Chapter VI: Book III (1)

Entry of the Allies into Paris--Bonaparte at Fontainebleau--The Regency at Blois--Publication of my pamphlet _De Bonaparte et des Bourbons_--The Senate issues the decree of dethronement--The house in the Rue Saint-Florentin--M. de Talleyrand--Addresses of the Provisional Government--Constitution proposed by the Senate--Arrival of the Comte d'Artois--Bonaparte abdicates at Fontainebleau--Napoleon's itinerary to the island of Elba--Louis XVIII. at Compiègne--His entry into Paris--The Old Guard--An irreparable mistake--The Declaration of Saint-Ouen--Treaty of Paris--The Charter--Departure of the Allies--First year of the Restoration--First ministry--I publish my _Réflexions Politiques_-Madame la Duchesse de Duras--I am appointed Ambassador to Sweden--Exhumation of the remains of Louis XVI.--The first 21st of January at Saint-Denis.

God had pronounced one of those words by which the silence of eternity is at rare intervals interrupted. Then, in the midst of the present generation, rose the hammer that struck the hour which Paris had only once heard sound: on the 25th of December 496, Rheims announced the baptism of Clovis, and the gates of Lutetia opened to the Franks; on the 30th of March 1814, after the baptism of blood of Louis XVI., the old hammer, which had so long remained motionless, rose once more in the belfry of the ancient monarchy: a second stroke resounded, the Tartars penetrated into Paris. In the interval of thirteen hundred and eighteen years, the foreigner had insulted the walls of the capital of our empire without ever being able to enter it, except when he glided in, summoned by our own divisions. The Normans besieged the city of the _Parisii_; the _Parisii_ gave flight to the hawks which they carried on their wrists; Odo[128], child of Paris and future King, "_rex futurus_," Abbon[129] says, drove back the pirates of the North: the Parisians let fly their eagles in 1814; the Allies entered the Louvre.

Bonaparte had waged an unjust war against Alexander, his admirer, who had begged on his knees for peace; Bonaparte had ordered the carnage of the Moskowa; he had forced the Russians themselves to bum Moscow; Bonaparte had plundered Berlin, humiliated its King, insulted its Queen[130]: what reprisals were we, then, to expect? You shall see.

I had wandered in the Floridas round unknown monuments, devastated of old by conquerors of whom no trace remains, and I was saved for the sight of the Caucasian hordes encamped in the court-yard of the Louvre. In those events of history which, according to Montaigne, "are but weake testimonies of our worth and capacity[131]," my tongue cleaves to my palate: _adhæret lingua mea faucibus meis._[132]

The Allied Army entered Paris on the 31st of March 1814, at mid-day, ten days only after the anniversary of the death of the Duc d'Enghien, 21 March 1804. Was it worth Bonaparte's while to commit an action of such long remembrance for a reign which was to last so short a time? The Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia rode at the head of their troops. I saw them defile along the boulevards. Feeling stupefied and dumfoundered within myself, as though my name as a Frenchman had been tom from me to substitute for it the name by which I was thenceforth to be known in the mines of Siberia, I felt, at the same time, my exasperation increase against the man whose glory had reduced us to that disgrace.

Nevertheless, this first invasion of the Allies has remained unparalleled in the annals of the world: order, peace and moderation reigned on every hand; the shops were re-opened; Russian guardsmen, six feet tall, were piloted through the streets by little French rogues who made fun of them, as of jumping-jacks and carnival maskers. The conquered might be taken for the conquerors; the latter, trembling at their successes, looked as though they were excusing themselves. The National Guard alone garrisoned the interior of Paris, with the exception of the houses in which the foreign Kings and Princes were lodged[133]. On the 31st of March 1814, countless armies were occupying France; a few months later all those troops passed back across our frontiers, without firing a musket-shot, without shedding a drop of blood after the return of the Bourbons. Old France found herself enlarged on some of her frontiers; the ships and stores of Antwerp were divided with her; three hundred thousand prisoners, scattered over the countries where victory or defeat had left them, were restored to her. After five and twenty years of fighting, the clash of arms ceased from one end of Europe to the other. Alexander departed, leaving us the master-pieces which we had conquered and the liberty lodged in the Charter, a liberty which we owed as much to his enlightenment as to his influence. The head of two supreme authorities, twice an autocrat by the sword and by religion, he alone, of all the sovereigns of Europe, had understood that, at the age of civilization which France had attained, she could be governed only by virtue of a free constitution.

In our very natural hostility to the foreigners, we have confused the invasion of 1814 and that of 1815, which were in no sense alike.

[Sidenote: The Emperor Alexander.]

Alexander looked upon himself merely as an instrument of Providence, and took no credit to himself. When Madame de Staël complimented him upon the happiness which his subjects, lacking a constitution, enjoyed of being governed by him, he made his well-known reply:

"I am only a 'fortunate accident.'"

A young man in the streets of Paris expressed to him his admiration at the affability with which he received the least of the citizens; he replied:

"For what else are sovereigns made?"

He refused to inhabit the Tuileries, remembering that Bonaparte had taken his ease in the palaces of Vienna, Berlin and Moscow.

Looking at the statue of Napoleon on the column in the Place Vendôme, he said:

"If I were so high up, I should be afraid of becoming giddy."

As he was going over the Palace of the Tuileries, they showed him the Salon de la Paix:

"Of what use," he asked, laughing, "was this room to Bonaparte?"

On the day of Louis XVIII.'s entry into Paris, Alexander hid himself behind a window, wearing no mark of distinction, to watch the procession as it passed.

