THE FIRST CONSUL.
“Then you have seen and conversed with our poor, unhappy king?” said
Madame Bonaparte to the beautiful and richly-dressed lady who was
sitting on the sofa at her side, and who was none other than the
Princess Marianne von Eibenberg.
“Yes, madame, I have often had the good fortune to converse long with
him,” said the princess, heaving a sigh. “I passed a few weeks in his
neighborhood, and touched by his resignation, his unfaltering patience,
and calm greatness, I offered him my mediation; I wished to be the
messenger whom the poor unfortunate would send out in order to see
whether the shores of his country will never again be visible to him,
and whether the great and intrepid pilot who is now steering the ship
of France with so firm a hand has no room left for the poor shipwrecked
man. The Count de Provence accepted my services; he gave me a letter
which I was to deliver to the First Consul himself, and I set out for
Paris provided with numerous and most satisfactory recommendations. All
these recommendations, however, were useless; even the intercession of
Minister Talleyrand was in vain; the First Consul refused to grant me an
audience.”
“He had been told, perhaps, how beautiful and charming a messenger had
been this time sent to him by the Count de Provence,” said Josephine,
smiling, “and he was, therefore, afraid of you, madame. For Bonaparte,
the most intrepid hero in battle, is quite timid and bashful in the
presence of beautiful ladies, and not having the strength to withstand
your smiles and prayers, he evades you and refuses to see you.”
“Oh, madame,” exclaimed the princess, quickly, “if the First Consul is
unable to resist the smiles of the most beautiful lady, I predict to you
an even more brilliant future; for in that case he will lay the whole
world at your feet to do you homage. He who has remained at the side of
Josephine a hero and a man of iron will, need not fear the beauty of any
other woman.”
“You know how to flatter,” said Josephine, smiling. “You forget,
however, that we are in a republic here, and that there is no court with
courtiers in the Tuileries, but merely the humble household of a citizen
and general, which, I trust, will soon give way to the splendor of
royalty.”
“Do you believe so, madame?” asked the princess, eagerly. “Do you
believe that the hopes which the Count de Provence has built on the
noble and grand spirit of General Bonaparte are not illusory? Oh, let us
be frank and sincere toward each other, for I know you sympathize with
the sufferings of the royal family, and the terrible misfortunes of the
august exiles find an echo in your heart. Hence, when I did not succeed
in obtaining an interview with the First Consul, and in delivering my
letter to him in person, I applied to you, and the Count de Provence
himself authorized me to do so. ‘If Bonaparte refuses to hear you,’
he said, ‘go to Josephine. Bring her the greetings of the Count
de Provence; remind her of the happy days of Versailles, where, as
Viscountess de Beauharnais, she was always welcome at the court of my
lamented brother. Ask her if she still remembers how often we joked and
laughed together at that time. Ask her whether my present misfortunes
shall last forever, or whether she, who holds my destiny in her hand,
will restore me to mirth and joy.’”
“Oh!” exclaimed Josephine, bursting into tears, “if I held his destiny
in my hand, he would not have to wait long for his throne and for
happiness. I should be the first to jubilantly welcome him to France,
the first to joyously leave these Tuileries, this royal palace, the
grandeur of which frightens me, and in the walls of which it always
seems to me as though I were a criminal adorning herself with stolen
property, and stretching out her hands toward the holy of holies. And
yet I am innocent of this outrage; my conscience is clear, and I am
able to say that King Louis XVIII. has no more devoted, faithful, and
obedient subject than the wife of the First Consul of France.”
“The king knows it, and depends on you,” said the princess. “Bonaparte’s
heart is in your hands; you alone are able to move it.”
“But do I know, then, whether he has yet a heart or not?” exclaimed
Josephine, passionately. “Do I know, then, if he loves any thing but his
glory? Man cannot serve two gods, and his god is glory. He soars aloft
with the glance of an eagle, and the radiance of the sun does not dazzle
him. Where will he finally rest and build his aerie? I do not know.
