Who has not read of that panic of apostasy which now ran like a torrent? From the setting sun at Fontainebleau to that which was rising in Paris, all turned—turned with the haste of panic-stricken pardon-seekers, or of greed-devoured place-hunters. From the highest to the lowest, the fallen Emperor’s attendants left him. Princes, dukes, marshals, generals,—all creations of his,—fled from him as from the contagion of pestilence. Even Berthier, the favorite, the confidant, the pampered and petted—even Berthier bit his nails for a brief season of hesitancy, and then abandoned his friend to his misery. Marmont’s treason had hurt, had wrung a cry of amazement and pain from that tortured spirit; but Berthier’s was a crueller stab. “Berthier, you see that I have need of consolation, that my true friends should surround me. Will you come back?” Berthier went, and he did not come back.
They left him, singly and in squads, till he and his faithful guard were almost all that remained. His very valets, the Mameluke he brought from Egypt, and Constant whose Memoirs portray his master so lovingly, could not resist the panic of the hour; they turned their backs upon their master, and, according to that master’s statements in his instructions to his executors, they robbed him before they fled. But there were some who did not go, a few who stood the storm. May their glorious names live forever! Among these it is pleasant to find the name of his old schoolmate, Colonel Bussy.
Bertrand, Gourgaud, Montholon, Bassano, Cambronne, Caulaincourt, Lavalette, Druot, and some others did not blanch. Nor did the Old Guard falter. The “growlers” had followed the chief—murmuring sometimes, but following—all through the terrors of the last campaign; they were ready to follow him again.
And there were womanly hearts that warmed to the lonely monarch, and would have consoled him—first of all, Josephine. She had watched his every movement though the campaign with an agony of interest and apprehension. His name was ever in her thoughts and on her lips. Of all who came from the army she would ask: How does he look? Is he pale? Does he sleep? Does he believe his star has deserted him? Often the harassed Emperor found time to write to her, brief notes full of kindness and confidence. These she would take to her privacy, read, and weep over. She understood the great man, at the last; she had not done so at first. From Brienne he wrote her, “I have sought death in many battles, but could not find it. I would now hail it as a boon. Yet I should like to see Josephine once more.” This note she carried in her bosom.
When she heard of the abdication, she was frantic with grief, and she would have flown to his side, only she thought of one who had the better right,—Maria Louisa. As the broken monarch sat in the gloom, his great head sunk on his breast, two other noble-hearted women appeared at Fontainebleau. One of them was the beautiful Polish lady, Madame Walewski; the name of the other is not given. They were announced, and the Emperor promised to see them. After waiting many hours, they went away. Napoleon had fallen into revery again and had forgotten they were there. It is said that he took poison, intending to kill himself. This has been questioned; but it is certain that he swallowed some drug which brought on a sudden and alarming illness, during which he said he was going to die. “I cannot endure the torments I experience. They have dragged my eagles in the dirt! They have misunderstood me! Marmont gave me the last blow! I loved him. Berthier’s desertion has broken my heart! My old friends, my old companions-in-arms!”
Says Constant: “What a night! what a night! While I live I shall never think of it without a shudder.”
On the morning after this attempted suicide, Napoleon “appeared much as usual,” and met his marshals to give them his answer to their demand for unconditional abdication. Even yet he made one more attempt to inspire them to effort, to infuse into them something of his own courage. It was all in vain. Then he scrawled the few lines in which he laid down his great office, and handed them the paper.
“You claim that you need rest! Very well, then, take it!”
“What shall we demand of the Allies in your behalf?” the marshals inquired.
“Nothing. Do the best you can for France; for myself, I ask nothing.”