Alexander sometimes had elegantly affectionate manners. Visiting a mad-house, he asked a woman if there were many women "mad through love":

"Not at present," replied she; "but it is to be feared that the number has increased since the moment of Your Majesty's entry into Paris."

One of Napoleon's great dignitaries said to the Tsar:

"Your arrival has long been expected and wished for, Sire."

"I should have come sooner," he replied; "you must blame only French valour for my delay."

It is certain that, when crossing the Rhine, he had regretted that he was not able to retire in peace to the midst of his family.

At the Hôtel des Invalides, he found the maimed soldiers who had defeated him at Austerlitz: they were silent and gloomy; one heard nothing save the noise of their wooden legs in their deserted yard and their denuded church. Alexander was touched by this noise of brave men: he ordered that twelve Russian guns should be given back to them.

A proposal was made to him to change the name of the Pont d'Austerlitz:

"No," he said, "it is enough for me to have crossed the bridge with my army."

Alexander had something calm and sad about him. He went about Paris, on horse-back or on foot, without a suite and without affectation. He appeared astonished at his triumph; his almost melting gaze wandered over a population whom he seemed to regard as superior to himself: one would have said that he thought himself a Barbarian among us, even as a Roman felt shame-faced in Athens. Perhaps, also, he reflected that these same Frenchmen had appeared in his fired capital; that his soldiers, in their turn, were masters of Paris, in which he might have been able to find again some of those now extinguished torches by which Moscow was freed and consumed. This destiny, these changing fortunes, this common misery of peoples and of kings were bound to make a profound impression upon a mind so religious as his.

*

What was the victor of the Borodino doing? So soon as he had heard of Alexander's resolution, he had sent orders to Major Maillard de Lescourt of the Artillery to blow up the Grenelle powder-magazine: Rostopschin had set fire to Moscow, but he had first sent away the inhabitants. From Fontainebleau, to which he had returned, Napoleon marched to Villejuif; thence he threw a glance over Paris: foreign soldiers were guarding its gates; the conqueror remembered the days in which his grenadiers kept watch on the ramparts of Berlin, Moscow, and Vienna.

Events destroy other events; how poor a thing to-day appears to us the grief of Henry IV. learning of the death of Gabrielle at Villejuif, and returning to Fontainebleau! Bonaparte also returned to that solitude; he was awaited there only by the memory of his august prisoner: the captive of peace[134] had gone from the palace in order to leave it free for the captive of war, so swiftly does "misfortune" fill up its "places."

[Sidenote: Flight of the Empire.]

The Regency had retired to Blois. Bonaparte had given orders for the Empress and the King of Rome to leave Paris, saying that he would rather see them at the bottom of the Seine than led back in triumph to Vienna; but, at the same time, he had enjoined Joseph to remain in the capital. His brother's retreat made him furious, and he accused the ex-King of Spain of ruining all. The ministers, the members of the Regency, Napoleon's brothers, his wife and his son arrived in disorder at Blois, swept away in the downfall; military waggons, baggage-vans, carriages, everything was there; the King's own coaches were there and were dragged through the mud of the Beauce to Chambord, the only morsel of France left to the heir of Louis XIV. Some of the ministers did not stop here, but proceeded as far as Brittany to hide themselves, while Cambacérès lolled in a sedan-chair in the steep streets of Blois. Various rumours were current: there was talk of two camps and of a general requisition. During several days, they were ignorant of what was happening in Paris; the uncertainty did not cease until the arrival of a waggoner whose pass was signed "Sacken[135]." Soon the Russian General Schouvaloff[136] alighted at the Auberge de la Galère: he was suddenly besieged by the grandees, and entreated to obtain a visa for their stampede. However, before leaving Blois, all drew upon the funds of the Regency for their travelling-expenses and their arrears of salary; they held their passports in one hand and their money in the other, taking care at the same time to send in their adhesion to the Provisional Government, for they did not lose their heads. Madame Mère[137] and her brother, Cardinal Fesch[138], left for Rome. Prince Esterhazy[139] came on behalf of Francis II. to fetch Marie-Louise and her son. Joseph and Jerome[140] withdrew to Switzerland, after vainly trying to compel the Empress to attach herself to their fate. Marie-Louise hastened to join her father: indifferently attached to Bonaparte, she found means to console herself and rejoiced at being delivered from the double tyranny of a husband and a master. When, in the following year, Bonaparte revisited that confusion of flight on the Bourbons, the latter, but lately rescued from their long tribulations, had not enjoyed fourteen years of unequalled prosperity in which to accustom themselves to the comforts of the throne.

*

However, Napoleon was not yet dethroned; more than forty thousand of the best soldiers in the world were around him; he was able to retire behind the Loire; the French armies which had arrived from Spain were growling in the South; the military population might bubble over and distribute its lava; even among the foreign leaders, there was still a question of Napoleon or his son reigning over France: for two days, Alexander hesitated. M. de Talleyrand, as I have said, secretly leant towards the policy which tended to crown the King of Rome, for he dreaded the Bourbons; if he did not then accept entirely the plan of the Regency of Marie-Louise, it was because, since Napoleon had not perished, he, the Prince de Bénévent, feared that he would not be able to retain the mastery during a minority threatened by the existence of a restless, erratic, enterprising man, still in the vigour of his age[141].

