Napoleon

by Emil Ludwig

  " The throne is nothing more than a piece of wood covered with satin. I, and I alone, represent the people. I am the State. If France wants a different constitution, let her find another monarch for herself. Do you think my words proud ? I utter them because I have the courage, and because France owes her greatness to me." After this language in the vein of the Roi Soleil, on New Year's Day he openly threatens the deputies, and says he will have them closely watched.

  That very day, Bliicher crosses the Rhine.

  Thus, after twenty years of effort, and after six great wars, the more or less united powers of Europe and the old monarchical idea, incorporated in a Prussian field marshal, have made their way back across the boundary river of the revolution—and in the same hour, the heir of these modern ideas scatters their representatives and threatens imprisonment. With

  Brotherly Blindness

  a similar logic, the manifestoes of the conflicting worlds have changed places. In Notre Dame, where for twenty years nothing has been heard but thanksgiving services, prayers are now offered up on behalf of the success of French arms. From the allies, on the other hand, who have so long heard talk of success of the French arms as heralding the liberation of conquered peoples, come assurances to conquered France that the invaders are " liberators."

  The legitimists have at length learned from their great foe the technique of his battles and his proclamations. But if they are able to turn the lesson to good account, it is only because of their preponderance of power, and because of the weariness of a nation, which, after twenty years of glory, now seeks nothing but repose.

  To begin with, they weaken their position by asking too much; for when they offer nothing better than the old frontiers of 1792, the Emperor breaks off negotiations, and makes ready to repel their onslaught. In spite of all difficulties, he is able to strengthen his fighting front. His spirits are now steadily rising. When a pious count advises him to send the empress and her ladies to kiss the relics of Ste. Genevieve, Napoleon bursts out laughing, and says : " You're a pretty bigot! I am going to fight it out! "

  But to whom, in this stern moment, does he entrust the capital ? Who merits all his confidence ?

  Joseph ! Joseph, who understands nothing about war and has been keeping open house for the Emperor's enemies, becomes lieutenant general of France and governor of Paris ! This domestic peace treaty throws a glaring light upon the Emperor's isolation, upon his lack of confidence in his supporters, and upon his family feeling. Shortly before leaving for the front, Napoleon has coldly ordered his brother to choose between openly declaring himself to be the friend of the empress-regent or continuing to be banished from Paris. " You can live in retirement at your country-seat, so long as I am alive. If I die,

  The Fortune of War

  you will be killed or imprisoned. At Morfontaine, you will certainly be of no use either to your own people or to France, but at any rate you will not do me any harm. Make your choice. Feelings, whether friendly or hostile, are useless and out of place."

  The tone is that of a man fighting to save his crown. He reckons with the likelihood of death; burns a great many State papers ; and provides for his natural sons. Little Leon is to receive a fixed income, Walewska's boy is to have a big majorat. As for his legitimate heir, who is now nearly three years old, Napoleon has the child in his arms when he takes leave of the officers of the National Guard. " I entrust to you the dearest of my possessions. You are answerable ! " Once more he urges tenacity on his brother; once more he leaves his wife regent of their son's realm. Next morning he quits Paris.

  He will not re-enter the city for more than a year, after devious wanderings.

  XIII

  In a few weeks he is beaten.

  His first strokes are successful. Near Brienne, where he forces Bliicher to retreat, and where he himself takes so active a part in the fight that he is obliged to draw his sword in self-defence, he recognises the tree under which " as a twelve-year-old youngster I used to sit and read Tasso." A romantic encounter which links his later life with those early days when his dreams were first dreamed ! His historical feeling concerning himself grows in such circumstances to legendary proportions.

  Immediately thereafter, Bliicher gains a victory over him near La Rothiere. Paris is threatened. The Emperor's strength seems broken. Caulaincourt, in a letter, begs him to yield ; Maret does the same by word of mouth. Napoleon pays little heed to what Maret is saying; absently, he flutters the pages of a book by Montesquieu. Then, pointing to a passage, he bids

  Two Hundred and Fifty Men

  Maret read aloud. " I know of nothing nobler than the determination of a monarch of our day to prefer to bury himself beneath the ruins of a throne rather than accept proposals to which no king should ever hearken."

