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A CONSPIRACY OF THE CARBONARI
BY
LOUISE MÜHLBACH,
_Author of "Berlin and Sans Souci," "Frederick the Great and His Family,"
etc., etc._
TRANSLATED BY
MARY J. SAFFORD.
F. TENNYSON NEELY,
114 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896
BY F. TENNYSON NEELY
Transcriber's note: Minor typos in text corrected,
and footnotes moved to end of text.
A CONSPIRACY OF THE CARBONARI.
CHAPTER I.
AFTER ESSLINGEN.
It was the evening of the 22d of May, 1809, the fatal day inscribed in
blood-stained letters upon the pages of history, the day which brought to
Napoleon the first dimming of his star of good fortune, to Germany, and
especially to Austria, the first ray of dawn after the long and gloomy
night.
After so many victories and triumphs; after the battles of Tilsit,
Austerlitz, and Jena, the humiliation of all Germany, the triumphal days
of Erfurt, when the great imperial actor saw before him a whole "parterre
of kings;" after a career of victory which endured ten years, Napoleon on
the 22d of May, 1809, had sustained his first defeat, lost his first
battle. True, he had made this victory cost dearly enough. There had been
two days of blood and carnage ere the conflict was decided, but now, at the
close of these two terrible days, the fact could no longer be denied: the
Austrians, under the command of the Archduke Charles, had vanquished the
French at Aspern, though they were led by Napoleon himself.
Terrible indeed had been those two days of the battle of Aspern or
Esslingen. The infuriated foes hurled death to and fro from the mouths of
more than four hundred cannon. The earth shook with the thunder of their
artillery, the stamping of their steeds; the air resounded with the shouts
of the combatants, who assailed each other with the fury of rage and hate,
fearing not death, but defeat; scorning life if it must be owed to the
conqueror's mercy, neither giving nor taking quarter, and in dying, praying
not for their own souls, but for the defeat and humiliation of the enemy!
Never since those years of battle between France and Austria has the
fighting been characterized by such animosity, such fierce fury on both
sides. Austria was struggling to avenge Austerlitz, France not to permit
the renown of that day to be darkened.
"We will conquer or die!" was the shout with which the Austrians, for the
twenty-first time, had begun the battle against the enemy, who pressed
forward across three bridges from the island of Lobau in the middle of the
Danube, and whom the Austrians hated doubly that day, because another
painful wound had been dealt by the occupation of their capital--beautiful,
beloved Vienna--the expulsion of the emperor and his family, and the
possession of the German city.
Thus conquest to the Austrians meant also the release of Vienna from the
mastery of the foe, the opening the way to his capital to the Emperor
Francis, who had fled to Hungary.
If the French were vanquished, it meant the confession to the world that
the star of Napoleon's good fortune was paling; that he, too, was merely a
mortal who must bow to the will of a higher power; it meant destroying the
faith of the proud, victorious French army in its own invincibility.
These were the reasons which rendered the battle so furious, so
bloodthirsty on both sides; which led the combatants to rend each other
with actual pleasure, with exulting rage. Each yawning wound was hailed
with a shout of joy by the person who inflicted it; each man who fell dying
heard, instead of the gentle lament of pity, the sigh of sympathy, the
jeering laugh, the glad, victorious shout of the pitiless foe.
Then Austrian generals, eagerly encouraging their men by their own example
of bravery, pressed forward at the head of their troops. The Archduke
Charles, though ill and suffering, had himself lifted upon his horse, and,
in the enthusiasm of the struggle, so completely forgot his sickness that
he grasped the standard of a wavering battalion, dashed forward with it,
and thereby induced the soldiers to rush once more, with eager shouts of
joy, upon the foe.
More than ten times the village of Aspern was taken by the French, more
than ten times it was recaptured by the Austrians; every step forward was
marked by both sides with heaps of corpses, rivers of blood. Every foot of
ground, every position conquered, however small, was the scene of furious
strife. For the church in Aspern, the churchyard, single houses, nay, even
single trees, bore evidence of the furious assault of the enemies upon each
other; whole battalions went with exulting shouts to death.
