Things could not remain so for long, and there is no saying what might have happened had not Napoleon discovered that the allied Powers had not the slightest idea of living up to their word with him, that the promised annuity—promised on the basis of the huge private fortune which they had looted from him—was never going to be paid, and that some one, whom he had small difficulty in connecting with the Bourbon Government in Paris, was attempting to poison him.
On the evening of March 4, 1815, Murat, with some of his family, was amusing himself as best he could, attempting to divert his mind from the problems and questions which had harassed him all day, in his wife’s apartments, when there appeared in the doorway a bowing attendant, begging the King and Queen Caroline to give an audience to a messenger who was awaiting their pleasure in the next room. Murat assented carelessly and told the attendant to bring him in, but the former replied that the new-comer had particularly asked that the King and Queen would give themselves the trouble to hear what he had to say, alone.
By this time Murat had an inkling of the news which awaited him and hurried out of the room, the Queen upon his arm. In the small apartment leading out of the gallery they found Count Colonna, who came forward out of the dark corner where he had been waiting, and presented his dispatches.
It is a picture that stands out vividly in the imagination: the Count studying Murat’s face as the latter reads the message, and glancing from time to time at the Queen, trying to read something of her husband’s mind in her face; Murat blinking in the half light over the words, rejoicing in the news as he thinks of the manner in which the Congress of Legitimacy has been treating him, but endeavouring to keep his features composed and his pleasure out of his voice.
“That will spoil Metternich’s sleep for awhile,” one can almost hear him saying to himself. “And Talleyrand—how will he get out of this? On guard, messieurs! You will have to exercise something besides your tongues now!”
Napoleon had escaped from Elba, and announced that he proposed to chase the Bourbons out of France, and suggested an alliance, begging Murat at the same time to place a battleship or a frigate at the disposition of his, the Emperor’s, mother and sister.
Hurrying back to his guests, Murat divulged the news, and his cheer and excitement were so obvious that some of them guessed then the course which he would pursue.
The next morning Murat dispatched special messengers to Vienna and London, in which he assured the Governments of Austria and Great Britain that, whatever might be the result of Napoleon’s raid, he himself would remain faithful to his treaty obligations.
Neither of his correspondents had the slightest belief in his protestations, and Francis, without waiting, took steps to crush him if he moved—or if he did not. But Murat’s heart was high, and the memories of the golden years were like wine. He felt a real remorse for the part which he had played, and the splendour of Napoleon’s lone-handed assault upon a world in arms appealed to every soldierlike instinct in him.
He did not forget his own ambition, though, and he desired to make himself so powerful that he could treat with either Austria or France upon terms of something like equality. It was Italy that he wanted. The great Powers would have their hands full now, and he hoped to be able to surprise the Germans while the armies of Europe were engaged with the Emperor.