The History of Napoleon Buonaparte Part 29

The tempest abated in the morning--but the weather all day long was gusty, and the sky lowering. It was about noon that the French opened their cannonade, and Jerome Buonaparte, under cover of its fire, charged impetuously on Hougomont. The Na.s.sau men in the wood about the house were driven before the French; but a party of English guards maintained themselves in the chateau and garden, despite the desperate impetuosity of many repeated a.s.saults. Jerome, masking the post thus resolutely held, pushed on his cavalry and artillery against Wellington's right.

The English formed in squares, and defied all their efforts. For some time both parties opposed each other here, without either gaining or losing a foot of ground. At length the English fire forced back the French--and the garrison of Hougomont were relieved and strengthened.

The next attempt was made on the centre of the British line, by a great force of cuira.s.siers and four columns of infantry. The horse, coming boldly along the causeway of Genappe, were met in the path by the English heavy cavalry, where the road has been cut down deep, leaving high banks on either side. Their meeting was stern: they fought for some time at sword's length; at last the cuira.s.siers gave way, and fled for the protection of their artillery. The English followed them too far, got amidst the French infantry, and were there charged by fresh cavalry and driven back with much loss.--It was here that Picton died. Meanwhile the infantry of this movement had pushed on beyond La Haye Sainte, and dispersed some Belgian regiments; but being then charged in turn, in front by Pack's brigade of foot, and in flank by a brigade of heavy English horse, were totally routed--losing, besides the slain and wounded, 2000 prisoners and two eagles. The only favourable result of this second grand attempt was the occupation of the farmhouse of La Haye Sainte, which had been garrisoned by Hanoverians. And scarcely had the charge of Pack proved successful, ere the French were again compelled by sh.e.l.ls and cannon to evacuate this prize.

The third a.s.sault was levelled again on the British right--where the infantry awaited it, formed in a double line of squares, placed chequerwise, and protected in front by a battery of thirty field pieces.

The French cuira.s.siers charged the artillerymen and drove them from their guns; and then rode fiercely on the squares behind. These remained steadfast until the enemy were within ten yards of them, and then fired with deadly effect. The cavalry gave back--rallied again, and renewed their charge: this they did several times--and always with the like result. Sometimes they even rode between the squares, and charged those of the second line. At length protracted exposure to such cross fire completed the ruin of these fearless cavaliers. The far greater part of this magnificent force was annihilated in this part of the battle.

When the relics of the cuira.s.siers withdrew, the French cannonade opened once more furiously all along the line; and the English were commanded to lie flat on the ground for some s.p.a.ce, in order to diminish its effects. Lord Wellington had by this time lost 10,000, Buonaparte at least 15,000 men. It was now half-past six o'clock. The heads of Prussian columns began to be discerned among the woods to the right of the French. It was obvious, that unless a last and decisive onset should drive Wellington from the post which he had continued to hold during near seven hours of unintermitting battle, his allies would come fully into the field, and give him a vast superiority of numbers wherewith to close the work of the day. Napoleon prepared, therefore, for his final struggle. Hitherto he had kept his guard, the flower of his fine army, out of the fray. He now formed them into two columns,--desired them to charge boldly, for that the Prussians, whom they saw in the wood, were flying before Grouchy--and they doubted not that the Emperor was about to charge in person at their head. He, however, looked on, as they put themselves in motion, and committed them to the guidance of Ney, "the bravest of the brave," whose consciousness of recent treason must have prepared him, even had his temper been less gallant, to set all upon the cast. Four battalions of the Old Guard only remained as a reserve; and were formed in squares to protect the march of the columns.

The English front by this time presented not a convex line, but a concave, either wing having gradually advanced a little in consequence of the repeated repulses of the enemy. They were now formed in an unbroken array, four deep, and poured on the approaching columns (each man firing as often as he could reload) a shower which never intermitted. The wings kept moving on all the while; and when the heads of the French columns approached, they were exposed to such a storm of musketry in front and on either flank, that they in vain endeavoured to deploy into line for the attack. They stopped to make this attempt, reeled, lost order, and fled at last in one ma.s.s of confusion.

