Books: NAPOLEON AND BLUCHER

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"Yes," murmured Ney, "his death would give us a new life. But he
will not die; his heart is made of bronze, and will not break."

"No, he will not die voluntarily," said Oudinot.

The marshals paused and looked at each other with dark and
significant glances. All seemed to read each other's souls, and to
divine the sinister thoughts that began to find utterance.

"No, he will not die voluntarily," repeated Macdonald. "But the
millions of soldiers that have fallen on the battlefields have not
died voluntarily, either: Napoleon drove them into the jaws of
death. Now he is no longer any thing but a mere soldier; could we be
blamed, if, in order to save France, we should drive him into the
grave?"

"But how could we do it?" asked Lefebvre. "He has with him
Caulaincourt, Berthier, and Maret, who would certainly be capable of
showing, like Anthony, the blood-stained cloak of Caesar to the
people, and of bringing upon us a destiny such as befell Brutus and
Cassius. I am not desirous of seeing my house set on fire, and of
being compelled to flee."

"We ought not to imitate Caesar's generals," said Ney, gloomily. "He
has lived like a demi-god, and must die like a demi-god. Not a
vestige of him must remain; he must, like Romulus, ascend to the
gods."

"Let us consider what ought to be done," said Macdonald.

They whispered in low tones, so that they themselves scarcely heard
each other. After a prolonged secret consultation, they seemed
agreed as to what should be done, and as if there were now no longer
any doubt or objection.

"Caulaincourt, Bertrand, and Maret, are alone to be feared," said
Oudinot, loudly. "If they refuse to be silent, they must be
silenced! And Berthier? what are we to do with Berthier?"

"We shall tell him all when it is over," responded Macdonald, with a
shrug. "Berthier is not formidable; he has a heart of cotton, and a
head of wind."

All laughed; Oudinot then said, in a grave and menacing voice: "It
is time for us to come to a decision. We are already in April, and
nothing decided; the Emperor of Russia is impatient, and the future
King of France will never forgive us if we delay his return to
Paris. Come, gentlemen, let us for the last time try the way of
kindness and persuasion. Let us openly and honestly advise Napoleon
to abdicate; he must make up his mind to do so, or--"

"Or we shall compel him," said Macdonald. "He has often enough
compelled us to do what was repugnant to us. Come, gentlemen, let us
go to the emperor." [Footnote: "Memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes."]

The emperor was sill bending over his maps when the four marshals
entered his cabinet. With a quick glance he read in their pale,
sullen faces that they came to him, not as friends and servants, but
as adversaries. "I am glad," he said calmly, "that you anticipate my
request, and come to me when I intended to send for you. We must
hold a council of war, marshals. I have determined to make a general
assault upon the allies to-morrow, and I wished to assemble you here
to lay the details of my plan before you. One of you may go and call
Berthier, who should participate in our deliberations."

"Sire," said Ney, in a harsh tone, "before entering into
deliberations on the war, we should first consider whether it is
still desirable." Napoleon cast on him a glance which once would
have frozen the marshal's blood, but which now made no impression on
him. "I believe," added Ney, "that France can no longer bear the
burden of war. She is exhausted, bleeding from many wounds, and
would sink to certain ruin if she continue a useless struggle. Her
finances cannot be restored, for the people are destitute. Our
fields are uncultivated, our industry is paralyzed; our workshops
and stores are closed, our commerce is prostrated, for France is
destitute of money, credit, and laborers. What means has your
majesty to shield her from the most terrible misfortunes?"

"I have but one--to attack the allies to-morrow, expelling those who
have caused all the misfortunes of France."

"Sire, our country is tired of war," cried Ney; "she wants peace."

"Is that your opinion, marshals?" asked the emperor, hastily.

"Yes, sire, it is."

"Well, then," said Napoleon, after a moment's reflection, "do you
know of any way of restoring peace?"

The marshals were silent. Their lips seemed to shrink from uttering
the thoughts of their souls; but the Prince de la Moskwa, Marshal
Ney, overcame his timidity. "Sire," he remarked, "the allies say in
their proclamation that it is not France against which they wage
war."

"Not France, but myself!" cried Napoleon. "Ah, you come to propose
an abdication to me?"

"We come to implore your majesty to make a last great sacrifice."

"Sire," exclaimed Oudinot, "let your heroic soul conquer itself, and
restore peace to France."

"She will forever bless you," said Lefebvre.

"Restore to France the peace for which she has been vainly longing
for twenty-five years!" cried Macdonald.

