"Enough!" exclaimed Napoleon, rising from his chair, and throwing the
penknife into a distant corner of the room. "I shall pay Austria for
this insolence, and there will be a day when the Emperor Francis and his
scribbler Gentz will repent of this miserable pamphlet! I will have to
treat the former as I have treated the kings of Naples and Spain. The
house of the Hapsburgs must cease to reign. Or, if in my patience, I
should allow the imperial throne of Austria to exist further under their
rule, it shall not be occupied by this dull and obstinate man, but by
his brother, the Elector of Wurzburg![43] But woe to this M. Gentz, who
has dared to irritate me anew! Once already I gave orders to arrest and
punish him. He succeeded in making his escape. My police will be more
cautious this time. When I have made my entry into Vienna, I shall
remember M. Gentz! Ah, somebody is coming!"
[Footnote 43: After Napoleon had made his entry into Vienna, he really
requested the Emperor Francis to abdicate in favor of the latter's
brother. The battle of Aspern prevented this plan from being carried
into effect.]
The door opened, and one of the imperial adjutants entered.
"Sire," he said, handing a sealed letter to Napoleon, "the director of
the Paris telegraph-office has just brought this."
"At last!" exclaimed Napoleon, seizing the letter, and then motioning
him to leave the room.
"At last!" he repeated, breaking the seal. His eyes passed over the
paper with an expression of uncontrollable impatience. His countenance
brightened, and a faint blush came to his cheeks. He raised his eyes
toward the minister. "Champagny," he said, in a joyful voice, "war has
commenced; the Austrians have crossed the Inn and invaded the states of
my ally the King of Bavaria. The decisive moment is at hand. I shall set
out this very night. To-day is the 12th of April; on the 17th I shall be
at Donauworth and put myself at the head of my army. Now let us go to
work and make our dispositions.--What is the matter now?"
The door opened again, and the court-marshal appeared on the threshold
to announce dinner.
Napoleon cast a hasty glance at the clock. "Indeed, it is six o'clock!"
he exclaimed. "But I cannot go yet. Have every thing kept in readiness.
Tell the empress I wish she would wait for me in the dining-room. I will
soon be with her. Send for the Prince de Benevento and the Duke
d'Otranto. I want to see them immediately. Now come, Champagny," he
said, when the court-marshal had withdrawn; "let us go to work. We have
a great many things to attend to, and there is but little time left,
for, as I told you before, I will set out this very night."
Fifteen minutes afterward Talleyrand and Fouche entered the cabinet
agreeably to the emperor's orders. They found him amid his maps, on
which he marched the various armies by means of the colored pins which
Champagny handed to him.
"Gentlemen," exclaimed Napoleon, saluting the newcomers, "the Austrians
have commenced war; come hither and see!"
In the mean time the empress, according to the wishes of her consort,
had repaired with her ladies of honor to the dining-room, and waited for
the arrival of Napoleon. The dishes had already been served up; for,
owing to the hasty manner in which the emperor liked to dine, the
various courses could not successively be brought from the kitchen, but
had to be placed on the table before dinner commenced. A number of
silver warming-vessels, filled with hot water, always stood on the
imperial table. Only the roast chicken, which every day made the last
course, and was one of the emperor's favorite dishes, had remained in
the kitchen; it was still turning on the spit, and waiting for the
moment when it was to be carried up. But this moment was delayed an
unusually long time to-day. The first chicken had long ago been replaced
by a second, a third, and a fourth, and this one had been roasting so
much that it was tough and juiceless. It had not yet been called for.
The waiters returned from time to time into the kitchen for boiling
water, to fill anew the silver vessels on which the dishes were kept
warm.
"If that goes on in the same manner we shall depopulate the whole
poultry-yard," grumbled the chief cook, ordering a fresh half-dozen of
young chickens to be brought in and prepared for roasting.
The emperor did not come. The clock struck seven, eight, nine, and ten,
and Napoleon had not yet made his appearance in the dining-room. But
this long delay did not cause the least impatience or anger to appear on
the face of the empress; not for a single moment did she lose her
temper. Graceful and gay, she conversed with her cavaliers and ladies of
honor, and her eyes but occasionally glanced at the door by which
Napoleon had to enter.
At last the emperor appeared. He walked toward the empress with a hasty
nod, and offering her his hand to conduct her to the table, he said: "I
believe it is a little late. I have kept you waiting, I suppose?"
Josephine laughed. "The question is rather _naive_, my friend," she
said; "I have been waiting ever since six o'clock, and it is now past
eleven."
"Ah, that is late, indeed," said the emperor abstractedly. "I thought I
had already dined; Champagny, however, reminded me that this was not the
case. Well, Josephine, let us eat!" And he commenced eating the soup
which the grand-marshal placed before him.
