The Emperor Napoleon received the news of this great victory at Castle
Finkenstein, not far from Tilsit. His face brightened, and he
immediately sent a courier to Marshal Lefebvre, to invite him to pay him
a visit at the castle. But the joy of the emperor soon disappeared. His
generals, intimate friends, and servants, endeavored to cheer him. They
tried all the arts of eloquence and flattery to dispel his sadness.
Talleyrand attempted to amuse him by reciting, with charming _medisance_
and pointed humor, passages from the rich stores of his memoirs, and by
relating, with Attic wit, the story of his first love, which had
bequeathed to him a lame foot as a remembrancer. Lannes, with the blunt
humor of a true soldier, told stories of his campaigns. Duroc smilingly
reminded the emperor of many an adventure they had had in Paris, when,
in plain gray coats, and hats drawn over their eyes, they had wandered
through the streets of the capital, to ascertain the disposition of the
people, and received many a rebuke on daring to abuse Napoleon. It is
true, the emperor was amused on hearing such anecdotes, but his
momentary laughter revealed more vividly his dark and stormy temper.
To-day the generals resorted to another method also of amusing him. They
proposed cards. He agreed, and they commenced a game of _vingt-et-un_.
Formerly, the emperor, on playing, had always been in excellent spirits,
and did not disdain even to cheat a little, frequently concealing a card
or two. But now he played gravely and honestly, and the consequence was
that he lost. Throwing the cards indignantly aside, and greeting the
marshals with a silent nod, he crossed the room with hasty steps, and
retired to his cabinet.
"He has not yet forgotten the affair of Eylau," grumbled Marshal Lannes.
"It is true, we boasted of our victory there, and ordered a _Te Deum_ to
be sung, but he knows very well how things stood, and feels badly
because the Emperor of Russia also had a _Te Deum_ sung."
"I do not believe, Marshal, that that is the cause of the emperor's
grief," said Talleyrand, shrugging his shoulders. "Napoleon is not in
the habit of mourning for past events, but a failure incites him to
renewed exertions, and inspires his genius to perform fresh and daring
exploits. Although the lion for once may have seen his prey slip from
his grasp, it does not render him dispirited. He only shakes his mane,
and crouches for a new bound."
"Then you believe, M. Minister, that the emperor is planning another
battle?" joyfully asked Lannes.
"I am convinced of it, but do not believe that to be the reason of his
ill-humor. The furrows on his brow express his sorrow for the death of
young Napoleon--his little nephew--the grandson of the empress!"
"Ah, bah!" exclaimed Lannes, "it would really be worth while for a great
chieftain to mourn for a child eight years of age!"
"He does not mourn for the child, but for the successor," said
Talleyrand. "You know, the son of his brother Louis and his stepdaughter
Hortense was to be his heir--the future Emperor of France. You see how
difficult it is to say in advance who is to be the heir of a throne.
Some accident--a brick falling from a roof, an attack of the measles, a
contemptible cough--may bring about the ruin of dynasties and the rise
of new ones. The hopes of Josephine have been buried with young Napoleon
Louis. Poor empress! her downfall is inevitable, for the emperor must
think henceforth of an heir--of a legitimate union. Alas! how many tears
will that cost poor Josephine's heart!"
"I am sure, Prince de Benevento, when you deplore the fate of the
empress, you suggest great sufferings for her. But we know the subtle
diplomacy of the minister who says that language was given for the sole
purpose of concealing our thoughts. Hence, prince, I am in the habit of
believing exactly the reverse of what you say. You are sure to overthrow
Josephine and have already selected her successor. Tell us who is she?
Upon whom do you intend to confer the honor of giving an heir to the
emperor?"
"Let us rather put this question to our taciturn friend Duroc," said
Talleyrand, softly laying his hand on the shoulder of the grand marshal,
who was standing in front of them with folded arms. "Please take notice
that the grand marshal has not added a single word to our
conversation--that he has listened calmly to our suppositions about the
emperor's melancholy, and has not assisted us in ferreting out the
truth. It is evident, therefore, that he is aware of it, and that it
does not affect him painfully. Pray tell us, grand marshal, who is
right--the Duke de Montebello or myself?"
"Perhaps, prince, both of you are mistaken," said Duroc, "and perhaps,
again, both of you are right. Who is able to fathom the thoughts and
secrets--but I believe the emperor is calling me!" And he approached the
door of the imperial cabinet and listened.
"Duroc!" cried the emperor, "Duroc!"
The grand marshal took leave of the two gentlemen with a careless bow
and hastened away. Napoleon sat on an easy-chair at the open window,
supporting his head on his hand, and gazing out on the landscape. He
seemed to have entirely forgotten that he had called the grand marshal,
and did not even notice the latter after he had entered. An air of
profound sadness was depicted in his features.
"Your majesty called me," said Duroc, approaching.
