CHAPTER XLI
Napoleon appeals in vain to the Chambers—Abdicates for the second time—Is sent to Malmaison—And then to Rochefort—Negotiates with Capt. Maitland—Embarks in the Bellerophon—Arrives at Torbay—Decision of the English Government—Interview with Lord Keith, &c.—Napoleon on board the Northumberland—Sails for St. Helena.
On how sandy a foundation the exile of Elba had rebuilt the semblance of his ancient authority, a few hours of adversity were more than sufficient to show. He was still consulting with his ministers (even they were not all his friends) on the morning of the 21st, in what manner he ought to inform the Chambers of his great misfortune, and what assistance he should demand, when the news reached the Elysée, that both the assemblies had met as soon as the story of Waterloo transpired, and passed a series of resolutions, one of which declared the state to be in danger—and another, their sittings permanent; in other words, proclaimed his reign to be at an end. If anything could have been wanted to complete Napoleon's conviction that the army had elevated him in opposition to the nation—it must have been found in the fact that the funds rose rapidly from the moment in which it was known in Paris that the army was ruined. They went on to tell him that the Chambers were debating on the means of defending Paris. "Ah," said he—deeply feeling in what loss all had been lost to him—"Ah, could they but defend them like my Old Guard!"
If Napoleon had listened to the advice of his brother Lucien, and the few who really considered their own fortunes as irrevocably bound up with his, he would have instantly put himself at the head of 6000 of the Imperial Guard, who were then in the capital, and dissolved the unfriendly senate of Paris, on the 21st of June, as unceremoniously as he had that of St. Cloud on the 19th of Brumaire. Lucien said ever after, that, "the smoke of Mont St. Jean had turned his brain." He certainly gave what remained of the day to vacillation. Late in the evening he held a council, to which the presidents and vice-presidents of both Chambers were admitted. In their presence La Fayette signified that nothing could be done until a great sacrifice had been made. Maret answered with fierceness; called for severe measures against the royalists and the disaffected. "Had such been resorted to earlier," cried he, "one who hears me would not be smiling at the misfortunes of France, and Wellington would not be marching on Paris." This strong allusion to Fouché suited not the temper of the moment. Maret was murmured down; and Carnot himself is said to have shed tears, when he perceived that the abdication was judged necessary. That ancient democrat had indeed just consented to be a count; but he enjoys apparently the credit of having acted on this occasion as a good Frenchman. He saw, say even the anti-Buonapartist historians, that France was invaded, and the same feelings which made him offer his own sword in December, 1813, urged him now to oppose any measure which must deprive his country of the military talents of Napoleon. The Emperor heard all in silence—and broke up the meeting without having come to any decision.
Early next morning the Chambers again met, and the necessity of the Emperor's abdication was on the point of being put to the vote—when Fouché appeared, and saved them that trouble by producing the following proclamation. "To the French people ":
Frenchmen! In commencing war for the maintenance of the national independence, I relied on the union of all efforts, all wills, and all authorities. I had reason to hope for success, and I braved all the declarations of the powers against me. Circumstances appear to be changed. I offer myself as a sacrifice to the hatred of the enemies of France. May they prove sincere in their declarations, and to have aimed only at me! My political life is ended; and I proclaim my son, Napoleon II., Emperor of the French. Unite for the public safety, if you would remain an independent nation.—Done at the palace Elysée, June the 22nd,1815.—
NAPOLEON.
The debate which followed the production of this act in either house, but especially in that of the Peers, was violent. In the latter, Carnot, having received some grossly exaggerated accounts of the force and success of Grouchy, endeavoured to persuade the assembly, that that marshal must have ere then added 60,000 men at Laon to Soult and the relics of Waterloo, and so formed an army capable, under fit guidance, of even yet effectually retrieving the affairs of France. But Ney had arrived in Paris the same morning, and this speech called up the man who, if any single energies could have done so, would have saved the day at Waterloo. "Grouchy," said he, "cannot have more than 20—at most 25,000—men; and as to Soult—I myself commanded the guard in the last assault—I did not leave the field until they were exterminated. Be assured there is but one course—negotiate, and recall the Bourbons. In their return I see nothing but the certainty of being shot as a deserter. I shall seek all I have henceforth to hope for in America. Take you the only course that remains for France."