  " I know of something nobler still! " exclaims Maret. " That you should sacrifice your glory and thereby fill the abyss wherein, otherwise, France will find her grave ! "

  " Very well," answers the Emperor. " Make peace. Caulain-court can conclude it, and sign the documents. I shall bear the shame. But do not claim from me that I myself should dictate my own abasement! " Maret writes to Caulaincourt in Chatillon, where he is negotiating anew with the enemy. Caulaincourt demands confirmation. Meanwhile the Emperor has veered about. He writes to Joseph : " Hold the gates bravely. Have two guns mounted and see that the National Guard takes up its position there. . . . Place fifty men at each gate armed with service muskets, one hundred with fowling pieces, and one hundred with pikes. Thus, each gate will be guarded by two hundred and fifty men."

  Croesus has become a beggar ! Only six months ago, nay, even three months back, Napoleon would have added three noughts to the figures! But now, encircled by the conglomerated forces of so many princes, two cannon and a hundred fowling pieces must suffice to save Paris ! He sees the absurdity, for the same evening Maret finds him depressed. The minister, however, tries to persuade the Emperor to dictate the conditions of peace : Belgium and the left bank of the Rhine are to be free, Italy must be yielded up, everything which Bonaparte and Napoleon conquered must be given back in order that he may keep Paris and the piece of wood covered with satin. He will sign to-morrow, he says. Those who love him, tremble at thought of the moment when with one stroke of the pen he will lose all that his warlike deeds have won.

  But fate guards him from this. News comes during the night. The enemy's position is worse than it seemed the previous day.

  Gloomy Forebodings

  Once more the war lord's imagination gets to work. When, next morning, Maret arrives with the papers for the Emperor's signature, he finds his master brooding over the map. Napoleon hardly notices his entrance. All the minister can catch is a few hurried words :

  " Other matters are to the fore! I am determined to smash Bliicher ! " When, at the self-same hour, Joseph's letter arrives wherein he states that Paris is in peril, Napoleon, in the interludes of issuing army orders, dictates, from the depths of his heart, this rock-like answer :

  " Should Paris be taken, I shall no longer continue to live. ... I have commanded you to do all that is needful to safeguard the empress, the king of Rome, and our family. ... I have the right to claim the assistance of my kin, for I have helped them so often in the past. . . .

  " If Talleyrand considers that the empress should in any case remain in Paris, this advice is secret treachery. Do not trust him ! For sixteen years I have associated with him, and have often given him favours. But nothing is more certain than that he is the greatest enemy of our house, now that luck has forsaken us. Take my advice to heart. I understand events better than the young folk. If I lose the fight and die, you will be the first to hear of it. ... I fancy that Madame Mere could find asylum with the queen of Westphalia. For God's sake, do not allow the empress and the king to fall into the hands of the enemy ! Austria would then lose interest in the war, and would take the empress to Vienna. England and Russia would make the French see things from their outlook, and our cause would be lost. ..
.

  " Perhaps I shall conclude peace in a day or two. . . . Never since the world began has a sovereign allowed himself to be taken alive in an open city. ... So long as I live, I must be obeyed. If I die, my reigning son and the regent his mother must not allow themselves to be taken, were it only for France's honour. On the contrary, they must withdraw with the last of

  Andromache and Astyanax

  their soldiers and entrench themselves in the remotest village. Otherwise it might be said that I had sacrificed my son's throne. . . .