Napoleon started and turned his head slowly toward the grand marshal.
"It is true," he said, "I called you, Duroc. I was ungracious, and left
you without saying a kind word to you. I am sorry. You may repeat my
words to the other two princes." He gave his small white hand to Duroc,
who pressed it against his breast with an expression of tenderness. "I
thank your majesty for this fresh proof of your magnanimity," he said,
"and shall communicate it to the other two princes."
He was about to withdraw, but the emperor detained him. "Tell me, first,
Duroc, whether they were very angry with me? Did old Lannes grumble? Did
Talleyrand comment in his usual manner?"
"Oh, sire!" exclaimed Duroc, reproachfully, "all three of us were filled
only with grief; we were considering what might be the cause of your
majesty's melancholy."
"Well, and what did you guess? and what Lannes?"
"He believed your majesty was striving to crown the battle of Eylau with
a brilliant victory, and that you were planning a new battle."
"He is right," exclaimed Napoleon, energetically. "We are not yet at the
end of our struggle, and the brave men who were buried under the snow of
Eylau must be avenged. I shall soon bid the sun of Austerlitz and Jena
shine on the plains of Prussia, and dazzle the eyes of the Emperor of
Russia. I will bring him to his knees and make him cry '_Pater
peccavi_!' I will show him what it is to menace me; and when I unfurl my
banner on the Kremlin of Moscow, Alexander shall bear the train of my
purple cloak. The world belongs to me! Woe unto him who stands in my
way--I will crush him as the elephant crushes the worm! Lannes is right;
I am planning a new battle. But it is not this that makes me sad. What
did Talleyrand say--Talleyrand, Prince de Benevento, with the keen nose
and the impenetrable smile?"
"Talleyrand said it was not the planning of future battles, but that you
were mourning for the little son of the King of Holland."
"Ah, indeed, Talleyrand is not altogether mistaken," exclaimed Napoleon,
heaving a sigh; "my heart is mourning for young Napoleon. He was my
darling, and I had accustomed myself to regard him as my heir. He was
blood of my blood, and there was something shining in his eyes that
seemed to me to be a beam of my own mind. I loved the boy. And now--what
did Talleyrand say besides, Duroc?" asked Napoleon, interrupting
himself. "You are silent. Be frank; I want to know it all!"
"Sire," said Duroc, timidly, "the Prince de Benevento lamented the fate
of the empress, for he believes the death of little Prince Napoleon
Louis to be a mournful--nay, a fatal event for her, inasmuch as your
majesty would now be under the necessity of having a successor to the
noble and adored Empress Josephine, and an heir-apparent to your
empire."
"And he was impudent enough to lament her fate!" exclaimed Napoleon, "he
who has striven for years to overthrow her--he who always united with my
family to prove to me the right of disowning her. Ah, poor dear
Josephine! I ought never to have thought of listening to their
insinuations; I was hitherto her most faithful defender, for I love her,
and know that she is a sincere friend."
"An empress, sire," said Duroc, "who would be an ornament to any throne,
and whose grace, amiability, and kind-heartedness, have won as many
subjects for your majesty as your battles. Sire, all France loves and
worships the Empress Josephine; all France would weep with her if her
enemies succeed in removing her from her throne, and from the side of
her adored husband, and the tears and imprecations of a whole people
would be the festive welcome with which France would receive a new
empress!"
"You paint in very glaring colors," exclaimed Napoleon, gloomily, "but,
then, I know you to be one of Josephine's admirers. She is really a good
wife, and I never had room for complaint. But for one consideration, I
should never think of separating from her. Fate is against her, and I am
afraid it will compel me--ah, let us not dare to pry into the future.
Let us rather attend to the present. You have told me the suppositions
of Lannes and Talleyrand, but not your own. What did you say?" He looked
at Duroc with his eagle eyes, and repeated, "What did you say?"
"Sire," replied Duroc, "I said nothing."
"You said nothing, because you know what ails me," said Napoleon,
vehemently, "because you can fathom the pain, the anger, and grief of my
heart!"
He rose from his easy-chair, and paced the room, with his arms behind
him. "Duroc," he said, after a long pause, and in a husky, tremulous
voice, "is it not a disgrace that this should happen? The world is
bowing to me, and recognizing me as its master, and a woman dares resist
me--a fair, delicate little creature that I could crush, as it were, in
my hands--that an angry breath from my mouth could destroy as a lily in
the blast of the desert. Duroc, she dares resist me, and opposes a cold,
stubborn silence to my request--nay, to my fervent supplications!"
"Sire, she is married," said Duroc, timidly, "she is married, and--"
"She is married to a husband whom she does not--cannot love," exclaimed
Napoleon, impetuously. "He is a white-haired old man--a man of sixty
years, to whom her parents have sold her!"
"But her husband is said to love his beautiful wife passionately."
