From early dawn until midday on March 30th the fighting before Paris was almost continuous, the assailants displaying an assurance of victory, the defenders showing the courage of despair. Marmont and Mortier kept their ranks in order, and the soldiers fought gallantly; elsewhere the militia and the boys emulated each other and the regulars in steadfastness. But when, shortly after noon, it became evident that Paris was doomed to fall before superior force, Joseph, as deputy emperor, issued to Marmont full powers to treat, and followed the Empress, whom he overtook at Chartres, far beyond Rambouillet, where she had expected to halt. She had determined, for greater safety, to cross the Loire. At 4 in the afternoon the Prussians captured Montmartre, and prepared to bombard from that height; at the same moment the last ranks of the allied armies came up.
Marmont felt further resistance to be useless; his line of retreat was endangered, and he had special directions not to expose the city to a sack. There was still abundant courage in the citizens, who stood behind the barricades within the gates clamorous for arms and ammunition. A messenger came galloping in with the news that Napoleon was but half a day distant. The lookouts now and then espied some general riding a white horse, and called, “‘Tis he!” But for all the enthusiasm, the expected “he” did not appear. Further carnage seemed useless, since French honour had been vindicated, and when the war-worn Marmont withdrew into the town he was received as one who had done what man could do.
Negotiations once fairly begun, the allies abandoned the hard conditions with which they opened the parley, and displayed a sense of great relief. Their chief representative, Count Orloff, behaved with much consideration. Recognizing the force of the French plea that their army was quite strong enough, if not to defend the city another 24 hours, at least to contest it street by street until, arrived at last on the left bank of the Seine, they could regain Fontainebleau in safety, Orloff assented to what were virtually the stipulations of Marmont and Mortier. The terms adopted made provision for an armistice, assured kind treatment to the city, and permitted the withdrawal of the troops.
Throughout the afternoon and evening Marmont’s house was the rendezvous of the negotiators and of the few political personages left in the city. There was the freest talk: ‘Bonaparte’ was conquered; the Bourbons would be restored; what a splendid man was this Marmont! Some weeks earlier the marshal had been significantly informed by his brother-in-law Perregaux, a chamberlain of Napoleon’s, that in case of a restoration he and Macdonald would be spared, whatever happened to the other great imperial leaders. Talleyrand had ostensibly taken flight with his colleagues, but by an interesting coincidence his coachman had sought the wrong exit from the city, and had been turned back.
That night he appeared in Marmont’s presence with direct overtures from the Bourbons. His interview was short, and he seemed to have gained nothing; but he had an air of victory as he withdrew. He saw that Marmont was consumed with vanity, feeling that the destinies of France, of Napoleon, of all Europe, perhaps, were in his hands alone. This was much. Passing through the corridors, the sly diplomatist respectfully greeted Prince Orloff, and begged to lay his profound respects at the feet of the Czar. “I shall not forget to lay this blank check before his majesty,” was the stinging retort. Talleyrand smiled almost imperceptibly with his lips, and went his way. But Alexander said on hearing the facts: “As yet this is but anecdote; it may become history.”
The triumphal entry of the allies into Paris began next morning, March 31st, 1814, at 7 o’clock. It was headed by Alexander and Frederick William, now universally regarded as the Czar’s satellite king. Francis was in Dijon; he was represented by Schwarzenberg. The three leaders, with their respective staff officers, were solemnly received by a deputation of the municipal authorities. Their soldiers were orderly, and there was no pillage or license. Crowds of royalists thronged the streets acclaiming the conquerors and shouting for Louis XVIII.
Throughout the afternoon Talleyrand and Nesselrode were closeted in the former’s palace; and when, toward evening, they were joined by the Czar and the King, both of whom had devoted the day to ceremony, the diplomats had already agreed that France must have the Bourbons. The sovereigns had actually been deceived by the noisy royalist manifestations into believing that France welcomed her invaders, and they assented to the conclusion of the ministers.
A formal meeting was instantly arranged; there were present, besides the monarchs and their ministers, Schwarzenberg, Lichtenstein, Dalberg, and Pozzo di Borgo. Alexander assumed the presidency, but Talleyrand, with consummate skill, monopolized the deliberations. The Czar suggested, as various bases for peace, Napoleon under all guaranties, Maria Louisa as regent for the King of Rome, the Bourbons, and, it is believed, hinted at Bernadotte or the republic as possibilities.
