earnestly engaged, this favourite companion presented himself before him
to solicit permission to proceed to Paris, only, as he said, for a short
time, and for the purpose of settling some business, after which, he
declared that he should return to the Emperor, never again to leave him.
But Napoleon could read the secrets of the human mind, and that person
had scarcely withdrawn, when the Emperor, breaking from the subject on
which he was engaged, said to him with whom he had been
conversing:—“There he goes to seal his own degradation; and, in spite of
all his protestations, he will never come back again,“ He spoke truly;
the deserter hastened to greet the first rays of the rising sun; and no
sooner had it shone upon him than he renounced his benefactor, his
friend, and master!... In speaking of the Emperor, he was even known to
use the expression _that man_! And yet Napoleon so readily forgave human
weakness, and was so superior to every feeling of rancour and
resentment, that, on his return from Elba, he expressed regret at not
seeing the individual who had acted so treacherous a part, adding, with
a smile:—“The rogue is afraid of me, I suppose; but he has no reason to
be so. The only punishment I should have inflicted on him would have
been to require him to appear before me in his new costume. They tell me
he looks even uglier than usual.“
And how many instances of private turpitude might not be mentioned! I
myself can attest that an important personage, who had been most
remarkable for his base conduct on returning from Fontainebleau,
appeared one of the most forward at the Tuileries, on the 20th of March.
He appeared very much disconcerted at the accidental or intended
solitude in which he was left by all the rest. A witness of his late
misconduct, burying the recollection of past troubles in the present
joy, hastened to him and relieved him from his embarrassment. Such
generosity cost little at that moment.
I refer to the Manuscript of 1814, for a picture of these mortifying
events.[9] The reader may there learn—But no, he will learn nothing
new—In all circumstances, at all times, and in all countries, men, and
particularly courtiers, are ever the same; and it must be recollected
that, by this time, Napoleon’s camp had become a Court.—Let not these
men say that their conduct was dictated by regard for the welfare and
interest of their country. The thought of securing the undisturbed
enjoyment of the wealth and honours they had acquired superseded in
their minds every patriotic consideration. But history will be just. I
say history, for the bulk of the present generation cannot even claim
this sad honour. Where was our indignation? Where was our reprobation
authentically and solemnly pronounced?... And let it be understood that
this is a point wholly unconnected with political considerations. The
question is not what cause these men supported: but merely, what moral
principle they professed. But it must not be supposed that discontented
misanthropy would lead me to draw a picture discouraging to all hearts,
and to conclude with the proscription of all mankind. By no means:—I am
well aware that the moment of great trials is that of great extremes;
and that, amidst the basest passions, the most brilliant heroism and
noble virtue shine conspicuous. Therefore, honoured be those veteran
bands, whose bitter tears attested their sincere sorrow! Honoured be
those innumerable subaltern officers to whom a word would have been the
signal for shedding every drop of their blood! Honoured be the generous
peasantry, who presented to our troops their last morsel of bread; and,
disregarding their own privations, parted with all, to aid the brave
defenders of their country! Honoured be those generous sentiments that
were expressed by the citizens of every class, sex, and age! If, on the
one side, the heart is roused to indignation, it finds a delicious
source of gratification on the other.
Footnote 9:
Baron Fain, first cabinet secretary to Napoleon, has published a
volume entitled, _The Manuscript of 1814_. This work presents an
animated and interesting detail of the important but imperfectly known
events of the period, and in particular of the short but immortal
campaign of 1814. It is an episode of miracles, in which Napoleon
throughout appears supernatural in the resources of genius, the energy
of mind, the celerity of motion, the steadiness of views, and the
sublimity of courage, which he there evinced. Nothing can be compared
with the prodigies he performed, except indeed the indefatigable
ardour of a handful of brave men, who, as if strangers to the wants of
nature, when deprived of food and rest, seemed to multiply before the
enemy’s legions, were incessantly engaged, and always victorious.