"Let him dare molest her with his love," exclaimed Napoleon, menacingly;
"let him touch only with the tip of his finger this flower that I myself
would have! She has not deserved the sorry fate of withering at the side
of a decrepit old man; she serves to bloom at the heart of an emperor!
Oh, how beautiful she is! When I saw her, for the first time, at the
ball in Warsaw, I fell in love with her, and felt that I must possess
her. Her light-colored hair was shining about her noble head like a
halo; heaven seemed to be reflected in her azure eyes, and the tinge of
melancholy shading her face rendered her still more charming and
seductive. She was an innocent victim of the selfishness of others; I
perceived it at a glance, and have loved her ever since. I took a secret
oath to rescue her from her misery, and, by my love, to restore
happiness to her! And yet she disdains me, Duroc!"
"No, sire, she does not disdain the exalted lover whom she worships; she
is not, however, a flirt, but a virtuous wife. She will not prove
faithless to her husband; she will not break the vows she took upon
herself at the altar. She is engaged in a terrible struggle between duty
and love, for your majesty knows very well that Madame de Walewska loves
you!"
"No, no, she does not love me," exclaimed Napoleon, vehemently. "If she
really loved me, she would listen to no other voice than mine! I
supplicated her with the whole strength of my affection--with all the
anger of a spurned admirer, with all the humility of a doting lover, but
neither my anger nor my supplications were able to move her. And yet she
asserts that she loves me; she dares to say that she shares my passion!
Oh, she is a cold-hearted, cruel coquette; it gladdens her to behold my
sufferings, and to play with my heart!"
"Sire, you are unjust," exclaimed Duroc. "Madame de Walewska is an angel
of virtue and purity; she would joyfully sacrifice her life to save
your majesty a sigh!"
"But she is unwilling to sacrifice to me this chimera of virtue,"
exclaimed Napoleon, "although she has already disregarded it by loving
me. She is not courageous enough to give up the semblance after having
already parted with the substance. Like all women she is timid, and
incapable of a great resolution! How many letters have I not written to
her since I last saw her! After the battle of Eylau--like a miserable
adventurer--a knight-errant--I went in disguise to the village where she
had at length promised to meet me at her brother's house. What a
wretched rendezvous it was! Nothing but a farewell scene! She desires to
go into a convent, and give her heart to God, because she is not allowed
to give it to me. I am no Abelard, however, and do not want her to
become a Heloise! If she goes into a convent, I shall have its walls
torn down, and the order she has joined abolished."
"But she will not go into a convent, sire; love will at last triumph
over her virtue, and she will finally declare herself vanquished. She
promised your majesty to defer the execution of her purpose for a year,
but, I am sure, she will not be strong enough to close her heart so long
against the passionate entreaties of a lover whom she adores. The
letters which your majesty writes to her, and which she does not refuse
to accept, are like hot shells thrown into the fortress of her heart.
They do a great deal of mischief."
"Forsooth, it is a consolation that she does not refuse my notes. I have
sent them almost every day during two months; every week I send a
courier who meets her when, escaping from the Argus-eyes of her husband,
she goes to the cathedral. But I receive only laconic replies. This
woman is either incapable of genuine love, or she is a demon who
delights in torturing me."
"Sire, does it please your majesty to partake of this fruit?" said a
gentle voice behind him.
The emperor started. Absorbed in his passion--filled with the idea now
agitating his soul, he had not heard the door of the cabinet softly
open, and was unaware that one of the imperial pages, holding a golden
fruit-plate, had entered. Duroc also had not noticed that he was present
while the emperor was still speaking, and that he must have overheard
the last words of his majesty. The page leaned, pale and exhausted,
against the wall near the door, and the golden plate was trembling in
his hands.
Napoleon cast a glowing glance on him, and rushing toward him, snatched
the plate and threw it on the floor. As the peaches rolled across the
room, he seized the page's arms, and drew him toward the window. "Who
are you?" he asked, scarcely able to master his emotion. "Who are you?
Speak, that I may hear your voice!"
The page looked in his face, aglow with anger, and his large blue eyes
filled with tears. "I am a demon who delights in torturing you," he said
in a low voice.
Napoleon did not utter a word. He tore the velvet cap from the page's
head, and when his long silken hair fell on his shoulders in heavy
masses, a smile of unutterable bliss overspread the emperor's face. He
seized the fair ringlets with his hands and kissed them; he laid them on
his own head, and they covered his face like a golden veil. He then
shook them off with a merry laugh, and encircled the page so violently
in his arms, that he uttered a cry. "Mary, Mary," he exclaimed
passionately, "you are in my arms at last--you are here! Duroc, just
look at this wonderful page. Come here, and look at the angel I
slandered just now!"
But Duroc did not appear. He preferred to move quietly out of the room
and to lock the door after him. Napoleon, therefore, was alone with his
mistress, and thanked Duroc in his heart for this discretion. He clasped
the weeping and blushing lady in his arms, and tried with gentle force
to remove her hands, in which she had buried her face. "Mary," he asked,
in a tone of suppliant tenderness, "Mary, you weep, and yet you say you
love me?"