Napoleon, in his bulletins, did not scruple to throw the blame of his discomfiture on the misconduct of his chief officers—particularly of Grouchy—and even of Ney himself; nor wanted there devoted men, such as Labedoyere, to sustain these most unfounded charges, and all other arguments anywise favouring the cause of the Emperor, in either chamber. But the truth was great, and prevailed. The Senate, no more than the people, could be deceived now; and though a deputation waited on him at the Elysée, and in most respectful terms thanked him for the sacrifice he had made, he in vain endeavoured to extort any direct avowal that, in accepting his abdication, they considered that act as necessarily accompanied with the immediate proclamation of Napoleon II. The Emperor, for the last time clothed in the imperial garb, and surrounded with his great officers of state, received the deputation with calmness and dignity, and dismissed them with courtesy. He perceived clearly that there was no hope for his son.
Thus terminated the second reign—the hundred days of Napoleon.
By this time, however, Labedoyere's violent language in the Senate—his repeated protestations that unless Napoleon II. were recognised, the abdication of his father was null, and that the country which could hesitate about such an act of justice was worthy of nothing but slavery—began to produce a powerful effect among the regular soldiery of Paris. The Senate called on Napoleon himself to signify to the army that he no longer claimed any authority over them; and he complied, though not without mingling many expressions highly offensive to those whose mandate he obeyed. A provisional government, however, consisting of Fouché, Carnot, and three more, was forthwith proclaimed; and when the first of these persons conceived that Napoleon's continued presence in the capital might produce disturbances, and accordingly requested him to withdraw to Malmaison, he found himself obliged to do so. This was on the 24th; and no sooner was he established in this villa, than it became obvious to himself that he was in fact a prisoner. Fouché's police surrounded him on all sides; and the military duties about Malmaison were discharged by a party of the national guard, attached to Louis XVIII., and commanded by General Beker, an officer well known to be personally hostile to the fallen sovereign. We have seen how the Parisians veered from side to side at every former crisis of his history, according as the wind of fortune happened to blow. To finish the picture it remains to be told that, ere Napoleon had been two days at Malmaison, he was to all appearance, as much forgotten in the neighbouring capital as if he had never returned from Elba.
The relics of Waterloo, and Grouchy's division, having at length been gathered together under Soult at Laon; were now marching towards Paris, and followed hard behind by Wellington and Blucher. The provisional government began to be seriously alarmed lest Buonaparte should, by some desperate effort, escape from Malmaison, and once more place himself at the head of a considerable armed force. He himself, indeed, was continually sending to them, requesting permission to take the field as General for Napoleon II.; and one of the government, Carnot, was heartily desirous that this prayer should be granted. Under such circumstances, Fouché, who had, throughout, corresponded with and plotted against all parties, now employed every art to persuade the fallen chief that the only course, whether of safety or of dignity, that remained for him, was to fly immediately to the United States of America; and, that nothing may be wanting to show how the great and the little were perpetually intermingled in the fortunes of Buonaparte, one of the means adopted by this intriguer, and not the least effectual, was that of stimulating the personal creditors of the dethroned Emperor and his family to repair incessantly to Malmaison and torment him with demands of payment. Meantime Fouché sent to the Duke of Wellington, announcing that Napoleon had made up his mind to repair to America, and requesting a safe-conduct for him across the Atlantic. The Duke replied, that he had no authority to grant any passports to Napoleon Buonaparte; and the only consequence (as Fouché had perhaps anticipated) was, that the English Admiralty quickened their diligence, and stationed no less than thirty cruisers along the western coasts of France, for the purpose of intercepting the disturber of the world in his meditated flight.