As yet no rock has been too lofty for him, no summit too steep and
sufficiently near the sun. I follow his flight with anxious eyes, but I
am unable to restrain him. I can only pray for him, for myself, and for
the unhappy king; I can only pray that the bold eagle may not finally
conclude that the vacant throne will be an aerie worthy of himself, and
occupy it.”
“But you believe that he will do so?” asked the princess, quickly.
“Oh, my dear,” replied Josephine, with a melancholy smile, “no one
is able to know at the present time, nay, even to conjecture, what
Bonaparte will do; no one, not even myself. His mind is impenetrable,
and he only speaks of what he has done, not of what he is going to do.
His plans lie inscrutable and silent in his breast, and nobody can boast
that he is aware of them. He knows that I am a royalist at heart, and he
often mocks me for it, but more frequently he is angry with me on this
account. Since the French people have elected him First Consul for life,
I see him tremble and frown whenever I dare to mention our exiled king,
and to call him our master. He has strictly ordered me to receive no
stranger unless he has given me permission to do so, and all friends
of mine, whom he knew to be enthusiastic royalists, have already been
banished by him. I must feign to forget all I owe to friendship and
gratitude, and yet all those cherished reminiscences will never be
effaced from my heart. But I must obey my master; for Bonaparte is no
longer only my husband, but he is also my master. Thus impeded in all
her inclinations, the wife of the First Consul must swallow her grief
and seem ungrateful, although she is not. State it to those who believe
my fate to be an enviable one; state it to the Count de Provence, who
deems my influence greater than it really is. He is, and always remains
for me, the legitimate king of France, and I call God to witness that I
do not long for the crown which is his legitimate property. I call
God to witness that I have improved every opportunity to promote the
interests of the Count de Provence, and that I have always taken pains
to remind Bonaparte of his duty to his legitimate king. But my success
has been insignificant, and to-day for the first time since a long
while I dare again to entertain a glimmer of hope. Bonaparte knew that I
wanted to receive you to-day, and he did not forbid it, although he
had already been informed that the Princess von Eibenberg was highly
esteemed as a devoted friend at the court of Coblentz, that she had
made a journey to Mitau for the express purpose of seeing the Count de
Provence, that she had been sent by the latter with letters and messages
to Paris, and that the Duke d’Enghien, who some time ago had secretly
been at Vienna, had been every day at your house.”
“What! The First Consul is aware of all that?” asked Marianne,
wonderingly.
“His spies serve him well,” said Josephine, heaving a sigh, “and
Bonaparte has got spies everywhere, even here in the Tuileries, here in
my own rooms--and I should not wonder if he should learn even within the
next quarter of an hour what we have conversed about here, although it
may have seemed to us as though we were alone.”
“But if the First Consul learns that the Count de Provence wants to
avail himself of my services for the purpose of promoting his interests
here in Paris, and if he has, nevertheless, permitted you to receive me,
it seems to me a favorable symptom,” said Marianne Eibenberg, musingly.
“Of course, he has some object in view in permitting it,” replied
Josephine, sighing, “but who knows what? I am unable to fathom his
intentions; I content myself with loving him, admiring him, and
endeavoring cautiously to lead him back to the path of duty. But
hush!” she interrupted herself all at once, “I hear steps in the small
corridor. It is Bonaparte! He comes hither. He will see that I have
wept, and he will be angry with me!”
And after breathing into her handkerchief in anxious haste, Josephine
pressed it against her eyes, and whispered tremblingly, “Can it be seen
that I have wept?”
Marianne was about replying to her, when quick steps were heard in the
adjoining room. “He is coming,” whispered Josephine, and she rose from
the sofa for the purpose of going to meet her husband. He just opened
the door by a quick pressure of his hand and appeared on the threshold.
