CHAPTER LIV.

NAPOLEON AGAIN TAKES THE FIELD--HIS DEFEATS--THE ALLIES AT PARIS-- NAPOLEON ABDICATES--HIS ATTEMPT TO POISON HIMSELF.

On January 1, 1814, Rowlandson published ‘The double humbug, or the Devil’s Imp praying for peace,’ a picture in two parts. One represents Napoleon addressing the Senate from his throne, which stands on divers crowns: his friend, the Devil, being perched a-top. A soporific effect among his audience seems to be the outcome of his address, which is as follows: ‘_Extracts of Bonyparty’s Speech, Sunday, 19 December, 1813._ Senators, Counsellors of State, Deputies from the Department to the Legislative Body. Splendid Victories have raised the Glory of the French Arms, during the Campaign. In these weighty circumstances, it was my first thought to call you around me. I have never been seduced by prosperity. I have conceived and executed great designs for the Prosperity and the happiness of the world, as a monarch and a father. I feel that Peace adds to the security of Thrones and that of Families. I have accepted proposals, and the preliminaries. It is necessary to recruit my armies by numerous Levies, and an increase of Taxes becomes indispensable--I am satisfied with the sentiment of my people of Italy, Denmark, Naples, America, and the nineteen Swiss cantons; and have acknowledged the laws which England has, in vain, sought, during four centuries, to impose on France--I have ordered discharges of Artillery on my coming and leaving you.’

The other portion of the picture shows the powers of Europe, before whom Napoleon kneels, surrendering colours and crowns; all, save one of the latter (the French crown), and this he tucks under his arm. His deportment is abject, as is his speech: ‘Gentlemen, Emperors, Kings, Rhenish Confederations, &c., &c., &c. Behold unto you a fallen Impostor, who has for many years been drunk, and intoxicated, with Ambition, Arrogance, and Insolence, who has foolishly and wickedly lost within a twelve Months, a Million of brave but deluded Frenchmen. Who has conceived the great and diabolical design of enslaving the world, and has lost all his friends except Yankee Maddison. Now, Gentlemen, to make amends for my sins, I solicit your pardon, and ask for Peace, on your own Terms, Gentlemen, and I will strictly adhere to all ******** You may take all those Crowns back again, except the one belonging to the Bourbons. My Empress sends you also back the 20 flags I found in some of the Churches, in the course of my flight from Leipsig. As for the story, Gentlemen, of the Corporal and the blowing up the bridge, you must know ’twas a mere Humbug to gull the Lads of Paris.’ Talleyrand also assures the crowned heads, that ‘What my Master has said is true, so help me G--d. Amen.’

On January 21, 1814, Napoleon once more set out from Paris at the head of an army, and in this month he fought at Saint-Dizier, Brienne, Champ-Aubert, Montmirail, Chateau-Thierry-Nangis, and Montereau, but then the French arms were almost everywhere defeated. People could discern the beginning of the end. Meanwhile the caricaturist was busy.

‘The Devil’s Darling’ is another by Rowlandson (March 12, 1814); but it possesses no merit, except the very excellent likeness of Napoleon. He is in swaddling clothes, and being dandled by the arch-fiend.

Wm. Elmes (the ‘W. E.’ of occasional caricatures) drew (March 21, 1814) ‘John Bull bringing Boney’s nose to the Grindstone’; but it is not a new subject, as there is a contemporary caricature of the Scots bringing Charles the Second’s nose to the grindstone. Russia is turning the stone--the allied Powers looking on--and John Bull, who is performing the operation, says: ‘Aye, Aye, Master Boney, I thought I should bring you to it one of these days. You have carried on the trade of grinding long enough, to the annoyance of your oppressed neighbours--One good turn deserves another--Give him a Turn brother Alexander--and let us see how he likes a taste.’

‘The Allied Bakers, or the Corsican Toad in the hole’ (April 1, 1814), is taken bodily from a French caricature, ‘Le Tour des Alliés, ou le Corse près à être cuit,’ although it bears on it ‘_G. H. inv^t Cruickshank fecit_.’ The King of Prussia, Woronzow, and Blücher have a baker’s peel, on which is a dish containing Boney, screaming, ‘Murder, Murder,’ as he is being put into the Allied Oven. Holland sits on the floor blowing the fire. A Frenchman, whose fickleness is shown by the weather-cock on his hat, is opening the oven door for his former master’s destruction, saying: ‘This door sticks! I don’t think I shall get it open!’ Blücher shouts, ‘Pull away Frank,[38] you keep us waiting.’ Woronzow says, ‘In with it, Blucher,’ and the King of Prussia’s opinion is, ‘I tell you what, Woronzow, the Hinges want a little Russia Oil.’ Wellington, who is bearing a tray on which is a Soult pie and a Bordeaux pie, shouts out, ‘Shove altogether, Gentlemen! D--n me, shove door and all in.’

