"People of France," ran one, "I am refreshed, and have returned to resume business at the old stand. March 21st will be bargain day, and I have on hand a select assortment of second-hand goods. One king, one aristocracy, much worn and slightly dog-eared, and a monarchy will be disposed of at less than cost. Come early and avoid the rush. A dukedom will be given away with every purchase. Do not forget the address--The Tuileries, Paris."This was signed "Napoleon, Emperor." Its effect was instantaneous, and the appointment was faithfully kept, for on the evening of March 20th the Emperor, amid great enthusiasm, entered the Tuileries, where he was met by all his old friends, including Fouche.
"Fouche," he said, as he entered the throne-room, "give my card to Louis the XVIII., and ask him if his luggage is ready. Make out his bill, and when he has paid it, tell him that I have ordered the 6:10train to start at 9:48. He can easily catch it.""He has already departed, Sire," returned Fouche. "He had an imperative engagement in the Netherlands. In his haste he left his crown hanging on the hat-rack in the hall.""Well, send it to him," replied Bonaparte. "I don't want HIS crown.
I want my own. It shall never be said that I robbed a poor fellow out of work of his hat."Settled once more upon his imperial throne, the main question which had previously agitated the Emperor and his advisers, and particularly his stage-manager, Fouche, whom he now restored to his old office, came up once more. "What next?" and it was harder to answer than ever, for Bonaparte's mind was no longer alert. He was listless and given to delay, and, worst of all, invariably sleepy.
It was evident that Elba had not proved as restful as had been hoped.
"You should not have returned," said Fouche, firmly. "America was the field for you. That's where all great actors go sooner or later, and they make fortunes. A season in New York would have made you a new man. As it is you are an old man. It seems to me that if an Irishman can leave Queenstown with nothing but his brogue and the clothes on his back and become an alderman of New York or Chicago inside of two years, you with all the advertising you've had ought to be able to get into Congress anyhow--you've got money enough for the Senate.""But they are not my children, those Americans," remonstrated Napoleon, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Well, France isn't the family affair it once was, either," retorted Fouche, "and you'll find it out before long. However, we've got to do the best we can. Swear off your old ways and come out as a man of Peace. Flatter the English, and by all means don't ask your mother-in-law Francis Joseph to send back the only woman you ever loved.
He's got her in Vienna, and he's going to keep her if he has to put her in a safe-deposit vault."It would have been well for Napoleon had he heeded this advice, but as he walked about the Tuileries alone, and listened in vain for the King of Rome's demands for more candy, and failed to see that interesting infant sliding down the banisters and loading his toy cannons with his mother's face-powder, he was oppressed by a sense of loneliness, and could not resist the temptation to send for them.
"This will be the last chip I'll put on my shoulder, Fouche," he pleaded.
"Very well," returned Fouche. "Put it there, but I warn you. This last chip will break the Empire's back."The demand was made upon Austria, and, as Fouche had said, the answer was a most decided refusal, and the result was war. Again the other powers allied against Napoleon. The forces of the enemy were placed under Wellington. Bonaparte led his own in person, buying a new uniform for the purpose. "We can handle them easily enough," said he, "if I can only keep awake. My situation at present reminds me so much of the old Bromide days that I fall asleep without knowing it by a mere association of ideas. Still, we'll whip 'em out of their boots.""What boots?" demanded Fouche.
"Their Wellingtons and their Bluchers," retorted the Emperor, thereby showing that, sleepy as he was, he had not lost his old-time ability at repartee.
For once he was over-confident. He fought desperately and triumphantly for three or four days, but the fates held Waterloo in store. Routing the enemy at Ligny and Quatre Bras, he pushed on to where Wellington stood in Belgium, where, on the 18th of June, was fought the greatest of his battles.
