JUNOT, THE DUKE D'ABRANTES.
While the faithful were rallying around Napoleon to render assistance to
the hero in his hour of peril--while even his brother Louis, forgetting
the mortifications and injuries he had sustained at the emperor's hands,
hastened to his side, there was one of the most devoted kept away from
him by fate--one upon whom the emperor could otherwise have depended in
life and death.
This one was his friend and comrade-in-arms, Junot, who, descended from
an humble family, had by his merit and heroism elevated himself to the
rank of a Duke d'Abrantes. He alone failed to respond when the ominous
roll of the war-drum recalled all Napoleon's generals to Paris. But it
was not his will, but fate, that kept him away.
Junot--the hero of so many battles, the chevalier without fear and
without reproach, the former governor of Madrid, the present governor of
Istria and Illyria--Junot was suffering from a visitation of the most
fearful of all diseases--his brain was affected! The scars that covered
his head and forehead, and testified so eloquently to his gallantry,
announced at the same time the source of his disease. His head, furrowed
by sabre-strokes, was outwardly healed, but the wounds had affected
his brain.
The hero of so many battles was transported into a madman. And yet,
this madman was still the all-powerful, despotic ruler of Istria and
Illyria. Napoleon, in appointing him governor of these provinces, had
invested him with truly royal authority. Knowing the noble disposition,
fidelity, and devotion of his brother-in-arms, he had conferred upon him
sovereign power to rule in his stead. There was, therefore, no one who
could take the sceptre from his hand, and depose him from his high
position. Napoleon had placed this sceptre in his hand, and he alone
could demand it of him. Even the Viceroy of Italy--to whom the Chambers
of Istria appealed for help in their anxiety--even Eugene, could afford
them no relief. He could only say to them: "Send a courier to the
emperor, and await his reply."
But at that time it was not so easy a matter to send couriers a distance
of a thousand miles; then there were no railroads, no telegraphs. The
Illyrians immediately sent a courier to the emperor, with an entreaty
for their relief, but the Russian proverb, "Heaven is high, and the
emperor distant," applied to them also! Weeks must elapse before the
courier could return with the emperor's reply; until then, there was no
relief; and until then, there was no authority to obey but the Duke
d'Abrantes, the poor madman!
No other authority, no institution, had the right to place itself in his
stead, or to assume his prerogatives for an instant even, without
violating the seal of sovereignty that Napoleon had impressed on the
brow of his governor!
Napoleon, whose crown was already trembling on his head, who was
already so near his own fall, still possessed such gigantic power that
its reflection sufficed to protect, at a distance of a thousand miles
from the boundaries of France, the inviolability of a man who had lost
his reason, and no longer had the power of reflection and volition.
How handsome, how amiable, how chivalrous, had Junot been in his earlier
days! How well he had known how to charm beautiful women in the
drawing-rooms, soldiers on the battle-field, and knights at the tourney!
In all knightly accomplishments he was the master--always and everywhere
the undisputed victor and hero. These accomplishments had won the heart
of Mademoiselle de Premont. The daughter of the proud baroness of the
Faubourg St. Germain had joyfully determined, in spite of her mother's
dismay, to become the wife of the soldier of the republic, of Napoleon's
comrade-in-arms. Although Junot had no possession but his pay, and no
nobility but his sword and his renown, this nevertheless sufficed to win
him the favor of the daughter of this aristocratic mother--of the
daughter who was yet so proud of being the last descendant of the
Comneni. Napoleon, who loved to see matrimonial alliances consummated
between his generals and his nobility and the old legitimist nobility of
France, rewarded the daughter of the Faubourg St. Germain richly for the
sacrifice she had made for his comrade-in-arms, in giving up her
illustrious name, and her coat-of-arms, to become the wife of a general
without ancestors and without fortune. He made his friend a duke, and
the Duchess d'Abrantes had no longer cause to be ashamed of her title;
the descendant of the Comneni could content herself with the homage done
her as the wife of the governor of Lisbon, contented with the laurels
that adorned her husband's brow--laurels to which he added a new branch,
but also new wounds, on every battle-field.
The consequences of these wounds had veiled the hero's laurels with
mourning-crape, and destroyed the domestic happiness of the poor duchess
forever. She had first discovered her husband's sad condition, but she
had known how to keep it a secret from the rest of the world. She had,
however, refused to accompany the duke to Illyria, and had remained in
Paris, still hoping that the change of climate and associations might
restore him to health.
But her hopes were not to be realized. The attacks of madness, that had
hitherto occurred at long intervals only, now became more frequent, and
were soon no longer a secret. All Illyria knew that its governor was a
madman, and yet no one dared to oppose his will, or to refuse to obey
his commands; all still bowed to his will, in humility and silent
submissiveness, hopefully awaiting the return of the courier who had
been dispatched to Napoleon at Paris.