On account of this intense animosity on both sides, this mutual desire for
battle thus stimulated to the highest pitch, the victory on the first day
remained undecided and the gathering darkness found the foes almost in the
same position which they had occupied at the beginning of the conflict. The
Austrians were still in dense masses on the shore of the Danube; the French
still occupied the island of Lobau, and their three bridges conveyed them
across to the left bank of the Danube to meet the enemy.
But the second day, after the most terrible butchery, the most desperate
struggle, was to see the victory determined.
It belonged to the Austrians, to the Archduke Charles. He had decided it by
a terrible expedient--the order to let burning vessels drift down the
Danube against the bridges which connected the island of Lobau with the
left shore. The wind and the foaming waves of the river seemed on this day
to be allies of the Austrians; the wind swept the ships directly upon the
bridges, densely crowded with dead bodies, wounded men, soldiers, horses,
and artillery; the quivering tongues of flame seized the piles and blazed
brightly up till everything upon them plunged in terrible, inextricable
confusion down to the surging watery grave below.
At the awful spectacle the whole French army uttered cries of anguish, the
Austrians shouts of joy.
Vainly did Napoleon himself ride through the ranks, calling in the beloved
voice that usually kindled enthusiasm so promptly: "I myself ordered the
destruction of the bridges, that you might have no choice between glorious
victory or inevitable destruction."
For the first time his soldiers doubted the truth of his words and did not
answer with the exultant cheer, "_Vive l' Empereur_."
But they fought on bravely, furiously, desperately! And Napoleon, with his
pallid iron countenance, remained with his troops, to watch everything,
direct every movement, encourage his men, and give the necessary orders.
His generals and aids surrounded him, listening respectfully though with
gloomy faces to every word which fell, weighty and momentous as a sentence
of death, from the white, compressed lips. But a higher power than Napoleon
was sending its decrees of death even into the group of generals gathered
around the master of the world; cannon balls had no reverence for the
Cæsar's presence; they tore from his side his dearest friend, his faithful
follower, Marshal Lannes; they killed Generals St. Hilaire, Albuquerque and
d'Espagne, the leaders of his brave troops, the curassiers, three thousand
of whom remained that day on the battlefield; they wounded Marshal Massena,
Marshal Bessières, and six other valiant generals.
When evening came the battle was decided. Archduke Charles was the victor;
the French army was forced back to the island of Lobau, whose bridges had
been severed by the burning ships; the triumphant Austrians were encamped
around Esslingen and Aspern, whose unknown names have been illumined since
that day with eternal renown.
The island of Lobau presented a terrible chaos of troops, horses, wounded
men, artillery, corpses and luggage; the wounded and dying wailed and
moaned, the uninjured fairly shrieked and roared with fury. And, as if
Nature wished to add her bold alarum to the mournful dirge of men, the
storm-lashed waves of the Danube thundered around the island, dashed their
foam-crested surges on the shore, and, in many places, created crimson
lakes where, instead of boats, blood-stained bodies floated with yawning
wounds. It seemed as if the Styx had flowed to Lobau to spare the ferryman
Charon the arduous task of conveying so many corpses to the nether world,
and for the purpose transformed itself into a single vast funeral barge.
Napoleon, the victor of so many battles, the man before whom all Europe
trembled, all the kings of the world bowed in reverence and admiration; he
who, with a wave of his hand, had overturned and founded dynasties, was now
forced to witness all this--compelled to suffer and endure like any
ordinary mortal!
He sat on a log near the shore, both elbows propped on his knees, and his
pale iron face supported by his small white hands, glittering with
diamonds, gazing at the roaring waves of the Danube and the throng of human
beings who surrounded him.
Behind him, in gloomy silence, stood his generals--he did not notice them.
