"Your excellency," cried a loud voice outside, at this moment—"your excellency, are you not coming at all?" The door of the anteroom was violently thrust open, and the pipe-master appeared on the threshold. "It is past eight o'clock," he exclaimed, "and—" He paused on perceiving the two gentlemen, and was about to retire very quickly.

"Come here, pipe-master," exclaimed Blucher, "come here and look at me. Now tell me, pipe-master, have you been a chatterbox, after all, and told these two gentlemen what was the object of our airing?"

"No, your excellency; I have not uttered a word about it to any one," replied the pipe-master, solemnly. "I have been as dumb as a fish; only in secret have I complained of my distress; and, when that did not relieve me, and I still felt as though my heart would burst, I did what I have learned to do from the field-marshal: I went to my room, closed the door, and swore in the most fearful manner! That relieved my heart, and I proceeded to do all your excellency charged me with."

"First, therefore, you had to swear?" asked Blucher, drawing his long mustache through his fingers. "You were, then, greatly dissatisfied with my departure?"

"I did not conceal it from your excellency. I told you honestly that you would no longer be called Marshal Forward if you retreated."

"Yes, retreat—that is just what he said," exclaimed Blucher, laughing, and turning again toward the two gentlemen; "and when I told him I would leave the army and set out for Brussels he remarked that it was a secret flight."

"The pipe-master is an honest man, who loves his master," said Gneisenau, kindly smiling on him. "I have often and urgently begged him to-day to announce me to the field-marshal; but he persisted in replying that he was not allowed to do so, and that he was ordered to admit no one."

"And I would have given my little-finger, if I could have admitted General Gneisenau, and Dr. Voelzke, too; for I knew that, as soon as they would be with the field-marshal, his departure would not be very soon. As they are here now—though I do not know how they got here so unexpectedly—I suppose, field-marshal, we shall not set out, and I may send the horses back to the stable?"

"Yes, you may," said Blucher. "But wait, Christian, do not go yet; I have first to say a few words to these gentlemen, and you may listen. I will stay here, then, but on one condition. Will you fulfil it?"

"Yes, your excellency," cried Gneisenau and Voelzke at the same time.

"Well, tell me, then, how did you discover that I intended to start to-day, the pipe-master having said nothing about it to you? For I shall never believe that both of you could happen to come to me at so unusual an hour, and without any reason. Reply—who told you that I was about to leave?"

"You yourself, your excellency," said Surgeon-General Voelzke.

"What, I! What nonsense is this!" cried Blucher, laughing.

"Yes, I heard it from yourself. Do you not remember that you heard a mouse rustle in your alcove?"

"To be sure, I did; I heard it twice."

"Well, then, the mouse was myself! I discovered a small secret side- door in your room, and desired to know whither it led. I therefore thrust it open, and was in your alcove; just as I entered I heard your voice, saying, 'It is settled, then, Christian, I shall set out for Brussels to-night, but no one must know a word about it!' Your excellency, I confess my crime: I stood and listened; only when the pipe-master left your room did I softly creep away, too, and hasten to General Gneisenau to inform him of what I had heard."

"Let us examine the alcove more carefully, pipe-master," said Blucher, "and see whether there is not somewhere else a secret door. Well, you may go now, Hennemann, and send the horses back to the stable."

"Heaven be praised!" exclaimed Christian, hastening out of the room. But scarcely had he closed the door, when he thrust it open again. "Field-marshal," he said, "General von Pietrowitch, adjutant of the Emperor of Russia, wishes to see your excellency immediately."

"Come in, general," exclaimed Blucher; and offering his hand to the officer, he asked hastily, "tell me, in the first place, general, whether you bring good or bad news?"

"I believe I bring what Marshal Forward would call good news," said the general, smiling. "I come as a messenger from the emperor my master, and the king your master, and am commissioned to inform you of the determination taken at headquarters, and to obtain your consent and cooperation."

"Is it a secret mission?" asked Gneisenau.

"On the contrary, the whole army will have to hear it tonight," said the general. "My first news, then, is, that the congress of Chatillou was dissolved on the 19th of March."

"Without leading to any results?" asked Blucher, breathlessly. "Without agreeing on a treaty of peace, or an armistice?"

"Nothing of the kind, your excellency. The congress has had an entirely opposite result—the speedy and energetic prosecution of the war. All the diplomatists, and the Emperor Francis with them, after the dissolution of the congress, retired southward to Dijon."

"And Schwartzenberg?" cried Blucher.

"Prince Schwartzenberg remained, and held a council of war with the monarchs yesterday near Vitry. The result of this I am commissioned to communicate to you. The resumption of the offensive against Paris has been decided upon. Prince Schwartzenberg agrees with the sovereigns that Paris is the decisive point, and that it is all- important for us to cut off Napoleon from the capital, and take the city before he is able to reach it. Prince Schwartzenberg, therefore, sends word to your excellency that from this day all his standards are turned toward Paris, and that the army of Bohemia is marching in three columns. To-night they encamp at Fere Champeuoise, where the headquarters of the allies are to be. Now, Prince Schwartzenberg invites you to participate with the Silesian army in this advance, starting at once, and advancing by the road of Montmirail and La Ferte-sous-Jonarre, and then form a connection with the army of Bohemia." [Footnote: Beitzke, vol. iii., p. 431.]

"Yes, I shall certainly do so," joyfully cried Blucher. "Hurrah! This is good news; now the word is not only with us, but everywhere, 'Forward!' Tell their majesties, and, above all, Prince Schwartzenberg, that they have made me very happy, and have performed a truly miraculous cure. I was sick and desponding; now, since you have come, I am again well and in good spirits. I feel no longer any pain, and my eyes will be all right again, now that they know that they are to see the city of Paris. I thought that it would come to this—that my brave brother Schwartzenberg would at length agree with me. We shall soon now put an end to the war. Bonaparte must be dethroned, and that speedily." [Footnote: Blucher's own words.—Vide Varnhagen von Ense, "Blucher," p. 375.]



CHAPTER XLIX.

ON TO PARIS!

Napoleon's courage was not yet paralyzed; he had not yet given up the struggle. His indomitable heart was still wrestling with adversity, and hoping that he would be able to overcome it. It is true, the disastrous battle of Bar-sur-Aube, where the army of Bohemia had gained a victory on the 20th of March, had greatly weighed him down; but a few days sufficed to restore his determination and energy. On the 26th, when he arrived with his army at St. Dizier, he had already devised new plans, and was again resolved to give battle to the allies. "We are still strong," he said to Caulaincourt, who had just joined him at St. Dizier. "We have upward of fifty thousand men here. I have issued orders to Marshals Marmont and Victor, as well as to all reinforcements that are on the road from Paris, to join our army. When they arrive, my forces will be eighty thousand, and the allies will not dare march on Paris, where they will find me. If I can now induce them to hesitate, and retard their operations a short time, by drawing reinforcements from the neighboring fortresses of the Meuse and the Moselle, I shall increase my army to upward of one hundred thousand, and it will then be easy for me to delay the progress of the enemy by constantly renewed attacks, and thus prolong the war."

"But I am afraid, sire, you labor under a delusion as to one point: that it is still possible for you to delay the progress of the allies by any means whatever," sighed Caulaincourt. "I have examined every thing on my trip to your majesty's headquarters; I have conversed with every prisoner fallen into the hands of our troops, and I do not believe that the army of Bohemia is in the rear of your majesty, but that it has outstripped you, and is already on the road to Paris."

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and stepped to the door, which he opened, shouting, "The mayor of St. Dizier!" The corpulent form of the mayor, who greeted the emperor with awkward obeisances, appeared immediately. "Pray repeat your statements," said the emperor, "The enemy's troops were here yesterday, were they not?"

"They were, sire; all St. Dizier was occupied by them. It was General Winzingerode, with the soldiers of the allies. They stated that they were the vanguard of the principal army. General Winzingerode inspected all the large houses in the city, and reserved the best, adding that the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia would arrive here tomorrow, and take up their quarters at those houses; [Footnote: This was a stratagem, resorted to by Winzingerode, in order to mislead Napoleon as to the march of the allies.] but when the approach of your majesty was reported, the enemy quickly left the city."

"Very well; you may go," said Napoleon, motioning to the mayor to leave the room.—"Well, Caulaincourt, have you satisfied yourself now? Do you see now that the allies are not in our front, but still in our rear?"

"Sire, suppose it were a delusion, after all?" sighed Caulaincourt: "Suppose the allies had devised this stratagem, to mislead your majesty?—if none but Winzingerode's corps follow us, while the principal army is hastening toward Paris by different routes? Oh, I implore your majesty, do not suffer your keen eyes to be blinded by false hopes! Look around and examine the evidences that confirm my views, All the prisoners report that the armies of Bohemia and Silesia have united, and are now marching on Paris. Besides, on our way from Bar-sur-Aube to this place, we have nowhere met with large columns of troops, and nothing whatever indicates the approach of the enemy in force."

"Well," cried Napoleon, vehemently, "if we have not met with the enemy's forces, it may be because they are in full retreat toward Lorraine, and that they are at last tired of carrying on a fruitless struggle with me." [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 18l4," p. 142.]

"Ah, your majesty still thinks that you are opposed only by the timid and desponding enemies of former times!" said Caulaincourt, sighing; "but this is a mistake, which will prove disastrous."

"Ah!" cried Napoleon, vehemently, "you dare tell me that?"