Baron Fain has presented us with a record of national glory, and he is
justly entitled to the gratitude of his countrymen. In his picture of
war, confusion and trouble, the characteristic traits of the mind and
heart of Napoleon frequently shine forth with lustre. To me, who have
especially devoted my attention to these latter objects, it is
peculiarly gratifying, while at the same time, it must be curious to
all readers to trace the correspondence between details recorded by
two men, total strangers to each other, and alluding to periods and
circumstances wholly distinct.
At St. Helena, the Emperor dictated an account of the events of
Fontainebleau, and his removal to the Island of Elba; but my memory does
not enable me to quote any of the facts thus detailed. I took no notes
of them, because, with a view of abridging my own labour, I laid down
the rule of passing over those subjects that were dictated to others,
being assured that they would be faithfully recorded. I shall,
therefore, merely subjoin a few particulars which are collected from
Napoleon’s conversations, or other authentic sources.
When the disasters of 1814 were apparent, when the danger was imminent,
particularly after the entrance of the Allies into Paris, many of the
French Generals began to waver. Those in whom selfishness prevailed over
patriotism; those who would rather retire from the fatigues of war, than
obey the dictates of duty, honour and glory; urged on the catastrophe,
instead of seeking to avert it. The most distinguished Chiefs ventured
to advise the abdication, and declared it to be indispensable. Some even
went so far as to hint to the Emperor that they could not answer for the
consequences of the dissatisfaction and indignation which the soldiers
manifested towards him; while, on the contrary, as Napoleon himself
said, “such was the attachment of the troops, and the devotedness of the
officers, that, if I had made known the machinations that were plotting,
I certainly should have endangered those who were guilty of such
misrepresentation. A single word from me would have sacrificed them.”
Napoleon reviewed the troops: their acclamations were enthusiastic and
general. It appeared as though adversity served only to render the
Emperor the more dear to them, for their attachment was never so
decidedly expressed. “It was impossible that it could be otherwise,”
said Napoleon, “such was the identity of these brave men with me, and
such our mutual sympathy, I never entertained a doubt of their
attachment.”
In this extremity, Napoleon profoundly reflected on what course it was
advisable for him to pursue. He yet possessed forty or fifty thousand
troops, the best and most devoted in the world; he might, without risk,
have overawed or dismissed the faithless Generals. In this state of
things, three different measures, by turns, presented themselves to his
mind.
The first was to return to Paris; for he imagined that no General on
earth would be bold enough to give him battle with that immense capital
in his rear. “At my command,” said the Emperor, “the whole population
would have risen. I should suddenly have found my forces recruited, by
the addition of one or two hundred thousand men. But the Allies, on
retiring, might have burnt the capital; and this disaster would have
been accounted my work. It is true, the burning of Paris might have
proved in reality the salvation of France, as the burning of Moscow was
the salvation of Russia; but such sacrifices can only be made by the
parties interested.”
The second idea which suggested itself to the Emperor’s mind was to
proceed to Italy, to form a junction with the Viceroy. “But this,” said
Napoleon, “would have been a desperate course, without the chance of
obtaining an adequate result. It would have removed the theatre of
conflict to too remote a point. Public enthusiasm would have had time to
subside; and we should no longer have been fighting in France, on whose
sacred soil alone we could hope to work the prodigies that had become
indispensable.”
Neither of these two measures would have been practicable. Only the
third course, therefore, remained, and this was, to continue on the
defensive, to dispute every foot of ground, and to maintain the war
until new chances should arise. The stupor, which the presence of the
invaders had produced, would soon be dispelled; the miseries they
created would soon render them the objects of execration: the national
enthusiasm would revive; and the Allies would find their graves in the
land which they had presumed to violate. But this must necessarily have
been the work of time; in a word, success was doubtful, or, at least,
remote; while the sufferings of the people were certain, immediate, and
incalculable. The noble mind of Napoleon was moved; and he resolved to
abdicate.