  " I would rather know that my son had been killed than that he was being brought up in Vienna as an Austrian prince. I have never seen Andromache played without lamenting the fate of Astyanax, and I have always regarded it as a stroke of good fortune that his father did not live to see it. You do not know the French people. The consequences of these vast events are incalculable! "

  This hunted man is panting for breath. For the first time since his youth, death or collapse seems close at hand; perhaps both. When he writes commanding Joseph to prepare for either eventuality, the two main elements of his soul are mingling, and both are scattering sparks. His calculating temperament is reckoning up the disastrous consequences that would ensue, should Austria's ambition cease to be operative; but at the same time his idea of the destiny of his nearest and dearest takes a soaring flight. Were he to fall next day, this letter would remain to show that honour and glory had been the last flames of his heroic imagination. But to-day, as always, everything discloses a meditation upon the historical parallels which have throughout life been his spur to greatness.

  Thus the letter is the burning-cold document of a statesman and poet, and only in this frame of mind is it becoming for a Napoleon to perish.

  At the same time, he is a great military commander to the last. When he divides the remnants of his army into two halves, and begins by defeating Bliicher with one of them in a brilliant advance, the six battles he fights in nine days, from Champau-bert to Montereau, are still in the avalanche tempo of General Bonaparte. But that the names of these battle-fields are French, tells us the whole story; hitherto his victories have always borne foreign names. At Montereau he is an artillerist once more, training the guns with his own hand as at Toulon. He cries :

  Excitement of the Campaign

  " Forward, comrades ! The cannon ball that will hit me has not been cast! "

  He has settled accounts with Bliicher. Now to deal with Schwarzenberg! But the Austrian is afraid of having his renown as commander dimmed, and is sedulous to avoid a decisive conflict; he actually writes direct to Berthier, suggesting that a truce be arranged in Chatillon. Enough for the Emperor to read this, and his lust for battle is redoubled. Another letter to Joseph, written with his own hand this time, breathing defiance, shrewd, bold:

  " You have been talking to my wife about the Bourbons, but you should avoid such topics. I have no wish to take shelter behind my wife. . . . That would only sow dissension between us. ... I have never tried to win the applause of the Parisians, for I am no stage puppet. . . . Besides, the real Paris is something very different from the passions of the three thousand persons who are raising all the clamour. Of course it would be easier to explain that one cannot levy any soldiers, than it is to make the attempt. . . . Je vous embrasse! "

  It is many, many years since he has penned these words at the close of a letter. Not since the Marengo days has he written thus to any of his brothers or to any of his commanders —and Joseph is both. His heart is beating more vigorously. Next day, writing to Savary, who has informed him about a petition to the monarchs, and about the regency and fears and intrigues, his phrasing is more incisive, and bears witness to the excitement of a campaign:

  " They shall learn that I am still the man of Wagram and Austerlitz! I will have no intrigues in the State. . . . Let me tell you that if a petition against the public authority is being circulated, I will arrest King Joseph and all the others who sign it! ... I want no tribunes of the people! I myself am the great tribune ! "

  Meanwhile the allies are quarrelling. The tsar wants Paris to be placed under a Russian governor until the nation chooses

  Old Friends Betray Him

  Bernadotte or another; Austria will hear of nothing but a Bourbon restoration; Schwarzenberg wants peace to be made at once, and instead of joining battle is content to assume " a military attitude." But Bliicher, who has remarshalled his forces, simply cries " Forward ! " and is on the march. When the allies once more send a proposal for the re-establishment of the old frontiers of France, the Emperor is enraged, saying: " I am so angry, that I feel dishonoured by the mere suggestion." Being reminded that the enemy outnumbers him by three to one, he answers heroically : " I have fifty thousand men. Add myself, and you get a hundred and fifty thousand ! "

  Now, at the beginning of March, when he is to attack Bliicher once more, for the command of his other army he puts his trust in Marmont, his earliest companion-in-arms.

  But the spirit of revolt is rising. It had shown itself to Napoleon at Diiben Castle in the previous autumn ; during the winter it had been fomented in his brother's circle ; now it was to eventuate in treason under fire. Marmont, the first among men still above ground who had served under Napoleon, is also the first to betray him. Oudinot and Macdonald have lost the battle of Bar-sur-Aube. Now, at Laon, Marmont makes no more than a pretence of fighting, leaves his artillery in the town square, thus snatches victory from his master, and even allows himself to be surprised in his camp. " The Emperor would have been justified in cutting him down," says Berthier, " but is so fond of him that, after making a scene, he has left him in command of his corps."