The Duke of Wellington now dismounted, placed himself at the head of his line, and led them, no longer held to defence, against the four battalions of the Old Guard--the only unbroken troops remaining--behind whom Ney was striving to rally his fugitives.

The Marshal, at Wellington's approach, took post once more in the van, sword in hand, and on foot. But nothing could withstand the impetuous a.s.sault of the victorious British. The Old Guard also were shaken.

Napoleon had hitherto maintained his usual serenity of aspect on the heights of La Belle Alliance. He watched the English onset with his spy-gla.s.s--became suddenly pale as death--exclaimed, "They are mingled together--all is lost for the present," and rode off the field, never stopping for a moment until he reached Charleroi.

Hardly had the English advanced for this fatal charge, when Blucher's columns, emerging from the woods, were at length seen forming on the right of the French, and preparing to take part in the battle. Their cannonade played on the flank of the Old Guard, while the British attack in front was overwhelming them. The fatal cry of _sauve qui peut_ was heard everywhere: the French were now flying pellmell in the most woeful confusion. Blucher and Wellington met at length at the farmhouse of La Belle Alliance; and the Prussian eagerly undertook to continue the pursuit during the night, while the English General halted to refresh his weary men.

The loss of Wellington's army on this great day was terrible: 100 officers slain (many of the first distinction), and 500 wounded, very many mortally; and of rank and file killed and wounded, 15,000. The Duke himself had been, all through the day, wherever the danger was greatest; and he alone, and one gentleman besides, of all a very numerous staff, came off the ground unhurt.

Of the 75,000 men whom Napoleon conducted to this last and severest of his fields, what with the slain and the wounded, and those who, losing heart and hope, deserted and fled separately to their homes, not more than 30,000 were ever again collected in arms. The Prussians followed hard on the miserable fugitives, and in every hamlet and village, for many miles beyond La Belle Alliance, cut down the lingerers without mercy.

Napoleon at length halted at Philippeville: from which point he designed to turn towards Grouchy, and take in person the command of that remaining division, leaving Soult to re-a.s.semble and rally, at Avesnes, the relics of Waterloo. But hearing that Blucher was already at Charleroi (which was true), and that Grouchy had been overtaken and made prisoner (which was false), the Emperor abandoned his purpose, and continued his journey, travelling post, to Paris.

On the 19th the capital had been greeted with the news of three great victories, at Charleroi, at Ligny, and at Quatre-Bras--100 cannon fired in honour of the Emperor's successes--his partisans proclaimed that the glory of France was secured--and dejection filled the hearts of the royalists. On the morning of the 21st it transpired that Napoleon had arrived the night before, alone, at the Elysee. The secret could no longer be kept. A great, a decisive field had been fought;--and the French army was no more.

[Footnote 72: The fiction of the Duke of Wellington having been _surprised_ on this great occasion has maintained its place in almost all narratives of the war for fifteen years. The Duke's magnanimous silence under such treatment for so long a period will be appreciated by posterity. The facts of the case are now given from the most unquestionable authority.]

[Footnote 73: The fact of Wellington and Blucher having met between the battles of Ligny and Waterloo is well known to many of the superior officers then in the Netherlands; but the writer of this compendium has never happened to see it mentioned in print. The horse that carried the Duke of Wellington through this long night journey, so important to the decisive battle of the 18th, remained till lately, it is understood, if he does not still remain, a free pensioner in the best paddock of Strathfieldsaye.]

CHAPTER XLI

Napoleon appeals in vain to the Chambers--Abdicates for the second time--Is sent to Malmaison--And then to Rochefort--Negotiates with Capt. Maitland--Embarks in the _Bellerophon_--Arrives at Torbay--Decision of the English Government--Interview with Lord Keith, &c.--Napoleon on board the _Northumberland_--Sails for St.