"Yes, I do love you," she exclaimed, sinking on her knees. "I love you
intensely! Ah, have mercy on me! Do not condemn me because I come hither
in spite of my conscience and my honor! Napoleon, I have no longer any
thing on earth but you! I have no longer a country, a family, a name! I
gave up every thing for you--my life, my honor, my happiness, are yours!
Remember it, and do not despise me!"
He raised her from her knees and pressed a kiss on her quivering lips.
"Mary," he said, "this kiss shall have the same effect upon you as of
old the gift of knighthood had on the warrior--it will impart to you a
higher and more sacred life, and confer the highest honor on you!
Henceforth you are mine, and shall be as immortal as myself; and when
posterity mentions the name of the Emperor Napoleon, it shall at the
same time remember his beautiful mistress, and repeat the name of Mary
Walewska together with that of Josephine!"
"Oh," murmured Mary, "you mention the noble and generous Empress
Josephine, whom I worship, and against whom I am committing a crime! May
fate enable me to atone for my guilt one day by sacrificing my life for
you, and proving to you and to the world that I loved you truly and
faithfully."
"No, you shall live--live for me," said Napoleon, ardently; "do not
complain any more, Mary; dry your beautiful eyes. Come, sit down with me
and tell me how it happened that you conquered your heart, and why I see
you in this disguise?" He drew her to the divan and wound his arm around
her waist. She laid her head on his shoulder, and gazed up to him with
dreamy eyes.
"How it happened?" she asked. "I cannot find words to tell you. I
reenacted the part of Penelope. Every night I tried to fasten a coat of
mail around my heart--to protect it as with a net-work of virtue and
duty. But your letters were the wooers that destroyed in the day the
resolutions of the night. Your complaints rent my heart; your reproaches
tortured my soul. I felt at last that I was irretrievably lost--that I
loved you boundlessly, and that I was anxious to prove it to you. But my
husband watched me with lynx-eyed vigilance; he was constantly at my
side, now threatening, in the fury of his jealousy, to assassinate me
should I leave him, and now imploring me with tearful eyes to spare his
honor and pity his love. I felt that I would have either to die, or
renounce my married life, and enter upon a new existence--an existence
of true happiness if you love me, but of suffering and self-reproach if
you despise, me!"
"I love you," said Napoleon, with a proud and confident air. "Proceed."
"I have finished," she said. "My trusty lady's maid prepared every thing
for my escape, and four days ago, when my husband believed me at church,
I and my maid entered a travelling-coach and continued our journey day
and night until we arrived at Castle Finkenstein."
"And this disguise?" asked Napoleon, pointing at the costume she was
wearing.
Mary blushed and smiled. "I had it made by a tailor at Warsaw, who
prepared the suits the imperial pages wore at that ball. I had not
sufficient courage to enter this castle as a lady, only men living in it
at the present time. I desired to enter your room without recognition or
insult. I left my carriage at the neighboring village, and walked hither
on foot. At the castle-gate, I inquired for Constant, your _valet de
chambre_, and requested the servants to call him. I confided my secret
to him, and he conducted me to this room. And thus, my beloved friend, I
am here; I am lying at your feet, and imploring you to kill me if you do
not love me, for I cannot live without your love!" She glided from the
divan to the floor, and looked up to the emperor with clasped hands and
imploring eyes.
Napoleon bent over her and drew her smilingly into his arms. "You shall
live," he said, "for I love you and pledge you my imperial word that I
will never desert you!"
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE DANTZIC CHOCOLATE.
On the following day the emperor's face did not retain a trace of the
gloom which had filled his marshals with so much uneasiness. His
features were radiant with happiness, and a strange fire was burning in
his dark-blue eyes. He ordered his guard to be drawn up in line in the
castle-yard, and to the delight of the soldiers it was announced that
Napoleon himself would command at the parade. Loud cheers and the
constantly-repeated shout of "_Vive l'empereur_!" received him when,
surrounded by his marshals, and with a smiling face, he walked down the
broad steps of the palace.
"These soldiers are foolish children," said he, turning to Marshal
Lannes. "Why are they cheering incessantly, as if they had not seen me
for a year? Have I not been among them every day?"
"No, sire," said the marshal, who had regained his former good-humor and
merry face, "no, sire; those brave boys really have not seen your
majesty for a long while, and they are perfectly right to manifest their
joy. The great Napoleon, whose face was our sun in so many battles and
in so many countries, and whose smile, when we were hungry and thirsty,
often satisfied our hunger and quenched our thirst, really was not here.
In his place we have had during the last few weeks a grave and taciturn
emperor, whom every one feared."
Napoleon laughed. "Were you also afraid, my old comrade?" he asked.