[Sidenote: _De Bonaparte et des Bourbons._]

It was in those critical days that I threw down my pamphlet _De Bonaparte et des Bourbons_[142] to turn the scale: its result is well known. I flung myself headlong into the fray to serve as a shield to liberty reviving against tyranny still subsisting, with its strength increased threefold by despair. I spoke in the name of the Legitimacy, in order to add to my words the authority of positive affairs. I taught France what the old Royal Family was; I told her how many members of that Family existed, what their names were, and their character: it was as though I had drawn up a fist of the children of the Emperor of China, to so great an extent had the Republic and the Empire encroached upon the present and relegated the Bourbons to the past. Louis XVIII. declared, as I have already often mentioned, that my pamphlet was of greater profit to him than an army of one hundred thousand men; he might have added that it was a certificate of existence to him. I assisted in giving him the crown a second time by the fortunate issue of the Spanish War.

From the commencement of my political career, I became popular with the crowd; but, from that time also, I failed to make my way with powerful men. All who had been slaves under Bonaparte abhorred me; on the other side, I was an object of suspicion to all who wished to place France in a state of vassalage. At the first moment, among the sovereigns, I had none on my side except Bonaparte himself. He looked through my pamphlet at Fontainebleau: the Duc de Bassano[143] had brought it to him; he discussed it impartially, saying:

"This is true; that is not true. I have nothing to reproach Chateaubriand with: he resisted me when I was in power; but those scoundrels, so and so!" and he named them.

My admiration for Bonaparte was always great and sincere, even at the time when I was attacking Napoleon with the greatest eagerness.

Posterity is not so fair in its judgments as has been held; there are passions, infatuations, errors of distance even as there are passions and errors of proximity. When posterity admires without reserve, it is scandalized that the contemporaries of the man admired should not have had the same idea of that man as itself. This can be explained, however: the things which offended one in that person are past; his infirmities have died with him; all that remains of him is his imperishable life; but the evil which he caused is none the less real: evil in itself and in its essence, and especially for those who endured it.

It is the style of the day to magnify Bonaparte's victories: the sufferers have disappeared; we no longer hear the imprecations, the cries of pain and distress of the victims; we no longer see France exhausted, with only women to till her soil; we no longer see parents arrested as a pledge for their sons, the inhabitants of the villages made jointly and severally responsible for the penalties applicable to a rebellious recruit; we no longer see those conscription placards posted at the street-corners, the passers-by gathered before those enormous lists of dead, seeking in consternation the names of their children, their brothers, their friends, their neighbours. We forget that the whole population bewailed the triumphs; we forget that the slightest allusion against Bonaparte on the stage which had escaped the censors was hailed with rapture; we forget that the people, the Court, the generals, the ministers, Napoleon's relations were weary of his oppressions and his conquests, weary of that game always being won and always being played, of that existence brought into question each morning anew, thanks to the impossibility of repose.

The reality of our sufferings is demonstrated by the catastrophe itself: if France had been infatuated with Bonaparte, would she twice have abandoned him, abruptly, completely, without making one last effort to keep him? If France owed all to Bonaparte: glory, liberty, order, prosperity, industry, commerce, manufactures, monuments, literature, fine arts; if, before his time, the nation had done nothing itself; if the Republic, destitute of genius and courage, had neither defended nor enlarged the territory: then France must have been very ungrateful, very cowardly, to allow Napoleon to fall into the hands of his enemies, or, at least, not to protest against the captivity of so great a benefactor?

[Sidenote: Feeling against Napoleon.]

This reproach, which might justly be made against us, is not made against us, however: and why? Because it is evident that, at the moment of his fall, France did not desire to defend Napoleon; in our bitter mortification, we beheld in him only the author and the contemner of our wretchedness. The Allies did not defeat us: we ourselves, choosing between two scourges, renounced shedding our blood, which had ceased to flow for our liberties.

The Republic had been very cruel, doubtless, but every one hoped that it would pass, that sooner or later we should recover our rights, while retaining the preservatory conquests which it had given us on the Alps and the Rhine. All the victories which it gained were won in our name; with the Republic, there was no question save of France; it was always France that had triumphed, that had conquered; it was our soldiers who had done all and for whom triumphal or funeral feasts were organized; the generals, and some were very great, obtained an honourable but modest place in the public memory: such were Marceau[144], Moreau, Hoche[145], Joubert[146]; the two last seemed destined to replace Bonaparte, who, in the dawn of his glory, suddenly crossed the path of General Hoche and, by his jealousy, rendered illustrious that warlike pacificator who died unexpectedly after his triumphs of Altkirchen, Neuwied and Kleinnister.

Under the Empire, we disappeared; we were no longer mentioned, everything belonged to Bonaparte: "_I_ have ordered, _I_ have conquered, _I_ have spoken; _my_ eagles, _my_ crown, _my_ family, _my_ subjects."

What happened, however, in those two positions, at the same time similar and opposite? We did not abandon the Republic in its reverses; it killed us, but it honoured us; we had not the disgrace of being the property of a man; thanks to our efforts, it was never invaded; the Russians, defeated beyond the mountains, met with their end at Zurich[147].

As for Bonaparte, he, despite his enormous acquisitions, succumbed, not because he was conquered, but because France would have no more of him. How great a lesson! May it ever make us remember that there is cause of death in all that offends the dignity of man.

Independent minds of every shade and opinion were employing uniform language at the time of the publication of my pamphlet. La Fayette, Camille Jordan[148], Ducis, Lemercier[149], Lanjuinais[150], Madame de Staël, Chénier, Benjamin Constant, Le Brun[151] thought and wrote as I did[152].

