Napoleon

by Emil Ludwig

  But he does all these things like a man in a dream. He does not say a word about the last few weeks, but talks only of old times, and chiefly of Josephine. " I have promised the minister to go away. I shall start to-night. I am weary of myself, of France, and of Paris. Make your preparations."

  Whither away ? Conjectures, deliberations. Spectral is the tone of the manifesto he now addresses to the army:

  " Soldiers ! . . . I am with you even though I am away. I know every corps. If any one wins a victory, I shall approve his courage. . . . Show, in days to come, that, before all, you serve your country, show it by obeying me; and show that I have earned your affection (if indeed I have earned it) by my ardent love for our common mother. One more storm, and the coalition will be shattered ! Napoleon will know you by the blows that

  Artillery Fire

  you deal out. Save the honour and the liberty of the French. Be what you have been for twenty years, and you will be unconquerable 1"

  The government suppresses the document, but could have published it without risk. No one could be more aloof, no living man could have become more completely a part of history, than this man who speaks of himself as if he were speaking of a stranger. He seems to be no longer present in the flesh.

  Suddenly he is startled! The old sounds assail his ears. The noise of cannon shots reaches him from the plain of Saint-Denis ; the foe is at the gates. Officers and soldiers, scarred and tattered, but hastily patched up, bring him the news, vague and dispersed like the sound of the firing. Instantly he returns to life. " In two detachments ? You must attack and defeat them separately ; first one and then the other." At night he elaborates a plan for the defence of Paris. Next morning it seems as if the familiar sounds had rejuvenated him, and he writes to the five Directors as General Bonaparte had written of old:

  " I offer to place myself at the head of the army. At sight of me, the soldiers will recover their courage, hurl themselves on the foe, and punish him. I pledge you my word as general, soldier, and citizen that I will not retain the command an hour after the victory has been won. I vow to conquer, not for myself but for France."

  It is impossible that after such words he should fail to conquer, unless he is slain in the first onslaught. In this mood of impending death, he writes his magnificent letter. Napoleon, in the garden, surrounded by his remaining officers, restlessly awaits the answer.

  Fouche's great moment has come. To this ex-master of his, to the man whom he so cordially detests, he does not even vouch-safe a written answer. The Emperor, who is trembling with eagerness to take up arms, and who has never since he grew to full manhood had to wait for another man's permission, tears the response out of the returning messenger. It is curt:

  Driven Out

  The Emperor is mistaken if he thinks the members of the govern-ment are such fools as to entertain his proposal; all they ask is that he should go away as soon as possible. Napoleon says bitterly: " I ought to have hanged him long ago. Now I must leave the job to the Bourbons."

  Mufti; a rapid gathering together of necessaries; Hortense sews her necklace for him into a black silk belt. For a few minutes he entertains the thought of Corsica, with Lucien as governor of the island. His mother's eyes sparkle. But he knows that the scheme is impracticable. America is his last resource. The only thing lacking is the frigate for which he has been asking. All are aware that every hour increases the risk to his liberty. It is said that Wellington has demanded his surrender, and the number of the deputies in favour of his being handed over is steadily increasing. Lavalette urges him to start, but the Emperor is stubborn.

  " I cannot leave without an order from the government to the captain."

  " Why not, Sire ? Have the anchor weighed, promise the crew money, send the captain ashore if he won't set sail. You may be sure that Fouche has already promised to hand you over to the allies."

  " Drive to the Minister for the Navy ! "

  The councillor drives to Decres', and finds him in bed. Decres refers the messenger to Fouche, saying: " I can do nothing."

  Fouche cannot be found. The councillor gets back to Malmaison at one in the morning. The Emperor is awakened, gets up, still thinks the United States will be best, but hesitates.

  Over there, they will grant me land, or I will buy an estate and till it. I shall end where mankind began. I shall live upon the produce of my fields and my herds."

  " But what if they propose to hand you over ? " enquires the secretary.

  Whither to Go?