Helena.

On how sandy a foundation the exile of Elba had rebuilt the semblance of his ancient authority, a few hours of adversity were more than sufficient to show. He was still consulting with his ministers (even they were not all his friends) on the morning of the 21st, in what manner he ought to inform the Chambers of his great misfortune, and what a.s.sistance he should demand, when the news reached the _Elysee_, that both the a.s.semblies had met as soon as the story of Waterloo transpired, and pa.s.sed a series of resolutions, one of which declared the state to be in danger--and another, _their_ sittings _permanent_; in other words, proclaimed his reign to be at an end. If anything could have been wanted to complete Napoleon's conviction that the army had elevated him in opposition to the nation--it must have been found in the fact that the funds rose rapidly from the moment in which it was known in Paris that the army was ruined. They went on to tell him that the Chambers were debating on the means of defending Paris. "Ah," said he--deeply feeling in what loss all had been lost to him--"Ah, could they but defend them like my Old Guard!"

If Napoleon had listened to the advice of his brother Lucien, and the few who really considered their own fortunes as irrevocably bound up with his, he would have instantly put himself at the head of 6000 of the Imperial Guard, who were then in the capital, and dissolved the unfriendly senate of Paris, on the 21st of June, as unceremoniously as he had that of St. Cloud on the 19th of Brumaire. Lucien said ever after, that, "the smoke of Mont St. Jean had turned his brain." He certainly gave what remained of the day to vacillation. Late in the evening he held a council, to which the presidents and vice-presidents of both Chambers were admitted. In their presence La Fayette signified that nothing could be done until _a great sacrifice_ had been made.

Maret answered with fierceness; called for severe measures against the royalists and the disaffected. "Had such been resorted to earlier,"

cried he, "one who hears me would not be smiling at the misfortunes of France, and Wellington would not be marching on Paris." This strong allusion to Fouche suited not the temper of the moment. Maret was murmured down; and Carnot himself is said to have shed tears, when he perceived that the abdication was judged necessary. That ancient democrat had indeed just consented to be a count; but he enjoys apparently the credit of having acted on this occasion as a good Frenchman. He saw, say even the anti-Buonapartist historians, that France was invaded, and the same feelings which made him offer his own sword in December, 1813, urged him now to oppose any measure which must deprive his country of the military talents of Napoleon. The Emperor heard all in silence--and broke up the meeting without having come to any decision.

Early next morning the Chambers again met, and the necessity of the Emperor's abdication was on the point of being put to the vote--when Fouche appeared, and saved them that trouble by producing the following proclamation. "To the French people ":

_Frenchmen! In commencing war for the maintenance of the national independence, I relied on the union of all efforts, all wills, and all authorities. I had reason to hope for success, and I braved all the declarations of the powers against me. Circ.u.mstances appear to be changed. I offer myself as a sacrifice to the hatred of the enemies of France. May they prove sincere in their declarations, and to have aimed only at me! My political life is ended; and I proclaim my son, Napoleon II., Emperor of the French. Unite for the public safety, if you would remain an independent nation.--Done at the palace Elysee, June the 22nd,1815.--_

NAPOLEON.

The debate which followed the production of this act in either house, but especially in that of the Peers, was violent. In the latter, Carnot, having received some grossly exaggerated accounts of the force and success of Grouchy, endeavoured to persuade the a.s.sembly, that that marshal must have ere then added 60,000 men at Laon to Soult and the relics of Waterloo, and so formed an army capable, under fit guidance, of even yet effectually retrieving the affairs of France. But Ney had arrived in Paris the same morning, and this speech called up the man who, if any single energies could have done so, would have saved the day at Waterloo. "Grouchy," said he, "cannot have more than 20--at most 25,000--men; and as to Soult--I myself commanded the guard in the last a.s.sault--I did not leave the field until they were exterminated. Be a.s.sured there is but one course--negotiate, and recall the Bourbons. In their return I see nothing but the certainty of being shot as a deserter. I shall seek all I have henceforth to hope for in America.