"Sire," said Caulaincourt, calmly, "it is my duty to tell you the truth, and you are in duty bound to listen to it. [Footnote: Caulaincourt's words,—"Memoires d'un Homme d'Etat," vol. xii., p. 292] Now, the truth is, that the allies are firmly determined to carry on the war to the last extremity, and that, at the best, they will leave to your majesty the frontiers of France as they were under the Bourbons. I venture, therefore, once more to implore your majesty to make peace; sire, peace at any cost! Perhaps it may be time yet. Send me once more to the allied monarchs! Tell them that you will now accept the ultimatum offered us at the congress of Chatillon, and that you will content yourself with the frontiers of France, as they were previous to the rise of the empire. Send me with this declaration to the Emperor Alexander of Russia, who, at the bottom of his heart, is still your friend!"

"And whose devoted friend you are!" cried Napoleon. "Yes, you are Alexander's servant, and not mine! You are a thorough Russian!"

"No, sire, I am a Frenchman!" said Caulaincourt, proudly, looking the emperor full in the face, "and I believe I prove it by imploring your majesty to give peace to France and save your crown."

"Ah, save my crown!" exclaimed Napoleon. "Who dares, then, threaten my crown?"

"Sire, the allies and the Bourbons. The former have issued a proclamation, stating that they come to this country to make war on the Emperor Napoleon, and not on France; and the Bourbons, who are now in France, at the headquarters of the allies, have issued another proclamation, calling upon the nation to return to its duty and to the allegiance due to its legitimate king."

"I am neither afraid of the allies nor of the Bourbons," said Napoleon. "The French nation knows no Bourbons; it knows none but ME, its emperor, and we two shall not break the faith we have plighted to each other. We shall conquer together. Dare no longer ask me to accept the ignominious terms of the congress of Chatillon. It is better to die beneath the ruins of my throne than be at the mercy of my enemies. The allies are in my rear, and the arrival of reinforcements will soon enable me to give them battle; I shall win, and it will be for me to dictate terms. Under the walls of Paris the grave of the Russians will be dug. My dispositions have been made, and I shall not fail." [Footnote: Napoleon's words.—Vide Constant, "Memoires," vol. vi., p. 48.]

Caulaincourt sighed, and gazed with an air of painful astonishment on the serene face of the emperor. "Sire," he said, solemnly, "I call Heaven to witness that I have tried my best to incline your majesty to my prayers! You have refused to listen to me."

"Because I am not at liberty to do so, Caulaincourt; and, besides, I do not believe in your apprehensions. Suppose that Alexander and Frederick William should determine to continue the war, there is a third sovereign who will decide the matter—the Emperor Francis, my father-in-law, and grand-father of the King of Rome. You see, therefore, that, though the present prospects were unfavorable to me, I should at least have nothing to fear from the Bourbons; for the emperor will not permit his daughter to be robbed of her crown, nor his grandson of his rightful inheritance."

"Sire," said Caulaincourt, in a low voice, "do not rely too much on the attachment of the Emperor Francis. I know that, though he is your father-in-law, he has never forgotten the day when, after the battle of Austerlitz, he met you as an humble supplicant at your camp-fire, and begged you to spare him and make peace with him. I know that that recollection has greater power over him than any bonds of relationship. I know that Metternich, who is still devoted to your majesty, vainly tried a few days ago to prevail upon the Emperor Francis to intercede energetically with the other monarchs for his son-in-law and daughter, and that he unsuccessfully urged him to take into consideration the future of his grandson, the King of Rome."

"And what did the emperor reply?" asked Napoleon, quickly.

"Sire, the emperor replied, in his strong Austrian dialect, 'Do not always talk to me about the child! I have at home many children of whom I ought to think first.'" [Footnote: The Emperor Francis said: "Rodt's mier nit alleweil von dem Kind; bei mier z' Haus hab' ich gar vielle Kinder, an die ich z'erst denken muess."—Hormayr, "Lebensbllder," vol. i., p. 98.]

"That is not true; he did not say so!" cried Napoleon.

"Sire, he did; Prince Metternich told me so."

Napoleon paused a moment. A low knocking at the door interrupted his meditation. One of the adjutants entered, and reported that the emperor's equerry, Count Saint-Aignan, whom the emperor had intrusted with a mission, had returned, and requested an audience of his majesty. The emperor himself hastened to the door, and eagerly motioned to the count to approach. "Well, Saint-Aignan," he asked, "what did you find? How is the disposition of the people in the south of France?"

"Sire," said the count, mournfully, "I bring no news that will gladden your majesty's heart. Southern France is discontented; the people are complaining of the duration of the war; they desire peace at any price, and are disposed to resort to extreme measures in order to reestablish it."

"What does that mean?" asked the emperor. "I do not understand you; express yourself more distinctly."

"Well, then, sire, the people there have read the proclamation of the Bourbons, and think of reinstating them, for the purpose of putting an end to the war."

"They will not dare to do that," cried Napoleon, casting an angry glance on Saint-Aignan.

"They have already, sire," said the count. "The city of Bordeaux has declared for the Bourbons, and the Count d'Artois, as well as the Duke and Duchess d'Angouleme, have made their entrance into the city, and—"

"And have been received with enthusiasm by the population!" cried Napoleon. "Pray, finish your sentence, and tell me so. Add that the inhabitants of Bordeaux have returned to their duty, and that you, too, have discovered what your duty is, and that you intend to return to the legitimate rulers of France! Go! I permit you; I relieve you of the duties of your office! Go to the Bourbons!"

Count Saint-Aignan did not stir; pallor overspread his cheeks; his eyes, fixed on the emperor with an indescribable expression of grief, filled with tears, and his quivering lips were unable to speak.

"Sire," said the Duke de Vicenza, "your majesty does injustice to the count. You commanded him to give a reliable report of his mission; he was not at liberty, therefore, to conceal any thing, but was obliged to tell you the whole truth."

"The truth!" cried Napoleon, violently stamping, "that which you fear or desire you call the truth! You all see through the colored spectacles of your anxiety, and would compel me to do so, too; but I will not; my eyes are open, and see things as they are. Go, Count Saint-Aignan; your report is finished!" The count, with a sigh, approached the door, and, slowly walking backward, left the room. "The Bourbons!" murmured Napoleon to himself; "they shall not dare to threaten me with this spectre! There are no Bourbons! I am the Emperor of France, and it is to me alone that the French nation owes allegiance!" He looked thoughtfully, with a dark and wrinkled forehead, but, presently lifting his head—"Oh, Caulaincourt," he exclaimed, "I will personally satisfy myself whether the army of the allies is really in our rear, or whether your fears are well grounded. Let us set out for Vitry!"

"Heaven be praised!" replied the Duke de Vicenza, joyfully. "All is not yet lost; for Vitry is on the road to Paris."

On the following morning the emperor moved with his forces toward Vitry, and took up his quarters at Marolles, a short distance from the little fortress. Here at length he was to find out the true state of affairs. He was met by inhabitants of Fere Champenoise, who had fled to Marolles, and informed him that Marshals Marmont and Mortier had suffered decisive defeats at the hands of the allies; that the divisions of General Pacthod and Aurey had been annihilated, and that the united armies of Bohemia and Silesia were in rapid march on Paris.

An expression of terror passed over the face of Napoleon, and his equanimity seemed to be shaken; but he soon overcame the effect of this news, calmly remarking, "Well, if the allies are marching on Paris, we must march too."

"Yes, on to Paris!" cried the marshals. "That is the most important point in present circumstances, and it can be defended, if the emperor hasten with his army."

"On to Paris, then!" exclaimed Napoleon. "But we must move with the speed of the wind!" He appeared to have regained his whole energy; his eyes beamed again, his face resumed its old determination, and he issued his orders in a firm and cheerful voice.

It was all-important to defend the emperor's throne at Paris, and to protect the inheritance of the King of Rome from the allies and the Bourbons. Forward, then, by forced marches! Napoleon's headquarters were soon at Montier-en-Der—much nearer the capital. On the 28th of March he reached Doulerant, when a horseman, covered with dust, pale and breathless, coming from the direction of the capital, galloped up to the head of the column. "Where is the emperor?" he cried. Having been conducted to him, "Sire," he whispered, "I am sent by the postmaster-general, your faithful Count La Valette, to deliver this paper."

The emperor unfolded the paper and read. A slight tremor pervaded his frame, and his eyes grew gloomier. He cast another glance on the paper, and then, seizing it with his teeth, he tore it to pieces. None but himself was to learn the contents of that paper, which read: "The adherents of the invaders, encouraged by the defection of Bordeaux, are raising their heads; secret intrigues are helping them. The emperor's presence is necessary, if he wishes to prevent his capital from being delivered into the hands of the enemy. We must march immediately. Not a moment is to be lost." [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814."]

"Forward!" shouted the emperor. "We must hasten to Paris, and be there to-morrow!" The emperor, with the cavalry of his guard, headed the column. His countenance was still calm and impenetrable; but at times a gleam lit up his sombre eyes, as he moved on in a violent thunderstorm.

Another courier galloped up and asked for the emperor. "Announce me to him. The lieutenant-general of the empire, King Joseph, the emperor's brother, sends me."

He was conducted to Napoleon, who received him with the words, "News from my brother in Paris? Give me your dispatch!"

"Sire, I have no dispatch to deliver; dispatches may be lost, or revealed if their bearer should be arrested; but memory betrays nothing. I have ridden from Paris in fourteen hours. Here are my credentials, King Joseph's signet-ring."

"I recognize it. Speak!" By a wave of his hand Napoleon ordered the marshals to retire, and, bending his head toward his brother's messenger, he repeated calmly, "Speak!"

