1812-1813
LETTERS FROM AN ESCAPED PRISONER
At length the prospects of the luckless prisoner brightened. John Stanhope
obtained leave to change his place of detention for Paris, where existence
promised to be far more agreeable than at Verdun or Ligny. Having
journeyed thither with a light heart, and some of the hopefulness of youth
restored, he was not disappointed. He found himself warmly welcomed by
many of his fellow-countrymen; while the French savants, having learnt the
original object of his journey and all the circumstances which had led to
his imprisonment, received him unhesitatingly as one of their body and
give him free access to the Institute.
Forthwith life became once more full of interest, and as agreeable as it
was practicable for that of an exile to be. He rapidly made friends
amongst both the French and English residents in Paris, while one of his
fellow-prisoners on parole in the capital at this date was the well-known
banker, Mr Boyd [1] with whom his family had long been acquainted, and in
whose vicinity he now took rooms.
"Mr Boyd," relates Stanhope, "was in a singular position. He had
originally been one of the first, if not _the_ first banker in Paris. He
stood, as I have heard, in a pre-eminent position, admitted, as an
Englishman, to those highest circles which were closed to the monied men
of France, and aspiring to that commanding influence in the commercial
world which although often maintained in England is seldom countenanced in
France, unless we may consider Lafitte as an exception. At the breaking
out of the Revolution, the temptation offered by Mr Boyd's wealth was too
great to be resisted. The French Government chose to consider him as an
_émigré_, and seized upon the funds of the bank, which are said to have
consisted of £600,000. At the Peace of Amiens he returned to Paris to
reclaim his property, but upon the renewal of the war he was detained as a
prisoner, being included in the class of _détenus_. In vain he
remonstrated with the Ministers, and said, 'If I am a Frenchman, give me
my liberty; if I am an Englishman, restore me my money; you cannot be
entitled to detain me prisoner as an Englishman and to keep my money as
that of a Frenchman!'
"All his remonstrances were in vain; but distressed as his circumstances
were at this date, his heart was warm and his board as hospitable as ever.
Many an evening have I passed with him talking over the events of former
times and of his financial schemes. I have never met with a spirit more
buoyant nor a disposition more sanguine. In that Paris where he had once
stood at the head of the mercantile interest, and enjoyed, with a zest of
which few men were capable, every luxury that the luxurious capital could
supply, he was now the double bankrupt, the prisoner of war. But to the
credit of the French financiers--then, indeed, the men of most
distinction in the world of fashion--he was not neglected. He still lived
in that society of which he had formerly been so distinguished a member,
nor was he treated with contempt because his wife and daughters now went
to parties in their fiacre. On one of these occasions he met Talleyrand,
who could not help exclaiming, 'Ah! _Monsieur Boyd, vous voir comme
cela!_'
"An application was at one time made to Boyd for his opinion on the
financial affairs of England. This, although not avowed, he was perfectly
aware was made by the Emperor's desire and for his Majesty's private
information. Mr Boyd was not a man, be the consequences what they might,
to bend before the Imperial footstool or to disguise the truth. He was
placed upon his hobby-horse--Pitt's financial system and the sinking fund.
His statement proved anything but satisfactory to the high quarter for
which it was desired; and never again was Mr Boyd applied to on the
subject of English finance."
With regard to his acquaintance amongst the French, John Stanhope speaks
with the greatest interest of a man who became his great friend, Monsieur
de Baure, a Member of the Institute and President of the Cour Impériale.
"I do not know," he writes, "that I ever remember to have seen a
countenance expressive of brighter intelligence than his. His was indeed
the eye of genius, and gave me a perfect conception of the meaning of an
_eagle eye_. Yet I have seen it alight with a much greater disposition to
fun than I expected to have found in one occupying so high a judicial
situation. Indeed, in one instance, I was more amused than I can express
by the extremely dry manner in which he completely took in an assembly of
the wisest men in France!"
On this occasion young Stanhope was seated amongst a number of
distinguished men at the Institute, when M. de Baure rose to his feet, and
a hush fell on the assembly of savants, who waited with profound attention
for the words of wisdom about to flow from the lips of their learned
colleague. As he rose, however, de Baure caught Stanhope's eye with a
glance which the latter says "spoke as plainly as a glance could speak,
'Now I am about to have some fun with these wiseacres!'"
Drawing himself up, the speaker announced with the most profound
solemnity, "Gentlemen, I must preface my remarks by stating how I consider
that a cook who discovers a new dish deserves a seat in the Institute more
than a man who discovers a new star...."
Loud were the interruptions of horror which burst from the Members of the
Institute, who, to the unutterable amusement of Stanhope and certain of
his friends, took the remark literally.
"_Que me fait une étoile?_" continued de Baure with impassioned eloquence.
"_Que me fait une étoile_ whilst a chef who discovers a new dish which
tempts me to begin again after I have satisfied my appetite confers upon
me the greatest obligation which it lies in the power of one human being
to confer upon another!" [2]
Urged by his grave and astounded colleagues to elaborate his reasons for
his extraordinary statement, de Baure declined on the following ground: "A
king of France," he said, "was passing through a provincial town when a
pompous mayor, addressing his Majesty, regretted that he had twenty very
urgent reasons for not having fired the guns in honour of the Royal visit,
the first of which was that he had not any powder. 'Stop there!' said the
King, 'I will excuse you the other nineteen.'"
Another Frenchman, of a very different type, who was a friend of John
Stanhope at this date, was the young Comte de St. Morys, of whose tragic
fate, so illustrative of the conditions then prevalent in France, Stanhope
subsequently gave the following account:--
"The Comte de St. Morys had been an _émigré_ at the period of the
Revolution. His mother, however, had not accompanied her husband during
that exile, and, in consequence, had succeeded eventually in preventing
the confiscation of some of his property. When, later, Napoleon adopted
the course of gathering round his throne as many of the old _noblesse_ as
he could, he conveyed the hint to Madame de St. Morys that, unless her son
returned, the remainder of her property should be confiscated. In
consequence of this notification the young Comte deemed it his duty to
return to his native land, and he established himself in the _basse-cour_
of his former home, which was all of the château which now remained.
"Unfortunately for him, the rest of the property had been sold to a man
whose character may be best described by stating that he had been a
branded fellow. A good understanding was not likely to exist between men
of such opposite principles, and St. Morys, although he possessed the
kindest and the warmest heart, was rather of a hasty disposition, and had
a little more brusquerie of manner than is generally found among Frenchmen
of his rank. What may have been the first, or the principal cause of the
dispute, I know not, but, from what I heard, it appeared to me most
probable that the object of Colonel Barbier de Fay was to compel Monsieur
de St. Morys to give him a high price for his land in order to get rid of
so disagreeable a neighbour.
"However that may be, Colonel Barbier's hatred to St. Morys at length
carried him so far as to lead him to form a plan of vengeance which I can
characterise by no other expression than diabolical.