His soldiers marched before him--he did not heed them. But they saw him,
and turned from him to the mountains of corpses, to the moaning wounded
men, the pools of blood which everywhere surrounded them, then gazed once
more at him whom they were wont to hail exultingly as their hero, their
earthly god, and whom to-day, for the first time, they execrated; whom in
the fury of their grief they even ventured to accuse and to scorn.
But he did not hear. He heard naught save the voices in his own breast, to
whose gloomy words the wails and groans of the wounded formed a horrible
chorus.
Suddenly he rose slowly, and turning toward Marshal Bessières, who, with
his wounded arm in a sling, stood nearest to him, Napoleon pointed to the
river.
"To Ebersdorf!" he said, in his firm, imperious voice. "You will accompany
me, marshal. You too, gentlemen," he added, turning to the captured
Austrian General Weber, and the Russian General Czernitschef, who had
arrived at Napoleon's headquarters the day before the battle on a special
mission from the Czar Alexander, and been a very inopportune witness of his
defeat.
The two generals bowed silently and followed the emperor, who went hastily
down to the shore. A boat with four oarsmen lay waiting for him, and his
two valets, Constant and Roustan, stood beside the skiff to help the
emperor enter.
He thrust back their hands with a swift gesture of repulse, and stepped
slowly and proudly down into the swaying, rocking boat which was to bear
the Cæsar and his first misfortune to his headquarters, Castle Ebersdorf.
He darted a long angry glance at the foaming waves roaring around the
skiff, a glance before which the bravest of his marshals would have
trembled, but which the insensible waters, tossing and surging below,
swallowed as they had swallowed that day so many of his soldiers. Then,
sinking slowly down upon the seat which Roustan had prepared for him of
cushions and coverlets, he again propped his arms on his knees, rested his
face in his hands, and gazed into vacancy. The companions whom he had
ordered to attend him, and his two valets followed, and the boat put off
from the shore, and danced, whirling hither and thither, over the
foam-crested waves.
But amid the roar of the river, the plash of the dipping oars, was heard
the piteous wailing of the wounded, the loud oaths and jeers of the
soldiers who had rushed down to the shore, and, with clenched fists, hurled
execrations after the emperor, accusing him, with angry scorn, of perfidy
because he left them in this hour of misfortune.
Napoleon did not hear the infuriated shouts of his soldiery; he was
listening to the tempest, the waves, and the menacing voices in his own
breast.
Once only he raised himself from his bowed posture and again darted an
angry glance at the foaming water as if he wished to lash the hated element
with the look, as Xerxes had done with iron chains.
"The Danube, with its furious surges, and the storm with its mad power,
have conquered me," he cried in a loud, angry voice. "Ay, all Nature must
rise in rebellion and wrath to wrest a victory from me. Nature, not
Archduke Charles, has vanquished me!"
The waves roared and danced recklessly on, wholly unmindful of the
emperor's wrathful exclamation; they sang and thundered a poem of their
might, jeering him: "Beware of offending us, for we can avenge ourselves;
we hold your fate in our power. Beware of offending us, for we are bearing
you on our backs in a fragile boat, and the Cæsar and his empire weigh no
more than the lightest fisherman with his nets. Beware of offending us, for
you are nothing but an ordinary man; mortal as the poorest beggar, and, if
we choose, we will drag you down to our cold, damp grave. Beware of
offending us!" Did he understand the song of the mocking waves? Was that
why so deep a frown of wrath rested on his brow?
He again sank into his gloomy reverie, which no one ventured to
disturb--no one save the jeering surges.
Yet he seemed to think that some one addressed him, that some one whom he
must answer had spoken.
"Why, yes," he cried, shrugging his shoulders, "yes, it is true, I have
lost a battle! But when one has gained forty victories, it really is not
anything extraordinary if he _loses_ one engagement."[A]
No one ventured to answer this exclamation. The emperor did not seem to
expect it; perhaps he did not even know that any one had heard what he
answered the menacing voice in his own soul.
Now the boat touched the shore, where carriages were ready to convey the
emperor and his suite to Ebersdorf.
