On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe
was being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silently
following the road from Toulon to Marseilles.
Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a
little eminence from which he could see all the surrounding country;
then either because he had reached the end of his journey, or because,
before attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the
Thermopylae of Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which
spread to the southern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on
the edge of the ditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the
mountains which rise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and
having at his feet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation,
exotics of a conservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other
part of France.
Beyond this plain, glittering in the last rays of the sun, pale and
motionless as a mirror lay the sea, and on the surface of the water
glided one brig-of-war, which, taking advantage of a fresh land breeze,
had all sails spread, and was bowling along rapidly, making for Italian
seas. The beggar followed it eagerly with his eyes until it disappeared
between the Cape of Gien and the first of the islands of Hyeres, then as
the white apparition vanished he sighed deeply, let his head fall into
his hands, and remained motionless and absorbed in his reflections until
the tramplings of a cavalcade made him start; he looked up, shook back
his long black hair, as if he wished to get rid of the gloomy thoughts
which were overwhelming him, and, looking at the entrance to the gorge
from whence the noise came, he soon saw two riders appear, who were no
doubt well known to him, for, drawing himself up to his full height, he
let fall the stick he was carrying, and folding his arms he turned
towards them. On their side the new-comers had hardly seen him before
they halted, and the foremost dismounted, threw his bridle to his
companion, and uncovering, though fifty paces from the man in rags,
advanced respectfully towards him. The beggar allowed him to approach
with an air of sombre dignity and without a single movement; then, when
he was quite near--
"Well, marshal, have, you news for me?" said the beggar.
"Yes, sire," said the other sadly.
"And what are they?"
"Such that I could wish it were anyone but myself to announce them to
your Majesty----"
"So the Emperor refuses my services! He forgets the victories of
Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow?"
"No, sire; but he remembers the treaty of Naples, the taking of Reggio,
and the declaration of war of the viceroy of Italy."
The beggar struck his forehead.
"Yes, yes! I daresay he thinks I deserve his reproaches, and yet it
seems to me that he ought to remember that there are two men in me--the
soldier whom he made his brother, and the brother whom he made a
king.... Yes, as brother I have treated him ill--very ill, but as king,
upon my soul, I could not have acted differently.... I had to choose
between my sword and my crown, and between a regiment and a people.
Listen, Brune: you do not know how it all happened. There was an English
fleet, the guns of which were growling in the port, there was a
Neapolitan population howling in the streets. If I had been alone, I
would have passed through the fleet with one boat, through the crowd
with my sword alone, but I had a wife and children. Yet I hesitated; the
idea of being called traitor and deserter caused me to shed more tears
than the loss of my throne, or perhaps the death of those I love best,
will ever wring from me.... And so he will have nothing more to do with
me? He refuses me as general, captain, private? Then what is left for me
to do?"
"Sire, your Majesty must leave France immediately."
"And if I don't obey?"
"My orders are to arrest you and deliver you up to a court-martial!"
"Old comrade, you will not do that?"
"I shall do it, praying God to strike me dead in the moment I lay hands
on you!"
"That's you all over, Brune. You have been able to remain a good, loyal
fellow. He did not give you a kingdom, he did not encircle your brow
with a band of iron which men call a crown and which drives one mad; he
did not place you between your conscience and your family. So I must
leave France, begin my vagabond life again, and say farewell to Toulon,
which recalls so many memories to me! See, Brune," continued Murat,
leaning on the arm of the marshal, "are not the pines yonder as fine as
any at the Villa Pamfili, the palms as imposing as any at Cairo, the
mountains as grand as any range in the Tyrol? Look to your left, is not
Cape Gien something like Castellamare and Sorrento--leaving out
Vesuvius? And see, Saint-Mandrier at the farthest point of the gulf, is
it not like my rock of Capri, which Lamarque juggled away so cleverly
from that idiot of a Sir Hudson Lowe? My God! and I must leave all this!
Is there no way of remaining on this little corner of French
ground--tell me, Brune!"
"You'll break my heart, sire!" answered the marshal.
"Well, we'll say no more about it. What news?"
"The Emperor has left Paris to join the army. They must be fighting
now."
"Fighting now and I not there! Oh, I feel I could have been of use to
him on this battlefield. How I would have gloried in charging those
miserable Prussians and dastardly English! Brune, give me a passport,
I'll go at full speed, I'll reach the army, I will make myself known to
some colonel, I shall say, 'Give me your regiment.' I'll charge at its
head, and if the Emperor does not clasp my hand to-night, I'll blow my
brains out, I swear I will. Do what I ask, Brune, and however it may
end, my eternal gratitude will be yours!"
"I cannot, sire."
"Well, well, say no more about it."
"And your Majesty is going to leave France?"
"I don't know. Obey your orders, marshal, and if you come across me
again, have me arrested. That's another way of doing something for me.
Life is a heavy burden nowadays. He who will relieve me of it will be
welcome.... Good-bye, Brune."
He held out his hand to the marshal, who tried to kiss it; but Murat
opened his arms, the two old comrades held each other fast for a moment,
with swelling hearts and eyes full of tears; then at last they parted.