His eyes swept with a quick glance over the room and seemed to pierce
every corner; a slight cloud covered his expansive marble forehead; his
thin lips were firmly compressed, and did not show the faintest tinge of
a smile.
“Ah, I did not know that there was a visitor with you, Josephine,” he
said, bowing to Marianne, who returned his salutation by a deep and
reverential obeisance, and then fixed her large dark eyes upon him with
an air of admiration.
“My friend,” said Josephine, with a fascinating smile, “the Princess
von Eibenberg has been recommended to me by persons of the highest
distinction, and I confess that I am very grateful to those who gave me
an opportunity to make the acquaintance of this beautiful and agreeable
lady. It is true, I hear that the princess is a native of Germany, but
she has got the heart of a Frenchwoman, and speaks our language better
than many of the ladies whom I hear here in the Tuileries.”
“Ah, she doubtless speaks that language of ancient France, which always
pleases you so well,” exclaimed Bonaparte; and now there appeared on his
finely formed lips a smile, illuminating and beautifying his face like
sunshine. “I suppose, madame,” he said, suddenly turning to Marianne,
“you have come hither in order to bring to my dear Josephine greetings
from a cavalier of that ancient France which has forever fallen to
ruins?”
“No, general,” said Marianne, whose radiant eyes were constantly and
fearlessly fixed on Bonaparte--“no, general, I have come hither in order
to admire the New France, and never shall I be able to thank Madame
Bonaparte sufficiently for the happiness she has procured me at this
moment. It is the first time in my life that I have been able to see a
great man, a hero!”
“And yet you were in Loudon and Mitau and there saw the Counts d’Artois
and Provence,” replied Bonaparte, sitting down in an arm-chair by
Marianne’s side, and requesting the ladies by a wave of his hand to
resume their seats on the sofa.
“And in Loudon, in Mitau, in Coblentz, everywhere they admire the hero
who has risen like a new sun with the young century!” said Marianne,
with irresistible grace.
“Those gentlemen of ancient France spoke of me, then?” asked Bonaparte.
“You see, madame, I speak without circumlocution. I am nothing but a
good soldier, and always strike directly at my aim. I have been told
that you have come hither as an emissary of the Bourbons, and I
confess to you that to-day for the first time I feel grateful to those
gentlemen, for they have made a very beautiful selection. The emissaries
sent hither heretofore were less beautiful and less amiable. Those
Bourbons know the foibles of the male heart better than anybody else,
and they want to fascinate me in order to seduce me afterward the more
surely.”
“Pardon me, general, they were not so bold as that,” said the princess,
smiling. “Let me say that I am not gifted with the magic power of
Armida, nor are you with the sentimental weakness of Rinaldo.”
“You do not deem me worthy to be compared with Rinaldo?” asked
Bonaparte, casting so glowing a glance on the fair emissary that
Josephine almost regretted having brought this fascinating beauty in
contact with her husband.
“I do not deem Rinaldo worthy to be compared with Bonaparte,” said the
princess, with a charming smile. “Rinaldo did not conquer any countries;
he did not cross the bridge of Arcole, holding aloft the waving colors;
he did not see the pyramids of Egypt; he did not conquer at Marengo!”
“Ah, madame, you seem to have a good memory,” exclaimed Bonaparte,
merrily, “and you do not only know ancient France, but are also quite
familiar with her recent history.”
“General, it is owing to you that the history of France is that of the
whole world, and that the victories of France signify the defeat of the
remainder of Europe. But you have brought about an even greater miracle,
for those whom you have vanquished do not hate you for it, but they
admire you, and while cursing their own misfortune, they are astonished
at your heroism and surpassing greatness as a military chieftain. There
is no one who does not share this feeling of admiration, and there is
no one who entertains it in a livelier manner than the two men who have
reason to complain most of France, and who do so least!”
“Ah, you skilfully return to the charge,” exclaimed Bonaparte, smiling.
