When my first fit of ill humour was calmed, I considered the conduct of the Emperor under another aspect. I thought that unexpected considerations might have induced him to embark precipitately. I was ashamed of my suspicions and of my violence, and I only wished to fly to his footsteps; but already orders had been given to prevent communication. I passed eight days, which appeared so many ages, in soliciting permission to return to France; and at last I obtained it. I arrived at Paris on the 25th of March: on the 26th M. X*** presented me to the Emperor: he embraced me, and said, "I have weighty reasons for wishing that you and X*** may both forget whatever passed at the isle of Elba. I alone will not forget it. Rely on my esteem and protection on all occasions[39]."
Here ends the memoir of M. Z****.
This officer had scarcely quitted the island of Elba, when the Emperor (and I had the particulars from his Majesty himself) acknowledged and deplored the imprudence of which he had been guilty, in sending Z*** to the continent. The character and firmness of this faithful servant were sufficiently known to him, to prevent his feeling any anxiety on his account. He was certain (I use his own words), that he would suffer himself to be cut to pieces, before he would open his mouth: but he was afraid, that the inquiries he had directed him to make on the road, the letters he might address to him, or the conferences he might have at Paris with M. X*** and his friends, would excite the suspicions of the police; and that the Bourbons would station cruizers, so as to render an escape from the island of Elba, and a landing on the coast of France, altogether impossible.
Thus the Emperor felt that there was but one way of preventing the danger, that of departing immediately.
On this point he did not hesitate. From that moment every thing assumed a different aspect in the island of Elba.
This island, but the moment before the abode of philosophy and peace, became in an instant the imperial head-quarters. Couriers, orders, and counter-orders, were incessantly going and returning from Porto Ferrajo to Longone, and from Longone to Porto Ferrajo. Napoleon, whose fiery activity had been so long enchained, gave himself up, with infinite delight, to all the cares, that his audacious enterprise demanded. But in whatever mystery he fancied he had shrouded himself, the unusual accounts he had caused to be delivered in, the particular attention he had paid to his old grenadiers, had excited their suspicion; and they scarcely doubted, that he had it in contemplation to quit the island. Every one supposed, that he would land at Naples, or in some other port of Italy: no one ventured even to imagine, that his plan was to go and expel Louis XVIII. from the throne.
On the 26th of February, at one o'clock, the guard and the officers of his household received orders to hold themselves in readiness to depart. Every thing was in motion: the grenadiers with joy resumed their arms, that so long had lain idle, and spontaneously swore, never to quit them but with life. The whole population of the country, crowds of old men, women, and children, eagerly rushed to the shore; the most affecting scenes were exhibited on all sides. They thronged round the faithful companions of Napoleon in his exile, and contended with each other for the pleasure, the honour, of touching them, seeing them, embracing them for the last time. The younger members of the families of the first distinction in the island solicited as a favour, the danger of sharing in the perils of the Emperor. Joy, glory, hope, sparkled in every eye. They knew not whither they were going, but Napoleon was present, and with him could they doubt of victory?
At eight in the evening a gun gave the signal for departure. A thousand times embraces were immediately lavished and returned. The French rushed into their boats; martial music struck up; and Napoleon and his followers sailed majestically from the shore, amid the shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" a thousand times repeated[40].
Napoleon, when he set foot on board his vessel, exclaimed with Cæsar, "The die is cast!" His countenance was calm, his brow serene: he appeared to think less of the success of his enterprise, than of the means of promptly attaining his object. The eyes of Count Bertrand sparkled with hope and joy: General Drouot was pensive and serious: Cambronne appeared to care little about the future, and to think only of doing his duty well. The old grenadiers had resumed their martial and menacing aspect. The Emperor chatted and joked with them incessantly: he pulled their ears and their mustachios, reminded them of their dangers and their glory, and inspired their minds with that confidence, with which his own was animated.