Part 41

This step was not taken until after long hesitations, for even to the last he believed in the possibility of continuing hostilities. The troops were still enthusiastically loyal, and eagerly listened to his appeal to them to march upon Paris. But his marshals insisted that he must abdicate. This he finally did in a conditional form, reserving the rights of Napoleon II, and the regency of Marie Louise. This form, owing to the refusal of the Czar to accept it, was finally altered until it read as follows: “The allied powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon was the sole obstacle to the restoration of peace in Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, loyal to his oaths, declares that he renounces in behalf of himself and his heirs the thrones of France and Italy, because there is no personal sacrifice, even to the extent of his life, that he is not ready to make in the interest of France.”...

For several days after abdicating, Napoleon remained in Fontainebleau practically deserted by his old comrades in arms, who were anxious to make peace with the new government, now that Louis XVIII had been proclaimed king. On the night of the 12th of April he tried to poison himself, but the attempt failed, for the toxic drug, which he had always carried on his person since the retreat from Moscow, had lost its power. He soon recovered, however, from his depression, and on the 20th of April, 1814, signed the treaty of Fontainebleau, by which he was given the sovereignty of the island of Elba, and retained the title of Emperor.

The story of the Spanish campaign, which had a potent influence in causing Napoleon’s ruin, is marked by many brilliant feats of arms on the part of the French, but the country could no longer be held. Finally, by the successful advance of Wellington, the Spanish war became merged in the general defense of French territory, when France was invaded by the coalition in 1814. On Spanish soil the final disaster came at the battle of Vitoria, June 21, 1813, where the French lost 7000 men, 180 pieces of artillery, and nearly all their baggage trains. One of the great mistakes of the Peninsular War was Soult’s refusal to give battle to Wellington in 1812, when all the advantages in numbers were on his side. Later on, though he was in a far inferior position, he proved a most obstinate opponent, contesting Wellington’s march north at every step with an army inferior to that under his opponent. He gave way slowly, and while Napoleon was fighting the allies in his last campaign before his abdication, Soult had been forced to withdraw from Bayonne, and then from Toulouse, which Wellington entered on the 12th of April, 1814.

It is generally held by critics that the war in Spain was a most serious mistake from start to finish, and was the chief cause of Napoleon’s ruin. Whatever share in the failure of the imperial policy in the Peninsula may be assigned to the mediocre capacity of Joseph and to the confused strategy of the French armies due to the jealousies of the marshals, a large part of the responsibility falls to the account of Napoleon himself. He left his work half done in the Peninsula, where he underrated the difficulties of conquest. He reckoned that it would cost him but 12,000 men! As a matter of fact, it kept a large number of his best troops occupied at a time when they were most needed. It was sheer folly to undertake the Russian campaign while Spain was still far from being pacified. It was also culpably bad tactics to allow Wellington to destroy the prestige of French soldiers and generals, and it was close to madness, in 1813, not to withdraw altogether from Spain, when every man was needed in France to defend its frontiers from the coalition. On the other hand, while Spain’s resistance to French arms was a glorious record of patriotism, modern Spain has paid very dear for its glory. All the elements of reaction were interested in the downfall of the Napoleonic régime, and in no other country, not even Italy, did the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty produce such deplorable maladministration and civil disorder.

The dramatic farewell of the Emperor to his troops at Fontainebleau makes a picturesque “mise-en-scène” for the close of a tragedy; it is unfortunate that the spectacular instincts of his genius induced him to accept the ridiculous rôle of sovereign of the island of Elba. It would have been more dignified for him to have refused the offer of the allies, and to have exchanged the rôle of a “roi fainéant” for that of a private individual. Nothing illustrates the parvenu traits of his character more than his desire to preserve the shadow of the royal dignity, even if he had to accept bounty from the hands of a Bourbon king to maintain it.

The allies fully realized the danger of his proximity in Elba, and unofficially there were various plans discussed with a view to rid themselves of their dangerous neighbor. Talleyrand was plotting to have him imprisoned, while the English urged deportation to an inaccessible island. Napoleon, who was an admirable actor, accommodated himself to his Lilliputian kingdom and to his mimic court, and adopted the pose of a modern Timoleon. “I wish to live henceforth,” he said, “like a justice of the peace. The Emperor is dead, I am no longer anything. I think of nothing outside of my small island. I exist no longer for the world. Nothing now interests me but my family, my cottage, my cows, and my mules.” His demands were not so modest as his words appear, for he spent nearly 2,000,000 francs at Elba in eight months.

