A SOUL IN PURGATORY.
It was the 11th of April. Napoleon, at Fontaineblean, sat at his
desk and stared at the paper before him. It contained an absolute
resignation of his throne for himself and his family. After signing
this document, he was no more Emperor of France, nor his son King of
Rome, nor his consort empress--perhaps, no longer even his wife. By
signing this paper, he accepted all the conditions imposed on him by
the allies; that is to say, he descended from the sovereignty of all
his states and went to the little island of Elba, to live there a
pensioner of Europe; his consort wore no longer, like him, the
imperial title, but became Duchess of Parma; and the King of Rome
became not the heir of his father, the Emperor of Elba, but the heir
of his mother, the Duchess of Parma, and the title of "Duke de
Reichstadt" was to be given him. He renounced not only France, but
his wife and his son!
Napoleon was fondly and sincerely attached to Maria Louisa, and he
loved the King of Rome with passionate tenderness. Before
consenting, therefore, to affix his signature to this act of
abdication, he wished to know whether Maria Louisa agreed to it, and
whether she would not at least ask the allies, one of whom was her
own father, to permit her to reside with her son and her husband on
the island of Elba, sharing the emperor's exile. For some time he
had not heard from his consort; he wrote to her every day, but for
six days past no answers came. He did not, however, distrust her; he
knew that Maria Louisa loved him. His heart longed for her and his
child. He had sent Berthier to Orleans the day before with a letter
for Maria Louisa. He was to tell him what his consort was thinking
and wishing. If she was courageous enough to claim her rights, and
desired to do so, Berthier was to convey her to the emperor, and, at
Fontainebleau, Maria Louisa was to declare to her father that she
insisted on her sacred right of staying with her husband. Napoleon
expected this, and he was nervous and anxious, waiting for the
return of his general, and in hope that Maria Louisa would accompany
him.
He contemplated the paper, and, while reading the words of despair,
he thought of the past--of the days when Europe had been at his
feet, and when he himself showed no mercy. The door of the cabinet
was softly opened, and the Duke de Bassano entered. "Maret," he
exclaimed, "you come to inform me that Berthier has returned, do you
not?"
"Yes, sire."
"And he--he is alone?"
"Yes, sire, he is alone."
Napoleon sighed. "Admit Berthier," he said, "but stay here."
Maret stepped to the door and opened it. The Prince of Neufchatel
entered, mournful and silent. A single glance told Napoleon that his
mission had failed.
"Well, Berthier, you have seen the empress?"
"I have, sire. I met the empress leaving Orleans."
"Ah, then, she is coming!" exclaimed Napoleon.
"No, sire. Prince Metternich had paid her a visit on the preceding
day, and delivered to her autograph letters from her father the
Emperor of Austria. He had asked his daughter to repair to
Rambouillet, where he would meet her."
"And Louisa consented?"
"She did, sire. Her majesty told me with tears in her eyes that
nothing remained for her but to submit to the will of her father,
because only his intercession could secure her own future and that
of her son. She deplored that she was not at liberty to come to
Fontainebleau, but stated she had solemnly pledged her word to
Prince Metternich, who, in the emperor's name, had required a pledge
neither to see nor to correspond with your majesty."
"And she did not indignantly reject this base demand?" cried the
emperor. "She did not remember that she is my wife, and that she
plighted her faith to me?"
"Sire, the empress said that, for her son's sake, she was allowed
now only to consider herself a princess of Austria, and the Austrian
princesses were all educated in unconditional and unmurmuring
obedience to the orders of the emperor their father. [Footnote:
Meneval, "Memoires," etc., vol. ii., p. 80.] Hence, she obeyed her
father now, in order to enjoy at a later time the happiness of
belonging to your majesty. For, as soon as her future was secured,
as soon as the duchy of Parma was settled upon her, and her son
declared its heir, nothing would prevent her from rejoining her
beloved husband; and if your majesty agreed to accept the island of
Elba, the empress would certainly soon repair thither. She proposed
that, prohibited from directly corresponding with your majesty, you
might have intercourse through your private secretaries; your
majesty might have Baron Fain write to her all you wished her to
know, and she would do the same through Baron de Meneval."