Meanwhile, the allied Austrian, Russian, and Prussian troops had marched on to Paris, and, having defeated Marmont, March 30, 1814, the city was virtually at their mercy. Maria Louisa and the young King of Rome left Paris on March 29, and on the 31st the city capitulated, and the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia entered the city with the allied armies. The Emperor of Austria did not join them, probably out of deference to his paternal feelings. The ‘Times’ of April 6, 1814, thus gives the news of the capitulation:--‘Babylon the great is fallen! Paris, the proud city, the city of philosophy, has bowed her neck to the Conqueror.’

‘Boney forsaken by his Guardian Angel’ (April 3, 1814) shows the Emperor kneeling, one crown already having been taken from him by the arch-fiend, who now is taking another from off his head. The flames of hell are prominent in the distance. Bonaparte implores--‘My Guardian Angel, my Protector, do not desert me in the hour of Danger.’ But the Devil, exultant, says, ‘Poh! Poh! you cannot expect to reign for ever; besides I want you at home, to teach some of the young Imps wickedness.’

On April 3 the fickle French destroyed their idol, for the Provisional Government declared Napoleon deposed, and his dynasty abolished.

On April 5 Bonaparte formally abdicated the throne of France; and, when we consider how long he had troubled the peace of this country, we can pardon the almost brutal exultation of the ‘Times’ of April 11:--

‘The most hateful of Tyrants has finished by proving himself the most infamous of cowards.

‘Two _Extraordinary Gazettes_ were published on Saturday; the latter of which contained BUONAPARTE’S renunciation of sovereignty, in the following terms:--

The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor NAPOLEON was the only obstacle to the re-establishment of the peace of Europe, the Emperor NAPOLEON, _faithful to his oath_, declares that he renounces for himself and his heirs, the Thrones of France and Italy; and that there is no _personal sacrifice_, even that of his life, which he is not ready to make in the interest of France.

Done at the Palace of Fontainebleau the ---- April, 1814.

‘Thus has the last act of this wretch’s public life been marked by the same loathsome hypocrisy which characterised him throughout his guilty career. When he has been solemnly deposed by his own confederates; when the execrations of all France, and of all Europe, are ringing in his ears; when his last army is deserting him by thousands, and an overwhelming force of the Allies is approaching, to drag him to a shameful death, if he refuses the proffer’d mercy--then, forsooth, his forced submission is a voluntary sacrifice, he is actuated by a principle of public spirit, he feels a religious regard for his oath!!!

‘We did not think to have troubled our heads what should become of him, or his worthless carcase--whether he should crawl about upon the face of that earth, which he had so long desolated; or end a miserable existence by his own desperate hand; or be helped out of the world by the guillotine, the halter, or the _coup de grâce_. Certainly, if we had to choose the finest moral lesson for after ages, we could not have preferred any to that, which should at once expose the selfishness, the baseness, and the cowardice of a vainglorious mortal, whom adulation has raised almost to divine honours. And, as to any danger from his life--why, _Jerry Sneak_ was a hero to him. Twice before, had he run away from the field of battle--but that, in the opinions of his besotted admirers, was profound imperial policy.

‘When he first attempted to act CROMWELL, unlike the tough old Puritan, he had nearly fainted; but this was a transient qualm, that “overcame him like a summer’s cloud;” and, besides,

Men may tremble, and look paler, From too much, or too little valour.

‘The abandonment of his throne was an act of undisguised, deliberate cowardice, not altogether unanticipated by us; for it will be remembered that some months ago, in comparing the terms offered to him by the Allies, with _Fluellen’s_ offer of the leek to ancient _Pistol_, we said, that though he might vow “most horrible revenge,” he would eat the leek. We had not then any reason to believe that he would be required to yield up crown and all; but now that circumstances have led to such a point, his conduct in respect to it occasions us no surprise. That which displeases us, however, is, that in the very document which ought to have contained nothing more than his subscription to his own disgrace, he has been allowed to lay claim to something like honour--to shuffle in a lying pretence to virtue. This was not a time to indulge his vanity. The record of his punishment ought rather to have referred to real crimes than to fictitious merits.’

