"In this state the matter continued for some time, till Barbier thought he had sufficiently achieved his first object of bringing disgrace upon St. Morys, and therefore, at last, consented to meet his antagonist. They accordingly met, fired two brace of pistols, and then drew their swords. The seconds had previously decreed that the duel should terminate as soon as blood was drawn. Monsieur de St. Morys having, or thinking he had, slightly wounded his enemy, called out, 'Monsieur, vous êtes blessé!' and laid himself open in full confidence that the fight was over. 'Non, monsieur,' replied Barbier, 'mais vous êtes mort!' and not only plunged his sword into his victim's body, but is said actually to have given a turn with his wrist to secure the mortality of the wound.
"Thus terminated the life of poor St. Morys!"
The consummation of this tragedy, however, belonged to a date later than that of the residence of John Stanhope in Paris, and during his sojourn there St Morys was still, like many of his day, endeavouring to reconcile his royalist proclivities to the changed conditions of his surroundings and his own altered fortunes. Meanwhile, into the comparatively peaceful routine of Parisian life came, ever and anon, news of a series of victories achieved by the grande armée, which was received in France with the customary complacency and elation that such events had long been wont to evoke. By the bulk of Frenchmen the triumphant issue of the Russian campaign was looked upon as a foregone conclusion, and, therefore, when there suddenly broke upon Paris the knowledge of the supreme disaster of Moscow the effect was overwhelming. The 10th Bulletin disclosed the truth with a shattering finality: "Dans quatre jours cette belle armée n'existait plus." The effect was as though a thunderbolt had fallen upon the smiling, placid country. France was plunged into mourning for her sons, Ministers trembled for their posts, and everywhere reigned consternation, uncertainty and grief.
Suddenly, into the middle of this general bouleversement, a rumour gained credence that the Emperor himself was at the Tuileries. Young Stanhope hastened to the palace to learn the accuracy of this report, and was soon convinced of its truth. Throughout the building were tokens of unwonted activity; lights were visible in all the windows, and a small crowd was stationed outside. From a French soldier standing near him he learnt that the carriage in which Napoleon had travelled had broken down at Meaux, "and the Emperor had then got into one of the little cabriolets vulgarly called a pot de chambre; they are little cars which ply between Paris and the neighbouring towns, and carry four inside, and one, generally called a lapin, on the same seat as the driver." Upon his arrival in Paris his Imperial Majesty got out of this vehicle and walked to the Tuileries, where he was stopped by the guard at the door, who, in the dusk, failed to recognise him. "Je suis de la maison!" explained Napoleon briefly, and he was permitted to enter.
Thus Bonaparte returned to Paris, not as the triumphant victor, the indomitable conqueror of Europe, but as a defeated general, bent on retrieving some singularly grievous errors by tact and perseverance. Yet something never to be regained was lost to the Man of Destiny. The spell which had deified him was broken. Napoleon the Invincible, the Infallible, had blundered. "This supernatural man, this god—or devil—had sunk below the level of ordinary men. 'Le prestige est passé' was in everybody's mouth."
Paris soon rang with stories of the disastrous campaign—tales, in the most trivial of which the Parisians recognised the complex personality of that god or devil of their mingled idolatry or detestation. A French officer told John Stanhope two anecdotes, which, although in themselves slight, are strikingly illustrative both of Napoleon's shrewdness and of his brutality. On one occasion the Emperor heard some men murmuring and declaring that rather than suffer the torments which they were then enduring, they had better give up the struggle and make up their minds to go to Siberia. Napoleon turned to them, and, fixing them with his glance, merely observed, "En Sibérie ou en France!" Well did he understand the emotional temperament of the men with whom he had to deal! The tone in which he uttered en France recalled vividly to their thoughts their own, their beautiful France; and the men, who a moment before were abandoned to despair, roused themselves and advanced on their march with all the enthusiasm and the renewed vivacity of Frenchmen.
The other story, as indicated, is of a less creditable nature. After the terrible crossing of the Beresina, when, through faulty generalship and inexcusable want of forethought, thousands upon thousands of lives were needlessly sacrificed, the Emperor, during the wretched bivouac west of the river, was, like the rest of his regiment, suffering intensely from the bitter weather. His officers, therefore, went round calling for dry wood for his fire, and soldiers, perishing with cold, came forward to offer precious sticks, with the words, uttered ungrudgingly, "Take this for the Emperor." Shortly afterwards, Napoleon was seated in a miserable barraque, with his surtout over his shoulders, enjoying the poor fire thus obtained. Folding his coat more closely about him, he remarked casually, "Il y aura diablement des fous gelés cette nuit!"
Yet the man before whose colossal egoism imagination waxes impotent, could, on other occasions, exhibit an irresponsible bonhomie, which seemed totally at variance with the more sinister side of his character. This John Stanhope illustrates by another anecdote.
"Amongst my fellow-prisoners at Verdun had been a gentleman who promoted to the rank of his mistress a woman who was previously his maid-servant. He obtained permission to reside in Paris, but was included in the general order of the Duc de Rovigo upon his appointment to the Ministry of Police, by which nearly all the English were returned to the dépôts.
"Madame Chambers, who found herself, under that fictitious title, occupying a very different position at Paris to that which she could fill at Verdun, where her real situation and origin were generally known, had no inclination to go back to that dépôt, but determined to leave no stone unturned to obtain leave for Chambers to remain in Paris. She was not a person to be easily daunted or troubled with any unnecessary mauvaise honte. Accordingly, the first time that the Emperor went to the chasse, Madame Chambers made her appearance. It was after the shooting was over, when a great circle was formed, in which the Emperor paced backwards and forwards, generally with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed upon the ground, whilst the game which had been shot was laid out before him. Madame Chambers advanced and presented a petition to him. He inquired curtly who she was and what she wanted, and took no further notice of her. The next time the Emperor went to the chasse Madame Chambers again made her appearance, the same scene was re-enacted, with the same result. He went again a third time, and there also again appeared Madame Chambers with her petition.