"At the restoration of the Bourbons, Monsieur de St. Morys, like many
others, was raised to the rank he would have held according to the army
list. He therefore became a general in the army and a lieutenant in the
Garde de Corps, which, as the regiment was entirely composed of nobles,
was a very high situation. Colonel Barbier, with a double motive--first
that of tormenting Monsieur de St. Morys and next that of throwing
discredit on a corps which he detested--introduced into the Garde room,
and circulated wherever he could find access, printed papers blackening
the Count's character. That gentleman accordingly challenged him. Colonel
Barbier replied that he would only accept the challenge on one condition--
that two pistols should be put into a bag, one loaded and another not, and
that they should draw for the chance.
"This St. Morys rejected, stating that he was prepared to fight, but not
to commit murder. In order, however, that his character should be free
from stain he referred the matter to the Marshals of France. They approved
of his conduct, and there the matter ought to have ended. Unfortunately
the Garde de Corps, aware of the jealousy with which the old army viewed
their position, were very touchy on the point of honour. Wherefore the Duc
de Luxembourg, his Colonel, considered that St. Morys was under a cloud,
and refused to allow him to perform his military duties till his
reputation was cleared. This was, in point of fact, the object which his
adversary had in view. It placed St. Morys in a most awkward position, and
threw an apple of discord among the Garde de Corps.
"My poor friend unluckily consulted everybody, and followed everybody's
advice. That which our joint friend, the Comte G. de la Rochefoucauld,
gave him appeared to me the best; he advised him to make up his mind at
once to the sacrifice of his commission; that having challenged his
opponent he had done all that was incumbent upon him as a man of honour, a
fact which was unquestionable after the decision of the marshals, and that
he should express himself ready to meet any person who should arraign his
conduct. But this would probably have involved him with the Duc de
Luxembourg, and consequently compelled him to resign his commission in the
Guards, which would have been peculiarly unfortunate as he was daily in
expectation of being raised to the rank of captain, upon which he intended
to have retired upon half pay.
"Instead, therefore, of following this advice, he endeavoured by further
irritation to compel his opponent to meet him; he went into a café and
struck the Colonel on the face with his fist, believing that so public a
disgrace would induce Barbier to meet him on his own terms; but the other
was not to be diverted from his predetermined purpose; he continued to
persist in his declaration that he would fight only on the terms he had
originally proposed.
"In this state the matter continued for some time, till Barbier thought he
had sufficiently achieved his first object of bringing disgrace upon St.
Morys, and therefore, at last, consented to meet his antagonist. They
accordingly met, fired two brace of pistols, and then drew their swords.
The seconds had previously decreed that the duel should terminate as soon
as blood was drawn. Monsieur de St. Morys having, or thinking he had,
slightly wounded his enemy, called out, 'Monsieur, vous êtes blessé!' and
laid himself open in full confidence that the fight was over. 'Non,
monsieur,' replied Barbier, '_mais vous êtes mort!_' and not only plunged
his sword into his victim's body, but is said actually to have given a
turn with his wrist to secure the mortality of the wound.
"Thus terminated the life of poor St. Morys!"
The consummation of this tragedy, however, belonged to a date later than
that of the residence of John Stanhope in Paris, and during his sojourn
there St Morys was still, like many of his day, endeavouring to reconcile
his royalist proclivities to the changed conditions of his surroundings
and his own altered fortunes. Meanwhile, into the comparatively peaceful
routine of Parisian life came, ever and anon, news of a series of
victories achieved by the _grande armée_, which was received in France
with the customary complacency and elation that such events had long been
wont to evoke. By the bulk of Frenchmen the triumphant issue of the
Russian campaign was looked upon as a foregone conclusion, and, therefore,
when there suddenly broke upon Paris the knowledge of the supreme disaster
of Moscow the effect was overwhelming. The 10th Bulletin disclosed the
truth with a shattering finality: "_Dans quatre jours cette belle armée
n'existait plus._" The effect was as though a thunderbolt had fallen upon
the smiling, placid country. France was plunged into mourning for her
sons, Ministers trembled for their posts, and everywhere reigned
consternation, uncertainty and grief.
Suddenly, into the middle of this general _bouleversement_, a rumour
gained credence that the Emperor himself was at the Tuileries. Young
Stanhope hastened to the palace to learn the accuracy of this report, and
was soon convinced of its truth. Throughout the building were tokens of
unwonted activity; lights were visible in all the windows, and a small
crowd was stationed outside. From a French soldier standing near him he
learnt that the carriage in which Napoleon had travelled had broken down
at Meaux, "and the Emperor had then got into one of the little cabriolets
vulgarly called a _pot de chambre_; they are little cars which ply between
Paris and the neighbouring towns, and carry four inside, and one,
generally called a _lapin_, on the same seat as the driver." Upon his
arrival in Paris his Imperial Majesty got out of this vehicle and walked
to the Tuileries, where he was stopped by the guard at the door, who, in
the dusk, failed to recognise him. "_Je suis de la maison!_" explained
Napoleon briefly, and he was permitted to enter.
Thus Bonaparte returned to Paris, not as the triumphant victor, the
indomitable conqueror of Europe, but as a defeated general, bent on
retrieving some singularly grievous errors by tact and perseverance. Yet
something never to be regained was lost to the Man of Destiny. The spell
which had deified him was broken. Napoleon the Invincible, the Infallible,
had blundered. "This supernatural man, this god--or devil--had sunk below
the level of ordinary men. '_Le prestige est passé_' was in everybody's
mouth."
Paris soon rang with stories of the disastrous campaign--tales, in the
most trivial of which the Parisians recognised the complex personality of
that god or devil of their mingled idolatry or detestation. A French
officer told John Stanhope two anecdotes, which, although in themselves
slight, are strikingly illustrative both of Napoleon's shrewdness and of
his brutality. On one occasion the Emperor heard some men murmuring and
declaring that rather than suffer the torments which they were then
enduring, they had better give up the struggle and make up their minds to
go to Siberia. Napoleon turned to them, and, fixing them with his glance,
merely observed, "En Sibérie ou _en France_!" Well did he understand the
emotional temperament of the men with whom he had to deal! The tone in
which he uttered _en France_ recalled vividly to their thoughts their own,
their beautiful France; and the men, who a moment before were abandoned to
despair, roused themselves and advanced on their march with all the
enthusiasm and the renewed vivacity of Frenchmen.
The other story, as indicated, is of a less creditable nature. After the
terrible crossing of the Beresina, when, through faulty generalship and
inexcusable want of forethought, thousands upon thousands of lives were
needlessly sacrificed, the Emperor, during the wretched bivouac west of
the river, was, like the rest of his regiment, suffering intensely from
the bitter weather. His officers, therefore, went round calling for dry
wood for his fire, and soldiers, perishing with cold, came forward to
offer precious sticks, with the words, uttered ungrudgingly, "Take this
for the Emperor." Shortly afterwards, Napoleon was seated in a miserable
_barraque_, with his _surtout_ over his shoulders, enjoying the poor fire
thus obtained. Folding his coat more closely about him, he remarked
casually, "Il y aura diablement des fous gelés cette nuit!"
