Up to now, the allies had concentrated on forcing Napoleon out of Germany, and only envisaged military operations as far as the Rhine. Having reached that, they hesitated; to carry the war into France would lend their enterprise a different character. Alexander was keen to keep going and take Paris, but neither his ministers nor his generals were, and his troops were more interested in going home. Frederick William was also wary of continuing, and although Blücher was bent on dealing further damage to the French, his army was in poor condition. Metternich, who was now in Frankfurt with the other allied ministers, did not wish to weaken France further and was wary of the tsar’s plans, while Francis wanted peace.
Through a returning French diplomat, the baron de Saint-Aignan, Metternich sent Napoleon a peace proposal on the basis of France giving up her conquests in Italy, Spain and Germany, and returning to her so-called natural frontiers on the Rhine, the Alps and the Pyrenees, thereby keeping Belgium and Savoy as well as the left bank of the Rhine. The status of the rest of the Netherlands was left unspecified, and there was talk of negotiation on the subject of colonies and maritime matters. Although the British representative in the allied camp, Lord Aberdeen, was aware of it, the initiative was taken by Metternich and Nesselrode, so it had only a semi-official character.
Saint-Aignan reached Paris on 14 November, and the following day presented these proposals to Napoleon. He was quick to spot that as there was no mention of maritime matters, and as Belgium was left in French hands, they would not be acceptable to Britain. They therefore represented an opportunity to split the allies, so he responded positively; but, not wishing to appear too eager, and encouraged by Maret, one of the few who still trusted that his ‘genius’ would triumph, he did so in the vaguest terms, suggesting a peace congress and bringing up additional points.1
It did not take him long to realise that this was a mistake. He moved Maret back to his old job as secretary of state and, after briefly considering Talleyrand, replaced him with a reluctant Caulaincourt. Caulaincourt spent the best part of a week persuading Napoleon to accept the Frankfurt proposals as they stood, and it was not until 2 December that he was able to write to Metternich that he had. His letter arrived too late. On 19 November the allies had agreed a plan of campaign, and on 7 December they published their ‘Frankfurt Declaration’, which suggested that the ‘natural frontiers’ were no longer on offer, and, more ominously, that they were fighting not France but Napoleon.2
Had he accepted the proposals immediately, the allies would have been obliged to halt their offensive and a peace conference would have been convened, at which he could have bargained and played for time. It would have given him the breathing space he needed to rebuild his forces, and even if he did not manage to get his way at the conference (he had already drawn up all his demands, which were extensive) he would be in a position to start extending his influence again once peace had been made. Above all, he would have avoided the crucial development of his fate being separated from that of France.
‘The strange thing is that Napoleon, whose common sense was equal to his genius, could never discern at which point possibility ended,’ noted Mathieu Molé, who had worked closely with him since 1809. He went on to say that on encountering an obstacle Napoleon would look no further than surmounting it, seeing in the process a test for his will, and thinking only of the present, not the future. These characteristics were on display in the speech he made on 19 December, opening the session of the Legislative. He described the ‘resounding victories’ he had won in the recent campaign, which had only been annulled by the defection of his German allies. Ten days later, in the course of a debate on the unfortunate outcome of the Frankfurt negotiations, one member made a speech suggesting that peace should be made on the basis of the interests of France, not those of the emperor. An outraged Napoleon wanted to close down the assembly. ‘France needs me more than I need France,’ he ranted. Cambacérès managed to calm him, but a number of members were invited to leave Paris.3
The allied advance had resumed: in the north Blücher’s Prussians crossed the Rhine between Mainz and Cologne, in the south the Austrians moved against Eugène in Italy, and in the centre Schwarzenberg with the main Austro-Russian forces crossed into France from Switzerland to deploy on the plateau of Langres. Metternich, who hoped to avoid unnecessary fighting, had suggested fresh talks, with the participation of Britain, whose foreign secretary Lord Castlereagh was on his way, and Napoleon had agreed; only the venue still needed to be fixed. As the allied advance had not been halted, Napoleon meant to strengthen his hand with a military victory. On 4 January 1814 he decreed the levée en masse in the departments threatened with invasion, mobilising customs officials, police officers, gamekeepers, foresters and veterans to organise a territorial defence. He showed a degree of reluctance to call up the Paris National Guard, as he was no longer sure whom he could trust.
