The spring is at hand, my friends. I can see the little green
spear-heads breaking out once more upon the chestnut trees, and the cafe
tables have all been moved into the sunshine. It is more pleasant to sit
there, and yet I do not wish to tell my little stories to the whole
town. You have heard my doings as a lieutenant, as a squadron officer,
as a colonel, as the chief of a brigade. But now I suddenly become
something higher and more important. I become history.
If you have read of those closing years of the life of the Emperor which
were spent in the Island of St Helena, you will remember that, again and
again, he implored permission to send out one single letter which should
be unopened by those who held him. Many times he made this request, and
even went so far as to promise that he would provide for his own wants
and cease to be an expense to the British Government if it were granted
to him. But his guardians knew that he was a terrible man, this pale,
fat gentleman in the straw hat, and they dared not grant him what he
asked. Many have wondered who it was to whom he could have had anything
so secret to say. Some have supposed that it was to his wife, and some
that it was to his father-in-law; some that it was to the Emperor
Alexander, and some to Marshal Soult. What will you think of me, my
friends, when I tell you it was to me--to me, the Brigadier Gerard--that
the Emperor wished to write? Yes, humble as you see me, with only my 100
francs a month of half-pay between me and hunger, it is none the less
true that I was always in the Emperor's mind, and that he would have
given his left hand for five minutes' talk with me. I will tell you
tonight how this came about.
It was after the Battle of Fére-Champenoise where the conscripts in
their blouses and their sabots made such a fine stand, that we, the more
long-headed of us, began to understand that it was all over with us. Our
reserve ammunition had been taken in the battle, and we were left with
silent guns and empty caissons. Our cavalry, too, was in a deplorable
condition, and my own brigade had been destroyed in the charge at
Craonne. Then came the news that the enemy had taken Paris, that the
citizens had mounted the white cockade; and finally, most terrible of
all, that Marmont and his corps had gone over to the Bourbons. We looked
at each other and asked how many more of our generals were going to turn
against us. Already there were Jourdan, Marmont, Murat, Bernadotte, and
Jomini--though nobody minded much about Jomini, for his pen was always
sharper than his sword. We had been ready to fight Europe, but it looked
now as though we were to fight Europe and half of France as well.
We had come to Fontainebleau by a long, forced march, and there we were
assembled, the poor remnants of us, the corps of Ney, the corps of my
cousin Gerard, and the corps of Macdonald: twenty-five thousand in all,
with seven thousand of the guard. But we had our prestige, which was
worth fifty thousand, and our Emperor, who was worth fifty thousand
more. He was always among us, serene, smiling, confident, taking his
snuff and playing with his little riding-whip. Never in the days of his
greatest victories have I admired him as much as I did during the
Campaign of France.
One evening I was with a few of my officers, drinking a glass of wine of
Suresnes. I mention that it was wine of Suresnes just to show you that
times were not very good with us. Suddenly I was disturbed by a message
from Berthier that he wished to see me. When I speak of my old
comrades-in-arms, I will, with your permission, leave out all the fine
foreign titles which they had picked up during the wars. They are
excellent for a Court, but you never heard them in the camp, for we
could not afford to do away with our Ney, our Rapp, or our Soult--names
which were as stirring to our ears as the blare of our trumpets blowing
the reveille. It was Berthier, then, who sent to say that he wished to
see me.
He had a suite of rooms at the end of the gallery of Francis the First,
not very far from those of the Emperor. In the ante-chamber were waiting
two men whom I knew well: Colonel Despienne, of the 57th of the line,
and Captain Tremeau, of the Voltigeurs. They were both old
soldiers--Tremeau had carried a musket in Egypt--and they were also both
famous in the army for their courage and their skill with weapons.
Tremeau had become a little stiff in the wrist, but Despienne was
capable at his best of making me exert myself. He was a tiny fellow,
about three inches short of the proper height for a man--he was exactly
three inches shorter than myself--but both with the sabre and with the
small-sword he had several times almost held his own against me when we
used to exhibit at Verron's Hall of Arms in the Palais Royal. You may
think that it made us sniff something in the wind when we found three
such men called together into one room. You cannot see the lettuce and
dressing without suspecting a salad.
'Name of a pipe!' said Tremeau, in his barrack-room fashion. 'Are we
then expecting three champions of the Bourbons?'
To all of us the idea appeared not improbable. Certainly in the whole
army we were the very three who might have been chosen to meet them.
'The Prince of Neufchâtel desires to speak with the Brigadier Gerard,'
said a footman, appearing at the door.
In I went, leaving my two companions consumed with impatience behind me.
It was a small room, but very gorgeously furnished. Berthier was seated
opposite to me at a little table, with a pen in his hand and a note-book
open before him. He was looking weary and slovenly--very different from
that Berthier who used to give the fashion to the army, and who had so
often set us poorer officers tearing our hair by trimming his pelisse
with fur one campaign, and with grey astrakhan the next. On his
clean-shaven, comely face there was an expression of trouble, and he
looked at me as I entered his chamber in a way which had in it something
furtive and displeasing.
'Chief of Brigade Gerard!' said he.
'At your service, your Highness!' I answered.
'I must ask you, before I go further, to promise me, upon your honour as
a gentleman and a soldier, that what is about to pass between us shall
never be mentioned to any third person.'
My word, this was a fine beginning! I had no choice but to give the
promise required.
'You must know, then, that it is all over with the Emperor,' said he,
looking down at the table and speaking very slowly, as if he had a hard
task in getting out the words. 'Jourdan at Rouen and Marmont at Paris
have both mounted the white cockade, and it is rumoured that Talleyrand
has talked Ney into doing the same. It is evident that further
resistance is useless, and that it can only bring misery upon our
country. I wish to ask you, therefore, whether you are prepared to join
me in laying hands upon the Emperor's person, and bringing the war to a
conclusion by delivering him over to the allies?'
I assure you that when I heard this infamous proposition put forward by
the man who had been the earliest friend of the Emperor, and who had
received greater favours from him than any of his followers, I could
only stand and stare at him in amazement. For his part he tapped his
pen-handle against his teeth, and looked at me with a slanting head.
'Well?' he asked.
'I am a little deaf on one side,' said I, coldly. 'There are some
things which I cannot hear. I beg that you will permit me to return to
my duties.'
'Nay, but you must not be headstrong,' rising up and laying his hand
upon my shoulder. 'You are aware that the Senate has declared against
Napoleon, and that the Emperor Alexander refuses to treat with him.'
'Sir,' I cried, with passion, 'I would have you know that I do not care
the dregs of a wine-glass for the Senate or for the Emperor Alexander
either.'
'Then for what do you care?'
'For my own honour and for the service of my glorious master, the
Emperor Napoleon.'
'That is all very well,' said Berthier, peevishly, shrugging his
shoulders. 'Facts are facts, and as men of the world, we must look them
in the face. Are we to stand against the will of the nation? Are we to
have civil war on the top of all our misfortunes? And, besides, we are
thinning away. Every hour comes the news of fresh desertions. We have
still time to make our peace, and, indeed, to earn the highest regard,
by giving up the Emperor.'