Take you the only course that remains for France."

Napoleon, in his bulletins, did not scruple to throw the blame of his discomfiture on the misconduct of his chief officers--particularly of Grouchy--and even of Ney himself; nor wanted there devoted men, such as Labedoyere, to sustain these most unfounded charges, and all other arguments anywise favouring the cause of the Emperor, in either chamber.

But the truth was great, and prevailed. The Senate, no more than the people, could be deceived now; and though a deputation waited on him at the Elysee, and in most respectful terms thanked him for the sacrifice he had made, he in vain endeavoured to extort any direct avowal that, in accepting his abdication, they considered that act as necessarily accompanied with the immediate proclamation of Napoleon II. The Emperor, for the last time clothed in the imperial garb, and surrounded with his great officers of state, received the deputation with calmness and dignity, and dismissed them with courtesy. He perceived clearly that there was no hope for his son.

Thus terminated the second reign--_the hundred days_ of Napoleon.

By this time, however, Labedoyere's violent language in the Senate--his repeated protestations that unless Napoleon II. were recognised, the abdication of his father was null, and that the country which could hesitate about such an act of justice was worthy of nothing but slavery--began to produce a powerful effect among the regular soldiery of Paris. The Senate called on Napoleon himself to signify to the army that he no longer claimed any authority over them; and he complied, though not without mingling many expressions highly offensive to those whose mandate he obeyed. A provisional government, however, consisting of Fouche, Carnot, and three more, was forthwith proclaimed; and when the first of these persons conceived that Napoleon's continued presence in the capital might produce disturbances, and accordingly requested him to withdraw to Malmaison, he found himself obliged to do so. This was on the 24th; and no sooner was he established in this villa, than it became obvious to himself that he was in fact a prisoner. Fouche's police surrounded him on all sides; and the military duties about Malmaison were discharged by a party of the national guard, attached to Louis XVIII., and commanded by General Beker, an officer well known to be personally hostile to the fallen sovereign. We have seen how the Parisians veered from side to side at every former crisis of his history, according as the wind of fortune happened to blow. To finish the picture it remains to be told that, ere Napoleon had been two days at Malmaison, he was to all appearance, as much forgotten in the neighbouring capital as if he had never returned from Elba.

The relics of Waterloo, and Grouchy's division, having at length been gathered together under Soult at Laon; were now marching towards Paris, and followed hard behind by Wellington and Blucher. The provisional government began to be seriously alarmed lest Buonaparte should, by some desperate effort, escape from Malmaison, and once more place himself at the head of a considerable armed force. He himself, indeed, was continually sending to them, requesting permission to take the field as General for Napoleon II.; and one of the government, Carnot, was heartily desirous that this prayer should be granted. Under such circ.u.mstances, Fouche, who had, throughout, corresponded with and plotted against all parties, now employed every art to persuade the fallen chief that the only course, whether of safety or of dignity, that remained for him, was to fly immediately to the United States of America; and, that nothing may be wanting to show how the great and the little were perpetually intermingled in the fortunes of Buonaparte, one of the means adopted by this intriguer, and not the least effectual, was that of stimulating the personal creditors of the dethroned Emperor and his family to repair incessantly to Malmaison and torment him with demands of payment. Meantime Fouche sent to the Duke of Wellington, announcing that Napoleon had made up his mind to repair to America, and requesting a safe-conduct for him across the Atlantic. The Duke replied, that he had no authority to grant any pa.s.sports to Napoleon Buonaparte; and the only consequence (as Fouche had perhaps antic.i.p.ated) was, that the English Admiralty quickened their diligence, and stationed no less than thirty cruisers along the western coasts of France, for the purpose of intercepting the disturber of the world in his meditated flight.