Yet the man before whose colossal egoism imagination waxes impotent,
could, on other occasions, exhibit an irresponsible _bonhomie_, which
seemed totally at variance with the more sinister side of his character.
This John Stanhope illustrates by another anecdote.
"Amongst my fellow-prisoners at Verdun had been a gentleman who promoted
to the rank of his mistress a woman who was previously his maid-servant.
He obtained permission to reside in Paris, but was included in the general
order of the Duc de Rovigo upon his appointment to the Ministry of Police,
by which nearly all the English were returned to the dépôts.
"Madame Chambers, who found herself, under that fictitious title,
occupying a very different position at Paris to that which she could fill
at Verdun, where her real situation and origin were generally known, had
no inclination to go back to that dépôt, but determined to leave no stone
unturned to obtain leave for Chambers to remain in Paris. She was not a
person to be easily daunted or troubled with any unnecessary _mauvaise
honte_. Accordingly, the first time that the Emperor went to the _chasse_,
Madame Chambers made her appearance. It was after the shooting was over,
when a great circle was formed, in which the Emperor paced backwards and
forwards, generally with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed upon
the ground, whilst the game which had been shot was laid out before him.
Madame Chambers advanced and presented a petition to him. He inquired
curtly who she was and what she wanted, and took no further notice of her.
The next time the Emperor went to the _chasse_ Madame Chambers again made
her appearance, the same scene was re-enacted, with the same result. He
went again a third time, and there also again appeared Madame Chambers
with her petition.
"'Comment!' exclaimed the Emperor furiously, 'toujours Madame Chambers!'
"'Oui, Empereur, toujours Madame Chambers,' she replied imperturbably.
"This was too much for Napoleon. The man who was accustomed to see the
greatest of his generation tremble before his slightest frown gazed in no
small astonishment at the plump, placid little soubrette who confronted
him without a tremor. He burst into a merry laugh, and exclaimed. '_Eh
bien, que votre mari reste à Paris. Berthier, je vous en charge!_' turning
to Marshal Berthier who was in his suite; and Mr Chambers was never sent
back to the dépôt."
Few, however, shared the temerity of Madame Chambers. John Stanhope
writes: "The awe that even the principal ministers felt in the presence of
Napoleon would not be credited in England. His courtiers literally
trembled before him. 'In what sort of a humour is the Emperor to-day?'
was a frequent question in Paris.... How I have blushed for the adulation,
the degrading, I may almost say the blasphemous flattery that has been
offered before the throne of Napoleon by men of the highest rank. But
perhaps I ought to make some allowance for those who had witnessed the
horrors of the Revolution. Can, however, such men be expected to recover
the high tone of feeling they once entertained? Can France ever be
restored to a sound state?"
Yet one man stood alone in heroic opposition to the Conqueror of
Christendom. Frail, old, and deserted even by those upon whose support he
had relied, the Pope, Pius VII., had courage to oppose the Conqueror of
the world. While John Stanhope was in Paris the celebrated interview took
place between the aged Pontiff and the autocrat to whom the Vicar of
Christ was but as a temporal Sovereign to be crushed beneath the might of
an all-but universal monarchy. Pius VII. had indeed had an ample warning
in the fate of his predecessor, who, bereft of all power, had been
consigned by Napoleon to an imprisonment in which he had expired. In 1801
Pius VII. had been forced to conclude a _concordat_ with Napoleon, which
the latter had afterwards subjected to arbitrary alterations; in 1804 the
Pontiff had found himself compelled to repair to Paris to assist at the
coronation of his enemy. Shortly after his return to Rome the French had
entered the Eternal city, and in May 1809 the Papal States were annexed by
France. Promptly the brave old Pontiff excommunicated the robbers of the
Holy See, and the vengeance of Bonaparte upon this act was swift and sure.
The Pope was removed as a prisoner to Grenoble, then to Fontainebleau; and
it is curious to learn, by Stanhope's contemporary account, the light in
which such a stupendous event in the history of the Roman Church was
regarded at the date of its happening.
"The Holy Father, the representative of St Peter, he who holds the Keys of
Heaven and Hell, is actually a prisoner in the hands of Napoleon! Poor,
excellent old man, gallantly and with the resignation of a martyr does he
bear up against his sufferings and maintain the dignity of the Papal See.
It is a singular thing that in a _soi-disant_ Catholic country the
imprisonment of the Father of their Church should make so little
sensation. I hear, indeed, that many women gathered round the different
places at which he stopped in the course of his journey through France,
but even the interest they felt for him soon appears to have subsided. _A
partie de chasse_ the other day was announced to take place in the Forest
of Fontainebleau. This afforded the Emperor an opportunity of having a
conversation with the Pope without any sacrifice of his own dignity,
without any troublesome arrangement of ceremony, and still more without
drawing upon himself the public eye, as to go hunting near the Palace of
Fontainebleau without even paying a visit to the Pope would have been a
positive breach of politeness.
"The interview took place. On the one side was the venerable churchman
bending beneath the weight of affliction as well as of years, on the other
Napoleon Bonaparte; yet if the reports circulated in Paris are to be
believed, the old Pontiff held his own with unabated courage and dignity,
and nobly maintained the cause of his religion, though the Emperor is said
_actually to have thrust his fist in his face and all but struck him_. How
the interview terminated I cannot learn, but I heard the fresh Concordat
cried about the streets of Paris that same evening.
"This dispute," he writes later, "has narrowly escaped producing the most
important results in ecclesiastical history--the separation of the French
Empire from the See of Rome. The Emperor had assumed the nomination to the
French Bishoprics, but the Pope refused to give the investiture to the
persons he appointed. The Church almost universally stood by their Chief;
the consequence was that there was a considerable difficulty in filling up
the vacant Sees. The Archbishopric of Paris was one of these. The Emperor
offered it to his Uncle, Cardinal Fesch, but he, either from sincere
attachment to his Church, or from the duty he owed to the Roman supremacy
as a Cardinal, or from a conviction that he was safer in possession of the
Archbishopric of Lyons, held under the Pope's authority, than he could be
in one held in defiance of it, resolved to brave the Emperor's anger and
refuse that offer. Napoleon, contenting himself with calling Fesch a fool,
offered it to Cardinal Maury, who became titular Archbishop of Paris.
There are few things in the history of the French Revolution that make one
blush more for human nature than the falling off of that man whose opening
career had been so brilliant....
"More and more the Emperor had felt that to be second to the Pope was
inconsistent with his own dignity, and that if he could not bend the
pontiff to his will, he must do without him. He had accordingly determined
to assume the sole presentation of the Bishoprics; but how to get the
Church to assent to such a proceeding was the question. He came at length
to the decision of summoning the Gallican and Italian Churches.... When
the Council met, I was allowed by a friend of mine to copy a letter from
one of the members. It was a curious document and I preserved it for some
time with great care, but I became at length alarmed at having such a
compromising paper in my possession and reluctantly committed it to the
flames. The tenor, however, of some parts of it I remember....
