Meanwhile, upon Stanhope's arrival in Paris, he called upon several of his former friends; but the following morning, to his dismay, he was seized with a return of the fever which had attacked him in Greece. His brother had left him to return home by another route, and he thus found himself alone, stricken with a severe illness which "was no longer ague, but a violent fever, scarcely, if at all, intermittent." He at once sent for the doctor, who provided him with a good nurse; but he explains, "My situation may be better imagined than described when I say that the first intelligence which greeted me in my helpless and suffering condition was that Bonaparte had landed in France. At the very time that we were passing through the south of France, he was but a short distance from us!
"I never for one moment doubted the result of his return. My old nurse, who took the greatest care of me, amused me with her abject terror, while, in order to reassure me, 'Il ne viendra pas!' was the burden of her song.
"Even from my bed of sickness I became aware that an extraordinary change had taken place in the feelings of the Parisians. The impression produced on my mind on my return to France had been that by far the greater majority of the people were decided Bonapartists. But the moment that Napoleon's return became a probable event, there was a complete transformation in the opinions of the people. They became enthusiastic in the cause of the Bourbons. Hitherto they had laughed at and despised them; but Napoleon they hated and feared. Although at a distance they might pity and almost love him, when near present he was only an object of terror. The remembrance of the past came back vividly to their minds. They recognised, too, that in his adversity they had betrayed and forsaken him; now the day of his triumph or retribution was possibly approaching.
"Numerous battalions were formed in Paris, and the greatest zeal shown by the great mass of the inhabitants in the Royal cause. The army, however, which had marched to Lyons to oppose the Emperor, joined his standard, and the only hope of the King lay in the new army which had been hastily collected. Would the troops fight, or would they desert to the Emperor, was now the question on everybody's lips. Upon this the issue rested.
"My impression was that though, of course, all the old troops were devoted to Napoleon, the feeling of the army in his favour was very far from universal. Many felt that they could not in honour, or indeed without the guilt of perjury, forsake the White Standard which they were sworn to defend, in order to join the ranks of their adversaries. They recognised that, by whatever species of pretext it was glossed over, still desertion remained the foulest blot upon a soldier's honour. But, on the other hand, they felt no interest in the Royal cause, and a natural repugnance to shed the blood of their fellow-countrymen. They were, in fact, entirely indisposed to spill French blood for either of the rival Sovereigns, and were prepared to remain quiet spectators of the scene. Could the King but once have succeeded in making them fire on the Imperialists he might have had a chance, and doubtless a skilful General might have succeeded se faire maître d'occasion.
"But Bonaparte had hazarded his all upon this venture—he had counted upon the feeling of the armies of France. And the dramatic instinct by which he had made himself master of so many situations in the past was now again called to his aid. He took care to have it circulated that his troops would not fire upon Frenchmen. He even gave out that his soldiers had no cartridges. This put the Royalists in an unexpected dilemma…. 'How can we fire in cold blood upon men who will not fire upon us?' was the universal problem in the Royal army. And while they debated this question, Napoleon eventually passed through their lines as if he had been an unconcerned spectator.
"Meanwhile, my situation was a singular one. Returning from my pilgrimage where I had been to earn my liberty, here was I again in Paris, hopelessly confined to my bed, with the prospect of being again taken prisoner as an Englishman. My earnest entreaty to the doctor was to patch me up in any way so as to enable me to effect my retreat from Paris, for I foresaw that there would be such a stampede as Napoleon approached the city that it would be impossible to procure post-horses…. After having been confined to my bed for a week I was at last enabled to put on my clothes. Fortified with some strong bouillon, which my nurse gave me instead of beef-tea, and getting into a hackney coach, I went off to procure myself some necessaries for the journey. The scene I saw was an extraordinary one; everyone seemed in a hurry, hastening somewhere. Crowds of English were leaving the city, some frightened out of their wits, others in perfect unconcern. One dandy I even heard say, 'Well, I would rather be a prisoner in Paris than at liberty in England,' and I longed to give him a letter of recommendation to my old quarters at Verdun."
Nor was Stanhope a moment too soon. With the greatest difficulty and only at an exorbitant price was he able to get horses and the promise of a voiturier who eventually sent his wife as driver in his place, being probably himself a suspected person who could not leave the city. At the last moment a message arrived from Mr Boyd, the banker, begging that he and his family might share Stanhope's flight. Such an offer to an enfeebled invalid was most acceptable, and accordingly Stanhope eventually left Paris in company with the banker, his wife and their two daughters. The scene as they went defied description; troops were marching, drums sounding, flags flying, crowds were collected in the streets with no particular object, and fugitives were vainly endeavouring to make way over the bridge where carriages were locked in a block which threatened disaster to their occupants. Nevertheless, Madame la voiturière, who, Stanhope explains, was not only dressed up to enact the part she had undertaken, but was "not of the mildest or most peaceable temper," forced a way through the mêlée with such success that, in due course, she deposited her travellers in safety at Brussels whither they were bound; when, to their extreme amusement, her task accomplished, she speedily "transformed herself into a Parisian élégante!"
And even as they reached safety, into the city which they had left, Napoleon entered. By then the stampede of fugitives was ended, "and," writes John Stanhope, "I was informed that upon Bonaparte's arrival, a melancholy stillness seemed to pervade the streets. A few feeble cries of Vive l'Empereur were raised, but only by his immediate partisans; for the most part the Parisians, as though uncertain of their feelings, maintained a morose and depressed silence."
And in the midst of that brooding stillness, Napoleon entered upon the last phase of his greatness, his brief Reign of a Hundred Days.