COMMISSIONER KRAUS.
After taking leave of Colonel Mariage, old Baron von Moudenfels passed
through the antechamber, where he found the valet, with slow and weary
steps. Panting and resting on every stair, he descended the staircase,
coughing, and moved slowly past the houses to the nearest carriage, into
which he climbed with difficulty and sank with a groan upon the cushions.
"Where shall I drive, your lordship?" asked the hackman, lifting his whip
to rouse the weary nags from their half slumber.
"Where? I don't know myself, my friend," replied the old man, sighing. "I
only want to ride about a little while to rest my poor old limbs and get
some fresh air. So take me through the busiest streets in Vienna, that I
may see them. I am a stranger who has seen little of your capital, because
his weary limbs will not carry him far. So drive very slowly, at a walk,
that I may see and admire everything--so slowly that if I liked anything
especially, and wanted to get out, I could do so without stopping the
vehicle."
"Then your lordship does not want to drive by the trip, but by the hour?"
"Yes, my friend, by the hour, and here are four florins in prepayment for
two hours. You'll have no occasion to trouble yourself now, but drive as
slowly as possible and your horses will be able to rest. So go on through
the busiest streets, and at a walk."
"Well, that will suit my poor beasts," said the driver, laughing, "they
have already been standing for six hours, and stiff enough from it."
He touched his horses' backs with the are whip, and the animals started.
The carriage now rolled on slowly, like a hearse, at the pace drivers
usually take when they wish to notify pedestrians that they have no
occupant in their vehicles and can receive a passenger. So no one noticed
the slow progress of the carriage; no one in the crowded streets through
which it passed heeded it. Yet many a person might have been interested if
he could have cast a glance within.
Something strange and unusual was certainly occurring inside the hack. No
sooner had it started than Baron von Moudenfels hastily raised both the
side windows and pulled down the little curtains of dark red silk. No
curious eyes could now look in at him, and he could fearlessly devote
himself to his occupations, which he did with perfect composure and
unconcern. First, he drew from the back pocket of his coat a package
wrapped in paper, which he unrolled, placing its contents on the back seat.
These consisted of a wig of short fair hair, a mustache of the same color,
and two little boxes containing red, white, and black paints. Then the
baron took from his breast-pocket another package, which he unwrapped and
produced a mirror, brushes and combs.
After hanging the mirror by a small hook on the cushion of the back seat,
the baron began to make his toilet, that is, to transform himself from an
old man into a young one. First, he removed his powdered wig and exchanged
it for the blonde one, doing it so quickly that the most watchful eye would
have had no time to see the color of his own hair concealed beneath. With
the same speed he fastened over his hitherto beardless lips a pointed
mustache of reddish-fair hair and, after removing from his face the
skillfully painted wrinkles and the powder, he hastened to add red cheeks
to the fair curls on his head, and to tinge the tip of his nose with the
rosy hue which suggests a convivial nature. After this was accomplished, and
the baron had convinced himself by a careful examination in the mirror that
he was transformed into a charming, gay, young fellow, he began a similar
metamorphosis of his costume. Taking the diamond pin from his lace jabot
he hid it under his vest, which he buttoned to the necktie. Then removing
the light silk long-skirted dress-coat, he turned it completely on the
other side and, by taking out some pins which held them, let the tails fall
back. The dress-coat was now changed into an overcoat, a blue cloth
overcoat, whose color harmonized very pleasantly with his fair hair.
Now the metamorphosis was complete, and, from the skill and speed with
which the baron had performed it, one might suppose that he was not
practising such arts of disguise for the first time, but was well-trained
in them. With perfect calmness and deliberation he now put the cast-off
articles into the parcels, hid them in the pockets of his clothes, and,
after unscrewing the gold crutch-handle from his cane and replacing it by
a plain ivory head, he drew up the little curtains and looked out with a
keen, watchful gaze. The carriage was just passing down the crowded and
busy Grabenstrasse moving behind a long row of equipages following a
funeral procession, and the driver was of course compelled to proceed
slowly.
The baron now cautiously opened the carriage door, and as it was just in
the act of turning a corner, he took advantage of the opportunity offered
to spring with a swift leap into the street.
