Kitabı oku: «Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)», sayfa 17

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 of 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 those who had flourished during the different stages of the revolution. I was particularly made known to Garat, 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 one 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 hereat, seeming to be 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 monarchs. 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 Rousseau’s “Confessions,” and of his “Eloisa,” afforded me a real treat. His writing is as legible as print: the “Eloisa,” a work of mere fancy, without one obliteration; while 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, while apparently rivetted 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 double dispatches 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 every body that Napoleon had lost his fortitude: in fact, to judge by his conduct, he seemed so feeble and irresolute that he 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. A letter had been written without signature,⁴⁸ addressed to Count Thibaudeau, disclosing to him in detail 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 at Paris, make one effort more to save France from subjugation. This was, I have reason to believe, the purport of the letter; and I also learned the mode and hour determined on to convey 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 manuscript, 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 I believed was 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 afterward 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 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; while that of the French would, I believe, in point of numbers, have exceeded the English and Prussian 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 in the suburbs, 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 character and his life; while Fouché, dreading the risk of detection, devised a plan to get the emperor clear out of France, and either end him, or at least put him into the power of the British government, as is detailed in a subsequent chapter.

This last occurrence marked finally the destiny of Napoleon. Fortune had not only forsaken, she had 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 every thing and every body, public and private.

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.

DETENTION AT VILETTE

Negotiation between the provisional government of Paris and the allies – Col. Macirone’s mission – The author crosses the barrier of the French army, misses the colonel, and is detained on suspicion – Led before Marshal Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl and commander-in-chief of the forces at Vilette – The marshal’s haughty demeanour, and the imprecations of the soldiery – A friend in need; or, one good turn deserves another – Remarks of a French officer on the battle of Waterloo – Account of the physical and moral strength and disposition of the army at Vilette – Return of the parlementaires– Awkward mistake of one of the sentries – Liberation of the author – Marshal Davoust’s expressions to the negotiators.

In the month of July, 1815, there was a frequent intercourse of parlementaires between the commissioners of the French government and the allies. Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl, commanded the French army assembled at Vilette and about the Canal d’Ourk, a neighbourhood where many thousand Russians had fallen in the battle of the preceding summer. I had the greatest anxiety to see the French army; and Col. Macirone informing me that he was to be sent out with one of Fouché’s despatches to the Duke of Wellington, I felt no apprehension, being duly armed with my sauf-conduit, and thought I might take that opportunity of passing the Barrier de Roule, and strolling about until Macirone’s carriage should come up. It however drove rapidly by me, and I was consequently left in rather an awkward situation, not knowing the localities, and the sentry refusing to suffer me to re-enter.

I did not remain long in suspense, being stopped by two officers, who questioned me in French somewhat tartly as to my presumption in passing the sentries, “who,” said they, “must have mistaken you for one of the commissaries’ attendants.” I produced my passport, which stood me in no further advantage than to ensure a very civil arrest. I was directly taken a long way to the quarters of Marshal Davoust, who was at the time breakfasting on grapes and bread in a very good hotel near the canal. He showed at first a sort of austere indifference that was extremely disagreeable to me: but on my telling him who I was, and every thing relating to the transaction, the manifestation of my candour struck him so forcibly, that he said I was at liberty to walk about, but not to repass the lines till the return of the parlementaires, and further inquiry made about me. I was not altogether at my ease: the prince was now very polite; but I knew nobody, and was undoubtedly a suspicious person. However, I was civilly treated by the officers who met me, and on the contrary received many half-English curses from several soldiers who, I suppose, had been prisoners in England. I was extremely hungry and much fatigued, and kept on the bank of the canal, as completely out of the way of the military as I could.

I was at length accosted in my own language by an elderly officer, tall and distingué in his appearance.

“Sir,” said he, “I think I have seen you in England?”

“I have not the honour to recollect having met you, sir,” replied I.

“I shall not readily forget it,” rejoined the French officer: “do you remember being, about two years since, in the town of Odiham?”

“Very well,” said I.

“You recollect some French officers who were prisoners there? There were two ladies with you.”

These words at once brought the circumstance to my mind, and I answered, “I do now recollect seeing you perfectly.”

