Last days of Napoleon's Government.

Chapter LV.

Last Days of the Imperial Government.

Rejoicings on Napoleon’s victory over Blucher and surprise of Lord Wellington - Bulletin issued at St. Cloud - Budget of news communicated by a French cockney - Author’s alarm on account of his family - Proposes quitting Paris - Information of Henry Thevenot, confirmed at Lafitte’s - Napoleon’s return from Waterloo - The author’s sources of intelligence - His visits to the Chamber of Deputies - Garat Minister of Justice at the period of Louis’s decapitation - The *Rousseau MSS. *and their peculiar utility to the author - Fouché’s treachery - Vacillating plan to inform Napoleon thereof, througli Count Thibaudeau - Observations on the vicissitudes and political extinction of Bonaparte.

 The emperor having left Paris to take command of the army in Belgium, the garrison left in that city was necessarily very inconsiderable. It was the universal belief that the allies would be surprised by a simultaneous attack, and the event warranted this supposition. The result was a double defeat of Blucher, the separation of the Prussian and British armies, the retreat of Lord Wellington upon Brussels, the march of Grouchy upon that city, and the advance of Napoleon. The impatience of the Parisians for news may be easily conceived, nor were they kept long in suspense. Meanwhile there ran through the whole mass of society a suspicion that treachery was on foot, but nobody could guess in what shape it would explode. The assassination of Napoleon was certainly regarded as a thing in contemplation, and the disaffection of sundry general officers publicly discussed at the Palais Royal, but no names were mentioned except Fouché’s.

On Sunday, the 18th of June, at daybreak, I was roused by the noise of artillery. I arose and instantly sallied out to inquire the cause: nobody could at the moment inform me; but it was soon announced that it was public rejoicings on account of a great victory gained by Napoleon over the Prussians, commanded by Blucher, and the English by the Duke of Wellington. That the allies had been partly surprised, and were in rapid retreat, followed by the emperor and flanked by Grouchy; that a lancer had arrived as courier, and given many details, one of which was that our Light Dragoons, under Lord Anglesea, had been completely destroyed.

I immediately determined to quit Paris for the day. It was Sunday: everybody was a-foot, the drums were beating in all directions, and it was impossible to say how the *canaille *might, in exultation at the victory, be disposed to act by the English in Paris. We therefore set out early and breakfasted at St Cloud. The report of the victory had reached that village, but I perceived no indication of any great feeling on the subject. We adjourned to Bagatelle, in the very pretty gardens of which we sauntered about till dinner time.

This victory did not surprise me; for when I saw the magnificent array of troops on the occasion of the Promulgation, I had adopted the unmilitary idea that they *must be *invincible. As yet we had heard no certain particulars. About eleven o’clock, however, printed bulletins were liberally distributed, announcing an unexpected attack on the Prussian and English armies with the purpose of dividing them, which purpose was stated to be fully accomplished, the Duke of Brunswick killed, the Prince of Orange wounded, two Scotch regiments broken and sabred, Lord Wellington in full retreat, Blucher’s army absolutely ruined, and the emperor in full march for Brussels, where the Belgian army would join the French, and march unitedly for Berlin.

The day was rather drizzling: we took shelter in the grotto, and were there joined by some Parisian shopkeeper and his family, who had come out from the capital for their recreation. This man told us a hundred incidents which were circulated in Paris with relation to the battle. Among other things, it was said, that if the emperor’s generals did their duty, the campaign might be already considered over, since every man in France and Belgium would rise in favour of the emperor. He told us news had arrived, that the Austrians were to be neutral, and that the Russians durst advance no farther, that the King of Prussia would be dethroned, and that it was generally believed Lord Wellington would either be dead or in the Castle of Vincennes by Wednesday morning!