"I cannot say that I was," said Lannes, gayly, "but, nevertheless, I
feel to-day as though a heavy burden had been removed from my heart. I
can breathe more freely, inasmuch as I have back my excellent Napoleon
in place of that morose emperor. The sun has risen once more for all of
us!"
"Was I really as you pretend?" asked Napoleon, who was always delighted
at the unceremonious words of his old comrade, and who permitted to
Lannes that bluntness which he would not have tolerated in another.
The marshal bent closer to the emperor's ear. "Sire, your majesty will
permit me to tell you that you were shockingly morose and surly. We were
beginning to feel anxious and weary. But it is all over now, and when I
look at you to-day my heart is as glad as that of a lover who sees his
sweetheart after a long separation. I should like to know what miracle
has happened since yesterday, and what magician has arrived to dispel
your discontent. I should be exceedingly grateful to your majesty if you
would show him to me!"
"What an inquisitive fellow!" said the emperor, turning his eyes
involuntarily to the window of the castle. He nodded almost
imperceptibly, and laid his hand on his heart for a moment. The
marshal's eyes had followed the glances of his master, and he beheld a
strange object at one of the windows of the emperor's rooms. The curtain
was cautiously drawn aside, and the beautiful head of a young lady was
seen behind it.
"_Mort de ma vie_!" ejaculated Lannes, loudly and impetuously.
"Well, what is the matter?" asked Napoleon, turning hastily to him.
Lannes was still staring up at the window; but the charming person had
already disappeared, and the curtains were closed again.
"Sire," faltered Lannes, in confusion, "sire, I believe I myself am
bewitched; I beheld an apparition just now."
"Did your good wife appear to you?" asked Napoleon, laughing.
"Would she were such a fair-haired angel!" exclaimed Lannes, heaving a
sigh. "But in that case, sire, I should very earnestly oppose her
appearance at the windows of the imperial rooms--"
"Hush, you old babbler!" said Napoleon, laughing; "is it necessary,
then, to confess every thing one has dreamed?" And, as he liked to do
when in good-humor, he pulled the marshal's ear so violently that Lannes
made a very wry face.
The emperor turned with a grave bearing to his soldiers, and the parade
commenced. After it was over, he repaired to the castle, to work with
his adjutant-general in his cabinet. Before doing so, however, he said
to Marshal Lannes: "I wish you to dine with me to-day, and to-night I
will play a game of _vingt-et-un_ with you, Talleyrand, and Duroc; I
must get even with you for yesterday. Do not forget, marshal--we shall
dine together to-day!"
"Sire," said Lannes, joyfully, "were you to place a dish of the boiled
ears of the Russians before me, I would eat them with great relish if
you look at me as kindly as you are doing now!"
Napoleon laughed and ascended the palace staircase. An hour later a
dusty carriage rolled into the yard of Castle Finkenstein. It was
Marshal Lefebvre, who, agreeably to the emperor's invitation, had
arrived. The marshal felt somewhat embarrassed and anxious. This order
of Napoleon to set out immediately on receipt of the dispatch, and
repair to his headquarters at Finkenstein, had filled the conqueror of
Dantzic with some apprehension, lest the emperor had summoned him to
rebuke him for having granted such honorable terms to the Prussian
garrison, and for permitting them to march out with their arms, instead
of making them prisoners of war. The marshal therefore entered the
anteroom with a face somewhat pale, and requested the officer in waiting
to announce him.
"His majesty is at work in his cabinet," said the officer. "On such
occasions no one is permitted to disturb him, unless he be a bearer of
important dispatches."
"The emperor ordered me to report to him immediately on my arrival. Go,
therefore, and announce me." The officer obeyed hesitatingly.
Napoleon was seated at a desk covered with maps and papers. Pointing at
a map spread out on the table, he was just turning eagerly to his
adjutant-general, Marshal Berthier. "Here--this is the point whither we
have to drive the Russians; and there, on the banks of the Alle, they
shall fearfully atone for the battle of Eylau. Well," he said, turning
to the officer who had just entered, "what do you want?"
"Sire, Marshal Lefebvre asks your majesty to grant him an audience. He
says your majesty summoned him here from Dantzic."
"He is right," said Napoleon, "and I am glad that the duke does not keep
me in waiting. Tell the Duke of Dantzic that he is to dine with me."
"Sire," said the officer, "it is not a Duke of Dantzic, but Marshal
Lefebvre, who applies for an audience."
The emperor darted one of his withering glances at him. "It seems, sir,"
he said gravely, "that you deem me incapable of creating a duke. Go," he
added, "and inform the duke of my invitation. In fifteen minutes we
shall dine."
The officer returned to the anteroom. "Well?" asked Lefebvre, quickly.
"Does the emperor await me? May I enter?"
"Duke, his majesty invites you to dine with him, and requests you to
wait only fifteen minutes."