“Yes,” said my interlocutor, “I was one of the three officers who were pelted with mud by the garçons in the streets of Odiham; and do you remember striking one of the garçons who followed us, for their conduct?”

“I do not forget it, sir,” said I.

“Come with me then,” pursued he, “and we’ll talk it over in another place.”

The fact had been as he represented. A few French officers, prisoners at Odiham, were sometimes, as they told me, roughly treated by the mob. Passing by chance one day with Lady Barrington and my daughter through the streets of that town, I saw a great number of boys following, hooting and hissing the French officers, and throwing dirt at them. I struck two or three of these idle dogs with my cane, and rapped at the constable’s door, who immediately came out and put them to flight, – interfering, however, rather reluctantly on the part of what he called the “d – d French * * * *.” I expressed and felt great indignation; the officers thanked me warmly, and I believe were all shortly after removed to Oswestry: they were much disliked on that side of London.

My French friend told me that his two comrades at Odiham were killed – the one at Waterloo, and the other by a waggon passing over him at Charleroi, on the 16th of June; and that scarcely an officer who had been prisoner at his dépôt at Oswestry had survived the last campaign. He gave me in his room near Vilette wine, bread, and grapes, with dried sausages well seasoned with garlic, and a glass of eau-de-vie. I was highly pleased at this rencontre. My companion was a most intelligent person, and communicative to the utmost extent of my curiosity. His narrative of many of the events of the battles of the 16th and 18th ult. was most interesting, and carried with it every mark of candour. The minutes rolled away speedily in his company, and seemed to me indeed far too fleeting.

He had not been wounded, though in the heat of both engagements. He attributed the loss of the battle to three causes: – the wanton expenditure of the cavalry; the uncovering of the right wing by Grouchy; and the impetuosity of Napoleon, in ordering the last attack by the old guard, which he should have postponed till next day. He said he had no doubt that the Belgian troops would all have left the field before morning. He had been engaged on the left, and did not see the Prussian attack; but said, that it had the effect of consolidating all the different corps of the French army into a confused mass, which lost the battle.

He told me that Napoleon was forced off the field by the irresistible crowds which the advance of the English cavalry had driven into disorder, while there was not a possibility of rallying a single squadron of their own. His episodes respecting the occurrences of that day were most affecting, and I believe true.

In this agreeable society my spirits mounted again, and I soon acquired courage sufficient to express my great anxiety to see the army, adding, that I durst not go alone. My friend immediately took me under his arm, and walked with me through the whole lines, introducing me to several of his comrades, and acting throughout in the kindest and most gentlemanly manner. This was precisely the opportunity I had so long wished for of viewing the French troops, which were then full of impetuosity and confidence, and eager for battle. Neither the Russians nor Austrians had reached Paris, and it was supposed Davoust would anticipate the attack of the other allies, who only waited for the junction of these powers and their heavy artillery to recommence operations. The scene was so new to me, so impressive, and so important, that it was only on my return home my mind got steady enough to organise its ideas, and permit me to take coherent notes of what I had witnessed.

The battle of Waterloo was understood to have dispersed so entirely the French army, – that powerful and glorious display of heroes and of arms which a very few days previously had passed before my eyes, – that scarcely ten men (except Grouchy’s division) returned in one body to Paris; and those who did return were in such a state of wretchedness and depression, that I took for granted the spirit of the French army had been extinguished– their battalions never to be rallied – their courage thoroughly cooled! I considered that the assembly in the vicinity of Vilette could not be numerous, and was more calculated to make a show for better terms than to resist the conquerors. How great then must have been my astonishment when the evening parades turned out, as the officers informed me, above sixty-five thousand infantry, which, with artillery and cavalry, reached together near 80,000 men. I thought several of the privates had drunk rather too much: but whether sober or not, they seemed to be all in a state of wild, enthusiastic excitement – little removed from insubordination, but directly tending to hostility and battle. Whole companies cried aloud, as the superior officers passed them, “Mon Général – à l’attaque! – l’ennemi! l’ennemi! – allons! allons!” others shouted “Nous sommes trahis! trahison! trahison! à la bataille! à la bataille!” Crowds of them, as if by instinct or for pastime, would rush voluntarily together, and in a moment form a long column, then disperse and execute some other manœuvre; while others, dispersed in groups, sang in loud chorus sundry war songs, wherein les Prusses and les Anglais were the general theme.

