THE FIRST ABDICATION
It now remained to be seen whether Napoleon would make a wise use of
his successes. While the Grand Army drew in its columns behind the
sheltering line of the Seine at Troyes, the French Emperor strove to
reap in diplomacy the fruits of his military prowess. In brief, he
sought to detach Austria from the Coalition. From Nogent he wrote, on
February 21st, to the Emperor Francis, dwelling on the impolicy of
Austria continuing the war. Why should she subordinate her policy to
that of England and to the personal animosities of the Czar? Why
should she see her former Belgian provinces handed over to a
Protestant Dutch Prince about to be allied with the House of Brunswick
by marriage? France would never give up Belgium; and he, as French
Emperor, would never sign a peace that would drive her from the Rhine
and exclude her from the circle of the Great Powers. But if Austria
really wished for the equilibrium of Europe, he (Napoleon) was ready
to forget the past and make peace on the basis of the Frankfurt
terms.[415]
Had these offers been rather less exacting, and reached the allied
headquarters a week earlier, they might have led to the break up of
the Coalition. For the political situation of the allies had been even
more precarious than that of their armies. The pretensions of the Czar
had excited indignation and alarm. Swayed to and fro between the
counsels of his old tutor, Laharpe, now again at his side, and his own
autocratic instincts, he declared that he would push on to Paris,
consult the will of the French people by a plébiscite, and abide by
its decision, even if it gave a new lease of power to Napoleon. But
side by side with this democratic proposal came another of a more
despotic type, that the military Governor of Paris must be a Russian
officer.
The amusement caused by these odd notions was overshadowed by alarm.
Metternich, Castlereagh, and Hardenberg saw in them a ruse for
foisting on France either Bernadotte, or an orientalized Republic, or
a Muscovite version of the Treaty of Tilsit. Then again, on February
9th, Alexander sent a mandate to the plenipotentiaries at Châtillon,
requesting that their sessions should be suspended, though he had
recently agreed at Langres to enter into negotiations with France,
provided that the military operations were not suspended. Evidently,
then, he was bent on forcing the hands of his allies, and Austria
feared that he might at the end of the war insist on her taking
Alsace, as a set-off to the loss of Eastern Galicia which he wished to
absorb. So keen was the jealousy thus aroused, that at Troyes
Metternich and Hardenberg signed a secret agreement to prevent the
Czar carrying matters with a high hand at Paris (February 14th); and
on the same day they sent him a stiff Note requesting the resumption
of the negotiations with Napoleon. Indeed, Austria formally threatened
to withdraw her troops from the war, unless he limited his aims to the
terms propounded by the allies at Châtillon. Alexander at first
refused; but the news of Blücher's disasters shook his determination,
and he assented on that day, provided that steps were at once taken to
lighten the pressure on the Russian corps serving under Blücher. Thus,
by February 14th, the crisis was over.[416]
Schwarzenberg cautiously pushed on three columns to attract the
thunderbolts that otherwise would have destroyed the Silesian Army
root and branch; and he succeeded. True, his vanguard was beaten at
Montereau; but, by drawing Napoleon south and then east of the Seine,
he gave time to Blücher to strengthen his shattered array and resume
the offensive. Meanwhile Bülow, with the northern army, began to draw
near to the scene of action, and on the 23rd the allies took the wise
step of assigning his corps, along with those of Winzingerode,
Woronzoff, and Strogonoff, to the Prussian veteran. The last three
corps were withdrawn from the army of Bernadotte, and that prince was
apprized of the fact by the Czar in a rather curt letter.
The diplomatic situation had also cleared up before Napoleon's letter
reached the Emperor Francis. The negotiations with Caulaincourt were
resumed at Châtillon on February the 17th; and there is every reason
to think that Austria, England, Prussia, and perhaps even Russia would
now gladly have signed peace with Napoleon on the basis of the French
frontiers of 1791, provided that he renounced all claims to
interference in the affairs of Europe outside those limits.[417]
These demands would certainly have been accepted by the French
plenipotentiary had he listened to his own pacific promptings. But he
was now in the most painful position. Maret had informed him, the day
after Montmirail, that Napoleon was set on keeping the Rhenish and
Alpine frontiers.[418] He could, therefore, do nothing but temporize.
He knew how precarious was the military supremacy just snatched by his
master, and trusted that a few days more would bring wisdom before it
was too late. But his efforts for delay were useless.
While he was marking time, Napoleon was sending him despatches
instinct with pride. "I have made 30,000 to 40,000 prisoners," he
wrote on the 17th: "I have taken 200 cannon, a great number of
generals, and destroyed several armies, almost without striking a
blow. I yesterday checked Schwarzenberg's army, which I hope to
destroy before it recrosses my frontier." And two days later, after
hearing the allied terms, he wrote that they would make the blood of
every Frenchman boil with indignation, and that he would dictate _his_
ultimatum at Troyes or Châtillon. Of course, Caulaincourt kept these
diatribes to himself, but his painfully constrained demeanour betrayed
the secret that he longed for peace and that his hands were tied.
On all sides proofs were to be seen that Napoleon would never give up
Belgium and the Rhine frontier. When the allies (at the suggestion of
Schwarzenberg, and _with the approval of the Czar_) sued for an
armistice, he forbade his envoys to enter into any parleys until the
allies agreed to accept the "natural frontiers" as the basis for a
peace, and retired in the meantime on Alsace, Lorraine, and
Holland.[419] These last conditions he agreed three days later to
relax; but on the first point he was inexorable, and he knew that the
military commissioners appointed to arrange the truce had no power to
agree to the _political_ article which he made a _sine quâ non_.
Accordingly, no armistice was concluded, and his unbending attitude
made a bad impression on the Emperor Francis, who, on the 27th,
replied to his son-in-law in terms which showed that his blows were
welding the Coalition more firmly together.[420]
In fact, while the plenipotentiaries at Châtillon were exchanging
empty demands, a most important compact was taking form at Chaumont:
it was dated from the 1st of March, but definitively signed on the
9th. Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia thereby bound
themselves not to treat singly with France for peace, but to continue
the war until France was brought back to her old frontiers, and the
complete independence of Germany, Holland, Switzerland, and Spain was
secured. Each of the four Powers must maintain 150,000 men in the
field (exclusive of garrisons); and Britain agreed to aid her allies
with equal yearly subsidies amounting in all to £5,000,000 for the
year 1814.[421] The treaty would be only defensive if Napoleon
accepted the allied terms formulated at Châtillon: otherwise it would
be offensive and hold good, if need be, for twenty years.