Meanwhile, he despatched to the Emperor Alexander a deputation of
Marshals, among whom was the Duke of Ragusa, one of those to whom he was
most fondly attached. The Deputation was instructed to propose the
abdication of Napoleon, in favour of his son. The Emperor thus hoped to
save France, to secure her independence and the duration of her existing
institutions. The Emperor Alexander, who had several days before
publicly declared that he would not treat either with Napoleon or any of
the members of his family, nevertheless discussed the subject
contradictorily with that party of the Senate who proposed the
abdication. The Marshals spoke vehemently, and in the name of the whole
army. Alexander’s determination was shaken, and the party favourable to
the Regency seemed likely to prevail, when intelligence arrived of the
defection of the Duke of Ragusa; and this circumstance confirmed
Alexander in his previous resolution. The event came upon him like a ray
of light: the army, then, is not unanimous, thought he! From that
moment, setting aside all reserve, he declared himself to be inflexible.
In this state of things, Napoleon was surrounded, urged, and harassed to
sign his positive and unconditional abdication. He yielded, after a
great internal struggle, and dictated the act of abdication, in the
following terms:—
“The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the
only obstacle to the re-establishment of the peace of Europe, the
Emperor, faithful to his oath, renounces for himself and his heirs, the
thrones of France and Italy, and declares that there is no sacrifice,
even that of life, which he is not ready to make for the interests of
France.”
This declaration, which the Allies were far from expecting in so
absolute a form, smoothed every difficulty, and the Marshals returned
with what is called the treaty of Fontainebleau, which I shall presently
insert.
I find in Baron Fain’s _Manuscript of 1814_, a complete explanation of
certain remarks made by the Emperor, which I noted down at the time,
without exactly comprehending their meaning. In a former part of this
Journal, the Emperor, alluding to the treaty of Fontainebleau, says, “I
will have nothing to do with that treaty; I disclaim it. Far from being
proud of it, I blush for it. It was discussed for me, and against my
will,” &c. And, on another occasion, he says, “When the history of the
events of Fontainebleau comes to be known, it will afford ample room for
surprise.” The Manuscript of 1814 proves that Napoleon had, indeed,
nothing to do with the treaty of Fontainebleau. The utmost exertions
were employed to prevail on him to sign the treaty; and he was, at
length, only influenced by the public considerations that were adduced
in support of it. He thought it both degrading and useless to sign the
treaty. Having survived his greatness, he wished thenceforth to live as
a private individual; and he was mortified to reflect that the vast
sacrifice which had been made, for the peace of the world, should be
mingled with pecuniary arrangements. “Of what use is a treaty,” said he,
“since they will not settle the interests of France with me? If only my
personal interests are concerned, there is no need of a treaty. I am
conquered; I yield to the fate of arms. All I ask is that I may not be
accounted a prisoner of war: and for that a mere cartel is sufficient!”
Every endeavour to turn his thoughts to his personal situation, his
existence, and future wants, proved unavailing. To all such suggestions,
he energetically replied, “What matters it? A horse and a crown a day
are all that I want.”
I, for my own part, can bear witness that the Emperor infinitely
regretted having ratified the treaty of Fontainebleau; and this was not
the only decision of the period which weighed heavily on his mind. He
also very much regretted having yielded, when in his position at St.
Dizier and Doulevant, to the various representations and suggestions by
which he was assailed, and which brought him back against his
inclination upon Paris. “Here I wanted firmness,” said he; “I should
have followed up my intention of advancing to the Rhine, collecting
reinforcements from all the garrisons on my way, and exciting the
peasantry to rise. By this means, I should soon have possessed an
immense army. Murat would immediately have rejoined me; and he and the
Viceroy would have made me master of Vienna, if the Allies had presumed
to deprive me of Paris. But no: the enemy would have shrunk from the
dangers with which he would have been surrounded. The Allied Sovereigns
would have regarded it as a favour to have been permitted to retire; and
then the volcano of foreigners against us would have been completely
extinguished. Peace would have been concluded and sincerely maintained;
for all were exhausted; all had wounds to heal!... Abroad, war could no
longer have been thought of; and at home, such a result must have had
the effect of destroying all illusion, frustrating every evil design,
and permanently blending the opinions, views, and interests of all
parties. I should once more have seated myself triumphantly on the
throne, surrounded by my invincible bands. The heroic and faithful
portion of the people would have harmonized those who had wavered; and
the men who had shewn themselves so eager for repose might have enjoyed
it. A new generation of chiefs would have remoulded our character. Every
effort would have been directed to the internal welfare of the country;
and France would have been happy!”