"Sire," whispered the messenger, "the king informs your majesty that the allies are near Paris; that Marshals Marmont and Mortier, though determined to defend the capital, have no hope of holding their positions. The king implores your majesty most urgently to leave nothing undone to hasten to the assistance of your capital." [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814."]

Having heard this message, the emperor's face was unveiled; it was quivering with anguish, and his eyes turned to heaven in despair. "Oh, if I had wings!" he cried, in an outburst of grief; "if I could be in Paris at this hour!" Then he became silent, and his head sank on his breast. His generals surrounded him, when he lifted his head again with drops of sweat on his forehead, but his face resumed its wonted calmness. "General Dejean," he cried, in a powerful voice, "ride to Paris as fast as you can. Inform my brother that I am making a forced march to the capital. Hasten then to Marmont and Mortier; tell them to resist to the last, and leave nothing untried in order to hold out but for two days. In that time I shall be in front of Paris, and it is safe! Marmont is to dispatch a courier to Prince Schwartzenberg, and inform him that I have sent an envoy to the Emperor Francis with propositions leading to peace. Schwartzenberg will hesitate, and we shall gain time. Haste, Dejean, and remember that the fate of my capital rests with you!"

When General Dejean rode off, Napoleon sought his faithful friend, the Duke de Vicenza. He was by his side before the emperor had uttered his name. "Caulaincourt," he said, in a gentle voice, "you were right. I have lost two days. I might now be in Paris. Fate is behind me, intent on crushing me, and death itself refuses to take me! At the battle of Bar-sur-Aube I did all I could to die while defending my country. I plunged into the thickest of the fight; the balls tore my clothes, and yet not one of them injured me. I am a man doomed to live [Footnote: Napoleon's words.—"Vide Bausset's Memoires," vol. ii., p. 246.]—a man that, for the welfare of his people, is to subscribe his own humiliation and disgrace! Caulaincourt, go to the Emperor Francis of Austria. Tell him I accept the ultimatum which the allies offered me at Chatillon. I sign the death-warrant of my glory! Hasten! And now, forward! In two days we must reach Paris!"



CHAPTER L.

DEPARTURE OF MARIA LOUISA.

On the same day, and nearly at the same hour of the 29th of March, while the emperor was moving with his troops toward Paris, a scene of an entirely different description took place at the rooms of the empress, his consort, in the Tuileries. Napoleon, in his despair, wished for wings to fly to Paris; Maria Louisa, in her anguish, wished for wings to fly away from Paris; for the enemy was at its gates, and it was plain that the city must either capitulate or run the risk of an assault.

As yet Maria Louisa called the allies threatening the throne of her husband, and the inheritance of her son, her enemies, although her own father was among them. She deemed herself in duty bound to stand by her husband, to brave the vicissitudes of fortune jointly with him, and obey his will. The emperor desired that his consort and his son should not remain in the city if any danger should menace them. When the news reached the Tuileries that the allies had arrived at the walls of Paris, and it became obvious that the corps of Marmont and Mortier were not strong enough to withstand the armies of the enemy, King Joseph, the lieutenant of the emperor, summoned the regent, Maria Louisa, and the council of state, to deliberate on the grave question whether or not the empress and the King of Rome should remain, or be withdrawn to a place of safety beyond the Loire.

The decision was left with Maria Louisa; but the regent had declared it was not for her to settle this question; it was for the very purpose of advising her and guiding her steps that the emperor had associated the council of state with her. King Joseph produced a letter from Napoleon of a nature to indicate his wishes. It was dated Rheims, 15th of March, and read:

"In accordance with the verbal instructions which I have given, and with the spirit of all my letters, you are in no event to permit the empress and the King of Rome to fall into the hands of the enemy. I am about to manoeuvre in such a manner that you may possibly be several days without hearing from me. Should the enemy advance upon Paris with such forces as to render all resistance impossible, send off in the direction of the Loire the empress, the King of Rome, the great dignitaries, the ministers, the officers of the senate, the president of the council of state, the great officers of the crown, and the treasure. Never quit my son; and keep in mind that I would rather see him in the Seine than in the hands of the enemies of France! The fate of Astyanax, a prisoner in the hands of the Greeks, has always appeared to me the most deplorable in history."

"Your brother, NAPOLEON."

[Footnote: Baron de Meneval, "Marie Louise et Napoleon," vol. ii., p. 230.]

This, of course, put an end to all debate. The emperor's precise and final order, providing for the very case which had occurred, could not be disregarded, and Maria Louisa accordingly determined to leave with her son and her suite for Rambouillet. The morning of the 29th of March was fixed for the departure. The travelling-carriages, loaded with baggage, stood in the court-yard of the Tuileries; but Maria Louisa still hesitated. Her travelling-toilet was completed; her ladies were with her in the reception-room, filled with persons forming the cortege of the empress. All entered in mournful silence, and to their bows the empress responded only with a nod. Her eyes, red with weeping, were fixed on the door; she awaited in suspense the return of King Joseph, who had left the Tuileries at daybreak, and had gone to the gates of Paris to reconnoitre the enemy's position. At first the departure was to have taken place at eight in the morning; now it was past nine, and King Joseph had not yet returned.

This unexpected delay increased the anxiety. None dared interrupt the breathless silence reigning in the apartment; only here and there some one whispered, and, whenever a door opened, all started and turned anxiously toward it, as if expecting a bearer of sad tidings. The face of the empress was pale and agitated; her form trembled; at times she turned toward her ladies, who stood behind her, and addressed to them some almost inaudible question, not waiting for a reply, but looking again toward the door, or inclining her head on her bosom.

Suddenly the door was opened, and on the threshold appeared the little King of Rome, followed by his governess, Madame de Montesquieu. The boy's face did not exhibit today its air of childlike mirth, which usually beamed like sunshine from his beautiful features. No smile was on his fresh lips, and his lustrous eyes were dimmed. With a sullen face and without looking at any one, the child, so intelligent for his years, stepped through the room directly toward his mother. "Mamma empress," he said, in his silvery voice, "my 'Quiou says that we are about to leave Paris, and shall no longer live at the Tuileries. Is that true, mamma?"

"Yes, my son, we must leave," said the empress, in a low voice, "but we shall return."

"We MUST leave?" inquired the little king. "But my papa once said to me, the word 'must' is not for me, and I do not want it either, and I pray my dear mamma not to leave Paris with me."

"But the emperor himself wishes us to leave, Napoleon," said the empress, sighing, and with some displeasure. "Your papa has ordered us to depart if the enemy should come."

"The enemy!" cried the boy; "I am not afraid of the enemy. If he, comes, we do as my papa emperor always does—we beat the enemy, and then he runs away."

But these words of the brave child, which would have delighted his father's heart, seemed to make a disagreeable impression upon his mother. She murmured a few inaudible words, and slightly shrugged her shoulders.

Madame de Montesquiou took the child by the hand, "Come, sire," she said, in a low voice, "do not disturb her majesty. Come!"

"No, no," cried the boy, violently disengaging himself, "I am sure you want to carry me down to the carriage, and I tell you I will not go! Let me stay here with my mother, dear 'Quiou; I do not disturb her, for you see she is not busy, and she does not want to be alone either, for there are a great many persons with her. Therefore, I may stay here, too, may I not, dear mamma empress!"

"Yes, my son, stay here," said the empress, abstractedly, looking again at the door.

"I am not afraid of the enemy," cried the little king, proudly throwing back his head. "My papa will soon come and drive him away. But tell me, mamma, what is the name of the enemy who wants to rob us of our beautiful palace? What is his name?"

"Hush, Napoleon!" said the empress, almost indignantly; "what good would it do you to hear what you do not understand?"

"Oh, dear mamma," cried the child, with a triumphant air, "I can understand very well, for my papa has often played war on the floor with me, and we have built fortresses. And not long ago, papa emperor told me, too, that he was going to the army, and he spoke of his enemies. I remember them very well; they are the Emperor of Russia—who once kissed my papa's hand, and thanked God that papa emperor consented to be his friend; the King of Prussia, from whom my papa could have taken all his states; the crown prince of Sweden, who learned the art of war from my papa, and is a faithless servant; and last, the Emperor of Austria. But tell me, mamma, is not he your father? And did you not tell me that I ought to pray every night for my grandfather, the Emperor of Austria?"

"I did tell you so, Napoleon," whispered the empress, whose eyes filled with tears.

The boy looked down for a moment musingly; and then, lifting his large blue eyes to his mother, "Mamma," he said, "henceforth I shall never again pray for the Emperor of Austria, for he is now my papa's enemy, and, therefore, no longer my grandfather. No, no, I shall not pray for him, but only as my papa likes me to do." And the boy knelt down, lifting up his hands, and exclaiming in a loud voice, "Good God, I pray to Thee for France and for my father!"

Expressions of deep emotion were heard in the room. The empress covered her face with her handkerchief, and wept bitterly. The little king was still on his knees, with his eyes raised toward heaven. Suddenly the door at which the empress had looked so long and anxiously, opened. It was not King Joseph who entered, but the adjutant of General Clarke, the regent's minister of war. Approaching the empress, he begged leave to communicate a message from the minister.

"Speak," said Maria Louisa, hastily, "and loud enough for every one to hear the news."

"His excellency, the minister of war, has commissioned me to implore your majesty in his name to leave without a moment's delay. He believes that every minute increases the danger, and that an hour hence it might be impossible for you to get away, because your majesty would then run the risk of falling into the hands of roving bands of Cossacks. The Russian corps are already near, and we shall soon hear their cannon thunder at the very gates of Paris." [Footnote: Meneval, "Marie Louise," vol. II., p. 266.]