God, in His patient eternity, brings justice sooner or later: at moments when Heaven seems to slumber, it is always a fine thing that the disapproval of an honest man should keep watch and remain as a curb upon the absolute power. France will not disown the noble souls which protested against her servitude, when all lay prostrate, when there were so many advantages in so lying, so many favours to receive in return for flattery, so many persecutions to undergo in return for sincerity. Honour then to the La Fayettes, the de Staëls, the Benjamin Constants, the Camille Jordans, the Ducis, the Lemerciers, the Lanjuinais, the Chéniers, who, standing erect amidst the grovelling crowd of peoples and of kings, dared to despise victory and protest against tyranny!

*

[Sidenote: Napoleon deposed.]

On the 2nd of April, the Senators, to whom we owe one clause only of the Charter of 1814, the contemptible clause preserving their pensions, decreed the deposition of Bonaparte. If this decree, which emancipated France but brought infamy upon those who issued it, offers an affront to the human race, at the same time it teaches posterity the price of grandeurs and fortune, when these have disdained to take their stand upon bases of morality, justice and liberty.

DECREE OF THE CONSERVATIVE SENATE.

"The Conservative Senate, taking into consideration that in a
constitutional monarchy the monarch exists only by virtue of
the constitution or the social compact;

"That Napoleon Bonaparte, for some time maintaining a firm
and prudent government, had given the nation cause to reckon,
in the future, upon acts of wisdom and justice; but that
subsequently he destroyed the compact which united him to the
French people, notably by levying imports and establishing
taxes, otherwise than by virtue of the law, against the
express tenor of the oath which he took on his accession to
the throne, in conformity with Clause 53 of the Constitutions
of the 28 Floréal Year XII.;

"That he was guilty of this attempt upon the rights of
the people at the very time when he had without necessity
adjourned the Legislative Body, and caused a report made by
that body, whose title and whose relation to the national
representation he contested, to be suppressed as criminal;

"That he undertook a series of wars in violation of Clause
50 of the Act settling the Constitution of the Year VIII.,
which lays down that any declaration of war shall be
proposed, discussed, decreed and promulgated like the laws;

"That he has unconstitutionally issued several decrees
bearing the penalty of death, namely, the two decrees of the
5th of March last, tending to cause a war to be considered as
national which was undertaken only in the interest of his own
unmeasured ambition;

"That he has violated the laws of the Constitution by his
decrees concerning the State prisons;

"That he has annihilated the responsibility of the ministers,
put down all the powers and destroyed the independence of the
courts of jurisdiction;

"Taking into consideration that the liberty of the press,
established and perpetuated as one of the rights of the
nation, has been constantly subjected to the arbitrary
censorship of his police, and that, at the same time, he
has always made use of the press to fill France and Europe
with fabricated facts, with false maxims, with doctrines
favourable to despotism and with outrages against foreign
governments;

"That acts and reports, passed by the Senate, have undergone
alterations when made public;

"Taking into consideration that, instead of reigning with a
sole view to the interest, the happiness and the glory of the
French people, according to the terms of his oath, Napoleon
has completed the misfortunes of the country by his refusal
to treat on conditions which the national interest obliged
him to accept and which did not compromise the honour of
France; by his abuse of all the means entrusted to him in men
and money; by his abandonment of the wounded without aid,
medical requisites, or supplies; by various measures which
resulted in the ruin of the towns, the depopulation of the
rural districts, famine and infectious disease;

"Taking into consideration that, owing to all these causes,
the Imperial Government established by the Senatus-Consultum
of the 28 Floréal Year XII., or 18 May 1804, has ceased to
exist, and that the manifest desires of all Frenchmen call
into being an order of things of which the first result would
be the restoration of general peace, and which would also
mark the epoch of a solemn reconciliation between all the
States of the great family of Europe, the Senate declares
and decrees as follows: Napoleon deposed from the throne;
hereditary right abolished in his family; the French people
and the army released from their oath of fidelity to him."

The Roman Senate was less harsh when it declared Nero a public enemy: history is but a repetition of the same facts applied to varying men and times.

Can one picture to one's self the Emperor reading this official document at Fontainebleau? What must he have thought of what he had done, and of the men whom he had summoned to be his accomplices in his oppression of our liberties? When I published my pamphlet _De Bonaparte et des Bourbons_, could I have expected to see it amplified and converted into a decree of deposition by the Senate? What prevented those legislators, in the days of prosperity, from discovering the evils of which they reproached Bonaparte with being the author, from perceiving that the Constitution had been violated? What zeal suddenly seized these mutes for "the liberty of the press"? How did they, who had overwhelmed Napoleon with adulation upon his return from each of his wars, now come to find that he had undertaken those wars "only in the interest of his own unmeasured ambition"? How did they, who had flung him so many conscripts to devour, suddenly melt at the thought of the wounded soldiers "abandoned without aid, medical requisites, or supplies"? There are times at which contempt should be but frugally dispensed, because of the large number of those in need of it: I pity them for this moment, because they will need it again during and after the Hundred Days.

[Sidenote: By the Decree of the Senate.]

When I ask what Napoleon at Fontainebleau thought of the acts of the Senate, his answer was made: an Order of the Day of 5 April 1814, not published officially, but printed in different newspapers outside the capital, thanked the army for its fidelity, adding:

"The Senate has allowed itself to dispose of the government
of France; it has forgotten that it owes to the Emperor the
power which it is now abusing; that it was he who saved one
part of its members from the storms of the Revolution, drew
the other from obscurity and protected it against the hatred
of the nation. The Senate relies upon the clauses of the
Constitution to overthrow it; it is not ashamed to utter
reproaches against the Emperor, without remarking that, in
its capacity as the first body of the State, it took part in
all the events. The Senate is not ashamed to speak of the
libels published against the foreign governments: it forgets
that these were drawn up in its midst. So long as fortune
remained faithful to their Sovereign, these men remained
faithful, and no complaint was heard of the abuses of power.
If the Emperor had despised men, as he has been reproached
with doing, then the world would recognise to-day that he has
had reasons which justified his contempt."

