Attack on the bridge of Charenton by the Russians—Fouché’s arrangements
for the _defence_ of Paris—Bonaparte’s retirement to Malmaison—His
want of moral courage—Comparison between Napoleon and Frederick the
Great—Extraordinary resolution of the ex-emperor to repair to
London—Preparations for his undertaking the journey as _secretary_ to
Dr. Marshall—The scheme abandoned from dread of treachery on the road
to the coast—Termination of the author’s intercourse with Dr.
Marshall, and the cause thereof—Remuneration of Col. Macirone by the
arch-traitor Fouché.
It was the received opinion that the allies would form a blockade rather
than venture an assault on Paris: their mortars or heavy artillery had
not arrived, and the numerical strength and _morale_ of the French army
at Vilette the reader has already seen. The English army was within view
of, and occupied, St. Denis; the Prussians were on the side of Sevres;
and the Russians were expected in the direction of Charenton, along the
Marne; while a Brunswick corps at Versailles had been surprised and cut
up. That Paris might have been taken by storm is _possible_, but not
more, if they fought; but had the French army been augmented by one half
of the national guard, the effort would surely have been most
sanguinary, and the result most doubtful. Had the streets been
intersected, mines sunk, the bridges broken down, and the populace armed
as well as circumstances would permit (the heights being at the same
time duly defended), though I am not a military man, and therefore very
liable to error on such a subject, I have little doubt the allied forces
would have presented but a scanty army before they arrived in the centre
of the French metropolis. The defence of Saragossa by Palafox (though
but a chieftain of Guerilla) proved the possibility of defending an
_open_ town against a valorous enemy. However, this was not the course
meditated by Davoust: he wished to _attack_; and no doubt, considering
the humour of the French army at the time, the offensive was the best
system.
I was breakfasting in Dr. Marshall’s garden when we heard a heavy firing
commence: it proceeded from Charenton, about three miles from Paris,
where the Russian advanced-guard had attacked the bridge, which had not
been broken up, although it was one of the leading avenues to the Castle
of Vincennes. Fouché indeed had contrived to weaken this post
effectually, so that the defence there could not be long protracted; and
he had also ordered ten thousand stand of arms to be taken secretly out
of Paris and lodged in the Castle of Vincennes (to prevent the Parisians
from arming) the day before.
The discharges continuing in occasional volleys, like a sort of running
fire of platoons, I was most anxious to go to some spot which would
command a view of that part of the country; but the doctor dissuaded me,
saying it _could_ not be a severe or lengthened struggle, as Fouché had
taken care of _that_ matter. I led him gradually into conversation on
the business, and he made known to me, though _equivocally_, much more
than I had ever suspected. Every dispatch, every negotiation, every step
which it was supposed by such among the French as had their country’s
honour and character at heart, might operate to prevent the allies from
approaching Paris after the second abdication, had been either
accompanied by counter-applications, or defeated by secret instructions
from Fouché.
While mock negotiations were carrying on at a distance, and before the
English army had reached St. Denis, Bonaparte was already at Malmaison.
It had become quite clear that he was a lost man; and this most
celebrated of all soldiers on record proved by his conduct, at that
crisis, the distinction between animal and mental courage: the first is
an instinctive quality, enjoyed by us in common with many of the brute
creation; the latter is the attribute of man alone. The first Napoleon
eminently possessed; in the latter he was certainly defective. Frederick
the Great, in mental courage, was altogether superior to Napoleon. He
could fight and fly, and rally and fight again; his spirit never gave
in; his perseverance never flagged: he seemed, in fact, insusceptible of
despondency, and was even greater in defeat than in victory: he never
quitted his army whilst a troop could be rallied; and the seven years’
war proved that the king of Prussia was equally illustrious, whether
fugitive or conqueror.
Napoleon reversed those qualities. No warrior that history records was
ever so great _while successful_: his victories were followed up with
the rapidity of lightning: in overwhelming an army, he in fact often
subdued a kingdom, and profited more by each triumph than any general
that had preceded him. But he could not stand up under _defeat_!—except
at Vienna.