"But heaven is high, and the emperor distant!" And much evil could
happen, and did happen, before the courier returned to Trieste, where
Junot resided. The poor duke's condition grew worse daily; his attacks
of madness became more frequent and more dangerous, and broke out on the
slightest provocation.
On one occasion a nightingale, singing in the bushes beneath his window,
had disturbed his rest; on the following morning he caused the general
alarm to be sounded, and two battalions of Croats to be drawn up in the
park, to begin a campaign against the poor nightingale, who had dared to
disturb his repose.
On another occasion, Junot fancied he had discovered a grand conspiracy
of all the sheep of Illyria; against this conspiracy he brought the
vigilance of the police, all the means of the administration, and the
whole severity of the law, into requisition for its suppression.
At another time, he suddenly became desperately enamoured of a beautiful
Greek girl, who belonged to his household. Upon her refusal to meet his
advances favorably, a passionate desperation took possession of Junot,
and he determined to set fire to his palace, and perish with his love in
the flames. Fortunately, his purpose was discovered, and the fire he had
kindled stifled at once.
He would suddenly be overcome with a passionate distaste for the
grandeur and splendor that surrounded him, and long to lay aside his
brilliant position, and fly to the retirement of an humble and
obscure life.
It was his dearest wish to become a peasant, and be able to live in a
hut; and, as there was no one who had the right to divest him of his
high dignities and grant his desire, he formed the resolution to divest
himself of this oppressive grandeur, by the exercise of his own fulness
of power, and to withdraw himself from the annoyances imposed upon him
by his high position.
Under the pretence of visiting the provinces, he left Trieste, to lead
for a few weeks an entirely new life--a life that seemed, for a brief
period, to soothe his excited mind. He arrived, almost incognito, in the
little city of Gorizia, and demanded to be conducted to the most
unpretending establishment to which humble and honest laborers were in
the habit of resorting for refreshment and relaxation. He was directed
to an establishment called the Ice-house, a place to which poor daily
laborers resorted, to repose after the labors of the day, and refresh
themselves with a glass of beer or wine.
In this Ice-house the governor of Illyria now took up his abode. He
seldom quitted it, either by day or night; and here, like
Haroun-al-Raschid, he took part in the harmless merriment of happy and
contented poverty. And here this poor man was to find a last delight, a
last consolation; here he was to find a last friend.
This last friend of the Duke d'Abrantes--this Pylades of the poor
Orestes--was--a madman!--a poor simpleton, of good family, who was so
good-humored and harmless that he was allowed to go at large, and free
scope given to his innocent freaks. He, however, possessed a kind of
droll, pointed wit, which he sometimes brought to bear most effectively,
sparing neither rank nor position. The half-biting, half-droll remarks
of this Diogenes of Istria was all that now afforded enjoyment to the
broken-down old hero. It was with intense delight that he heard the
social grandeur and distinctions that had cost him so dear made
ridiculous by this half-witted fellow, whose peculiar forte it was to
jeer at the pomp that surrounded the governor, and imitate French
elegance in a highly-burlesque manner; and when he did this, his poor
princely friend's delight knew no bounds.
On one occasion, after the poor fellow had been entertaining him in this
manner, the Duke d'Abrantes threw himself, in his enthusiasm, in his
friend's arms, and invested him with the insignia of the Legion of
Honor, by hanging around his neck the grand-cross of this order hitherto
worn by himself. The emperor had given Junot authority to distribute
this order to the deserving throughout the provinces of Illyria and
Istria, and the governor himself having invested this mad Diogenes with
the decoration, there was no one who was competent to deprive him of it.
For weeks this mad fool was to be seen in the streets of Gorizia,
parading himself like a peacock, with the grand-cross of the honorable
order of the Emperor Napoleon, and, at the same time, uttering the most
pointed and biting _bon mots_ at the expense of his own decoration. The
duke often accompanied him in his wanderings through the town, sometimes
laughing loudly at the fool's jests, sometimes listening with earnest
attention, as though his utterances were oracles. Thus this strange
couple passed the time, either lounging through the streets together, or
seated side by side on a stone by the way, engaged in curious
reflections on the passers-by, or philosophizing over the emptiness of
all glory and grandeur, and over the littleness and malice of the world,
realizing the heart-rending, impressive scenes between Lear and his
fool, which Shakespeare's genius has depicted.
After weeks of anxious suspense, the imperial message, relieving Junot
of his authority, and placing the Duke of Otranto in his place, at last
arrived. The poor Duke d'Abrantes left Illyria, and returned to France,
where, in the little town of Maitbart, after long and painful struggles,
he ended, in sadness and solitude, a life of renown, heroism, and
irreproachable integrity.