A few days later, on 7 January, unbeknown to Napoleon, Murat signed a treaty of alliance with Austria. As recently as 12 December 1813 he had written asking for instructions, assuring the emperor that ‘I will for the rest of my life be your best friend’. Napoleon had been aware of Murat’s contacts with the Austrians, but he realised that he and Caroline had only been hedging their bets, and would revert to him in the event of a change in his fortunes. Murat was being pressed by Austria to take the field openly, but delayed as long as he could. Napoleon had sent Fouché to Naples in November to keep an eye on him, but Fouché was looking to his own future, and advised Murat to join the Austrians. The decision was probably made by Caroline, who was more intelligent and hard-nosed, as was Élisa, who did her best to hang on to Lucca by breaking off relations with France. Meanwhile, Eugène continued to give Napoleon assurances of loyalty but resisted his suggestion that his pregnant wife come to Paris – where she would have been a hostage to his good behaviour. Napoleon asked Josephine to write to him, which she did, enjoining him to remain loyal to Napoleon and to France.4
On Sunday, 23 January, after attending mass, Napoleon made his way to the Hall of Marshals in the Tuileries. There he presented the King of Rome to the officers of the Paris National Guard. The same day he signed letters patent naming Marie-Louise regent in his absence. The next morning he nominated Joseph Lieutenant-General of the Empire, and that evening, after burning his most secret papers, he embraced his wife and son; at six in the morning on 25 January he rode out of Paris to join the army. ‘He appeared in a good mood, determined and in perfect health,’ noted Lavalette. To Pontécoulant he declared that unless a cannonball struck him down, within three months there would not be a single foreign soldier on French soil. He rebuked those around him who thought the war lost. ‘They think they can already see cossacks in the streets,’ he had quipped over dinner a few days earlier. ‘Well, they’re not here yet and we haven’t forgotten our trade.’ He assured his wife that he would defeat the allies and dictate peace to her father. ‘I’ll beat Papa François again,’ he repeated as he hugged her for the last time. ‘Don’t cry, I’ll be back soon.’ He would never see her or his son again.5
Before leaving Paris he dictated a letter to his father-in-law suggesting that he make a separate peace. He pointed out that if the allies were to lose, Austria would lose more than the others, while every allied victory only diminished her influence, since it increased that of the other allies disproportionately. He meant to drive the point home with a victory, and having narrowly escaped being killed on the way by a patrol of cossacks, he took command of the 45,000 men camped at Châlons-sur-Marne. ‘Despite the disasters of the campaign in Saxony, despite the allies’ passage of the Rhine, the army was convinced that it would defeat the enemy,’ recalled the colonel of one of the Guard regiments, noting at the same time that the senior commanders were more sceptical. They had good reason to be: while the allied generals could be defeated, the allied statesmen had become accustomed to defeat, and each new one confirmed them in their conviction that the only way to obtain a lasting peace was to be rid of Napoleon. He was sanguine that he could rout the allies and drive them back, and thereby recover the 90,000 men stuck behind their lines in fortresses along the Rhine or just beyond the borders of France.6
Blücher had drawn ahead of the other allied forces, and Napoleon attacked him near Brienne, where he had begun his military career. He dealt him a heavy blow and drove him back, but, reinforced by Schwarzenberg, Blücher counter-attacked and, outnumbered by more than two to one, Napoleon was defeated at La Rothière on 1 February. He fell back on Troyes behind the Seine.