Fouché, in communicating to Napoleon the refusal of Wellington, took care to signify urgent fears that the English government might adopt such measures as these, and to build on this a new argument for the hastening of his departure from the neighbourhood of Paris. He informed him that two frigates and some smaller vessels awaited his orders at Rochefort, and assured him, that if he repaired thither on the instant, he would still be in time.
Napoleon hesitated at Malmaison, as he had done before at the Kremlin—at Dresden—and at Fontainebleau. The cry of the approaching soldiery of Soult was already in his ear, inviting him to be once more their Emperor. On the other hand, it was now too obvious, that the army alone retained any reverence for him; and, lastly, what after all could he hope to effect with at most 60,000 men, against the victorious hosts of Wellington and Blucher, backed, as they were about to be, by great reinforcements from England and Prussia, and by the whole armies of Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria and the Czar?—Napoleon well knew that ere six weeks more elapsed, 800,000 foreigners would be cantoned within the boundaries of France. He at length yielded; and on the 29th of June left Malmaison, accompanied by Savary, Bertrand, Las Cazes, and others of his attached servants, and attended by a considerable guard.
Napoleon reached Rochefort on the 3rd of July; and took up his residence in the prefect's house, with the view of embarking immediately: but he forthwith was informed, that a British line-of-battle ship (the Bellerophon, Captain Maitland) and some smaller vessels of war were off the roads, and given to understand that the commanders of the squadron at his own disposal showed no disposition to attempt the passage out in face of these watchers. A Danish merchant-ship was then hired, and the Emperor occupied himself with various devices for concealing his person in the hold of this vessel. But the Danish captain convinced him ere long that the British searchers would not be likely to pass him undetected, and this plan too was abandoned. Some young French midshipmen then gallantly offered to act as the crew of a small flat coasting vessel, a chausse-marree, and attempt the escape in this way under cloud of night. But all experienced seamen concurred in representing the imminent hazard of exposing such a vessel to the Atlantic, as well as the numberless chances of its also being detected by the English cruisers. "Where-ever wood can swim," said Napoleon, "there I am sure to find this flag of England."
Meanwhile time passed on; and it became known that the French army had once more retired from before the walls of Paris under a convention: that Wellington and Blucher were about to enter the city, and reseat Louis on his throne; that the royalists were everywhere assuming the decided advantage—that the white flag was already hoisted in the neighbouring town of Rochelle—and that it would be so at Rochefort itself on the instant, were his person removed. Under such circumstances, to attempt a journey into the interior of France, with the view of rejoining Soult, now marching on the Loire, or with any other purpose, must needs expose Napoleon to every chance of falling into the hands of the Bourbons; and at length, since it was impossible to sail out of Rochefort without the consent of the English, it was resolved to open a negotiation with their commander.
On the 19th of July, Savary and Count Las Cazes came off with a flag of truce, and began their conversation by stating that the Emperor had been promised a safe-conduct for America, and asking if the document were in Captain Maitland's hands? No safe-conduct of any kind had been promised or contemplated by any English authority whatever; and the captain could only answer that, as far as concerned himself, his orders were to make every effort to prevent Buonaparte from escaping, and if so fortunate as to obtain possession of his person, to sail at once with him for England. Savary and Las Cazes made great efforts to persuade Maitland that Napoleon's removal from France was a matter of pure voluntary choice; but this the British officer considered as a question wherewith he had nothing to do. The utmost the Frenchmen could extract from him was, that he, as a private individual, had no reason to doubt but that Buonaparte, if he sailed for England in the Bellerophon, would be well treated there.
The same personages returned on the 14th, and another conversation, longer, but to the same purpose, was held by them with Maitland, in the presence of Captain Sartorius and Captain Gambier, both of the royal navy. These gentlemen have corroborated completely the statement of Maitland, that he, on the second as on the first interview, continued to guard the Frenchmen against the remotest conception of his being entitled to offer any pledge whatever to Napoleon, except that he would convey him in safety off the English coast, there to abide the determination of the English government. Savary and Las Cazes, on the contrary, persisted in asserting that Maitland, on the 14th July, gave a pledge that Napoleon, if he came on board the Bellerophon, should be received there not as a prisoner of war, but as a voluntary guest, and that it was solely in consequence of this pledge that Napoleon finally resolved to embark. But there is one piece of evidence in contradiction of this story, of which even themselves could hardly dispute the weight—to wit, the date of the following letter to the Prince Regent of England, which General Gourgaud brought out the same evening to the Bellerophon, and which clearly proves—that what Napoleon ultimately did on the 15th, depended in nowise on anything that Maitland said on the 14th.