This budget of intelligence our informant communicated himself in a very *neutral *way, and without betraying the slightest symptom either of gratification or the reverse; and as it was impossible to doubt the main point, the defeat, I really began to think all was lost, and that it was high time to consider how we should get out of France forthwith, more particularly as the emperor’s absence from Paris would, by leaving it at the mercy of the populace, render that city no longer a secure residence for the subjects of a hostile kingdom. How singular was the fact that, at the very moment I was receiving this news, at the very instant when I conceived Napoleon again the conqueror of the world, and the rapidity of his success as only supplementary to the rapidity of his previous return and prelude to fresh achievements, that bloody and decisive conflict was actually at it’s height, which had been decreed by Providence to terminate Napoleon’s political existence! What an embarrassing problem to the mind of a casuist must a speculation be as to the probable results at this day of a different dispensation!

Our minds were now made up to quit Paris on the following Thursday; and as the securest course to get down to St. Maloes, and thence to Jersey, or some of the adjacent islands; and without mentioning our intention, I determined to make every preparation connected with the use of the *saif conduit *which I had procured on my first arrival in Paris. But fate decreed it otherwise. Napoleon’s destiny had been meantime decided, and my flight became unnecessary.

On returning to Paris we found everything quiet. On that very Sunday night my servant, *the *Henry Thevenot, told me that he had heard the French had got entangled in a forest and met a repulse. He said he had been told this at a public house in Rue Mont Blanc.

I feared the man. I suspected him to be on the *espionage *establishment, and therefore told him to say no more to me about the war, and that I wished much to be in England.

About nine on Thursday morning, as soon as I rose, Thevenot again informed me, with a countenance which gave no indication of his own sentiments, that the French were *totally defeated, *that the emperor had returned to Paris, and that the English were in full march to the capital.

I always dreaded lest the language of my servant might in some way implicate me, and I now chid him for telling me so great a falsehood.

“It is true,” returned he.

Still I could not believe it; and 1 gave him notice, on the spot, to quit my service. He received this intimation with much seeming indifference, and his whole deportment impressed me with suspicion. I went immediately, therefore, to Messrs. Lafitte, my bankers, and the first person I saw was my friend Mr. Phillips, very busily employed at his desk in the outside room.

“Do you know, Phillips,” ‘said I, “that I have been obliged to turn off my servant for spreading a report that the French are beaten and the emperor returned?”

Phillips, without withdrawing his eyes from what he was engaged on, calmly and concisely replied, “It is true enough.”

“Impossible !” exclaimed I.

“Quite possible,” returned this man of few words.

“Where is Napoleon?” said I.

“In the Palais de Bourbon Elysée,” said he.

I saw it was vain to expect further communication from Mr. Phillips, and I went into an inner chamber to Mr. Clement, who seemed, however, more taciturn than the other.

Being most anxious to learn all the facts, I proceeded to the Palais d’Elysée, my scepticism having meanwhile undergone great diminution from seeing an immense number of splendid equipages darting; through the streets, filled with full-dressed men, plentifully adorned with stars and orders. When I got to the palace I found the court full of carriages and a large body of the National Guard under arms, yet I could scarcely believe my eyes, but I soon learned the principal fact from a hundred mouths and with a thousand different details; my informants agreeing only on one point, namely, that the army was defeated *by treachery, *and that the emperor had returned to Paris in quest of new *materiel. *Groups and’ crowds were collecting everywhere, and confusion reigned triumphant.

Being somewhat rudely driven out of the courtyard, I now went round to the Champs d’Elysée, at the rear of the palace. Sentinels, belonging to Napoleon’s guard, were by this time posted outside the long terrace that skirts the garden. They would permit no person to approach close, but I was near enough to discern Napoleon walking deliberately backwards and forwards on that terrace, in easy conversation with two persons whom I conceived to be his uncle, Cardinal Fesch, and Count Bertrand, and I afterwards heard that I was right. The emperor wore a short blue coat and a small three-cocked hat, and held his hands behind his back seemingly in a most tranquil mood. Nobody could in fact suppose** **he was in any agitation whatever, and the cardinal appeared much more earnest in the conversation than himself. I stood there about fifteen minutes, when the sentries ordered us off and as I obeyed, I saw Napoleon walk up towards the palace.