Now that they had all spoken, there was an anxious, breathless
pause. Suddenly Napoleon passed over to his desk. He cast a last
glance, full of pride, contempt, and anger, on his four marshals;
then, seating himself, he took up a pen with a firm hand, and wrote.
The marshals stood in silence, and looked at him in an embarrassed
manner. Laying aside the pen, and rising, he held up the paper on
which he had written, and motioned to Marshal Ney. "Here, Prince de
la Moskwa," said Napoleon, "read to the marshals what I have
written."

Ney read in a tremulous voice: "'The allied powers, having
proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the sole obstacle to the
reestablishment of peace in Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, faithful
to his oath, declares that he is ready to descend from the throne,
to quit France, and even life itself, for the good of the country,
inseparable from the rights of his son, of the regency of the
empress, and of the maintenance of the laws of the empire.'"
[Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814," p. 221.]

"You have willed it so," said Napoleon, when Ney had finished.
"Macdonald and Ney, with Caulaincourt, will immediately repair with
this document to Paris. On the way they will meet Mortier, and
request him to accompany them. The four dukes will present my
conditional abdication to the Emperor Alexander, and treat with him
in regard to the future of my son and the regency of my consort."

On the 7th of April the Duke de Vicenza entered the emperor's
cabinet, pale and with a mournful air.

"Caulaincourt," cried Napoleon, "you have delivered my abdication to
Alexander?"

"Yes, sire," said Caulaincourt, sadly. "Ah, sire, I bring bad news,
which my lips almost refuse to utter!"

"Speak, I am courageous enough to hear all; be, then, courageous
enough to tell me all. I wish no concealment whatever--I desire to
know the whole truth."

"Well, sire, all is lost. The Emperor Alexander has issued to-day a
manifesto, which has been placarded over every part of Paris, to the
effect that 'he would no longer treat with Bonaparte, nor with any
member of his family.'"

"Ah, the perfidious wretch!" murmured Napoleon, "he plighted me once
eternal friendship and fidelity.--Proceed, Caulaincourt! What says
the so-called provisional government presided over by M. Talleyrand,
the renegade priest, whom I made a man of distinction, whom I raised
to the dignity of a prince, on whom I lavished honors, and who has
now become the leader of the royalists? What say M. Talleyrand, and
the provisional government, and the senate, who swore allegiance to
me?"

"Sire, the senate solemnly declared yesterday, the 6th of April,
that the Emperor Napoleon has forfeited his throne, because, by
abusing the powers conferred on him, by despotism, by trampling
under foot the liberty of the press, by undertaking wars in
violation of right, and by his openly manifested contempt of man and
human law, he has rendered himself unworthy of the sovereignty of
the nation. The senate, besides, have called back the Bourbons to
the throne of France. In consequence of this declaration, the
provisional government has proclaimed to-day that, till the arrival
of King Louis XVIII., the administration is exclusively in their
hands."

"Ah, the traitors!" cried Napoleon. "They have dared to proclaim
such sentiments! to carry their impudence so far! See what venal
creatures those men are! As long as fortune was faithful to me,
they, who now call themselves the provisional government and senate,
in the name of France, were my most sycophantic servants. A sign
from me was an order for the senate, who always did more than was
desired of them, and not a whisper was heard against the abuses of
power. Ah, they charge me with despising them--tell me,
Caulaincourt, will not the world see now whether or not I had
reasons for my opinion?" [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814," p.
225.]

"Sire, it is true, your majesty has met with many ingrates during
your career, and will still meet with them," said Caulaincourt,
sighing. "Perfidy seems to have become an epidemic."

"Ah, I see you have not yet told me every thing. Speak! In the first
place, what was the result of your negotiations with the Emperor
Alexander?"

"Sire, if your majesty agrees to renounce, for yourself and your
heirs, the throne of France, the allied sovereigns offer Corsica or
Elba as a sovereign principality, and France will pay your majesty
an annual pension of two million francs."

"I am to renounce the throne, too, for my son--my dear little King
of Rome?" cried Napoleon, mournfully. "No, never! I cannot deprive
my son of his inheritance. This is too much. I will put myself at
the head of my army and run the risk of any calamities, rather than
submit to a humiliation worse than them all!"

"Your majesty has no army. Treason has infected your marshals."

"What do you mean? Ah. it is true, you come alone! Where are the
marshals? Where is Ney? Where is Macdonald?"

"Sire, they have remained in Paris."

"Ah, I understand," exclaimed Napoleon, with a scornful laugh; "they
are waiting there for King Louis XVIII., in order to offer him their
services. But where is Marmont? You know well that I am greatly
attached to Marmont, and I long to see him. Why does he not come?"

"Sire, Marshal Marmont has passed over to the allies with a corps of
ten thousand men."