Of all these courses there was but one which represented the notion of legitimacy with which Alexander had in the coalition identified himself, and by which alone he, with his shady title, could hope to assert authority in western Europe. This was expounded and emphasized by the wily Talleyrand with tremendous effect. The idea of the republic was of course relegated to oblivion; of Bernadotte there could not well be a serious question. If France wanted a mere soldier, she already had the foremost in the world. Napoleon still alive, the regency would be only another name for his continued rule; the Bourbons, and they alone, represented a principle. There was little difficulty, therefore, in reaching the decision not to treat with Napoleon Bonaparte or with any member of his family.
This was the great schemer’s first stroke; his second was equally brilliant: the servile senate was appointed to create a provisional government and to construct a new constitution, to be guaranteed by the allies. That body, however obsequious, was still French; even the extreme radicals, as represented by Laine of Bordeaux, had to acknowledge this. The new and subservient administration was at work within 24 hours; Talleyrand, with his two creatures, Dalberg and Jaucourt; Montesquiou, the royalist; and Beurnonville, a recalcitrant imperialist, constituting the executive commission.
Two days later the legislature was summoned, and 79 deputies responded. After considerable debate they pronounced Napoleon overthrown for having violated the constitution. The municipal council and the great imperial offices, with their magistrates, gave their assent. The heart of the city appeared to have been transformed: on the street, at the theater, everywhere the white Bourbon cockades and ribbons burst forth like blossoms in a premature spring. But outside the focus of agitation, and in the suburbs, the populace murmured, and sometimes exhibited open discontent. In proportion to the distance west and south, the country was correspondingly imperial, obeying the imperial regency now established at Blois, which was summoning recruits, issuing stirring proclamations, and keeping up a brave show. In a way, therefore, France for the moment had three governments, that of the allies, that of the regency, and that of Napoleon himself.
When, in the latest hours of March 30th, Napoleon met Belliard, and heard the disastrous report of what had happened, he gave full vent to a frightful outburst of wrath. As he said himself in calmer moments, such was his anger at that time, that he never seemed to have known anger before. Forgetful of all his own shortcomings, he raged against others with a fury bordering on insanity, and could find no language vile or blasphemous enough wherewith to stigmatize Joseph and Clarke. In utter self-abandonment, he demanded a carriage. There were noise and bustle in the stable. With a choked, hoarse voice the seeming maniac called peremptorily for haste. No vehicle appeared. Probably Caulaincourt had dared to cross his Emperor’s command for the sake of his Emperor’s safety.
Finally Napoleon strode forth into the darkness toward Paris. Questioning and storming as he walked, he denounced his two marshals for their haste in surrendering. His attendants reasoned in vain until, a mile beyond La Cour de France, Mortier’s vanguard was met marching away under the terms of the convention, and Napoleon knew that he was face to face with doom; to advance farther would mean imprisonment or worse. General Flahaut was therefore sent to seek Marmont’s advice, and Caulaincourt hurried away to secure an audience with the Czar. There were still wild hopes which would not die. Perhaps the capitulation was not yet signed, perhaps Caulaincourt could gain time if nothing else, perhaps by sounding the tocsin and illuminating the town the populace and national guard would be led to rise and aid the army.
The reply from Marmont came as swiftly as only discouraging news can come; the situation, he said, was hopeless, the public depressed by the flight of the court, the national guard worthless; he was coming in with the twenty thousand troops still left to himself and Mortier. Napoleon, now calm and collected, issued careful orders for the two marshals to take position between the Essonne and the Seine, their left on the former stream, their right on the latter, the whole position protected by these rivers on the flanks, and by the Yonne in the rear.
It was clear there was to be a great battle under the walls of Paris. Macdonald was the only general who advised it; Berthier, Drouot, Belliard, Flahaut, and Gourgaud all wished to return into Lorraine; but the divisions were coming in swiftly, and in the short midnight hour before returning to Fontainebleau, Napoleon’s decision was taken.