"Well, then," said Maria Louisa, with quivering lips, "be it so! Let us set out."

All felt that the decisive hour was at hand. The empress quickly advanced a few steps. "Come!" she exclaimed, in feverish agitation. "Let us set out for Rambouillet!"

Suddenly her son grasped her hand and endeavored to draw her back. "Dear mamma," he cried, anxiously, "do not go! Rambouillet is an ugly old castle. Let us not go, but stay here!" [Footnote: The little king's words. Ibid.]

"It cannot be, my son; we must go!"

But little Napoleon pushed back her hand with a gesture of indignation. "Well, then, mamma," he said, "go! I will not go. I will not leave my house! As papa is not here, I am the master! and I say I WILL not go!" [Footnote: Meneval, "Marie Louise."]

The empress motioned to the equerry on service. "M. de Comisy," she ordered, "take the prince in your arms and carry him to the carriage."

"The prince! I am no prince, I am the King of Rome," cried the boy, in the most violent anger. "I will not go! I will not leave my house; I do not want you to betray my dear papa!" [Footnote: The king's words.—Vide "Memoires du Due de Rovigo," vol. vii., p. 5.] The empress took no longer any notice of him; M. de Comisy lifted the crying, struggling boy into his arms. "'Quiou, dear 'Quiou!" cried the child, "oh, come to my assistance! I will not leave my house!"

"Sire," said Madame de Montesquieu, weeping, "we must leave: the emperor has ordered us to do so!"

"It is false!" cried the prince, bursting into a flood of tears, and still trying to disengage himself. "My papa never ordered any such thing, for he says that one ought never to flee from the enemy. I will not go, I will not flee!"

"Come, sire; come!" exclaimed M. de Comisy.

"I will not go!" said the boy, and clung to the door. But Madame de Montesqnion, vainly trying to comfort the prince by gentle words, disengaged his tiny hands, and M. de Comisy hurried on. The whole court, the whole travelling cortege thronged, forward, following the empress and the King of Rome.

Soon the brilliant apartment was empty; but the deserted rooms echoed the distant cries of the little King of Rome. All his struggles were in vain. M. de Comisy was not allowed to have pity on him; the will of the empress had to be fulfilled.

At length the preparations were completed, and all had taken their seats. The large clock on the tower of the Tuileries struck eleven as the empress's carriage rolled slowly across the spacious court- yard. The crying of the little king, who sat by the side of his mother, was still heard. With them were also the mistress of ceremonies, the Duchess de Montebello, and the governess. Nine other carriages followed, decorated with the imperial coat-of-arms, and numerous baggage-wagons, and the whole train of a brilliant court. The procession filled the whole length of the court-yard of the Tuilories.

When the carriage of the empress drove through the large iron enclosure, a small crowd of spectators stood near, and gazed in mournful silence. Not a hand was raised to salute the fugitives; not a voice shouted farewell. The sad train passed along, while the people looked after it, as if the funeral procession of the empire. The imperial party disappeared among the trees of the Champs Elysees, and left Paris by the "Gate of Victory."



CHAPTER LI.

THE CAPITULATION OF PARIS.

The roar of cannon, which continued all the day long of the 30th of March, began now to cease; but the great battle which the allies fought under the walls of Paris with the corps of Marmont and Mortier, was not finished. Before resorting to a bombardment, and an assault on the city, conciliation was once more to be tried. Delegates of the monarchs, therefore, repaired to the marshals, and requested them to consent to an honorable capitulation.

"This is another instance of our foolish generosity!" growled Blucher, leaning back in his carriage. "The whole rats'-nest ought to be demolished; Bonaparte and the French would then have to submit. But I see already how it will be. The peace will be unsatisfactory, and our demands will be as modest as possible, lest we incur the displeasure of the dear French.—Pipe-master, hand me a short pipe! I must smoke, to stifle my anger."

"Your excellency," said Christian, riding up to the carriage, "you have promised the surgeon general not to smoke much, and least of all a short pipe, because the hot smoke is injurious to the eyes. Your excellency has smoked six pipes to-day!"

"And it seems to me that is very little! What are six pipes for a general-in-chief, who has to reflect so much as I have to-day? Give me a pipe, Christian; it is bad enough that I have to sit in such a monkey-box of a carriage, instead of riding on horseback at the head of my troops."

"Nevertheless, every thing passed off very well," said Christian, calmly. "You shouted your orders out of the carriage like a madman, and the generals and adjutants heard and executed all as if you had been on horseback among them. In fact, it would have been only necessary for you to order, 'Forward!' It would have been just as well, for your hussars were intent on nothing else; and, like their field-marshal, they wished only to reach Paris."

"And now we have to wait here without firing a gun," replied Blucher. "Moreover, my eyes ache as if they were burning. The sun has been blazing all day, as though curious to see whether or not we should take Paris; he has poured his rays on me since daybreak, and I had no protection for my old eyes. On looking out of the carriage early this morning I lost my shade; the wind carried it off as though it were a kite. I have lost it, and, what is worse, I cannot even enter Paris, for we shall of course sign a capitulation."

"Here is the pipe, your excellency," said Christian, "and now, good- by, field-marshal; I have to attend to a little private matter."

He galloped off, and Blucher looked after him. "Happy fellow!" he said, sighing; "he can gallop as light as a bird, while I must sit here as a poor old prisoner!" At this moment his adjutant, Major von Nostiz, rode up to the field-marshal's carriage. "Well, Nostiz, tell me how things look in the outer world. What is the news?"

"Bad and good, your excellency," said Nostiz. "A murderous battle has taken place to-day, and we have sustained heavy losses. About eight thousand men were killed on our side, but in return we have gained a large number of trophies, field-pieces, caissons, and stands of colors."

"We ought to have taken all their colors!" cried Blucher, eagerly. "What say the monarchs now, Nostiz? Will they still leave the Parisians the choice to suffer a bombardment or not?"

"The negotiations are still pending."

"Are the monarchs themselves taking part in them? Do they condescend to negotiate in person?"

"No, your excellency. The monarchs have returned to their quarters; the King of Prussia has gone to the village of Pantin, the Emperor of Russia to Bondy, and their representatives have repaired to the suburb of La Chapelle, where they are treating with Marshals Mortier and Marmont and their two adjutants in regard to the capitulation of Paris."

"Would that their negotiations were unsuccessful—that we might have the pleasure of bombarding this infamous city which, for twenty years past, has brought so much misery on Europe!"

"There is some prospect of it," said Nostiz, smiling. "The allies have demanded that the French corps should surrender as prisoners of war. To this the marshals refused to accede, declaring that they would perish first in the streets, so the allies agreed to abandon this article. A discussion next rose as to the route by which the corps of Marmont and Mortier should retire, so as to be prevented from joining the approaching forces of the emperor, the allies insisting for that of Brittany, the French for any that they might choose. The marshals refused positively to agree to these demands."

"They did!" cried Blucher, in an angry voice. "Well, I am glad of it, for I see now that we shall have a bombardment. Let us immediately make all necessary dispositions for it, in order that when the fun commences we may be ready. Bring me my horse!" With the activity of a youth Blucher opened his carriage and vaulted on the horse, which the groom led close to the carriage. For a moment he reeled in the saddle; for he felt as if red-hot daggers were piercing his eyes, but he overcame his faintness and pain. "Where are the members of my staff, Nostiz?" he asked, eagerly.

"They are near, your excellency, at La Villette."

"Let us ride, then, to La Villette, and thence up the Montmartre. Nostiz, you will have immediately eighty or ninety pieces planted on the Montmartre, that, when the bombardment commences early in the morning, there may be no delay. [Footnote: Varnhagen von Esse, "Life of Blucher," p. 380.] Make haste, Nostiz! There must be at least eighty pieces! We shall startle the Parisians out of their slumber," growled Blucher, riding along the road to La Villette, attended by his orderlies; "let them see that another state of affairs exists, and that they are no longer the masters of the world, and able to trample others in the dust!"

At La Villette, Blucher met the members of his staff, and, with Gneisenau and Muffling by his side, and followed by the other officers, rode up the heights of Moutmartre. The sun had set, but his last beams still lingered in the evening clouds. The silence reigning around them after the uproar of the day, made upon their minds a solemn impression. At first the party engaged in an animated conversation, but it gradually ceased. Peaceful nature in this spring eventide contrasted the noise and bloodshed of the day with her own indifference, so that even Blucher himself was deeply moved.

They reached the crest of the Montmartre. Paris—the long-feared, but now vanquished Paris, which for centuries had not seen a conquering enemy near its walls—lay at their feet. The steeples of Notre-Dame, of St. Genevieve, the large cupola of the Hotel des Invalides, the countless spires proudly looming up, the vast pile of the Tuileries, the Louvre, the Palais-Royal, where for twenty years Napoleon had given laws to trembling Europe, were plainly discerned. And this great city, with its temples and palaces, was in the hands of the enemy. They were Prussian generals who looked down from the heights of the Montmartre, and who for seven years had borne the disgrace of their country with sad yet courageous hearts; but this moment was a sufficient indemnity for the long years of wretchedness.