Rochefort, July THE 13TH, 1815
"Royal Highness,
"A victim to the factions which divide my country, and to the hostility of the greatest Powers of Europe, I have terminated my political career, and come, like Themistocles, to seat myself on the hearth of the British people. I put myself under the protection of their laws, which I claim from your Royal Highness as the most powerful, the most constant, and the most generous of my enemies.
NAPOLEON."
Maitland sent on Gourgaud in the Slaney with this letter; and having once more addressed Las Cazes in these words "You will recollect that I am not authorised to stipulate as to the reception of Buonaparte in England, but that he must consider himself as entirely at the disposal of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent"—prepared his ship for the reception of the fallen Emperor.
On the 15th the Epervier brig brought him out of the Aix roads; but wind and tide being unfavourable, Maitland sent the barge of the Bellerophon to transport him to the ship. The officers and most of the crew of the Epervier saw him depart, with tears in their eyes, and continued to cheer him as long as their voices could be heard. Captain Maitland received him respectfully, but without any salute or distinguished honours. Napoleon uncovered himself on reaching the quarter-deck, and said in a firm tone of voice, "I come to place myself under the protection of your prince and laws."
On board the Bellerophon, as before in the Undaunted, Buonaparte made himself very popular among both officers and crew. He examined everything—praised everything—extolled the English nation—above all, the English navy—and even admitted that the Duke of Wellington, "equal to himself in all other military qualities, was superior in prudence." On the 23rd they passed Ushant, and Napoleon gazed long and mournfully—and for the last time—on the coast of France. On the 24th the Bellerophon entered Torbay, and Maitland was instantly admonished to permit no communication of any kind between his ship and the coast. On the 26th Maitland was ordered round to Plymouth Sound: and the arrival of Buonaparte having by this time transpired, the ship was instantly surrounded by swarms of boats, filled with persons whose curiosity nothing could repress. There was considerable difficulty in keeping the ship itself clear of these eager multitudes. Napoleon appeared on the deck, was greeted with huzzas, and bowed and smiled in return.
On the 31st of July, Sir H. Bunbury, under-secretary of state, and Lord Keith, admiral of the Channel fleet, repaired on board the Bellerophon, and announced the final resolution of the British government: namely, 1st, that General Buonaparte should not be landed in England, but removed forthwith to St. Helena, as being the situation in which, more than any other at their command, the government thought security against a second escape, and the indulgence to himself of personal freedom and exercise, might be reconciled; 2ndly, that, with the exception of Savary and L'Allemand, he might take with him any three officers he chose, as also his surgeon, and twelve domestics.