  " Then I shall go to Mexico. There I shall find patriots at whose head I can place myself."

  " The leaders there might turn against you."

  " All right; I shall leave them and go to Caracas. If I don't like it, I shall go on to Buenos Ayres or to California. I shall sail across the seas until I find a city of refuge where I can be safe from the persecutions of my fellows."

  " But what if the English catch you, Sire ? "

  "I must risk that. A bad government, but a great nation, noble and generous. England will treat me properly. Besides, there is no choice. Am I to allow myself, like a ninny, to be taken prisoner here by Wellington, to be led in triumph through the streets of London like King John the Good of old ? Since they have no use for my services here, I must go elsewhere. Ability will do the rest."

  " Your Majesty was not made for flight."

  " Flight! What are you talking about ? " He looks at the secretary " questioningly and proudly,"

  " The English must certainly be on the watch for you already. Your end ought to be the worthiest possible."

  " Suicide, like Hannibal ? Leave that to weaklings and persons of disordered mind ! Whatever fate may hold in store for me, I would never deliberately shorten my life by a single day."

  " I did not mean that, Sire. But what if you were to hand over liberty and life to the enemies of France in order to save France ? That is how Napoleon the Great should act."

  " All very fine, but to whom am I to hand myself over ? To Bliicher ? To Wellington ? They have no plenipotentiary powers. They would simply take me prisoner, and do what they pleased with France and with me."

  " The tsar, perhaps ? "

  " You do not know the Russians ! Still, I will think the matter over. To sacrifice my own person would be easy enough. The question is, whether it would help France ? "

  To Rochefort

  Almost every element that goes to make the statesman seems to have been eliminated from this all-too-human dialogue. Here is an adventurer hankering after fresh voyages in every corner of the world. Here is the man without a country, the ocean traveller without any earth under his feet, always on board, always driven hither and thither, a bold pirate fearless of death. Ay, fearless of death ! The dry manner in which, once again, he waves aside the idea of suicide, the sober realism of his outlook, this grasp at the flying moment, the old-time dauntlessness of the islesman—what unconquerable vital energy !

  Now he is to start. The last person with whom the Emperor has a quiet talk is his mother. But a soldier rushes in ; he will not let any hold him back : the soldier is Talma. The call of his heart and his love of the tragical have urged him to come for a great farewell; he feels he must be there. Later he is to represent this leave-taking between mother and son, in all its dignified simplicity, in a pathetic scene on the stage. Then the Emperor invites young General Gourgaud, the scatterbrained idealist, into his dilapidated carriage. Bertrand and his wife, who had lived with him in Elba, and two others, accompany him. They drive to Rochefort, to the port where they hope to find a frigate. The pace is too slow for a fugitive. He still looks over his shoulder, listening for the call which shall summon him back at the eleventh hour. They meet two regiments marching northward. The men raise a cheer, and the Emperor discusses with the generals the possibility of overthrowing the government if he places himself at their head and marches on Paris. . . . Away again, at length the long drive is over, and he stands gazing at the Atlantic Ocean. Joseph is there, and urges Na
poleon to charter a brig which is taking a cargo of spirits to America. The Emperor assumes the name of Muiron, his seventh name. This name calls up the vision of another coast, the Mediterranean with its many isles, and Corsica, and then Italy; and again he sees the young, small, lean general, with long

  Vacillations

  hair falling on his shoulders and cold grey-blue eyes, and the bridge of Areola where the fate of a man and a country hung in the balance ; and he sees Lieutenant Muiron fling himself before the young general in the melee, he sees Muiron fall, and he knows that by this love-death the lieutenant's name will be immortalised. It would seem that once again a new epoch is opening before the genius of energy, and that across the seas, in new zones, on uninhabited prairies, the adventurer will swing himself into the saddle, will watch the increase of his herds; maybe, even, will travel to Mexico and become the leader of a band of rebels !

  But God is wiser.