"The writer stated that the Emperor at first proposed to try the effects
of corruption and to tamper with the Bishops individually, and that he had
succeeded in that course, to some extent, more particularly with the
Italian Bishops; but that when he abandoned that plan and summoned a
Council, he committed a great error and entirely defeated his own
intentions. Those men, who could be gained by corruption or intimidated by
power, when they found themselves surrounded by their Brethren, were
withheld, by shame, from giving way to such considerations. Numbers give
power; individually each man might tremble at the thought of resisting
Napoleon, but united, the _esprit de corps_ which is, as it ought to be,
the most powerful incentive among all Churchmen, taught them to offer an
unyielding opposition to all demands inconsistent with the rights of their
Church. But there was another circumstance which rendered the assembling
of the Council fatal to the Emperor's project, and which, not to have
known, was on his part inexcusable ignorance. At the opening of all
Councils each member takes an oath that he will not alter anything that
has been fixed by former Councils, so that everyone in this case was
individually bound by an oath taken in the presence of his Colleagues to
reject such conditions as were required by the Emperor from the Council!
The consequence of this was that even those who had given their adhesion
to his plans were now found united with the brethren in the cause of their
Church. Napoleon found that he had overreached himself.
"The letter further stated that the Bishop or Archbishop of Tours had
conducted himself like an angel. _Du sang nous en avons tous dans nos
veines_, was the opening of his speech, _et que nous en devons répandre
puisque la dernière goutte_, etc., etc. It stated further that when the
Bishops took up the address to the throne they commenced in the following
words--_Sire, nous vous apportons nos têtes!_ Upon which the Emperor
actually started, surprised at hearing himself addressed in words which
were suited to a Nero or a Caligula."
Meanwhile Napoleon, having failed to bend the Church of Rome to his will,
was preparing for another campaign against terrestrial powers. He had
started a conscription and was raising an army of 400,000 men, with which
he hoped to regain something of his lost prestige in the eyes of the
world. Apart from troops, he had to acquire horses for his cavalry and for
this end some expedient had to be devised. The methods which he adopted
were in accordance with the rest of his policy.
"Bold, indeed, as well as singular, was his plan. A conscription of horses
would have been too violent, certainly too straightforward a proceeding,
but still it was only by some measure of that nature that his object could
be attained. That which was determined upon was the _voluntary
presentation_ of horses to the Emperor, a plan which obviated the
necessity of paying anything, whereas, in a case of conscription, some
sum, however inadequate, must have been fixed upon as a sort of regulation
price.
"The example was set by the Senate, then followed by the city of Paris and
all the authorities. The papers teemed with fulsome statements of the
"presents" made to the Emperor. Monsieur A. had sent his son, fully
equipped; Monsieur B. had sent two horses, which the Emperor had
graciously accepted, etc., etc. If this fashion had been confined to those
whose situation rendered it incumbent upon them to prove their zeal for
the Emperor's service, there would have been no great harm; no one would
have felt much pity for this slight sacrifice on the part of those who
were basking in the sunshine of Court favour. Far, however, was the
measure from being limited to courtiers; its operation was universal. The
stables of every individual were visited, their horses examined and
practically seized....
"A friend of mine was so indignant at having his stables inspected that he
boldly refused to allow his horses to be taken out, declaring that if the
Emperor insisted upon having them, he would give them poison. I heard of
only one other case of resistance. A man whose horses were to be taken
away, inquired, with unprecedented temerity, 'Is this compulsory?'
"'No!--Ah, no!' was the emphatic reply.
"'Then if it is voluntary, it rests with me?'
"'_Mais certainement!_ But we _advise_ you to send them!'
"'May I then demand payment?' he next inquired.
"'Mais certainement!' was again the assurance which he received. He might
have payment at a subsequent date--they could not say exactly when, but
they _advised_ him not to demand it.
"It may be concluded that such indiscriminate spoliation, only rendered
the more disgusting by the humbug with which it was accompanied, could not
but tend to increase the unpopularity of the Emperor. So violent was the
discontent, that nothing but the dread of the police and the state of
apathy, into which the whole nation had sunk, prevented an open
insurrection."
In the midst of the general discontent, however, a ripple of merriment
passed over Paris. Madame mère, who, of course, could not avoid following
the new fashion, presented her horses as an offering to her son. They were
at once, to the delight of the Parisians, returned to her as _good for
nothing_! "Whether," says Stanhope, "she had selected her gift with a view
to this verdict, or whether it represented the general state of her stud,
I know not, but, from what I have seen, I conclude that the latter is not
an unlikely case." This little incident and the fact that many of the
untrained horses thus acquired, pirouetted in an undignified manner and
turned their backs as the Emperor passed, momentarily restored the good
humour of the Parisians.
But John Stanhope, whose own steed escaped confiscation on account of its
being blind of one eye, took far less interest in the Emperor's movements
than in a chance of freedom which at last presented itself to him. "There
was not a man in France at this date," he states, "certainly not a
Minister, who would have dared individually to plead the cause of a
prisoner. With the exception of Talleyrand, few among the French
dignitaries were superior to that singular influence by which Napoleon was
able to subdue the proudest spirits; and since the Ministers had positive
orders not to submit to the Emperor any proposal of that nature, there was
not one of them bold enough to defy such a mandate." But as with the
ecclesiastics, so with the Savants of France; what a man dared not attempt
singly, a body of men, in their collective strength, might venture. It was
patent to the Savants that the young Englishman had been unjustly
detained. The object of his journey had been so obviously not only a
peaceable but a laudable one, that the Institute determined at length, if
possible, in the interests of Science, to effect his liberation.
And at last they succeeded. At last, after a period of alternate
tormenting hope and despair, John Stanhope secured the longed-for passport
which accorded him permission to quit Paris. Even then, when liberty was
once more within his reach, it was all but snatched from him. Savary,
Minister of the Interior, taking advantage of the Emperor's absence,
harshly ordered all prisoners to return to their _dépôts_. But Stanhope,
with Napoleon's passport in his pocket, decided to disregard these orders,
and since his parole no longer prohibited an attempt at flight, he
determined to sell his newborn liberty dearly. After many hairbreadth
escapes he succeeded in reaching the German frontier, and to his unbounded
relief knew that he was at last free!
[Illustration: PASSPORT GIVEN BY NAPOLEON I TO JOHN SPENCER STANHOPE,
MARCH 14TH, 1813]
By the advice of his friends he decided to make his way back to England,
instead of going direct to Greece as he had at first intended. Passing
next through Vienna, therefore, he viewed with pardonable curiosity
Francis I., the father of Marie Louise; and his description of the
attitude of the Emperor of Austria towards his redoubtable son-in-law at
this date, when the latter still retained the Imperial power, is of
interest in the light of the complete change of front exhibited by Francis
directly the ascendancy of Napoleon appeared to be on the wane. Stanhope
relates:--
We English view with such horror all despotic Governments that we
cannot conceive the possibility of happiness existing under the sway
of an absolute Sovereign. Yet such I found to be the case at Vienna.