Fouche, in communicating to Napoleon the refusal of Wellington, took care to signify urgent fears that the English government might adopt such measures as these, and to build on this a new argument for the hastening of his departure from the neighbourhood of Paris. He informed him that two frigates and some smaller vessels awaited his orders at Rochefort, and a.s.sured him, that if he repaired thither on the instant, he would still be in time.

Napoleon hesitated at Malmaison, as he had done before at the Kremlin--at Dresden--and at Fontainebleau. The cry of the approaching soldiery of Soult was already in his ear, inviting him to be once more their Emperor. On the other hand, it was now too obvious, that the army alone retained any reverence for him; and, lastly, what after all could he hope to effect with at most 60,000 men, against the victorious hosts of Wellington and Blucher, backed, as they were about to be, by great reinforcements from England and Prussia, and by the whole armies of Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria and the Czar?--Napoleon well knew that ere six weeks more elapsed, 800,000 foreigners would be cantoned within the boundaries of France. He at length yielded; and on the 29th of June left Malmaison, accompanied by Savary, Bertrand, Las Cazes, and others of his attached servants, and attended by a considerable guard.

Napoleon reached Rochefort on the 3rd of July; and took up his residence in the prefect's house, with the view of embarking immediately: but he forthwith was informed, that a British line-of-battle ship (the _Bellerophon_, Captain Maitland) and some smaller vessels of war were off the roads, and given to understand that the commanders of the squadron at his own disposal showed no disposition to attempt the pa.s.sage out in face of these watchers. A Danish merchant-ship was then hired, and the Emperor occupied himself with various devices for concealing his person in the hold of this vessel. But the Danish captain convinced him ere long that the British searchers would not be likely to pa.s.s him undetected, and this plan too was abandoned. Some young French midshipmen then gallantly offered to act as the crew of a small flat coasting vessel, a _chausse-marree_, and attempt the escape in this way under cloud of night. But all experienced seamen concurred in representing the imminent hazard of exposing such a vessel to the Atlantic, as well as the numberless chances of its also being detected by the English cruisers. "Where-ever wood can swim," said Napoleon, "there I am sure to find this flag of England."

Meanwhile time pa.s.sed on; and it became known that the French army had once more retired from before the walls of Paris under a convention: that Wellington and Blucher were about to enter the city, and reseat Louis on his throne; that the royalists were everywhere a.s.suming the decided advantage--that the white flag was already hoisted in the neighbouring town of Roch.e.l.le--and that it would be so at Rochefort itself on the instant, were his person removed. Under such circ.u.mstances, to attempt a journey into the interior of France, with the view of rejoining Soult, now marching on the Loire, or with any other purpose, must needs expose Napoleon to every chance of falling into the hands of the Bourbons; and at length, since it was impossible to sail out of Rochefort without the consent of the English, it was resolved to open a negotiation with their commander.

On the 19th of July, Savary and Count Las Cazes came off with a flag of truce, and began their conversation by stating that the Emperor had been promised a safe-conduct for America, and asking if the doc.u.ment were in Captain Maitland's hands? No safe-conduct of any kind had been promised or contemplated by any English authority whatever; and the captain could only answer that, as far as concerned himself, his orders were to make every effort to prevent Buonaparte from escaping, and if so fortunate as to obtain possession of his person, to sail at once with him for England. Savary and Las Cazes made great efforts to persuade Maitland that Napoleon's removal from France was a matter of pure voluntary choice; but this the British officer considered as a question wherewith he had nothing to do. The utmost the Frenchmen could extract from him was, that he, as a private individual, had no reason to doubt but that Buonaparte, if he sailed for England in the _Bellerophon_, would be well treated there.

