CHAPTER XL. FONTAINEBLEAU
An order from Berthier, written at the command of the Emperor, admittedme into the ancient Palace of Fontainebleau, where I lay for upwardsof two months under my wound. Twice had fever nearly brought me tothe grave; but youth and unimpaired health succored me, and I ralliedthrough all. A surgeon of the staff accompanied me, and by his kindcompanionship, not less than by his skill, did I recover from an illnesswhere sorrow had made an iron inroad not less deep than disease.
In my little chamber, which looked out upon the courtyard of the Palace,I passed my days, thinking over the past and all its vicissitudes. Eachday we learned some intelligence either from the seat of war or fromParis: defeat in one, treason and disaffection in the other, wererapidly hastening the downfall of the mightiest Empire the genius ofman had ever constructed. Champ-Aubert, Montmirail, and Montereau, greatvictories as they were, retarded not the current of events. "The week ofglory" brought not hope to a cause predestined to ruin.
It was the latter end of March. For some days previous the surgeon hadleft me to visit an outpost ambulance near Melun, and I was alone. Mystrength, however, enabled me to sit up at my window; and even in thisslight pleasure my wearied senses found enjoyment, after the tedioushours of a sickbed. The evening was calm, and for the season mild andsummerlike. The shrubs were putting forth their first leaves, and aroundthe marble fountains the spring flowers were already showing signsof blossom. The setting sun made the tall shadows of the ancientbeech-trees stretch across the wide court, where all was still as atmidnight. No inhabitant of the Palace was about; not a servant moved,not a footstep was heard.
It was a moment of such perfect stillness as leads the mind to reverie;and my thoughts wandered away to that distant time when gay cavaliersand stately dames trod those spacious terraces,--when tales of chivalryand love mingled with the plashing sounds of those bright fountains, andthe fair moon looked down on more lovely forms than even those gracefulmarbles around. I fancied the time when the horn of the chasseur washeard-echoing through those vast courts, its last notes lost in themerry voices of the cortege round the monarch. And then I called upthe brilliant group, with caracoling steeds and gay housings, proudlyadvancing up that great avenue to the royal entrance, and pictured theancient ceremonial that awaited his coming,--the descendant of a longline of kings. The frank and kingly Francis, the valiant Henry theFourth, the "Grand Monarch" himself,--all passed in review before mymind as once they lived, and moved, and spoke in that stately pile.
The sun had set: the mingled shadows threw their gloom over the widecourt, and one wing of the Palace was in' deep shade, when suddenly Iheard the roll of wheels and the tramp of horses on the distant road.I listened attentively. They were coming near; I could hear the tread ofmany together; and my practised ear could detect the clank of dragoons,as their sabres and sabretasches jingled against the horses' flanks."Some hurried news from the Emperor," thought I; "perhaps some marshalwounded, and about to be conveyed to the Palace." The same instant theguard at the distant entrance beat to arms, and an equipage drawn bysix horses dashed in at full gallop; a second followed as fast, with apeloton of dragoons at the side. My anxiety increased. "What if it werethe Emperor himself!" thought I. But as the idea flashed across me,it yielded at once on seeing that the carriages did not draw up at thegrand stair, but passed on to a low and private door at the distant wingof the Palace.
The bustle of the cortege arriving was but a moment's work. Thecarriages moved rapidly away, the dragoons disappeared, and all was asstill as before, leaving me to ponder over the whole, and actually askmyself could it have been reality? I opened my door to listen; but not asound awoke the echo of the long corridors. One could have fancied thatno living thing was beneath that wide roof, so silent was all around.
A strange feeling of anxiety,--the dread of something undefined, I knewnot what, or whence coming,--was over me, and my nerves, long irritablefrom illness, became now jarringly sensitive, and banished all thoughtof sleep. Wild fancies and incoherent ideas crossed my mind, and made merestless and uneasy. I felt, too, as if the night were unusually closeand sultry, and I opened my window to admit the air. Scarcely had Idrawn the curtain aside, when my eye rested on a long line of light,that, issuing from a window on the ground-floor of the Palace, threw itsbright gleam far across the courtyard.