Thanks to the warming-vessels, the dishes had remained palatable; but
the chief cook, when the gratifying announcement was made that the
emperor had at length made his appearance, had just ordered the
twenty-third chicken to be put on the spit for the purpose of having a
juicy and freshly-roasted wing in readiness.
The emperor, who was very reticent and abstracted, took his dinner even
more rapidly than usual, and no sooner had he finished than he rose
impetuously from his chair and left the table. Without addressing a word
to the empress, he walked across the room.
Josephine gazed after him with a long and mournful look, and her face
was sad. "He is cruel," she muttered to herself. "After waiting so many
hours, he has scarcely a word for me, and leaves me without salutation!"
But when Napoleon was near the door, he turned round and walked hastily
toward the empress. "Good-night, my dear Josephine," he said, giving his
hand to her. "It is already late--near midnight--retire. We shall not
meet again to-day; farewell, and _au revoir_!"
He nodded to her, and then left the room for his cabinet. On arriving
there, he bolted the small door leading into the corridor, and thence
into the apartments of the empress, calling in a loud voice, "Constant!"
The _valet de chambre_ entered immediately. "Constant!" said the
emperor, "come hither close to me, and listen. You will quickly set in
order my travelling-coach, so that I shall be able to set out in an
hour. Roustan and you will accompany me--no one else. But you must not
say a word about my departure. I want it to be known at the Tuileries,
as well as in Paris, to-morrow only, that I have left the capital, and
it is of the highest importance that it should remain a secret until
then. Do you understand me? And now make haste! In an hour every thing
must be ready!"
Constant bowed in silence and withdrew. "Yes, yes," he murmured, while
hastily passing on, "I understood the emperor very well. His departure
is to remain a secret; that is to say, especially for the empress. Ah!
the poor, good empress! How she will weep when she hears to-morrow that
the emperor has again set out without her! Formerly he always took her
with him; she had to share the triumphs and troubles of the journey; but
now she must stay at home. Poor Josephine! she is so good, and loves him
intensely! But I must obey the emperor's order. I cannot tell her any
thing! I cannot, but it would be no fault of mine if some one else
should! Ah! a good idea strikes me! The empress had the gold
travelling-case of the emperor brought to her yesterday in order to have
one like it made for the viceroy of Italy. I must go immediately and get
it from her maid, and she is fortunately tenderly devoted to the
empress!"
CHAPTER XLV.
JOSEPHINE'S FAREWELL.
The empress in the mean time had returned to her rooms, sad and absorbed
in her reflections. She had dismissed her ladies of honor; only her
mistress of ceremonies, Madame de Remusat, was still with her, and her
maids were in the adjoining room to await her orders until she retired.
No sooner had Josephine reached her room than she sat down slowly and
abstractedly, and, throwing back her head, fixed her eyes on the
ceiling. An expression of profound grief was visible in her features,
and darkened the shade with which age was veiling her countenance. When
smiling, Josephine was still a graceful and fascinating woman, but when
melancholy it was but too plainly to be seen that her charms were
fading, and neither the flattering rouge nor the skill of the artist
could conceal this fact.
Josephine's brow was now often clouded, and her youthful beauty was fast
losing its charms. Gloomy forebodings were constantly passing over her
heart; she felt that she was standing as on the brink of a precipice,
and that the days of her happiness were numbered. She awoke every
morning in terror, for before the evening she might be cast into an
abyss of sorrow--removed from the Tuileries and the side of her
husband--replaced by another, a younger woman, the daughter of an
ancient sovereign house, who was to become the wife of Napoleon and the
mother of his sons. Josephine knew that the brothers and sisters of the
emperor were constantly importuning him to disown his childless wife,
and to secure his throne and dynasty, as well as their own, by choosing
another consort giving an heir to his crown. She knew that Talleyrand
was representing this to him daily as a political necessity, without
which his empire and his greatness would be endangered. She knew also
that Napoleon no longer, as formerly, closed his ears against these
insinuations, but, eagerly listening, held them in serious
consideration.
Josephine was aware of all this, and sat in her room a prey to
well-grounded suspicion and sorrowful presentiments.
Madame de Remusat looked at her awhile, sighing and in silence; she now
softly approached the empress, and, taking her hand, said in an
affectionate voice, "Your majesty ought to retire! You need sleep; it is
long past midnight, and your eyes are weary."
"Not from waking--from weeping, my dear Remusat," said the empress,
pressing the hand of her confidante. "But you are right, I will retire.