On the afternoon of April 1st the Emperor rode from Fontainebleau to Marmont’s headquarters. While he was in the very act of congratulating Marmont on his gallantry, the commissioners who had signed the capitulation arrived and opened their budget of news. They told of the formal entry by the allies, of their resolution not to treat with Napoleon, and declared that the white cockade of the Bourbons was everywhere visible.
Napoleon grew pensive and somber as he listened, and then, almost without speaking, rode sadly back to Fontainebleau. Next morning he was cheerful again, and as he stepped into the White Horse court of the palace at the hour of guard-mounting two battalions cheered him enthusiastically. His step was elastic, his countenance lighted with the old fire; the onlookers said, “It is the Napoleon of Potsdam and Schonbrunn.” But in the afternoon Caulaincourt returned, and the sky seemed darkened; the Czar had listened to the envoy’s eloquence only so far as to take into consideration once again the question of peace with the Empire under a regency; as a condition antecedent, Napoleon must abdicate.
The stricken man could not hear his faithful servant’s report with equanimity. He restrained his violent impulses, but used harsh words. Soon it seemed as if ideas of a strange and awful form were mastering him, the gloomy interview was ended, and the Emperor dismissed his minister. For such a disease as his there was no remedy but action; next morning two divisions, one each of the old and young guard, arrived, and they were drawn up for review. Napoleon, in splendid garb and with a brilliant suite, in which were two marshals, Ney and Moncey, went through the ceremony.
At its close he gathered the officers present into a group, and explained the situation in his old incisive phrase and vibrating tones, closing with the words: “In a few days I am going to attack Paris; can I count on you?” There was dead silence. “Am I right?” rang out, in a final exhausting effort, the moving call of the great actor. Then at last came the hearty, ringing response so breathlessly expected. “They were silent,” said General Petit in gentle tones, “because it seemed needless to reply.” Napoleon continued: “We will show them if the French nation be master in their own house, that if we have long been masters in the dwellings of others we will always be so in our own.”
As the officers scattered to their posts and repeated the ‘little corporal’s’ words, the old ‘growlers,’ as men had come to call the veterans of the Empire, gave another cheer. The bands played the two great hymns of victory, the ‘Marseillaise’ and the ‘Chant du Depart,’ as the ranks moved away.
Napoleon must now have certain clear conceptions. Except Mortier, Drouot, and Gerard, his great officers were disaffected; but the ambitious minor generals were still his devoted slaves. The army was thoroughly imperialist, partly because they represented the nation as a whole, partly because they were under the Emperor’s spell. Of such troops he appeared to have at hand 60 thousand, distributed as follows: Marmont, 12500; Mortier, six thousand; Macdonald, 2700; Oudinot, 5500; Gerard, three thousand; Ney, 2300; Drouot, nine thousand; and about 11600 guard and other cavalry. Besides these, there were 16 hundred Poles, 2250 recruits, and 1500 men in the garrisons of Fontainebleau and Melun. Farther away were considerable forces in Sens, Tours, Blois, and Orleans, eight thousand in all; and still farther the armies of Soult, Suchet, Augereau, and Maison. Although the allies had lost nine thousand men before Paris, they had quickly called up reinforcements, and had about a hundred and forty thousand men in readiness to fight.
This situation may not have been entirely discouraging to the devotee of a dark destiny, to which as a hapless worshiper he had lately commenced to give the name of Providence. Be that as it may, when Macdonald arrived on the morning of the fourth the dispositions for battle had been carefully studied and arranged; every corps was ordered to its station. As usual, Napoleon appeared about noon for the ceremony of guard-mounting, and the troops acclaimed him as usual. But a few paces distant from him stood the marshals and higher generals in a little knot, their heads close bunched, their tongues running, their glances averted. From out of this group rang the thunderous voice of Ney: “Nothing but the abdication can draw us out of this.” Napoleon started, regained his self-control, pretended not to hear the crushing menace, and withdrew to his work-room.