His whole staff, all his marshals and generals, were waiting for him before
the door of the castle. With bared heads, in stiff military attitude, they
received their lord and master, the august emperor, expecting a gracious
greeting. But he passed on without looking at them, without even saluting
them by a wave of his hand. They looked after him with wondering, angry
eyes, and, like the glittering tail of a comet, followed him into the
castle, up the steps, and into the hall.
But as they entered the reception-room where he usually talked with them,
Napoleon had already vanished in his private office, whose door swiftly
closed behind him.
The marshals and generals, aids and staff officers, still waited. The
emperor would surely return, they thought. He still had to give them his
commands for the next day, his orders concerning what was to be done on the
island of Lobau, what provision should be made for the care of the wounded,
the sustenance of the uninjured, the rescue of the remains of his army.
But they waited in vain; Napoleon did not return to them, gave them no
orders. After half an hour's futile expectation, Roustan glided through the
little door of the private room into the hall, and, with a very important
air, whispered to the listening officers that the emperor had gone to bed
immediately, and had scarcely touched the pillows ere he sunk into a deep
sleep.
Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping, and his generals glided on tiptoe
out of the hall and discussed outside the measures which they must now
adopt on their own account to rescue the luckless fragment of the army from
the island of Lobau, and make arrangements for building new bridges.
Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping! He slept all through the night,
through the broad light of the next day--slept when his whole staff had
gone to Lobau--slept when bodies of his infuriated guards rushed into the
castle and, unheeding the emperor's presence, plundered the cellars and
storerooms[B]--slept when, in the afternoon of that day, his marshals and
generals returned to Castle Ebersdorf, in order at last to receive the
emperor's commands.
They would not, could not believe that the commander-in-chief was still
sleeping It seemed perfectly impossible that he, the illustrious
strong-brained Cæsar, could permit himself to be subjugated by the common
petty need of human nature in these hours when every second's delay might
decide the destiny of many thousands. This sleep could be no natural one;
perhaps the emperor, exhausted by fatigue and mental excitement, had fallen
into a stupor; perhaps he was sleeping never to wake again. They must see
him, they must convince themselves. They called Roustan and asked him to
take them to the emperor's couch.
He did not refuse, he only entreated them to step lightly, to hold their
breath, in order not to wake the emperor; then gliding before them to the
room, he drew back the _portières_ of the chamber. The officers followed,
stealing along on tiptoe, and gazed curiously, anxiously, into the quiet,
curtained room. Yes, there on the low camp-bed, lay the emperor. He had not
even undressed, but lay as if on parade in full uniform, with his military
cloak flung lightly across his feet. He had sunk down in this attitude
twenty-two hours before, and still lay motionless and rigid.
But he was sleeping! It was not stupor, it was not death, it was only sleep
which held him captive. His breath came slowly, regularly; his face was
slightly flushed, his eyes were calmly closed. The emperor was sleeping!
His generals need feel no anxiety; they might return to the drawing-room
with relieved hearts. They did so, stealing noiselessly again through the
private office into the hall, whose door had been left ajar that the noise
might not rouse the sleeper.
Yet, once within the hall, they looked at each other with wondering eyes,
astonished faces.
He was really asleep; he could sleep.
He was untroubled, free from care. Yet if the Archduke Charles desired it,
the whole army was lost. He need only remain encamped with his troops on
the bank of the Danube to expose the entire force to hunger, to
destruction.
As they talked angrily, with gloomy faces, they again gazed at each other
with questioning eyes, and looked watchfully around the drawing-room. No
one was present except the group of marshals, generals and colonels. No
one could overhear them, no one could see how one, Colonel Oudet, raised
his right hand and made a few strange, mysterious gestures in the air.
Instantly every head bowed reverently, every voice whispered a single word:
"Master."
"My brothers," replied Colonel Oudet in a low tone, "important things are
being planned, and we must be ready to see them appear in tangible form at
any moment."
"We are prepared," murmured all who were present. "We await the commands of
our master."