In sleep we forget our grief. Remusat, in my dreams I always see
Napoleon as affectionate, as loving as he ever was--in my dreams he
loves me still and looks at me, not with the stern eyes of the emperor,
but of a tender husband. When I awake, Remusat, his fine face still
before my mind, and remember that his love is now gone and lost
forever--oh, then a sword seems to pierce my heart, and I shed scalding
tears in spite of myself! And yet I will retire. He commanded me, and I
will obey."
"How discouraged your majesty is again to-day!" said Madame de Remusat,
sighing. "Still it seems to me there is less cause than ever. The
emperor was more cordial and affectionate than usual. He was evidently
abstracted, and occupied with important plans, and yet he returned; his
expression was unusually gentle, and his voice trembled when he bade
farewell to your majesty."
"But why did he bid me farewell?" exclaimed the empress. "This is what
fills me with anxiety. Heretofore he only said to me, 'Good-night!' and,
'we shall meet again to-morrow, Josephine!' But to-day he said.
'Farewell, and _au revoir_!' Remusat, there was a hidden meaning in
these words. Something unusual is to happen, for the emperor never took
leave of me in this manner. '_Au revoir_!' You never say that to one
whom you meet again in the morning. It means assuredly something! But
you are right--I need repose, for my limbs are trembling, and my head is
burning, as if I had fever! Call my maids!"
Josephine sighed deeply, and rose to be undressed. She was so absorbed
in her reflections that she, who always addressed a pleasant word to her
servants, did not apparently notice their presence. In silence she
allowed her jewels to be removed, which Madame de Remusat carefully put
away into their caskets; in silence she suffered herself to be divested
of her blue satin dress, embroidered with silver, and her white satin
underskirt, without observing that her first maid was absent. When her
wrapper was brought by the second maid, she noticed that the first was
not present.
"Where is Dufour?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"Your majesty, she has just been called out to attend to something
urgently required by his majesty the emperor," said the second maid,
approaching the empress.
But Josephine pushed her back. "To attend to something urgently required
by the emperor?" she asked, breathlessly. "What does that mean? Ah,
there is Dufour! What could have detained her?" And she rushed toward
her and grasped her hand.
"Dufour, where have you been? What is the matter?"
"Your majesty, Constant wished to see me. I beg pardon for coming so
late, but it was something very urgent."
"Urgent! There is the same word again," exclaimed Josephine. "What was
it that was 'urgent?'"
"Your majesty, M. Constant wanted the golden travelling-case of the
emperor, which your majesty showed to the jeweller to-day. As it was in
my keeping, he applied to me for it."
"Well, could he not wait until to-morrow?" asked the empress.
"No, your majesty, for the emperor needs the travelling-case, and at
once."
Josephine uttered a cry. "He is about to depart! Oh, I feel he is going
to leave me!" she exclaimed, almost beside herself. And without
reflecting and hesitating, regardless of the fact that she was
undressed, her shoulders bare, and her feet incased in small slippers of
crimson velvet--forgetful of every thing but the distracting thought
that the emperor was leaving her, without even a farewell, she ran
across the room toward the door.
Vainly did Madame de Remusat try to detain her. Josephine pushed her
aside, opened the door, and ran out. Breathless, bathed in tears, her
dishevelled locks streaming in the air, she hastened through the rooms
and magnificent halls in which she was accustomed to appear in a
gorgeous toilet, and receive the homage of princes. On crossing the
threshold of the first reception-room she lost one of her slippers; but
this modern Atalanta did not know it as she rushed along the corridor
and down the stairs. Having reached the palace-yard, she found that she
was not mistaken--there stood the emperor's travelling-carriage. Roustan
and Constant were waiting in front of it, but she passed them before
they knew what had happened. Trembling and weeping, she sat down in the
carriage.
The emperor at that moment entered the palace-yard, while the two
servants were still standing near, speechless, and as if paralyzed with
terror. He took no notice of them, and ascending the steps of the
carriage beheld the strange white figure within.
"What is that?" exclaimed the emperor, standing still. "Who is there?"
"It is I," exclaimed the empress, in a suppliant voice. "I, Josephine!
You wished to depart again without me, Bonaparte; but I will not suffer
you; I will cling to you! I cannot leave you!"
She threw her arms around his neck, but Napoleon pushed her back. "You
are a fool, Josephine!" he said, angrily. "This is childish; you
ridiculously retard my departure. I do not wish to hear any more! Be
kind enough to leave the carriage! It is necessary that I set out
immediately."
"But, Bonaparte, you cannot be in earnest," cried Josephine, sobbing
aloud. "Have mercy on me! Do not drive me from you! I tell you, you must
use violence to remove me! Oh, have pity on me--on my poor, painful
heart, and let me go along with you! Remember that you promised me the
other day that I should accompany you on your next journey. Oh,
Bonaparte, keep your word! Keep your word only this time! Have pity on
me, and let me accompany you!" She covered his lips and cheeks with her
kisses and tears. Napoleon's heart seemed to be softened, for he
involuntarily raised his arms and wound them around Josephine's neck.
