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ure. He remained during the forenoon alone in hie cabinet. As the hour approached, the troops of the Imperial Guard were drawn up in the court-yard of the palace, to pay their last token of respect to their exiled Emperor. An immense concourse, from the surrounding country, had collected to witness the great event. The commissioners of the allied powers, the generals of his body guard, and a few of the officers of the imperial household, assembled, in mournful silence, in the saloon before his cabinet. General Bertrand, grand-marshal of the palace, faithful to NapoleoD until the dying scene at St. Helena, announced the Emperor. Napoleon, with a serene countenance and a tranquil air, came forth. The emotions excited in every breast were too deep for utterance, and not a word disturbed the solemn silence of the scene. As the Emperor passed down the line of his friends, bowing to the right and the left, they seized his hand and bathed it with their tears.

As he arrived at the landing of the grand staircase, he stood for a moment, and looked around upon the guard drawn up in the court, and upon the innumerable multitude which thronged its surroundings. Every eye was fixed upon him. It was a funereal scene, over which was suspended the solemnity of religious awe. The soldiers were suffocated with sorrow. Acclamations, in that hour, would have been a mockery. The silence of the grave reigned undisturbed. Tears rolled down the furrowed cheeks of the warriors, and their heads were bowed in unaffected grief. They envied the lot of the little hand who were allowed to depart as the companions of their beloved chieftain.

Napoleon cast a tender and a grateful look over the battalions and the squadrons who had ever proved so faithful to himself and to his cause. Before descending into the court-yard he hesitated for a moment, as if his fortitude were forsaking him. But immediately Tallying his strength, he approached the soldiers. The drums commenced beating the accustomed salute. With a gesture Napoleon arrested the martial tones. A breathless stillness prevailed. With a voice clear and firm, every articulation of which was heard in the remotest ranks, he said,

"Generals, officers, and soldiers of my Old Guard, I bid you farewell. For five-and-twenty years I have ever found you in the path of honor and of glory. In these last days, as in those of our prosperity, you have never ceased to be models of fidelity and of courage. Europe has armed against us. Still, with men such as you, our cause never could have been lost. We could have maintained a civil war for years. But it would have rendered our country unhappy. I have therefore sacrificed our interests to those of France, i leave you. But do you, my friendt, be faithful; to the new sovereign whom France has accepted. t The happiness of France was my only thought.; It shall ever be the object of my most fervent prayers. Grieve not for my lot. I shall be happy so long as I know that you are so. If I have consented to outlivo myself, it is with the hope

of still promoting your glory. I trust to writs the deeds we have achieved together. Adieu, my children. I would that I could press you all to my heart. Let me at least embrace your general and your eagle."

Every eye was now bathed in tears, and here and there many a strong bosom was heaving with sobs. At a signal from Napoleon, General Petit, who then commanded the " Old Guard," a man of martial bearing, but of tender feelings, advanced, and stood between the ranks of the soldiers and their Emperor. Napoleon, with tears dimming his eyes, encircled the general in his arms, while the veteran commander, entirely unmanned, sobbed aloud. All hearts were melted, and a stifled moan was heard through all the ranks.

Again the Emperor recovered himself, and said, "Bring me the eagle." A grenadier advanced, bearing one of the eagles of the regiment. Napoleon imprinted a kiss upon its silver beak, then pressed the eagle to his heart, and said, in tremulous accents, "Dear eagle! may this last embrace vibrate forever in the hearts of all my faithful soldiers! Farewell, again, my old companions—farewell!"

The outhurst of universal grief could no longer be restrained: all were alike overcome. Napoleon threw himself into his carriage, bowed his sorrow-stricken head, covered his eyes with both hands, and the carriage rolled away, bearing the greatest and the noblest son of France into exile.

Napoleon was to embark at Frejus, which is about seven hundred miles from Paris. Seven days were occupied in the journey to the coast. Throughout all the first part of the joumey he was the object of universal respect and affection. Crowds gathered to sec him pass along the road, and where relays of horses were to be taken. He was greeted with enthusiastic shouts of " Vire VEmpereur.'" As he approached those departments further remote from Paris, where he was less known, and where the Bourbon interest continued strong, it was anticipated that he would encounter many insults. In a few towns, as the cavaleade advanced, cries of " Vive le Rot.'" were raised, and but for the prudent precaution of the commissioners, it is not improbable that he would have been assassinated.*

Napoleon had now entirely recovered his equanimity, and appeared social and cheerful As a matter of precaution, he rode on horseback, in advance of his escort, occasionally answering ques

* In reference to Sir Walter Scon's account of this joumey to Frejus, Mr. Hazlitt says, "He was once or twice exposed to insults snd personal risk, which givr rise to the most exaggerated and ridiculous stories, thai have at present only one discreditable echo. Napoleon is represented as having wept and trembled like a woman. It is easy to distinguish the style of the hero from that of his historian; nor is it difficult to understand how a pen. accustomed to describe and to create the highest interest in pure fiction, without any foundation at all, should be able to receive and gloss over, whatever it pleases, as true , with the aid of idle rumor, vulgar prejudice, and servile malice. The author here alluded to, with no less shame than regret, writes fiction with the broad, open palm of humanity—history with cloven hoofr.''

tioiis to tUe popuiace, and laughing good-humoredly at observations, often not very complimentary respecting himself. On the 27th, he reached Frejus, and on the evening of the 28th, embarked, under a salute of twenty-one guns, in the British frigate "The Undaunted." A French vessel had been prepared for his reception, but he refused to sail under the Bourbon flag; but two of the commissioners, the Austrian and the English, accompanied him on board.

During these melancholy scenes, Napoleon could not forget his true and faithful Josephine. She was at Malmaison, overwhelmed with anguish. He wrote to her frequently. In all his letters to Josephine, he seemed to recognize her noble nature and her appreciative spirit. Four days before he left Fontainebleau for Elba, he sent to her the following letter:

"Drar Josephine,—I wrote to you on the 8th of this month, but perhaps you have not received my letter. Hostilities still continued, and possibly it may have been intercepted. At present the communications must be re-established. I have formed my resolution. I have no doubt this billet will reach you. I will not repeat what I said to you. Then I lamented my situation. My head and spirit are freed from an enormous weight. My fall is great, but it may, as men say, prove useful. In my retreat I shall substitute the pen for the sword. The history of my reign will be curious. The world has as yet seen me only in profile. I shall show myself in full. How many things have I to disclose! how many are the men of whom a false estimate is entertained! I have heaped benefits upon millions of ingrates; and they have all betrayed me —yes, all. I except from this number the good Eugene, so worthy of you and of me. Adieu, my dear Josephine. Be resigned, as I am, and never forget him who never forgot, and who never will forget you. Farewell, Josephine!


"P.S. I expect to hear from you at Elba. I am not very well."

Josephine, as she read these lines, wept bitterly. All the affections of her soul, elicited anew by the sorrow of her former companion, now gushed forth unrestrained. "I must not remain here," she said. "My presence is necessary to the Emperor. That duty is, indeed, more Maria Louisa's than mine. But the Emperor is alone, forsaken. Well, I, at least, will not abandon him. I might be dispensed with while he was happy; now I am sure that he expects me."

In her situation of peculiar delicacy and embarrassment, and not knowing what decision Maria Louisa might adopt, she wrote the following touching lines to Napoleon:

"Now only can I caleulate the whole extent of the misfortune of having beheld my union with you dissolved by law. Now do I indeed lament being no more than your friend, who can but mourn over a misfortune great as it is unexpected. Ah, Sire! why can I not fly to you! Why can I not give you the assurance that exile has

no terrors save for vulgar minds; and that, iar from diminishing a sincere attachment, misfortune imparts to it a new force. I have been upon the point of quitting France, to follow your footsteps and to consecrate to you the remainder of an existence which you so long embellished A single motive restrains me, and that you may divine. If I learn that I am the only one who will fulfill her duty, nothing shall detain me, and I will go to the only place where, henceforth, there can be happiness for me; since I shall be able to console you when you are isolated and unfortunate. Say but the word, and I depart. Adieu, Sire! Whatever I would add, would still be too little. It is no longer by words that my sentiments for you are to be proved; and for actions, your consent is necessary."

A few days after writing this letter, Josephine, crushed by care and sorrow, was taken sick. It was soon evident that her dying hour approached She received the tidings with perfect composure, and partook of the last sacraments of religion. At the close of these solemn rites, she said to Eugene and Hortense, who were weeping at her bedside:

"I have always desired the happiness ol France. I did all in my power to contribute to it. I can say with truth, in this my dying hour, that the first wife of Napoleon never caused a single tear to flow."

She called for a portrait of the Emperor, gazed upon it long and tenderly, and, fervently pressing it to her heart, breathed the following prayer:

"O God! watch over Napoleon, while he remains in the desert of this world. Alas! though he hath committed great faults, hath he not expiated them by great sufferings. Just God ', thou hast looked into his heart, and hast seen by how ardent a desire for useful and durable improvements he was animated. Deign to approve this my last petition, and may this image of my husband bear me witness that my latest wish and my latest prayer were for him and for my children."

On the 29th of May, hardly four weeks after Napoleon's arrival in Elba, she died. It was a vernal evening of extraordinary loveliness. The shrubs and the flowers of Malmaison were in full bloom, and the luxuriant groves were filled with the songs of birds. The sun, throned in gorgeous clouds, was just descending, while gentlr zephyrs, from the open window, breathed over the pale cheek of the dying Empress. She held the miniature of Napoleon in her hand. Her last looks were riveted upon those features she had loved so faithfully, and faintly exclaiming. "Island of ElbaNapoleon.'" her gentle spirit passed away into the sweet sleep of the Christian's death. For four days her body remained shrouded in state. More than twenty thousand people—monarchs, nobles, statesmen, and adoring peasants—thronged the chateau of Malmaison, to take a last look of her beloved remains Her body now lies entombed in the antique village church of Rue1, two miles from Malmaison A mausoleum of white marble, representing the Empress kneeling in her coronation robes, bears the simple inscription:

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Euoene And Hoktense


The island of Elba is situated about two hundred miles from the coast of France. Gentle breezes, a smooth sea, and cloudless skies rendered the voyage of five days peculiarly agreeable. The Emperor conversed with perfect frankness and cheerfulness, and, by his freedom from restraint, his good-nature, and his social converse, won the admiration and the friendship of all in the ship. Captain Usher, who commanded the "Undaunted," and other distinguished men on board, have left their testimony, that in extent of information, in genius, and in all social fascinations, the Emperor was the most extraordinary man they had ever met He had been but a few hours on board before he had won the kindly feelings of all the ship's company. Even the common sailors, who had been instructed to believe that he was an incarnate fiend, were heard to say with astonishment, "Boney is a good fellow after all.'"

On the evening of the 3d of May, as the sun was sinking beneath the blue waves of the Mediterranean, the dark mountains of Elba rose in the horizon. As the ship drew near the shore, the Roiperor presented to the ship's crew a purse of

two hundred Napoleons—about one thousand dollars. The boatswain, in behalf of his shipmates, cap in hand, returned thanks, wishing "his honor long life, and better luck next ttme."

The next morning Napoleon landed under a royal salute from the English ship, and the discharge of a hundred guns from the battery of Porto Ferrajo, the humble capital of his diminutive domain. Napoleon, instead of proceeding immediately to the palace, which had been prepared for his reception, with the simplicity of a private traveler tarried upon the shore, while his property was disembarking, occasionally even rendering assistance with his own hands. The sun was intensely hot. Captain Usher, who stood by his side, felt it severely. Napoleon, noticing his discomfort, playfully expressed surprise that a British officer, belonging to a profession famed for its patient endurance of hardships, should be so affected.

Napoleon remained for two hours, without sitting down, superintending the disembarkation. Then mounting a horse, and inviting Captain Usher to accompany him, he observed that he would take a ride and view the country. They ascended an eminence, which commanded a view of nearly the whole island, which was sixteen miles in length, and from two to twelve miles in breadth. The population was thirteen thousand. After gazing for a few moments upon its whole extent, he remarked with MAP OF ELsA.


a smile, "My empire, it must be confessed, is rather small."

The inhabitants received him with great demonstrations of joy. The peasantry, o:' meeting him, kneeled and prostrated themselves to the earth. Napoleon was much displeased with this debasement, which he attributed to their want of education, and to the humiliations imposed upon them by the monks. But even here the restless energies of his mind, and his intense interest in public improvement, were immediately conspicuous. In the course of two or three days, he had visited every spot in his little domain. He examined the mines, the salt marshes, the vineyards, the woods, the harbors, the fortifications, with a practiced and a scientific eye. Extraordinary activity was instantly infused into the little realm Mew roads were constructed, canals were dug, and aqueducts reared. A hospital was established, conveniences were introduced to facilitate the fisheries, and improved buildings were reared for carrying on the salt-works. At a short distance from Elba there was an uninhabited island called Rianosa, which had been abandoned, as it had become a lurking-place of the Barbary corsairs. Napoleon sent thirty of his guard, as a colony, to take possession of the island, and sketched out a plan of fortifications to beat off the pirates. "Europe," he remarked with a smile, "will say that I have already made a conquest."

All his energies seemed devoted to the promotion of the wealth and the industry of his little realm. "It has been alleged," says W. H. Ireland, "but without foundation, that the Emperor retained his taste for military exercises. Not one review took place during his residence at Porto Ferrajo, where arms seemed to possess no attractions for him."

Early in June, Madame Lctitia and Pauline, impelled by maternal and sisterly affection, came to share the exile of the beloved son and brother About the same time, the Austrian commissioner took leave and returned to Vienna. The English commissioner was now left alone. His position was humiliating to himself and annoying to Napoleon. Though he was an intelligent man, and Napoleon at first took pleasure in his society, the

degrading function he was called upon to perform, gradually cooled the intimacy. Napoleon ceased to pay him attention, and he soon found that he was not a weleome guest. Still he was bound to keep a watchful eye upon all that transpired at Elba, and to transmit his observations to the English cabinet. At length the only way in which he could obtain an interview with the Emperor, was by availing himself of the forms of court etiquette, which rendered it proper to call upon the Emperor to take his leave whenever he departed from the island, and also to announce hit return.

The presence of the Emperor made the litth) island of Elba the most conspicuous spot in all Europe. A large number of travelers, from all parts of the Continent, resorted to Elba in crowds. French, Italian, and Polish officers thronged thither to pay their homage to one whose renown made him, though but the proprietor of a small estate, the most illustrious monarch in Europe. All of suitable social position were readily admitted to friendly intercourse with the banished monarch. He engaged in conversation with marvelous freedom and frankness; interesting all by the nobleness and the elevation of his views; speaking of the past as of history, and of himself as politically dead.

His spirits appeared ever tranquil. No expression of regret escaped his lips, and he seemed disposed to cast the mantle of charity over the conduct of those who had most deeply wronged him. He took an interest in the simple amusements of the peasants, and they addressed him with frankness and affection, as if he were their father. On one occasion, when he was present to witness some of their athletic feats of competition, they requested him to preside as umpire. Very good naturedly he consented. He animated the competitors by his plaudits, and crowned the victor with his own hand.

He had a farm-house but a short distance from his humble palace in Porto Ferrajo. Every day he rode thither in an open barouche, accompanied by his mother, and occasionally amused himself in going into the poultry-yard and feeding the chickens. His mother was then nearly seventy years of age. She was a remarkably fine-looking woman; her countenance being expressive of both sweetness and dignity.

Napoleon slept but little. He often threw himself upon a couch without removing his clothes, and rose very early in the morning to read and write. He breakfasted between ten and eleven, and then took a short nap. He made himself a very agreeable companion to all who approached him, never alluding, with the slightest gloom or regret, to his past reverses. He was very simple and unostentatious in his dress, and in all his

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tastes. The intellectual had such a predominance in his nature, that the animal appetites had no room for growth.

The summer thus passed rapidly and pleasantly away. The allied despots, having reconquered Europe, were still assembled in congress at Vienna, quarreling among themselves respecting the division of the spoils. The Bourbons were fast resuming their ancient tyranny in France. All parties, except a few extreme loyalists, were disgusted with their sway.

Alexander, who had obtained some new ideas respecting human rights from his interviews with Napoleon, had endeavored to persuade Louis XVIII. to have some little regard to public opinion.

"The doctrine of divine right to the crown," said the Czar, "is now seen through and repudiated by the people of France. You must obtain an election to the throne by the Senate, that you may be understood to reign by a new title, by a voluntary appeal to the people. It will be prudent to recognize as valid the government of the last twenty-five years. If you date your reign from the death of Louis XVII., thus asserting that since that time you have been the lawful sovereign of France, and that the Empire has been an usurpation, France will be wounded and irritated."

To these common-sense remarks, from the lips of the despotic Czar, Louis haughtily replied, "By what title can the Senate, the instrument

and accomplice of the violence and madness of an usurper, dispose of the crown of France! Does it belong to them? And if it did, think you that they would give it to a Bourbon? No! The deaths of my brother and of my nephew have transmitted the throne to me. In virtue of this title I reign. Europe has placed me on the throne, not to re-establish in my person a man, a race, but a principle. I have no other, I want nt other title, to present to France and to the world You yourself; by what title do you command those millions of men whom you have led here to restore me to my throne? "

Alexander was silenced. The advice of Bernadotte was a little different, and more highly appreciated. "Sire," said he, "make yourself dreaded, and they will love you. Wear a velvet glove upon a hand of iron." In this spirit the Bourbons, madly ignoring all the light and advancement of a quarter of a century of revolution, with folly unutterable, endeavored to consign France again to the gloom and oppression of the middle ages. "The Bourbons," said Napoleon. "during their exile, had learned nothing and had forgotten nothing."

Louis XVIII. wis about sixty years of age He suffered much from the gout, and was so excessively corpulent that he could hardly walk. He conversed with ease, and possessed that quality which his friends called firmness, and hi* enemies stubbomness. He wore velvet booU. that the leather might not chafe his legs. Decor

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