“You would make a good general: you make a short cut on the field of
flattery and so reach the more rapidly the straight road on which you
want to meet the Counts de Provence and Artois in order to praise them
before me.”
“No, Bonaparte,” said Josephine, hastily, “the princess, on the
contrary, wishes to tell you how those gentlemen praise you, and with
how much admiration they speak of you.--Oh, pray, madame, repeat to
Bonaparte what the Count d’Artois told you the other day, and mention
the honors and distinctions he would like to confer on my husband.”
“Well, I should really like to know the honors and distinctions which
that little emigre, M. de Bourbon, is able to confer on the First Consul
of France,” said Bonaparte, with a sarcastic smile. “Tell me, madame,
what did the Count d’Artois say, and what that statement of yours is
that has filled the ambitious heart of Madame Bonaparte with so much
delight?”
“Oh, you want to mock me, my friend,” said Josephine, reproachfully.
“By no means, I am in dead earnest, and should like to know what the
pretenders did say about me. State to us, then, madame, with your
seductive voice, the tempting promises of the Bourbons.”
“General, there was no talk of promises, but of the admiration the Count
d’Artois felt for you,” said Marianne, almost timidly, and with downcast
eyes. “We conversed about politics in general, and Madame de Guiche, in
her charming innocence, took the liberty to ask the Count d’Artois how
the First Consul of France might be rewarded in case he should restore
the Bourbons.”
“Ah, you conversed about this favorite theme of the emigres, about the
restoration question!” said Bonaparte, shrugging his shoulders. “And
what did the prince reply?”
“The Count d’Artois replied: ‘In the first place, we should appoint the
first consul Connetable of France, if that would be agreeable to him.
But we should not believe that that would be a sufficient reward; we
should erect on the Place du Carrousel a lofty and magnificent column
to be surmounted by a statue of Bonaparte crowning the Bourbons!’”
[Footnote: Las Cases, “Memorial de Sainte-Helene,” vol. i., p. 337.]
“Is not that a beautiful and sublime idea?” exclaimed Josephine,
joyfully, while the princess searchingly fixed her eyes on Bonaparte’s
face.
“Yes,” he said, calmly, “it is a very sublime idea; but what did you
reply, Josephine, when this was communicated to you?”
“What did I reply?” asked Josephine. “Good Heaven! what should I have
replied?”
“Well,” said Bonaparte, whose face now assumed a grave, stern
expression, “you might have replied, for instance, that the pedestal of
this beautiful column would have to be the corpse of the First Consul.”
[Footnote: Bonaparte’s own words.--Ibid., vol. ii., p. 337.]
“Oh, Bonaparte, what a dreadful idea that is!” exclaimed Josephine, in
dismay--“dreadful and withal untrue, for did not the Count d’Artois say
the Bourbons would appoint you Connetable of France?”
“Yes, just as Charles II. of England conferred the title of duke on
Monk. I am no Monk, nor am I a Cromwell. I have not injured a single
hair on the head of the Bourbons, and my hand has not been stained by a
drop of the blood of the unfortunate king who had to atone for the sins
of his predecessors. He had ruined France, I saved her; and the example
of Monk teaches me to be cautious, for the English people had confided
in him, and he gave them a king who made them unhappy and oppressed
them for twenty years, and finally caused a new revolution; I want to
preserve France from the horrors of a new revolution, hence I do not
want to become another Monk.”
“And who should dare to compare you with Monk or Cromwell, general?”
exclaimed Marianne. “If there is a man worthy to be compared with the
first consul of France, it is only the great Washington, the liberator
of America.”