"How cold you are!" he exclaimed. "And your shoulders are bare! What
does this mean?"
"It means," said the empress, half laughing, half weeping, "that I was
just about retiring when--when I heard the carriage drive up to the
door. My heart told me that you intended to leave me, and that I would
not have time to dress if I wished to see you, and therefore I came at
once."
"And indeed you were right; if you had come a minute later, I would
certainly have been gone."
The emperor entered the carriage, closed the door, and shouted in a
powerful voice out of the window: "Have every thing the empress needs
for her toilet sent to the first station, that she may find it on her
arrival. Order the mistress of ceremonies to set out immediately with
her majesty's ladies of honor. They must be at Strasburg on the 18th.
Forward!"
Josephine uttered a joyous cry, and sat down on the emperor's knees,
pressing his head with her arms against her bosom. He laughed, and did
not resist her. Roustan and Constant ascended, and the carriage started.
"Bonaparte, thanks! a thousand thanks!" whispered the empress. "Never
shall I forget this hour, for it proves to me that you still love your
poor Josephine, or that at least you pity her!"
"Oh, you know full well, traitress, that I cannot withstand your tears,"
said Napoleon, half angrily, half smilingly. "But you are almost naked!"
"Yes, I am naked, as it behooves a beggar-woman who begs for love at the
palace-gate," said the empress, smiling. "I hope, my emperor and lord
will give me something to cover my nakedness."
"Here is what you want, you impulsive beggar!" exclaimed Napoleon,
throwing the sable robe, which the Emperor Alexander had presented to
him, over her shoulders, and wrapping it carefully around her.
"Accept my thanks!" exclaimed Josephine, laughing; "I will wear it as a
token of your kindness."
"You will not," quickly replied Napoleon. "I merely lend it to you
until our arrival at the next station, where, I hope, we shall meet a
courier with your wardrobe."
"But he will not be able to overtake us there, Bonaparte, and you will
have to leave me the robe for some time yet."
"No; he will travel faster on horseback than we in our carriage. I would
have no objection to the robe myself, for the night is cold!"
"It is cold; come, I will let you have part of it," wrapping it around
the emperor, and clinging closely to him. Napoleon laughed, and winding
his arms around the slender waist of Josephine, pressed her to his
breast. She laid her wearied head silently on his shoulder. The carriage
continued the journey without interruption, and, exhausted by her
previous excitement, she closed her eyes and slept.
Suddenly the voice of the emperor aroused her. They had reached the
first station; it was already daylight. The municipal officers of the
small town were standing in front of the post-office to present their
respects. A man, mounted on a horse covered with foam, was near them. It
was the courier who had brought the wardrobe of the empress.
"There is your luggage," said the emperor, pointing smilingly at a small
leather trunk which had been placed on the back seat. "The empress has
set out as a travelling adventurer!"
"Yes, you are right," exclaimed Josephine. "It is just like a
fairy-story. Some poor, disowned princess is met on her journey by a
handsome son of a king, who takes her in his arms, gives her magnificent
dresses, and marries her. I thank you, my friend, and now I will attend
to my toilet."
"I hope not here in the carriage?" asked Napoleon, in surprise.
"We shall have the trunk carried into the house; I believe the
postmaster has a room where you can dress, and a servant-girl who can
assist you."
"But, Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, "do you not see that that is
impossible? It is daylight; is, then, the carriage to open and the
empress to alight with one slipper on her feet, to be triumphantly
conducted into the house? Ah, my friend, all Europe would smile at the
idyllic empress who accompanied her husband on his journey in such a
dishabille."
"It is true," said Napoleon, moodily, "it would be a fine anecdote for
the so-called legitimate princes, and they would proudly laugh at the
violation of the _dehors_ committed by imperial upstarts. As though it
were so difficult to learn the ridiculous rules of their etiquette, if
one should deem it worth while!"
Josephine gently patted the emperor's forehead with her white hand. "No
clouds must darken my morning sun," she said, "for they would foretell a
gloomy day. I wish you could transform yourself into my maid."
"What!" exclaimed the emperor, laughing. "Transform myself into your
maid?"
"And why not, Bonaparte?" asked Josephine. "Did not your brother, the
great Jove, transform himself into an ox for the sake of Europa? The
carriage is moving again! Draw the curtains, and then, my dear maid, we
shall commence dressing." She hastily opened the small travelling-trunk,
which had carefully been filled with every thing required for her
toilet--small velvet gaiters, a comfortable velvet cloak, one of her
large cashmere shawls, and a beautiful red satin dress with lace
trimmings.