"This, then, is Paris," said Blucher, after a long pause, and his voice was gentle and tremulous. "This is Paris, for which I have longed during seven years—the city which I knew my eyes would see, that I might die in peace! Good God," he cried, lifting his blue eyes toward heaven, and taking off his cap, "I thank Thee for having permitted us to be here, for lending us Thy assistance in attaining our object, and hurling from the throne the man who has so long been a terror to humanity. I thank Thee for having called us, the men who saw the disastrous day of Jena, to participate in the day of liberation! Blessed spirit of our Queen Louisa! if thou, with thine heavenly eyes that wept so much on earth, now lookest down upon us, behold our hearts full of gratitude toward God, and of love for thee as when thou wast among us! Thou hast assisted us in gaining the victory; assist us now, too, in profiting by it in a manner worthy ourselves, and for the welfare of the fatherland!" he paused, and, shading his face with his cap, prayed in a low voice. The generals followed his example; removing their hats, they offered silent prayers of gratitude to God. "Now," cried Blucher, putting on his cap again, "we have paid homage to Heaven, let us think a little of ourselves. I am still in hope that there will be a bombardment, and that we shall send our balls to the Parisians for breakfast to- morrow. I will, therefore, remain on the Montmartre, and establish here my quarters for the night."

"Field-marshal!" shouted a voice at a distance. "Field-Marshal Blucher, where are you?"

"Here I am!" shouted Blucher.

"And here I am!" cried Hennemann, galloping up.

"Pipe-master, is it you?" asked Blucher, in amazement. "Well, what do you want, and where have you been so long?"

"I have just brought an eye-shade for you, and here it is," said Christian, handing with profound gravity a lady's bonnet of green silk, with a broad green brim.

"A bonnet!" exclaimed Blucher, laughing. "What am I to do with it?"

"Put it on," said Christian, composedly. "We can cut off the crown, then it will be a good shade; your excellency will put it on, and wear your general's hat over it."

"That will do," said Blucher. "But tell me, my boy, where did you get it?"

"I saw this afternoon a lady with a green bonnet at a villa near which I passed, and when you told me you ought to have an eye-shade, I thought immediately of the bonnet. Well, I rode to the house, and knocked so long at the door that they opened it. There were none but women at the house, and they cried and wailed dreadfully on seeing me. Well, I told them at once that I would not hurt them, but was only desirous of getting the green bonnet. While the women were raising such a hue-and-cry, another door opened, and the lady who owned the house came in, with the bonnet on. Well, I went directly to her, made her an obeisance, and said, 'Madame, be so kind as to give me your green bonnet for my field-marshal, who has sore eyes.'"

"Well, and did she understand your good Mecklenburg German?" inquired Blucher, smiling.

"No, she did not understand me apparently, but I made myself understood, your excellency."

"Well, what did you do?"

"Oh, your excellency, I simply stepped near her, took hold of the large knot by which her bonnet was tied under her chin, loosened it, seized the bonnet by the brim, and took it very gently from her head. She cried a little, and fainted away—but that will not hurt a woman; I know she will soon be better. I secured my prize, and here I am, and here is your excellency's eye-shade."

"And a good one it is. I thank you, my boy; I will wear it in honor of you, for my eyes are aching dreadfully, and I have need of a shade. I will raise this standard when we make our entrance into Paris, and I believe, pipe-master, the fair Parisians will rejoice at seeing me dressed in the latest Parisian fashion. But now, milliner, cut off the crown, else I cannot use it."

"I will do so at once," said Christian, taking a pair of scissors from his dressing-pouch, and transforming a lady's bonnet into an eye-shade.

A few hours afterward, all was quiet on the Montmartre, and on all the other heights around Paris. After the battle the armies needed sleep, and it was undisturbed, for there was no longer an enemy to dispute their possession of the French capital.



CHAPTER LII.

NIGHT AND MORNING NEAR PARIS.

So the allied armies encamped and rested round the bivouac-fires, while, at a house in the suburbs of La Chapelle, the plenipotentiaries of the sovereigns were still negotiating with the French marshals the terms on which the city was to be surrendered. But he who now rode along the road to Paris at a gallop in an open carriage knew no peace or rest. His quivering features were expressive of alarm; ruin sat enthroned on his forehead, covered with perspiration. By his side sat Caulaincourt; behind him, Berthier and Flahault. The carriage thundered along at the utmost speed. "Caulaincourt, I shall arrive at Paris in time," murmured the emperor; "we are already at Fromenteau; in an hour we shall be there. The watch-fires of the enemy are seen on the opposite bank of the Seine. Ah, I shall extinguish them; to-morrow night the enemy will not be so near.—But what is that? Do you hear nothing? Have the carriage stopped!"

Berthier shouted to the driver—the carriage stopped. They all heard a sort of hollow noise.

"It is a squad of cavalry riding along this road," whispered Caulaincourt.

"It is artillery," murmured Napoleon. "Forward! They can only be our own men. But why are they retreating from Paris? Forward!"

The carriage rolled on. And from the other side of the road a dark mass, with a rumbling noise, moved toward them. Napoleon was not mistaken, nor was Caulaincourt mistaken.

"Who is there?" shouted the emperor to the horsemen at the head of the column. "Halt!"

"It is the emperor!" cried a voice, in amazement, and a horseman dismounting in a moment approached the carriage.

"It is General Belliard," exclaimed the emperor, and alighted hastily from his carriage. "General, whither are you moving? What about Paris?"

"Sire, all is lost!" said Belliard, after a mournful pause.

"How so?" cried Napoleon, vehemently. "You see I am coming! I shall be in Paris in an hour. I will call out the National Guard, and put myself at the head of the troops."

"Sire, we are too weak; the enemy is five times stronger."

"But I am there, and my name will increase the strength of my army fivefold."

"Sire, it is too late."

"Too late! What do you mean?"

"Marmont and Mortier have capitulated; we are taking advantage of the night to evacuate Paris, while the marshals are still negotiating the terms of capitulation."

A single cry of anger burst from Napoleon's lips; then, as if crushed by the blow, his head dropped on his breast. Recovering himself in a moment, he said, imperiously: "General Belliard! return with your troops; I shall be there before you reach the city. Resuming hostilities, I will call upon all Paris to take up arms; the people love me, they will remain faithful; the majority of the working-men are composed of old soldiers. They know how to fight, and I will lead them. We shall fight as the Spaniards fought against us at Saragossa, defending with our blood the streets of our capital; detaining the enemy at least for a day, my army will arrive, and we shall be strong enough to give battle. I must go to Paris; when I am not there, they do nothing but blunder! My brother Joseph is a pusillanimous and easily-disheartened man, and Minister Clarke is a blockhead. Marmont and Mortier are traitors deserving death, for they violated my express instructions. I asked them to hold out only two days, and the traitors capitulated before they had elapsed! Oh, I shall hold them responsible for it: I know how to punish traitors and poltroons!" He hurried on in a rapid step, General Belliard walking by his side, and Caulaincourt, Berthier, and Flahault following him. "I must go to Paris," cried the emperor, after a momentary pause. "Order my carriage!"

"Sire," said Belliard, solemnly, "it is no longer possible for your majesty to reach Paris. You would run the risk of falling into the hands of the vanguard of the allies. If your majesty were at Paris, it would be of no avail. The enemy is in possession of all the heights, and they can bombard the city without being interfered with by the exhausted troops of Mortier and Marmont. Sire, all is lost; there is no prospect which would justify us to hope for a favorable change."

"To Paris!" cried the emperor. "You say I can no longer enter the city. Well, then, I shall put myself at the head of the troops of Marshals Mortier and Marmont, and, while the allies are making their entrance into the city, resume the struggle."

"Sire," said Belliard, mournfully, "it is too late, the marshals have agreed to surrender Paris; it was only on this condition that our troops were allowed to move out. The capitulation cannot be broken."

"What do I care for the capitulation of traitorous marshals?" said the emperor, stamping; "my will alone reigns here, and my will is, that the troops face about and follow me.—Say, Hulin," said the emperor, turning toward the commander of Paris, who had just approached him, "are you not of my opinion? The troops should return to Paris?"

"No, sire," said General Hulin, sighing, "the capitulation has already been concluded, and it does not permit the soldiers to return on any pretext."

"Are you of the same opinion?" asked Napoleon, turning toward General Curial, who had just come up with a corps of infantry, and saluted the emperor.

"I am, sire," said Curial. "The capitulation has been concluded, and we are happy to have received permission for our troops, who are exhausted, to evacuate the city. We are already on the march in the direction of Fontainebleau. We have no hope of conquering, and we could only be involved in a last dreadful but useless carnage. Your majesty cannot desire that. Have pity on poor France, bleeding from a thousand wounds; you do not wish the enemy to bombard the heart of our country."

"And you?" asked Napoleon, turning his eyes, with an expression of agony, toward his attendants. "Caulaincourt, do you, too, share the views of these gentlemen?"

"Yes, sire," said Caulaincourt, with tears in his eyes. "It is too late to conquer; it only remains for us to save what we can."

"And you, Berthier and Flahault?"

"Sire, that is our opinion! It is too late; all is lost!"

Napoleon's sigh sounded like a death-rattle. "Well, then," he said, in a faint, hollow voice, "I will return to Fontainebleau."

Napoleon reentered his carriage. When his three attendants had taken seats, he rose and called out in a commanding voice, "General Belliard!" The general approached the carriage hesitatingly; he was still afraid lest the emperor should change his mind.

"Belliard," said Napoleon, "dispatch immediately an orderly to Marshals Marmont and Mortier, and communicate to them that they march their troops to Essonne, ten leagues south of Paris; there they are to take a position, and await further orders.—To Fontainebleau!"