This was a homage rendered by Bonaparte himself to the liberty of the press: he must have believed that there was some good in it, since it offered him a last shelter and a last aid.

And I, who am struggling with time, I, who am striving to make it give an account of what it has seen, I, who am writing this so long after the events that are past, under the reign of Philip, the counterfeit heir of so great an inheritance, what am I in the hands of that time, that great devourer of the centuries which I thought fixed, of that time which makes me whirl with itself through space?

*

Alexander had taken up his residence at M. de Talleyrand's[153]. I was not present at the cabals: you can read about them in the narratives of the Abbé de Pradt[154] and of the various intriguers who handled in their dirty and paltry paws the fate of one of the greatest men in history and the destiny of the world. I counted for nothing in politics, outside the masses; there was no plotting understrapper but enjoyed far more right and favour in the ante-chambers than I: a coming figure in the possible Restoration, I waited beneath the windows, in the street.

Through the machinations of the house in the Rue Saint-Florentin, the Conservative Senate appointed a Provisional Government composed of General Beurnonville[155], Senator Jaucourt[156], the Duc de Dalberg[157], the Abbé de Montesquiou[158] and Dupont de Nemours[159]; the Prince de Bénévent helped himself to the presidency.

[Sidenote: The provisional government.]

On meeting this name for the first time, I ought to speak of the personage who took a remarkable part in the affairs of that time; but I reserve his portrait for the end of my Memoirs.

The intrigue which kept M. de Talleyrand in Paris, at the time of the entry of the Allies, was the cause of his successes at the commencement of the Restoration. The Emperor of Russia knew him from having seen him at Tilsit[160]. In the absence of the French authorities, Alexander took up his quarters in the Hôtel de l'Infantado[161], which the owner hastened to offer him.

From that time forth, M. de Talleyrand passed for the arbiter of the world; his apartments became the centre of the negociations. Composing the Provisional Government to his own liking, he there placed the partners of his rubber: the Abbé de Montesquiou figured in it only as an advertisement of the Legitimacy.

To the Bishop of Autun's sterility were confided the first labours of the Restoration: he infected that Restoration with barrenness, and communicated to it a germ of blight and death.

*

The first acts of the Provisional Government, placed under the dictatorship of its chairman, were proclamations addressed to the soldiers and to the people:

"Soldiers," they said to the former, "France has shattered
the yoke under which she and you had been groaning for so
many years. See all that you have suffered at the hands
of tyranny. Soldiers, the time has come to put an end to
the ills of the country. You are her noblest children; you
cannot belong to him who has ravaged her, who tried to make
your name hated by all the nations, who might perhaps have
compromised your glory, were it possible for a man WHO IS NOT
EVEN A FRENCHMAN ever to impair the honour of our arms and
the generosity of our soldiers[162]."

And so, in the eyes of his most servile slaves, he who had won so many victories was no longer "even a Frenchman"! When, in the days of the League, Du Bourg surrendered the Bastille to Henry IV., he refused to doff the black scarf and to take the money which was offered him for the surrender of the stronghold. Urged to recognise the King, he replied that "he was no doubt a very good Prince, but that he had pledged his faith to M. de Mayenne[163]; that, moreover, Brissac[164] was a traitor, and that, to prove it to him, he would fight him between four pikes, in the King's presence, and would eat the heart out of his body."

A difference of times and men!

[Sidenote: Its first acts.]

On the 4th of April, appeared a new address of the Provisional Government to the People of France; it said:

"On emerging from your civil discords, you chose as your
leader a man who appeared upon the world's stage endowed with
the characteristics of greatness. On the ruins of anarchy he
founded only despotism; he ought at least out of gratitude to
have _become a Frenchman_ like yourselves: he has never been
one. Without aim or object, he has never ceased to undertake
unjust wars, like an adventurer seeking fame. Perhaps he is
still dreaming of his gigantic designs, even while unequalled
reverses are inflicting such striking punishment upon the
pride and abuse of victory. He has not known how to reign
either in the national interest or even in the interest of
his own despotism. He has destroyed all that he wished to
create, and re-created all that he wished to destroy. He
believed in force alone; to-day force overwhelms him: a just
retribution for an insensate ambition."

Incontestable truths and well-earned curses; but who was it that uttered those curses? What became of my poor little pamphlet, squeezed in between those virulent addresses? Did it not disappear entirely? On the same day, the 4th of April, the Provisional Government proscribed the signs and emblems of the Imperial Government: if the Arc de Triomphe had existed, it would have been pulled down. Mailhe[165], who was the first to vote for the death of Louis XVI., Cambacérès, who was the first to greet Napoleon by the title of Emperor, eagerly recognised the acts of the Provisional Government.

On the 6th, the Senate drafted a constitution: it rested nearly on the bases of the future Charter; the Senate was preserved as an Upper Chamber; the senatorial dignity was declared permanent and hereditary; to the title to their property was attached the endowment of the senatorships; the Constitution made those titles and properties transmissible to the descendants of the holder: fortunately, those ignoble hereditary rights bore the Fates within themselves, as the ancients used to say.