"You will have but little trouble with me," said the empress, busily
examining the contents of the trunk. "Dear Madame Remusat has arranged
every thing as judiciously as possible, and forgotten nothing. There are
warm gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs--in short, all I need. Ah! there
is but one thing she has forgotten."
"Well, and what is that?"
"It is a mirror. Bonaparte, you must be my mirror to-day. But come now,
my dear maid! enter upon your duties. In the first place, assist me in
putting on my gaiters."
"What admirable ones they are!" said the emperor. "Are these tiny things
really large enough for your feet?"
"Yes. Did you forget that your Josephine has the smallest and prettiest
foot in all France? Formerly, when you were not the all-powerful
Napoleon, but the brave and illustrious General Bonaparte, you knew it.
Ah, I wish you were still General Bonaparte, and we lived at our small
house in the Rue Chantereine!"
"Indeed, I am glad that I am no longer there," said Napoleon. "It seems
to me General Bonaparte did not forfeit his glory; he only changed his
title and position. That of an emperor is not so bad, and the Tuileries
a very pleasant residence. But, Josephine, let me see whether this
fairy-shoe is really large enough for human foot!"
"Bonaparte, envy and jealousy prompt you to say so," said Josephine,
laughing. "You cannot comprehend how any foot could be even smaller than
yours. But just take into consideration that you are the great
Bonaparte, and that I am but poor little Josephine--the insignificant
creature that derives only from you light and life. Bonaparte, you have
the largest foot that man ever had."
"What! I have the largest foot?" exclaimed Napoleon, in surprise. "Why,
I have always been told that my foot was very small."
"Oh, that was a mistake," said Josephine, gravely, "for how would it
otherwise be possible for you to trample down the whole of Europe as you
are doing?"
Napoleon laughed. "Very good," he said, "you are right; I have put my
foot on the neck of Europe, and shall crush all who resist me!"
"Bonaparte," exclaimed Josephine, menacingly, "no politics now, no
threatening imperial face! Remember that, at the present moment, you are
nothing but my maid. There is my foot! Put on my gaiter, and see whether
it is large enough!"
Napoleon at once obeyed, his wife's toilet commenced, and the first day
of their journey passed in laughter and affectionate chatting. The
empress had not enjoyed so happy a day for years. All cares and
apprehensions were forgotten. What did light-hearted Josephine care for
the future?
But, alas! the second day was different. The smiles of the unfortunate
woman met with no reply. The emperor was taciturn and gloomy. Wrapped in
his sable robe, he was leaning in a corner of the carriage, and made
only stern and brief answers to Josephine's questions. The heart and
countenance of the empress grew heavy and anxious.
When they arrived at Strasburg on the evening of the fourth day, each of
them sat silent--the empress with tearful eye; the emperor frowning and
stern. Napoleon offered his arm to his consort, and conducted her into
the palace. "Good-night, Josephine," he said, standing still at the
entrance of the rooms destined for her, "good-night!"
"You will not take supper with me?" asked the empress in a low,
imploring voice.
"No, I have business to attend to. Good-night!" And he walked away
without saluting or even looking at her. Josephine went into her rooms.
She refused to partake of refreshment, and avoided the necessity of
admitting the officials, who wished to pay their respects to her, by
sending them word that she was too fatigued to receive any one. Alone
she could weep without being disturbed.
At an unusually early hour on the following morning Napoleon entered her
room. Josephine was just about to dress, assisted by her Parisian maids.
He motioned them to withdraw, and then commenced pacing the room in his
usual manner, when excited.
"Napoleon," said Josephine, in a tremulous voice, "you have come with
bad news. My heart tells me so, and I read it on your gloomy brow.
Speak, and tell me every thing at once. I am prepared for it."
"Well, then, I must say," replied Napoleon, vehemently,--"you cannot,
Josephine, accompany me farther. We must part this hour. I yielded to
your wishes in spite of myself, but only thus far! A new campaign is
about to begin; days of battles, troubles, and fatigues, are awaiting
me. You must not and cannot share them. You must remain here."
Josephine cast a melancholy look on him. "But when you have conquered,
when you have made again your triumphant entry into Vienna, will you
then call me, Napoleon? Shall I then share your triumphs as I used to
do? Bonaparte, do not now make an evasive reply! Tell me the truth, for
I can bear it. Tell me, when the fortune of war has favored you--when
you have vanquished Austria, as you have hitherto every other
enemy--will you then call me to you? The truth, my friend, the truth!"
"Very well, I will tell you the truth," exclaimed Napoleon, after a
brief hesitation. "No, Josephine--I will not. You can share my triumphs
no more!"