I never saw the Emperor of the French after that day, which was, in fact, the last of his reign. It ought to have been the last day of his existence, or the first of some new series of achievements; but fate had crushed the man, and he could rouse himself no more. Though, I think, he could count but scantily on the fidelity of the National Guards, yet he was in possession of Montmartre, and, as the event proved, another and a very powerful army might soon have been gathered about him. Perhaps, too, had Bonaparte rallied *in good earnest, *he might have succeeded in working even on the very pride of his former subjects to free the soil of the *grande nation *from foreign invasion.

Madame Le Jeune, the mistress of the hotel wherein we resided, was sister to General Le Jeune, the admirable painter who executed those noble pieces of the battles of Jena and Austerlitz, which had been in the outside room at the gallery of the Tuilleries. I am no judge of painting, but I think everything he did, and his pieces were numerous, possessed great effect. Through him, until the siege terminated by the surrender of Paris, we learned all that was going on amongst the French, and through Dr. Marshall and Colonel Macirone I daily became acquainted with the objects of the English, as I verily believe those two gentlemen were at the same time in correspondence with both the British and French authorities.

After Napoleon had been a few days making faint and fruitless endeavours to induce the deputies to grant him the *matériel *and aid him in a new armament, their coldness to himself individually became too obvious to be misconstrued; fortune had, in fact, forsaken Napoleon, and friends too often follow fortune; and it soon became notorious that Fouché had every disposition to seal his master’s destruction. The emperor had, however, still many true and faithful friends, many ardent partisans on whose fidelity he might rely. He had an army which *could *not be estranged, which no misfortune could divert from him. But his enemies, including the timid and the neutral among the deputies, appeared to me decidedly to outnumber those who would have gone far in ensuring his reinstatement. Tranquillity seemed to be the general wish, and the re-equipment of Napoleon would have rendered it unattainable.

Nevertheless, the deputies proceeded calmly on their business, and events every day assumed a more extraordinary appearance. The interval between the emperor’s return from Waterloo and his final abdication, between his departure for Malmaison and the siege of Paris, was of the most interesting and important nature; and so great was my curiosity to be aware of passing events, that I am conscious I went much farther lengths than prudence would have warranted.

During the debates in the deputies after Napoleon’s return I was almost daily present. I met a gentleman who procured me a free admission, and through whom I became acquainted by name with most, and personally with many of the most celebrated characters, not only of the current time, but also who had flourished during the different stages of the revolution. I was particularly made known to Gant, who had been minister of justice at the time Louis XVI. was beheaded, and had read to him his sentence and conducted him to the scaffold. Although he had not voted for the king’s death, he durst not refuse to execute his official functions; his attendance therefore could not be considered as voluntary. He was at this time a member of the deputies. His person would well answer the idea of a small, slight, sharp-looking, lame *tailor; *but his conversation was acute, rational, and temperate. He regarded Napoleon as lost beyond all redemption; nor did he express any great regret regret, seeming to me a man of much mental reservation. I suspect he had been too much of a genuine republican, and of too democratic and *liberal *a policy, ever to have been any great admirer even of the most splendid of imperators. I think he was sent out of Paris on the king’s restoration.

My friend having introduced me to the librarian of the. Chamber of Deputies, I was suffered to sit in the ante-room, or library, whenever I chose, and had consequently a full opportunity of seeing the ingress and egress of the deputies, who frequently formed small groups in the ante-room, and entered into earnest although brief conferences. My ready access to the gallery of the House itself enabled me likewise to know the successive *objects *of their anxious solicitude.

The librarian was particularly obliging, and suffered me to see and examine many of the most curious old documents. But the original manuscript of Rousseati’s *Confessions, *and of his *Eloisa, *produced me a real treat. His writing is as legible as print: the *Elooisa, *a work of mere fancy, without one obliteration; whilst the *Confessions, *which the author put forth as matter of fact, are, oddly enough, full of alterations in every page.

