I spoke to him for fully half an hour, without shaking his decision in the least, when suddenly at the winding of the path, we perceived two men on horseback. I fancied one of these was the Comte Capo d’Istria.
‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, ‘they have kept their word!’ and without another syllable he ran to his horse, flung himself on it, and disappeared. Returning to Vienna, I went to Prince Koslowski, naturally impatient to know the particulars of the news which was soon to engross the world’s attention—the departure of Napoleon from the island of Elba. Amidst the grave interests which were then paramount, the Greek question passed unperceived. But when it assumed the grand proportions it did assume, and aroused the sympathies of the whole of the civilised world, history carefully collected every particular connected with this glorious emancipation. History has revealed the secrets which Ypsilanti could not entrust to one of his dearest friends, and later on I knew the men on whom he counted to second his efforts. ‘We shall meet again,’ Ypsilanti had shouted as he disappeared. Alas! we were only to meet once more, five years later. It was in 1820, on my return from Carlsbad, when I was on my way to Louiseburg, near Alexanderbad, in Bavaria. I had been wandering at random for several hours about the somewhat melancholy spot, and had reached the summit of Louiseburg with its famous cross, when at the foot of the monument I perceived, seated, a fellow-wayfarer, wrapt in an ample cloak. He was writing in a book, which he closed as I drew near. He had, no doubt, been warned by the sound of my footsteps, for he turned round, and I recognised Ypsilanti. The five years that had gone by since that memorable morning towards the end of the Congress had left profound traces on his features. He was no longer the young and brilliant soldier, the life and soul of every drawing-room. But although the face was deeply lined, and the eyes were hollow set, there was still the lofty animation pervading the handsome physiognomy. He explained to me that his wounds had necessitated a journey to Carlsbad, and that while waiting for some friends, he had pushed as far as Louiseburg, at the recommendation of the King of Prussia. In a few moments, the subject ever present to his thoughts was on his lips. This time, for delivering his country from the foreign yoke, he counted on the sympathy of Alexander. I asked him if he had considered what would happen in the event of a reverse, and endeavoured to point out to him the improbability of Russia’s allowing an independent state to be carved out of some of the most beautiful provinces of the Turkish Empire. Nothing that I could say would induce him—not to abandon his enterprise, I had no sanguine expectations to that effect, but to postpone it until a more favourable moment. All he would do was to confide to me a manuscript setting forth the principal events of his life, but the narration of which does not come within the scope of this work.
CONCLUSION
Napoleon has left Elba—Aspect of Vienna—Theatricals at the Court—Mme. Edmond de Périgord and the Rehearsal—Napoleon’s Landing at Cannes—The Interrupted Dance—Able Conduct of M. de Talleyrand—Declaration of the 13th March—Fauche Borel—The Congress is Dissolved.
My task is nearly at an end. Five-and-twenty years have gone by since the occurrence of the magic scenes part of which I have endeavoured to reproduce. There only remains to sketch the last one.
Prince Koslowski, to whom I went after Ypsilanti bade me such a hurried farewell in the Prater by jumping on his horse, confirmed the news told me by the latter. Napoleon had indeed left Elba. ‘The master and the prisoner of Europe in one,’ as he had been energetically called, had left his prison armed with nothing but his own glory, and, like Cæsar, had entrusted himself and his fortunes to a frail barque.
‘The news,’ said Koslowski, ‘was brought here by a courier despatched by the English ambassador in Florence to Lord Stewart. The English consul at Leghorn had in the first instance transmitted it. Lord Stewart, who naturally was the first to open the despatch, informed M. de Metternich and the sovereigns. The ministers of the great Powers were told immediately afterwards. It is not known which road Napoleon has taken. Is he coming to France, or does he wish, as has been stated, to get to the United States? For the moment there is nothing but conjecture. But who shall preserve him from the storm rumbling and gathering over his head? Will fortune be able to place on his brow the lightning-conductor to avert the course of that storm? The high and mighty arbiters of the Congress desire that the news shall not be spread before they are able to take measures dictated by the gravity of the circumstances.’
Whether the secret had been carefully kept, or whether the intoxication consequent upon the many months of festivities had not altogether worn off, it is impossible to say; but the capital preserved its usual aspect. The ramparts and the Leopoldstadt faubourg leading to the Prater were teeming with strollers, evidently anxious to profit by the first rays of the spring sun. There was no sign of the thunderbolt having produced its echo: joy and careless gaiety everywhere.