Josephine uttered a cry, and her eyes filled with tears. "I am doomed,
then," she said, "and what Fouche told me was true!"
"What did he tell you?" asked the emperor, hastily.
"He told me to prepare for a heavy blow--that you, Napoleon, had
secretly applied to the Emperor Alexander for the hand of his sister,
and that only the resistance of the dowager prevented you from
accomplishing your purpose."
"Yes," exclaimed Napoleon, moodily, and, as if absent-minded, "yes, the
proud empress-dowager hates me, and hastened to marry her daughter to a
petty German prince rather than let her become the consort of the
Emperor of the French.[44] Well, no matter! other princes have
daughters, too, and one of them will assuredly be only too happy to
become my wife!"
[Footnote 44: Napoleon ordered Talleyrand at Erfurt to inquire of the
Emperor Alexander whether he would permit him to marry his sister.
Alexander replied that nothing could afford him greater pleasure than
that Napoleon should become his brother-in-law, but the matter did not
depend on his decision alone. The empress-dowager must also be
consulted. No sooner had she heard of Napoleon's wishes than she induced
her daughter to marry the Duke of Oldenburg. The notification of the
marriage of the grand-duchess to this German prince was the only reply
that was ever made to Napoleon's inquiring wish.]
"Napoleon, and you dare tell me so?" exclaimed Josephine, reproachfully.
"You admit, then, that you are about to disown me?"
The emperor started. "Pardon me, Josephine," he said, in confusion, "I
was absent-minded, I--"
"Yes, you were," interrupted the empress, "and while so, you betrayed
your thoughts. It is true, then! Cruel man! You have forgotten every
thing, and the whole past has been blotted out. You can seriously think
of parting with me, your best friend?"
"No, not now, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon. "You have nothing to fear.
I shall not enter Germany as a wooer, but as a soldier, and I do not
desire to seek myrtle-crowns, but laurels!"
"But, my husband, when you have gained fresh laurels and new territories
with the blood of your soldiers, then, I suppose, Josephine is to be
sacrificed?"
Napoleon did not reply. He paced the room slowly and with a bowed head.
Standing still, he looked with sad eyes in his consort's tearful face.
"Josephine," he said, in a grave voice, "you have a noble heart, and it
will bear the truth. Yes, there may be a day when we shall have to part,
although I love you, and I know well that you are the only faithful
friend on whom I can rely! Judge, therefore, what pangs it will cost me
when obliged to come to the terrible resolution to separate from you,
my guardian angel! But I belong to my people--I belong to my glory! My
power has assumed such gigantic proportions that I must support it with
foundations that cannot be overthrown. The Emperor Napoleon must have a
successor; if you had given birth to one, I should never have parted
from you. Now all hope is gone, and I shall, perhaps, be compelled one
day to look for a consort among the daughters of kings. I really do not
wish to do so, but my duty to my people makes it imperative."
"No, not your duty, but your ambition!" cried Josephine, with streaming
eyes. "You have sacrificed every thing for that--your tranquillity, your
conscience, the blood of your soldiers, and now your wife!"
"Yes, it is as you say, Josephine," exclaimed Napoleon; "it is my
ambition that separates me from you, and compels me to part with her who
has been my glory and my life for sixteen years! It is ambition that
points its iron arm at my imperial crown, and commands me to look for
another empress, that I and my son may enter the ranks of legitimate
princes. I have formed vast plans; I shall soon effect new convulsions:
I shall vanquish all my enemies, and Europe will have to recognize me as
her master. But when nothing remains to wish for--when I have so
ascended as to leave no heights above me, then I shall think of securing
the happiness and peace of my people and of my empire. To do so, I am in
need of a direct heir. For myself, I ask and wish for nothing; but my
glory belongs to France. After my death my contemporaries will say of
me, 'He was the only one who could strive for universal good, while his
individual wishes had been gratified; others thought only of
themselves--Bonaparte's wishes and deeds were for his country. There was
one thing that was dear to him personally, and that was his wife! But
the welfare of his people requiring it, he sacrificed this beloved wife
to their interests.'"
"Words!" exclaimed Josephine. "You are vainly trying to conceal your
innermost thoughts from me. I know you, Bonaparte, and can read your
soul! You wish to connect yourself with the foremost sovereign houses of
Europe, because such a union will flatter your pride and your insatiable
ambition. When you are the son-in-law of an emperor or a king, you will
believe that you are at liberty to do every thing with impunity. You
will deem yourself a demi-god, and, accompanied by your victorious
legions, you will march to the conquest of the whole world. But that
will not be your destiny. You believe you can enslave the nations.
Beware lest they one day awake, break their chains, and take a terrible
revenge on the tyrant whom they allowed so long to oppress them!