Undoubtedly this compact was largely the work of Castlereagh, whose
tact and calmness had done wonders in healing schisms; but so intimate
a union could never have been formed among previously discordant
allies but for their overmastering fear of Napoleon. Such a treaty was
without parallel in European history; and the stringency of its
clauses serves as the measure of the prowess and perversity of the
French Emperor. It is puerile to say, as Mollien does, that England
bribed the allies to this last effort. Experiences of the last months
had shown them that peace could not be durable as long as Napoleon
remained in a position to threaten Germany. Even now they were ready
to conclude it with Napoleon on the basis of the old frontiers of
France, provided that he assented before the 11th of March; but the
most pacific of their leaders saw that the more they showed their
desire for peace, the more they strengthened Napoleon's resolve to
have it only on terms which they saw to be fraught with future
danger.[422]
While the conferences at Châtillon followed one another in fruitless
succession, Blücher, with 48,000 effectives, was once more resuming
the offensive. Napoleon heard the news at Troyes (February 25th). He
was surprised at the veteran's temerity: he had pictured him crushed
and helpless beyond Chalons, and had cherished the hope of destroying
Schwarzenberg.--"If," he wrote to Clarke on the morrow, "I had had a
pontoon bridge, the war would be over, and Schwarzenberg's army would
no longer exist.... For want of boats, I could not pass the Seine at
the necessary points. It was not 50 boats that I needed, only
20."--With this characteristic outburst against his War Minister,
whose neglect to send up twenty boats from Paris had changed the
world's history, the Emperor turned aside to overwhelm Blücher. The
Prussian commander was near the junction of the Seine and the Aube;
and seemed to offer his flank as unguardedly as three weeks before.
Napoleon sent Ney, Victor, and Arrighi northwards to fall on his rear,
and on the 27th repaired to Arcis-sur-Aube to direct the operations.
What, then, was his annoyance when, in pursuance of the allied plan
formed on the 23rd, Blücher skilfully retired northwards, withdrew
beyond the Marne and broke the bridges behind him. Then after failing
to drive Marmont and Mortier from Meaux and the line of the Ourcq, the
Prussian leader marched towards Soissons, near which town he expected
to meet the northern army of the allies. For some hours he was in
grave danger: Marmont hung on his rear, and Napoleon with 35,000 hardy
troops was preparing to turn his right flank. In fact, had he not
broken the bridge over the Marne at La Ferté-sous-Jouarre, and thereby
delayed the Emperor thirty-six hours, he would probably have been
crushed before he could cross the River Aisne. His men were dead beat
by marching night and day over roads first covered by snow and now
deep in slush: for a week they had had no regular rations, and great
was their joy when, at the close of the 2nd, they drew near to the
42,000 troops that Bülow and Winzingerode mustered near the banks of
the Aisne and Vesle.
On that day Napoleon, when delayed at La Ferté, conceived the daring
idea of rushing on the morrow after Blücher, who was "very embarrassed
in the mire," and then of carrying the war into Lorraine, rescuing the
garrisons of Verdun, Toul, and Metz, and rousing the peasantry of the
east of France against the invaders. It mattered not that
Schwarzenberg had dealt Oudinot and Gérard a severe check at
Bar-sur-Aube, as soon as Napoleon's back was turned. That cautious
leader would be certain, he thought, to beat a retreat towards the
Rhine as soon as his rear was threatened; and Napoleon pictured France
rising as in 1793, shaking off her invaders and dictating a glorious
peace.
Far different was the actual situation. Blücher was not to be caught;
a sharp frost on the 3rd improved the roads; and his complete junction
with the northern army was facilitated by the surrender of Soissons on
that same afternoon. This fourth-rate fortress was ill-prepared to
withstand an attack; and, after a short bombardment by Winzingerode,
two allied officers made their way to the Governor, praised his
bravery, pointed out the uselessness of further resistance, and
offered to allow the garrison to march out with the honours of war and
rejoin the Emperor, where they could fight to more advantage. The
Governor, who bore the ill-starred name of Moreau, finally gave way,
and his troops, nearly all Poles, marched out at 4 p.m., furious at
his "treason"; for the distant thunder of Marmont's cannon was already
heard on the side of Oulchy. Rumour said that they were the Emperor's
cannon, but rumour lied. At dawn Napoleon's troops had begun to cross
the temporary bridge over the Marne, thirty-five miles away; but by
great exertions his outposts on that evening reached Rocourt, only
some twenty miles south of Soissons.[423]
The fact deserves notice: for it disposes of the strange statement of
Thiers that the surrender of Soissons was, next to Waterloo, the most
fatal event in the annals of France. The gifted historian, as also, to
some extent, M. Houssaye, assumed that, had Soissons held out, Blücher
and Bülow could not have united their forces. But Bülow had not relied
solely on the bridge at Soissons for the union of the armies; on the
2nd he had thrown a bridge over the Aisne at Vailly, some distance
above that city, and another on the third near to its eastern
suburb.[424] It is clear, then, that the two armies, numbering in all
over 100,000 men, could have joined long before Napoleon, Marmont, and
Mortier were in a position to attack. Before the Emperor heard of the
surrender, he had marched to Fismes, and had detached Corbineau to
occupy Rheims, evidently with the aim of cutting Blücher's
communications with Schwarzenberg, and opening up the way to Verdun
and Metz.
For that plan was now his dominant aim, while the repulse of Blücher
was chiefly of importance because it would enable him to stretch a
hand eastwards to his beleaguered garrisons.[425] But Blücher was not
to be thus disposed of. While withdrawing from Soissons to the natural
fortress of Laon, he heard that Napoleon had crossed the Aisne at
Berry-au-Bac, and was making for Craonne. Above that town there rises
a long narrow ridge or plateau, which Blücher ordered his Russian
corps to occupy. There was fought one of the bloodiest battles of the
war (March 7th). The aim of the allies was to await the French attack
on the plateau, while 10,000 horsemen and sixty guns worked round and
fell on their rear.
The plan failed, owing to a mistake in the line of march of this
flanking force: and the battle resolved itself into a soldiers' fight.
Five times did Ney lead his braves up those slopes, only to be hurled
back by the dogged Muscovites. But the Emperor now arrived; a sixth
attack by the cavalry and artillery of the Guard battered in the
defence; and Blücher, hearing that the flank move had failed, ordered
a retreat on Laon. This confused and desperate fight cost both sides
about 7,000 men, nearly a fourth of the numbers engaged. Victor,
Grouchy, and six French generals were among the wounded.[426]
Nevertheless, Napoleon struggled on: he called up Marmont and Mortier,
gave out that he was about to receive other large reinforcements, and
bade his garrisons in Belgium and Lorraine fall on the rear of the
foe. One more victory, he thought, would end the war, or at least
lower the demands of the allies. It was not to be. Blücher and Bülow
held the strong natural citadel of Laon; and all Napoleon's efforts on
March the 9th and 10th failed to storm the southern approaches.