He complained bitterly at being separated from his son and his wife, both of whom Francis kept in Vienna. There was no intention that they should be allowed to rejoin the Emperor; indeed, Marie Louise, who was of a very passive disposition, was content not to see her husband again, especially after Metternich had supplied her with an admirer, General Neippberg. It might have been wiser, certainly it would have been more humane, if the allies had adopted a less stringent policy of isolation. Whatever one may think of the sincerity of Napoleon’s sentiments, he struck a true note, when he wrote the words “my son has been taken from me, as were formerly the children of the vanquished, to adorn the triumph of their conqueror. One cannot find in modern times an example of such barbarity.” He was not entirely dejected, for he was visited by his mother and his youngest sister, and though the king of Rome was withheld from him, an irregular heir was brought to Elba by the Countess Walinska, whom Napoleon had met some years before in Poland.

There were financial embarrassments, which made impossible the idyllic life the exiled monarch had mapped out for himself; the income stipulated by the treaty of Fontainebleau was not paid. But there were more weighty reasons for the flight from Elba, which occurred early in 1815 (February 26). For some time Napoleon had been in secret communication with Murat, probably with a view to restoring the kingdom of Italy, through coöperation from Naples. This scheme promised more difficulties than a return to France, where the Bourbon restoration was not popular, and where the army and its generals were far from being satisfied with their new situation, under a king who favored the lifelong supporters of his cause. Plans had been concocted during the winter to dethrone Louis XVIII, in which both the Bonapartist sympathizers and some of the old revolutionary leaders had acted together. On hearing of this, Napoleon considered that the moment was opportune for his reappearance on French soil. With 1100 of his veterans who had acted as his guard at Elba, he reached southern France in safety. As the prevailing sentiment in this region was royalist, he made his way with his small band through the Alps to Grenoble, marching sometimes as much as thirty miles a day. By the peasants of the country he was welcomed everywhere with enthusiasm. From Paris orders were sent to treat him as an outlaw.

The critical time came at Grenoble, when Napoleon’s dramatic qualities helped him to secure the allegiance of his old troops. He marched impressively at the head of his veterans to within gunshot distance of a regiment drawn up in his way. “Soldiers,” he said, “look well at me. If there is among you one soldier who wishes to kill his Emperor he can do it. I come to offer myself for you to shoot.” The effect was instantaneous, and the answer to his appeal was the old familiar cry, “Long live the Emperor.”

The enthusiasm increased as he proceeded farther north. Nothing could arrest it or prevent the defection of the troops, not even the appeals for loyalty to the Bourbon king, addressed to their men by the marshals, who strove to outdo one another in their official abuse of the enterprise. Soult spoke of Napoleon as an adventurer; others called him a public enemy or a mad brigand, while Ney undertook to bring him to Paris in an iron cage. The army cared nothing for these criticisms or warnings; even Ney himself joined the movement and turned over his troops to the “man from Elba.” By the 20th of March Napoleon was in Paris at the Tuileries; his marvelous progress was a restoration, not based on diplomacy, but made possible by the enthusiastic loyalty of the population, and the rank and file of the army. Not a gun had been fired. At Grenoble it had been the soldiers who had refused to obey their officers’ command, when told to shoot. Afterwards there was no officer found willing to repeat the command.

The question of establishing a new government was solved by inaugurating a liberal constitutional rule. Napoleon seemed once again to remember that he was the creation of the Revolution. As an evidence of his sincerity to the tradition of the Republic, he selected as his chief adviser, Benjamin Constant, the old Jacobin leader, whose independence a few years before Napoleon had so much resented when Constant had led the opposition in the Tribunate. All these things were now forgotten. “Public discussions, free elections, responsible ministers, liberty of the press; I want all this. I am a man of the people! If the people want liberty, I am bound to give it.” Under the new government, which was accepted by a small vote, owing to the number of those who stayed away from the polls, the elections returned a majority of liberals and republicans, who were not in sympathy with the restored empire. Many preferred to have a regency with Napoleon’s son or the Duke of Orléans. But the real hopelessness of the situation came from the implacable attitude of the allies. At the Congress of Vienna, where the great powers were rearranging the map of Europe amidst much jealousy and intrigue, they at least agreed on one subject: the refusal to allow Napoleon to rule France. That devoted country was put under an interdict. The four powers agreed to fight the French Emperor with a coalition army of more than 1,000,000 men. To oppose this immense force Davout, acting under Napoleon’s directions, had in a few weeks got together for the purpose of national defense 500,000 men to be ready by the end of June. Elaborate plans were made to protect the frontiers, and Napoleon proposed to take the offensive without waiting for the allies to invade the country.