He now hurried rapidly along the opposite side; his bearing was as vigorous
and energetic as it had just been bowed and feeble; and with the wrinkles
and gray hair every trace of age had also vanished he was now a young man,
but the large black eyes, with their bold, fiery gaze, suited the rosy
cheeks and fair hair as little as they had formerly harmonized with the old
man's pallid countenance. But at any rate the present youthfulness was no
disguise, and the swift, vigorous movements were no assumption; that was
evident from the ease and speed with which the baron, after entering one of
the handsomest houses in the Grabenstrasse, ran up the stairs, never
pausing until he had mounted the third flight. Beside the bell of a glass
door, on a shining brass plate, was engraved the name of Count von Kotte.
Baron von Moudenfels pulled this bell so violently that it echoed loudly,
and at the door, which instantly opened, appeared a liveried servant with
an angry face, muttering with tolerable distinctness something about
unseemly noise and rude manners.
"Is Count von Kotte at home?" asked the baron hastily.
"No," muttered the lackey, "the count isn't at home, and it wasn't
necessary to ring so horribly loud to ask the question."
He stepped back and was about to close the door again, but the baron thrust
his foot between it and the frame and seized the man's sleeve.
"My good fellow, I _must_ see the count," he said imperiously.
"But when I tell you that the count isn't--"
He stopped suddenly in the middle of his sentence and cast a stolen glance
at the florin which the baron had pressed into his hand.
"Announce me to Count von Kotte," said the baron pleasantly. "He will
certainly receive me."
"Your name, sir?" asked the lackey respectfully.
"Commissioner Kraus," was the reply. The man withdrew, and, a few minutes
after, returned with a smiling face.
"The count is at home and begs the gentleman to come in," he said, throwing
the door wide open and standing respectfully beside it.
Commissioner Kraus, smiling, stepped past him into the anteroom. A door on
the opposite side opened, and the tall figure of a man attired in the
Austrian uniform appeared.
"Is it really you, my dear Kraus!" he cried. "So you have returned already.
Come, come, I have longed to see you."
Holding out his hand to the visitor, he drew him hastily into the next
room.
"You have longed to see me, my dear count," said Kraus, laughing, "and yet
I was within an ace of being turned from your door. Since when have you
lived in a barricaded apartment, count?"
"Since the spies of the French governor of Vienna, Count Andreossy, have
watched my door and pursued my every step," replied the count, smiling.
"But now speak, my dear Kraus. You went to Totis? You talked with the
Emperor Francis?"
"I went to Totis and talked with the Emperor Francis."
"Good heavens! you say it with such a gloomy, solemn expression. Has the
emperor become irresolute?"
"Yes, that is it. The emperor is surrounded by adherents of the Napoleonic
party; they have succeeded in thrusting back the real patriots, the
Anti-Bonapartists, and would have rendered them wholly inactive had not
the Empress Ludovica tried to support them with all her influence. All is
not yet lost, but unless we soon succeed in making a decisive step, our
foes will completely gain the ear of the emperor, persuade him to accept
the ignoble, humiliating peace which Napoleon offered, and, from his enemy,
become his ally."
"It would be horrible if that could be done," cried the count sadly. "It is
not possible that the Emperor Francis could resolve upon such humiliation."
"They have alarmed the emperor, intimidated him; told him that his crown,
his life, were at stake; that unless he would make himself Napoleon's ally
and accept the proffered peace, the Emperor Napoleon would say of him what
he said of the Bourbons in Spain: 'The Hapsburg dynasty has ceased to
exist.' If something does not now happen, if we do not force a decision,
everything is lost. Austria will conclude a humiliating peace and, instead
of being delivered from the French tyrant's yoke, we shall be obliged to
see Austria sink into a French province, and the Emperor Francis, in spite
of his high-sounding title, become nothing more than the viceroy of the
Emperor Napoleon."
"It must not, it shall not come to that!" exclaimed the count wildly. "We
must risk everything to prevent this. We must stake our blood, our lives,
to save Austria and Germany!"
"Ah, if you speak and think _thus_, count, you are one of us; you will wish
to have a share in our work of liberation."