Marmont fared no better on the east; and when, at nightfall, the weary
French fell back, the Prussians resolved to try a night attack on
Marmont's corps, which was far away from the main body. Never was a
surprise more successful; Marmont was quite off his guard; horse and
foot fled in wild confusion, leaving 2,500 prisoners and forty-five
cannon in the hands of the victorious Yorck. Could the allies have
pressed home their advantage, the result must have been decisive; but
Blücher had fallen ill, and a halt was called.[427]
Alone, among the leaders in this campaign, the Emperor remained
unbroken. All the allied leaders had at one time or another bent under
his blows; and the French Marshals seemed doomed, as in 1813, to fail
wherever their Emperor was not. Ney, Victor, and Mortier had again
evinced few of the qualities of a commander, except bravery. Augereau
was betraying softness and irresolution in the Lyonnais in front of a
smaller Austrian force. Suchet and Davoust were shut up in Catalonia
and Hamburg. St. Cyr and Vandamme were prisoners. Soult had kept a
bold front near Bayonne: but now news was to hand that Wellington had
surprised and routed him at Orthez. On the Seine, Macdonald and
Oudinot failed to hold Troyes against the masses of Schwarzenberg. Of
all the French Marshals, Marmont had distinguished himself the most in
this campaign, and now at Laon he had been caught napping. Yet, while
all others failed, Napoleon seemed invincible. Even after Marmont's
disaster, the allies forbore to attack the chief; and, just as a lion
that has been beaten off by a herd of buffaloes stalks away, mangled
but full of fight and unmolested, so the Emperor drew off in peace
towards Soissons. Thence he marched on Rheims, gained a victory over a
Russian division there, and hoped to succour his Lorraine garrisons,
when, on the 17th, the news of Schwarzenberg's advance towards Paris
led him southwards once more.
Yielding to the remonstrances of the Czar, the Austrian leader had
purposed to march on the French capital, if everything went well; but
he once more drew back on receiving news of Napoleon's advance against
his right flank. While preparing to retire towards Brienne, he heard
that his great antagonist had crossed that river at Plancy with less
than 20,000 troops. To retrace his steps, fall upon this handful of
weary men with 100,000, and drive them into the river, was not a
daring conception: but so accustomed were the allies to dalliance and
delay that a thrill of surprise ran through the host when he began to
call up its retiring columns for a fight.[428]
Napoleon also was surprised: he believed the Grand Army to be in full
retreat, and purposed then to dash on Vitry and Verdun.[429] But the
allies gave him plenty of time to draw up Macdonald's and Oudinot's
corps, while they themselves were still so widely sundered as at first
scarcely to stay his onset. The fighting behind Arcis was desperate:
Napoleon exposed his person freely to snatch victory from the
deepening masses in front. At one time a shell burst in front of him,
and his staff shivered as they saw his figure disappear in the cloud
of smoke and dust; but he arose unhurt, mounted another charger and
pressed on the fight. It was in vain: he was compelled to draw back
his men to the town (March 20th). On the morrow a bold attack by
Schwarzenberg could have overwhelmed Napoleon's 30,000 men; but his
bold front imposed on the Austrian leader, while the French were drawn
across the river, only the rearguard suffering heavily from the
belated attack of the allies. With the loss of 4,000 men, Napoleon
fell back northwards into the wasted plains of Sézanne. Hope now
vanished from every breast but his. And surely if human weakness had
ever found a place in that fiery soul, it might now have tempted him
to sue for peace. He had flung himself first north, then south, in
order to keep for France the natural frontiers that he might have had
as a present last November; he had failed; and now he might with
honour accept the terms of the victors. But once more he was too late.
The negotiations at Châtillon had ended on March 19th, that is, nine
days later than had been originally fixed by the allies. The extension
of time was due mainly to their regard and pity for Caulaincourt; and,
indeed, he was in the most pitiable position, a plenipotentiary
without full powers, a Minister kept partly in the dark by his
sovereign, and a patriot unable to rescue his beloved France from the
abyss towards which Napoleon's infatuation was hurrying her. He knew
the resolve of the allies far better than his master's intentions. It
was from Lord Aberdeen that he heard of the failure of the parleys for
an armistice: from him also he learnt that Napoleon had written a
"passionate" letter to Kaiser Francis, and he expressed satisfaction
that the reply was firm and decided.[430] His private intercourse at
Châtillon with the British plenipotentiaries was frank and friendly,
as also with Stadion. He received frequent letters from Metternich,
advising him quickly to come to terms with the allies;[431] and the
Austrian Minister sent Prince Esterhazy to warn him that the allies
would never recede from their demand of the old frontiers for France,
not even if the fortune of war drove them across the Rhine for a time.
"Is there, then, no means to enlighten Napoleon as to his true
situation, or to save him if he persists in destroying himself? Has he
irrevocably staked his own and his son's fate on the last
cannon?"--Let Napoleon, then, accept the allied proposal by sending a
counter-project, differing only very slightly from theirs, and peace
would be made.[432] Caulaincourt needed no spur. "He works tooth and
nail for a peace," wrote Stewart, "as far as depends on him. He dreads
Bonaparte's successes even more than ours, lest they should make him
more impracticable."[433]
But, unfortunately, his latest and most urgent appeal to the Emperor
reached the latter just after the Pyrrhic victory at Craonne, which
left him more stubborn than ever. Far from meeting the allies halfway,
he let fall words that bespoke only injured pride: "If one must
receive lashes," he said within hearing of the courier, "it is not for
me to offer my back to them." On the morrow he charged Maret to reply
to his distressed plenipotentiary that he (Napoleon) knew best what
the situation demanded; the demand of the allies that France should
retire within her old frontiers was only their _first word:_
Caulaincourt must get to know their ultimatum: if this was their
ultimatum, he must reject it. He (Napoleon) would possibly give up
Dutch Brabant and the fortresses of Wesel, Castel (opposite Mainz),
and Kehl, but would make no substantial changes on the Frankfurt
terms. Still, Caulaincourt struggled on. When the session of March
10th was closing, he produced a declaration offering to give up all
Napoleon's claims to control lands beyond the natural limits.
The others divined that it was his own handiwork, drawn up in order to
spin out the negotiations and leave his master a few days of
grace.[434] They respected his intentions, and nine days of grace were
gained; but the only answer that Napoleon vouchsafed to Caulaincourt's
appeals was the missive of March 17th from Rheims: "I have received
your letters of the 13th. I charge the Duke of Bassano to answer them
in detail. I give you directly the power to make the concessions which
would be indispensable to keep up the activity of the negotiations,
and to get to know at last the ultimatum of the allies, it being well
understood that the treaty would have for result the evacuation of our
territory and the release of all prisoners on both sides." The
instructions which he charged the Duke of Bassano to send to
Caulaincourt were such as a victor might have dictated. The allies
must evacuate his territory and give up all the fortresses as soon as
the preliminaries of peace were signed: if the negotiations were to
break off they had better break off on this question. He himself would
cease to control lands beyond the natural frontiers, and would
recognize the independence of Holland: as regards Belgium, he would
refuse to cede it to a prince of the House of Orange, but he hinted
that it might well go to a French prince as an indemnity--evidently
Joseph Bonaparte was meant. If this concession were made, he expected
that all the French colonies, including the Ile de France, would be
restored. Nothing definite was said about the Rhine frontier.