The same personages returned on the 14th, and another conversation, longer, but to the same purpose, was held by them with Maitland, in the presence of Captain Sartorius and Captain Gambier, both of the royal navy. These gentlemen have corroborated completely the statement of Maitland, that he, on the second as on the first interview, continued to guard the Frenchmen against the remotest conception of his being ent.i.tled to offer any pledge whatever to Napoleon, except that he would convey him in safety off the English coast, there to abide the determination of the English government. Savary and Las Cazes, on the contrary, persisted in a.s.serting that Maitland, _on the 14th July_, gave a pledge that Napoleon, if he came on board the _Bellerophon_, should be received there not as a prisoner of war, but as a voluntary guest, and that it was solely in consequence of this pledge that Napoleon finally resolved to embark. But there is one piece of evidence in contradiction of this story, of which even themselves could hardly dispute the weight--to wit, the _date_ of the following letter to the Prince Regent of England, which General Gourgaud brought out the same evening to the _Bellerophon_, and which clearly proves--that what Napoleon ultimately did on the 15th, depended in nowise on anything that Maitland said on the 14th.

_Rochefort, July_ THE 13TH, 1815

_"Royal Highness,_

_"A victim to the factions which divide my country, and to the hostility of the greatest Powers of Europe, I have terminated my political career, and come, like Themistocles, to seat myself on the hearth of the British people. I put myself under the protection of their laws, which I claim from your Royal Highness as the most powerful, the most constant, and the most generous of my enemies._

NAPOLEON."

Maitland sent on Gourgaud in the _Slaney_ with this letter; and having once more addressed Las Cazes in these words "You will recollect that I am not authorised to stipulate as to the reception of Buonaparte in England, but that he must consider himself as entirely at the disposal of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent"--prepared his ship for the reception of the fallen Emperor.

On the 15th the _Epervier_ brig brought him out of the Aix roads; but wind and tide being unfavourable, Maitland sent the barge of the _Bellerophon_ to transport him to the ship. The officers and most of the crew of the _Epervier_ saw him depart, with tears in their eyes, and continued to cheer him as long as their voices could be heard. Captain Maitland received him respectfully, but without any salute or distinguished honours. Napoleon uncovered himself on reaching the quarter-deck, and said in a firm tone of voice, "I come to place myself under the protection of your prince and laws."

On board the _Bellerophon_, as before in the _Undaunted_, Buonaparte made himself very popular among both officers and crew. He examined everything--praised everything--extolled the English nation--above all, the English navy--and even admitted that the Duke of Wellington, "equal to himself in all other military qualities, was superior in prudence."

On the 23rd they pa.s.sed Ushant, and Napoleon gazed long and mournfully--and for the last time--on the coast of France. On the 24th the _Bellerophon_ entered Torbay, and Maitland was instantly admonished to permit no communication of any kind between his ship and the coast.

On the 26th Maitland was ordered round to Plymouth Sound: and the arrival of Buonaparte having by this time transpired, the ship was instantly surrounded by swarms of boats, filled with persons whose curiosity nothing could repress. There was considerable difficulty in keeping the ship itself clear of these eager mult.i.tudes. Napoleon appeared on the deck, was greeted with huzzas, and bowed and smiled in return.

On the 31st of July, Sir H. Bunbury, under-secretary of state, and Lord Keith, admiral of the Channel fleet, repaired on board the _Bellerophon_, and announced the final resolution of the British government: namely, 1st, that _General Buonaparte_ should not be landed in England, but removed forthwith to St. Helena, as being the situation in which, more than any other at their command, the government thought security against a second escape, and the indulgence to himself of personal freedom and exercise, might be reconciled; 2ndly, that, with the exception of Savary and L'Allemand, he might take with him any three officers he chose, as also his surgeon, and twelve domestics.