“Ah, you think so because we are both presiding over a republic,”
replied Bonaparte, with a sarcastic smile. “As I do not want to be a
Monk, it is hoped that I shall be a Washington. Words cost nothing, and
those who utter them so easily do not consider whether the circumstances
of the two nations, the time and occasion may be as well compared with
each other as those two names. If I were in America, it would be my
highest glory to be another Washington, and I should deserve but little
credit for it, after all, for I do not see how one could reasonably
pursue there any other course. But if Washington had been in France,
with its convulsions within and an invasion from abroad, I should not
have deemed it advisable for him to be himself; if he had insisted upon
remaining himself, he would have been an idol, and only prolonged the
misfortunes of France instead of saving the country.”
“You confess, then, that France ought not to remain a republic?” asked
Josephine, joyfully. “You want to restore the monarchy?”
“Wait for the things to come,” said Bonaparte, gravely. “To ask me
prematurely to do things incompatible with the present state of affairs
would be foolish; if I should announce or promise them it would look
like charlatanry and boasting, and I am not addicted to either.”
“But you give us hopes, at least, that you will do so one day, when the
time has come, I suppose, my friend?” said Josephine, tenderly. “You
will not let this beautiful lady depart from Paris without a kind and
comforting reply? She will not have entered the Tuileries, the house of
the kings, in order to be obliged to inform on her return those to whom
it justly belongs that there is no longer any room for them under the
roof which their fathers have built. I am sure, Bonaparte, you will not
send such a reply to the legitimate King of France from HIS OWN rooms.”
Josephine, glowing with excitement, had risen from her seat; stepping
close up to Bonaparte, she encircled his neck with her beautiful arms,
and laid her charming head on his shoulder.
“Oh, Josephine, what are you doing?” ejaculated Bonaparte, angrily.
“Will not the princess tell the Count de Provence that the Tuileries
are now inhabited by a downright bourgeois and hen-pecked husband, who
treats his wife sentimentally even in the presence of other persons,
and in return for her caresses has always to comply with her wishes? And
shall we not be laughed at, my child?”
“I should like to see the Titan who would dare to laugh at the First
Consul!” exclaimed Marianne, eagerly. “You would do like Jove; you would
hurl down the audacious scoffer into the abyss with a flash from your
eyes.”
Bonaparte fixed so long and glowing a look on the princess that Marianne
blushed, while the jealous heart of Josephine began to ache.
“Bonaparte, state the reply you are going to make to the Count de
Provence,” she said, anxious to withdraw his attention from the
contemplation of this fascinating beauty.
“A reply?” asked Bonaparte. “What shall I reply to?”
“General, to this letter, which the Count de Provence has intrusted
to me, and which I have solemnly pledged myself to deliver to you
personally,” said Marianne, handing Bonaparte a sealed paper, with an
imploring glance.
Bonaparte did not take it at once, but looked sternly at the two ladies
who stood before him, turning their beautiful and deeply moved faces
toward him with an air of supplication.
“It is a perfect conspiracy, then, ladies? A complete surprise of the
fortress?” he asked. “You want to compel me forcibly to open the gates
of my eyes to you? Do you not know, then, Josephine, that I have sworn
not to accept any letters from the Pretender, in order not to be obliged
to make a harsh reply to him?”
“Keep your oath, then,” said Josephine, smiling; “do not accept the
letter, but permit me to do so, and let me read the contents of the
letter to you.”
“Oh, women, women!” exclaimed Bonaparte, smiling. “They are born
sophists, and I believe they would be able to outwit the devil himself!
Well, I will comply with your request; take the letter and read it to
me.”
Josephine uttered a joyful cry, and took the letter from Marianne’s
hands. While she broke the seal and unfolded the paper, Bonaparte had
risen from his arm-chair, and commenced slowly pacing the room. He
knew, perhaps, that Marianne’s eyes were fixed upon him with a searching
expression, and her glances were disagreeable to him.
Josephine read as follows:
“Men like you, sir, never inspire suspicion and uneasiness, whatever
their conduct may be. You have accepted the exalted position which the
French people offered to you, and I am grateful to you for so doing. You
know better than anybody else how much strength and power are required
to secure the happiness of a great nation. Save France from her own
fury, and you will have fulfilled the foremost and greatest desire of my
heart; restore her king to her, and future generations will bless your
memory. But you hesitate very long to give my throne back to me, and
I almost fear you will allow the opportunity to pass by unimproved.