The Government of the Emperor is mild and paternal, the people seem to
have as much freedom of speech as they could enjoy even in England,
and at this particular moment the measures of the administration are
anything but popular. The Emperor is supposed to be devoted to the
cause of Napoleon, whilst his subjects are almost universally
enthusiastic for the liberty of Germany. Upon some occurrence, I think
it was upon the occasion of an insult offered to the Conte de
Narbonne, the Emperor was reported to have said--"Monsieur
l'Ambassadeur, you and I are the only two _Frenchmen_ in the country!"
The Empress was described to me as a woman of a proud and violent
temper, whilst the Crown Prince was spoken of with great interest, but
as a young man kept in the highest subjection. When the Emperor
summoned him to accompany himself and the Empress on their way to meet
Napoleon and Marie Louise, then on their road to Vilna previous to
opening the Moscow Campaign, the Prince was said to have replied that
he should have been most happy to have gone to meet his sister, _but
not that Man_!--the consequence of this was that he was immediately
put under arrest.
I was much pleased with the simple and unaffected manner in which the
Imperial family seemed to mix with the people. The Archduchesses
frequently drove about the streets without Guards or more attendants
than any lady of fashion would have had, though among the nobility
there is occasionally a display of state that is not to be found in
any other capital in Europe. I saw a man of rank going to Court who
had with him at least twenty servants magnificently dressed; and
although it was drawing towards the end of the season, Vienna still
appeared to be extremely brilliant and luxurious.... The city,
however, still bore marks of her recent misfortunes; the French
cannon-balls were still visible, and ruined buildings still testified
that she had been forced to yield to the proud will of a Conqueror.
At length, on what John Stanhope subsequently described as the happiest
day of his life, he reached Cannon Hall; and he used to relate that one of
the first discoveries which he made on entering his old home convinced him
how confident at one time his family must have been that he was numbered
with the dead, for a very valuable collection of prints, which he had
greatly prized, had, in view of his supposed decease, been employed by his
brothers in papering one of the bachelors' bedrooms!
Naturally, he was strongly urged by his relations not to risk leaving
England again, and many of his friends added their persuasions to those of
his family, pointing out the serious risk which he ran in again visiting
the continent. To all such representations he turned a deaf ear, since he
held that, as his liberty had been granted him with the ostensible object
of enabling him to prosecute his proposed researches in Greece, he was in
honour bound to fulfil that obligation. His brother Edward decided to
accompany him, and to his brother William he wrote:--
CANNON HALL, _September 1813._
Edward and I start for Greece next month, & my old friend Bonaparte is
at such a low ebb that I think perhaps I may be able to return through
France without the agreeable title of Prisoner.
You seem to think that I am not obliged to go into Greece. The truth
is that I do not consider myself as positively obliged, but I consider
that the honour of a Stanhope must not only be maintained, it must not
even be suspected, so go I will, be the consequences what they may.
[Illustration: EDWARD COLLINGWOOD, SON OF WALTER SPENCER STANHOPE, ESQ.,
M.P.]
Thus it befell that John Stanhope nearly became, for the second time, a
prisoner of Napoleon, and the tale of his adventures may be concluded
here.
He had promised that he would _en route_ deliver some despatches to the
Queen of Wurtemburg; he therefore journeyed to Stuttgart, where he had a
lively interview with the former Princess Royal of England, who, although
now forty-seven years of age, and exceedingly massive in figure, still
retained her girlish sprightliness. On hearing that a young Englishman
desired to see her, she at once concluded that someone had been sent with
fresh news of her father, George III., the thought of whose mental
affliction was a constant source of grief to her. John Stanhope writes:--
STUTTGART, _January 10th, 1814._
As soon as I had breakfasted, I went to the Palace. I was shown into a
sort of ante-room, the servant took in the letters, and returned for
answer that the Queen would see me herself. In another moment she
hastened into the room where I was, and without giving me time to make
my proper salutations, she burst out with--"_How is the King_?" I
was astounded at so disagreeable a question, and with difficulty
answered--"Much the same?" "What, no better?" continued she in great
disappointment. At first she supposed that I was a messenger, but upon
hearing my name, she took me herself into another room and remained
conversing with me for full half an hour.
She inquired if I was Captain Stanhope's son, and upon hearing that I
was a Spencer-Stanhope, she made a sort of start of surprise, she said
she knew my father and well remembered my mother's marriage. She added
that she remembered it particularly from one circumstance, the King
was desirious of buying for Princess Sophia a diamond pin which my
father had previously ordered. There was much _pour parler_ about
the matter. My father refused to renounce his purchase to any other
intending purchaser, and the King refused as obstinately to give up
all hopes of persuading the unknown owner of the pin to relinquish his
rightful claim. At last my father learnt who was his rival, and
instantly gave up the pin to the King!
I had for some time found it difficult to keep up the respectful
manner necessary to be observed to Sovereigns, but here, at the
thought of our respective parents obstinately haggling over the same
bit of jewellery, with a jeweller who was in great terror of offending
either, we both threw etiquette to the winds and laughed outright.
She asked me after Lord Chesterfield, and inquired how he bore the
death of his wife. She asked after the Arthur Stanhopes. I told her
the story of my recent imprisonment. She inquired whether the Queen
[Charlotte] appeared much older; and also asked the number of our
family, when she laughed yet more heartily at my saying that I could
not tell how many girls there were without counting. She said to me,
"You see I know more about your family than you do!" She at length
told me she was much obliged to me for the trouble of bringing her
letters and curtsied me out.
After this interview Stanhope saw the Palace which, he says, "is a
splendid building, and on its summit appears a magnificent new crown that
does not fail to remind the spectator of the recent acquisition of the
Royal title."
He was shown the apartments of the King, which he found handsome and well-
furnished, "but amongst the decorations, parrots, plants and musical
clocks made a conspicuous figure, as well as no little clamour for the
attendant setting all the clocks in motion as he passed, a singular
concert was produced, which was increased by the screaming of parrots,
paroquets and macaws.
"I afterwards went through the gardens of the ménagerie, where there is,
amongst other creatures, a large collection of monkeys; then to the farms
where there are some cattle, but a most singular assemblage of monsters,
such as _sheep with five legs_, etc., etc.; rather an odd taste in
farming, to which pursuit the King professes to be much attached! In some
of the fields I saw Kangaroos, which were originally a present from our
King, and have bred and become numerous."
He then saw the King's carriages, "one built by Hatchard in England which
cost a thousand pounds"; also, in contrast, the humble little garden chair
in which her Majesty usually drove out, "And, I assure you," the attendant
added confidentially, "_she fills it well_!"
He finally visited Beau Sejour, where he says:--
I was not a little surprised, on entering a salon in a building
opposite to the Palace, to find myself in the midst of an assembly of
Knights in robes of their respective orders. I involuntarily started
back at being thus transported, as it were, into the days of chivalry,
but as soon as my first surprise had passed away and allowed time for
a little reflection, I observed that my Knights were made of wood and
intended to show off the habiliments of the different orders.
I afterwards went to a little island where there was a chapel built
upon some rock-work. I was conducted by my guide into a cell which had
been formed underneath it, and I saw the figure of a monk seated near
a table on which was a skull and an hour-glass. Upon my entering, he
turned his head round suddenly to look at me, but though the deception
has been very well contrived. I was not long in discovering that this
also was a fictitious monk.
