Murat’s army melted away in the face of Austrian and English opposition; the Italians did not rise as he had hoped; and the rash, unfortunate King of Naples fled to France, and hid himself near Toulon. From this place of concealment he sent to Napoleon the offer of his services; but the great man who had forgiven Ney, and reëmployed Fouché, drew the line at Murat. More’s the pity! In an army which had a general’s place for the infamous Bourmont, there surely might have been found room for the finest cavalry leader in the world—a man who had sinned, but had bitterly repented; a man whose splendid sword might have made Ligny another Jena, and Waterloo another Dresden.
As it was, Murat’s failure strengthened the Allies, and cast a gloom over France.
Two things Napoleon needed above all others,—time and money. He had only a few weeks in which to create means of defence against a world in arms; and the lack of money made it impossible for him to utilize to the best advantage even these few weeks. Supported only by silver and gold (arrant cowards in times of war), and the note currency of the Bank of France, he was combating nations which redoubled their resources by the issue of paper money. He received liberal voluntary contributions; Hobhouse relates that it was a frequent occurrence for rolls of bank notes to be handed the Emperor while he was reviewing the troops. But, after all, such a resource yields comparatively little; and the scarcity of money seriously crippled the great captain in preparing for his last fight.
Before he sets out to join the army we see Napoleon in two characters which will never fade from the memory: one as the successor of Charlemagne and Emperor of the French; the other as the private citizen with his personal griefs.
Time being so short, it was decided that the electoral colleges of France should have a grand open-air meeting as in the days of Charles the Great—a Champ de Mai, to be held in the Field of Mars.
On the 1st of June, 1815, deputations from all the constituencies of the Empire, together with those from the army, and every public body, assembled in that historic amphitheatre where the first Festival of the Federation had been held twenty odd years before. Sixty thousand troops added to the pomp of the ceremony, and countless throngs of Parisians crowded the field. There was inspiring music, impressive religious forms, and a great taking of oaths to the new Constitution. Napoleon himself took the oath, distributed the eagles to his enthusiastic soldiers, and in a far-reaching, sharply pitched voice delivered one of his masterly addresses.
“Emperor, consul, soldier, I owe everything to the people. In prosperity, in adversity, on the field of battle, in the council room, on the throne, in exile, France has been the soul and constant object of my thought and my efforts.”
How could Frenchmen listen to words like these and not burst into cheers? Had he been dressed that day in simple uniform instead of absurd court costume; had he kept his baleful brothers—Joseph, Lucien, and Jerome—in the background instead of at the forefront; had he made his appeal and trusted his cause more unreservedly to the people, the Champ de Mai might have been a colossal repetition of his triumph at Grenoble and Lyons. As it was, Paris regarded it as a fine spectacle, an exhibition to be seen and applauded—nothing more. It touched the heart of the army; it did not touch the larger heart of the French people.
When the chambers met, the Emperor delivered still a more successful speech. Hobhouse, who was present, says that when he had finished with the sentence, pronounced in a louder tone and with a flourish of the right hand, “The sacred cause of country will triumph!” he rose quickly from his throne, “bowed to the assembly, and retired amidst thunders of applause, which accompanied him from the throne to the door, and obliged him several times to turn round and salute the assembly as he was ascending the stairs of the area. He appeared highly delighted. Indeed, nothing could exceed the enthusiasm, which was the more gratifying as it proceeded from such an assembly.” When we remember that this assembly of notables was already hostile to Napoleon, was already cut up into factions, only one of which was devoted to him, and that it was an open secret that these notables would openly oppose him the moment the fortunes of war should go against him, his oratorical triumph becomes all the more remarkable.
So much for the Emperor, his labors, his speeches, his dangers, his mighty efforts to conquer an impossible situation; we can admire it all, marvel at his genius, courage, resources, and versatility; but it is only when we go with him to Malmaison that we draw near to the man, feel for him, feel with him, and realize how greatly he has been misunderstood. He had always been a good son; he had been but too affectionate, too generous, to his sisters and brothers; he had been to both his wives one of the most tenderly indulgent of husbands.