  What is more natural than that, during these days, his heart should go out to the friends of his youth ? But Marmont is not the only traitor to whom he is lenient! Augereau, who had fought beside him at Rivoli, begins to make signals to the Austrians, fails to be at his post. The reprimand he receives is an affectionate one. Napoleon writes to him almost as if they were still brothers in the field, as of old.

  " Six hours' rest were not enough for you ? . . . What pitiful

  He Seeks Death in Battle

  excuses you are making, Augereau ! No money ! No horses ! I command you to take the field within twelve hours of receiving this. If you are still the old Augereau of Castiglione, you can keep your command. But if you find the burden of your sixty years so heavy, hand over the command to the oldest of your generals. The country is in danger! . . . You should be the first in the firing line. We must all put on our seven-leagued boots, and must find the reckless courage of'93. If the French soldiers see your plumes at the outposts, you will be able to lead your men whithersoever you please."

  Here we have General Bonaparte once more. The red of sunset reminds us of the glories of sunrise.

  Owing to Marmont's retreat, the Emperor is left unsup ported at Arcis-sur-Aube, and has no more than a few thousand men with which to face a great army. Defeat is inevitable. During the height of the battle, a dust eddy sweeps across the field. A thousand dragoons are panic-stricken, and take to flight, shouting : " The Cossacks ! " The Emperor gallops forward into the press. " Dragoons ! Turn and fight! You are running away, but I stand firm! " He draws his sword and charges the enemy, followed only by his staff and the bodyguard. Six thousand Cossacks take to flight. It is years upon years since he has led a cavalry attack. His horse is shot under him, and he mounts another. Berthier reports that the Emperor was obviously hoping to find death on the field.

  But death does not come for the asking. No more than Csesar, Cromwell, or Frederick, is Napoleon destined for this swift, heroic end. Such men are something more than military commanders, and must live out their lives as leaders of nations, —even though they have to fight against their own nation. Henceforward the blows thicken, and each blow is symbolical.

  But who can wonder if, at last, men forsake the despiser of men ? He has made princes of his soldiers; should it surprise us that they prefer their prince
doms to a soldier's death ? Need we wonder that a wife sprung from an ancient ruling house,

  Arm the Peasants

  married off to an upstart, should be quick to repudiate him and to become a Habsburg once more ? That his brothers, in whom he has shown too much trust, should, when disaster comes, think of themselves rather than of the man to whom they owe everything ?

  When, in his last letters to Marie Louise, he asks her to write to her father, she complies with a bad grace, and, instead of following the example of Maria Theresa, she pens cold letters which can serve as hints to her father and his ministers. News reaches the allied headquarters that the English have landed in Bordeaux, and that the Bourbon flag has been hoisted there ; a letter from the Emperor to his wife is intercepted, a letter in which he announces his intention to withdraw behind the Marne. It is enough ; at length all are agreed for the march on Paris.

  In this utmost danger, Napoleon has still a last bold shift. He will arm the peasants as a national reserve ; they will be ready to his hand, for they hate the invading foreigners. But now tidings come that Marmont has allowed himself to be beaten once more, and is withdrawing to Paris with Mortier. Like one who hears that his house is on fire, the Emperor storms back towards Paris, entrusts the command of his troops to Berthier, and rides citywards with his body-guard. Then, leaving everything behind, he jumps with Caulaincourt into a post-chaise, hoping it will not be too late to seize the reins of power. After how many victories has he not driven in such a carriage through the gates of his capital ? Always his thoughts have circled round the problem, " What is Paris saying ? How shall I find things there ? " But now there is only one idea pulsing in his brain : Will three persons stand firm till I come : three to whom I can entrust the safety of the realm ? The empress as regent, Joseph as governor of Paris, Marmont as leader of the strongest corps !