This emboldened the allies, and when Caulaincourt met their plenipotentiaries at Châtillon for negotiations a week later, he was flatly told that the best he could expect was France’s pre-revolutionary frontiers. When Napoleon heard of this on the evening of 7 February he protested that he could never agree to such terms, as he would be breaking his coronation oath and giving his enemies grounds to dethrone him. He was in desperate mood, and did not sleep. When, in the early hours, a messenger brought news that Blücher had drawn away from Schwarzenberg and was marching on Paris, he decided to take him on a second time. Maret, coming in with a letter to Caulaincourt for him to sign, found him lying on a map with a pair of compasses, all thoughts of negotiation banished. Napoleon moved fast, gathering up every unit he could find along the way. On 10 February he defeated Blücher’s advance guard at Champaubert, the following day another of his corps at Montmirail, and the day after that a third at Château-Thierry. On 14 February he defeated Blücher himself at Vauchamps. He was in fine spirits, and all who saw him took heart. On 18 February he scored another victory at Montereau, in the course of which he aimed a cannon himself.
‘They thought the lion was dead and it was safe to piss on him,’ he exclaimed. He sent instructions to Caulaincourt at Châtillon to settle for nothing less than France’s ‘natural’ frontiers, to hold out for Italy, to give as little ground as possible, and above all to refer back before agreeing to anything. He wrote to Francis once again, hoping to persuade him to make a separate peace, but he himself had only thoughts of war. On 21 February he wrote to Augereau, chiding him for dragging his heels: ‘If you are still the Augereau of Castiglione, keep your command; if your sixty years weigh on you, leave it and hand over to the most senior of your general officers. […] we must recover our boots and our resolve of ’93!’7
Blücher’s defeat had come as a shock to the allies, and panic spread through some units. Schwarzenberg fell back and requested an armistice as the allied monarchs and their ministers raced for safety. Bernadotte was in contact with his French friends, raising fears of his defection. Morale on the French side soared, despite the heavy losses and the exhausting forced marches in the atrocious conditions of the winter campaign, and in the countryside in which he operated Napoleon was greeted with enthusiasm. The behaviour of the German troops, seeking revenge for years of humiliation, had aroused the anger of the locals, and there was some spontaneous partisan resistance in the areas affected by the war. But while Napoleon made sure that the cannon of the Tuileries thundered out the good news of every victory and enemy prisoners were paraded through the streets along with captured standards, the Parisians were increasingly fatalistic. ‘Everyone is hiding their most precious possessions, burying them in the ground, sealing them up in the thickness of walls or up their chimneys,’ noted the architect Fontaine. The director of the Louvre was badgering Joseph to have its treasures safeguarded.8
Napoleon bombarded Joseph with instructions on how to manage public opinion, sending him material, such as accounts of atrocities committed by foreign troops, to be inserted in Le Moniteur. He was furious when he heard that Marie-Louise, remembering what she had done in Vienna when it was being bombarded by him, proposed holding public prayers for the success of the campaign. He was alert to anything that might weigh in the propaganda war, and, realising that detachments of cossacks were roaming the countryside, instructed Joseph to have the silver, the portraits of the imperial family, and ‘anything that could be made to look like a trophy’ at Fontainebleau packed up and removed to a place of safety.9
Napoleon agreed to Schwarzenberg’s request for an armistice, but when negotiations opened on 24 February he tried to use them to affect the subsequent peace talks by suggesting a demarcation line close to France’s ‘natural frontiers’, and after days of fruitless talks, on 5 March the negotiations broke down. By then he was in a much weaker position.