Concurrent with the resolve of the marshals at Fontainebleau ran the actual treason of one who alone was more important to Napoleon’s cause than all of them. “I am ready to leave, with my troops, the army of the Emperor Napoleon on the following conditions, of which I demand from you a written guaranty,” are the startling words from a letter of Marmont to the Czar, dated the previous day. On April 1st agents of the provisional government had made arrangements with a discredited nobleman named Maubreuil for the assassination of Napoleon; the next day Schwarzenberg introduced into the French lines newspapers and copies of a proclamation explaining that the action of the senate and of all France had released the soldiers from their oaths. Marmont forwarded the documents he received to Berthier, and while most of the officers flung their copies away in contemptuous scorn, some read and pondered.
On April 3rd an emissary from Schwarzenberg appeared at Marmont’s headquarters, and what he said was spoken to willing ears. Still under the influence of the homage he had received in Paris, the vain marshal saw himself repeating the role of Monk; he beheld France at peace, prosperity restored, social order reestablished, and himself extolled as a true patriot—all this if only he pursued the easy line of self-interest, whereby he would not merely retain his duchy, but also secure the new honors and emoluments which would be showered on him. So he yielded on condition that his troops should withdraw honorably into Normandy, and that Napoleon should be allowed to enjoy life and liberty within circumscribed limits fixed by the allied powers and France.
Next morning, the 4th, came Schwarzenberg’s assent, and Marmont at once set about suborning his officers; at four in the afternoon arrived an embassy from Fontainebleau on its way to Paris. The officers composing it desired to see Marmont.
The informal meeting held in the courtyard at Fontainebleau was a historical event. Its members chatted about the course taken by the senate, about Caulaincourt’s mission, and discussed in particular the suggestion of abdication. The marshals and great generals, long since disgusted with campaigning, wounded in their dignity by the Emperor’s rebukes, and attributing their recent failures to the wretched quality of the troops assigned to them, were eager for peace, and yearned to enjoy their hard-earned fortunes. They caught at the seductive idea presented by Caulaincourt. The abdication of Napoleon would mean the perpetuation of the Empire. The Empire would be not merely peace, but peace with what war had gained; to wit, the imperial court and society, the preservation and enjoyment of estates, the continuity of processes which had done so much to regenerate France and make her a modern nation.
The prospect was irresistible, and Ney only expressed the grim determination of his colleagues when he gave the watchword so unexpectedly at the mounting of the guard. When Napoleon entered his cabinet he found there Berthier, Maret, Caulaincourt, and Bertrand. Concealing his agitation, he began the routine of such familiar labors as impend on the eve of battle. Almost instantly hurrying footsteps were heard in the corridor, the door was burst open, and on the threshold stood Ney, Lefebvre, Oudinot, and Macdonald. The leader of the company quailed an instant under the Emperor’s gaze, and then gruffly demanded if there were news from Paris. No, was the reply—a deliberate falsehood, since the decree of the senate had arrived the night before. “Well, then, I have some,” roared Ney, and told the familiar facts.
At Nogent, six weeks earlier, Ney and Oudinot had endeavored to bully Napoleon in a similar way; then they were easily cowed. But now Napoleon’s manner was conciliatory and his speech argumentative. Long and eloquently he set forth his situation. Enumerating all the forces immediately and remotely at his disposal, describing minutely the plan of attack which Macdonald had stamped with his approval, explaining the folly of the course pursued by the allies, contrasting the perils of their situation with the advantages of his own, he sought to justify his assurance of victory. The eloquence of a Napoleon, calm, collected, clear, but pleading for the power which was dearer to him than life, can only be imagined.
But his arguments fell on deaf ears; not one of his audience gave any sign of emotion. Macdonald was the only one present not openly committed, and he too was sullen; during the last twenty-four hours he had received, through Marmont, a letter from Beurnonville, the contents of which, though read to Napoleon then and there, have not been transmitted to posterity. What happened or what was said thereafter is far from certain, so conflicting and so biased are the accounts of those present. Contemporaries thought that in this crisis, when Ney declared the army would obey its officers and would not march to Paris in obedience to the Emperor, there were menacing gestures which betrayed a more or less complete purpose of assassination on the part of some. If so, Napoleon was never greater; for, commanding a calm by his dignified self-restraint, he dismissed the faithless officers one and all. They went, and he was left alone with Caulaincourt to draw up the form of his abdication.