The illuminations on this occasion were very splendid--but perhaps the best of them all, as illustrating the popular feeling, was one which was simply ‘Thank God.’

The following caricature must have been published before the news of the abdication reached England.

‘Blücher the Brave extracting the groan of abdication from the Corsican Bloodhound’ is by Rowlandson (April 9, 1814). The Prussian general having stripped Bonaparte of his crown and uniform, &c., is administering to him a sound shaking, whilst Louis the Eighteenth is being welcomed by Talleyrand and the whole French nation.

‘The Corsican Shuttlecock, or a pretty Plaything for the Allies’ (April 10, 1814), is by G. Cruikshank. Napoleon is the shuttlecock, which is kept in the air by Schwartzenberg and Blücher. The former has just sent him to his comrade with--‘There he goes!! why Blücher! this used to be rather a weighty plaything; but d---- me if it isn’t as light as a feather now.’ Blücher replies, ‘Bravo Schwartzenberg, keep the game alive! send him this way, and d---- him, I’ll drive him back again.’

‘Europe,’ by Timothy Lash ’em (April 11, 1814), gives us a pyramid formed by all the States of that Continent. It is surrounded by clouds, from whence issue the heads of Napoleon’s victims--‘Wright, Georges, Pichegru, Moreau, Palm, and Hofer’--and on the summit of the pyramid, planting the Bourbon flag, is the ghost of the Duc d’Enghien, who hurls Napoleon into hell, where Robespierre and Marat are awaiting him.

His operations Nap pursued, And frequently the troops reviewed. One day, the first of April too, Boney attended the review. He thought the soldiers still his own, Tho’ well the contrary was known. Some of the Generals, ’tis said, The Paris newspapers had read, And of the news, before the crowd, They talk’d together very loud. Our hero still retained his cheer, For he pretended not to hear. As soon as the review was done, Brave Marshal Ney (to have some fun, And let him know his fatal doom), Followed poor Boney to his room.-- ‘In Paris there’s a revolution-- You’ve heard of the new constitution.’ Nap, seeming not to understand, Ney clapp’d the paper in his hand; He read, with evident attention, ’Twas gaining time tho’ for invention. Alas, poor Nap! ’tis as he feared-- And like fall’n Wolsey he appear’d. Exactly the same scene indeed-- _There is that paper for you--read: Then with what appetite you can-- Go, eat your breakfast, my good man._ Nap, spite of all, was very cool, Tho’ certainly an _April fool_: But great indeed was his vexation, When bade to sign his abdication; He looked aghast, he sigh’d, and trembled Before the Generals all assembled-- Twas hard on Boney, we must own, Thus to renounce his crown and throne. How could he help it? for--oh Lord! There was a Cossack with a sword! To add to _brave_ Napoleon’s dread, There was a pistol at his head! So very furious look’d the men, Poor Nap could scarcely hold the pen. And when he did, so great his fright, His name poor Nap could scarcely write; At length, while he was sitting down, He sign’d--‘I ABDICATE MY CROWN.’

The scene, however, was not quite as the poet makes it out, but it was bad enough, if we may credit Madame Junot: ‘We have read of the revolutions of the seraglio: of those of the Lower Empire: of the assassinations of Russia; we have seen the blood-stained crowns of India given to vile eunuchs; but nothing in the pages of history presents any parallel to what passed at Fontainebleau during the days, and above all the nights, passed there by the hero, abandoned by fortune, and surrounded by those whom he supposed to be his friends. A thick veil was drawn over the event, for the principal actors in it carefully concealed their baseness from the eye of the world. Few persons are aware that Napoleon was doomed to death during the few days which preceded his abdication, by a band of conspirators composed of the most distinguished chiefs of the army.

‘“But,” said one of them in the council in which these demons discussed their atrocious project, “what are we to do with him? There are two or three among us, who, like Antony,[39] would exhibit their blood stained robes to the people, and make us play the part of Cassius and Brutus. I have no wish to see my house burned, and to be sent into exile.” “Well,” said another, “we must leave no trace of him. He must be sent to heaven like Romulus.” The others applauded, and then a most horrible discussion commenced. It is not in my power to relate the details. Suffice it to say that the Emperor’s death was proposed and discussed for the space of an hour, with a degree of coolness which might be expected among Indian savages armed with tomahawks. “But,” said he who had spoken first, “we must come to some determination. The Emperor of Russia is impatient. The month of April is advancing, and nothing has been done. Now, for the last time, we will speak to him of his abdication. He must sign it definitely--or----” A horrible gesture followed the last word.