Another anecdote relating to Continental Royalties of that day did John
Stanhope send to regale his family. During his travels he met Sir Francis
d'Ivernois, who, he explains, was a native of Geneva brought up to the
French bar. Having made himself of considerable use to the English
Government by exposing the arts and deception employed by the French
Government, he became a great authority on finance, and was rewarded by an
English pension and a knighthood. Stanhope recounts the following
adventure which once befell d'Ivernois:--
"He was at one time on the Continent as a travelling tutor with two young
Englishmen. He happened one day to be sauntering with his pupils near one
of the Royal Palaces of Prussia, when they observed some young and very
striking-looking girls walking at a little distance. This was enough to
excite the romance of the young Englishmen, who were in no great awe of
their tutor. They began to give chase, which excited an evident alarm
among the ladies. In her embarrassment, one of them dropped her
handkerchief, which was immediately picked up and presented to her by one
of the young gentlemen. This, of course, tended to increase the agitation
of the ladies, who retreated as fast as they could, and disappeared
through a door in the wall before them.
"Upon the return of the youths to Monsieur d'Ivernois, he addressed them
with--'Well, gentlemen, unless I am mistaken, you have got into a pretty
scrape. I suspect that those ladies were the Princesses of Prussia!'
"'Pooh, pooh, nonsense!' answered his pupils, highly amused.
"'Not so much nonsense as you suppose; by their dress and appearance they
were evidently persons _comme il faut_; they were frightened and
embarrassed by your conduct, and they retreated through a gate which
opened into the Palace gardens!'
"The young men laughed at their tutor's conjecture, but shortly after,
they were at some ball or reunion at Berlin, when the Duchess of Brunswick
went up to Monsieur d'Ivernois and addressed him with--'Monsieur
d'Ivernois, come with me, I want to speak to you.' Conducting him into a
more retired part of the room, she continued--'The other day the young
Princesses were guilty of an indiscretion. Tired of always walking in the
Palace Garden at Potsdam, they could not resist the inclination they felt
to steal out and enjoy a walk in the open country--a pleasure enhanced
perhaps by the feeling that it was forbidden. They were followed and
addressed by two young English gentlemen who were in company with a man
older than themselves, and of a grave and more sedate appearance, who was
supposed to be their tutor. I have taken it into my head that you were
this person of more sedate appearance, and that the two indiscreet young
men were your two pupils. Now if I am right in my conjecture, I suppose
that you have no _great wish_ to pay a visit to Spandau, and therefore I
need not impress upon you the absolute necessity of holding your tongue on
the subject. The Governess, who is fully aware of the indiscretion she
committed in permitting such an escapade, is in the greatest alarm and as
anxious as you can be that the strictest secrecy should be observed, so
that _she_, at all events, will not boast of the adventure.'
"M. d'Ivernois had nothing to say in reply. He took the hint, for the name
of Spandau effectually sealed both his lips and those of his pupils,
whilst the Princesses, when their alarm had subsided, were most probably
flattered to find that their beauty produced no less an effect when not
enhanced by the splendour of Royalty."
* * * * *
Space forbids following in detail the adventures of John Stanhope _en
route_ to Greece or the outcome of his researches there; an account of
which latter, moreover, he published personally. He accomplished his
journey without misadventure and succeeded in closely investigating the
historical remains of Olympia, the description of which, brought out in
two separate volumes, he dedicated to the Institute of France. [3] A
severe attack of fever, however, unfortunately brought his operations to
an untimely ending; and on becoming convalescent, he was forced to start
upon his homeward journey.
* * * * *
Retracing their steps through Italy, he and his brother found the land
terrorised by the gangs of robbers with which it was infested, but who,
far from being common banditti, he explains, were to be looked upon as a
body of men who were at variance with the Government of that day.
"At one part of our journey," he writes, "the driver flatly refused to go
the route we had chosen, declaring he must go a shorter way for safety;
thereupon a priest, with whom we had been conversing, exclaimed--'Come
with me, you will be quite safe; here is _my_ pistol.' He drew back his
coat and displayed the cross which was attached to his breast. He then
told me that one day, as he was travelling, a robber with black
moustachios and a very ferocious appearance came to attack him. He
instantly drew back his gown, and with an air of authority showed the
cross. The robber immediately sank upon his knees and implored a blessing.
What a strange state of society in which men can unite to the greatest
veneration for their religion, an open violation of its most sacred laws!"
Another day Stanhope had to go through a lonely Pass which was known to be
occupied by a very celebrated band of robbers. "We entered a dreary dismal
country and at length came to a wild but extensive plain. We suddenly
perceived, on our left, a small troop of nine men, well mounted and drawn
up in a regular line, and evidently exercising themselves in a military
manner. Our Gendarmes informed us that they belonged to the banditti. This
was by no means acceptable intelligence, and we were not a little thankful
to find that we passed quietly on without molestation. This was the spot
in which they had captured an immense Government treasure a few months
before. It was escorted by 250 men. These were so confident in their
strength that, concluding that there was no danger of their being
attacked, some were at least a mile in advance and others as much in the
rear. Those who had remained near the treasure were so confounded by the
unexpected attack that they were soon put to flight, and the contributions
of all the Province beyond the Pass fell into the hands of the robbers.
"Murat, indignant at so great a loss, disgraced the General, who commanded
the Province, and sent down another with a thousand men and orders to
exterminate the robbers.
"I heard an anecdote of the Captain of the band that savours so much of
the time of Robin Hood that I cannot help relating it. The Duchess of
Avellino, who was on the point of passing from her chateau to Naples,
happened in some public place to mention that she was much alarmed at the
thoughts of going through the celebrated Pass. A gentleman present assured
her that her fears were groundless, and that there was not the smallest
danger. Shortly after, the Duchess pursued her journey, and when she
arrived at the Pass she perceived a stranger riding at no great distance
from her carriage. She felt considerably alarmed. However, he followed the
carriage closely till it was out of the Pass. He then rode up to the
window, pulled off his hat, and told the Duchess that he was the Captain
of the Band; that he had escorted her out of the limits of his
territories, and that she was then perfectly safe. She offered him money,
but he refused it positively, though politely. He then took his leave, but
not before she had recognised in him the man whom she had met at the
dinner party, and who had assured her that there was no cause for alarm.
"Not long ago one of the haunts of the banditti was discovered, and an
enormous amount of booty was found in it."
At Naples Stanhope and his brother arrived in time to be invited to a
masquerade given by the Princess of Wales. Caroline, weary of her
anomalous position in England, had in 1814 obtained leave to go to
Brunswick, and subsequently to make a further tour. She lived for some
time on the Lake of Como, an Italian, Bergami, who was now her favourite,
being in her company. Fêted by Murat, King of Sicily, [4] she pursued
unchecked her career of eccentricity and indiscretion.