"Marmont!" cried Napoleon, almost with a scream--"Marmont a traitor!
That is false--that is impossible! Marmont cannot have betrayed me!"

"Sire, he did betray you. He marched the troops, notwithstanding
their undisguised reluctance, to Versailles, in order there to join
the allies, after receiving from them the solemn promise that the
French soldiers should be treated as friends."

"Marmont has betrayed me!" murmured Napoleon. "Marment, whom I loved
as a son--who owes me all--who--" His voice faltered; his heart was
rent, and, sinking on a chair, he buried his quivering face in his
hands.

CHAPTER LIV.

A SOUL IN PURGATORY.

It was the 11th of April. Napoleon, at Fontaineblean, sat at his
desk and stared at the paper before him. It contained an absolute
resignation of his throne for himself and his family. After signing
this document, he was no more Emperor of France, nor his son King of
Rome, nor his consort empress--perhaps, no longer even his wife. By
signing this paper, he accepted all the conditions imposed on him by
the allies; that is to say, he descended from the sovereignty of all
his states and went to the little island of Elba, to live there a
pensioner of Europe; his consort wore no longer, like him, the
imperial title, but became Duchess of Parma; and the King of Rome
became not the heir of his father, the Emperor of Elba, but the heir
of his mother, the Duchess of Parma, and the title of "Duke de
Reichstadt" was to be given him. He renounced not only France, but
his wife and his son!

Napoleon was fondly and sincerely attached to Maria Louisa, and he
loved the King of Rome with passionate tenderness. Before
consenting, therefore, to affix his signature to this act of
abdication, he wished to know whether Maria Louisa agreed to it, and
whether she would not at least ask the allies, one of whom was her
own father, to permit her to reside with her son and her husband on
the island of Elba, sharing the emperor's exile. For some time he
had not heard from his consort; he wrote to her every day, but for
six days past no answers came. He did not, however, distrust her; he
knew that Maria Louisa loved him. His heart longed for her and his
child. He had sent Berthier to Orleans the day before with a letter
for Maria Louisa. He was to tell him what his consort was thinking
and wishing. If she was courageous enough to claim her rights, and
desired to do so, Berthier was to convey her to the emperor, and, at
Fontainebleau, Maria Louisa was to declare to her father that she
insisted on her sacred right of staying with her husband. Napoleon
expected this, and he was nervous and anxious, waiting for the
return of his general, and in hope that Maria Louisa would accompany
him.

He contemplated the paper, and, while reading the words of despair,
he thought of the past--of the days when Europe had been at his
feet, and when he himself showed no mercy. The door of the cabinet
was softly opened, and the Duke de Bassano entered. "Maret," he
exclaimed, "you come to inform me that Berthier has returned, do you
not?"

"Yes, sire."

"And he--he is alone?"

"Yes, sire, he is alone."

Napoleon sighed. "Admit Berthier," he said, "but stay here."

Maret stepped to the door and opened it. The Prince of Neufchatel
entered, mournful and silent. A single glance told Napoleon that his
mission had failed.

"Well, Berthier, you have seen the empress?"

"I have, sire. I met the empress leaving Orleans."

"Ah, then, she is coming!" exclaimed Napoleon.

"No, sire. Prince Metternich had paid her a visit on the preceding
day, and delivered to her autograph letters from her father the
Emperor of Austria. He had asked his daughter to repair to
Rambouillet, where he would meet her."

"And Louisa consented?"

"She did, sire. Her majesty told me with tears in her eyes that
nothing remained for her but to submit to the will of her father,
because only his intercession could secure her own future and that
of her son. She deplored that she was not at liberty to come to
Fontainebleau, but stated she had solemnly pledged her word to
Prince Metternich, who, in the emperor's name, had required a pledge
neither to see nor to correspond with your majesty."

"And she did not indignantly reject this base demand?" cried the
emperor. "She did not remember that she is my wife, and that she
plighted her faith to me?"

"Sire, the empress said that, for her son's sake, she was allowed
now only to consider herself a princess of Austria, and the Austrian
princesses were all educated in unconditional and unmurmuring
obedience to the orders of the emperor their father. [Footnote:
Meneval, "Memoires," etc., vol. ii., p. 80.] Hence, she obeyed her
father now, in order to enjoy at a later time the happiness of
belonging to your majesty. For, as soon as her future was secured,
as soon as the duchy of Parma was settled upon her, and her son
declared its heir, nothing would prevent her from rejoining her
beloved husband; and if your majesty agreed to accept the island of
Elba, the empress would certainly soon repair thither. She proposed
that, prohibited from directly corresponding with your majesty, you
might have intercourse through your private secretaries; your
majesty might have Baron Fain write to her all you wished her to
know, and she would do the same through Baron de Meneval."