The courier who carried these proposals from Rheims to Châtillon was
twice detained by the Russians, and had not reached the town when the
Congress came to an end (March 19th). Their only importance,
therefore, is to show that, despite all the warnings in which the
Prague negotiations were so fruitful, Napoleon clung to the same
threatening and dilatory tactics which had then driven Austria into
the arms of his foes. He still persisted in looking on the time limit
of the allies as meaningless, on their ultimatum as their _first
word_, from which they would soon shuffle away under the pressure of
his prowess--and this, too, when Caulaincourt was daily warning him
that the hours were numbered, that nothing would change the resolve of
his foes, and that their defeats only increased their exasperation
against him.
If anything could have increased this exasperation, it was the
discovery that he was playing with them all the time. On the 20th the
allied scouts brought to head-quarters a despatch written by Maret the
day before to Caulaincourt which contained this damning sentence: "The
Emperor's desires remain entirely vague on everything relating to the
delivering up of the strongholds, Antwerp, Mayence, and Alessandria,
if you should be obliged to consent to these cessions, as he has the
intention, even after the ratification of the treaty, to take counsel
from the military situation of affairs. Wait for the last
moment."[435] Peace, then, was to be patched up for Napoleon's
convenience and broken by him at the first seasonable opportunity. Is
it surprising that on that same day the Ministers of the Powers
decided to have no more negotiations with Napoleon, and that
Metternich listened not unfavourably to the emissary of the Bourbons,
the Count de Vitrolles, whom he had previously kept at arm's length?
In truth, Napoleon was now about to stake everything on a plan from
which other leaders would have recoiled, but which, in his eyes,
promised a signal triumph. This was to rally the French garrisons in
Lorraine and throw himself on Schwarzenberg's rear. It was, indeed,
his only remaining chance. With his band of barely 40,000 men, kept up
to that number by the arrival of levies that impaired its solidity, he
could scarcely hope to beat back the dense masses now marshalled
behind the Aube, the Seine, and the Marne.
A glance at the map will show that behind those rivers the allies
could creep up within striking distance of Paris, while from his
position north of the Aube he could attack them only by crossing one
or other of those great streams, the bridges of which were in their
hands. He still held the central position; but it was robbed of its
value if he could not attack. Warfare for him was little else than the
art of swift and decisive attack; or, as he tersely phrased it, "The
art of war is to march twelve leagues, fight a battle, and march
twelve more in pursuit." As this was now impossible against the fronts
and flanks of the allies, it only remained to threaten the rear of the
army which was most likely to be intimidated by such a manoeuvre. And
this was clearly the army led by Schwarzenberg. From Blücher and Bülow
naught but defiance to the death was to be expected, and their rear
was supported by the Dutch strongholds.
But the Austrians had shown themselves as soft in their strategy as in
their diplomacy. Everyone at the allied headquarters knew that
Schwarzenberg was unequal to the load of responsibility thrust on him,
that the incursion of a band of Alsatian peasants on his convoys made
him nervous, and that he would not move on Paris as long as his
"communications were exposed to a movement by Chalons and Vitry."[436]
What an effect, then, would be produced on that timid commander by an
"Imperial Vendée" in Alsace, Lorraine, and Franche-Comté!
And such a rising might then have become fierce and widespread. The
east and centre were the strongholds of French democracy, as they had
been the hotbed of feudal and monarchical abuses; and at this very
time the Bourbon princes declared themselves at Nancy and Bordeaux.
The tactless Comte d'Artois was at Nancy, striving to whip up royalist
feeling in Lorraine, and his eldest son, the Duc d'Angoulême, entered
Bordeaux with the British red-coats (March 12th).
To explain how this last event was possible we must retrace our steps.
After Soult was driven by Wellington from the mountains at the back of
the town of Orthez, he drew back his shattered troops over the River
Adour, and then turned sharply to the east in order to join hands with
Suchet's corps. This move, excellent as it was in a military sense,
left Bordeaux open to the British; and Wellington forthwith sent
Beresford northwards with 12,000 troops to occupy that great city. He
met with a warm greeting from the French royalists, as also did the
Duc d'Angoulême, who arrived soon after. The young prince at once
proclaimed Louis XVIII. King of France, and allowed the royalist mayor
to declare that the allies were advancing to Paris merely in order to
destroy Napoleon and replace him by the rightful monarch. Strongly as
Wellington's sympathies ran with the aim of this declaration, he
emphatically repudiated it. Etiquette compelled him to do so; for the
allies were still negotiating with Napoleon; and his own tact warned
him that the Bourbons must never come into France under the cloak of
the allies.
The allied sovereigns had as yet done nothing to favour their cause;
and the wiser heads among the French royalists saw how desirable it
was that the initiative should come from France. The bad effects of
the Bordeaux manifesto were soon seen in the rallying of National
Guards and peasants to the tricolour against the hated _fleur-de-lys;_
and Beresford's men could do little more than hold their own.[437] If
that was the case in the monarchical south, what might not Napoleon
hope to effect in the east, now that the Bourbon "chimæra" threatened
to become a fact?
The news as to the state of Paris was less satisfactory. That fickle
populace cheered royalist allusions at the theatres, hissed off an
"official" play that represented Cossack marauders,[438] and caused
such alarm to Savary that he wrote to warn his master of the inability
of the police to control the public if the war rolled on towards
Paris. Whether Savary's advice was honestly stupid, or whether, as
Lavalette hints, Talleyrand's intrigues were undermining his loyalty
to Napoleon, it is difficult to say. But certainly the advice gave
Napoleon an additional reason for flinging himself on Schwarzenberg's
rear and drawing him back into Lorraine. He had reason to hope that
Augereau, reinforced by some of Suchet's troops, would march towards
Dijon and threaten the Austrians on the south, while he himself
pressed on them from the north-east. In that case, would not Austria
make peace, and leave Alexander and Blücher at his mercy? And might he
not hope to cut off the Comte d'Artois, and possibly also catch
Bernadotte, who had been angling unsuccessfully for popular support in
the north-east?
But, while basing all his hopes on the devotion of the French
peasantry and the pacific leanings of Austria, the French Emperor left
out of count the eager hatred of the Czar and the Prussians. "Blücher
would be mad if he attempted any serious movement," so Napoleon wrote
to Berthier on the 20th, apparently on the strength of his former
suggestion that Joseph should persuade Bernadotte to desert the allies
and attack Blücher's rear.[439] At least, it is difficult to find any
other reason for Napoleon's strange belief that Blücher would sit
still while his allies were being beaten; unless, indeed, we accept
Marmont's explanation that Napoleon's brain now rejected all
unpleasing news and registered wishes as facts.
Fortune seemed to smile on his enterprise. Though he failed to take
Vitry from the allied garrison, yet near St. Dizier he fell on a
Prussian convoy, captured 800 men and 400 wagons filled with stores.
Everywhere he ordered the tocsin to proclaim a _levée en masse_, and
sent messengers to warn his Lorraine garrisons to cut their way to his
side. His light troops spread up the valley of the Marne towards
Chaumont, capturing stores and couriers; and he seized this
opportunity, when he pictured the Austrians as thoroughly demoralized,
to send Caulaincourt from Doulevant with offers to renew the
negotiations for peace (March 25th).[440] But while Napoleon awaits
the result of these proposals, his rear is attacked: he retraces his
steps, falls on the assailants, and finds that they belong to Blücher.