‘Yes, the life of Napoleon was threatened by those very men whom he had loaded with wealth, honours, and favours; to whom he had given lustre from this reflection of his own glory. Napoleon was warned of the conspiracy, and it must have been the most agonising event of his whole life. The torments of St. Helena were nothing in comparison with what he must have suffered when a pen was presented to him by a man who presumed to say, “Sign--if you wish to live.” If these last words were not articulated, the look, the gesture, the inflection of the voice, expressed more than the tongue could have uttered.’

How these rats left the falling house!--Berthier, with a lie on his lips, promising to return, yet knowing full well he never meant to; Constant, his valet, running away with 100,000 francs, and burying them in the forest of Fontainebleau; and Rustan, the _faithful_ Mameluke, running away to Paris. Is it not a sickening sight to see these pitiful rogues deserting their master?

On April 11 the treaty of abdication was signed by the allies, and by it Napoleon was to keep his title of Emperor, and have the sovereignty of the Island of Elba, where, however, he must permanently reside. He was guaranteed a revenue of 6,000,000 francs. Josephine and the other members of the Emperor’s family were to have 2,000,000 francs divided amongst them; and Maria Louisa and the King of Rome were to have the Duchies of Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla.

But, when all was finished, he felt his position too hard to bear. He would have recalled his abdication--but it was too late. Tom from his high estate, separated from his wife and child, deserted by the creatures of his bounty, life was not worth living for; existence was wretched, and he tried to put an end to it by poison on the night of April 12. Baron Fain, in ‘The Manuscript of 1814,’ gives a good account of this occurrence, but not nearly as graphic as does Madame Junot:--

‘Throughout the day his conversation turned on subjects of the most gloomy kind, and he dwelt much on suicide. He spoke so frequently on the subject, that Marchand,[40] his first _valet de chambre_, and Constant were struck with it. They consulted together, and both, with common consent, removed from the Emperor’s chamber an Arabian poniard, and the balls from his pistol-case. The Duke of Bassano had also remarked this continued allusion to suicide, notwithstanding his efforts to divert Napoleon’s thoughts from it. The Duke spoke to Marchand, after he had taken leave of the Emperor, previous to retiring to rest, and he expressed himself satisfied with the precautions which had been taken. The Duke had been in bed some time, when he was awoke by Constant, who came to him pale and trembling: “Monsieur le Duc,” he exclaimed, “come immediately to the Emperor. His Majesty has been taken very ill!” The Duke of Bassano immediately hurried to the bedside of the Emperor, whom he found pale and cold as a marble statue. He had taken poison!

‘When Napoleon departed for his second campaign in Russia, Corvisart gave him some poison of so subtle a nature, that in a few minutes, even in a few seconds, it would produce death. This poison was the same as that treated of by Cabanis, and consisted of the prussic acid which has subsequently been ascertained to be so fatal in its effects. It was with this same poison that Condorcet terminated his existence. Napoleon constantly carried it about him. It was enclosed in a little bag hermetically sealed, and suspended round his neck. As he always wore a flannel waistcoat next his skin, the little bag had for a long time escaped the observation of Marchand, and he had forgotten it. Napoleon was confident in the efficacy of this poison, and regarded it as the means of being master of himself. He swallowed it on the night above mentioned, after having put his affairs in order and written some letters. He had tacitly bade farewell to the Duke of Bassano and some of his other friends, but without giving them cause for the slightest suspicion.

‘The poison was, as I have already observed, extremely violent in its nature; but, by reason of its subtlety, it was the more liable to lose its power by being kept for any length of time. This happened in the present instance. It caused the Emperor dreadful pain, but it did not prove fatal. When the Duke of Bassano perceived him in a condition closely resembling death, he knelt down at his bedside and burst into tears: “Ah! Sire!” he exclaimed, “what have you done?” The Emperor raised his eyes and looked at the Duke with an expression of kindness; then, stretching to him his cold and humid hand, he said: “You see, God has decreed that I shall not die. He, too, condemns me to suffer!”’