"A genuine woman's stratagem," murmured Napoleon, gloomily, to
himself. "She is destitute of courage, and does not love me enough
to brave her father.--Berthier," he then asked aloud, "did you see
my son?"

"No, sire, they would not let me see the prince; they feared lest it
would excite him too much, and remind him of the past. For the King
of Rome is constantly longing for his father."

"And his father cannot see him--cannot call him to his side! Oh,
Berthier, this is painful, very painful!"

"But your majesty will soon be reunited with him," said Maret,
feelingly. "Sign the act of abdication; go to Elba, sire, and no one
can prevent the empress from coming to you with her son. She wishes
and has a right to do so."

"Well, then, be it so," said the emperor, drawing a deep breath. "I
will sign every thing. I will abdicate; I will sign this second
treaty, which makes me Emperor of Elba! My wife and my son must be
restored to me!" He quickly stepped to the desk, and signed the two
papers with a steady hand.

"Well," he said, flinging the pen into a corner of the room, "now I
am no longer Emperor of France, but at the same time no longer a
prisoner at Fontainebleau. At Elba I shall be free, at least; I
shall be surrounded by the brave soldiers of my Old Guard; I shall
see again my wife and my son. That is to say," he gloomily murmured
to himself, "if her father permits them to rejoin me; for without
his permission she will not come. Louisa is a princess of Austria,
and has, therefore, been brought up in obedience. Oh, how I longed
for the consolation of her presence! She ought not to have left me
alone in these days!" His lips murmured softly, "Josephine would not
have done so! She would have gone with me into exile!" He sat a long
time absorbed in his reflections, which whispered to him of the
past, and of Josephine. He felt that they moved him too deeply, and,
with an impetuous gesture, he jumped up, and, proudly throwing back
his head, exclaimed: "Well, then, I have submitted to my fate, and
shall bear it manfully. We shall go to Elba, then! You will
accompany me, my friends, and I shall not be alone? Maret and
Berthier, you will not leave me, I hope?"

"Sire, I would follow your majesty to the end of the world!" said
Maret, tenderly.

"I know of no more glorious destiny than to remain your majesty's
faithful servant," exclaimed Berthier, emphatically. "I thank you
for permitting me to go with you to Elba, and I joyfully accept this
permission; but as I have to make some necessary preparatious, I
request two days' leave of absence of your majesty."

While Berthier was speaking, the emperor contemplated him with
painful astonishment; now he quickly came near him, and, laying his
hand on his shoulder, he fixed his keen eyes on him, as if he wished
to read his most secret thoughts. "Berthier," he said, in a gentle,
imploring voice, "you see how much I have need of consultation; how
necessary it is for me to have true friends about me. You will,
therefore, return to-morrow, will you not?"

"Sire, certainly," faltered Berthier.

Napoleon's eyes still rested on the pale, confused face of the
prince. "Berthier," he said, after a pause, "if you wish to leave
me, tell me so frankly and sincerely."

"I leave you!" exclaimed Berthier. "Your majesty knows well that I
am devoted to you with immovable fidelity--that my heart can never
forget you, and that I shall always be your obedient servant."

"Words, words!" said Napoleon, shaking his head. "Well, then, it is
your will: go, therefore, to Paris. Attend to the affairs which you
have more at heart than my wishes. Go, and--if you can, come back
soon!"

Berthier wished to grasp the emperor's hand and press it to his
lips, but he hastily withdrew it, and, lifting it up, pointed with
an imperious glance at the door. Berthier bowed, and, walking
backward, approached the door with bent head, and departed. The
emperor looked after him long and gloomily; then he slowly turned
his head toward the Duke de Bassano. "Maret," he said, slowly,
"Berthier will not come back."

"What, sire!" exclaimed Maret, in dismay. "Your majesty believes--"

"I know it," said Napoleon, slowly, "Berthier will not come back!"
He threw himself into an easy-chair, at times heaving a sigh, but
without uttering a single complaint; and thus he sat all day. From
time to time the few faithful men who had remained with him dared to
speak, but the emperor, starting from his meditations, only stared
at them, and then slowly dropped his head again on his breast. At
dinner-time Maret endeavored to induce him to go to the table; but
he only responded by indignantly shaking his head, and waving him
toward the door.