The sordid effrontery of those senators, who, in the midst of the invasion of their country, did not for a moment lose sight of themselves, strikes one even in the immensity of public events.

Would it not have been more convenient for the Bourbons, on attaining power, to adopt the established government, a dumb Legislative Body, a secret and servile Senate, a fettered press? On reflexion, one finds the thing to be impossible: the natural liberties, righting themselves in the absence of the arm that bent them, would have resumed their vertical line under the weakness of the compression. If the legitimate Princes had disbanded Bonaparte's army, as they ought to have done (this was Napoleon's opinion in the island of Elba), and if, at the same time, they had retained the Imperial Government, to break the instrument of glory in order to keep only the instrument of tyranny would have been too much: the Charter was the ransom of Louis XVIII.

*

On the 12th of April, the Comte d'Artois arrived in the quality of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. Three or four hundred men went on horseback to meet him: I was one of the band. He charmed one with his kindly grace, different from the manners of the Empire. The French recognised with pleasure in his person their old manners, their old politeness and their old language; the crowd pressed round him, a consoling apparition of the past, a twofold protection as he was against the conquering foreigner and against the still threatening Bonaparte. Alas, the Prince was setting his foot again on French soil only to see his son assassinated there and to go back to die in the land of exile whence he was returning: there are men round whose necks life has been flung like a chain!

I had been presented to the King's brother; he had been given my pamphlet to read, otherwise he would not have known my name: he remembered to have seen me neither at the Court of Louis XVI. nor at the Camp of Thionville, and he had doubtless never heard speak of the _Génie du Christianisme._ That was very simple. When one has suffered much and long, he remembers only himself: personal misfortune is a somewhat cold, yet exacting companion; it possesses you; it leaves no room for any other feeling, never quits you, seizes hold of your knees and your couch.

[Sidenote: Napoleon's abdication.]

The day before the entry of the Comte d'Artois, Napoleon, after some useless negociations with Alexander through the intermediary of M. de Caulaincourt, had published his act of abdication:

"The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor
Napoleon was the sole obstacle to the restoration of peace in
Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, true to his oath, declares that
he renounces for himself and his heirs the throne of France
and Italy, because there is no personal sacrifice, even that
of his life, which he is not ready to make to the interests
of the French."

To these sensational words the Emperor did not delay, by his return, to give a no less sensational contradiction: he needed only the time to go to Elba. He remained at Fontainebleau till the 20th of April.

The 20th of April having arrived, Napoleon went down the double flight of steps leading to the peristyle of the deserted palace of the monarchy of the Capets. A few grenadiers, the remnants of the soldiers who conquered Europe, drew up in line in the great court-yard, as though on their last field of battle; they were surrounded by those old trees, the mutilated companions of Francis I. and Henry IV. Bonaparte addressed the last witnesses of his fights in these words:

"Generals, officers, non-commissioned officers and men of my Old Guard, I take my leave of you: for twenty years I have been satisfied with you; I have always found you on the road of glory.

"The Allied Powers have armed all Europe against me, a part of the army has betrayed its duty, and France herself has desired other destinies.

"With you and the brave men who have remained faithful to me, I could have kept up civil war for three years; but France would have been unhappy, which was contrary to the end which I proposed to myself.

"Be faithful to the new King whom France has chosen; do not abandon our dear country, too long unhappy! Love her always, love her well, that dear country!

"Do not pity my lot; I shall always be happy when I know you to be so.

"I could have died; nothing would have been easier to me; but I shall never cease to follow the path of honour. I have yet to write what we have done.

"I cannot embrace you all; but I will embrace your general.... Come, general!"

He pressed General Petit[166] in his arms.

"Bring me the eagle!"

He kissed it.

"Dear eagle! May these kisses resound in the heart of all brave men!... Farewell, my lads!... My good wishes will always accompany you; keep me in remembrance."

These words spoken, Napoleon raised his tent, which covered the world.

*

Bonaparte had applied to the Allies for commissaries, so that he might be protected by them on his journey to the island which the sovereigns granted him as his absolute property and as an installment on the future. Count Schouvaloff was appointed for Russia, General Roller[167] for Austria, Colonel Campbell[168] for England, and Count Waldburg-Truchsess[169] for Prussia: the latter wrote the _Itinerary of Napoleon from Fontainebleau to Elba._ This pamphlet and the Abbé de Pradt's on the Polish Embassy are the two reports by which Napoleon was most pained. No doubt he then regretted the time of his liberal censorship, when he had poor Palm[170], the German bookseller, shot for distributing, at Nuremberg, Herr von Gentz's[171] work, _Deutschland in seiner tiefsten Erniedrigung._ Nuremberg, at the time of the publication of this work, was still a free city, and did not belong to France: ought not Palm to have been able to foresee that conquest?

Count Waldburg begins by relating several conversations that took place at Fontainebleau previous to the departure. He states that Bonaparte awarded the greatest praise to Lord Wellington[172] and inquired as to his character and habits. He excused himself for not having made peace at Prague, Dresden and Frankfort; he agreed that he had been wrong, but that at that time he had had other views.

"I was no usurper," he added, "because I accepted the crown only in compliance with the unanimous wish of the whole nation, whereas Louis XVIII. has usurped it, being called to the throne only by a vile Senate, more than ten of whose members voted for the death of Louis XVI."

[Sidenote: He leaves for Elba.]