Hasten, therefore, and designate the positions you desire for yourself
and for your friends. You will always be too indispensable to the state
for me ever to be able to discharge the obligations of my ancestors and
my own, even by means of the most influential positions. My character,
as well as motives of sound policy, will induce me to pursue a liberal
course. We are able to secure the happiness of France. I say we, for you
cannot secure the happiness of France without me, and I cannot do any
thing for France without you. General, Europe has fixed her eyes on
you, and immortal glory awaits you.” [Footnote: This letter is
historical.--Vide “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. vii., p. 393.]
“Always the same strain,” muttered Bonaparte, “always the story of
the column surmounted by the statue of the First Consul crowning the
Bourbons, while his bleeding corpse is to be the foundation of the
column!”
“He is reflecting,” whispered Josephine to the princess. “That shows, at
least, that he has not yet made up his mind to reject the offer of the
Count de Provence.”
At this moment Bonaparte turned toward the two ladies and approached
them rapidly.
“Are you authorized to receive my reply?” he asked, turning his gloomy
eyes toward the princess.
“I shall feel happy and honored by any message you may be pleased to
intrust to me,” said Marianne.
Bonaparte nodded to her.
“Will you permit me to write a letter here, Josephine?” he asked.
Instead of making a reply, Josephine hastened to her desk, in order to
take out some paper, to draw a chair to the table, and then to hand the
pen to Bonaparte, with a fascinating smile. When he commenced writing,
she supported herself in breathless suspense on the back of his
arm-chair and looked over the Consul’s shoulder, while the Princess von
Eibenberg, standing not far from them, looked at both with sparkling
eyes.
Bonaparte hastily wrote a few lines, threw the pen aside, and turning
around to Josephine, he handed her the letter.
“There, read it,” he said, “and read it aloud, so that the beautiful
emissary of your M. de Bourbon may learn my reply, and know the contents
of the message she is to deliver to him.”
Josephine took the paper, and read, in a tremulous voice, frequently
interrupted by her sighs:
“I have received the letter of your royal highness; I have constantly
felt a lively sympathy for you and for the misfortunes of your family.
But your royal highness must not think of coming to France; you would
have to pass over a hundred thousand corpses before reaching it. In
other respects, I shall constantly take pains to do whatever will be
calculated to alleviate your condition and to make you forget your
misfortunes.”
“Well, Josephine, you are silent?” asked Bonaparte, when she ceased
reading. “You are dissatisfied with my letter? And you, too, madame,
have a dark shadow on your beautiful face! How could you expect another
answer from me?”
“General, I believe the royal princes really hoped for another answer,”
said Marianne, heaving a sigh.
“And what justified such a hope?” asked Bonaparte, sternly “What have I
done to give rise to such chimeras?”
“General, the favorable answer you gave to Prussia--”
“Ah!” said Bonaparte, shrugging his shoulders, “the wind is blowing in
that direction, then? Prussia asked me if she would cause us any trouble
by tolerating the French princes within her boundaries. I replied in the
negative; and when Prussia went further and asked whether we should
feel offended or not, if she paid an annual pension to the Bourbons, I
permitted even that on condition that the princes remained quiet and did
not carry on any intrigues. They believed, then, that because I suffered
distressed persons to be relieved and an asylum to be granted to the
homeless, I should be ready, also, to make the beggars masters again,
and to lay France at the feet of the exiles!”
“Bonaparte, your words are very harsh and very unjust,” exclaimed
Josephine, sadly.