"A genuine woman's stratagem," murmured Napoleon, gloomily, to
himself. "She is destitute of courage, and does not love me enough
to brave her father.--Berthier," he then asked aloud, "did you see
my son?"
"No, sire, they would not let me see the prince; they feared lest it
would excite him too much, and remind him of the past. For the King
of Rome is constantly longing for his father."
"And his father cannot see him--cannot call him to his side! Oh,
Berthier, this is painful, very painful!"
"But your majesty will soon be reunited with him," said Maret,
feelingly. "Sign the act of abdication; go to Elba, sire, and no one
can prevent the empress from coming to you with her son. She wishes
and has a right to do so."
"Well, then, be it so," said the emperor, drawing a deep breath. "I
will sign every thing. I will abdicate; I will sign this second
treaty, which makes me Emperor of Elba! My wife and my son must be
restored to me!" He quickly stepped to the desk, and signed the two
papers with a steady hand.
"Well," he said, flinging the pen into a corner of the room, "now I
am no longer Emperor of France, but at the same time no longer a
prisoner at Fontainebleau. At Elba I shall be free, at least; I
shall be surrounded by the brave soldiers of my Old Guard; I shall
see again my wife and my son. That is to say," he gloomily murmured
to himself, "if her father permits them to rejoin me; for without
his permission she will not come. Louisa is a princess of Austria,
and has, therefore, been brought up in obedience. Oh, how I longed
for the consolation of her presence! She ought not to have left me
alone in these days!" His lips murmured softly, "Josephine would not
have done so! She would have gone with me into exile!" He sat a long
time absorbed in his reflections, which whispered to him of the
past, and of Josephine. He felt that they moved him too deeply, and,
with an impetuous gesture, he jumped up, and, proudly throwing back
his head, exclaimed: "Well, then, I have submitted to my fate, and
shall bear it manfully. We shall go to Elba, then! You will
accompany me, my friends, and I shall not be alone? Maret and
Berthier, you will not leave me, I hope?"
"Sire, I would follow your majesty to the end of the world!" said
Maret, tenderly.
"I know of no more glorious destiny than to remain your majesty's
faithful servant," exclaimed Berthier, emphatically. "I thank you
for permitting me to go with you to Elba, and I joyfully accept this
permission; but as I have to make some necessary preparatious, I
request two days' leave of absence of your majesty."
While Berthier was speaking, the emperor contemplated him with
painful astonishment; now he quickly came near him, and, laying his
hand on his shoulder, he fixed his keen eyes on him, as if he wished
to read his most secret thoughts. "Berthier," he said, in a gentle,
imploring voice, "you see how much I have need of consultation; how
necessary it is for me to have true friends about me. You will,
therefore, return to-morrow, will you not?"
"Sire, certainly," faltered Berthier.
Napoleon's eyes still rested on the pale, confused face of the
prince. "Berthier," he said, after a pause, "if you wish to leave
me, tell me so frankly and sincerely."
"I leave you!" exclaimed Berthier. "Your majesty knows well that I
am devoted to you with immovable fidelity--that my heart can never
forget you, and that I shall always be your obedient servant."
"Words, words!" said Napoleon, shaking his head. "Well, then, it is
your will: go, therefore, to Paris. Attend to the affairs which you
have more at heart than my wishes. Go, and--if you can, come back
soon!"
Berthier wished to grasp the emperor's hand and press it to his
lips, but he hastily withdrew it, and, lifting it up, pointed with
an imperious glance at the door. Berthier bowed, and, walking
backward, approached the door with bent head, and departed. The
emperor looked after him long and gloomily; then he slowly turned
his head toward the Duke de Bassano. "Maret," he said, slowly,
"Berthier will not come back."
"What, sire!" exclaimed Maret, in dismay. "Your majesty believes--"
"I know it," said Napoleon, slowly, "Berthier will not come back!"
He threw himself into an easy-chair, at times heaving a sigh, but
without uttering a single complaint; and thus he sat all day. From
time to time the few faithful men who had remained with him dared to
speak, but the emperor, starting from his meditations, only stared
at them, and then slowly dropped his head again on his breast. At
dinner-time Maret endeavored to induce him to go to the table; but
he only responded by indignantly shaking his head, and waving him
toward the door.