Lefebvre, in his confusion, had not heard the title by which he was
addressed. His mind was absorbed in the single thought whether or not
the emperor was angry with him. He wished these fifteen minutes to pass
quickly, and yet his heart trembled at what might be in store for him.
Precisely at the time appointed Grand Marshal Duroc entered to conduct
Marshal Lefebvre to the dining-room. Lefebvre followed in silence. The
heart of the brave soldier beat more violently than it had ever done in
the battle-field.
The emperor had already taken his seat when Duroc and Lefebvre entered.
Near him, behind their chairs, stood Marshal Lannes, the Prince de
Benevento, and Marshal Berthier. Napoleon greeted Lefebvre with a
friendly wave of his hand. "Welcome, duke," he exclaimed, "sit down here
at my side!"
Lefebvre advanced and took the seat his majesty designated. The others
sat down also. Dinner commenced: Napoleon ate his soup in silence, as he
always did. Fixing his eyes with a smiling expression on a large pie, in
the shape of a fortress, that was standing before him, "Do you recognize
this, Duke of Dantzic?" he asked.
Lefebvre heard the ducal title this time, and looked bewildered at the
emperor, whose anger he still feared. "Did your majesty speak to me?" he
asked, bashfully.
"To be sure; did I not address you with the title of Duke of Dantzic?"
replied Napoleon, laughing. "Well, tell me, now, do you know the
fortress which this pie is intended to represent?"
"I believe," said the new duke, "the fortress of Dantzic."
"See, gentlemen, how familiar the duke is with his dear Dantzic,"
exclaimed Napoleon. "It is true, he ought to know it, for he had to take
extraordinary pains to reduce it. Now let us eat little Dantzic as
Lefebvre ate big Dantzic a few days ago."
The steward took the pie and presented it to the emperor. "Oh, no," said
Napoleon, with a pleasant smile; "Duke of Dantzic, it behooves you to
carve it, for it is your conquest."
Lefebvre's face beamed with joy, and he thanked the emperor with a
grateful look. "Sire," he said, almost solemnly, plunging his knife into
the pie, "I should like to be commissioned soon by your majesty to take
another fortress. I should then remember this hour, and take it by
assault or die!"
"Ah, you will not die so soon," exclaimed Napoleon; "let us take this
fortress by assault. The Duke of Dantzic having opened the first breach,
we will boldly follow." Turning to Lefebvre: "Do you like to eat
chocolate, duke?" he asked.
Lefebvre looked at him, amazed at the strange question. "I do not know,"
he faltered, "I believe I like it."
"Well, then, I will give you a pound of Dantzic chocolate," said the
emperor, smiling, "for as you took that city it is but equitable that
you should receive a little souvenir of it. Roustan, bring me the small
package lying on my desk."
Roustan, who at dinner always stood behind the emperor's chair, soon
returned with a small oblong package. Napoleon took it, and, handing it
to Lefebvre, said, "Take this, duke--small gifts keep up friendly
feelings."
Lefebvre took the package, and, warmly thanking the emperor, put it into
his pocket. A few minutes afterward Napoleon rose from the table.
"Sire," said Marshal Lannes, approaching him, "your majesty, perhaps,
does not know all my failings. You are not aware that I am very
inquisitive, and withal very fond of sweet things. Now I am anxious to
know whether Dantzic chocolate is as good as Paris chocolate--I should
like to taste it. Will not your majesty be so kind as to order the Duke
of Dantzic to open his package of chocolate and let us taste it?"
Napoleon laughed. "Why, I cannot order him to give away what I have just
given him," he said. "But a glance at the outside may show you whether
it is good or not. If he will open it and let you see it, I have no
objection."
The duke took the package from his pocket; he himself was desirous to
discover what it contained; Lannes, Duroc, Talleyrand, and Berthier,
surrounded him. The emperor stood at some distance, and looked smilingly
at the group. Lefebvre broke the string and unfolded the wrapper. It
contained nothing but a number of small printed papers; but these were
valuable, being bank-notes to the amount of a hundred thousand dollars.
Lefebvre, overjoyed, looked at the emperor. Duroc and Talleyrand smiled
also, but Lannes exclaimed in a loud voice, "Forsooth, I should also
like to have a pound of this Dantzic chocolate![32] Sire, is there not
somewhere another Prussian fortress manufacturing such an excellent
article? Send me thither, and, I pledge you my word, I shall get my
chocolate!"
[Footnote 32: This scene is strictly historical. The army knew in what
manner the emperor had rewarded Marshal Lefebvre, and it became a
cant-phrase for soldiers who wished to borrow money of their comrades:
"Have you any Dantzic chocolate?"]
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said, "there are really no
Prussian fortresses that we can take; all are in our hands; only Colberg
and Graudenz are holding out, and who knows how soon they will
surrender? You will have no chance to obtain your chocolate in Prussia,
Lannes, but I will give you and all my marshals an opportunity, I hope,
on the battle-field."
"Ah," they exclaimed in joyful chorus, "then there will be a battle
soon?"
"Yes," said Napoleon, gravely. "Let the fall of Dantzic be only a signal
of fresh victories for us! The time of inaction is past. Let us invite
the Emperor of Russia to a war-dance on the territory of his ally the
King of Prussia. Possibly, the beautiful queen may take part in it, for
she is said to be a fine dancer, and to have delighted the young
officers of the guard at the balls given in the palace of Berlin. She
is, moreover, a heroine, who, when her king had an army, witnessed the
parade of the troops in the costume of an Amazon. I am, indeed,
inquisitive, like Marshal Lannes--not, however, as to the quality of
the chocolate, but as to this queen, who is said to be the most
beautiful and amiable woman of all Germany. I am desirous to find out
whether the rumor is true, and to see her face to face. But in order to
do so a battle--a victory is necessary. Afterward I shall invite her to
meet me, and I suppose she will bow to the conqueror of her country,
notwithstanding her pride, and accept the invitation. Ah, she shall
accustom herself to recognize me, whom she calls a usurper, as emperor,
and peer of other sovereigns. Gentlemen, I count on your active
co-operation. You, marshals, and my brave army, are to be the
_postillions d'amour_, to conquer for me an interview with the beautiful
queen! You are to wake up the Russians from their winter sleep, and
bring them our morning greeting with cannon! All the preparations are
completed. The Confederation of the Rhine, Italy, Spain, and France,
have furnished us with troops, and we have now two hundred thousand
enthusiastic and invincible soldiers, while Russia and Prussia together
are scarcely possessed of half as many. They are, moreover, exhausted
and demoralized. Let us renew the struggle; and when I say struggle, it
means _victory_!"
BOOK III.
CHAPTER XXVII.
TILSIT.--NAPOLEON AND ALEXANDER.
A cry of dismay resounded in the camp of the Prussians and Russians--of
exultation in that of the French. Another battle had been fought, and
Napoleon had won a brilliant victory. On the 14th of June, 1807, a
decisive action had taken place between the French and the united
army--the battle of Friedland had gained Napoleon a new laurel-wreath,
and brought an overwhelming defeat upon unhappy Prussia. The Russians,
enraged at the loss of the battle, furiously denounced Prussia, for the
sake of which Russia had been involved in this war; they asked the
Emperor Alexander to put an end to the disastrous and self-sacrificing
war by making peace with France.
The same measure was urged by the adherents of the French party in the
camp and in the suite of King Frederick William. They asserted that
only unconditional submission, however humiliating it might be, could
save what was still to be saved; that the king ought to throw himself at
the feet of the victor of Friedland and implore him to restore his
crown. Such was the advice of the discouraged and despairing--of those
who always had regarded the war against France as a fatal mistake, and
who now, amidst the general consternation, were overjoyed that their
predictions had been fulfilled.
"Peace! peace with France!" was the cry resounding in the ears of the
Emperor Alexander and of King Frederick William. Alexander promised that
he would comply with the request. Frederick William listened to it in
sullen silence. The queen, who had remained at Memel, and was no longer
with her husband, veiled her head and wept.
But Napoleon triumphantly thanked his army for this new and decisive
victory.
"Soldiers," he said, "we are victorious. On the 5th of June we were
attacked in our cantonments by the Russian army. The enemy had mistaken
our inactivity. He perceived too late that our repose was that of the
lion: he repents of having disturbed it. In the battles of Guttstadt and
Heilsberg, and in that ever-memorable one of Friedland, in a campaign of
ten days, we have taken one hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, and
seven colors. The killed, wounded, or made prisoners, are sixty thousand
Russians. We have taken all the magazines, hospitals, ambulances, the
fortress of Konigsberg, the three hundred vessels which were in that
port, laden with military stores, and one hundred and sixty thousand
muskets, which England had sent to arm our enemies.
"From the Vistula to the Niemen we have come with the flight of the
eagle. You celebrated at Austerlitz the anniversary of the coronation;
this year, you celebrate that of the battle of Marengo, which put an end
to the war of the second coalition.
"Frenchmen, you have been worthy of yourselves and of me. You will
return to France crowned with laurels, and, after obtaining a glorious
peace, which carries with it the guaranty of its duration, it is high
time for our country to repose, protected from the malignant influence
of England. My bounties shall prove to you my gratitude, and the extent
of the love I feel for you."
Napoleon thus promised peace to his army, while thanking it for the new
victory. And he had a right to do so, for peace and its conditions were
now in his grasp. Alexander and Frederick William felt this, and hence
they were under the necessity of making advances to the conqueror; they
were obliged to sacrifice their pride and to conciliate their powerful
enemy. Frederick William was still hesitating. The tears of his wife,
the prayers and remonstrances of Hardenberg restrained him; he was
unwilling to listen to the urgent appeals of Generals von Kockeritz and
Zastrow, and of Field-Marshal von Kalkreuth, who, now that Dantzic had
fallen, believed unconditional submission to be the only means of
safety.
Alexander determined first on taking a decisive step. On the 24th of
June he sent Prince Labanoff to the victor of Friedland, and expressed
his desire for an interview with him. Napoleon complied with this
request, and sent Grand-Marshal Duroc to the Emperor Alexander to inform
him that he would meet him on the following day, the 25th of June, at
noon. But the two emperors did not wish to see each other on a soil red
with the blood of their soldiers, nor were the peace negotiations to be
held on a territory hostile to the Emperor of the French. A river, whose
waves buried in their depths the reminiscences of the past, was to be
the neutral place of their meeting.
It was a clear midsummer-day; the earth was clad in the freshest
verdure; not a cloud floated in the sky; not a breath of wind stirred
the air, or ruffled the limpid waters of the Niemen. The river was
silent, as though it was conscious of its importance, and felt that a
great historical event was to take place on its tranquil surface. A
large raft was moored by General Lariboissiere, of the artillery,
equidistant from and within sight of both banks. A pavilion was
constructed with all the rich stuffs to be procured in the little town
of Tilsit, for the reception of the two monarchs. This gorgeous pavilion
seemed a palace descended from some fairy realm, and thousands of
spectators gazed at it in surprise.
The two armies were ranged along the Niemen, their arms and uniforms
flashing in the sun. On one bank were the lifeguards of Alexander, with
their bearded faces and savage features; on the other, the guards of
Napoleon, with their scarred faces, telling the story of many a victory.
In the rear of the soldiers were thousands more, who had hastened to the
banks of the Niemen to witness the interview of the two emperors.
Shouts, laughter, and songs, resounded on both sides; the air was filled
with a humming sound as from two immense swarms of bees. At times,
greetings were sent across the river in a language mutually
unintelligible. Suddenly, all this noise died away; the guards on both
sides presented arms; the drums were beaten, and the bands played the
national hymns of Russia and France. Amidst these jubilant notes the two
emperors with their brilliant suites approached.
That small, vigorous man, whose delicate hand is holding firmly the
bridle of his spirited white charger--he with the pale face and
expansive forehead, crowned with light-brown hair; with impenetrable
features, a cold, compressed mouth, and large, gloomy eyes--that man is
Napoleon, Emperor of the French. Duroc, Berthier, Bessieres, and
Caulaincourt, form his suite, and follow him at a full gallop to the
bank of the river.
That slender young man on the richly caparisoned black horse--that tall
figure with smiling and handsome face, full of vigor, health, and
vivacity--with soft, restless features; blue eyes radiant with
enthusiasm, and crimson lips--is Alexander, Emperor of Russia. The
Grand-duke Constantine, Generals Benningsen and Ouwaroff, Prince
Labanoff, and Count Lieven, accompany him.
The two emperors dismount at the same time, and embark with their suites
in the gondolas that are to convey them to the pavilion. The oarsmen
keep time with their oars and the boats approach each other, reaching
simultaneously the two staircases leading from the platform to the
water. The two monarchs disembark at the same moment. Alexander and
Napoleon stand face to face. For a moment they look at each other with
inquiring glances, and then embrace in the most cordial manner.
This testimony of a frank reconciliation excited vehement applause among
the spectators who lined the river; the French as well as the Russians
stretched out their arms toward their newly-won friends on the other
bank. "Peace!" shouted thousands. "Hail, ye friends and brethren! our
enmity is over; our emperors have affectionately embraced each other,
and like them their subjects will meet in love and peace! No more
shedding of blood! Peace! peace!" The music joined with the exultant
cries of the two nations, and the emperors stepped, keeping time with
the bands, through the doors leading into the pavilion. They were alone.
Only the eye of God could behold them. For a few moments they stood face
to face, silent, and undecided which of them was to speak first, while
the echoes of the music penetrated the heavily-curtained walls of the
pavilion. Each of them seemed to be anxious to read the thoughts of the
other in his face, and to look into the depths of his soul.
Napoleon's sonorous voice was the first to break the silence. "Why are
we at war?" he asked with an inimitable smile, offering his hand to
Alexander.
"It is true," exclaimed Alexander, as if awaking from a dream; "why are
we at war? If your grudge is against England, and against her alone--if
your majesty hates me only because I am the friend of that country, I
can sever the alliance, and we shall easily agree, for I have as much
reason to complain of her as you have, and shall readily support you in
every thing your majesty may decide upon undertaking against her."
"In that case," said Napoleon, quickly, "everything can be arranged, and
peace is a matter of certainty. England alone stood between
us--perfidious, egotistic England, that is always interested only for
herself, and is ready at any time to sacrifice her faithful and generous allies!" |
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