“They may be harsh, but they are true,” he said, sternly. “I will not
permit them to entertain any illusions concerning myself; hence I have
spoken so long and plainly. It would be harsh and cruel to hold out
hopes to the Bourbons which I shall never fulfil. France is lost to
them, and they will never recover her. State that to the princes who
have sent you to me, madame. Let the Bourbons be on their guard, for
France is wide awake and keeps her eyes and ears open. I am willing
to forgive that little Duke d’Enghien for not considering me a great
general, and for criticising my exploits, but I should neither forgive
him nor either of his uncles in case they should try to trouble France
with their senseless schemes. I know that the Bourbons have long been
trying to find means and ways to reconquer the sceptre of St. Louis. So
long as their schemes are floating in the air like cobwebs, I forgive
them; but if they intend to act, let them weigh the consequences! He who
menaces France is a traitor, whatever may be his name, and traitors will
be punished to the full extent of the law. State that to the Bourbons,
madame; state it especially to the Duke d’Enghien. And now be kind
enough to deliver my reply to the Count de Provence. When do you intend
to start?”
“In a few days, general.”
“Oh, that will not do. That poor Count de Provence will be eager to get
a reply,” said Bonaparte, “and it would be very cruel not to transmit
it to him as soon as possible. You especially will not wish to make
him wait, and I therefore advise you to set out to-day, within the next
hour! I shall issue orders that horses be kept in readiness for you;
and in order that you may not be detained anywhere, I shall instruct two
officers to escort you to the frontier. Hasten, therefore, madame; in
half an hour everything will be ready for your departure.”
He nodded to her, and left the room.
The two ladies were alone again and looked at each other with mournful
eyes. Marianne’s face was pale; a gloomy fire was burning in her eyes,
and a contemptuous smile was visible on her lips. Josephine seemed
greatly embarrassed, and her gentle eyes were filled with tears.
“I am to be transported beyond the frontier like a criminal!” ejaculated
Marianne at last, in a voice trembling with anger. “I am to be treated
like a dangerous intriguer, and yet I have only delivered a letter which
had been intrusted to me by the king.”
“Forgive him,” said Josephine, imploringly. “He has been prejudiced
against you, and the numerous plots and conspiracies, which have already
been discovered, cause him to deem rigorous precautions altogether
indispensable. But I beg you especially not to be angry with me, and
pray beseech the Count de Provence not to hold me responsible for the
deplorable message you are to deliver to him. I have opened my heart to
you, and you know it to be filled with the most faithful devotion and
with the most reverential affection for the unfortunate prince, but I am
not strong enough to change his fate; I--”
Just then the door opened; M. de Bourrienne, chief of the cabinet of
the First Consul, made his appearance and approached the princess with a
respectful bow.
“Madame,” he said, “the First Consul sends you word that every thing
is ready for your departure, and he has instructed me to conduct you to
your carriage.”
Josephine uttered a groan, and, sinking down on a chair, she covered her
face with her handkerchief in order to conceal her tears.
Marianne had now recovered her proud and calm bearing, and a bold and
defiant smile played again on her lips. She approached Josephine with
soft and quiet steps.
“Farewell, madame,” she said. “I shall faithfully report to the Count
de Provence every thing I have seen and heard here, and he will venerate
and pity you as I shall always do. May the First Consul never regret
what he is doing now, and may he not be obliged one day to leave France
in the same manner as he compels me to depart from Paris! Come, sir,
accompany me, as it cannot be helped!”
And drawing herself up to her full height and as proud as a queen,
Marianne, princess of Eibenberg, walked toward the door.
Josephine followed her with her tearful eyes, which she then raised to
heaven. “Oh, my God, my God,” she whispered, “ordain it in Thy mercy
that my worst forebodings may not be fulfilled! Guide Bonaparte’s heart
and prevent him from going on in his ambition, from stretching out his
hand for the crown of the Bourbons, and from staining his glory with the
blood of--Oh, Thou knowest my fears; Thou knowest what I mean, and what
my lips dare not utter. Protect Bonaparte, and guide his heart!”