Evening had come, and the emperor still sat alone in his cabinet,
motionless and sad. He did not hear the door behind him softly open;
he did not see a dark, veiled female form that had slowly entered,
and now, as if overwhelmed by grief, leaned against the wall. Her
veil prevented her, perhaps, from seeing Napoleon; she threw it
back, and now Josephine's pale, quivering face was seen. She fixed
her eyes on him with an expression of boundless tenderness, and then
lifted them to heaven with an imploring air, softly raising her
arms, and her lips moving in inaudible prayer.
The emperor did not yet notice her. Josephine stepped noiselessly
across the carpet, and laid her hand gently on his head. "Napoleon,"
she whispered, "Napoleon!"
He uttered a cry and jumped up. "Josephine," he exclaimed, "my
Josephine! Oh, now I am no longer alone!" He clasped her with
impassioned tenderness in his arms; he kissed her quivering lips,
and held her streaming face between his hands, gazing at it with the
tender expression of a lover. Encircling her with his arms, and no
longer able to restrain his heart, he laid his head on her shoulder,
and wept bitterly. Recovering, his face resumed its inscrutable
expression. "Josephine," he said, "I have wrung many tears from you,
but Fate has avenged you; I have wept, too; and what is worse than
tears is that which is gnawing at my heart. I thank you, Josephine,
for coming to me. All have deserted me!"
"I know it, Napoleon," whispered Josephine, smiling amid tears, "and
that is why I am here. You will not go all alone to Elba; I shall go
with you. No, Bonaparte, no! do not shake your head; do not reject
me! I have a right to accompany you; for, whatever men may say, I
was your wife, and am your wife, and what God has joined together no
man can sunder. My soul is one with yours. I love you to-day as
tenderly as I did on the day when I stood with you before the altar
and plighted my fidelity to you; I love you now even more intensely,
for you are unfortunate, and have need of my love. Bid me,
therefore, not go any more. SHE is not here, and her place by your
side, which she has deserted, belongs to me!"
"No," said Napoleon, gravely, "let her absence remind her of her
duty. I will not give my son's mother a pretext for staying away
from me; she shall not say that she cannot rejoin me because I have
yielded to another woman the place that belongs to her. No,
Josephine, she must not be able to reproach me. I thank you for
coming, but you have come to take leave of me. I have seen you--your
faithful love has been a balm to my heart. Now, farewell!"
"Then, you bid me go already?" cried Josephine, reproachfully; "oh,
Bonaparte, let me stay here at least till your departure. No one
will betray to HER that I am here."
"It would remain no secret, Josephine, and it would be used to
excuse her, and to accuse me. Go, then, and take with you the
consciousness that you have afforded me the last joy of my life."
"Oh, Bonaparte, you break my heart!" murmured Josephine, leaning her
head on his shoulder. "I cannot leave you, I cannot bear to see you
go alone into exile."
"Fate has decreed it, and so has the evil star that arose upon my
path when I left you, Josephine! Let this be my farewell. Now, go!"
"No, Bonaparte," she cried, passionately; "tell me not to go if you
do not wish me to die! Your misfortunes have pierced my heart. My
only hope of life is by your side, for sorrow at the remembrance of
your misfortunes will kill me."
A strange smile played around the emperor's lips. "I do not pity
those who die," he said; "death is a kind friend, and pray God that
He may soon send this friend to me!" He kissed her forehead and
conducted her gently to the door. "Go, my Josephine," he said; "this
is the last sacrifice which I shall ask of you!"
"I go!" she sighed. "Farewell, Bonaparte, farewell!" She fixed on
him a look full of love and grief. "We shall never meet again!"
"Yes," he said, slowly and solemnly, lifting his hand toward heaven,
"we shall meet again!"
"I shall await you there!" she said, with an expression of intense
love and sorrow.