When speaking of the confusion created in Paris, by the approach of the
Allies; the dejection, to use no stronger term, that was evinced by the
upper classes; the good spirit and enthusiasm manifested by the great
body of the people, who were ready to fight, if they could have procured
arms,—I observed that the departure of the Empress had produced a fatal
effect on the public mind. I mentioned, as a singular circumstance, that
the young King of Rome, contrary to custom, obstinately refused to quit
the palace: he wept bitterly, and it was found necessary to carry him
away by force. I also added that it was universally reported that the
Empress wished to remain, and that the Council was inclined to second
her wishes, until precise orders were received from the Emperor,
directing her to quit Paris, in case of urgent danger on the part of the
enemy. “Yes,” said the Emperor, “and those orders were very necessary.
The Empress was young and totally inexperienced. Had she been capable of
personal decision, my directions would have been quite the contrary.
Paris then would have been her proper post. But I foresaw the intrigues
of which she would be the object; and I wished to prevent at Paris what
subsequently occurred at Orleans. There the men who were planning the
Regency, in the expectation of ruling under the Empress, prevented her
from joining me. What fatal consequences were thus produced! Would to
Heaven that I had also despatched timely orders, directing her to quit
Orleans!”
It is certain that at Fontainebleau Napoleon was, almost at one and the
same moment, the victim of every kind of mental distress with which man
can possibly be assailed. Subdued by defection and not by force of arms,
he felt all that could rouse the indignation of a lofty mind, or break
an affectionate heart. His friends forsook him; his servants betrayed
him; one surrendered his army; another his treasure. The men whom he had
reared, maintained and loaded with favours, were those who wrought his
overthrow. The members of the senate, who, only the day before, had
supplied him profusely with conscripts to oppose the enemy, scrupled not
to become the instruments of that very enemy. Under the impulse of
foreign bayonets, they imputed to him as a crime that which was their
own work; and basely broke the idol which they had themselves created,
and so servilely worshipped. What a depth of disgrace and
degradation!... Finally (and this stroke Napoleon felt more severely
than all the rest), his wife and child were carried away from him; and,
in defiance of treaties and laws, in opposition to all moral principle,
he was never allowed to see them more!...
It appears that Napoleon, oppressed by this weight of affliction,
surrounded by this odious turpitude, in his utter contempt of human
nature, and all things connected with this world, formed the resolution
of putting an end to his life. A letter has been preserved, written in
his own hand to the Empress, in which he says that the moment has
arrived when she must prepare her mind for every thing; that all is
possible, _even the death of the Emperor_. This was, doubtless, an
allusion to the mysterious event of the night of the 12th of April,
which was wrapt in profound secrecy. The Manuscript of 1814, however,
contains some particulars relative to this occurrence, which, if they be
correct, will not leave the furious enemies of Napoleon even the
satisfaction of repeating the stupid and vulgar remark, _that he had not
courage to die_; ... for, according to the Manuscript, it appears, on
the contrary, that _he could not die_! This is not the least
extraordinary event in Napoleon’s career. His remark, _Heaven has
ordained that I shall live!_ and the calm and noble resignation, which
from that moment succeeded, appear truly sublime.
Napoleon’s celebrated farewell address to his troops, and his last
embrace of those eagles which he had immortalized, are well known. A
Prussian diplomatist, who was present, has assured me that the scene
produced an impression on him which time can never obliterate. He added
that the English Commissioner, who stood near him, and who had
previously been an inveterate enemy of Napoleon’s, was so deeply moved
that he shed tears.
Such were the sentiments of respect and veneration naturally inspired by
Napoleon that, in spite of the danger and inconvenience occasioned by
his presence in France, no one presumed to hasten his departure; and he
was allowed full time to make all the arrangements that he wished.
The treaty of abdication is dated the 11th of April, and Napoleon did
not quit Fontainebleau until the 20th, nine days after. Throughout the
first part of his journey, he was the object of universal respect, and
often of the warmest and most affectionate interest.[10]
Footnote 10:
The Emperor departed from Fontainebleau on the 20th of April, 1814,
escorted by a party of horse grenadiers. Count Bertrand was with him
in the carriage.