The carriage passed again along the road by which it had arrived, bearing away a wearied and despairing man, who a moment before was full of hope and energy. The clock of the village of Jurissy struck twelve, when he halted in front of the "Cour de France," and had the horses changed. "Caulaincourt," he said, hurriedly, "alight, take post-horses, and hasten to Paris! Penetrate to the headquarters of the Emperor Alexander! Prevent the capitulation—do so in my name; you have full powers! Negotiate, consent to any treaty that recognizes me as sovereign of France!" [Footnote: Beitzke vol. iii., p. 496.]

It was past midnight, and with a new day began a new era. The rising sun shone upon the brilliant array of the allies. The terms of the capitulation had been adjusted at two in the morning. It was stipulated that the marshals should evacuate Paris at seven on the same day; that the public arsenals and magazines be surrendered in the same state in which they were when the capitulation was concluded; that the National Guard, according to the pleasure of the allies, be either disbanded, or employed under their direction in the service of the city; that the wounded and stragglers, found after ten in the morning, be considered prisoners of war; and that Paris be recommended to the generosity of the sovereigns. [Footnote: "Memoires du Duc de Rovigo," vol. iii.]

It was now eight in the morning, and the corps of the allied troops that were to make their entrance into the city were in readiness. A staff, composed of hundreds of Austrian, Russian, Prussian, Wurtemberg, Bavarian, and Swedish generals, awaited the arrival of the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, when the triumphal march into Paris would take place.

Overcoming his pain, and keeping erect by a violent effort, Field- Marshal Blucher had himself dressed by his servants. The toilet was finished, and, attired in his uniform, covered with glittering orders, he stepped from his bedroom, and sent for Christian. "Pipe- master," he said, "I am ready now, and believe I look quite imposing; but you must adjust the last ornament of my toilet. You captured it, and ought to add it to my uniform."

"What ornament, your excellency?"

"Well, the eye-shade, Christian. Come and adorn me!" He handed the crownless bonnet to Christian, and sat down on a chair. The article was carefully placed on the head of the field-marshal, so that his bald scalp protruded from the aperture of the shade like a full moon surrounded by a green halo. He then carefully put on it the field- marshal's hat, with its waving plumes and gold-lace. [Footnote: Varnhagen, "Life of Blucher," p. 382]

"Now I am ready," said Blucher, rising.

At this moment the door opened, and General Gneisenau, accompanied by Surgeon-General Voelzke, entered the room.

"What!" exclaimed Gneisenau, in amazement. "An hour ago I found you in bed, a prey to a raging fever, complaining of your eyes; and now you have not only risen, but are in full feather, and ready for the march into the city!"

"Why, yes, of course, I am," said Blucher, sullenly. "I must make my entry, I must keep my word, and get into Paris after aiding in getting HIM out of it."

"That is to say," cried Dr. Voelzke, "you intend to break your pledge, and prove faithless to your oath?"

"What oath?" asked Blucher, greatly surprised.

"Did you not solemnly pledge me your word four days ago, your excellency, to submit to my treatment for two weeks, and adhere to my instructions?"

"Yes, and I think I have kept my word. I have swallowed your medicines, pills, and powders, rubbed in your salves, and applied your plasters, in accordance with your directions, although I must say that all this did not help me any."

"But your eyes have not grown any worse, and they will soon improve, if you continue my treatment."

"Well, what do you want me to do, then?"

"You must stay here. You must not be six or eight hours on horseback; you must not expose yourself so long to the dust and sun."

"What! I am not to participate in the entrance of the monarchs into Paris?" cried Blucher, indignantly.

"I implore your excellency not to do so," said the physician, in an impressive tone. "Give yourself a few days' rest and recreation, and your eyes will get well; but if you expose yourself to-day I shall never again cross your threshold, for I do not care to be disgraced by the report that Field-Marshal Blucher lost his eyesight while under my care; and I tell you, you will be blind, and then I can do nothing for you."

"Stay here, your excellency," begged Gneisenau; "do not trifle with your dear eyes, destined to see still many beautiful things, and gladden the world by their heroic glances! What can a triumph of a few hours' duration be to you to whom every day will be a triumph, and whom delivered Germany awaits to greet with manifestations of love and gratitude?"

"Ah, it is not for the sake of the triumph that I wish to go," cried Blucher, morosely. "But I have sworn, for seven years, and it has been my only consolation, that, in spite of Bonaparte, I would make my triumphal entrance into Paris, as Bonaparte did into Berlin, and now you insist on my not fulfilling my oath!"

"You will nevertheless make your entrance into Paris," exclaimed Gneisenau; "though your person be absent, your name will float as our banner of victory over the monarchs, and all know full well that Blucher is THE conqueror."

"Stay!" begged Voelzke; "think of the pain which you have already suffered, and of that you will suffer, and of which I give you sufficient warning."

"Yes, field-marshal," begged Hennemann, with tearful eyes, "pray do what the doctor says; do not hazard your sight; for, let me say, field-marshal, a blind man is like a pipe that will not draw; both of them will go out."

"Well, I do not care," cried Blucher, "I will stay. It will not hurt me. My task is performed, and it makes no difference to me how I enter Paris. I have my share of the victory, and no one can take it from me. HE has been cast down, and none will deny that I assisted."

"Well, I think I have also assisted a little in it," said Christian, solemnly; "for had I not always kept the pipes in so good a state, the field-marshal would not have had such successful ideas, nor could he have so well said, 'Forward!'"

"You are right, pipe-master," said Blucher, pleasantly. "The pipe— but what is that? Was not that a gun, and there another? Have the negotiations miscarried, after all, and the bombardment commenced in earnest?"

"No, your excellency," said Gneisenau, smiling, "you must give up that hope! These are the guns which give the troops the signal that the monarchs have arrived, and that the march into the city is to commence."

"Well, good-by, then; make haste and leave!" cried Blucher, pushing Gneisenau and Voelzke toward the door.

They left, and the field-marshal was again alone with Christian Hennemann.

"Well," he said, "give me a pipe: while the others are making their entrance into Paris, I want you to afford me a little pleasure, too. Come here, therefore, and sing to me the Low-German song which you sang to me on the day when you arrived at Kunzendorf."

The reports of the artillery continued; the monarchs were entering Paris. The field-marshal in the mean time sat with the green bonnet on his head, puffing his pipe. No one was with him but Christian Hennemann, who sang in a loud voice, "Spinn doch, spinn doch, mihn lutt lewes Dochting!"



CHAPTER LIII.

NAPOLEON AT FONTAINEBLEAU.

Napoleon passed seven days of indescribable mental anguish at Fontainebleau. Adversity had befallen him, but he bore it with the semblance of calmness, uttering no complaint. His was still the cold, inscrutable face of the emperor, such as it had been on his triumphal entrance into Berlin and Madrid, after the victories of Austerlitz and Jena, in the days of Erfurt and Tilsit, at the conflagration of Moscow, at the Beresina, and at Leipsic. He gave no expression to his soul's agony. It was only in the dead of night that his faithful servants heard him sometimes sigh, pacing his room, restless and melancholy. He did not yet feel wholly discouraged; he still hoped. His bravest marshals were still with him; his Old Guard had not yet gone, and at Paris there were many devoted friends, because they owed to him honor and riches.

He was hopeful that Marmont's troops would arrive at Fontainebleau, when, concentrating all his corps, he would march with them and reconquer his capital. Engrossed with this idea, he was alone in his cabinet; bent over his maps, he examined the various positions of his troops, and considered when they might all reach him. But while he was thinking of war, his marshals were thinking of peace. They had withdrawn into one of the remote apartments of Fontainebleau for the purpose of holding a secret consultation. There were his old comrades Ney, Prince de la Moskwa; Macdonald, Duke de Tarento; Lefebvre, Duke de Dantzic; Oudinot, Duke de Reggio—all of them owing their glory to Napoleon: it was, therefore, pardonable if he confided in their gratitude—but gratitude to the fallen, who had nothing more to give, and whose misfortunes resembled an infectious disease, repelling even his dearest friends.

"He is lost," said Oudinot, in an undertone; "he is on the edge of the precipice, and those who abide by him will fall with him."

"We must, therefore, leave him," whispered Lefebvre. "We are unable to keep him back; prudence commands us to keep aloof."

"We have suffered and bled for him for years," said Macdonald; "it is time now for him to suffer and bleed for us. His death would be a relief."

"Yes," murmured Ney, "his death would give us a new life. But he will not die; his heart is made of bronze, and will not break."

"No, he will not die voluntarily," said Oudinot.

The marshals paused and looked at each other with dark and significant glances. All seemed to read each other's souls, and to divine the sinister thoughts that began to find utterance.

"No, he will not die voluntarily," repeated Macdonald. "But the millions of soldiers that have fallen on the battlefields have not died voluntarily, either: Napoleon drove them into the jaws of death. Now he is no longer any thing but a mere soldier; could we be blamed, if, in order to save France, we should drive him into the grave?"

"But how could we do it?" asked Lefebvre. "He has with him Caulaincourt, Berthier, and Maret, who would certainly be capable of showing, like Anthony, the blood-stained cloak of Caesar to the people, and of bringing upon us a destiny such as befell Brutus and Cassius. I am not desirous of seeing my house set on fire, and of being compelled to flee."

"We ought not to imitate Caesar's generals," said Ney, gloomily. "He has lived like a demi-god, and must die like a demi-god. Not a vestige of him must remain; he must, like Romulus, ascend to the gods."

"Let us consider what ought to be done," said Macdonald.

They whispered in low tones, so that they themselves scarcely heard each other. After a prolonged secret consultation, they seemed agreed as to what should be done, and as if there were now no longer any doubt or objection.