"I have nothing more to say, except that you are to hold yourselves ready;
for the great hour of vengeance and deliverance is approaching. The great
Society of the Carbonari, whose devoted members you are--"
"Whose great and venerated head you are," replied General Massena, with a
low bow.
"The Society of the Carbonari," Colonel Oudet continued, without heeding
Massena's words, "the Society of the Carbonari watches its faithless
member, the renegade son of the Revolution, the Emperor Napoleon, and will
soon have an opportunity to avenge his perfidy. Keep your hands on your
swords and be watchful; strive to spread the spirit of our order more and
more through the army; initiate more and more soldiers into our league as
brothers; be mindful of the great object: we will free France from the
Cæsarism forced upon her. Look around you in your circles and seek the
hand which will be ready to make the renegade son of the society vanish
from the world."
"He is the scourge of our native land," said one of the generals. "His
restless ambition constantly plunges us into new wars, rouses the hatred of
all Europe against France, and this hatred will one day burst into bright
flames and plunge France into destruction."
"He is destroying the prosperity of the country for generations," said
another; he is robbing wives of their husbands, fathers of their sons,
labor of sturdy arms. The fields lie untilled, the workshops are deserted,
trade is prostrate, and all this to gratify a single man's desire for war."
"Therefore it is necessary to make this one man harmless," said a third.
"If no hand is found to slay him, there are arms strong enough to seize
him, bind him, and deliver him to those whose prison doors are always open
to receive the hated foe who blockades their harbors denies their goods
admittance to France and all the countries he has conquered and everywhere
confronts them as their bitter enemy."
"Yes, England is ready and watchful," whispered another. "She promises
those who have the courage to dare the great deed, a brilliant reward; she
offers a million florins and perpetual concealment of their names, as soon
as the Emperor Napoleon is delivered to her."
"Then let us seek men who are bold, ambitious, resolute, and money-loving
enough to venture such a deed," said Colonel Oudet. "Form connections with
those who hate him; be cautious, deliberate and beware of traitors."
"We will be cautious and deliberate," they all replied submissively; "we
will beware of traitors."
"But while determining to free France from the ambitious conqueror who is
leading her to destruction," said Colonel Oudet, "we must consider what is
to be done when the great work is accomplished, when the tyrant is removed.
It is evident to you all that the present condition of affairs ought not to
last. France now depends upon a single life; a single person forms her
dynasty, and when he sinks into the grave, France will be exposed to
caprice, to chance; every door to intrigue will be opened. We must secure
France from every peril. We have now seen, for the first time, that the
proud emperor is only a mere mortal. Had the bullet which wounded his foot
at Regensburg struck his head, France would probably be, at the present
moment, in the midst of civil war, and the Legitimists, the Republicans,
and the adherents of Napoleon would dispute the victory with each other. We
must try to avert the most terrible of all misfortunes, civil war; the
emperor is not merely mortal; we do not merely have to consider his death,
but we must also know what is to happen in case our plan succeeds and he is
placed in captivity. We must have ready the successor, the successor who
will at once render the Republic and the return of the Bourbons alike
impossible. Do any of you know a successor thus qualified?"
"I know one," replied General Marmont.
"And I! And I! And I!"
"General Marmont," said Oudet, "you spoke first. Will you tell us the name
of the person who seems to you worthy to be Napoleon's successor?"
"I do not venture to speak until the head of the Carbonari has named the
man whom _he_ has chosen."
"Then you did not hear me request you to speak," said Oudet, in a tone of
stern rebuke. "Speak, Marmont, but it will be better to exercise caution
and not let the walls themselves hear what we determine. So form a circle
around me, and let one after another put his lips to my ear and whisper the
name of him who should be Napoleon's successor."
Marshals and generals obeyed the command and formed a close circle around
Oudet, whose tall, slender figure towered above them all, and whose
handsome pale face, with its enthusiastic blue eyes, formed a strange
contrast to the grave, defiant countenances which encircled him.
"Marmont, do you begin!" said Oudet, in his gentle, solemn tones.
