This last occurrence marked finally the destiny of Napoleon. Fortune had not only forsaken, she had mocked him! She tossed about, and played with, before she destroyed her victim—one moment giving him hopes which only rendered despair more terrible the next. After what I saw of his downfall, no public event, no revolution, can ever excite in my mind one moment of surprise. I have seen, and deeply feel, that we are daily deceived in our views of every thing and every body, public and private.
Bonaparte’s last days of power were certainly full of tremendous vicissitudes:—on one elated by a great victory—on the next overwhelmed by a fatal overthrow. Hurled from a lofty throne into the deepest profundity of misfortune; bereft of his wife and only child; persecuted by his enemies; abandoned by his friends; betrayed by his ministers; humbled, depressed, paralysed;—his proud heart died within him; his great spirit was quenched; and, after a grievous struggle, Despair became his conqueror, and Napoleon Bonaparte degenerated into an ordinary mortal.
DETENTION AT VILETTE.
Negotiation between the provisional government of Paris and the allies—Col. Macirone’s mission—The author crosses the barrier of the French army, misses the colonel, and is detained on suspicion—Led before Marshal Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl and commander-in-chief of the forces at Vilette—The marshal’s haughty demeanour, and the imprecations of the soldiery—A friend in need; or, one good turn deserves another—Remarks of a French officer on the battle of Waterloo—Account of the physical and moral strength and disposition of the army at Vilette—Return of the parlementaires—Awkward mistake of one of the sentries—Liberation of the author—Marshal Davoust’s expressions to the negotiators.
In the month of July, 1815, there was a frequent intercourse of parlementaires between the commissioners of the French government and the allies. Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl, commanded the French army assembled at Vilette and about the Canal d’Ourk, a neighbourhood where many thousand Russians had fallen in the battle of the preceding summer. I had the greatest anxiety to see the French army; and Col. Macirone informing me that he was to be sent out with one of Fouché’s despatches to the Duke of Wellington, I felt no apprehension, being duly armed with my sauf-conduit, and thought I might take that opportunity of passing the Barrier de Roule, and strolling about until Macirone’s carriage should come up. It however drove rapidly by me, and I was consequently left in rather an awkward situation, not knowing the localities, and the sentry refusing to suffer me to re-enter.
I did not remain long in suspense, being stopped by two officers, who questioned me in French somewhat tartly as to my presumption in passing the sentries, “who,” said they, “must have mistaken you for one of the commissaries’ attendants.” I produced my passport, which stood me in no further advantage than to ensure a very civil arrest. I was directly taken a long way to the quarters of Marshal Davoust, who was at the time breakfasting on grapes and bread in a very good hotel near the canal. He showed at first a sort of austere indifference that was extremely disagreeable to me: but on my telling him who I was, and every thing relating to the transaction, the manifestation of my candour struck him so forcibly, that he said I was at liberty to walk about, but not to repass the lines till the return of the parlementaires, and further inquiry made about me. I was not altogether at my ease: the prince was now very polite; but I knew nobody, and was undoubtedly a suspicious person. However, I was civilly treated by the officers who met me, and on the contrary received many half-English curses from several soldiers who, I suppose, had been prisoners in England. I was extremely hungry and much fatigued, and kept on the bank of the canal, as completely out of the way of the military as I could.
I was at length accosted in my own language by an elderly officer, tall and distingué in his appearance.
“Sir,” said he, “I think I have seen you in England?”
“I have not the honour to recollect having met you, sir,” replied I.
“I shall not readily forget it,” rejoined the French officer: “do you remember being, about two years since, in the town of Odiham?”