"Yes, I demand my share, and the greater and more perilous it is, the more
welcome it will be."
"We all risk our lives," said Kraus solemnly, "and if we are defeated, we
shall all be lost; for the Emperor Francis will not protect us--he will
abandon us to Napoleon's wrath, in order to prove that he had no part in
our plans. With this conviction, we must begin our work and arrange our
affairs as if we were going into a battle."
"My affairs are arranged, and I am ready," replied the count solemnly.
"Hush! listen! All our friends, like you, are ready, and the conspiracy
winds like a great chain through all the countries of Europe. Every one who
loves his native land, and therefore hates Napoleon, has laid his brave
hand on this chain and will add the link of his manly strength. In France,
in England, in Spain and Italy, in Sweden, in Russia and Turkey,
everywhere, our friends are waiting for the decisive act which must take
place here. In England they have bought arms and ammunition and sent them
to Heligoland Thence members of our league have brought them here and
distributed them among the brothers. In the harbor of Genoa a Swedish and
an English ship lie ready for our service; the English one to aid our
escape and convey us to England, if our enterprise fails; the Swedish one
to serve as a transport vessel, if we succeed. Everywhere our friends are
working, everywhere they are preparing the insurrection; Tyrol is like a
well-filled bomb which needs only the application of a spark to burst and
scatter confusion around it, and in the minds of individuals patriotism
has increased to a fanaticism which deems even murder a justifiable means
to rid Europe from the shameful yoke of the tyrant. If we cannot execute
our plan, if we do not succeed in abducting Napoleon, perhaps the dagger of
an assassin will he raised against him--an assassin who does not regard his
deed as a crime, but as a sacred duty."
"And why are we content with an abduction?" asked the count fiercely. "Why
should not the blood of the man who has shed so many torrents of blood, be
shed also?"
"Because that would be too light a punishment," said Kraus, with an
expression of gloomy hate. "Because it would be an atonement for all his
crimes, if he fell beneath the daggers of murderers. Such daggers rendered
the tyrant Julius Cæsar a hero, a martyr, and they would also transform
Napoleon into a demi-god. No, we will not grant him such a triumph, such a
glorious end--we will not allow him a speedy death. He shall ignominiously
disappear; he shall die slowly on some barren island in the ocean; die amid
the tortures of solitude, of weariness, of powerless rage. This must be the
vengeance of Europe; this must be the end of the vampire who has drunk her
heart's blood."
"You are right? it shall, it must be so," cried the count, with sparkling
eyes. "Now tell me, what have _I_ to do? What part is assigned to _me_?"
"You will go to Genoa, count. Here is a letter from General Nugent to the
captain of the Swedish ship Proserpina, now lying in the harbor."
"But it is not sealed?" asked the count, taking the paper offered.
"Open it, and you will find that it does not contain a single word. I
received it so from our messenger, who brought it directly from Count
Nugent in Heligoland to me. It is your letter of recommendation, that is
all! Written words might compromise, spoken ones die away upon the wind. If
you deliver this, addressed in General Nugent's hand, to the captain of the
Proserpina, he will recognize you as the right messenger, and you will then
tell him verbally what you have to say."
"What shall I tell him?"
"Tell him to take in his freight, have his ballast on board, and keep
everything in readiness for departure. From the day that you reach him the
Proserpina must be ready for sea, and a boat must lie in the harbor night
and day to receive the members of our league who will come if the plan
succeeds."
"But I hope this is not all that I have to do? I shall not be denied a more
active part in the great cause?"
"If you wish, no! One of us will accompany Bonaparte to Genoa as his
jailer. You can relieve him there, and attend him to his prison."
"I will do so. But where will the prison be?"
"You will put him on some barren island in the ocean, which will serve as
his dungeon. Then you will return. But you must name the place to which you
conveyed him to no one except the heads of the society: that is, to General
Nugent and myself. We will guard it as the most sacred secret of our lives,
that no one may learn it--no one can make the attempt to rescue him."
"I thank you," cried the count joyously. "You assign me an honorable task,
which proves that the heads of the society trust me. What else have I to
do? Will not a meeting of the conspirators take place? Will you not summon
one?"