Count Waldburg pursues his narrative as follows:

"The Emperor started, with his four carriages, about twelve
o'clock on the 21st, not till after he had held a long
conversation with General Roller, which he commenced with
these words:

"'Well, you heard my speech to the Old Guard yesterday; it
pleased you, and you have seen the effect it produced. That
is the way to speak and act with them, and if Louis XVIII.
does not follow this example, he will never make anything of
the French soldier.'...

"From the spot where the French troops ceased, the cries of
'Long live the Emperor!' also had an end. Already in Moulins
we saw the white cockades, and the inhabitants saluted us with
'Long live the Allies!' In Lyons, which we passed through at
about eleven o'clock at night, a few people collected who
received the Emperor with 'Long live Napoleon!' As he had
expressed a wish to be escorted by an English frigate to the
island of Elba, Colonel Campbell left us at Lyons for the
purpose of procuring one either from Toulon or Marseilles.

"About mid-day on the 24th, on this side Valence, Napoleon
met Marshal Augereau[173]. Both alighted from their
carriages. The Emperor saluted the marshal, embraced him,
and took off his hat to him. Augereau returned none of these
civilities. The Emperor, as he asked him, 'Where are you off
to? Are you going to the Court?' took the marshal by the arm
and led him forwards. Augereau replied, his present journey
extended only to Lyons. They walked together for a quarter
of a league on the road towards Valence, and, according to
authentic information, the Emperor reproached the marshal for
his proclamation. Among other things he observed:

"'Your proclamation is very silly; why those insults against
myself? All you need have said was, "The Nation having
pronounced its wish in favour of a new sovereign, the duty of
the Army is to conform to it. God save the King! Long live
Louis XVIII.!'"

"Augereau, who now likewise thou'd him, reproached him, on
the other hand, with his insatiate love of conquest, to which
he had sacrificed the happiness of France. At length, tired
of the discourse, the Emperor turned suddenly towards the
marshal, embraced him, again took off his hat to him, and got
into the carriage. Augereau, who stood with his hands behind
him, did not move his cap from his head, and as Napoleon
was already in the carriage, drew one hand forwards in
order to wave, with a mien bordering on contempt, a kind of
farewell....

"On the 25th, as we arrived at Orange, we were received with
'Long live the King! Long live Louis XVIII.!'

"On the same morning, close to Avignon, where the relays of
horses awaited us, the Emperor found a crowd assembled, whose
tumultuous cries saluted him with 'Long live the King! Long
live the Allies! Down with Nicolas! Down with the tyrant, the
scoundrel, the wretched beggar!' and still coarser abuse. In
compliance with our instructions, we did everything in our
power to lighten the evil, but could only partially effect
it.... The people ... likewise conceived that we should not
deny them the liberty of venting their indignation against
the man who had made them so unhappy, and even had the
intention of rendering them still more miserable.... In
Orgon, the next place where we changed horses, the conduct
of the populace was most outrageous. Exactly on the spot
where the horses were taken out, a gallows was erected, on
which a figure in French uniform, sprinkled with blood,
was suspended. On its breast it bore a paper with this
inscription:

[Sidenote: Napoleon insulted.]

"'Sooner or later this will be the Tyrant's fate.'

"The rabble pressed around his carriage, and elevated
themselves on both sides in order to look and cast in their
abuse. The Emperor pressed into a corner behind General
Bertrand[174], and looked pale and disfigured; but at length,
through our assistance, he was happily brought off.

"Count Schouwaloff harangued the people from the side of
Buonaparte's carriage.

"'Are you not ashamed,' said he, 'to insult an unfortunate
who has not the means of defending himself? His situation
is sufficiently humiliating for one who, expecting to give
laws to the world, now finds himself at the mercy of your
generosity. Leave him to himself; behold him: you see
contempt is the only weapon you ought to employ against this
man, who is no longer dangerous. It would be unworthy of the
French nation to take any other vengeance.'

"The crowd applauded this harangue, and Buonaparte, seeing
the effect it produced, made signs of approbation to Count
Schouwaloff, and afterwards thanked him for the service he
had rendered him.

"When he had proceeded about a quarter of a league from Orgon
he changed his dress in his carriage, put on a plain blue
great-coat and a round hat with a white cockade, mounted a
post-horse, and rode on before as a courier. As it was some
time ere we overtook him, we were perfectly ignorant of his
being no longer in the carriage and in Saint Cannat, where
the horses were again changed. We still believed him to be
in the greatest danger, for the people attempted to break
open the doors, which, however, were fortunately locked. Had
they succeeded, they would certainly have destroyed General
Bertrand, who sat there alone.... Characteristic is the
prayer with which some of the women assailed me:

"'For the love of God, deliver him up as a pillage to us! He
has so well deserved it, both from you and us, that nothing
can be more just than our request!'