  He sees to it that this great life shall have an epilogue such as no man has ever lived through before, an epilogue which shall fitly round off its tragical poesy. Once more the Almighty stifles the adventurous impulse in the soul of Napoleon; once more there are days of questioning, negotiation, vacillation— ten days before the final decision.

  The Emperor crosses to a small island. They think of chartering two fishing smacks which the English will never dream of searching for Napoleon; but in the end he rejects the plan. There are two American ships available. Negotiations are entered into with a Danish sloop. Enthusiastic youths from the naval training school propose to carry him off in an advice-boat. Sixteen midshipmen will spirit him out of the harbour at dead of night. They sit packed together in the little room, feverishly discussing the plan with Las Cases, the Emperor's new confidant. The man to whom this madcap venture is proposed, talks over the situation coolly with his companions, asking each in turn for an opinion as to the best course. Most of them advise a return to the army, for there are still good prospects that the soldiers in the south will support him. He emphatically refuses :

  " Nothing will induce me to light up a civil war. I will have

  Themistocles

  no more to do with politics; I need repose; I shall go to America! "

  But his self-respect makes him shrink from the thought of escaping in disguise.

  News comes that the Bourbon has re-entered the land of his fathers once more under the protection of allied troops. The path of escape seaward is now blocked by an English cruiser which bears the ominous name of" Bellerophon." The Emperor has missed his chance. Here are his thoughts : " A return to Paris is impossible. The port is blockaded. Shall I allow myself to be seized like a pirate, and taken in chains to London ? England has been my foe for twenty years. Next to the French, the English nation is the greatest and the most distinguished in the world. Have I not been an Emperor ? Has not, from of old, chivalry toward a fallen enemy aroused universal admiration ? In Corsica, they knife any one who violates the rights of hospitality."

  Making up his mind, he dictates the following letter to the prince regent:

  " Your Royal Highness, Exposed to the factions which distract my country and to the enmity of the greatest powers of Europe, I have closed my political career, and I come, like Themistocles, to throw myself upon the hospitality of the British people. I put myself under the protection of their laws, and beg Your Royal Highness, as the most powerful, the most persistent, and the most generous of my enemies, to grant me this protection. Napoleon."

  Eight lines, three words of respect, neither arrogance nor humility, almost courtly. There is, however, one word which embodies the pathos of the step he is taking, and assumes that his adversary will give moral guarantees; that in this century, after such a life, Napoleon will be as welcome a guest in the enemy land, as of old in Persia had been—Themistocles. It is overwhelming self-confidence, based upon historical parallels,

  Napoleon and Maitland

  which determines the last great step of his career, as, in youth, it had determined his first advances to Paoli. Now, this self-confidence will be his ruin.

  Next day, Las Cases hands the letter to the captain of the " Bellerophon," and negotiates with Maitland for Napoleon's reception on board. Admiral Hotham, Maitland's immediate superior, was not a party to the negotiations, but had long since received orders to seize the fugitive if possible. In accordance with international law, this was quite in order, for England, with the other powers in Vienna, had decreed Napoleon's outlawry. But it is an undisputed fact that Captain Maitland, supreme on his own ship, guaranteed his guest's liberty, saying: " Napoleon will receive all proper attention in England. Our people are generous and democratic."

  No record was taken at the time of the terms of the understanding in accordance with which the man who had been the master of Europe went on board one of his enemy's ships. Nevertheless, it was not an affair of hours, but, rather, of days ; not the outcome of haste and desperation, but the logical conclusion of a long chain of reasoning. Napoleon's own experience of the last twenty years had shown him that verbal agreements are untrustworthy, whereas written agreements are comparatively reliable. Yet he takes this last step, one of profound historical significance, without any written document having been signed, sealed, and delivered. In truth, he cannot await an answer from London. He trusts, however, not in the mere word of a captain in the navy, but in the moral effect of what he is doing. That is why, just before going on board the " Bellerophon," he writes the above-quoted heroic lines, addressed to the ruler of the land in which he seeks hospitality, and the supreme commander of all its navies.