Brune remounted his horse, Murat picked up his stick again, and the two
men went away in opposite directions, one to meet his death by
assassination at Avignon, the other to be shot at Pizzo. Meanwhile, like
Richard III, Napoleon was bartering his crown against a horse at
Waterloo.
After the interview that has just been related, Murat took refuge with
his nephew, who was called Bonafoux, and who was captain of a frigate;
but this retreat could only be temporary, for the relationship would
inevitably awake the suspicions of the authorities. In consequence,
Bonafoux set about finding a more secret place of refuge for his uncle.
He hit on one of his friends, an avocat, a man famed for his integrity,
and that very evening Bonafoux went to see him.
After chatting on general subjects, he asked his friend if he had not a
house at the seaside, and receiving an affirmative answer, he invited
himself to breakfast there the next day; the proposal naturally enough
was agreed to with pleasure. The next day at the appointed hour Bonafoux
arrived at Bonette, which was the name of the country house where M.
Marouin's wife and daughter were staying. M. Marouin himself was kept by
his work at Toulon. After the ordinary greetings, Bonafoux stepped to
the window, beckoning to Marouin to rejoin him.
"I thought," he said uneasily, "that your house was by the sea."
"We are hardly ten minutes' walk from it."
"But it is not in sight."
"That hill prevents you from seeing it."
"May we go for a stroll on the beach before breakfast is served?"
"By all means. Well, your horse is still saddled. I will order mine--I
will come back for you."
Marouin went out. Bonafoux remained at the window, absorbed in his
thoughts. The ladies of the house, occupied in preparations for the
meal, did not observe, or did not appear to observe, his preoccupation.
In five minutes Marouin came back. He was ready to start. The avocat and
his friend mounted their horses and rode quickly down to the sea. On the
beach the captain slackened his pace, and riding along the shore for
about half an hour, he seemed to be examining the bearings of the coast
with great attention. Marouin followed without inquiring into his
investigations, which seemed natural enough for a naval officer.
After about an hour the two men went back to the house.
Marouin wished to have the horses unsaddled, but Bonafoux objected,
saying that he must go back to Toulon immediately after lunch. Indeed,
the coffee was hardly finished before he rose and took leave of his
hosts. Marouin, called back to town by his work, mounted his horse too,
and the two friends rode back to Toulon together. After riding along for
ten minutes, Bonafoux went close to his companion and touched him on the
thigh--
"Marouin," he said, "I have an important secret to confide to you."
"Speak, captain. After a father confessor, you know there is no one so
discreet as a notary, and after a notary an avocat."
"You can quite understand that I did not come to your country house just
for the pleasure of the ride. A more important object, a serious
responsibility, preoccupied me; I have chosen you out of all my friends,
believing that you were devoted enough to me to render me a great
service."
"You did well, captain."
"Let us go straight to the point, as men who respect and trust each
other should do. My uncle, King Joachim, is proscribed, he has taken
refuge with me; but he cannot remain there, for I am the first person
they will suspect. Your house is in an isolated position, and
consequently we could not find a better retreat for him. You must put it
at our disposal until events enable the king to come to some decision."
"It is at your service," said Marouin.
"Right. My uncle shall sleep there to-night."
"But at least give me time to make some preparations worthy of my royal
guest."
"My poor Marouin, you are giving yourself unnecessary trouble, and
making a vexatious delay for us: King Joachim is no longer accustomed to
palaces and courtiers; he is only too happy nowadays to find a cottage
with a friend in it; besides, I have let him know about it, so sure was
I of your answer. He is counting on sleeping at your house to-night, and
if I try to change his determination now he will see a refusal in what
is only a postponement, and you will lose all the credit for your
generous and noble action. There--it is agreed: to-night at ten at the
Champs de Mars."
With these words the captain put his horse to a gallop and disappeared.
Marouin turned his horse and went back to his country house to give the
necessary orders for the reception of a stranger whose name he did not
mention.
At ten o'clock at night, as had been agreed, Marouin was on the Champs
de Mars, then covered with Marshal Brune's field-artillery. No one had
arrived yet. He walked up and down between the gun-carriages until a
functionary came to ask what he was doing. He was hard put to it to find
an answer: a man is hardly likely to be wandering about in an artillery
park at ten o'clock at night for the mere pleasure of the thing. He
asked to see the commanding officer. The officer came up: M. Marouin
informed him that he was an avocat, attached to the law courts of
Toulon, and told him that he had arranged to meet someone on the Champs
de Mars, not knowing that it was prohibited, and that he was still
waiting for that person. After this explanation, the officer authorised
him to remain, and went back to his quarters. The sentinel, a faithful
adherent to discipline, continued to pace up and down with his measured
step, without troubling any more about the stranger's presence.
A few moments later a group of several persons appeared from the
direction of Les Lices. The night was magnificent, and the moon
brilliant. Marouin recognised Bonafoux, and went up to him. The captain
at once took him by the hand and led him to the king, and speaking in
turn to each of them--
"Sire," he said, "here is the friend. I told you of."