"Having overtaken the Emperor's carriage about half a league
on the other side of Orgon, it shortly afterwards entered
into a miserable public-house, lying on the roadside,
called the Calade. We followed it, and here first learnt
Buonaparte's disguise, who in this attire had arrived
here, accompanied by one courier only. His suite, from
the generals to the scullions, were decorated with white
cockades, which he appeared previously to have provided
himself with. His valet-de-chambre, who came to meet us,
begged we would conduct ourselves towards the Emperor as if
he were Colonel Campbell, for whom on his arrival he had
given himself out. We entered and found in a kind of chamber
this former ruler of the world buried in thought, sitting
with his head supported by his hand. I did not immediately
recognise him, and walked towards him. He started up as he
heard somebody approaching, and pointed to his countenance
bedewed with tears. He made a sign that I might not discover
him, requested me to sit down beside him, and as long as the
landlady was in the room, conversed on indifferent subjects.
As soon, however, as she was gone out he resumed his former
position. We left him alone; he sent, however, to request we
would pass backwards and forwards, to prevent any suspicion
of his being there. We informed him it was known Colonel
Campbell had passed through here the day before on his way
to Toulon; on which he determined upon assuming the name
of Lord Burghersh. Here we dined, but as the dinner had
not been prepared by his own cooks, he had not courage to
partake of it, for fear of being poisoned. He felt ashamed,
however, at seeing us all eat, both with good appetites and
good conscience, and therefore helped himself from every
dish, but without swallowing the least morsel. He spat
everything out upon his plate or behind his chair. A little
bread and a bottle of wine taken from his carriage, and which
he divided with us, constituted his whole repast. In other
respects he was conversible and extremely friendly towards
us. Whenever the landlady, who waited upon us at table, left
the room, and he perceived we were alone, he repeated to us
his apprehensions for his life, and assured us the French
Government had indisputably determined to destroy or arrest
him here. A thousand plans passed through his brain how he
might escape, and what arrangements ought to be made to
deceive the people of Aix, whom he had learnt awaited him
by thousands at the post-house. The most eligible plan in
his estimation would be to go back again to Lyons, and from
thence strike into another road by way of Italy to the island
of Elba. This, however, we should on no account have allowed,
and we therefore endeavoured to persuade him to proceed
either directly to Toulon, or by way of Digne to Fréjus. We
assured him that, without our knowledge, it was impossible
the French Government would entertain such insidious
intentions against him, and although the people allowed
themselves the greatest improprieties, they would never
charge themselves with a crime of the nature he feared. In
order to inform us better, and to convince us the inhabitants
of that part of the country meditated his destruction, he
related to us what had happened to him as he arrived here
alone. The landlady, who did not recognise him, asked him:

"'Well, have you met Buonaparte?'

"He replied in the negative.

"'I am curious,' she answered, 'to see how he will save
himself. I do believe the people will murder him: and it must
be confessed he has well deserved it, the scoundrel! Tell me,
are they going to put him on board ship for his island?'

"'Yes, of course.'

"'They will drown him, I hope?'

"'Oh, no doubt,' returned the Emperor. 'And so you see,' he
added, turning towards us, 'the danger I am exposed to.'

[Sidenote: His fears and apprehensions.]

"And now again, with all his apprehensions and indecision,
he renewed his solicitations of counsel. He even begged us
to look around and see if we could not anywhere discover
a private door through which he might slip out, or if the
window, whose shutters upon entering he had half-closed at
the bottom, was too high for him to jump out in case of
need. On examination I found the window was provided with an
iron trellis-work on the outside, and threw him into evident
consternation as I communicated to him the discovery. At the
least noise he started up in terror, and changed colour.
After dinner we left him alone, and as we went in and out
found him frequently weeping....

"As... General Schouwaloff's Adjutant had... announced
that the major part of the populace assembled on the road
were dispersed, the Emperor towards midnight determined
on proceeding. For greater precaution, however, another
disguise was assumed. General Schouwaloff's Adjutant was
obliged to put on the blue great-coat and round hat in which
the Emperor had reached the inn, that in case of necessity he
might be regarded, insulted, or even murdered for him.

"Napoleon, who now pretended to be an Austrian colonel,
dressed himself in the uniform of General Roller, with
the Order of Theresa, wore my camp cap, and cast over his
shoulders General Schouwaloff's mantle. After the Allies
had thus equipped him, the carriages drove up, and we were
obliged to march them through the other rooms of the inn in
a certain order, which had been previously tried in our own
chamber. The procession was headed by General Drouot[175];
then came, as Emperor, General Schouwaloff's Adjutant; upon
this General-Roller, the Emperor, General Schouwaloff, and
lastly, myself, to whom the honour of forming the rear-guard
was assigned. The remainder of the Imperial suite united
themselves with us as we passed by, and thus we walked
through the gaping multitude, who vainly endeavoured to
distinguish their Tyrant amongst us. Schouwaloff's Adjutant
(Major Olewieff) placed himself in Napoleon's carriage, and
the latter sat beside General Roller in his calash....

"Still, however, the Emperor was constantly in alarm. He not
only remained in General Roller's calash, but even begged he
would allow the servant to smoke who sat before, and asked
the General himself if he could sing, in order that he might
dissipate, through such familiar conduct, any suspicion in
the places where we stopped, that the Emperor sat with him in
the carriage. As the General could not sing, Napoleon begged
him to whistle, and with this singular music we made our
entry into every place; whilst the Emperor, fumigated with
the incense of the tobacco-pipe, pressed himself into the
corner of the calash, and pretended to be fast asleep....

"At Saint-Maximin he breakfasted with us, and having learnt
that the sub-prefect of Aix was there, he ordered him into
his presence, and received him with these words:

"'You ought to blush to see me in an Austrian uniform, which
I have been obliged to assume to protect myself against
the insults of the Provençals. I came among you in full
confidence, whilst I might have brought with me six thousand
of my guard, and I find nothing but a band of maniacs who put
my life in danger. The Provençals are a disgraceful race;
they committed every kind of crime and enormity during the
Revolution, and are quite ready to begin over again: but when
it is a question of fighting bravely, then they are cowards.
Provence has never supplied me with a single regiment with
which I could be satisfied. But to-morrow they will be as
much against Louis XVIII. as to-day they appear to be against
me,' etc....

[Sidenote: His protests.]