These remarks naturally led the Emperor to speak of the Pope, who he said was rather favourably disposed towards him. The Pope did not accuse Napoleon of having ordered his removal to France. He was very indignant at reading in certain publications that the Emperor treated him with disrespect. He had received at Fontainebleau every mark of consideration that he could wish. When he learned the Emperor’s return from Elba to France, he said to Lucien, in a tone expressive of his confidence and impartiality, _’E sbarcato e arrivato_ (he has landed, he has arrived.) He afterwards said: “You are going to Paris; make my peace with him. I am in Rome; no cause of difference shall arise between us.”
“It is certain,” said the Emperor, “that Rome will afford a natural and favourable asylum for my family: there they may find themselves at home. Finally,” added he, smiling, “even my name, Napoleon, which in Italy is uncommon, poetic, and sonorous, contributed its share in the great circumstances of my life.”
I mentioned to the Emperor, what I had already remarked, namely, that the great mass of the emigrants were far from being unjust to him. The sensible part of the old aristocracy disliked him, it is true, but only because he proved an obstacle to their views. They knew how to appreciate his achievements and his talents, which they admired in spite of their inclination. Even the fanatics acknowledged that he had but one fault: “Why is he not legitimate?” they were frequently heard to say. Austerlitz staggered us, though it did not subdue us; but Tilsit prostrated every thing. “Your Majesty,” said I, “might yourself have judged of this, and have enjoyed on your return the unanimity of homage, acclamation, and good wishes.”
“That is to say,” observed the Emperor, smiling, “if, at that time, I could or would have indulged in repose and pleasure; if I had resigned myself to indolence, if every thing had resumed its old course, you would have adored me? But if such had been my taste and inclination, and certainly nothing was more opposite to my natural disposition, circumstances would not have permitted me to act as I pleased.”
The Emperor then adverted to the numerous difficulties by which he had been incessantly surrounded and controlled; and, alluding to the Spanish war, he said, “That unlucky war ruined me; it divided my forces, obliged me to multiply my efforts, and caused my principles to be assailed: and yet it was impossible to leave the Peninsula a prey to the machinations of the English, the intrigues, the hopes, and the pretensions of the Bourbons. Besides, the Spanish Bourbons were not calculated to inspire much fear. Nationally they were foreign to us, and we to them. At the castle of Marrach, and at the Bayonne, I observed that Charles IV. the Queen knew no difference between Madame de Montmorency and the new ladies: the names of the latter were indeed rendered more familiar to them by the newspapers and public documents. The Empress Josephine, who had the most delicate tact on matters of this sort, never ceased alluding to the circumstance. The Spanish Royal Family implored me to adopt a daughter, and to create her a Princess of the Asturias. They pointed out Mademoiselle de Tascher, afterwards Duchess of Aremberg; but I had personal reasons for objecting to this choice. For a moment I decided on Mademoiselle de la Rochefoucault, afterwards Princess Aldobrandini; but I wanted some one sincerely devoted to my interests, a true Frenchwoman, possessing talent and information, and I could not fix on one endowed with all the qualities I wished for.”