affairs, France would have emerged from these
two great national crises powerful and redoubtable. Chateaubriand had
received from Nature the sacred fire-his works show it! His style is not
that of Racine but of a prophet. Only he could have said with impunity
in the chamber of peers, 'that the redingote and cocked hat of Napoleon,
put on a stick on the coast of Brest, would make all Europe run to
arms.'"

The immediate consequences of the Duc d'Enghien's death were not confined
to the general consternation which that unjustifiable stroke of state
policy produced in the capital. The news spread rapidly through the