On 20 February he received news of Murat’s defection. Ten days later he heard that on 27 February Soult had been beaten at Orthez by Wellington, who was marching on Bordeaux. Assuming that Murat might be swayed by news of his recent successes, Napoleon instructed Joseph to send someone to talk to him. He also suggested he make a renewed effort to bring Bernadotte over to the French side. He wanted Eugène to forget about defending Italy, which could be easily reconquered at a later stage; instead, he should march into France, collect the 5,000 men at Chambéry, another 8,000 at Grenoble and Augereau’s force at Lyon, which would give him at least 50,000 men with which he could sweep into the enemy rear and up into Lorraine.10
The negotiations had resumed at Châtillon, but they were ineffectual, since Caulaincourt did not have a free hand and Napoleon was in no mood to give way. The situation had revived his deepest insecurities, and he could not face Paris otherwise than as a victor. Molé records him saying that he was in bond to his glory: ‘If I sacrifice that, I am nothing, it is from her that I hold all my rights.’11
The desperate situation also brought out his finest qualities as a tactician and a leader of men, and galvanised his faculties. General Ricard was astonished when he called at headquarters to hear Napoleon tell Berthier, ‘Sit down and write!’ and proceed to dictate orders enumerating the strength and giving the position of nineteen different units, and the time it would take each of them to concentrate at a given point, without referring to a single note.12
Spotting a chance to defeat Blücher, who was moving away from Schwarzenberg, he pursued him and attacked him at Craonne on 7 March, and after one of the bloodiest battles of the campaign drove him back. He was able to exploit intimate knowledge of the terrain by seeking out his old friend from Auxonne, Belly de Bussy, who lived nearby. Two days later he came up against Blücher’s main force at Laon. He had underestimated the Prussian’s strength, which was twice his own, and was forced to retreat after an inconclusive engagement. He refused to accept the hopelessness of his situation, and accused those who advised suing for peace of cowardice. ‘Today, I am the master, like at Austerlitz,’ he wrote to Joseph on 11 March. That was not how it looked in Paris, where those who had supported him in the interests of rebuilding France were growing disenchanted as they watched him bring her to her knees.13
‘The situation is grave, and becomes worse with the passing of every day,’ Cambacérès wrote the same day. ‘We are in dire poverty and surrounded by people who are either spent or angry. Elsewhere it is even worse; official reports and private correspondence alike make it clear that we can no longer defend ourselves, that despondency has become general, that signs of discontent are evident in various quarters and that we are about to witness the most sinister events if the strong arm of Your Majesty does not come promptly to our aid.’ Like some frantic gambler, Napoleon clung to the hope that another throw of the dice could still reverse the situation; now, more than ever, he needed to establish his right to rule.14
Two days earlier, on 9 March, the allies had signed the Treaty of Chaumont, which bound Britain, Russia, Prussia and Austria, henceforth identifying themselves as ‘the Great Powers’, to fight Napoleon to the end and oversee the reorganisation of Europe after his removal. They were divided as to who should succeed him, Britain and Austria favouring the Bourbons, Alexander supporting Bernadotte, who now made a dash for Paris, adopting an equivocal pose that left it open for him, if he failed to gain the throne, to become an enabling lieutenant either for a republic or for a Bourbon restoration – either a Cromwell or a Monck.
On 13 March Napoleon routed an isolated Russian corps at Reims. He then went after Schwarzenberg and caught up with him at Arcis-sur-Aube, but when the Austrian turned about and brought his 90,000 men to bear against Napoleon’s 20,000 the following day, Napoleon had to withdraw. He saved the day when retreating French cavalry had threatened to cause panic in the ranks; when a shell landed in front of them and they drew back, he rode forward and stopped his horse over it, and although the horse was killed he escaped unscathed. Some believed he may have been seeking death; there were other moments in this campaign when he led from the front, sword in hand, apparently courting a glorious end.
On the retreat, ‘discouragement overwhelmed our spirits’, recalled General Boulart. On 25 March Marmont and Mortier were mauled at La Fère Champenoise; Augereau had surrendered Lyon. The troops were still capable of flashes of enthusiasm, but the mood in the higher ranks was defeatist, and generals talked openly of the hopelessness of further action. According to one police source there was even a plot by a group of generals to do away with Napoleon.15
Cambacérès’ advice that he return to Paris was based on sound calculation: the inhabitants of the poorer quartiers were overwhelmingly loyal and patriotic, and the allies would not have dared attempt to storm the city, with its huge population and its revolutionary legacy (and no Bourbon would be mad enough to agree to ascend a throne over the bodies of the capital’s defenders). More important, as it turned out, his presence would have prevented his enemies from making a deal with the allies behind his back. But Napoleon did not heed it.
Instead, he decided to slip past the allied armies, penetrate into their rear, disorient them and oblige them to halt their advance, collect troops from the fortresses along France’s eastern border and strike at them from the rear. It was a bold plan which would have worked back in 1797, but the allies did not panic, and when a messenger carrying a note to Marie-Louise which revealed his plan was caught, along with others carrying various orders, they immediately moved on Paris. Realising his mistake, Napoleon hastened back, racing ahead on horses and vehicles borrowed along the way, leaving his troops to follow. He could hear the sound of guns in the distance as he hurried on, but he was too late.
Paris had been without news of him since 25 March, and as the enemy drew near Joseph grew nervous. Marmont’s and Mortier’s corps were on their way, but all the city’s military governor General Moncey could muster in its defence was a mixed bag of troops, veterans, national guards, armed firemen and gendarmes totalling no more than about 25,000. On 28 March Joseph held a meeting of the Regency Council to decide whether the empress and the King of Rome should leave the capital for a place of safety. Most of those present felt they should remain, fearing the instability that might follow their departure. Joseph then read out letters he had received from Napoleon in February instructing him to make sure that his wife and child did not fall into enemy hands. ‘Do not leave my son, and remember that I would prefer to see him drowned in the Seine than in the hands of the enemies of France; the fate of Astyanax as a prisoner of the Greeks has always seemed to me the most unhappy one in history,’ he had written on 16 March, adding that every time he watched Racine’s tragedy Phèdre he wept over the fate of the grandson of the King of Troy. In the light of this, most of those present gave way and agreed that the empress should leave. She protested, but was persuaded, and on the following day she and her son left for Rambouillet, accompanied by Cambacérès and other members of the Regency Council, as well as a number of other dignitaries and ministers, and most of her maison.16
Joseph, who remained in Paris, issued a call to arms and went to the heights of Montmartre to oversee the defence of the city, which began with the first allied attacks in the early morning of 30 March. It soon became evident that the situation was desperate, and he conferred with Marmont and others on what to do. The troops were determined to defend the city to the last man, and were joined by volunteers from every class of the population, and a stiff resistance was put up at various points. At the same time, ladies in carriages drove out to watch as though going to a day at the races. Late that afternoon, judging the situation to be hopeless, against the advice of Lavalette, who expected Napoleon to arrive at any moment, Joseph sent Marmont to allied headquarters to negotiate a capitulation. He then left to join Marie-Louise and the rest of the Regency Council. Not long afterwards, news arrived from Napoleon announcing that he was on his way, so Marmont asked for a twenty-four-hour ceasefire, but Alexander, who was at headquarters, refused and threatened to sack the city unless it capitulated immediately. Terms were agreed, and Marmont’s units began withdrawing in the direction of Fontainebleau while his aides attended to the formalities.17
At ten o’clock that evening at La Cour de France, a couple of hours’ drive from Paris, Napoleon met General Belliard, leading Marmont’s cavalry, who informed him that Paris had capitulated. He was stunned. His immediate reaction was to go on, but after a short distance he turned back. He walked up and down along the road, giving way to conflicting emotions, raging against the ‘coward’ and ‘cunt’ Joseph, against his marshals and against fate, alternating between exaltation and despair, between the determination to march on Paris and to negotiate peace. He then went back to the post house, where he sat down with his head in his hands and remained motionless for some time.18
Around three o’clock in the morning he roused himself, wrote to Marie-Louise and despatched Caulaincourt to Paris to see the tsar. He then drove to nearby Fontainebleau, where over the next few days he was joined by the remnants of his army. Along with the units that had come out of Paris, they amounted to no more than 40,000 operational troops, but wishful thinking inflated their number in his mind (he kept writing down Marmont’s corps, which now amounted to no more than 5,200 effectives, as being 12,400 strong). On 1 April he held a council of war to consider the options. Most of those present were for withdrawing behind the Loire, linking up with the remains of Soult’s Army of Spain and Augereau’s corps, and joining the empress and the King of Rome. Napoleon again wanted to march on Paris, convinced that his appearance would galvanise the population, and ordered Marmont, whose corps was camped in forward positions at Essonnes, to prepare for action. The following morning, as he was reviewing troops in the great courtyard of the palace, Caulaincourt returned from Paris with a gloomy countenance. Napoleon dismissed the parading troops and went inside to hear his news.19
Manipulated deftly by Talleyrand, who had avoided leaving the capital with the rest of the Regency Council, Alexander had accepted that the Bourbons should be reinstated. Talleyrand was forming a provisional government, and, fearing any resurgence of Napoleon’s influence, was exploring the possibility of having him assassinated. The tsar had succumbed to his influence and was determined not to negotiate with Napoleon, but did give assurances that he would be provided with a refuge in which he could continue as a sovereign, mentioning Corfu, Sardinia, Corsica and Elba as possibilities. All that afternoon and late into the night Napoleon listened impassively as Caulaincourt went over every detail of his interviews with Alexander and everything he had seen and heard in Paris, where most people were busy looking to their future under the new regime, without a thought for him. ‘I do not care about the throne,’ Napoleon said. ‘Born a soldier, I can, without feeling sorry for myself, become a citizen again. My happiness is not in grandeur. I wanted to see France great and powerful, and above all happy. I prefer to leave the throne than to sign a shameful peace. I am glad that they did not accept your conditions, as I would have been obliged to subscribe to them, and France and history would have reproached me for such an act of weakness. The Bourbons alone can accommodate themselves to a peace dictated by the cossacks.’ Caulaincourt told him his only option was to abdicate, warning him that he was about to be toppled.20
Napoleon was outraged, and the next day, as the Old Guard paraded before him, he told them that traitors had handed over Paris to the enemy and they must go to its rescue. The men shouted ‘To Paris!’ and appeared keen to fight, so he began making plans. That evening news arrived that Talleyrand had assembled a rump of the Senate, sixty-four members out of 140, which had voted his deposition on the grounds that he had violated the constitution and subjected the interests of France to his own. It had also approved the formation of a provisional government under Talleyrand, whose first action was to release all Frenchmen from their oath of loyalty to the former emperor.
The following morning, 4 April, after the usual parade he conferred with Marshals Berthier, Ney, Lefèbvre, Moncey, Oudinot and Macdonald, along with Caulaincourt and Maret. He kept bringing up the possibility of marching out and inflicting a stinging defeat on the allies, if only to be in a better position to negotiate. They all frankly told him the troops were no longer up to fighting, and that even if they had been, a victory would yield nothing. They were unanimous that he should abdicate. He told them he would think about it and give them an answer the next day, but afterwards in conversation with Caulaincourt he again suggested carrying out military operations alongside peace talks. In the end he was persuaded to sign a proposal to present his abdication to the Senate once the Powers had recognised the succession of his three-year-old son as Napoleon II, with Marie-Louise as regent. The proposal was to be carried to Alexander by Caulaincourt as foreign minister, assisted by Marshals Ney and Macdonald to make it clear to Alexander that the army was behind the Bonaparte dynasty and opposed to the Bourbons. The three of them set off, accompanied by a numerous escort of senior officers.21
Along their way, at Essonnes they called on Marmont, only to discover that he had been engaged in negotiations of his own. Having been fed misinformation by Talleyrand and others, he had been in touch with the Austrian commander, Schwarzenberg, to arrange the defection of his corps from Napoleon’s side to that of the allies. The operation was to be carried out that night. He pretended that it had merely been discussed, and gave instructions for nothing to be done, while volunteering that he join Caulaincourt and his two comrades on their mission to Paris, where they arrived late that night.