But how can Prussians be there in force? Is not Blücher resting on the
banks of the Aisne? And where is Schwarzenberg? The Emperor pushes a
force on to Vitry to solve this riddle, and there the horrible truth
unfolds itself little by little that he stands on the brink of ruin.
It is a story instinct with an irony like that of the infatuation of
King Oedipus in the drama of Sophocles. Every step that the warrior
has taken to snatch at victory increases the completeness of the
disaster. The Emperor Francis, scared by the approach of the French
horsemen, and not wishing to fall into the hands of his son-in-law,
has withdrawn with Metternich to Dijon.
Napoleon's letter to him is lost.[441] Metternich, well guarded by
Castlereagh, is powerless to meet Caulaincourt's offer, and their
flight leaves Schwarzenberg under the influence of the Czar.[442]
Moreover, Blücher has not been idle. While Napoleon is hurrying
eastwards to Vitry, the Prussian leader drives back Marmont's weak
corps, his vanguard crosses the Marne near Epernay on the 23rd, his
Cossacks capture a courier bearing a letter written on that day by
Napoleon to Marie Louise. It ends thus: "I have decided to march
towards the Marne, in order to push the enemy's army further from
Paris, and to draw near to my fortresses. I shall be this evening at
St. Dizier. Adieu, my friend! Embrace my son." Warned by this letter
of Napoleon's plan, Blücher pushes on; his outposts on the morrow join
hands with those of Schwarzenberg, and send a thrill of vigour into
the larger force.
That leader, held at bay by Macdonald's rearguard, was groping after
Napoleon, when the capture of a French despatch, and the news
forwarded by Blücher, informed him of the French Emperor's eastward
march. A council of war was therefore held at Pougy on the afternoon
of the 23rd, when the Czar and the bolder spirits led Schwarzenberg to
give up his communications with Switzerland, and stake everything on
joining Blücher, and following Napoleon's 40,000 with an array of
180,000 men. But the capture of another French despatch a few hours
later altered the course of events once more. This time it was a
budget of official news from Paris to Napoleon, describing the
exhaustion of the finances, the discontent of the populace, and the
sensation caused by Wellington's successes and the capture of
Bordeaux. These glad tidings inspired Alexander with a far more
incisive plan--to march on Paris. This suggestion had been pressed on
him on the 17th by Baron de Vitrolles, a French royalist agent, at the
close of a long interview; and now its advantages were obvious.
Accordingly, at Sommepuis, on the 24th, he convoked his generals,
Barclay, Volkonski, Toll, and Diebitsch, to seek their advice. Barclay
was for following Napoleon, but the two last voted for the advance to
Paris, Toll maintaining that only 10,000 horsemen need be left behind
to screen their movements. The Czar signified his warm approval of
this plan; a little later the King of Prussia gave his assent, and
Schwarzenberg rather doubtfully deferred to their wishes. Thus the
result of Napoleon's incursion on the rear of the allies signally
belied his expectations. Instead of compelling the enemy to beat a
retreat on the Rhine, it left the road open to his capital.[443]
At dawn on the 25th, then, the allied Grand Army turned to the
right-about, while Blücher's men marched joyfully on the parallel road
from Chalons. Near La Fère-Champenoise, on that day, a cloud of
Russian and Austrian horse harassed Marmont's and Mortier's corps, and
took 2,500 prisoners and fifty cannon. Further to the north, Blücher's
Cossacks swooped on a division of 4,500 men, mostly National Guards,
that guarded a large convoy. Stoutly the French formed in squares, and
beat them off again and again. Thereupon Colonel Hudson Lowe rode away
southwards, to beg reinforcements from Wrede's Bavarians.
They, too, failed to break that indomitable infantry. The 180 wagons
had to be left behind; but the recruits plodded on, and seemed likely
to break through to Marmont, when the Czar came on the scene. At once
he ordered up artillery, riddled their ranks with grapeshot, and when
their commander, Pacthod, still refused to surrender, threatened to
overwhelm their battered squares by the cavalry of his Guard. Pacthod
thereupon ordered his square to surrender. Another band also grounded
arms; but the men in the last square fought on, reckless of life, and
were beaten down by a whirlwind of sabring, stabbing horsemen, whose
fury the generous Czar vainly strove to curb. "I blushed for my very
nature as a man," wrote Colonel Lowe, "at witnessing this scene of
carnage." The day was glorious for France, but it cost her, in all,
more than 5,000 killed and wounded, 4,000 prisoners, and 80 cannon,
besides the provisions and stores designed for Napoleon's army.[444]
Nothing but the wreck of Marmont's and Mortier's corps, about 12,000
men in all, now barred the road to Paris. Meeting with no serious
resistance, the allies crossed the Marne at Meaux, and on the 29th
reached Bondy, within striking distance of the French capital.
In that city the people were a prey, first to sheer incredulity, then
to the wildest dismay. To them history was but a melodrama and war a
romance. Never since the time of Jeanne d'Arc had a foreign enemy come
within sight of their spires. For ramparts they had octroi walls, and
in place of the death-dealing defiance of 1792 they now showed only
the spasmodic vehemence or ironical resignation of an over-cultivated
stock. As M. Charles de Rémusat finely remarks on their varying moods,
"The despotism which makes a constant show of prosperity gives men
little fortitude to meet adversity." Doubtless the royalists, with
Talleyrand as their factotum, worked to paralyze the defence; but they
formed a small minority, and the masses would have fought for Napoleon
had he been present to direct everything. But he was far away, rushing
back through Champagne to retrieve his blunder, and in his place they
had Joseph. The ex-King of Spain was not the man for the hour. He was
no hero to breathe defiance into a bewildered crowd, nor was he well
seconded. Clarke, and Moncey, the commander of the 12,000 National
Guards, had not armed one-half of that doubtful militia. Marmont and
Mortier were at hand, and, with the garrison and National Guards,
mustered some 42,000 men.
But what were these against the trained host of more than 100,000 men
now marching against the feeble barriers on the north and east?
Moreover, Joseph and the Council of Regency had dispirited the
defenders by causing the Empress Regent and the infant King of Rome to
leave the capital along with the treasure. In Joseph's defence it
should be said that Napoleon had twice warned him to transfer the seat
of Government to the south of the Loire if the allies neared Paris,
and in no case to allow the Empress and the King of Rome to be
captured. "Do not leave the side of my son: I had rather know that he
was in the Seine than in the hands of the enemies of France." The
Emperor's views as to the effect of the capture of Paris were also
well known. In January he remarked to Mollien, the Minister of the
Treasure, "My dear fellow, if the enemy reaches the gates of Paris,
the Empire is no more."[445]
Oppressed by these gloomy omens, the defenders awaited the onset of
the allies at Montreuil, Romainville Pantin, and on the northern plain
(March 30th). At some points French valour held up successfully
against the dense masses; but in the afternoon Marmont, seeing his
thin lines overlapped, and in imminent danger of being cut off at
Belleville, sent out a request for a truce, as Joseph had empowered
him to do if affairs proved to be irretrievable. At all points
resistance was hopeless; Mortier was hard pressed on the north-east;
at the Clichy gate Moncey and his National Guards fought only for
honour; and so, after a whole day of sanguinary conflicts, the great
city surrendered on honourable terms.