This letter was read in French by Sir Henry Bunbury. Napoleon listened without look or gesture of impatience or surprise. Being then asked if he had anything to reply, he with perfect calmness of voice and manner protested against the orders to which he had been listening, and against the right claimed by the English Government to dispose of him as a prisoner of war. "I came into your ship," said he, "as I would into one of your villages. If I had been told I was to be a prisoner, I would not have come." He then expatiated at great length on the title given him—General Buonaparte—and on the right which he had to be considered as a sovereign prince; he was, he said, three months before, as much Emperor of Elba as Louis was King of France, and, by invading another monarch's dominions, could not have forfeited his own rank as a monarch. He next adverted to the ignoble attitude in which England would place herself in the eyes of the world by abusing his confidence—hinted that either his father-in-law or the Czar would have treated him far differently—and concluded by expressing his belief that the climate and confinement of St. Helena would kill him, and his resolution, therefore, not to go to St. Helena. By what means he designed to resist the command of the English government, Napoleon did not say: there can be no doubt he meant Lord Keith and Sir H. Bunbury to understand, that, rather than submit to the voyage in question, he would commit suicide; and what he thus hinted, was soon expressed distinctly, with all the accompaniments of tears and passion, by two French ladies on board the Bellerophon—Madame Bertrand and Madame Montholon. But all this appears to have been set down, from the beginning, exactly for what it was worth. He who had chosen to outlive Krasnoi, and Leipzig, and Montmartre, and Waterloo, was not likely to die by his own hand in the Bellerophon. We desire not to be considered as insinuating, according to the custom of many, that Napoleon ought to have rushed voluntarily on some English bayonet, when the fate of the 18th of June could no longer be doubtful. Laying all religious and moral obligations out of view (as probably he did), Napoleon himself said truly, that "if Marius had fallen on his sword amidst the marches of Minturnæ, he would never have enjoyed his 7th consulate." No man ever more heartily than Napoleon approved the old maxim, that while there is life there is hope; and, far from thinking seriously at any time of putting an end to his own days, we must doubt if, between his abdication at the Elysée and the time wherein he felt the immediate approach of death, there occurred one day, or even one hour, in which some hope or scheme of recovering his fortunes did not agitate his mind.
With regard to Napoleon's reclamations against the decision of the English government, it may probably suffice now to observe—1st, that that government had never, at any period, acknowledged him as Emperor of France, and that it refused to be a party to the treaty under which he retired to Elba, simply because it was resolved not to acknowledge him as Emperor of Elba. These things Napoleon well knew; and as to his recent re-exercise of imperial functions in France, he well knew that the English government had continued to acknowledge Louis XVIII. as King all through the hundred days. Upon no principle, therefore, could he have expected beforehand to be treated as Emperor by the ministers of the Prince Regent; nor, even if he had been born a legitimate prince, would it have been in the usual course of things for him, under existing circumstances, to persist in the open retention of his imperial style. By assuming some incognito, as sovereigns when travelling out of their own dominions are accustomed to do, Napoleon might have cut the root away from one long series of his subsequent disputes with the English government and authorities. But in doing as he did, he acted on calculation. He never laid aside the hopes of escape and of empire. It was his business to have complaints. If everything went on quietly and smoothly about him, what was to ensure the keeping up of a lively interest in his fortunes among the faction, to which he still looked as inclined to befriend him, and above all, among the soldiery, of whose personal devotion, even after the fatal catastrophe of Waterloo, he had no reason to doubt? Buonaparte, in his days of success, always attached more importance to etiquette than a prince born to the purple, and not quite a fool, would have been likely to do: but in the obstinacy with which, after his total downfall, he clung to the airy sound of majesty, and such pigmy toys of observance as could be obtained under his circumstances, we cannot persuade ourselves to behold no more than the sickly vanity of a parvenu. The English government acknowledged him by the highest military rank he had held at that time when the treaty of Amiens was concluded with him as First Consul; and the sound of General Buonaparte, now so hateful in his ears, who had under that style wielded the destinies of the world, might have been lost, if Napoleon himself had chosen, in some factitious style.
To come to the more serious charges. Napoleon, driven to extremity in 1814 by the united armies of Europe, abdicated his throne, that abdication being the price of peace to France, and to soothe his personal sufferings, obtained the sovereignty of Elba. When he violated the treaty by returning in arms to Provence, the other provisions, which gave peace to France and Elba to him, were annulled of course. When the fortune of Waterloo compelled him to take refuge in the Bellerophon—what was to be done? To replace in Elba, or any similar situation, under some new treaty, the man who had just broken a most solemn one, was out of the question. To let him remain at large in the midst of a country close to France, wherein the press is free to licentiousness, and the popular mind liable to extravagant agitations, would have been to hazard the domestic tranquillity of England, and throw a thousand new difficulties in the way of every attempt to consolidate the social and political system of the French monarchy. In most other times the bullet or the axe would have been the gentlest treatment to be expected by one who had risen so high, and fallen so fatally. This his surrender to Captain Maitland—to say nothing of the temper of the times—put out of the question. It remained to place him in a situation wherein his personal comfort might as far as possible be united with security to the peace of the world; and no one has as yet pretended to point out a situation preferable in this point of view to that remote and rocky island of the Atlantic, on which it was the fortune of the great Napoleon to close his earthly career. The reader cannot require to be reminded that the personage, whose relegation to St. Helena has formed the topic of so many indignant appeals and contemptuous commentaries, was, after all, the same man, who, by an act of utterly wanton and unnecessary violence, seized Pius VII. and detained him a prisoner for nearly four years, and who, having entrapped Ferdinand VII. to Bayonne, and extorted his abdication by the threat of murder, concluded by locking him up during five years at Valençay.