On the evening of the 20th, he reached Briare.
On the 21st, he arrived at Nevers.
On the 22nd, at Rouanne.
On the 23rd, at Lyons.
On the 24th, at Montelimart.
On the 25th, at Orgon.
On the 26th, he slept near Luc.
On the 27th, at Frejus.
On the 28th, at eight in the evening, he embarked on board the English
Frigate, _The Undaunted_, commanded by Captain Usher.
Hitherto, foreigners seemed to have formed no idea of the spirit that
prevailed in France, or of the real feelings of the people with regard
to the Emperor. However, it was deemed prudent to arrange matters so
that Napoleon should reach Lyons in the night; or, I rather believe, it
was intended to prevent his entering that city at all. I received the
following particulars from an English gentleman, one of those who had
been long detained in France, and who happened, at the period in
question, to be residing at Lyons. My informant and the Austrian General
went out in disguise, and mingled with the crowd that had assembled to
see the dethroned monarch pass by. They expected to be much amused with
the imprecations of which, they concluded, he would be the object. But,
as soon as the Emperor appeared, deep silence prevailed among the
multitude; and an old woman, to all appearance above the common class,
habited in deep mourning, and with a countenance full of enthusiasm,
rushed forward to the door of the Emperor’s carriage. “Sire,” said she,
with an air of solemnity, “may the blessing of Heaven attend you!
Endeavour to make yourself happy. They tear you from us; but our hearts
are with you wheresoever you go.” The Austrian General, quite
disconcerted, said to his companion, “Let us begone; I have no patience
with this old mad woman. The people have not common sense.”
A little beyond Lyons, the General-in-chief of the army of the East
appeared on the road; and Napoleon, alighting from his carriage, walked
with him for a considerable way. When the General had taken his leave,
one of the allied Commissioners ventured to express his surprise that
the Emperor should have treated him with such an appearance of
friendship and confidence. “Why should I not?” inquired Napoleon.—“Your
Majesty is, perhaps, not aware of his conduct?“—“What has he
done?“—“Sire, he entered into an understanding with us several weeks
ago.” “It was even so,” said the Emperor, “he to whom I had entrusted
the defence of France on this point, sacrificed and betrayed the
country.” After many complaints of the perfidy of men in whom he had
reposed confidence, he concluded by saying: “The Marshal was no longer
the soldier. His early courage and virtues had raised him above the
multitude; but honours, dignities, and fortune, again reduced him to the
common level. The conqueror of Castiglione might have left behind him a
name dear to his country. But France will execrate the memory of the
traitor of Lyons, and all who acted as he did, unless, indeed, their
future services shall make amends for their past wrongs.”
This circumstance dictated the famous proclamation which the Emperor
issued on his return. “Frenchmen,” said he, “the defection of the Duke
of Castiglione left Lyons defenceless and at the mercy of the enemy. The
army, the command of which I had entrusted to that Chief, was, from the
number of its battalions, and the courage and patriotism of its troops,
capable of defeating the corps of the Austrian army opposed to it, and
advancing on the rear of the left flank of the enemy’s force that
threatened Paris. The victories of Champ-Aubert, Montmirail,
Chateau-Thierry, Vaux-Champ, Mormans, Montereau, Craon, Rheims,
Arcis-sur-Aube, and St. Dizier; the rising of the brave peasantry of
Lorraine, Champagne, Alsace, the Franche-Comte, and Burgundy; the
position which I had taken up in the rear of the enemy, intercepting his
magazines, parks of reserve, convoys, and equipages—all had thrown the
invading forces into a desperate situation. The French people never had
the prospect of becoming more powerful. The enemy’s picked corps would
have been irretrievably lost, and would have found their graves in those
plains which they so mercilessly ravaged, when the treason of the Duke
of Ragusa delivered up the capital, and disorganized the army. The
unlooked-for conduct of these two generals, who at once betrayed their
country, their Prince, and their benefactor, changed the fate of the
war. Such was the disastrous situation of the enemy, after the affair
which took place before Paris, that he was absolutely destitute of
ammunition, by being separated from his parks of reserve,” &c.[11]
Footnote 11: