‘There was no shooting, I take it?’ Napoleon asked sharply. He had warned Cambronne against spilling any French blood when he had given him his orders to lead the vanguard of the tiny force Napoleon had brought with him from Elba. The former Emperor had landed near Antibes with just over a thousand men, a squadron of lancers and two cannon. It was a minuscule army with which to reclaim his throne, Napoleon mused, but he had advanced from the coast at once. Given the royalist sympathies of the people of Provence, he had chosen to avoid the easiest route towards Paris in favour of the road leading through the hills to Grenoble. So far he had been received with muted enthusiasm in the towns and villages he had passed through. Even though the enthusiasm for the Bourbons had waned, the people were anxious to avoid reprisals if Napoleon’s outrageous gamble failed. So they waited to see the outcome of his latest venture.
General Cambronne shook his head. ‘There was no violence of any kind, sire. As soon as we encountered their leading company I told our men to greet them warmly, and share some wine. Their captain would have none of it, though. He ordered his men to fall in and march back to join the rest of the battalion. I was told not to follow him, or he would order his men to open fire.’
‘Very well,’ Napoleon scratched the bristles on his cheek. This was the moment he had been fearing. So far, no one had stood in his way. Now he was confronted by armed men, whose officers were clearly determined to oppose his progress. The question was, would the men follow their orders when the crisis came?
Napoleon sat in his carriage and thought carefully about the situation. Throughout the ten months he had remained on Elba he had followed events in France closely. In addition to regular scrutiny of the newspapers he had been receiving secret reports from sympathisers, and even from Fouchй, who had been shrewd enough to keep a foot in both camps. Napoleon, and most Frenchmen, had been surprised when King Louis had appointed the arch-schemer as his Minister of Police, the post he had once held under Napoleon.
It was Fouchй who had informed him that the Comte d’Artois, the next in line to the throne, intended to reverse the liberties gained by the common people in the years following the Revolution. D’Artois was also planning to reverse the land reforms that had transferred many aristocratic estates to the peasantry. The mood in France was poisonous, Fouchй wrote to his former master. The common people were suspicious of the Bourbons and their followers. The sentiment was echoed by the demobbed soldiers who were struggling to find a place within the new regime, and looked back on the days of empire with increasing fondness.
As Napoleon read the reports, he resolved to quit his tiny kingdom of Elba at the earliest opportunity. No island of twelve thousand inhabitants could satisfy his ambitions, or sate his boredom, and he began to make preparations in secret. His small army was regularly drilled and his one warship, a small brig, was supplemented by five other small vessels sufficient to carry Napoleon and his men to France. All of this had to be carried out under the gaze of the British resident. Colonel Campbell was a kindly officer, much in awe of his host, and Napoleon was careful to speak with enthusiasm about his plans for improving Elba whenever the two had occasion to talk. Campbell seemed satisfied that Napoleon had accepted his new, minor station in life. Such was his confidence that Napoleon no longer presented any danger that he had announced he was making a brief visit to Florence.
Napoleon concealed his delight at the news as he enquired the date by which Campbell might return, on the pretext that he was planning a ball and did not want the Englishman to miss the event. As soon as Campbell had departed, Napoleon and his followers hurriedly loaded stores and equipment aboard the flotilla of small vessels and departed mere hours before the return of the Royal Navy brig that had conveyed Campbell to Italy.
Luck, as ever, had favoured him, Napoleon reflected. But now he faced the great test of his new adventure. The road ahead was blocked by regular soldiers, sent by the royalists to confront and arrest him.
‘Sire, what are your orders?’ Cambronne interrupted Napoleon’s thoughts. ‘Should I deploy the men?’
‘No. Have them form up in column, lancers to the front. You and I shall ride at the head of the column. How far ahead is the road blocked?’
Cambronne turned to look up the track. It inclined gently down towards the side of a hill and then turned along the shore of a small lake, the end of which could just be seen. To the left steep hills rose up sharply, creating a narrow defile through which Napoleon and his men must march to reach Grenoble.
The veteran pointed towards the place where the road disappeared round the side of the hill. ‘Just beyond the hill, sire, close to the far end of the lake.’
‘Very well, let’s proceed.’
Cambronne hesitated.‘Shall I have the guns moved close to the front of the column, sire? If there’s any trouble, they can clear the way with a few rounds of case shot.’
‘There will be no trouble,’ Napoleon replied flatly. ‘If there is, then our cause is as good as lost. Now, give the order for the men to make ready to advance. Make sure every man understands that they are not to fire a shot without my express order. If anything happens to me, then you are to lay down your arms at once. Is that clear?’
Cambronne nodded reluctantly, then turned away and strode over to the men who had fallen out alongside the track, bellowing at them to re-form their ranks.
A few minutes later the column started down the track. Napoleon was now riding a white horse, and he wore the old grey coat and battered bicorne that was familiar to every soldier who had campaigned with him over the years. As the track rounded the hill he felt his heartbeat quicken. To his right the small lake stretched out, the calm waters reflecting the wooded ridge on the far side. At the far end of the lake there was a stretch of open ground, perhaps a hundred paces across, between the hillside and the shore of the lake. A body of soldiers stood waiting, formed in line, with fixed bayonets that glinted in the afternoon sunshine.
‘What unit is that?’ asked Napoleon.
‘The first battalion of the Fifth Regiment of the Line, sire.’
Napoleon nodded.
The column advanced in silence, marching along the side of the lake. Napoleon glanced back, past the flickering pennants of the lancers, and saw the grim expressions fixed on the faces of the guardsmen. If it came to a fight, the veterans would make short work of the men opposed to them. But the instant the first blood was spilled, France would be bitterly divided. Even if Napoleon survived such a struggle, he would be forced to deal with the other European powers with almost no chance of success.
As the gap between the hillside and the shore began to widen, Napoleon raised his hand to halt the column.
‘Have the Guard form line. They are to shoulder arms. The lancers are to fall back and dismount.’
Cambronne sucked in his breath, but saluted and turned away to give the orders. As the guardsmen trotted out on either side of the track and formed ranks, Napoleon stared at the line of infantry barring his way. They stood silently as their commanding officer sat on his horse and raised his telescope.
Once the men were in position Cambronne resumed his place at Napoleon’s side. ‘What now, sire?’
‘It’s time you announced me,’ Napoleon replied.
Cambronne edged his spurs in and trotted forward towards the waiting soldiers. Their commander lowered his scope and watched the solitary rider approaching. When Cambronne was no more than fifty paces away the other officer cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Stop there!’
Reining in, Cambronne raised his hat and replied. ‘Comrades! Our Emperor has returned! Join us!’