This letter was read in French by Sir Henry Bunbury. Napoleon listened without look or gesture of impatience or surprise. Being then asked if he had anything to reply, he with perfect calmness of voice and manner protested against the orders to which he had been listening, and against the right claimed by the English Government to dispose of him as a prisoner of war. "I came into your ship," said he, "as I would into one of your villages. If I had been told I was to be a prisoner, I would not have come." He then expatiated at great length on the t.i.tle given him--General Buonaparte--and on the right which he had to be considered as a sovereign prince; he was, he said, three months before, as much Emperor of Elba as Louis was King of France, and, by invading another monarch's dominions, could not have forfeited his own rank as a monarch.

He next adverted to the ign.o.ble att.i.tude in which England would place herself in the eyes of the world by abusing his confidence--hinted that either his father-in-law or the Czar would have treated him far differently--and concluded by expressing his belief that the climate and confinement of St. Helena would kill him, and his resolution, therefore, not to go to St. Helena. By what means he designed to resist the command of the English government, Napoleon did not say: there can be no doubt he meant Lord Keith and Sir H. Bunbury to understand, that, rather than submit to the voyage in question, he would commit suicide; and what he thus hinted, was soon expressed distinctly, with all the accompaniments of tears and pa.s.sion, by two French ladies on board the _Bellerophon_--Madame Bertrand and Madame Montholon. But all this appears to have been set down, from the beginning, exactly for what it was worth. He who had chosen to outlive Krasnoi, and Leipzig, and Montmartre, and Waterloo, was not likely to die by his own hand in the _Bellerophon_. We desire not to be considered as insinuating, according to the custom of many, that Napoleon ought to have rushed voluntarily on some English bayonet, when the fate of the 18th of June could no longer be doubtful. Laying all religious and moral obligations out of view (as probably he did), Napoleon himself said truly, that "if Marius had fallen on his sword amidst the marches of Minturnae, he would never have enjoyed his 7th consulate." No man ever more heartily than Napoleon approved the old maxim, that while there is life there is hope; and, far from thinking seriously at any time of putting an end to his own days, we must doubt if, between his abdication at the Elysee and the time wherein he felt the immediate approach of death, there occurred one day, or even one hour, in which some hope or scheme of recovering his fortunes did not agitate his mind.

With regard to Napoleon's reclamations against the decision of the English government, it may probably suffice _now_ to observe--1st, that that government had never, at any period, acknowledged him as Emperor of France, and that it refused to be a party to the treaty under which he retired to Elba, simply because it was resolved not to acknowledge him as Emperor of Elba. These things Napoleon well knew; and as to his recent re-exercise of imperial functions in France, he well knew that the English government had continued to acknowledge Louis XVIII. as _King_ all through the hundred days. Upon no principle, therefore, could he have expected beforehand to be treated as _Emperor_ by the ministers of the Prince Regent; nor, even if he had been born a legitimate prince, would it have been in the usual course of things for him, under existing circ.u.mstances, to persist in the open retention of his imperial style.

By a.s.suming some _incognito_, as sovereigns when travelling out of their own dominions are accustomed to do, Napoleon might have cut the root away from one long series of his subsequent disputes with the English government and authorities. But in doing as he did, he acted on calculation. He never laid aside the hopes of escape and of empire. It was his business to have complaints. If everything went on quietly and smoothly about him, what was to ensure the keeping up of a lively interest in his fortunes among the faction, to which he still looked as inclined to befriend him, and above all, among the soldiery, of whose personal devotion, even after the fatal catastrophe of Waterloo, he had no reason to doubt? Buonaparte, in his days of success, always attached more importance to etiquette than a prince born to the purple, and not quite a fool, would have been likely to do: but in the obstinacy with which, after his total downfall, he clung to the airy sound of majesty, and such pigmy toys of observance as could be obtained under his circ.u.mstances, we cannot persuade ourselves to behold no more than the sickly vanity of a _parvenu_. The English government acknowledged him by the highest military rank he had held at that time when the treaty of Amiens was concluded with him as First Consul; and the sound of _General Buonaparte_, now so hateful in his ears, who had under that style wielded the destinies of the world, might have been lost, if Napoleon himself had chosen, in some fact.i.tious style.