Despite efforts on the part of Talleyrand to prevent it, they were accorded an audience with Alexander at three o’clock on the morning of 5 April. He listened for half an hour to their arguments and showed some sympathy, as he despised the Bourbons and felt no enthusiasm to reinstate them. He told them to come back after noon the next day, which would give him time to consider the matter, and they left in positive mood, enhanced by the worried looks of Talleyrand and his colleagues whom they encountered on the way out (Alexander had put up at Talleyrand’s residence). They went off to sleep, and agreed to meet for breakfast at eleven at Ney’s house.
As the four of them began their breakfast they were interrupted by the arrival of a breathless Colonel Fabvier, who announced that during the night Marmont’s corps had gone over to the enemy. Marmont went pale, jumped up and, seizing his sword, blurted out that he must go and ‘repair’ things. He then rushed out, leaving his colleagues gaping with astonishment. By the time they called on Alexander the whole of Paris knew of Marmont’s defection, and their argument that the army was solidly behind Napoleon no longer held. The tsar told them that Napoleon must abdicate unconditionally. In return he would be given the Mediterranean island of Elba to rule in full sovereignty, and generous provision would be made for him and his family.22
As Alexander was speaking, Napoleon was making alternative plans. He had attended his usual parade that morning, and the sight of his troops had filled him with military ardour once more. He began dictating orders for a withdrawal behind the Loire, where he would join the empress and the King of Rome, who had taken up residence in the Renaissance château at Blois with her maison and enough silver to fill a palace, as well as the entire imperial treasure from the Tuileries. Napoleon’s brothers were also lodged in the castle, while Cambacérès, Molé, Clarke, Montalivet, Regnaud and other members of the Regency Council and various dignitaries accommodated themselves as best they could in the small town.
Cambacérès valiantly kept up his standards, sticking to his official dress and having himself carried around the old town, whose streets were too narrow for carriages, in a sedan chair. The others tried as best they could not to show that they realised they had been outmanoeuvred and sidelined by their former colleague Talleyrand. Savary had already entered into negotiations with him regarding his own future. Marie-Louise was hoping to join Napoleon, and wrote to him asking for guidance and support, and to her father for help. The Buonaparte men reverted to their native instincts as they contemplated a future in which they would not be able to rely on their brother for a life of grandeur and luxury. Joseph attempted to play the head of the family and make all the decisions, seconded by Jérôme. Napoleon had for some time suspected him of wishing to seduce Marie-Louise, and he now seized the opportunity to try and rape her. For his part, Louis added a sudden surge of religious zeal to his neurotic behaviour.23
Napoleon was woken at two o’clock on the morning of 6 April by Caulaincourt, Ney and Macdonald, who had just returned from their mission to Alexander. After listening to their report he announced that he would never abdicate unconditionally, and dismissed them. But nobody slept much; at six o’clock in the morning Caulaincourt was back with him, and the two of them talked at length. Napoleon had been taken aback by Marmont’s defection, and deeply hurt by such an act of treachery by one of his oldest friends. More than that, it had undermined his position by calling into question his hold on the army.
On that morning of 6 April, Napoleon wrote out the four and a half lines of his abdication in his own hand, making a large ink-stain in the process. He then dictated the formal instructions for Caulaincourt and the two marshals, empowering them to negotiate the details of the settlement. What he did not know as they took their leave that evening was that, persuaded by his ardently royalist wife, Ney had already written to Talleyrand pledging his submission to the new government. As Caulaincourt noted, ‘everyone was turning their eyes to the rising sun and seeking to approach it; the sun of Fontainebleau no longer warmed …’24