It was in the same wing where the carriages drew up. It must be so;some officer of rank, wounded in a late battle, was brought there. "Poorfellow!" thought I; "what suffering may he be enduring amid all thepeace-fulness and calm of this tranquil spot! Who can it be?" wasthe ever-recurring question to my mind; for my impression had alreadystrengthened itself to a conviction.
The hours went on; the light shone steadily as at first, and thestillness was unbroken. Wearied with thinking, and half forgetful of myweakness, I tottered along the corridor, descended the grand stair, andpassed out into the court. How refreshing did the night air feel! howsweet the fair odors of the spring, as, wafted by the motion of the_jet d'eau_, they were diffused around! The first steps of recovery fromsevere sickness have a strange thrill of youthfulness about them. Oursenses seem once more to revel in the simple enjoyments of early days,and to feel that their greatest delight lies in the associations whichgave pleasure to childhood. Weaned from the world's contentions, we seemto have been lifted for the time above the meaner cares and ambitionsof life, and love to linger a little longer in that ideal state ofhappiness calm thoughts bestow; and thus the interval that brings backhealth to the body restores freshness to the heart, and purified inthought, we come forth hoping for better things, and striving forthem with all the generous ardor of early years. How happy was I as Iwandered in that garden! how full of gratitude to feel the current ofhealth once more come back in all my veins,--the sense of enjoymentwhich flows from every object of the fair world restored to me, after somany dangers and escapes!
As I moved slowly through the terraced court, my eye was constantlyattracted to the small and starlike light which glimmered throughthe darkness; and I turned to it at last, impelled by a feeling ofundefinable sympathy. Following a narrow path, I drew near to a littlegarden, which once contained some rare flowers. They had been favoritesof poor Josephine in times past; but the hour was over in which thatgave them a claim to care and attention, and now they were wild grownand tangled, and almost concealed the narrow walk which led to thedoorway.
I reached this at length; and as I stood, the faint moonlight, slantingbeneath a cloud, fell upon a bright and glistening object almost at myfeet. I stepped back, and looked fixedly at it. It was the figure ofa man sleeping across the entrance of the porch. He was dressedin Mameluke fashion; but his gay trappings and rich costume weretravel-stained and splashed. His unsheathed cimeter lay grasped in onehand, and a Turkish pistol seemed to have fallen from the other.
Even by the imperfect light I recognized Rustan, the favorite Mamelukeof the Emperor, who always slept at the door of his tent and hischamber,--his chosen bodyguard. Napoleon must then be here; his equipageit was which arrived so hurriedly; his the light which burned throughthe stillness of the night. As these thoughts followed fast on oneanother, I almost trembled to think how nearly I had ventured on hispresence, where none dared to approach unbidden. To retire quickly andnoiselessly was now my care. But my first step entangled my foot; Istumbled. The noise awoke the sleeping Turk, and with a loud cry for theguard he sprang to his feet.
"La garde!" called he a second time, forgetting in his surprise thatnone was there. But then with a spring he seized me by the arm, and ashis shining weapon gleamed above my head, demanded who I was, and forwhat purpose there.
The first words of my reply were scarcely uttered, when a small door wasopened within the vestibule, and the Emperor appeared. Late as was thehour, he was dressed, and even wore his sword at his side.
"What means this? Who are you, sir?" was the quick, sharp question headdressed to me.
A few words--the fewest in which I could convey it
--told my story, andexpressed my sorrow, that in the sick man's fancy of a moonlight walk Ishould have disturbed his Majesty.