"Directly the Princess heard that we were at Naples she invited us to her
masquerade. My friend Maxwell was going in a Turkish dress which he had
brought with him from that country, therefore I thought I might as well
adopt a costume of the same land, and chose that of a black slave. The
ball began by fireworks which were let off in a little Island immediately
in front of the Palace in which we were assembled. I had been assured that
the Commandant had declared that as he had a considerable quantity of
gunpowder in the Fortress, he could not allow anything of the sort without
an express order from the King, as the danger would be considerable. None
the less, out of deference to the wishes of the Princess, the order
appears to have been given. The ball which followed was brilliant, the
dances were magnificent, and the King and Queen took part in almost every
dance. She is an extremely pretty woman. The King, to my amusement,
changed his dress frequently in the course of the evening. In the middle
of the proceedings a little cabinet was thrown open, in which was
disclosed a bust of Murat with the Inscription Joachim 1er Roi de Naples.
I met the Princess of Wales coming out of the cabinet, and was informed
that when the door was first opened she was stationed near the bust, and
in a theatrical manner placed a crown upon its head.
"To all this magnificent entertainment _there was no supper_!
"A few days afterwards, to my dismay, I received an intimation from the
Duc di Gallo that the King wished me to be presented.... On New Year's
Day, at the appointed time, I accordingly repaired to the Salon destined
for the Corps Diplomatique. I there found many people assembled, and a
table set out with a good breakfast, coffee, tea, all sorts of wine and
liqueurs. We were at length ushered into the Presence Chamber and formed a
circle round the King.
"I had been far from pleased with Murat's manners at the Princess of
Wales's ball, but he now certainly played the part of a Monarch like a
consummate actor. The former Inn-keeper's son was dressed magnificently in
a Spanish costume. He walked round the circle, and when he came to me he
exclaimed, as if aside, '_Ah, un beau nom!_' He asked me whence I came and
whether I intended to remain long in Naples; upon my answering the latter
question in the negative he said, 'J'en suis fâché!'
"As soon as our audience was terminated we were ushered into the Chapel
where all the nobility of the Court, both male and female, were assembled.
Each seemed to vie with the other in splendour of dress. The music was
immeasurably fine; but this theatrically magnificent assembly in a Chapel
seemed much like a mockery of Religion. Murat, however, who was in a very
conspicuous place, acted his part very well. His little boy stood near him
and he found out the different parts of the service in the child's prayer-
book. As soon as the mass was over the Duc di Gallo placed us in a room
which opened into that in which the King received the ladies of the Court,
so that, by standing near the door, we could see the whole of the
ceremony. The Queen was absent as she had caught cold at the Princess of
Wales's ball. The ladies, in consequence, only passed with a side step and
solemn demeanour, making _en passant_ a low, deferential bow to the King.
But I was extremely amused at their manner directly this was over. As soon
as they arrived within a short distance of our door, their solemn and
respectful countenances relaxed into a smile of mockery, their side
swimming steps into a run, and they all appeared as changed as if they had
been touched by a magician's wand. I could not refrain from laughing at
them as I read in their altered demeanour the distastefulness of the
ceremony through which they had just passed."
Later, Stanhope received, through the Princess of Wales, invitations to
various other balls; and finally he was the recipient of a letter from
Lord Sligo inviting him to become a subscriber to a ball which it was
proposed to give in honour, jointly, of the Princess and of the King and
Queen. Stanhope, in common with several of the English, refused to take
part in a measure which the latter considered their own Government would
not approve, as England had not recognised the Sovereignty of Murat. At a
dance, however, that same evening, the Princess, who had previously taken
no notice of Lord Granville who was present, came up to him as he stood
near Stanhope and informed him that she was exceedingly anxious there
should not appear to be any division among the English on this occasion,
and that therefore she wished him to subscribe. Lord Granville answered
that if it was _her_ wish he should certainly consent to do so. She
thereupon proceeded to attack Stanhope's other friend, Maxwell, but the
latter stood firm, flatly refusing to consent to a proceeding of which he
disapproved. On this the Princess, greatly indignant, turned her back on
him and walked off, exclaiming emphatically, "No more dinners at _my_
house, Mr Maxwell!"
Before the disputed ball took place, Stanhope and his brother had
journeyed on to Rome. On the road thither they again ran great danger from
robbers; indeed, at the first town in the Pope's dominions, where they
were obliged to submit their baggage to the examination of the custom
house officials, a soldier informed them that he had orders not to let an
Englishman pass without an efficient guard, and he begged them, to their
astonishment, to take an escort of fifty-two men.
"We, however," Stanhope relates, "passed the next stage safely without
seeing any robbers, but we were informed that our danger was not yet over,
as we had to pass near a wood which was one of their regular haunts. We
saw nothing to alarm us in this wood, but, shortly after, we were startled
by seeing two men lying in the middle of the road, swimming in blood. We
learnt that these were two robbers whom the gendarmes had been conveying
to Turin, when a rescue was attempted. The gendarmes immediately shot
these men and pursued the others. This had happened only a quarter of an
hour before we passed."
In Rome Stanhope wrote, "I frequently meet Lucien Bonaparte. We have also
some excellent English society--the Duke of Bedford, Lords Holland and
Cawdor, Sir H. Davy, Mrs Rawdon, etc., and most of them give parties, so
that I could sometimes fancy myself in London, I see so many London
faces."
At Milan he was shown how the French soldiers had playfully made the
fresco of "The Last Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci, the butt of their
bullets; and at Turin he was struck by the strange sight in the Museum of
a black man in _puris naturalibus_. He had been a favourite servant of the
King of Sardinia, who had left nothing undone to cure him of the disorder
from which he suffered; but having failed in this endeavour, he had the
deceased nigger stuffed and affectionately preserved thus!
The travellers next crossed the Mont Cenis by walking up the mountain and
sledging down the other side. And now, at length, they again approached
Paris. With strangely mingled feelings, not unmixed with a sense of
premonition, did John Stanhope once more draw near the scene of his former
captivity. A transformation had taken place in the surroundings which he
knew so well; Napoleon was now himself a prisoner in the hands of his
enemies, and Louis XVIII. was seated upon the throne of his ancestors. But
Stanhope was not long in discovering that the metamorphosis was far more
apparent than actual. The eleven months' Sovereignty of Louis had not
served to render the monarchy secure, and the spirit of Napoleon brooded
like an unseen presence over the land which it still dominated.
"During the period of my rapid journey," writes Stanhope, "I lost no time
in ascertaining the feelings of the people with respect to the Bourbons
and to all the extraordinary changes which had taken place since I left.
