Once more on the same beach at Bonette, in the same bay where he had
awaited the boat in vain, still attended by his band of faithful
followers, we find Murat on the 22nd August in the same year. It was no
longer by Napoleon that he was threatened, it was by Louis XVIII that he
was proscribed; it was no longer the military loyalty of Marshal Brune
who came with tears in his eyes to give notice of the orders he had
received, but the ungrateful hatred of M. de Riviere, who had set a
price [48,000 francs.] on the head of the man who had saved his
own.[Conspiracy of Pichegru.] M. de Riviere had indeed written to the
ex-King of Naples advising him to abandon himself to the good faith and
humanity of the King of France, but his vague invitation had not seemed
sufficient guarantee to the outlaw, especially on the part of one who
had allowed the assassination almost before his eyes of a man who
carried a safe-conduct signed by himself. Murat knew of the massacre of
the Mamelukes at Marseilles, the assassination of Brune at Avignon; he
had been warned the day before by the police of Toulon that a formal
order for his arrest was out; thus it was impossible that he should
remain any longer in France. Corsica, with its hospitable towns, its
friendly mountains, its impenetrable forests, was hardly fifty leagues
distant; he must reach Corsica, and wait in its towns, mountains, and
forests until the crowned heads of Europe should decide the fate of the
man they had called brother for seven years.
At ten o'clock at, night the king went down to the shore. The boat which
was to take him across had not reached the rendezvous, but this time
there was not the slightest fear that it would fail; the bay had been
reconnoitred during the day by three men devoted to the fallen fortunes
of the king--Messieurs Blancard, Langlade, and Donadieu, all three naval
officers, men of ability and warm heart, who had sworn by their own
lives to convey Murat to Corsica, and who were in fact risking their
lives in order to accomplish their promise. Murat saw the deserted shore
without uneasiness, indeed this delay afforded him a few more moments of
patriotic satisfaction.
On this little patch of land, this strip of sand, the unhappy exile
clung to his mother France, for once his foot touched the vessel which
was to carry him away, his separation from France would be long, if not
eternal. He started suddenly amidst these thoughts and sighed: he had
just perceived a sail gliding over the waves like a phantom through the
transparent darkness of the southern night. Then a sailor's song was
heard; Murat recognised the appointed signal, and answered it by burning
the priming of a pistol, and the boat immediately ran inshore; but as
she drew three feet of water, she was obliged to stop ten or twelve feet
from the beach; two men dashed into the water and reached the beach,
while a third remained crouching in the stern-sheets wrapped in his
boat-cloak.
"Well, my good friends," said the king, going towards Blancard and
Langlade until he felt the waves wet his feet "the moment is come, is it
not? The wind is favourable, the sea calm, we must get to sea."
"Yes," answered Langlade, "yes, we must start; and yet perhaps it would
be wiser to wait till to-morrow."
"Why?" asked Murat.
Langlade did not answer, but turning towards the west, he raised his
hand, and according to the habit of sailors, he whistled to call the
wind.
"That's no good," said Donadieu, who had remained in the boat. "Here are
the first gusts; you will have more than you know what to do with in a
minute.... Take care, Langlade, take care! Sometimes in calling the wind
you wake up a storm."
Murat started, for he thought that this warning which rose from the sea
had been given him by the spirit of the waters; but the impression was a
passing one, and he recovered himself in a moment.
"All the better," he said; "the more wind we have, the faster we shall
go."
"Yes," answered Langlade, "but God knows where it will take us if it
goes on shifting like this."
"Don't start to-night, sire," said Blancard, adding his voice to those
of his two companions.
"But why not?"
"You see that bank of black cloud there, don't you? Well, at sunset it
was hardly visible, now it covers a good part of the sky, in an hour
there won't be a star to be seen."
"Are you afraid?" asked Murat.
"Afraid!" answered Langlade. "Of what? Of the storm? I might as well ask
if your Majesty is afraid of a cannon-ball. We have demurred solely on
your account, sire; do you think seadogs like ourselves would delay on
account of the storm?"
"Then let us go!" cried Murat, with a sigh.
"Good-bye, Marouin.... God alone can reward you for what you have done
for me. I am at your orders, gentlemen."