"Caulaincourt, Bertrand, and Maret, are alone to be feared," said Oudinot, loudly. "If they refuse to be silent, they must be silenced! And Berthier? what are we to do with Berthier?"

"We shall tell him all when it is over," responded Macdonald, with a shrug. "Berthier is not formidable; he has a heart of cotton, and a head of wind."

All laughed; Oudinot then said, in a grave and menacing voice: "It is time for us to come to a decision. We are already in April, and nothing decided; the Emperor of Russia is impatient, and the future King of France will never forgive us if we delay his return to Paris. Come, gentlemen, let us for the last time try the way of kindness and persuasion. Let us openly and honestly advise Napoleon to abdicate; he must make up his mind to do so, or—"

"Or we shall compel him," said Macdonald. "He has often enough compelled us to do what was repugnant to us. Come, gentlemen, let us go to the emperor." [Footnote: "Memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes."]

The emperor was sill bending over his maps when the four marshals entered his cabinet. With a quick glance he read in their pale, sullen faces that they came to him, not as friends and servants, but as adversaries. "I am glad," he said calmly, "that you anticipate my request, and come to me when I intended to send for you. We must hold a council of war, marshals. I have determined to make a general assault upon the allies to-morrow, and I wished to assemble you here to lay the details of my plan before you. One of you may go and call Berthier, who should participate in our deliberations."

"Sire," said Ney, in a harsh tone, "before entering into deliberations on the war, we should first consider whether it is still desirable." Napoleon cast on him a glance which once would have frozen the marshal's blood, but which now made no impression on him. "I believe," added Ney, "that France can no longer bear the burden of war. She is exhausted, bleeding from many wounds, and would sink to certain ruin if she continue a useless struggle. Her finances cannot be restored, for the people are destitute. Our fields are uncultivated, our industry is paralyzed; our workshops and stores are closed, our commerce is prostrated, for France is destitute of money, credit, and laborers. What means has your majesty to shield her from the most terrible misfortunes?"

"I have but one—to attack the allies to-morrow, expelling those who have caused all the misfortunes of France."

"Sire, our country is tired of war," cried Ney; "she wants peace."

"Is that your opinion, marshals?" asked the emperor, hastily.

"Yes, sire, it is."

"Well, then," said Napoleon, after a moment's reflection, "do you know of any way of restoring peace?"

The marshals were silent. Their lips seemed to shrink from uttering the thoughts of their souls; but the Prince de la Moskwa, Marshal Ney, overcame his timidity. "Sire," he remarked, "the allies say in their proclamation that it is not France against which they wage war."

"Not France, but myself!" cried Napoleon. "Ah, you come to propose an abdication to me?"

"We come to implore your majesty to make a last great sacrifice."

"Sire," exclaimed Oudinot, "let your heroic soul conquer itself, and restore peace to France."

"She will forever bless you," said Lefebvre.

"Restore to France the peace for which she has been vainly longing for twenty-five years!" cried Macdonald.

Now that they had all spoken, there was an anxious, breathless pause. Suddenly Napoleon passed over to his desk. He cast a last glance, full of pride, contempt, and anger, on his four marshals; then, seating himself, he took up a pen with a firm hand, and wrote. The marshals stood in silence, and looked at him in an embarrassed manner. Laying aside the pen, and rising, he held up the paper on which he had written, and motioned to Marshal Ney. "Here, Prince de la Moskwa," said Napoleon, "read to the marshals what I have written."

Ney read in a tremulous voice: "'The allied powers, having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the sole obstacle to the reestablishment of peace in Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath, declares that he is ready to descend from the throne, to quit France, and even life itself, for the good of the country, inseparable from the rights of his son, of the regency of the empress, and of the maintenance of the laws of the empire.'" [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814," p. 221.]

"You have willed it so," said Napoleon, when Ney had finished. "Macdonald and Ney, with Caulaincourt, will immediately repair with this document to Paris. On the way they will meet Mortier, and request him to accompany them. The four dukes will present my conditional abdication to the Emperor Alexander, and treat with him in regard to the future of my son and the regency of my consort."

On the 7th of April the Duke de Vicenza entered the emperor's cabinet, pale and with a mournful air.

"Caulaincourt," cried Napoleon, "you have delivered my abdication to Alexander?"

"Yes, sire," said Caulaincourt, sadly. "Ah, sire, I bring bad news, which my lips almost refuse to utter!"

"Speak, I am courageous enough to hear all; be, then, courageous enough to tell me all. I wish no concealment whatever—I desire to know the whole truth."

"Well, sire, all is lost. The Emperor Alexander has issued to-day a manifesto, which has been placarded over every part of Paris, to the effect that 'he would no longer treat with Bonaparte, nor with any member of his family.'"

"Ah, the perfidious wretch!" murmured Napoleon, "he plighted me once eternal friendship and fidelity.—Proceed, Caulaincourt! What says the so-called provisional government presided over by M. Talleyrand, the renegade priest, whom I made a man of distinction, whom I raised to the dignity of a prince, on whom I lavished honors, and who has now become the leader of the royalists? What say M. Talleyrand, and the provisional government, and the senate, who swore allegiance to me?"

"Sire, the senate solemnly declared yesterday, the 6th of April, that the Emperor Napoleon has forfeited his throne, because, by abusing the powers conferred on him, by despotism, by trampling under foot the liberty of the press, by undertaking wars in violation of right, and by his openly manifested contempt of man and human law, he has rendered himself unworthy of the sovereignty of the nation. The senate, besides, have called back the Bourbons to the throne of France. In consequence of this declaration, the provisional government has proclaimed to-day that, till the arrival of King Louis XVIII., the administration is exclusively in their hands."

"Ah, the traitors!" cried Napoleon. "They have dared to proclaim such sentiments! to carry their impudence so far! See what venal creatures those men are! As long as fortune was faithful to me, they, who now call themselves the provisional government and senate, in the name of France, were my most sycophantic servants. A sign from me was an order for the senate, who always did more than was desired of them, and not a whisper was heard against the abuses of power. Ah, they charge me with despising them—tell me, Caulaincourt, will not the world see now whether or not I had reasons for my opinion?" [Footnote: Fain, "Manuscrit de 1814," p. 225.]

"Sire, it is true, your majesty has met with many ingrates during your career, and will still meet with them," said Caulaincourt, sighing. "Perfidy seems to have become an epidemic."

"Ah, I see you have not yet told me every thing. Speak! In the first place, what was the result of your negotiations with the Emperor Alexander?"

"Sire, if your majesty agrees to renounce, for yourself and your heirs, the throne of France, the allied sovereigns offer Corsica or Elba as a sovereign principality, and France will pay your majesty an annual pension of two million francs."

"I am to renounce the throne, too, for my son—my dear little King of Rome?" cried Napoleon, mournfully. "No, never! I cannot deprive my son of his inheritance. This is too much. I will put myself at the head of my army and run the risk of any calamities, rather than submit to a humiliation worse than them all!"

"Your majesty has no army. Treason has infected your marshals."

"What do you mean? Ah. it is true, you come alone! Where are the marshals? Where is Ney? Where is Macdonald?"

"Sire, they have remained in Paris."

"Ah, I understand," exclaimed Napoleon, with a scornful laugh; "they are waiting there for King Louis XVIII., in order to offer him their services. But where is Marmont? You know well that I am greatly attached to Marmont, and I long to see him. Why does he not come?"

"Sire, Marshal Marmont has passed over to the allies with a corps of ten thousand men."

"Marmont!" cried Napoleon, almost with a scream—"Marmont a traitor! That is false—that is impossible! Marmont cannot have betrayed me!"

"Sire, he did betray you. He marched the troops, notwithstanding their undisguised reluctance, to Versailles, in order there to join the allies, after receiving from them the solemn promise that the French soldiers should be treated as friends."

"Marmont has betrayed me!" murmured Napoleon. "Marment, whom I loved as a son—who owes me all—who—" His voice faltered; his heart was rent, and, sinking on a chair, he buried his quivering face in his hands.



CHAPTER LIV.

A SOUL IN PURGATORY.

It was the 11th of April. Napoleon, at Fontaineblean, sat at his desk and stared at the paper before him. It contained an absolute resignation of his throne for himself and his family. After signing this document, he was no more Emperor of France, nor his son King of Rome, nor his consort empress—perhaps, no longer even his wife. By signing this paper, he accepted all the conditions imposed on him by the allies; that is to say, he descended from the sovereignty of all his states and went to the little island of Elba, to live there a pensioner of Europe; his consort wore no longer, like him, the imperial title, but became Duchess of Parma; and the King of Rome became not the heir of his father, the Emperor of Elba, but the heir of his mother, the Duchess of Parma, and the title of "Duke de Reichstadt" was to be given him. He renounced not only France, but his wife and his son!

Napoleon was fondly and sincerely attached to Maria Louisa, and he loved the King of Rome with passionate tenderness. Before consenting, therefore, to affix his signature to this act of abdication, he wished to know whether Maria Louisa agreed to it, and whether she would not at least ask the allies, one of whom was her own father, to permit her to reside with her son and her husband on the island of Elba, sharing the emperor's exile. For some time he had not heard from his consort; he wrote to her every day, but for six days past no answers came. He did not, however, distrust her; he knew that Maria Louisa loved him. His heart longed for her and his child. He had sent Berthier to Orleans the day before with a letter for Maria Louisa. He was to tell him what his consort was thinking and wishing. If she was courageous enough to claim her rights, and desired to do so, Berthier was to convey her to the emperor, and, at Fontainebleau, Maria Louisa was to declare to her father that she insisted on her sacred right of staying with her husband. Napoleon expected this, and he was nervous and anxious, waiting for the return of his general, and in hope that Maria Louisa would accompany him.