The general bent close to Oudet and whispered something into his ear, then
he stepped back and made way for another, who was followed by a third, and
a fourth.
"My brothers," said Oudet, after all had spoken, "my brothers, I see with
pleasure that the same spirit, the same conviction rules among you. You
have all uttered the same name; you have all said that Eugene Beauharnais,
the Viceroy of Italy, would be the fitting and desired successor of
Napoleon. I rejoice in this unanimity, and, in my position as one of the
heads of the great society, I give your choice my approval. The invisible
ones--the heads who are above us all, and from whom I, like the other three
chiefs of the league, receive my orders--the invisible ones have also
chosen Eugene Beauharnais for the future emperor of France. Thereby the
succession would be secured, and as soon as, by the emperor's death or
imprisonment, the throne of France is free, we will summon Eugene de
Beauharnais to be emperor of the French. May God grant His blessing upon
our work and permit us soon to find the hands we need to rid France of her
tyrant."
At that moment the door opening into the emperor's study, which had
remained ajar, was flung open and Napoleon stood on the threshold. His
iron face, which his officers had just seen in the repose of sleep, was now
again instinct with power and energy; his large eyes were fixed upon his
generals with an expression of strange anger, and seemed striving to read
the very depths of their hearts; his thin lips were firmly compressed as if
to force back an outburst of indignation which the gloomy frown on his brow
nevertheless revealed.
But the wrathful, threatening expression soon vanished from the emperor's
countenance, and his features resumed their cold, impenetrable expression.
He moved swiftly forward several steps and greeted with a hasty nod the
officers who had all bowed respectfully before him, and stood motionless in
absolute silence.
"General Bertrand," said the emperor, in his sonorous, musical voice, "you
will proceed at once to the island of Lobau to make preparations for the
great bridge-building which must be commenced at once and completed within
a week. The restoration and strengthening of the bridges which connect the
island of Lobau and the other little islands with the right bank of the
Danube is our principal task for the moment. Be mindful of that, general,
and act accordingly. General Massena, you will undertake with me the
principal direction of this bridge-building, and accompany me daily to the
island of Lobau. Bertrand will direct the building of the four firm bridges
which will connect Lobau with the shore of the Danube. We will select the
places for six bridges of boats which must also be thrown across. To
prevent interruption, the Austrians must be occupied, and Generals Fouchet
and Roguet will therefore post batteries of fifty cannon and bomb-proof
storehouses for ammunition, in order not only to keep the enemy from the
left bank, but also to drive him out of all the islands in the Danube. You
will all take care to execute my orders with the utmost rapidity and
punctiliousness. The Austrians disputed the victory with us at Esslingen;
in their arrogance they will perhaps even go so far as to assert that
_they_ obtained it; so I will give them a battle in which the victory will
be on my side so undoubtedly that the Austrians must bow without resistance
beneath its heavy, imperious hand. The bridge-building is the first and
most necessary condition of this conquest. It must be carried on swiftly,
cautiously, secretly--the enemy must not suspect where the bridges will be
erected; all the portions of the structures must be made on the island of
Lobau, then the bridges must appear out of nothingness, like a miracle
before the astonished eyes of the foe. These bridges, gentlemen, will be
the road for us all to gain new laurels, win fresh victories, and surround
the immortal fame of our eagles with new glory. I went to Germany to
chastise and force into submission and obedience the insolent German
princes who wished to oppose me. I know that they are conspiring, that
their treacherous designs are directed toward robbing France of her
sovereign, who was summoned to his authority by the will of the French
nation. But they, like all who venture to rebel against me, must learn
that God has placed in my hand the sword of retribution and of vengeance,
and that it will crush those who blasphemously seek to conspire against me
and dispute my power. Austria has done this, Prussia would fain attempt it,
but I will deter Prussia by chastising Austria. To work, gentlemen! In six
weeks, at latest, we must give Austria a decisive battle which will make it
depend solely on my will whether I permit the house of Hapsburg to reign
longer or bury it in the nonentity of inglorious oblivion!"