Several plans for Napoleon’s escape I heard as they were successively
formed: such of them as had an appearance of plausibility Fouché found
means to counteract. It would not be amusing to relate the various
devices which were suggested for this purpose. Napoleon was meanwhile
almost passive and wrapped in apathy. He clung to existence with even a
mean tenacity; and it is difficult to imagine but that his intellect
must have suffered before he was led to endure a life of ignominious
exile.
At Doctor Marshall’s hotel one morning, I remarked his travelling
carriage as if put in preparation for a journey, having candles in the
lamps, &c. A smith had been examining it, and the servants were all in
motion. I suspected some movement of consequence, but could not surmise
what. The doctor did not appear to think that I had observed these
preparations.
On a sudden, while walking in the garden, I turned short on him.
“Doctor,” said I, at a venture, “you are going on an important journey
to-night.”
“How do you know?” said he, thrown off his guard by the abruptness of my
remark.
“Well!” continued I, smiling, “I wish you well _out of it_!”
“Out of _what_?” exclaimed he, recovering his self-possession, and
sounding me in his turn.
“Oh, no matter, no matter,” said I, with a significant nod, as if I was
already acquainted with his proceedings.
This bait took in some degree; and after a good deal of fencing,
(knowing that he could fully depend on my secrecy,) the doctor led me
into his study, where he said he would communicate to me a very
interesting and important matter. He then unlocked his desk, and
produced an especial passport for himself and his _secretary_ to Havre
de Grace, thence to embark for England; and he showed me a _very_ large
and also a smaller bag of gold, which he said he was about to take with
him.
At length he informed me that it was determined Napoleon should go to
England; that he had himself agreed to it; and that he was to travel in
Dr. Marshall’s carriage, as his secretary, under the above-mentioned
passport. It was arranged that, at twelve o’clock that night, the
emperor with the queen of Holland were to be at Marshall’s house (Rue
Pigale), and that Napoleon and the doctor were to set off thence
immediately; that on arriving in England he was forthwith to repair to
London, preceded by a letter to the Prince Regent, stating that he threw
himself on the protection and generosity of the British nation, and
required permission to reside therein as a private individual during his
life.
The thing seemed to me too romantic to be serious; and the doctor could
not avoid perceiving my incredulity. He however enjoined me to secrecy,
which by the bye was on my own account quite unnecessary; I should have
mentioned it only to one member of my family, whom I knew to be to the
full as cautious as myself. But I determined to ascertain the fact; and
before twelve o’clock at night repaired to the Rue Pigale, and stood up
underneath a door somewhat further on the opposite side of the street to
Dr. Marshall’s house.
A strong light shone through the curtains of the first floor windows,
and lights were also moving about in the upper story. The court meantime
was quite dark, and the indications altogether bespoke that something
unusual was going forward in the house. Every moment I expected to see
Napoleon come to the gate. He came not:—but about half after twelve an
elderly officer buttoned up in a blue surtout rode up to the _porte
cochère_, which, on his ringing, was instantly opened. He went in, and
after remaining about twenty minutes, came out on horseback as before,
and went down the street. I thought he might have been a precursor, and
still kept my ground until some time after, when the light in the first
floor was extinguished; and thence inferring what subsequently proved to
be the real state of the case, I returned homeward disappointed.
Next day Dr. Marshall told me that Napoleon had been dissuaded from
venturing to Havre de Grace—he believed by the queen of Holland: some
idea had occurred either to him or her that he might not be _fairly
dealt with_ on the road. Marshall seemed much hurt. I own the same
suspicion had struck me when I first heard of the scheme, and reflected
on what I had long before heard from my valet, Henry Thevenot, as
already mentioned. I was far from implicating the doctor in any
proceeding of a decidedly treacherous nature. I believed, and still
believe him to be _utterly incapable_ of countenancing in any way such
an action. His disposition always appeared to me gentle and humane. The
incident was, however, in all its bearings, an extraordinary one.