And thus ended the great impulse which had gone forth from Paris since
1789, which had flooded the plains of Germany, the plateaux of Spain,
the cities of Italy, and the steppes of Russia, levelling the barriers
of castes and creeds, and binding men in a new and solid unity. The
reaction against that great centrifugal and international movement had
now become centripetal and profoundly national. Thanks to Napoleon's
statecraft, the peoples of Europe from the Volga to the Tagus were now
embattled in a mighty phalanx, and were about to enter in triumph the
city that only twenty-five years before had heralded the dawn of their
nascent liberties.
And what of Napoleon, in part the product and in part the cause, of
this strange reaction? By a strange Nemesis, his military genius and
his overweening contempt of Schwarzenberg drew him aside at the very
time when the allies could strike with deadly effect at the heart of
his centralized despotism. On the 29th he hears of disaffection at
Paris, of the disaster at La Fère Champenoise, and of the loss of
Lyons by Augereau. He at once sees the enormity of his blunder. His
weary Guards and he seek to annihilate space. They press on by the
unguarded road by way of Troyes and Fontainebleau, thereby cutting off
all chance of the Emperor Francis and Metternich sending messages from
Dijon to Paris. By incredible exertions the men cover seventeen
leagues on the 29th and reach Troyes.
Napoleon, accompanied by Caulaincourt, Drouot, Flahaut, and Lefebvre,
rushes on, wearing out horses at every stage: at Fontainebleau on the
30th he hears that his consort has left Paris; at Essonne, that the
battle is raging. Late at night, near Athis, he meets a troop of horse
under General Belliard: eagerly he questions this brave officer, and
learns that Joseph has left Paris, and that the battle is over.
"Forward then to Paris: everywhere where I am not they act
stupidly."--"But, sire," says the general, "it is too late: Paris has
capitulated."
The indomitable will is not yet broken. He must go on; he will sound
the tocsin, rouse the populace, tear up the capitulation, and beat the
insolent enemy. The sight of Mortier's troops, a little further on, at
last burns the truth into his brain: he sends on Caulaincourt with
full powers to treat for peace, and then sits up for the rest of the
night, poring over his maps and measuring the devotion of his Guard
against the inexorable bounds of time and space. He is within ten
miles of Paris, and sees the glare of the enemy's watch-fires all over
the northern sky.
On the morrow he hears that the allied sovereigns are about to enter
Paris, and Marmont warns him by letter that public opinion has much
changed since the withdrawal, first of the Empress, and then of
Joseph, Louis, and Jerome. This was true. The people were disgusted by
their flight; Blücher now had eighty cannon planted on the heights of
Montmartre; and men knew that he would not spare Paris if she hazarded
a further effort. And thus, when, on that same morning, the Czar, with
the King of Prussia on his right, and Schwarzenberg on his left, rode
into Paris at the head of the Russian and Prussian Guards, they met
with nothing worse than sullen looks on the part of the masses, while
knots of enthusiastic royalists shouted wildly for the Bourbons, and
women flung themselves to kiss the boots of the liberating Emperor.
The Bourbon party, however, was certainly in the minority; but at
places along the route their demonstrations were effective enough to
influence an impressionable populace, and to delight the
conquerors.--"The white cockade appeared very universally:"--wrote
Stewart with suspicious emphasis--"many of the National Guards, whom I
saw, wore them."[446]
Fearing that the Elysée Palace had been mined, the Czar installed
himself at Talleyrand's mansion, opposite the Place de la Concorde;
and forthwith there took place a most important private Council. The
two monarchs were present, along with Nesselrode and Napoleon's
Corsican enemy, Pozzo di Borgo. Princes Schwarzenberg and Lichtenstein
represented Austria; while Talleyrand and Dalberg were there to plead
for the House of Bourbon: De Pradt and Baron Louis were afterwards
summoned. The Czar opened the deliberations by declaring that there
were three courses open, to make peace with Napoleon, to accept Marie
Louise as Regent for her son, or to recall the Bourbons.[447] The
first he declared to be impossible; the second was beset by the
gravest difficulties; and, while stating the objections to the
Bourbons, he let it be seen that he now favoured this solution,
provided that it really was the will of France. He then called on
Talleyrand to speak; and that pleader set forth the case of the
Bourbons with his usual skill. The French army, he said, was more
devoted to its own glory than to Napoleon. France longed for peace,
and she could only find it with due sureties under her old dynasty. If
the populace had not as yet declared for the Bourbons, who could
wonder at that, when the allies persisted in negotiating with
Napoleon? But let them declare that they will no more treat with him,
and France would at once show her real desires. For himself, he would
answer for the Senate. The Czar was satisfied; Frederick William
assented; the Austrian princes said not a word on behalf of the claims
of Marie Louise; and the cause of the House of Bourbon easily
triumphed.[448]
On the morrow appeared in the "Journal des Débats" a decisive
proclamation, signed by Alexander _on behalf of all the allied
Powers;_ but we must be permitted to doubt whether the Emperor
Francis, if present, would have allowed it to appear, especially if
his daughter were present in Paris as Regent. The proclamation set
forth that the allies would never again treat with "Napoleon
Bonaparte" or any member of his family; that they would respect the
integrity of France as it existed under its lawful kings, and would
recognize and guarantee the constitution which the French nation
should adopt.
Accordingly, they invited the Senate at once to appoint a Provisional
Government. Talleyrand, as Grand Elector of the Empire, had the power
to summon that guardian of the commonwealth, whose vote would clearly
be far more expeditious than the _plébiscite_ on which Alexander had
previously set his heart. Of the 140 Senators only 64 assembled, but
over them Talleyrand's influence was supreme. He spake, and they
silently registered his suggestions. Thus it was that the august body,
taught by ten years of despotism to bend gracefully before every
breeze, fulfilled its last function in the Napoleonic _régime_ by
overthrowing the very constitution which it had been expressly charged
to uphold. The date was the 1st of April. Talleyrand, Dalberg,
Beurnonville, Jaucourt, and l'Abbé de Montesquiou at once formed a
Provisional Government; but the soul of it was Talleyrand. The Czar
gave the word, and Talleyrand acted as scene-shifter. The last tableau
of this constitutional farce was reached on the following day, when
the Senate and the Corps Législatif declared that Napoleon had ceased
to reign.