We had an officer in the coach who told us that if Bonaparte were to
appear, almost all the privates would join him, and I found that
disaffection prevailed universally through that part of France. Even boys,
who were running along the side of the coach begging, and who cried _Vive
le Roi!_ after having begged in vain for some time, ran off crying _Vive
l'Empereur!_ This was a degree of licence very different to what I had
been accustomed to see in France in the days of Napoleon's iron rule and
tyrannical system of espionage. The impression produced in my mind by what
I heard and saw was that, if I had formed a just estimate of Bonaparte's
character, _he would soon be in France and at Paris!_"
The latter was not a comforting conviction, and, ere long, Stanhope learnt
that plots were undoubtedly on foot to bring such an event to pass, "A
regiment of the old Guards marched into some town, and, addressing the
young Guards quartered there, said, 'Our cry is _Vive l'Empereur!_ What is
yours?' '_Vive le Roi!_' was the answer. 'Well, then, we must fight it
out; but as we are of the Vieille Guarde we will give you choice of
weapons.' 'No,' replied the others, 'we will neither cry _Vive l'Empereur_
nor accept your challenge.' Such a reception was not what the conspirators
expected; in consequence, the plot failed, the old Guards returned to
their quarters, and the Generals concerned in the business attempted to
escape. Some succeeded, but others were taken. Louis XVIII., however, did
not dare to put them to death.
"But that a conspiracy preceded and signalised Napoleon's return there can
be little doubt, and the violet was the emblem of the conspirators.
Frederick Douglas [5] told me that before Napoleon's return he was at the
Duchesse de Bassano's when the subject of flowers became the topic of
conversation. The Duchesse exclaimed, 'Pour moi, j'aime la violette!' A
general smile appeared on the countenances of all present, and Douglas saw
that there was some joke or secret that he did not understand. That secret
became sufficiently clear afterwards." [6]
Meanwhile, upon Stanhope's arrival in Paris, he called upon several of his
former friends; but the following morning, to his dismay, he was seized
with a return of the fever which had attacked him in Greece. His brother
had left him to return home by another route, and he thus found himself
alone, stricken with a severe illness which "was no longer ague, but a
violent fever, scarcely, if at all, intermittent." He at once sent for the
doctor, who provided him with a good nurse; but he explains, "My situation
may be better imagined than described when I say that the first
intelligence which greeted me in my helpless and suffering condition was
_that Bonaparte had landed in France_. At the very time that we were
passing through the south of France, he was but a short distance from us!
"I never for one moment doubted the result of his return. My old nurse,
who took the greatest care of me, amused me with her abject terror, while,
in order to reassure me, 'Il ne viendra pas!' was the burden of her song.
"Even from my bed of sickness I became aware that an extraordinary change
had taken place in the feelings of the Parisians. The impression produced
on my mind on my return to France had been that by far the greater
majority of the people were decided Bonapartists. But the moment that
Napoleon's return became a probable event, there was a complete
transformation in the opinions of the people. They became enthusiastic in
the cause of the Bourbons. Hitherto they had laughed at and despised them;
but Napoleon they hated and feared. Although at a distance they might pity
and almost love him, when near present he was only an object of terror.
The remembrance of the past came back vividly to their minds. They
recognised, too, that in his adversity they had betrayed and forsaken him;
now the day of his triumph or retribution was possibly approaching.
"Numerous battalions were formed in Paris, and the greatest zeal shown by
the great mass of the inhabitants in the Royal cause. The army, however,
which had marched to Lyons to oppose the Emperor, joined his standard, and
the only hope of the King lay in the new army which had been hastily
collected. Would the troops fight, or would they desert to the Emperor,
was now the question on everybody's lips. Upon this the issue rested.
"My impression was that though, of course, all the old troops were devoted
to Napoleon, the feeling of the army in his favour was very far from
universal. Many felt that they could not in honour, or indeed without the
guilt of perjury, forsake the White Standard which they were sworn to
defend, in order to join the ranks of their adversaries. They recognised
that, by whatever species of pretext it was glossed over, still desertion
remained the foulest blot upon a soldier's honour. But, on the other hand,
they felt no interest in the Royal cause, and a natural repugnance to shed
the blood of their fellow-countrymen. They were, in fact, entirely
indisposed to spill French blood for either of the rival Sovereigns, and
were prepared to remain quiet spectators of the scene. Could the King but
once have succeeded in making them fire on the Imperialists he might have
had a chance, and doubtless a skilful General might have succeeded _se
faire maître d'occasion_.
"But Bonaparte had hazarded his all upon this venture--he had counted upon
the feeling of the armies of France. And the dramatic instinct by which he
had made himself master of so many situations in the past was now again
called to his aid. He took care to have it circulated that his troops
would not fire upon Frenchmen. He even gave out that his soldiers had no
cartridges. This put the Royalists in an unexpected dilemma.... 'How can
we fire in cold blood upon men who will not fire upon us?' was the
universal problem in the Royal army. And while they debated this question,
Napoleon eventually passed through their lines as if he had been an
unconcerned spectator.
"Meanwhile, my situation was a singular one. Returning from my pilgrimage
where I had been to earn my liberty, here was I again in Paris, hopelessly
confined to my bed, with the prospect of being again taken prisoner as an
Englishman. My earnest entreaty to the doctor was to patch me up in any
way so as to enable me to effect my retreat from Paris, for I foresaw that
there would be such a stampede as Napoleon approached the city that it
would be impossible to procure post-horses.... After having been confined
to my bed for a week I was at last enabled to put on my clothes. Fortified
with some strong _bouillon_, which my nurse gave me instead of beef-tea,
and getting into a hackney coach, I went off to procure myself some
necessaries for the journey. The scene I saw was an extraordinary one;
everyone seemed in a hurry, hastening somewhere. Crowds of English were
leaving the city, some frightened out of their wits, others in perfect
unconcern. One dandy I even heard say, 'Well, I would rather be a prisoner
in Paris than at liberty in England,' and I longed to give him a letter of
recommendation to my old quarters at Verdun."
Nor was Stanhope a moment too soon. With the greatest difficulty and only
at an exorbitant price was he able to get horses and the promise of a
voiturier who eventually sent his wife as driver in his place, being
probably himself a suspected person who could not leave the city. At the
last moment a message arrived from Mr Boyd, the banker, begging that he
and his family might share Stanhope's flight. Such an offer to an
enfeebled invalid was most acceptable, and accordingly Stanhope eventually
left Paris in company with the banker, his wife and their two daughters.
The scene as they went defied description; troops were marching, drums
sounding, flags flying, crowds were collected in the streets with no
particular object, and fugitives were vainly endeavouring to make way over
the bridge where carriages were locked in a block which threatened
disaster to their occupants. Nevertheless, Madame la voiturière, who,
Stanhope explains, was not only dressed up to enact the part she had
undertaken, but was "not of the mildest or most peaceable temper," forced
a way through the mêlée with such success that, in due course, she
deposited her travellers in safety at Brussels whither they were bound;
when, to their extreme amusement, her task accomplished, she speedily
"transformed herself into a Parisian _élégante_!"
And even as they reached safety, into the city which they had left,
Napoleon entered. By then the stampede of fugitives was ended, "and,"
writes John Stanhope, "I was informed that upon Bonaparte's arrival, a
melancholy stillness seemed to pervade the streets. A few feeble cries of
_Vive l'Empereur_ were raised, but only by his immediate partisans; for
the most part the Parisians, as though uncertain of their feelings,
maintained a morose and depressed silence."
And in the midst of that brooding stillness, Napoleon entered upon the
last phase of his greatness, his brief Reign of a Hundred Days.