I had no conception how it was possible that, in a few days after such a total dispersion of the French army, another could be so rapidly collected, and which, though somewhat less numerous, the officer told me evinced double the enthusiasm of those who had formed the defeated corps. They had now it is true the stimulus of that defeat to urge them desperately on to retrieve that military glory which had been so awfully obscured; their artillery was most abundant; and we must never forget that the French soldier is always better informed, and possessed of more morale than our own. In truth, I really do believe there was scarcely a man in that army at Vilette who would willingly have quitted the field of battle alive, unless victorious.

Though their tumultuous excitement certainly at this time bore the appearance of insubordination, my conductor assured me I was mistaken in forming such a judgment: he admitted that they durst not check that exuberant zeal on the instant; but added, that when the period arrived to form them for battle, not a voice would be heard – not a limb move, till the attack commenced, except by order of their leaders; and that if the traitors in Paris suffered them once more to try their fortune, he did not think there was an individual in that army who entertained a doubt of the result.

In the production of this confidence, party spirit was doubtless mixed up: but no impartial observer could deny, that had the troops at Vilette been heartily joined by the national guards and country volunteers then within the walls of Paris, the consequence would have been at least extremely problematical; and if the marais had been armed with pikes, the whole would have been overwhelming.

The day passed on, and I still strolled about with my polite conductor, whom I begged to remain with me. He was not an officer of high rank: I believe a captain of the eighty-first infantry – very thin and worn, gentlemanly, and had seen long service.

From this crowd of infuriated soldiers, he led me farther to the left, whither a part of the old guard, who had been I believe quartered at Montmartre, had been that evening removed. I had, as the reader will perhaps recollect, a previous opportunity of admiring that unrivalled body of veteran warriors; and their appearance this evening interested me beyond measure. Every man looked like an Ajax, exhibiting a firmness of step and of gesture at once formidable and even graceful. At the same time, I fancied that there was a cast of melancholy over their bronzed countenances. When I compare that corps to the ordinary-looking troops now generally composing the guardians of that once military nation, I can scarcely avoid sighing while I exclaim tempora mutantur! I returned to the barrier with my friend, after a long walk.

I grew at length impatient; evening was closing, and, if detained, I must I suppose have bivouacked. To be sure the weather was so fine that it would have been of no great consequence: still my situation was disagreeable, and the more so, as my family, being quite ignorant of it, must necessarily feel uneasy. I was therefore becoming silent and abstracted, (and my friend had no kind of interest to get me released,) when two carriages appeared driving toward the barrier where we stood. A shot was fired by the advanced sentry at one of them, which immediately stopped. A party was sent out, and the carriage entered: there were two gentlemen in it, one of whom had received the ball, I believe, in his shoulder. A surgeon instantly attended, and they proceeded within the lines. They proved to be two of the parlementaires who had gone out with dispatches. The wound was not mortal; and its infliction arose from a mistaken construction, on the part of the sentinel, of his orders.

The other carriage (in which I conceived was Col. Macirone) drove on without going to the head-quarters of Davoust. My kind companion said he would now go and try to get me dismissed: he did so, and procured an order from the adjutant-general for my departure, on signing my name, address, and occupation, and the name of some person who knew me in Paris. I mentioned Mr. Phillips, of Lafitte’s, and was then suffered to depart. It will be imagined that I was not dilatory in walking home, where, of course, I was received as a lost sheep, – no member of my family having the slightest idea whither I had gone.

The officer, as he accompanied me to the barrier, described to me the interview between the French parlementaires and Davoust. They had, in the morning, it seems, made progress in the negotiation, Very much against the marshal’s inclinations. He was confident of victory, and expressed himself, with great warmth, in the following emphatic words: – “Begone! and tell your employer, Fouché, when you return, that the prince of Eckmuhl will defend Paris till its flames set this handkerchief on fire!” – waving one as he spoke. From what I saw, I do believe he would have kept his word; and I cannot doubt that if the dreadful conflict had taken place, the victory on either side would have cost the conqueror half his army: – situated as they were, and with the spirit both armaments possessed, they never could have parted without an almost exterminating carnage.