In his social relations Bonaparte’s temper was bad; but his fits of ill-humour passed away like a cloud, and spent themselves in words.  His violent language and bitter imprecations were frequently premeditated.  When he was going to reprimand any one he liked to have a witness present.  He would then say the harshest things, and level blows against which few could bear up.  But he never gave way to those violent ebullitions of rage until be acquired undoubted proofs of the misconduct of those against whom they were directed.  In scenes of this sort I have frequently observed that the presence of a third person seemed to give him confidence.  Consequently, in a ‘tete-a-tete’ interview, any one who knew his character, and who could maintain sufficient coolness and firmness, was sure to get the better of him.  He told his friends at St. Helena that he admitted a third person on such occasions only that the blow might resound the farther.  That was not his real motive, or the better way would have been to perform the scene in public.  He had other reasons.  I observed that he did not like a ‘tete-a-tete’; and when he expected any one, he would say to me beforehand, “Bourrienne, you may remain;” and when any one was announced whom he did not expect, as a minister or a general; if I rose to retire he would say in a half-whisper, “Stay where you are.”  Certainly this was not done with the design of getting what he said reported abroad; for it belonged neither to my character nor my duty to gossip about what I had heard.  Besides, it may be presumed, that the few who were admitted as witnesses to the conferences of Napoleon were aware of the consequences attending indiscreet disclosures under a Government which was made acquainted with all that was said and done.

Bonaparte entertained a profound dislike of the sanguinary men of the Revolution, and especially of the regicides.  He felt, as a painful burden, the obligation of dissembling towards them.  He spoke to me in terms of horror of those whole he celled the assassins of Louis XVI, and he was annoyed at the necessity of employing them and treating them with apparent respect.  How many times has he not said to Cambaceres, pinching him by the ear, to soften, by that habitual familiarity, the bitterness of the remark, “My dear fellow, your case is clear; if ever the Bourbons come back you will be hanged!” A forced smile would then relax the livid countenance of Cambaceres, and was usually the only reply of the Second Consul, who, however, on one occasion said in my hearing, “Come, come, have done with this joking.”