The Empress was now in a state of exhaustion, “living on her nerves and strength of will.” All agreed that her conduct was “admirable.” She could not eat, and, despite the large quantities of chloral which she continued to take, she was unable to sleep. But she slaved on. Acting on the advice of M. Magne (the financial expert) an inventory of the Crown jewels was made, and the various objects were sent to the Bank of France. Pepa, the Empress’s femme de chambre, was trembling with fear, so she was sent away. The Prince de Metternich, who was honoured by the Sovereign with her complete confidence, was constantly with her. He told her of the increasing probability of a revolution, and depicted its horrors in terms which made her consent to hand him her diamonds and her other jewels.[94] These the Austrian Ambassador took away in his carriage and sent them to England. Metternich’s gloomy forebodings greatly excited the Empress. She thought once more of Marie Antoinette, and felt that she might share that Queen’s fate on the scaffold.
The Council of August 10 finished at midnight, and the Empress warmly thanked Canrobert for his presence. The Marshal was grieved at her changed appearance. In a few days she appeared to have aged by ten years. Her features were drawn, the wrinkles showed, her face was puffed, fever burnt in her eyes, she was shaking with cold. As Canrobert was there, she thought he had come to tell her he would not leave the capital—would remain to protect her and to keep order in the town. Taking him apart, she said: “Marshal, I wanted to see you to give you the command of Paris. I reckon upon your devotion. You have influence with the troops, and I am certain you will hold the command successfully.” He showed her the Emperor’s imperative telegram, and said: “Madame, I cannot accept. My corps is at this moment on the march to Metz. There may be a battle to-morrow. If I remained here while my men are fighting, your Majesty would have but a worm-eaten bâton which would give you no support. Let me go and do my duty as a soldier.”
She understood, and was silent. Later, she regretted that she had not compelled the Marshal to remain by her side, had a grudge against him for ever, and reproached this faithful servant of the Empire for leaving her at the moment of danger—leaving her by command of the Emperor.
Events proved that, as regards Canrobert, she was right, while it cannot be said that the Emperor was wrong. Canrobert’s refusal gave Prince Napoleon, a week later, the opportunity of making Trochu Governor of Paris, with fatal results to the dynasty.
Canrobert to the Emperor.
Paris,
August 11, 1.10 a.m.
As the Empress and the Montauban (Palikao) Ministry think that my presence here is not obligatory, I am going to Metz, where your Majesty has assembled all my corps for the decisive battle. I am leaving at once.
Marshal Canrobert.
At 8 a.m. Canrobert started for Metz. All along the railway he saw indescribable disorder. The employés had lost their heads. The line was blocked. There were trains full of Failly’s stragglers. One man put his head out of the window and shouted to Canrobert: “Now it is your turn to go and get a drubbing!” The Marshal dragged the ruffian from the carriage, shook the life out of him, and made him crave for pardon. At last (August 12) the Marshal, famishing, got to the Metz station, where one of his staff discovered a loaf, which they devoured. The Emperor was at the Préfecture, and at seven o’clock he gave Canrobert an audience. A conference was proceeding with Marshal Lebœuf and General Lebrun, and Canrobert was an eager listener to the talk. The Emperor, well aware of the scarcity of biscuits and also of cartridges, was endeavouring to get supplies of both. He wanted to collect 200,000 men at Metz, but Canrobert could not understand why. The Sovereign seemed to be dreaming.
While Canrobert was with the Emperor, Commandant Lanclos (one of the Marshal’s aides-de-camp) witnessed a strange scene at the Hôtel de l’Europe. The house was full of officers, all much excited, and deeming the game lost. “See what fifteen years of favouritism have done for us,” said a Colonel of the Staff. “The Emperor ought not to give any more orders. He should make Bazaine Commander-in-Chief, with full powers.” This was openly said by a General, one of His Majesty’s aides. Another General spoke strongly in favour of Bazaine, in whom all appeared to have confidence. He was “the saviour hailed by everybody.” Even the most devoted friends of the Emperor had lost their faith in him. When he was at the Tuileries, Canrobert had observed the same feeling. Those surrounding the Empress no longer troubled about the Emperor—what he did, what he said, what he thought. He had become an embarrassment.