The nearest allied army was in Belgium, composed of 100,000 English and Dutch under Wellington, and 150,000 Prussians under Blücher. Napoleon set out to oppose these forces with 180,000 men, intending to get between the English and the Prussians and beat them separately, trusting to the well-known rapidity of his movements to keep them from joining. Strategically the plan was a brilliant one, but it was not capably executed. Ney, at Quatre Bras, did not win a complete victory over the English because the engagement was begun too late. At Ligny, Napoleon attacked Blücher, who fought obstinately, though he lost 20,000 men, and was not completely crushed as had been planned. Instead of withdrawing in confusion, as had been expected, Blücher set out to join Wellington’s troops. Grouchy, who was sent in pursuit of the Prussians, did not know of this operation and was under the impression that he was carrying out properly his instructions to pursue the Prussians alone, whereas the greater part of the Prussian army had already come in touch with Wellington, and Grouchy failed, therefore, to bring his men back in time to Waterloo where they were needed. Wellington was strongly intrenched and all attempts to take his position failed. The battle, begun at 11 A.M. on June 18, 1815, was not decided until five o’clock, when Blücher effected his junction with the English forces. It was a most desperate engagement, for Napoleon realized what depended on it. The losses were 32,000 French and 22,000 of the allies.

A second act of abdication was now imposed upon Napoleon, who accepted it, resigning in favor of his son. He even offered to serve as a simple general to prevent the allies from capturing Paris. This was not an absolutely chimerical proposal, for there was an enormous mass of men gathered by Davout, ready to fight even after the defeat of Waterloo. But the elected representatives would not hear of continuing the struggle. Napoleon lingered for several days near Paris, at Malmaison, and it was only when he was advised by the temporary government that they could not be responsible for his personal safety, that he traveled towards the west, where his friends were arranging that he should be taken on an American vessel to the United States. The sea coast was watched by British cruisers, so the defeated conqueror decided to surrender himself to the British, intending to claim their hospitality and protection as a guest, not as a prisoner. Apparently, Napoleon rejected the plan to cross the Atlantic “incognito,” for the more spectacular one of throwing himself on the mercy of his most bitter antagonists, because he counted on finding a protection under the constitutional régime of Great Britain, and especially on the ability of the liberal opposition to prevent him from being treated with exceptional harshness. He realized, too, that it would be most dangerous for him to fall into the hands of any of the allied Continental Powers, who might have had him condemned to death by a court-martial or immured in close confinement. It is known that the British premier, Castlereagh, hoped that Napoleon would fall into the hands of Louis XVIII and be treated as a rebel. Therefore, when the vessel which carried him reached the English coast, there was some hesitation as to the treatment he would receive.

Finally, at the end of July, the problem was solved by arranging to send the prisoner to the Island of St. Helena, because, on account of its isolation, there would be little chance of escape. The climate was healthy, close confinement would not be necessary, and Napoleon was permitted to take a suite of servants and friends with him. During his residence at Elba, the plan of a removal of the Emperor to St. Helena had been discussed by the Powers at the Congress of Vienna; perhaps the knowledge of this fact may have contributed largely to induce the flight from Elba and the short-lived attempt to restore the empire.

Acting under international agreement, England became responsible for the guardianship of Napoleon, who was called the prisoner of the Powers. In October, 1815, began the captivity at St. Helena. It was naturally a trying experience to a man who had lately played so great a rôle in the world, and Napoleon did not have the temperament to endure so conspicuous a change in fortune. He instantly began a campaign to secure his release from captivity. Reckoning on the action of public opinion in England working in his behalf, he left nothing undone to exaggerate the onerous conditions under which he lived as an exile. On its side, the British government, which was being administered by men who represented a selfish oligarchy, and who had to their credit a long record of inefficiency, corruption, and attacks on popular rights, was not likely to show especial consideration to a fallen antagonist at St. Helena. A regular system of persecution, inane and petty, was invented, and in applying it the governor of the island, Sir Hudson Lowe, a man of morose temper, whose character is admirably indicated by his name, showed himself a master.

