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. Torn 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, 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 1 He accompanied the Emperor to Elba. Constant, as we have seen, left him. 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!"' VOL. II. CHAPTER LV. NAPOLEON LEAVES FOR ELBA-HIS RECEPTION THERE. AFTER a sad parting with his old guard at Fontainebleau, on April 20, Napoleon left for Elba, embarking on board an English frigate on the 28th. We can now resume the caricatures. Rowlandson produced (April 12, 1814) 'Bloody Boney, the Carcass Butcher; left off Trade and retiring to Scarecrow Island.' Napoleon and the Empress, together with a bag of brown bread, are mounted on a donkey-he wears a fool's cap, and she belabours the ass with a 'Baton Marechale'; the young King of Rome precedes them on a Corsican dog. The usual direction-post (a gallows) shows the road to Elba, and ravens are hankering after him, saying, 'We long to pick your bones.' A heavybooted postilion is calling out, Be Gar, you Cocquin, now I shall drive my old Friends and bonne customers de English. Vive le Roi et le Poste Royale.' Rowlandson plagiarised Gillray by almost slavishly copying 'Death of the Corsican Fox' (Vol. I. p. 204), only he substituted Blücher for George the Third, and changed the names on the dogs' collars to Wellington, Swartzenberg, Kutusoff, Duke of York, and Crown Prince. This etching is called 'Coming in at the death of the Corsican fox. Scene the Last' (April 12, 1814). 'A Grand Manoeuvre! or, the Rogues march to the Here Island of Elba,' G. Cruikshank (April 13, 1814). Napoleon is shewn weeping bitterly at his own disgrace His hands are bound behind him, his tattered uniform is put on wrong side in front, his boots have no soles nor toes, and his spurs are strapped in front; some gamins are tugging at a halter which is round his neck, and are dragging him to a boat, in which sits the Devil, waiting for him; Talleyrand is doing all in his power to expedite matters by pushing him behind with an 'Allied broom,' and he goes to his doom amidst universal execrations. The little King of Rome is in one of his coat-tail pockets, and calls out, 'By Gar, Papa, I have von grand manœuvre in your pocket.' 'The Rogue's March' is by Rowlandson (April 15, 1814), THE ROGUE'S MARCH. From fickle Fortune's gamesome lap What various titles flow; The King of Beggars, Joe! |