At these words the two sailors seized the king end hoisted him on to
their shoulders, and carried him into the sea; in another moment he was
on board. Langlade and Blancard sprang in behind him. Donadieu remained
at the helm, the two other officers undertook the management of the
boat, and began their work by unfurling the sails. Immediately the
pinnace seemed to rouse herself like a horse at touch of the spur; the
sailors cast a careless glance back, and Murat feeling that they were
sailing away, turned towards his host and called for a last time--
"You have your route as far as Trieste. Do not forget my wife!...
Good-bye-good-bye----!"
"God keep you, sire!" murmured Marouin.
And for some time, thanks to the white sail which gleamed through the
darkness, he could follow with his eyes the boat which was rapidly
disappearing; at last it vanished altogether. Marouin lingered on the
shore, though he could see nothing; then he heard a cry, made faint by
the distance; it was Murat's last adieu to France.
When M. Marouin was telling me these details one evening on the very
spot where it all happened, though twenty years had passed, he
remembered clearly the slightest incidents of the embarkation that
night. From that moment he assured me that a presentiment of misfortune
seized him; he could not tear himself away from the shore, and several
times he longed to call the king back, but, like a man in a dream, he
opened his mouth without being able to utter a sound. He was afraid of
being thought foolish, and it was not until one o'clock that is, two and
a half hours after the departure of the boat-that he went home with a
sad and heavy heart.
The adventurous navigators had taken the course from Toulon to Bastia,
and at first it seemed to the king that the sailors' predictions were
belied; the wind, instead of getting up, fell little by little, and two
hours after the departure the boat was rocking without moving forward or
backward on the waves, which were sinking from moment to moment. Murat
sadly watched the phosphorescent furrow trailing behind the little boat:
he had nerved himself to face a storm, but not a dead calm, and without
even interrogating his companions, of whose uneasiness he took no
account, he lay down in the boat, wrapped in his cloak, closing his eyes
as if he were asleep, and following the flow of his thoughts, which were
far more tumultuous than that of the waters. Soon the two sailors,
thinking him asleep, joined the pilot, and sitting down beside the helm,
they began to consult together.
"You were wrong, Langlade," said Donadieu, "in choosing a craft like
this, which is either too small or else too big; in an open boat we can
never weather a storm, and without oars we can never make any way in a
calm."
"'Fore God! I had no choice. I was obliged to take what I could get, and
if it had not been the season for tunny-fishing I might not even have
got this wretched pinnace, or rather I should have had to go into the
harbour to find it, and they keep such a sharp lookout that I might well
have gone in without coming out again."
"At least it is seaworthy," said Blancard.
"Pardieu, you know what nails and planks are when they have been soaked
in sea-water for ten years. On any ordinary occasion, a man would rather
not go in her from Marseilles to the Chateau d'If, but on an occasion
like this one would willingly go round the world in a nutshell."
"Hush!" said Donadieu. The sailors listened; a distant growl was heard,
but it was so faint that only the experienced ear of a sailor could have
distinguished it.
"Yes, yes," said Langlade, "it is a warning for those who have legs or
wings to regain the homes and nests that they ought never to have left."
"Are we far from the islands?" asked Donadieu quickly.
"About a mile off."
"Steer for them."
"What for?" asked Murat, looking up.
"To put in there, sire, if we can."
"No, no," cried Murat; "I will not land except in Corsica. I will not
leave France again. Besides, the sea is calm and the wind is getting up
again--"
"Down with the sails!" shouted Donadieu. Instantly Langlade and Blancard
jumped forward to carry out the order. The sail slid down the mast and
fell in a heap in the bottom of the boat.
"What are you doing?" cried Murat. "Do you forget that I am king and
that I command you?"
"Sire," said Donadieu, "there is a king more powerful than you--God;
there is a voice which drowns yours--the voice of the tempest: let us
save your Majesty if possible, and demand nothing more of us."
Just then a flash of lightning quivered along the horizon, a clap of
thunder nearer than the first one was heard, a light foam appeared on
the surface of the water, and the boat trembled like a living thing.
Murat began to understand that danger was approaching, then he got up
smiling, threw his hat behind him, shook back his long hair, and
breathed in the storm like the smell of powder--the soldier was ready
for the battle.
"Sire," said Donadieu, "you have seen many a battle, but perhaps you
have never watched a storm if you are curious about it, cling to the
mast, for you have a fine opportunity now."
"What ought I to do?" said Murat. "Can I not help you in any way?"
"No, not just now, sire; later you will be useful at the pumps."
During this dialogue the storm had drawn near; it rushed on the
travellers like a war-horse, breathing out fire and wind through its
nostrils, neighing like thunder, and scattering the foam of the waves
beneath its feet.
