CHAPTER XLI

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

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

If Napoleon had listened to the advice of his brother Lucien, and the few who really considered their own fortunes as irrevocably bound up with his, he would have instantly put himself at the head of 6000 of the Imperial Guard, who were then in the capital, and dissolved the unfriendly senate of Paris, on the 21st of June, as unceremoniously as he had that of St. Cloud on the 19th of Brumaire.  Lucien said ever after, that, “the smoke of Mont St. Jean had turned his brain.”  He certainly gave what remained of the day to vacillation.  Late in the evening he held a council, to which the presidents and vice-presidents of both Chambers were admitted.  In their presence La Fayette signified that nothing could be done until a great sacrifice had been made.  Maret answered with fierceness; called for severe measures against the royalists and the disaffected.  “Had such been resorted to earlier,” cried he, “one who hears me would not be smiling at the misfortunes of France, and Wellington would not be marching on Paris.”  This strong allusion to Fouche suited not the temper of the moment.  Maret was murmured down; and Carnot himself is said to have shed tears, when he perceived that the abdication was judged necessary.  That ancient democrat had indeed just consented to be a count; but he enjoys apparently the credit of having acted on this occasion as a good Frenchman.  He saw, say even the anti-Buonapartist historians, that France was invaded, and the same feelings which made him offer his own sword in December, 1813, urged him now to oppose any measure which must deprive his country of the military talents of Napoleon.  The Emperor heard all in silence—­and broke up the meeting without having come to any decision.