He contemplated the paper, and, while reading the words of despair, he thought of the past—of the days when Europe had been at his feet, and when he himself showed no mercy. The door of the cabinet was softly opened, and the Duke de Bassano entered. "Maret," he exclaimed, "you come to inform me that Berthier has returned, do you not?"

"Yes, sire."

"And he—he is alone?"

"Yes, sire, he is alone."

Napoleon sighed. "Admit Berthier," he said, "but stay here."

Maret stepped to the door and opened it. The Prince of Neufchatel entered, mournful and silent. A single glance told Napoleon that his mission had failed.

"Well, Berthier, you have seen the empress?"

"I have, sire. I met the empress leaving Orleans."

"Ah, then, she is coming!" exclaimed Napoleon.

"No, sire. Prince Metternich had paid her a visit on the preceding day, and delivered to her autograph letters from her father the Emperor of Austria. He had asked his daughter to repair to Rambouillet, where he would meet her."

"And Louisa consented?"

"She did, sire. Her majesty told me with tears in her eyes that nothing remained for her but to submit to the will of her father, because only his intercession could secure her own future and that of her son. She deplored that she was not at liberty to come to Fontainebleau, but stated she had solemnly pledged her word to Prince Metternich, who, in the emperor's name, had required a pledge neither to see nor to correspond with your majesty."

"And she did not indignantly reject this base demand?" cried the emperor. "She did not remember that she is my wife, and that she plighted her faith to me?"

"Sire, the empress said that, for her son's sake, she was allowed now only to consider herself a princess of Austria, and the Austrian princesses were all educated in unconditional and unmurmuring obedience to the orders of the emperor their father. [Footnote: Meneval, "Memoires," etc., vol. ii., p. 80.] Hence, she obeyed her father now, in order to enjoy at a later time the happiness of belonging to your majesty. For, as soon as her future was secured, as soon as the duchy of Parma was settled upon her, and her son declared its heir, nothing would prevent her from rejoining her beloved husband; and if your majesty agreed to accept the island of Elba, the empress would certainly soon repair thither. She proposed that, prohibited from directly corresponding with your majesty, you might have intercourse through your private secretaries; your majesty might have Baron Fain write to her all you wished her to know, and she would do the same through Baron de Meneval."

"A genuine woman's stratagem," murmured Napoleon, gloomily, to himself. "She is destitute of courage, and does not love me enough to brave her father.—Berthier," he then asked aloud, "did you see my son?"

"No, sire, they would not let me see the prince; they feared lest it would excite him too much, and remind him of the past. For the King of Rome is constantly longing for his father."

"And his father cannot see him—cannot call him to his side! Oh, Berthier, this is painful, very painful!"

"But your majesty will soon be reunited with him," said Maret, feelingly. "Sign the act of abdication; go to Elba, sire, and no one can prevent the empress from coming to you with her son. She wishes and has a right to do so."

"Well, then, be it so," said the emperor, drawing a deep breath. "I will sign every thing. I will abdicate; I will sign this second treaty, which makes me Emperor of Elba! My wife and my son must be restored to me!" He quickly stepped to the desk, and signed the two papers with a steady hand.

"Well," he said, flinging the pen into a corner of the room, "now I am no longer Emperor of France, but at the same time no longer a prisoner at Fontainebleau. At Elba I shall be free, at least; I shall be surrounded by the brave soldiers of my Old Guard; I shall see again my wife and my son. That is to say," he gloomily murmured to himself, "if her father permits them to rejoin me; for without his permission she will not come. Louisa is a princess of Austria, and has, therefore, been brought up in obedience. Oh, how I longed for the consolation of her presence! She ought not to have left me alone in these days!" His lips murmured softly, "Josephine would not have done so! She would have gone with me into exile!" He sat a long time absorbed in his reflections, which whispered to him of the past, and of Josephine. He felt that they moved him too deeply, and, with an impetuous gesture, he jumped up, and, proudly throwing back his head, exclaimed: "Well, then, I have submitted to my fate, and shall bear it manfully. We shall go to Elba, then! You will accompany me, my friends, and I shall not be alone? Maret and Berthier, you will not leave me, I hope?"

"Sire, I would follow your majesty to the end of the world!" said Maret, tenderly.

"I know of no more glorious destiny than to remain your majesty's faithful servant," exclaimed Berthier, emphatically. "I thank you for permitting me to go with you to Elba, and I joyfully accept this permission; but as I have to make some necessary preparatious, I request two days' leave of absence of your majesty."

While Berthier was speaking, the emperor contemplated him with painful astonishment; now he quickly came near him, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, he fixed his keen eyes on him, as if he wished to read his most secret thoughts. "Berthier," he said, in a gentle, imploring voice, "you see how much I have need of consultation; how necessary it is for me to have true friends about me. You will, therefore, return to-morrow, will you not?"

"Sire, certainly," faltered Berthier.

Napoleon's eyes still rested on the pale, confused face of the prince. "Berthier," he said, after a pause, "if you wish to leave me, tell me so frankly and sincerely."

"I leave you!" exclaimed Berthier. "Your majesty knows well that I am devoted to you with immovable fidelity—that my heart can never forget you, and that I shall always be your obedient servant."

"Words, words!" said Napoleon, shaking his head. "Well, then, it is your will: go, therefore, to Paris. Attend to the affairs which you have more at heart than my wishes. Go, and—if you can, come back soon!"

Berthier wished to grasp the emperor's hand and press it to his lips, but he hastily withdrew it, and, lifting it up, pointed with an imperious glance at the door. Berthier bowed, and, walking backward, approached the door with bent head, and departed. The emperor looked after him long and gloomily; then he slowly turned his head toward the Duke de Bassano. "Maret," he said, slowly, "Berthier will not come back."

"What, sire!" exclaimed Maret, in dismay. "Your majesty believes—"

"I know it," said Napoleon, slowly, "Berthier will not come back!" He threw himself into an easy-chair, at times heaving a sigh, but without uttering a single complaint; and thus he sat all day. From time to time the few faithful men who had remained with him dared to speak, but the emperor, starting from his meditations, only stared at them, and then slowly dropped his head again on his breast. At dinner-time Maret endeavored to induce him to go to the table; but he only responded by indignantly shaking his head, and waving him toward the door.

Evening had come, and the emperor still sat alone in his cabinet, motionless and sad. He did not hear the door behind him softly open; he did not see a dark, veiled female form that had slowly entered, and now, as if overwhelmed by grief, leaned against the wall. Her veil prevented her, perhaps, from seeing Napoleon; she threw it back, and now Josephine's pale, quivering face was seen. She fixed her eyes on him with an expression of boundless tenderness, and then lifted them to heaven with an imploring air, softly raising her arms, and her lips moving in inaudible prayer.

The emperor did not yet notice her. Josephine stepped noiselessly across the carpet, and laid her hand gently on his head. "Napoleon," she whispered, "Napoleon!"

He uttered a cry and jumped up. "Josephine," he exclaimed, "my Josephine! Oh, now I am no longer alone!" He clasped her with impassioned tenderness in his arms; he kissed her quivering lips, and held her streaming face between his hands, gazing at it with the tender expression of a lover. Encircling her with his arms, and no longer able to restrain his heart, he laid his head on her shoulder, and wept bitterly. Recovering, his face resumed its inscrutable expression. "Josephine," he said, "I have wrung many tears from you, but Fate has avenged you; I have wept, too; and what is worse than tears is that which is gnawing at my heart. I thank you, Josephine, for coming to me. All have deserted me!"

"I know it, Napoleon," whispered Josephine, smiling amid tears, "and that is why I am here. You will not go all alone to Elba; I shall go with you. No, Bonaparte, no! do not shake your head; do not reject me! I have a right to accompany you; for, whatever men may say, I was your wife, and am your wife, and what God has joined together no man can sunder. My soul is one with yours. I love you to-day as tenderly as I did on the day when I stood with you before the altar and plighted my fidelity to you; I love you now even more intensely, for you are unfortunate, and have need of my love. Bid me, therefore, not go any more. SHE is not here, and her place by your side, which she has deserted, belongs to me!"

"No," said Napoleon, gravely, "let her absence remind her of her duty. I will not give my son's mother a pretext for staying away from me; she shall not say that she cannot rejoin me because I have yielded to another woman the place that belongs to her. No, Josephine, she must not be able to reproach me. I thank you for coming, but you have come to take leave of me. I have seen you—your faithful love has been a balm to my heart. Now, farewell!"

"Then, you bid me go already?" cried Josephine, reproachfully; "oh, Bonaparte, let me stay here at least till your departure. No one will betray to HER that I am here."

"It would remain no secret, Josephine, and it would be used to excuse her, and to accuse me. Go, then, and take with you the consciousness that you have afforded me the last joy of my life."

"Oh, Bonaparte, you break my heart!" murmured Josephine, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I cannot leave you, I cannot bear to see you go alone into exile."

"Fate has decreed it, and so has the evil star that arose upon my path when I left you, Josephine! Let this be my farewell. Now, go!"

"No, Bonaparte," she cried, passionately; "tell me not to go if you do not wish me to die! Your misfortunes have pierced my heart. My only hope of life is by your side, for sorrow at the remembrance of your misfortunes will kill me."