Donadieu turned the rudder, the boat yielded as if it understood the
necessity for prompt obedience, and presented the poop to the shock of
wind; then the squall passed, leaving the sea quivering, and everything
was calm again. The storm took breath.
"Will that gust be all?" asked Murat.
"No, your Majesty, that was the advance-guard only; the body of the army
will be up directly."
"And are you not going to prepare for it?" asked the king gaily.
"What could we do?" said Donadieu. "We have not an inch of canvas to
catch the wind, and as long as we do not make too much water, we shall
float like a cork. Look out-sire!"
Indeed, a second hurricane was on its way, bringing rain and lightning;
it was swifter than the first. Donadieu endeavoured to repeat the same
manoeuvre, but he could not turn before the wind struck the boat, the
mast bent like a reed; the boat shipped a wave.
"To the pumps!" cried Donadieu. "Sire, now is the moment to help us--"
Blancard, Langlade, and Murat seized their hats and began to bale out
the boat. The position of the four men was terrible--it lasted three
hours.
At dawn the wind fell, but the sea was still high. They began to feel
the need of food: all the provisions had been spoiled by sea-water, only
the wine had been preserved from its contact.
The king took a bottle and swallowed a little wine first, then he passed
it to his companions, who drank in their turn: necessity had overcome
etiquette. By chance Langlade had on him a few chocolates, which he
offered to the king. Murat divided them into four equal parts, and
forced his companions to take their shares; then, when the meal was
over, they steered for Corsica, but the boat had suffered so much that
it was improbable that it would reach Bastia.
The whole day passed without making ten miles; the boat was kept under
the jib, as they dared not hoist the mainsail, and the wind was so
variable that much time was lost in humouring its caprices.
By evening the boat had drawn a considerable amount of water, it
penetrated between the boards, the handkerchiefs of the crew served to
plug up the leaks, and night, which was descending in mournful gloom,
wrapped them a second time in darkness. Prostrated with fatigue, Murat
fell asleep, Blancard and Langlade took their places beside Donadieu,
and the three men, who seemed insensible to the calls of sleep and
fatigue, watched over his slumbers.
The night was calm enough apparently, but low grumblings were heard now
and then.
The three sailors looked at each other strangely and then at the king,
who was sleeping at the bottom of the boat, his cloak soaked with
sea-water, sleeping as soundly as he had slept on the sands of Egypt or
the snows of Russia.
Then one of them got up and went to the other end of the boat, whistling
between his teeth a Provencal air; then, after examining the sky, the
waves; and the boat, he went back to his comrades and sat down,
muttering, "Impossible! Except by a miracle, we shall never make the
land."
The night passed through all its phases. At dawn there was a vessel in
sight.
"A sail!" cried Donadieu,--"a sail!"
At this cry the king--awoke; and soon a little trading brig hove in
sight, going from Corsica to Toulon.
Donadieu steered for the brig, Blancard hoisted enough sail to work the
boat, and Langlade ran to the prow and held up the king's cloak on the
end of a sort of harpoon. Soon the voyagers perceived that they had been
sighted, the brig went about to approach them, and in ten minutes they
found themselves within fifty yards of it. The captain appeared in the
bows. Then the king hailed him and offered him a substantial reward if
he would receive them on board and take them to Corsica. The captain
listened to the proposal; then immediately turning to the crew, he gave
an order in an undertone which Donadieu could not hear, but which he
understood probably by the gesture, for he instantly gave Langlade and
Blancard the order to make away from the schooner. They obeyed with the
unquestioning promptitude of sailors; but the king stamped his foot.
"What are you doing, Donadieu? What are you about? Don't you see that
she is coming up to us?"
"Yes--upon my soul--so she is.... Do as I say, Langlade; ready,
Blancard. Yes, she is coming upon us, and perhaps I was too late in
seeing this. That's all right--that's all right: my part now."
Then he forced over the rudder, giving it so violent a jerk that the
boat, forced to change her course suddenly, seemed to rear and plunge
like a horse struggling against the curb; finally she obeyed. A huge
wave, raised by the giant bearing down on the pinnace, carried it on
like a leaf, and the brig passed within a few feet of the stern.
"Ah!.... traitor!" cried the king, who had only just begun to realise
the intention of the captain. At the same time, he pulled a pistol from
his belt, crying "Board her! board her!" and tried to fire on the brig,
but the powder was wet and would not catch. The king was furious, and
went on shouting "Board her! board her!"