Seduced by your illusive ambition, you will disown Josephine? Infatuated
man! you will perceive too late that you walk near a volcano. Oh,
Bonaparte, I tremble and weep for you! Remember that you have often
called me your guardian angel. Believe me, when you disown me, you
disown your good fortune. It will forsake the faithless man, and your
star will sink in an eternal night! That is what wounds my heart, and
drives me to despair. You will be alone in the midst of traitors and
false friends. When Josephine is with you no more, no one will have good
intentions toward you. No one will dare tell you the truth, when you
lose your best friend. Falsehood will flatter you, but only to lead you
to the verge of the precipice!" The empress, with quivering limbs and
pale features, sank on a chair, and covered her face.
A long pause ensued. Napoleon gloomily continued walking the room. At
last he approached Josephine, and gently laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Do not weep," he said, imploringly. "We have once more allowed phantoms
to frighten us, and quarrelled about things that belong to the future.
You are still my wife, and who knows whether you will not always remain
mine? Who knows whether you will not soon be my widow? I am about to
enter into another war, and it will be a desperate, obstinate struggle,
in which old Austria will try to wrest the palm of victory from young
France. Victory will perch on my banners. I have no doubt of that, but
who knows whether I shall not have to pay for it with my blood! for I
must not spare myself--I shall always be at the head of my troops, and,
like my private soldiers, with them bare my own breast to the hail of
bullets. In so decisive a struggle as will take place now, the emperor
will be nothing but a soldier, and do his duty."
"Oh, Bonaparte!" cried Josephine, rising in dismay and clinging to him,
"oh, have mercy on my heart! Do not rashly expose yourself to the
accidents of battle! Remember that the fate of millions depends on your
life! Remember that I should die if an accident befall you! Oh, my
dearest husband, be kind and generous--spare yourself, and spare my
love!"
"Then you love me in spite of your gloomy forebodings?" asked Napoleon,
with a gentle smile. "Oh, I know my Josephine is my most faithful and
best friend, and whatever may happen, her heart will always be mine. Let
this be our farewell, Josephine! I must go; I must depart this very
hour. To-morrow I join my army, and my cannon will soon announce to
Germany that the victor of Austerlitz and Jena is demonstrating his
right to rule, and at his own pleasure to destroy or create kingdoms."
CHAPTER XLVI.
FERDINAND VON SCHILL.
A travelling carriage stopped in front of the house on Frederick Street
in which Major von Schill had established his headquarters since his
regiment had been sent to Berlin. The horses were wet with perspiration,
and the carriage was covered with mud. Every thing indicated that the
young man seated in it had made a long and hurried journey, and his
exhausted and anxious face induced the belief that the object could not
but be highly important. He alighted hastily, and approached the house,
in front of which a crowd of idlers were staring at the windows.
Addressing one of them, he asked, "Can you tell me whether Major von
Schill lives in this house?"
"Yes," said the man, proudly; "every good citizen of Berlin can tell you
that Major Ferdinand von Schill, the favorite of our people and of all
patriotic Germans, lives here."
The young man smiled. "And can you tell me whether Major von Schill is
at home?"
"Well, what should we stand here for, if Schill were not at home? We are
only here to see and salute him when he appears at the window, and to
escort him when he leaves the house. He is always surrounded by a guard
of honor, composed of citizens of Berlin, and the cheers never cease
wherever he may be. I myself have not yet seen him, for I was ill. But
yesterday was my birthday, and my wife presented me with a pipe-bowl
with Schill's portrait; my daughter says he is the best-looking man in
the world, and she has bought a locket with his portrait, which she is
wearing on her neck. I have come to see whether the portraits so much in
vogue are like him, and whether he is not only the bravest soldier, but,
as the girls pretend, the finest-looking man. I will cheer so vigorously
as to shake the statues on the arsenal. I suppose you have also come to
see him?"
"That is all I have come for," said the young man, and, turning to the
postilion, who had just unhitched his horses, he shouted:
"Postilion, when you arrive at the post-office, order immediately some
fresh horses for me and send them hither. I shall set out for home in
half an hour!"
He then walked toward the house, elbowing himself through the constantly
increasing crowd, and reached the door. After rapidly crossing the hall,
he went up-stairs. A footman, dressed in a rich livery, who was pacing
the corridor on the upper floor, looked inquiringly at the young
stranger.
"Does Major von Schill live here?"
"Yes, sir."
"And is he at home?"