"No, for I shall go at once to Totis to make the most necessary additional
arrangements with General Bubna, and through him with the Empress Ludovica,
that, if the plot succeeds, the advantage will be ours and cannot be
claimed by the French party. But you, count, must manage to summon such an
assembly of our friends in some unsuspected place. I learn that Baroness de
Simonie is to give an entertainment to which, without knowing it, she has
invited a number of our friends. You will recognize them by the black
enamel ring which every member of our band must wear upon the little finger
of his left hand. You will name to each a place of meeting.
"Oh, I already know one," cried the count, "it is--"
"Mention no names," Kraus interrupted quickly. "I shall not be present, so
it is not necessary for me to know. Every secret is imperiled by needless
communication, and we must compromise no one without cause. Here, count,
are some necessary papers in which you will find further instructions. Make
your preparations accordingly, and when you have read them and informed the
persons concerned, burn them."
"But you tell me nothing about the principal matter," said the count. "Who
will accomplish the actual deed? Who will have the heroic daring to take
Napoleon captive?"
"Many will be active in that, count. The names are not to be mentioned, but
if you lay stress upon it, I will tell you that of the person who has
undertaken to lie in ambush for Napoleon, gag him, and carry him away. It
is Baron von Moudenfels."
"Von Moudenfels? I don't know him, but I have heard of him. Was it not
Baron von Moudenfels who arranged the secret connection with the
conspirators in the French army, and negotiated with Oudet?"
"Yes, the same man. He is a great patriot and a daring fellow. He hates
Napoleon, and if he once has him in his grasp, he will die rather than
suffer him to escape, though Napoleon should offer a kingdom as a ransom.
Now farewell, count, and may God grant that we see each other again
successful! May the guardian angel of our native land protect us in the
perils which we must bravely meet."
"So be it," said the count, cordially pressing in his own Kraus' extended
hand. "Go to Totis: I will go to Genoa, to await my prisoner there."
With the same hasty steps as he had come, Commissioner Kraus again hastened
down the steps, and once more plunged into the tumult of the street. After
a short walk, he again entered a house and ascended the stairs to a door in
the fourth story beside which, in a rush-bottomed chair, sat a servant,
with his head bowed on his breast, sleeping peacefully.
Baron von Moudenfels or Commissioner Kraus tapped the slumberer lightly on
the shoulder.
"Wake up and open the door, Peter!" he said.
The man started up and stared at the person standing before him with
dilated eyes.
"Who are you, sir, and what do you want of me?" he exclaimed sulkily.
"Then you don't know me?" asked Kraus, smiling. "Must I tell you that I am
your master?"
"Herr Baron! Is it you? Is it possible that it's you; that anybody can
disguise himself so--and--"
"Hush! you know that you are not to wonder at anything, and must always be
prepared to see me in any disguise. True, I should have expected that you
would recognize your master's voice."
"I beg your pardon, sir; I was so very sound asleep. I didn't sleep all
night because I was expecting you, and I've been on the watch all day."
"Have many spies been here?" asked the baron as, followed by his servant,
he entered his sitting-room.
"Yes, sir, they fairly besieged the door of the house and patrolled the
opposite side of the street all day long. Three times, too, gentlemen
called to ask for you. They said that they were visitors, but I think they
were only spies who wanted to find out whether you were at home."
"Well, now they can come and assure themselves that I'm here," replied his
master, stretching himself comfortably upon the sofa. "True, it won't last
long--we start in an hour. Order post-horses, Peter, two post-horses and a
light carriage, and pack the baggage."
"Yes, sir!" sighed Peter. "What clothes will you take? Do we travel this
time again as Baron von Moudenfels, and must I pack the old gentleman's
baggage as I did for the journey to Frankfort?"
"No, not as Baron von Moudenfels. This time I shall go in my own person and
under my own name. We shall go to Totis to the camp of his majesty the
emperor. So take the court dress and everything necessary for a gentleman.
Thank heaven, I shall be rid of the tiresome wig for a few days."
Removing the blonde wig he passed his hand through the black locks which
appeared under it.
"Hurry, Peter, order post-horses and pack our clothing; we must start in an
hour."