"Yes, the wretch, or rather the imbecile," said Donadieu, "he took us
for pirates, and wanted to sink us--as if we needed him to do that!"
Indeed, a single glance at the boat showed that she was beginning to
make water.
The effort--to escape which Donadieu had made had strained the boat
terribly, and the water was pouring in by a number of leaks between the
planks; they had to begin again bailing out with their hats, and went on
at it for ten hours. Then for the second time Donadieu heard the
consoling cry, "A sail! a sail!" The king and his companions immediately
left off bailing; they hoisted the sails again, and steered for the
vessel which was coming towards them, and neglected to fight against the
water, which was rising rapidly.
From that time forth it was a question of time, of minutes, of seconds;
it was a question of reaching the ship before the boat foundered.
The vessel, however, seemed to understand the desperate position of the
men imploring help; she was coming up at full speed. Langlade was the
first to recognise her; she was a Government felucca plying between
Toulon and Bastia. Langlade was a friend of the captain, and he called
his name with the penetrating voice of desperation, and he was heard. It
was high time: the water kept on rising, and the king and his companions
were already up to their knees; the boat groaned in its death-struggle;
it stood still, and began to go round and round.
Just then two or three ropes thrown from the felucca fell upon the boat;
the king seized one, sprang forward, and reached the rope-ladder: he was
saved.
Blancard and Langlade immediately followed. Donadieu waited until the
last, as was his duty, and as he put his foot on the ladder he felt the
other boat begin to go under; he turned round with all a sailor's calm,
and saw the gulf open its jaws beneath him, and then the shattered boat
capsized, and immediately disappeared. Five seconds more, and the four
men who were saved would have been lost beyond recall! [These details
are well known to the people of Toulon, and I have heard them myself a
score of times during the two stays that I made in that town during 1834
and 1835. Some of the people who related them had them first-hand from
Langlade and Donadieu themselves.]
Murat had hardly gained the deck before a man came and fell at his feet:
it was a Mameluke whom he had taken to Egypt in former years, and had
since married at Castellamare; business affairs had taken him to
Marseilles, where by a miracle he had escaped the massacre of his
comrades, and in spite of his disguise and fatigue he had recognised his
former master.
His exclamations of joy prevented the king from keeping up his
incognito. Then Senator Casabianca, Captain Oletta, a nephew of Prince
Baciocchi, a staff-paymaster called Boerco, who were themselves fleeing
from the massacres of the South, were all on board the vessel, and
improvising a little court, they greeted the king with the title of
"your Majesty." It had been a sudden embarkation, it brought about a
swift change: he was no longer Murat the exile; he was Joachim, the King
of Naples. The exile's refuge disappeared with the foundered boat; in
its place Naples and its magnificent gulf appeared on the horizon like a
marvellous mirage, and no doubt the primary idea of the fatal expedition
of Calabria was originated in the first days of exultation which
followed those hours of anguish. The king, however, still uncertain of
the welcome which awaited him in Corsica, took the name of the Count of
Campo Melle, and it was under this name that he landed at Bastia on the
25th August. But this precaution was useless; three days after his
arrival, not a soul but knew of his presence in the town.
Crowds gathered at once, and cries of "Long live Joachim!" were heard,
and the king, fearing to disturb the public peace, left Bastia the same
evening with his three companions and his Mameluke. Two hours later he
arrived at Viscovato, and knocked at the door of General Franceschetti,
who had been in his service during his whole reign, and who, leaving
Naples at the same time as the king, had gone to Corsica with his wife,
to live with his father-in-law, M. Colonna Cicaldi.
He was in the middle of supper when a servant told him that a stranger
was asking to speak to him--he went out, and found Murat wrapped in a
military greatcoat, a sailor's cap drawn down on his head, his beard
grown long, and wearing a soldier's trousers, boots, and gaiters.
The general stood still in amazement; Murat fixed his great dark eyes on
him, and then, folding his arms:--
"Franceschetti," said he, "have you room at your table for your general,
who is hungry? Have you a shelter under your roof for your king, who is
an exile?"
Franceschetti looked astonished as he recognised Joachim, and could only
answer him by falling on his knees and kissing his hand. From that
moment the general's house was at Murat's disposal.