My intimacy with Doctor Marshall at length ceased, and in a manner very
disagreeable. I liked the man, and I do not wish to hurt his feelings;
but certain mysteries respecting his lady, and that alone, terminated
our connexion.
A person with whom I was extremely intimate happened to be in my
drawing-room one day when Mrs. Marshall called. I observed nothing of a
particular character except that Mrs. Marshall went suddenly away; and
as I handed her into her carriage, she said, “You promised to dine with
us to-morrow, and I requested you to bring any friend you liked: but do
not let it be _that fellow_ I have just seen; I have taken a great
dislike to his countenance!” No further observation was made, and the
lady departed.
On the next morning I received a note from Mrs. Marshall, stating that
she had reason to _know_ some malicious person had represented me as
being acquainted with certain affairs very material for the government
to understand, and as having papers in my possession which might be
required from me by the minister Fouché; advising me therefore to leave
town for awhile, sooner than be troubled respecting business so
disagreeable; and adding that, in the mean time, Colonel Macirone would
endeavour to find out the facts, and apprise me of them. This note was
curious, and I retain it.
I never was more surprised in my life than at the receipt of this
letter. I had never meddled at all in French politics, save to hear and
see all I could, and say nothing. I neither held nor had held any
political paper whatever, though I knew _Doctor Marshall_ possessed many
very important ones; and I therefore immediately went to Sir Charles
Stuart, our ambassador, made my complaints, showed him the note, and
requested his excellency’s personal interference. To my surprise, Sir
Charles in reply asked me how I could chance to know Macirone? I did not
feel comfortable at this, and answered, “Because both the English and
French governments, and his excellency to boot, (as Col. Macirone had
himself informed me,) not only had intercourse with, but had employed
Macirone both in Italy and Paris; and that I believed him to be at the
very moment in communication with persons of the _highest_
respectability in both countries.”
Sir Charles then wrote a note,—I think it was to Fouché,—informing him
who I was, &c. &c.; and I finally discovered it was all a scheme of Mrs.
Marshall for a purpose of her own. I know not whether Macirone’s name
was mentioned with his knowledge or not. This led me to other
investigations; and the result was, that further communication with Dr.
Marshall on my part became impossible. I certainly regretted the
circumstance, for he was a gentlemanly and intelligent man.
Colonel Macirone himself was soon taught by Fouché what it was to be the
_attaché_ of such a traitor. He had the mortification to find, that the
only remuneration which the arch-apostate was disposed to concede him,
was public disgrace and a _dungeon_!
Col. Macirone _himself_ often spoke to _me_ of his connexion with Fouché
as _employé ministériel_. One day after dinner, at Doctor Marshall’s, I
was so far off my guard as to tell Col. Macirone, in presence of many
persons, my opinion of Fouché, and of his (Macirone’s) late connexion
with him. I plainly foretold what actually happened soon after, when
Fouché signed _death_ or _banishment_ warrants for a crowd of his own
friends and instruments.
In about two months I met a person on the boulevard (as I was walking
with Lady Barrington, my daughter, and my nephew,) who accosted me as a
free acquaintance. I knew him not: he looked dejected; was almost
threadbare in his dress; unshaven, and obviously in bad health. He
stopped me, and asked me if I had forgotten _Macirone_? I started: I was
very sorry to see him in such a plight, and tendered my services. We had
a long conversation that afternoon, and another the succeeding day. I
found I had been but _too true_ a _prophet_; Fouché had seized him in
his bed; taken all his _papers_; and plunged him _en secret_ into a deep
dungeon, where he was kept six weeks, and then ordered to quit France
forthwith. I have had search lately made as to circumstances leading to
and connected with that and similar events: they will make an episode in
a subsequent recital concerning that period. As to Macirone, he himself
told me he deeply regretted his connexion with Fouché’s policy. He was
considered in Paris as a person quite attached to Murat, while _he_
lived.