The remnants of the Old Guard formed squares, and for a while held off their pursuers; but the barrier was too frail, and it soon melted away. Napoleon, dazed and despairing, spurred his horse toward the English guns, but Soult, according to Gourgaud, caught the bridle reins, and the Emperor was forced off the field, protected by the last of the Old Guard squares. With a few horsemen he rode away, so crushed, so tired, that Bertrand and Monthyon had to hold him upright in the saddle. Several times on the retreat he attempted vainly to rally the fugitives: the panic was too complete.
The English rested at La Belle Alliance; and Wellington, after meeting and hugging Blücher, rode to Waterloo to write his despatches. A Rothschild agent had already gone at speed to the coast, to reach England ahead of the news, and make additional millions for that enterprising house.
The Prussians pressed the pursuit with relentless vigor; and the summer moon lit as wild a man-hunt as this blood-soaked planet ever knew.
* * * * *
What should Napoleon do,—stay, and attempt to rally the army, or hasten to Paris to check intriguers and organize resistance to the invaders? He did not know what had become of Grouchy, did not know how much of his own army was left. He dreaded the betrayal and the deposition of 1814, not fully realizing the deeper pits of 1815. As a matter of fact, Grouchy’s army was intact. He had led it in most leisurely fashion to Wavre, and it had listened all day to the guns of Waterloo. Gérard, Vandamme, Exelmans, felt that the Emperor was in the midst of a great battle, and with the instinct of soldiers urged that they should “March to the guns!” They pleaded with Grouchy to go, Gérard insisting with such temper that Grouchy’s precious self-love was pricked. In vain was all remonstrance; Grouchy would not move. He went to Wavre, fought the rear-guard which Blücher had left there to detain him, made himself as utterly useless to his chief as though he had not existed, and then, after Waterloo, fell back, in admirable order, to Namur. Pluming himself upon the safety of his corps, the loss of the Empire did not ruffle his self-complacent satisfaction.
There was chaos in Paris when it was known that the army was no more, and that the Emperor was at the Élysée palace. The tongue of faction fiercely wagged, and conspiracy stalked unmasked wherever it would. Lafayette babbled of constitutions and guarantees for liberty, when France needed every strong arm and every gun. Fouché, duping both imperialists and republicans, plotted for the Bourbons, and opened communications with Wellington. Lucien Bonaparte gave wings to his conceit, and dreamed of a new government in which he should be chief and Napoleon lieutenant!
Carnot alone kept his head and saw clearly what was needed. “Give Napoleon all he wants, make him temporary dictator, hold up the man’s hands, and let him save the country!”
Grand old republican! History puts upon his memory, as a wreath, Napoleon’s own sad words, uttered in these days of trial, “Carnot, I have known you too late!”
Fouché sowed distrust in the chambers, making them believe that Napoleon meant to dissolve them. This the Emperor was advised to do; and should, perhaps, have done. When they refused to vote him supplies, they ceased to be of service; became, instead, a source of weakness and danger. Why not cut down such a tree? Why tolerate politicians who at such a moment prated of constitutional limitations?
Napoleon ordered his carriage to go to the chambers; but after the horses had idly pawed the ground for hours, he changed his mind. He would not go.