There were various plans for aiding an escape, many of them originating in the United States. Even an attack on St. Helena was discussed by Napoleon’s followers, some of whom were on the American continent as participants in the Brazilian war of independence against Portugal. But Napoleon refused to consider any such methods of relief. “I could not be in America six months,” he said, “without being attacked by the murderers, whom the royalist committees, that returned to France in the train of the Count d’Artois, have hired against me. In America I see nothing but murder and oblivion, so I prefer to stay on at St. Helena.” He saw truly that, in a life of freedom on the other side of the Atlantic, there would be little chance of posing as the victim of misfortune and maltreatment, and it was on the maintenance of this pose that he built his hope of relief from captivity, perhaps even of a return to his old place as ruler of France, for he counted on the expulsion of the Bourbons and a reaction of popular feeling in his behalf. A change of ministry in England also he looked forward to as the opening of an avenue of escape to Europe. He refused to take exercise because, in his walks, according to regulations, he had to be accompanied by an English officer; therefore, he blamed his bad health on the British government. Care was taken by publications in London to detail at length the sufferings of the captive. Incessant complaints were made of the trying climate of the island, the aim being to represent the banishment to St. Helena as nothing but a plan to get rid of Napoleon by the toxic effects of a tropical atmosphere. Indeed, the bad climate of St. Helena has become an inseparable part of the Napoleonic legend, yet we know that Napoleon said to members of his own suite, that if he had to live an exile, St. Helena was, after all, the best spot.

As the years passed, nothing was changed, for the Whigs in England were not strong enough to get any measures though Parliament favorable to Napoleon, and in 1818 the five Great Powers issued a signed statement that they approved of the strict treatment of the prisoner by the British government, and resolved that all correspondence with Napoleon, such as sending money or other communications, which was not submitted to the inspection of the governor, must be regarded as an attack on the public safety and punished accordingly.

Under the régime of no exercise imposed upon himself by Napoleon, his health became impaired; his manner of life accentuated the symptoms of a disease, cancer of the stomach, which had appeared long before the period of his exile. It was an inherited malady, for his father had died of it, also his eldest sister. Some relief was secured by his adopting a more active life in 1819; but with the beginning of the year 1821, the progress of the disease was rapid; exercise was no longer possible, and even occasional dictation was found to be an exhausting task. In April the condition of the prisoner was evidently hopeless, and after he was assured on this point by a surgeon of the British army, Napoleon dictated his testament to Montholon, one of his faithful companions. After his death, which took place on May 5, 1821, the body of the great captain was buried not far from Longwood, his residence. Nearly a generation elapsed before it was carried to its present resting place beneath the dome of the Invalides at Paris.

IX THE NAPOLEONIC REGIME

During the captivity at St. Helena much attention was given by Napoleon to the dictation of his memoirs. These, however, cover only a short portion of his career and are confessedly apologetic in character. They are shrewdly constructed, often with a gross disregard of accuracy, in order to influence public opinion in his favor. In his conversations also he made good use of his interlocutors, to build up that legend of Napoleonic infallibility and good faith that soon found a receptive atmosphere in the prevalent romanticism of European society. He was convinced to the end of his life that Bourbon rule in France could not last, and he looked forward to a time when his son would be restored. In summing up his own career, he claimed that his dictatorship was a necessity. “Should I be accused of having loved war too much, the historian will demonstrate that I was never the aggressor. Should I be censured for desiring universal empire for myself, he will show that that was the product of circumstances, and how my enemies drove me to it, step by step.”

In many passages in the same strain Napoleon curiously manifests his adhesion to the principles and phrases of the idealogues, on whom as a ruler he heaped so much scorn. It may be doubted whether the base metal of his rhetoric would have become current, if the Powers who participated in the Congress of Vienna had not introduced as their maxims of political morality the inflated and transparently insincere professions of the Holy Alliance. Indeed, from the beginning to the end of the Napoleonic period, the point of view that the coalitions against him were fighting in behalf of nationalism and liberty is little short of absurd. At almost any time France under Napoleon might have arranged an alliance with England by offering her the bait of commercial concessions; and even more unsubstantial than the Napoleonic legend is its antithesis, that the Tory oligarchy of England were spending hundreds of millions of pounds of their good money for the benefit of the peoples and states on the Continent.

Napoleon’s inferiority cannot be discovered in his lack of morality as a ruler, if morality be determined according to the standards of the allied Powers; his chief opponents were trained and acted according to the principles adopted in the partition of Poland. His lack of scruples carried him farther, simply because of the immeasurable distance between his own genius and the commonplace characteristics of any of his antagonists. He built up his personal rule on his military skill by consistent and well-directed effort. France was made the instrument of his ambition; it was in his interest, not in the interest of the country he ruled, that Germany, Italy, and Spain were made dependent states. France would have been more solidly established, if, in spite of all military success abroad, her ruler had been satisfied with her natural frontiers.