Such was the ex-bishop's revenge for insults borne for many a year
with courtly tact, but none the less bitterly felt. Napoleon and he
had come to regard each other with instinctive antipathy; but while
the diplomatist hid his hatred under the cloak of irony, the soldier
blurted forth his suspicions. Before leaving Paris, the Emperor had
wound up his last Council-meeting by a diatribe against enemies left
in the citadel; and his words became all the hotter when he saw that
Talleyrand, who was then quietly conversing with Joseph in a corner,
took no notice of the outburst. From Champagne he sent off an order to
Savary to arrest the ex-Minister, but that functionary took upon
himself to disregard the order. Probably there was some understanding
between them. And thus, after steering past many a rock, the patient
schemer at last helped Europe to shipwreck that mighty adventurer when
but a league or two from port.
But all was not over yet. Napoleon had fallen back on Fontainebleau,
in front of which town he was assembling a force of nearly 60,000 men.
Marie Louise, with the Ministers, was at Blois, and desired to make
her way to the side of her consort. Had she done so, and had her
father been present at Paris, a very interesting and delicate
situation would have been the result; and we may fancy that it would
have needed all Metternich's finesse and Castlereagh's common sense to
keep the three monarchs united. But Francis was still at Dijon; and
Metternich and Castlereagh did not reach Paris until April 10th; so
that everything in these important days was decided by the Czar and
Talleyrand, both of them irreconcilable foes of Napoleon. It was in
vain that Caulaincourt (April 1st) begged the Czar to grant peace to
Napoleon on the basis of the old frontiers. "Peace with him would only
be a truce," was the reply.
The victor did not repulse the idea of a Regency so absolutely, and
the faithful Minister at once hurried to Fontainebleau to persuade his
master to abdicate in favour of his son. Napoleon repulsed the offer
with disdain: rather than _that_, he would once more try the hazards
of war. He knew that the Old and the Young Guard, still nearly 9,000
strong in all, burned to revenge the insult to French pride; and at
the close of a review held on the 3rd in the great court of the
palace, they shouted, "To Paris!" and swore to bury themselves under
its ruins. It needed not the acclaim of his veterans to prompt him to
the like resolve. When, on April 1st, he received a Verbal Note from
Alexander, stating that the allies would no longer treat with him,
except on his private and family concerns, he exclaimed to Marmont, at
the line of the Essonne, that he must fight, for it was a necessity of
his position. He also proposed to that Marshal to cross the Seine and
attack the allies, forgetting that the Marne, with its bridges held by
them, was in the way. Marmont, endowed with a keen and sardonic
intelligence, had already seen that his master was more and more the
victim of illusions, never crediting the existence of difficulties
that he did not actually witness. And when, on the 3rd, or perhaps
earlier, offers came from the royalists, the Marshal promised to help
them in the way that will shortly appear.
Napoleon's last overtures to the Czar came late on the following day.
On that morning he had a long and heated discussion with Berthier,
Ney, Oudinot, and Lefebvre. Caulaincourt and Maret were present as
peacemakers. The Marshals upbraided Napoleon with the folly of
marching on Paris. Angered by their words Napoleon at last said: "The
army will obey me." "No," retorted Ney, "it will obey its commanders."
Macdonald, who had just arrived with his weary corps, took up their
case with his usual frankness. "Our horses," he said, "can go no
further: we have not enough ammunition for one skirmish, and no means
of procuring more. If we fail, as we probably shall, the whole of
France will be destroyed. We can still impose on the enemy: let us
retain our attitude.... We have had enough of war without kindling
civil war." Finally the Emperor gave way, and drew up a declaration
couched in these terms: "The allied Powers having proclaimed that the
Emperor Napoleon was the sole obstacle to the re-establishment of
peace in Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oaths, declares
that he is ready to descend from the throne, to leave France, and even
give up his life, for the good of the fatherland, inseparable from the
rights of his son, of those of the regency of the Empress and of the
maintenance of the laws of the Empire."[449]
A careful reading of this document will show that it was not an act of
abdication, but merely a conditional offer to abdicate, which would
satisfy those undiplomatic soldiers and gain time. Macdonald also
relates that, after drawing it up, the Emperor threw himself on the
sofa, struck his thigh, and said: "Nonsense, gentlemen! let us leave
all that alone and march to-morrow, we shall beat them." But they held
him to his promise; and Caulaincourt, Ney, and Macdonald straightway
proceeding to Paris, beset the Czar with many entreaties and some
threats to recognize the Regency.
In their interview, late at night on the 4th, they seemed to make a
great impression, especially when they reminded him of his promise not
to force any government on France. Next, the Czar called in the
members of the Provisional Government, and heard their arguments that
a Regency must speedily give way before the impact of the one
masterful will. Yet again Alexander listened to the eloquence of
Caulaincourt, and finally to the pleadings of the now anxious
provisionals. So the night wore on at Talleyrand's mansion, the Czar
finally stating that, after hearing the Prussian monarch's advice, he
would give his decision. And shortly before dawn came the news that
Marmont's corps had marched over to the enemy. "You see," said
Alexander to Pozzo di Borgo, "it is Providence that wills it: no more
doubt or hesitation now."[450]
On that same night, in fact, Marmont's corps of 12,000 men was brought
from Essonne within the lines of the allies, by the Marshal's
generals. Marmont himself was then in Paris, having been induced by
Ney and Macdonald to come with them, so as to hinder the carrying out
of his treasonable design; but his generals, who were in the secret,
were alarmed by the frequency of Napoleon's couriers, and carried out
the original plan. Thus, at dawn of the 5th, the rank and file found
themselves amidst the columns and squadrons of the allies. It was now
too late to escape; the men swore at their leaders with helpless fury;
and 12,000 men were thus filched from Napoleon's array.[451]
If this conduct be viewed from the personal standpoint, it must be
judged a base betrayal of an old friend and benefactor; and it is
usually regarded in that light alone. And yet Marmont might plead that
his action was necessary to prevent Napoleon sacrificing his troops,
and perhaps also his capital, to a morbid pride and desire for
revenge. The Marshal owed something to France. The Chambers had
pronounced his master's abdication, and Paris seemed to acquiesce in
their decision: Bordeaux and Lyons had now definitely hoisted the
white flag: Wellington had triumphed in the south; Schwarzenberg
marshalled 140,000 men around the capital; and Marmont knew, perhaps,
better than any of the Marshals, the obstinacy of that terrible will
which had strewn the roads between Moscow, Paris, and Lisbon with a
million of corpses. Was it not time that this should end? And would it
end as long as Napoleon saw any chance of snatching a temporary
success?
However we may regard Marmont's conduct, there can be no doubt that it
helped on Napoleon's fall. The Czar was too subtle a diplomatist to
attach much importance to Napoleon's declaration cited above. He must
have seen in it a device to gain time. But he himself also wished for
a few more hours' respite before flinging away the scabbard; and we
may regard his lengthy balancings between the pleas of Caulaincourt
and Talleyrand as prompted partly by a wish to sip to the full the
sweets of revenge for the occupation of Moscow, but mainly by the
resolve to mark time until Marmont's corps had been brought over.