After the emperor, standing among his silent generals, had spoken in a
voice which rose louder and louder till it finally echoed like menacing
thunder through the hall, he nodded a farewell, by a haughty bend of the
head, and returned to his office, whose door he now not merely left ajar,
but closed with a loud bang.
With his hands behind his back, an angry expression upon his face, and a
frowning brow, the emperor paced up and down his room, absorbed in gloomy
thought. Sometimes a flash of indignation illumined his face, and he raised
his arm with a threatening gesture, as if, like a second Jupiter, to hurl
back into the depths the Titans who dared to rise to his throne.
"To appoint a successor," he muttered in a fierce, threatening tone, "they
dare to think, to busy themselves with that. The ingrates! It is I who gave
them fame, honor, titles, wealth; they are already cogitating about my
death--my successor! It is a conspiracy which extends throughout the whole
army. I know it. I was warned in Spain against the plots of the Carbonari,
and the caution has been repeated here. And I must keep silence. I cannot
punish the traitors, for that would consign the majority of my generals to
the ax of the executioner. But I will give them all a warning example. I
will intimidate them, let them have an intimation that I am aware of their
treacherous plans."
He sank down into the armchair which stood before his writing-desk, took a
pen-knife and began to mark and cut the arm of the chair with as much zeal
and perseverance as if the object in view was to accomplish some useful and
urgent task. Then, when the floor was covered with tiny chips, and the
black, delicately carved wood of the old-fashioned armchair was marked
with white streaks and spots, the emperor hurled the knife down and rose
hastily from his seat.
"This Colonel Oudet must die," he said, each word falling slowly and
impressively from his lips. "I cannot crush all the limbs, but I will make
the head fall, and that will paralyze them. Yes, this Colonel Oudet must
die!"
Then, as if the sentence of death which he had just uttered had relieved
his soul of an oppressive burden, and lightened his heart, the gloomy
expression vanished from his face, which was now almost brightened by a ray
of joy.
Seizing the silver hand-bell, he rang it violently twice. Instantly the
door leading into his sleeping-room opened and Roustan, gliding in, stood
humbly and silently awaiting the emperor's orders.
Napoleon, with a slight nod, beckoned to him to approach, and when
Roustan, like a tiger-cat, noiselessly reached his side with two swift
bounds, the emperor gazed with a long, searching look into the crafty,
smiling face of his Mameluke.
"So you listened to the conversation between the generals?" asked the
emperor.
"I don't know, sire," said Roustan, shaking his head eagerly. "I probably
did not understand everything, for they spoke in low tones, and sometimes I
lost the connection. But I heard them talking about my illustrious emperor
and master, so, as your majesty meanwhile had awaked, I thought it
advisable to inform you that the generals were having a conversation in the
drawing-room, because your majesty might perhaps desire to take part in
it."
"You did right, Roustan," said the emperor, with the pleasant smile that
won every heart; "yes, you did right, and I will reward you for it. You can
go to Bourrienne and have him pay you a hundred gold pieces."
"Oh, sire," cried Roustan, "then I shall be very happy, for I shall have a
hundred portraits of my worshiped emperor."
"Which you will doubtless scatter to the four winds quickly enough, you
spendthrift," exclaimed Napoleon. "But listen, you rogue: besides my
hundred gold portraits, I'll give you a bit of advice which is worth more
than the gold coins. Forget everything that you have heard to-day, beware
of treasuring in your memory even a single word of the generals, or
recollecting that you have called my attention to it."
"Sire," replied Roustan, with an expression of astonishment, "Sire, I
really do not know what your majesty is talking about, and what I could
have said or heard. I only know that my gracious emperor and master has
given me a hundred gold napoleons, and present happiness has so overpowered
me, so bewildered my senses that I have lost my memory."
The emperor laughed, and as a special proof of his favor pinched the
Mameluke's ear so hard that the latter with difficulty concealed his
suffering under a smile of delight.