The news of the king's arrival had hardly been handed about the
neighbourhood before officers of all ranks hastened to Viscovato,
veterans who had fought under him, Corsican hunters who were attracted
by his adventurous character; in a few days the general's house was
turned into a palace, the village into a royal capital, the island into
a kingdom.
Strange rumours were heard concerning Murat's intentions. An army of
nine hundred men helped to give them some amount of confirmation. It was
then that Blancard, Donadieu, and Langlade took leave of him; Murat
wished to keep them, but they had been vowed to the rescue of the exile,
not to the fortunes of the king.
We have related how Murat had met one of his former Mamelukes, a man
called Othello, on board the Bastia mailboat. Othello had followed him
to Viscovato, and the ex-King of Naples considered how to make use of
him. Family relations recalled him naturally to Castellamare, and Murat
ordered him to return there, entrusting to him letters for persons on
whose devotion he could depend. Othello started, and reached his
father-in-law's safely, and thought he could confide in him; but the
latter was horror-struck, and alarmed the police, who made a descent on
Othello one night, and seized the letters.
The next day each man to whom a letter was addressed was arrested and
ordered to answer Murat as if all was well, and to point out Salerno as
the best place for disembarking: five out of seven were dastards enough
to obey; the two remaining, who were two Spanish brothers, absolutely
refused; they were thrown into a dungeon.
However, on the 17th September, Murat left Viscovato; General
Franceschetti and several Corsican officers served as escort; he took
the road to Ajaccio by Cotone, the mountains of Serra and Bosco, Venaco
and Vivaro, by the gorges of the forest of Vezzanovo and Bogognone; he
was received and feted like a king everywhere, and at the gates of the
towns he was met by deputations who made him speeches and saluted him
with the title of "Majesty"; at last, on the 23rd September, he arrived
at Ajaccio. The whole population awaited him outside the walls, and his
entry into the town was a triumphal procession; he was taken to the inn
which had been fixed upon beforehand by the quartermasters. It was
enough to turn the head of a man less impressionable than Murat; as for
him, he was intoxicated with it. As he went into the inn he held out his
hand to Franceschetti.
"You see," he said, "what the Neapolitans will do for me by the way the
Corsicans receive me."
It was the first mention which had escaped him of his plans for the
future, and from that very day he began to give orders for his
departure.
They collected ten little feluccas: a Maltese, named Barbara, former
captain of a frigate of the Neapolitan navy, was appointed
commander-in-chief of the expedition; two hundred and fifty men were
recruited and ordered to hold themselves in readiness for the first
signal.
Murat was only waiting for the answers to Othello's letters: they
arrived on the afternoon of the 28th. Murat invited all his officers to
a grand dinner, and ordered double pay and double rations to the men.
The king was at dessert when the arrival of M. Maceroni was announced to
him: he was the envoy of the foreign powers who brought Murat the answer
which he had been awaiting so long at Toulon. Murat left the table and
went into another room. M. Maceroni introduced himself as charged with
an official mission, and handed the king the Emperor of Austria's
ultimatum. It was couched in the following terms:
"Monsieur Maceroni is authorised by these presents to announce to
King Joachim that His Majesty the Emperor of Austria will afford him
shelter in his States on the following terms:--
"1. The king is to take a private name. The queen having adopted
that of Lipano, it is proposed that the king should do likewise.
"2. It will be permitted to the king to choose a town in Bohemia,
Moravia, or the Tyrol, as a place of residence. He could even
inhabit a country house in one of these same provinces without
inconvenience.
"3. The king is to give his word of honour to His Imperial and Royal
Majesty that he will never leave the States of Austria without the
express-permission of the Emperor, and that he is to live like a
private gentleman of distinction, but submitting to the laws in force
in the States of Austria.
"In attestation whereof, and to guard against abuse, the undersigned
has received the order of the Emperor to sign the present
declaration.
"(Signed) PRINCE OF METTERNICH
"PARIS, 1st Sept. 1815."
Murat smiled as he finished reading, then he signed to M. Maceroni to
follow him:
He led him on to the terrace of the house, which looked over the whole
town, and over which a banner floated as it might on a royal castle.
From thence they could see Ajaccio all gay and illuminated, the port
with its little fleet, and the streets crowded with people, as if it
were a fete-day.
Hardly had the crowd set eyes on Murat before a universal cry arose,
"Long live Joachim, brother of Napoleon! Long live the King of Naples!"
Murat bowed, and the shouts were redoubled, and the garrison band played
the national airs.