The hints and threats of suicide having failed in producing the desired effect—and a most ridiculous attempt on the part of some crazy persons in England to get possession of Napoleon's person, by citing him to appear as a witness on a case of libel, having been baffled, more formally than was necessary, by the swift sailing of the Bellerophon for the Start—the fallen Emperor at length received in quiet the intimation, that Admiral Sir George Cockburn was ready to receive him on board the Northumberland, and convey him to St. Helena. Savary and L'Allemand were among the few persons omitted by name in King Louis's amnesty on his second restoration, and they were extremely alarmed when they found that the retreat of St. Helena was barred on them by the English government. They even threatened violence—but consulting Sir Samuel Romilly, and thus ascertaining that the government had no thoughts of surrendering them to Louis XVIII., submitted at length with a good grace to the inevitable separation. Napoleon's suite, as finally arranged, consisted of Count Bertrand (grand master of the palace), Count Montholon (one of his council of state), Count Las Cazes, General Gourgaud (his aide-de-camp), and Dr. O'Meara, an Irish naval surgeon, whom he had found in the Bellerophon, and who was now by his desire transferred to the Northumberland. Bertrand and Montholon were accompanied by their respective countesses and some children; and twelve upper domestics of the imperial household followed their master's fortune. Of the money which Napoleon had with him, to the amount of some £4000, the British government took possession, pro tempore, announcing that they charged themselves with providing regularly for all the expenditure of his establishment; but his plate, chiefly gold and of much value, was permitted to remain untouched.
On the 8th of August the Northumberland sailed for St. Helena, and the exile had his first view of his destined retreat on the 15th of October, 1815. During the voyage, Sir George Cockburn departed from some observances of respect into which Captain Maitland had very naturally fallen, under very different circumstances. The admiral, in a word, did not permit Napoleon to assume the first place on board the Northumberland. He did the honours of the table himself; nor did he think it necessary to break up his company immediately after dinner, because the ex-emperor chose to rise then—in adherence to the custom of French society: neither did he man his yards or fire salutes on any occasion, as is done in the case of crowned heads, nor follow the example of the French suite in remaining at all times uncovered in the presence of Napoleon. With these exceptions, General Buonaparte was treated with all the respect which great genius and great misfortunes could claim from a generous mind; nor was he on the whole insensible to the excellent conduct either of Maitland or of Cockburn. Cruelly and most unjustly attacked, as the former had been, by Las Cazes and Savary—and by Napoleon—when the captain of the Bellerophon comes to record his final sentiments towards his prisoner, it is in these affecting words—"It may appear surprising that a possibility should exist of a British officer being prejudiced in favour of one who had caused so many calamities to his country; but to such an extent did he possess the power of pleasing, that there are few people who could have sat at the same table with him for nearly a month, as I did, without feeling a sensation of pity, perhaps allied to regret, that a man possessed of so many fascinating qualities, and who had held so high a station in life, should be reduced to the situation in which I saw him."
To the extraordinary power of fascination which Napoleon had at command, a still more striking testimony occurs in an anecdote, apparently well authenticated, of Lord Keith. When someone alluded in this old admiral's hearing to Buonaparte's repeated request of a personal interview with the Prince Regent, "On my conscience," said Lord Keith, "I believe, if you consent to that, they will be excellent friends within half an hour."