Now that the head was struck off Napoleon's lance, the Czar repulsed
all notion of a Regency, but declared that he was ready to grant
generous terms to Napoleon if the latter abdicated outright. "Now,
when he is in trouble," he said, "I will become once more his friend
and will forget the past." In conferences with Napoleon's
representatives, Alexander decided that Napoleon must keep the title
of Emperor, and receive a suitable pension. The islands of Corfu,
Corsica, and Elba were considered for his future abode: the last
offered the fewest objections; and though Metternich later on
protested against the choice of Elba, the Czar felt his honour pledged
to this arrangement.[452]
Napoleon himself now began to yield to the inevitable. On hearing the
news of Marmont's defection, he sat for some time as if stupefied,
then sadly remarked: "The ungrateful man: well! he will be more
unhappy than I." But once more, on the 6th, the fighting instinct
comes uppermost. He plans to retire with his faithful troops beyond
the Loire, and rally the corps of Augereau, Suchet, and Soult. "Come,"
he cries to his generals, "let us march to the Alps." Not one of them
speaks in reply. "Ah," replies the Emperor to their unspoken thoughts;
"you want repose: have it then. Alas! you know not how many
disappointments and dangers await you on your beds of down." He then
wrote his formal abdication:
"The allied Powers having declared that the Emperor was the sole
obstacle to the re-establishment of peace in Europe, the Emperor,
faithful to his oaths, declares that he renounces, for himself and
his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and that there is no
sacrifice, not even that of life, which he is not ready to make
for the interest of France."
The allies made haste to finish the affair; for even now they feared
that the caged lion would burst his bars. Indeed, the trusty secretary
Fain asserts that when on Easter Monday, the 11th, Caulaincourt
brought back the allies' ratification of this deed, Napoleon's first
demand was to retract the abdication. It would be unjust, however, to
lay too much stress on this strange conduct; for at that time the
Emperor's mind was partly unhinged by maddening tumults.
His anguish increased when he heard the final terms of the allies.
They allotted to him the isle of Elba; to his consort and heir, the
duchies of Parma, Placentia and Guastalla, and two millions of francs
as an annual subsidy, divided equally between himself and her. They
were to keep the title of Emperor and Empress; but their son would
bear the name of Duke of Parma, etc. The other Bonapartes received an
annual subsidy of 2,500,000 francs, this and the former sum being paid
by France. Four hundred soldiers might accompany him to Elba. A
"suitable establishment" was to be provided for Eugène outside of
France.[453] For some hours Napoleon refused to ratify this compact.
All hope of resistance was vain, for Oudinot, Victor, Lefebvre, and,
finally, Ney and Berthier, had gone over to the royalists: even the
soldiery began to waver. But a noble pride held back the mighty
conqueror from accepting Elba and signing a money compact. It is not
without a struggle that a Cæsar sinks to the level of a Sancho Panza.
He then talked to Caulaincourt with the insight that always illumined
his judgments. Marie Louise ought to have Tuscany, he said: Parma
would not befit her dignity. Besides, if she had to traverse other
States to come to him, would she ever do so? He next talked of his
Marshals. Masséna's were the greatest exploits: but Suchet had shown
himself the wisest both in war and administration. Soult was able, but
too ambitious. Berthier was honest, sensible, the model of a chief of
the staff; and "yet he has now caused me much pain." Not a word
escaped him about Davoust, still manfully struggling at Hamburg. Not
one of his Ministers, he complained, had come from Blois to bid him
farewell. He then spoke of his greatest enemy--England. "She has done
me much harm, doubtless, but I have left in her flanks a poisoned
dart. It is I who have made this debt, that will ever burden, if not
crush, future generations." Finally, he came back to the hateful
compact which Caulaincourt pressed him in vain to sign. How could he
take money from the allies. How could he leave France so small, after
receiving her so great!
That same night he sought to end his life. On February the 8th he had
warned his brother Joseph that he would do so if Paris were captured.
During the retreat from Moscow he had carried about a phial which was
said to contain opium, and he now sought to end his miseries. But
Caulaincourt, his valet Constant, and the surgeon Ivan were soon at
hand with such slight cures as were possible. After violent sickness
the Emperor sank into deep prostration; but, when refreshed by tea,
and by the cool air of dawning day, he gradually revived. "Fate has
decided," he exclaimed: "I must live and await all that Providence has
in store for me."[454] He then signed the treaty with the allies,
presented Macdonald with the sword of Murad Bey, and calmly began to
prepare for his departure.
Marie Louise did not come to see him. Her decision to do so was
overruled by her father, in obedience to whose behests she repaired
from Blois to Rambouillet.
There, guarded by Cossacks, she saw Francis, Alexander, and Frederick
William in turn. What passed between them is not known: but the result
was that, on April 23rd, she set out for Vienna, whence she finally
repaired to Parma; she manifested no great desire to see her consort
at Elba, but soon consoled herself with the Count de Neipperg.
No doubts as to her future conduct, no qualms of conscience as to the
destiny of France now ruffled Napoleon's mind. Like a sky cleared by a
thunderstorm, once more it shone forth with clear radiance. Those who
saw him now were astonished at his calmness, except in some moments
when he declaimed at his wife and child being kept from him by
Austrian schemes. Then he stormed and wept and declared that he would
seek refuge in England, which General Köller, the Austrian
commissioner appointed to escort him to Elba, strongly advised him to
do. But for the most part he showed remarkable composure. When Bausset
sought to soothe him by remarking that France would still form one of
the finest of realms, he replied: "_with remarkable serenity_--'I
abdicate and I yield nothing.'"[455] The words hide a world of
meaning: they inclose the secret of the Hundred Days.
On the 20th, he bade farewell to his Guard: in thrilling words he told
them that his mission thenceforth would be to describe to posterity
the wonders they had achieved: he then embraced General Petit, kissed
the war-stained banner, and, wafted on his way by the sobs of these
unconquered heroes, set forth for the Mediterranean. In the central
districts, and as far as Lyons, he was often greeted by the well-known
shouts, but, further south, the temper of the people changed.
At Orange they cursed him to his face, and hurled stones at the
windows of the carriage; Napoleon, protected by Bertrand, sat huddled
up in the corner, "apparently very much frightened." After forcing a
way through the rabble, the Emperor, when at a safe distance, donned a
plain great coat, a Russian cloak, and a plain round hat with a white
cockade: in this or similar disguises he sought to escape notice at
every village or town, evincing, says the British Commissioner,
Colonel Campbell, "much anxiety to save his life."
By a détour he skirted the town of Avignon, where the mob thirsted for
his blood; and by another device he disappointed the people of Orgon,
who had prepared an effigy of him in uniform, smeared with blood, and
placarded with the words: "Voilà donc l'odieux tyran! Tôt ou tard le
crime est puni."[456] In this humiliating way he hurried on towards
the coast, where a British frigate, the "Undaunted," was waiting for
him. There some suspicious delays ensued, which aroused the fears of
the allied commissioners, especially as bands of French soldiers began
to draw near after the break-up of Eugène's army.[457]
At last, on the 28th, accompanied by Counts Bertrand and Drouot, he
set sail from Fréjus. It was less than fifteen years since he had
landed there crowned with the halo of his oriental adventures.
* * * * *