"I thought, Sire," added I, "that your Majesty was many a league distantwith the army--"
"There is no army, sir," interrupted he, with a rapid gesture of hishand; "to-morrow there will be no Emperor. Go, sir; go, while it is yetthe time. Offer your sword and your services where so many others, moreexalted than yourself, have done. This is the day of desertion; see thatyou take advantage of it."
"Had my name and rank been less humble, they would have assured yourMajesty how little I merited this reproach."
"I am sorry to have offended you," replied he, in a voice ofinexpressible softness. "You led the assault at Montereau? I rememberyou now. I should have given you your brigade, had I--" He stoppedhere suddenly, while an expression of suffering passed across his palefeatures; he rallied from it, however, in an instant, and resumed, "Ishould have known you earlier; it is too late! Adieu!"
He inclined his head slightly as he spoke, and extended his hand. Ipressed it fervently to my lips, and would have spoken, but I could not.The moment after he was gone.
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It is too late! too late!--the same terrible words which were utteredbeneath the blackened walls of Moscow; repeated at every new disaster ofthat dreadful retreat; now spoken by him whose fortune they predicted.Too late!--the exclamation of the proud marshal, harassed byunsuccessful efforts to avert the destiny he saw inevitable. Toolate!--the cry of the wearied soldier. Too late!--the fatal expressionof the Czar when the brave and faithful Macdonald urged the successionof the King of Rome and the regency of the Empress.
Wearied with a wakeful night, I fell into a slumber towards morning,when I started suddenly at the roll of drums in the court beneath. Inan instant I was at my window. What was my astonishment to perceive thatthe courtyard was filled with troops! The Grenadiers of the Guard wereranged in order of battle, with several squadrons of the chasseurs andthe horse artillery; while a staff of general officers stood inthe midst, among whom I recognized Belliard, Montesquieu, andTurenne,--great names, and worthy to be recorded for an act of faithfuldevotion. The Duc de Bassano was there too, in deep mourning; his paleand careworn face attesting the grief within his heart.
The roll of the drums continued; the deep, unbroken murmur of the salutewent on from one end of the line to the other. It ceased; and ere Icould question the reason, the various staff-officers became uncovered,and stood in attitudes of respectful attention, and the Emperorhimself slowly, step by step, descended the wide stair of the "ChevalBlanc,"--as the grand terrace was styled,--and advanced towards thetroops. At the same instant the whole line presented arms, and the drumsbeat the salute. They ceased, and Napoleon raised his hand to commandsilence, and throughout that crowded mass not a whisper was heard.
I could perceive that he was speaking, but the words did not reach me.Eloquent and burning words they were, and to be recorded in historyto the remotest ages. I now saw that he had finished, as General Petitsprang forward with the eagle of the First Regiment of the Guards, andpresented it to him. The Emperor pressed it fervently to his lips,and then threw his arms round Petit's neck; while suddenly disengaginghimself, he took the tattered flag that waved above him, and kissed ittwice. Unable to bear up any longer, the worn, hard-featured veteranssobbed aloud like children, and turned away their faces to conceal theiremotion. No cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded now through those rankswhere each had willingly shed his heart's blood for him. Sorrow hadusurped the place of enthusiasm, and they stood overwhelmed by grief.
A tall and soldierlike figure, with head uncovered, approached theEmperor, and said a few words. Napoleon waved his hand towards thetroops, and from the ranks many rushed towards him, and fell on theirknees before him. He passed his hand across his face and turned away. Myeyes grew dim; a misty vapor shut out every object, and I felt as thoughthe very lids were bursting. The great tramp of horses startled me, andthen came the roll of wheels. I looked up: an equipage was passing fromthe gate, a peloton of dragoons escorted it; a second followed at fullspeed. The colonels formed their men; the word to march was given; thedrums beat out; the grenadiers moved on; the chasseurs succeeded; andlast the artillery rolled heavily up. The court was deserted; not a manremained: all, all were gone! The Empire was ended; and the Emperor, themighty genius who created it, on his way to exile!