When I wished for an hour of close observation, I used to draw my chair to a window, get Rousseau into my hand, and whilst apparently riveted on his *Confessions, *watch from the corner of my eye the earnest gesticulation and ever-varying countenances of some agitated group of deputies. many of them, as they passed by, cast a glance on the object of my attention, of which I took care that they should always have a complete view

Observing one day a very unusual degree of excitement amongst the members in the Chamber, and perceiving the sally of the groups into the library to be more frequent and earnest than ordinary, I conceived that something very mysterious was in agitation. I mentioned my suspicions to a well-informed friend: he nodded assent, but was too wise or too timorous to give any opinion on so ticklish a subject. I well knew that Napoleon had been betrayed, because I had learned from an authentic source that secret despatches had been actually sent by Fouché to the allies, and that the embassy to the Emperor of Russia, from M. Lafitte, &c. had been some hours anticipated and counteracted by the chief commissioner of government.

It was clear to everybody that Napoleon had lost his fortitude; in fact, to judge by his conduct, he seemed so feeble and irresolute that be had ceased to be formidable; and it occurred to me that some sudden and strong step was in the contemplation of his true friends to raise his energies once more, and stimulate him to resistance. I was led to think so particularly by hearing some of his warmest partisans publicly declare that, if he had not lost all feeling both for himself and France, he should take the alternative of either reigning again or dying in the centre of his still devoted army.

The next day confirmed my surmises. I discovered that a letter had been written without signature, addressed to Count Thibaudeau, but not yet sent, disciosing to him, in detail and with proofs, the treachery of Fouché, &c. and advising the emperor *instantly *to arrest the traitors, unfold the treason to the Chambers, then put himself at the head of his Guards, re-assemble the army at Vilette, and before the allies could unite make one effort more to save France from subjugation. This was, I heard, the purport of the letter; and I also learned the mode and hour determined on to carry it to Count Thibaudeau. It was to be slipped into the letter-box in the ante-room of the Chamber, which was used, as I have already mentioned, as a library. I was determined to ascertain the fact; and seated in one of the windows, turning over the leaves and copying passages out of my favourite manuscripts, I could see plainly where the letter-box was placed, and kept it constantly in my eye.

The crowd was always considerable; groups were conversing; notes and letters were every moment put into the box for delivery; but I did not see the person who had been described to me as about to give Count Thibaudeau the information. At length, however, I saw him warily approach the box: he was obviously agitated - so much so, indeed, that far from *avoiding, *his palpable timidity would have *excited *observation. He had the note in his hand: he looked around him, put his hand toward the box, withdrew it, changed colour; made a second effort, and his resolution again faltering, walked away without effecting his purpose. I afterwards learned that the letter had been destroyed, and that Count Thibaudeau received no intimation till too late.

This was an incident fraught with portentous results: had that note been dropped as intended into the box, the fate of Europe might have remained long undecided; Fouché, the most eminent of traitors, would *surely *have met his due reward; Bonaparte would have put himself at the head of the army assembling at Vilette - numerous, enthusiastic, and desperate. Neither the Austrian nor Russian armies were within reach of Paris; whilst that of the French would, I believe, in point of numbers, have exceeded the English and Prussia united force; and it is more than probable that the most exterminating battle which ever took place between two great armies would have been fought next day in the suburbs, or perhaps in the Boulevards of Paris.

Very different indeed were the consequences of that suppression. The evil genius of Napoleon pressed down the balance, and instead of any chance of remounting his throne, he forfeited both his lofty *character *and his life; and Fouché, dreading the risk of detection, devised a plan to get the emperor clear out of France, and put him at least into the power of the British Government.

This last occurrence marked finally the destiny of Napoleon. Fortune had not only *forsaken, *but she *mocked *him! She tossed about and played with before she destroyed her victim - one moment giving him hopes which only rendered despair more terrible the next. After what I saw of his downfall, no public event, no revolution, can ever excite in my mind one moment of surprise. I have seen, and deeply feel, that we are daily deceived in our views of everything and everybody.

Bonaparte’s last days of power were certainly full of tremendous vicissitudes - on one elated by a great victory, on the next overwhelmed by a fatal overthrow. Hurled from a lofty throne into the deepest profundity of misfortune; bereft of his wife and only child; persecuted by his enemies; abandoned by his friends; betrayed by his ministers; humbled, depressed, paralysed; his proud heart died within him; his great spirit was quenched; and after a grievous struggle, despair became his conqueror, and Napoleon Bonaparte degenerated into an ordinary mortal.

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