napoleon bonaparte, v12-第19部分

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man。

It　has　been　said　that　no　man　is；　a　hero　to　his　valet。　　It　would　give　wide
latitude　to　a　witty　remark；　which　has　become　proverbial；　to　make　it　the
epigraph　of　these　memoirs。　　The　valet　of　a　hero　by　that　very　fact　is
something　more　than　a　valet。　　Amber　is　only　earth；　and　Bologna　stone　only
a　piece　of　rock；　but　the　first　gives　out　the　perfume　of　the　rose；　and　the
other　flashes　the　rays　of　the　sun。　　The　character　of　a　witness　is
dignified　by　the　solemnity　of　the　scene　and　the　greatness　of　the　actor。
Even　before　reading　the　manuscript　of　M。　Constant；　we　were　strongly
persuaded　that　impressions　so　unusual　and　so　striking　would　raise　him　to
the　level　of　the　occasion。

The　reader　can　now　judge　of　this　for　himself。　　These　are　the　memoirs　of
M。　Constant；autographic　memoirs　of　one　still　living；　who　has　written
them　to　preserve　his　recollections。　　It　is　the　private　history；　the
familiar　life；　the　leisure　moments；　passed　in　undress；　of　Napoleon；　which
we　now　present　to　the　public。　　It　is　Napoleon　taken　without　a　mask；
deprived　of　his　general's　sword；　the　consular　purple；　the　imperial
crown；Napoleon　resting　from　council　and　from　battle；　forgetful　of　power
and　of　conquest；　Napoleon　unbending　himself；　going　to　bed；　sleeping　the
slumber　of　a　common　man；　as　if　the　world　did　not　hang　upon　his　dreams。

These　are　striking　facts；　so　natural　and　of　such　simplicity；　that　though
a　biased　judgment　may；　perhaps；　exaggerate　their　character；　and　amplify
their　importance；　they　will　furnish　to　an　impartial　and　reflective　mind　a
wealth　of　evidence　far　superior　to　the　vain　speculations　of　the
imagination　or　the　prejudiced　judgments　of　political　parties。

In　this　light　the　author　of　these　memoirs　is　not　an　author；　but　simply　a
narrator；　who　has　seen　more　closely　and　intimately　than　any　one　else　the
Master　of　the　West；　who　was　for　fifteen　years　his　master　also；　and　what
he　has　written　he　has　seen　with　his　own　eyes。








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