The door closed; Napoleon was again alone; he stood in the middle of
the room, as if still beholding her pale, smiling face, and hearing
her sweet voice. "She will await me there!" he murmured. "But why
should she await me? Why should she die, and I live? And why must I
live?" he asked, in a loud, and almost joyful tone. "Why shall I
suffer these mean, cowardly creatures, who formerly lay in the dust
before me, now to enjoy their triumph? Why must I live?" He sank
into his chair, thinking of the disgrace soon to be brought upon
him, remembering that each of the allied sovereigns would send an
envoy to Fontainebleau, and that he was to be transported to Elba--
escorted, like a caged lion, by Russian, Prussian, and Austrian
commissioners! His heart for a moment grew strong in his anguish. He
jumped up, rushed to his desk, pulled out the drawers, and opened a
secret compartment. There lay a small black silken bag. Taking it
out, he cut it open, and drew a package from it. "Ha!" he exclaimed,
joyfully, "now I have the kind friend that will deliver me! They
want to drag me through the country as a prisoner! But thou, blessed
poison, wilt release me!"
In the night of the 13th of April, Constant, Napoleon's valet de
chambre, was awakened by an extraordinary groaning proceeding from
Napoleon's bedroom, whither Constant hastened. Yes, it was the
emperor who was suffering. His face was deadly pale; his limbs were
quivering; a paper lay on the floor in front of him; on the table by
his side stood a glass, in which were still seen some drops of a
whitish color. Constant rushed toward him. He gazed at his servant
with fixed looks, and murmured, "I suffer dreadfully! Fire is
consuming my bowels; but it does not kill me!"
Uttering a cry, and hastening from the room, Constant went for the
domestic surgeon, Dr. Ivan, Maret, and Caulaincourt. They appeared
in the utmost consternation, and surrounded the easy-chair on which
the emperor still sat. Dr. Ivan felt his forehead, which was covered
with clammy perspiration; and his pulse was feeble and sluggish, but
still throbbing. He recognized his physician, and his livid lips
murmured almost inaudibly, "Ivan, I have taken poison, that which
you gave me one day in Russia; but it has lost its efficacy! It does
not kill, while it causes me excruciating pain."
Ivan went weeping out of the room to prepare a remedy.
Napoleon turned his eyes with an expression of agony toward Maret
and Caulaincourt, who were kneeling before him. "My friends," he
said, "I sought death! But you see God did not will it! He commands
me to live and suffer." [Footnote: Constant's "Memoires," vol. vi.,
p. 88. Fain, "Manuscrit."]
On the morning after this night of terror, the emperor rose from his
couch, and his face, which for the last few days had been so gloomy,
assumed now a serene expression. "Providence has spared me for other
purposes," he murmured to himself. "Well, then, I shall live! To the
living belongs the future!"! [Footnote: Bausset's "Memoires," vol.
ii., p. 244.]
A week afterward, on the 20th of April, Napoleon left Fontainebleau
for Elba. In the court-yard of the palace the Old Guard was drawn up
in the splendor of their arms, with their eagles and banners. Near
the ranks of the soldiers, in front of the main portal, stood
Bonaparte's travelling-carriage, and beside it the foreign
commissioners. Before setting out, he wished to take leave of his
faithful soldiers. Advancing into the midst of the Old Guard, he
addressed them in a firm voice: "Soldiers of my Old Guard, I bid you
adieu! During twenty years I have ever found you in the path of
honor. In the last days, as in those of our prosperity, you have
never ceased to be models of bravery and fidelity. With such men as
you our cause could never have been lost; but the war would never
end; it would have become a civil war, and France must daily have
been more unhappy. I have, therefore, sacrificed all our interests
to those of our country: I depart; but you remain to serve France.
Her happiness was my only thought; it will always be the object of
my fervent wishes. Lament not my destiny: if I have consented to
survive myself, it was because I might contribute to your glory.
Adieu, my children! I would I could press you all to my heart; but I
will, at least, press your eagle!" At these words, General Petit
advanced with the eagle; Napoleon received the general in his arms,
and, kissing the standard, he added: "I cannot embrace you all, but
I do so in the person of your general! Adieu, once again, my old
companions!"
The veteran soldiers had no reply but tears and sobs, and,
stretching out their hands toward Napoleon, they implored him to
stay. But the carriage rolled rapidly across the court-yard, bearing
into exile, or at best to the sovereignty of an insignificant
island, a man who, in aiming at the empire of the world, had subdued
almost all the kingdoms of Europe.