"I am not quite sure--I rather believe he has gone out. He is subjected
to visits and invitations to such an extent, that I really do not know
whether there are persons with him at present, or whether some of his
admirers have taken him to another banquet to be given in his honor. The
people of Berlin are perfectly infatuated with my master, and if an
angel should appear upon earth, they could not pay more deference to
him. The fuss they are making about him has positively made him ill. Day
and night he must attend parties, listen, and reply to a thousand
speeches, and take wine with everybody; and then, again, the ladies are
not the least active in demonstrating his popularity. Oh, the people of
this city will certainly kill my dear, good master in this way, and I
must see to it that he gets occasionally a little rest, and is able to
take a peaceful nap on his sofa. I think I must tell you now, sir, that
Major von Schill is not at home. He returned only at daybreak from a
ball which the city of Berlin gave in his honor; at noon he will have to
attend a banquet to which the governor of Berlin, General von Lestocq,
has invited him, and which is in fact another testimonial of the public
respect for him. Major von Schill must have some repose, or his
popularity will be the death of him. Please return some other time. You
cannot see him to-day."
"But, my friend, I cannot return," said the stranger. "I am not one of
the citizens of Berlin, but I am an enthusiastic admirer of Schill, and
have travelled three days and nights without interruption, in order to
bring important news to him."
"Ah, that alters the case," said the footman. "If you bring important
news for my master, I will go and see whether he is at home."
"Do so, my friend, and tell the major that Referendary von Bothmar has
come from Cassel expressly to see him."
The footman nodded, and hastened into the room, the door of which he had
hitherto guarded with the affection of a friend and the obstinacy of a
faithful sentinel. He returned in a few minutes, opened the door, and
exclaimed: "The major requests you to come in!"
M. von Bothmar entered. In obedience to the sign the footman made to
him, he crossed the anteroom and opened the door of the one adjoining. A
fine-looking man in the uniform of a major, with a fresh, florid
countenance, and high forehead adorned with a broad scar, came to meet
him. It was Ferdinand von Schill, the lieutenant of the queen's
dragoons, who, ever since the disastrous battle of Jena, had given such
brilliant proofs of his courage and patriotism at Kolberg (and during
the guerilla warfare he had afterward entered into on his own
responsibility), that the people hoped he would become the savior of the
country. The King of Prussia had promoted him to a majority, and
conferred on his regiment the honorary distinction that it should be the
first Prussian regiment that was to make its entry into Berlin after the
French had evacuated the capital.
"Let me welcome you, my dear sir," said Schill, kindly offering his hand
to the young man. "You told my footman you had come from Cassel to bring
important news to me. You are, therefore, a good German patriot, and I
may greet M. von Bothmar as a friend and brother. But let me hear what
you bring--glad tidings, I suppose?"
"No, major, but important," said M. von Bothmar.
Schill became uneasy, and a deep blush crimsoned his cheeks for a
moment. "You know Dornberg?" he inquired.
"I know him, and I was also aware of his plan, and of the day and hour
when his blow was to be struck."
"Then he has commenced already?" asked Schill.
"Yes, commenced and ended," said Bothmar, mournfully.
"Our noble Dornberg expected too much of the patriotism of the Hessians.
He arrived with the legion of his peasants as far as Cassel, and called
upon the soldiers to join him in order to expel King Jerome and his
French minions. But the soldiers did not listen to him; they obeyed the
orders of their officers, and turned their arms against their German
brethren, who were soon routed and dispersed."
"This is really dreadful!" ejaculated Schill. "And Dornberg?"
"Dornberg succeeded in making his escape; he will probably go to Prague,
where the Elector of Hesse is at present residing."
"Well, I am glad that he is at least safe," exclaimed Schill, breathing
more freely. "The defeat is a disastrous blow, to be sure, but the good
news that we have just received will afford us consolation for it. The
Archduke Charles has gained a glorious victory over the French at Hof."
"Can that be positively true?" exclaimed Bothmar. "During my whole
journey I did not hear a word about it. On the contrary, I learned
everywhere only the mournful intelligence that Napoleon had put himself
at the head of his army, and was advancing victoriously in the direction
of Vienna."
"And yet my statement is perfectly true. General Lestocq, governor of
Berlin, in joyful commemoration of this victory, issued to-day the
countersign of 'Charles and Hof!'"
"Heaven grant that you are correctly informed, and that the general is
not mistaken!" said M. von Bothmar, sighing. "Pardon me for not sharing
your confidence. The deplorable turn our affairs have taken in Hesse has
discouraged me, and then--but I am not through yet with the news which
brought me to you."
"Speak, sir,--what else has happened?" exclaimed Schill.
"Excuse me," said M. von Bothmar, "should I assume the semblance of one
of your most trusted confidants, and take the liberty of speaking to you
about your most secret plans. You intrusted to your faithful friend and
follower, Romberg, letters and proclamations to be circulated in
Westphalia. Am I right?"
"You are." |
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