Evening had come, and the emperor still sat alone in his cabinet,
motionless and sad. He did not hear the door behind him softly open;
he did not see a dark, veiled female form that had slowly entered,
and now, as if overwhelmed by grief, leaned against the wall. Her
veil prevented her, perhaps, from seeing Napoleon; she threw it
back, and now Josephine's pale, quivering face was seen. She fixed
her eyes on him with an expression of boundless tenderness, and then
lifted them to heaven with an imploring air, softly raising her
arms, and her lips moving in inaudible prayer.

The emperor did not yet notice her. Josephine stepped noiselessly
across the carpet, and laid her hand gently on his head. "Napoleon,"
she whispered, "Napoleon!"

He uttered a cry and jumped up. "Josephine," he exclaimed, "my
Josephine! Oh, now I am no longer alone!" He clasped her with
impassioned tenderness in his arms; he kissed her quivering lips,
and held her streaming face between his hands, gazing at it with the
tender expression of a lover. Encircling her with his arms, and no
longer able to restrain his heart, he laid his head on her shoulder,
and wept bitterly. Recovering, his face resumed its inscrutable
expression. "Josephine," he said, "I have wrung many tears from you,
but Fate has avenged you; I have wept, too; and what is worse than
tears is that which is gnawing at my heart. I thank you, Josephine,
for coming to me. All have deserted me!"

"I know it, Napoleon," whispered Josephine, smiling amid tears, "and
that is why I am here. You will not go all alone to Elba; I shall go
with you. No, Bonaparte, no! do not shake your head; do not reject
me! I have a right to accompany you; for, whatever men may say, I
was your wife, and am your wife, and what God has joined together no
man can sunder. My soul is one with yours. I love you to-day as
tenderly as I did on the day when I stood with you before the altar
and plighted my fidelity to you; I love you now even more intensely,
for you are unfortunate, and have need of my love. Bid me,
therefore, not go any more. SHE is not here, and her place by your
side, which she has deserted, belongs to me!"

"No," said Napoleon, gravely, "let her absence remind her of her
duty. I will not give my son's mother a pretext for staying away
from me; she shall not say that she cannot rejoin me because I have
yielded to another woman the place that belongs to her. No,
Josephine, she must not be able to reproach me. I thank you for
coming, but you have come to take leave of me. I have seen you--your
faithful love has been a balm to my heart. Now, farewell!"

"Then, you bid me go already?" cried Josephine, reproachfully; "oh,
Bonaparte, let me stay here at least till your departure. No one
will betray to HER that I am here."

"It would remain no secret, Josephine, and it would be used to
excuse her, and to accuse me. Go, then, and take with you the
consciousness that you have afforded me the last joy of my life."

"Oh, Bonaparte, you break my heart!" murmured Josephine, leaning her
head on his shoulder. "I cannot leave you, I cannot bear to see you
go alone into exile."

"Fate has decreed it, and so has the evil star that arose upon my
path when I left you, Josephine! Let this be my farewell. Now, go!"

"No, Bonaparte," she cried, passionately; "tell me not to go if you
do not wish me to die! Your misfortunes have pierced my heart. My
only hope of life is by your side, for sorrow at the remembrance of
your misfortunes will kill me."

A strange smile played around the emperor's lips. "I do not pity
those who die," he said; "death is a kind friend, and pray God that
He may soon send this friend to me!" He kissed her forehead and
conducted her gently to the door. "Go, my Josephine," he said; "this
is the last sacrifice which I shall ask of you!"

"I go!" she sighed. "Farewell, Bonaparte, farewell!" She fixed on
him a look full of love and grief. "We shall never meet again!"

"Yes," he said, slowly and solemnly, lifting his hand toward heaven,
"we shall meet again!"

"I shall await you there!" she said, with an expression of intense
love and sorrow.

The door closed; Napoleon was again alone; he stood in the middle of
the room, as if still beholding her pale, smiling face, and hearing
her sweet voice. "She will await me there!" he murmured. "But why
should she await me? Why should she die, and I live? And why must I
live?" he asked, in a loud, and almost joyful tone. "Why shall I
suffer these mean, cowardly creatures, who formerly lay in the dust
before me, now to enjoy their triumph? Why must I live?" He sank
into his chair, thinking of the disgrace soon to be brought upon
him, remembering that each of the allied sovereigns would send an
envoy to Fontainebleau, and that he was to be transported to Elba--
escorted, like a caged lion, by Russian, Prussian, and Austrian
commissioners! His heart for a moment grew strong in his anguish. He
jumped up, rushed to his desk, pulled out the drawers, and opened a
secret compartment. There lay a small black silken bag. Taking it
out, he cut it open, and drew a package from it. "Ha!" he exclaimed,
joyfully, "now I have the kind friend that will deliver me! They
want to drag me through the country as a prisoner! But thou, blessed
poison, wilt release me!"