I refer to the Manuscript of 1814, for a picture of these mortifying events.[[9]] The reader may there learn—But no, he will learn nothing new—In all circumstances, at all times, and in all countries, men, and particularly courtiers, are ever the same; and it must be recollected that, by this time, Napoleon’s camp had become a Court.—Let not these men say that their conduct was dictated by regard for the welfare and interest of their country. The thought of securing the undisturbed enjoyment of the wealth and honours they had acquired superseded in their minds every patriotic consideration. But history will be just. I say history, for the bulk of the present generation cannot even claim this sad honour. Where was our indignation? Where was our reprobation authentically and solemnly pronounced?... And let it be understood that this is a point wholly unconnected with political considerations. The question is not what cause these men supported: but merely, what moral principle they professed. But it must not be supposed that discontented misanthropy would lead me to draw a picture discouraging to all hearts, and to conclude with the proscription of all mankind. By no means:—I am well aware that the moment of great trials is that of great extremes; and that, amidst the basest passions, the most brilliant heroism and noble virtue shine conspicuous. Therefore, honoured be those veteran bands, whose bitter tears attested their sincere sorrow! Honoured be those innumerable subaltern officers to whom a word would have been the signal for shedding every drop of their blood! Honoured be the generous peasantry, who presented to our troops their last morsel of bread; and, disregarding their own privations, parted with all, to aid the brave defenders of their country! Honoured be those generous sentiments that were expressed by the citizens of every class, sex, and age! If, on the one side, the heart is roused to indignation, it finds a delicious source of gratification on the other.
At St. Helena, the Emperor dictated an account of the events of Fontainebleau, and his removal to the Island of Elba; but my memory does not enable me to quote any of the facts thus detailed. I took no notes of them, because, with a view of abridging my own labour, I laid down the rule of passing over those subjects that were dictated to others, being assured that they would be faithfully recorded. I shall, therefore, merely subjoin a few particulars which are collected from Napoleon’s conversations, or other authentic sources.
When the disasters of 1814 were apparent, when the danger was imminent, particularly after the entrance of the Allies into Paris, many of the French Generals began to waver. Those in whom selfishness prevailed over patriotism; those who would rather retire from the fatigues of war, than obey the dictates of duty, honour and glory; urged on the catastrophe, instead of seeking to avert it. The most distinguished Chiefs ventured to advise the abdication, and declared it to be indispensable. Some even went so far as to hint to the Emperor that they could not answer for the consequences of the dissatisfaction and indignation which the soldiers manifested towards him; while, on the contrary, as Napoleon himself said, “such was the attachment of the troops, and the devotedness of the officers, that, if I had made known the machinations that were plotting, I certainly should have endangered those who were guilty of such misrepresentation. A single word from me would have sacrificed them.” Napoleon reviewed the troops: their acclamations were enthusiastic and general. It appeared as though adversity served only to render the Emperor the more dear to them, for their attachment was never so decidedly expressed. “It was impossible that it could be otherwise,” said Napoleon, “such was the identity of these brave men with me, and such our mutual sympathy, I never entertained a doubt of their attachment.”
In this extremity, Napoleon profoundly reflected on what course it was advisable for him to pursue. He yet possessed forty or fifty thousand troops, the best and most devoted in the world; he might, without risk, have overawed or dismissed the faithless Generals. In this state of things, three different measures, by turns, presented themselves to his mind.
The first was to return to Paris; for he imagined that no General on earth would be bold enough to give him battle with that immense capital in his rear. “At my command,” said the Emperor, “the whole population would have risen. I should suddenly have found my forces recruited, by the addition of one or two hundred thousand men. But the Allies, on retiring, might have burnt the capital; and this disaster would have been accounted my work. It is true, the burning of Paris might have proved in reality the salvation of France, as the burning of Moscow was the salvation of Russia; but such sacrifices can only be made by the parties interested.”
The second idea which suggested itself to the Emperor’s mind was to proceed to Italy, to form a junction with the Viceroy. “But this,” said Napoleon, “would have been a desperate course, without the chance of obtaining an adequate result. It would have removed the theatre of conflict to too remote a point. Public enthusiasm would have had time to subside; and we should no longer have been fighting in France, on whose sacred soil alone we could hope to work the prodigies that had become indispensable.”
Neither of these two measures would have been practicable. Only the third course, therefore, remained, and this was, to continue on the defensive, to dispute every foot of ground, and to maintain the war until new chances should arise. The stupor, which the presence of the invaders had produced, would soon be dispelled; the miseries they created would soon render them the objects of execration: the national enthusiasm would revive; and the Allies would find their graves in the land which they had presumed to violate. But this must necessarily have been the work of time; in a word, success was doubtful, or, at least, remote; while the sufferings of the people were certain, immediate, and incalculable. The noble mind of Napoleon was moved; and he resolved to abdicate.
Meanwhile, he despatched to the Emperor Alexander a deputation of Marshals, among whom was the Duke of Ragusa, one of those to whom he was most fondly attached. The Deputation was instructed to propose the abdication of Napoleon, in favour of his son. The Emperor thus hoped to save France, to secure her independence and the duration of her existing institutions. The Emperor Alexander, who had several days before publicly declared that he would not treat either with Napoleon or any of the members of his family, nevertheless discussed the subject contradictorily with that party of the Senate who proposed the abdication. The Marshals spoke vehemently, and in the name of the whole army. Alexander’s determination was shaken, and the party favourable to the Regency seemed likely to prevail, when intelligence arrived of the defection of the Duke of Ragusa; and this circumstance confirmed Alexander in his previous resolution. The event came upon him like a ray of light: the army, then, is not unanimous, thought he! From that moment, setting aside all reserve, he declared himself to be inflexible. In this state of things, Napoleon was surrounded, urged, and harassed to sign his positive and unconditional abdication. He yielded, after a great internal struggle, and dictated the act of abdication, in the following terms:—
“The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the only obstacle to the re-establishment of the peace of Europe, the Emperor, faithful to his oath, renounces for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and declares that there is no sacrifice, even that of life, which he is not ready to make for the interests of France.”
This declaration, which the Allies were far from expecting in so absolute a form, smoothed every difficulty, and the Marshals returned with what is called the treaty of Fontainebleau, which I shall presently insert.