  Then, in uniform, Napoleon boards the British vessel.

  On the " Bellerophon "

  Maitland stands on the quarter-deck. Napoleon raises his hat, a thing he has not always done to greet princes, and addresses the captain as follows : " I come to place myself under the protection of your king and your laws." The British naval officers are introduced to him, and he asks about the sea-fights in which they have been engaged. Then, with the detachment of a man discussing ancient history, he talks about the English navy and the French, says that the English sailors are cleaner and more efficient, and argues with his host about certain punishments customary in the navy after a fight. Then he passes to generalities :

  " I really cannot understand why your ships have defeated our French vessels so easily. The best of them were ours to begin with. A French ship is stronger in every respect than an English vessel of the same type. It has more and heavier guns, a larger complement."

  " I have already explained that to you, Sir. Our seamen have had more experience than yours."

  Napoleon does not move an eyelash. The conversation remains strictly academic ; they talk of the nautical science of their respective countries.

  " If you had tried to escape in a French frigate," says Maitland, " you would have seen for yourself how well we can shoot."

  No repining! Here stands a gamester who has lost the game. All that the Emperor troubles to dispute is Maitland's contention that two frigates with a few twenty-four pounders could not possibly have got the better of the " Bellerophon," which carried seventy-four heavy guns. The captain proves that it would have been impossible. Napoleon examines the ship's guns, praises what he sees, but has some criticisms to make here and there. Maitland declares afterwards, when alone with his own people, that he has been amazed by the extent of the Emperor's technical knowledge.

  Defenceless

  The ship puts out to sea.

  Meanwhile, the legitimate ministers and kings are discussing their course. Not a single member of this circle proves great enough to advise a great gesture, before Europe and before history. Ten days after leaving the roads ofRochefort, the " Bellerophon " anchors in Plymouth harbour. It is a fine morning in the end of July, and the water is thronged with rowing boats full of people anxious to catch a glimpse of the caged lion. Since no decision has yet arrived from London, civilian visitors are not allowed on board. But it is a great
time for the crew. They can see Napoleon every day, and he converses with any of them that are able to speak French. The gaping crowds in the boats are the thousands who for twenty years past have heard nothing but abuse and mockery of" Boney " ; have seen numberless caricatures of him, depicted as a hideous monster. Now, they are all animated with the same curiosity ; they all want to feast their eyes upon this dread spectre.

  For the most part, Napoleon stays in his cabin. He does not want to become a raree-show. A few days' patience, and he will be able to go ashore, and live where he pleases. At length, however, feeling the need for fresh air, he comes up the gangway and mounts the poop. There he stands, the great defeated foe, in his old world-famous green coat; defenceless. Thousands of eyes instantly converge on him, so that it seems as if he must be consumed in their fire.

  But the man with the simple, impenetrable countenance, who is thus pilloried, must radiate an aura of dignity and suffering, for an extraordinary thing happens. Thousands of heads are bared. As far as Napoleon's gaze can reach, on the boats, the ships, throughout the harbour, not a man remains covered. The greeting is universal, but for one exception. Only one man among all those onlookers keeps his three-cornered hat on his head. It seems as if the whole nation were willing to pay the Emperor the homage which a pettifogging captain withheld.

  Such was the judgment of the British nation, which in this

  Xerxes' Answer

  tense moment cleared itself from all the contumely so soon to be heaped upon its name. The waiting lasted three days. On the fourth, British officers entered the Emperor's cabin, and laid before him a paper containing the government's decision. No direct answer had come from the prince regent.

  The document was to the effect that it would not be consistent with the government's duties towards England and her allies to allow General Bonaparte any further opportunity of disturbing the peace of Europe, and it would therefore be necessary to restrain his liberty to " whatever extent may be necessary for securing that first and paramount object." St. Helena would be his place of residence, as it was healthy, and would admit of a smaller degree of restraint than might be necessary elsewhere. He could take with him three officers, a physician, and twelve servants.