Some time after this military revolution, which created a great stir in
Europe, convulsing the Continent for a time, as a tempest convulses
the ocean--some time after, we say, on the morning of the 30th Nivoise,
better and more clearly known to our readers as the 20th of January,
1800, Roland, in looking over the voluminous correspondence which his
new office entailed upon him, found, among fifty other letters asking
for an audience, the following:
MONSIEUR THE GOVERNOR-I know your loyalty to your word, and you
will see that I rely on it. I wish to speak to you for five
minutes, during which I must remain masked.
I have a request to make to you. This request you will grant or
deny. In either case, as I shall have entered the Palace of the
Luxembourg in the interest o£ the First Consul, Bonaparte, and
the royalist party to which I belong, I shall ask for your word
of honor that I be allowed to leave it as freely as you allow
me to enter.
If to-morrow, at seven in the evening, I see a solitary light
in the window over the clock, I shall know that Colonel Roland
de Montrevel has pledged me his word of honor, and I shall boldly
present myself at the little door of the left wing of the palace,
opening on the garden. I shall strike three blows at intervals,
after the manner of the free-masons.
In order that you may know to whom you engage or refuse your word,
I sign a name which is known to you, that name having been, under
circumstances you have probably not forgotten, pronounced before
you.
MORGAN,
Chief of the Companions of Jehu.
Roland read the letter twice, thought it over for a few moments, then
rose suddenly, and, entering the First Consul’s study, handed it to him
silently. The latter read it without betraying the slightest emotion,
or even surprise; then, with a laconism that was wholly Lacedæmonian, he
said: “Place the light.”
Then he gave the letter back to Roland.
The next evening, at seven o’clock, the light shone in the window,
and at five minutes past the hour, Roland in person was waiting at the
little door of the garden. He had scarcely been there a moment when
three blows were struck on the door after the manner of the free-masons;
first two strokes and then one.
The door was opened immediately. A man wrapped in a cloak was sharply
defined against the grayish atmosphere of the wintry night. As for
Roland, he was completely hidden in shadow. Seeing no one, the man in
the cloak remained motionless for a second.
“Come in,” said Roland.
“Ah! it is you, colonel!”
“How do you know it is I?” asked Roland.
“I recognize your voice.”
“My voice! But during those few moments we were together in the
dining-room at Avignon I did not say a word.”
“Then I must have heard it elsewhere.”
Roland wondered where the Chief of the Companions of Jehu could have
heard his voice, but the other said gayly: “Is the fact that I know your
voice any reason why we should stand at the door?”
“No, indeed,” replied Roland; “take the lapel of my coat and follow me.
I purposely forbade any lights being placed in the stairs and hall which
lead to my room.”
“I am much obliged for the intention. But on your word I would cross the
palace from one end to the other, though it were lighted _à giorno_, as
the Italians say.”
“You have my word,” replied Roland, “so follow me without fear.”
Morgan needed no encouragement; he followed his guide fearlessly. At
the head of the stairs Roland turned down a corridor equally dark, went
twenty steps, opened a door, and entered his own room. Morgan followed
him. The room was lighted by two wax candles only. Once there, Morgan
took off his cloak and laid his pistols on the table.
“What are you doing?” asked Roland.
“Faith! with your permission,” replied Morgan, gayly, “I am making
myself comfortable.”
“But those pistols you have just laid aside--”
“Ah! did you think I brought them for you?”
“For whom then?”
“Why, that damned police! You can readily imagine that I am not disposed
to let citizen Fouché lay hold of me, without burning the mustache of
the first of his minions who lays hands on me.”
“But once here you feel you have nothing to fear?”
“The deuce!” exclaimed the young man; “I have your word.”
“Then why don’t you unmask?”
“Because my face only half belongs to me; the other half belongs to my
companions. Who knows if one of us being recognized might not drag the
others to the guillotine? For of course you know, colonel, we don’t hide
from ourselves that that is the price of our game!”
“Then why risk it?”
“Ah! what a question. Why do you venture on the field of battle, where a
bullet may plow through your breast or a cannon-ball lop off your head?”
“Permit me to say that that is different. On the battlefield I risk an
honorable death.”
“Ah! do you suppose that on the day I get my head cut off by the
revolutionary triangle I shall think myself dishonored? Not the least in
the world. I am a soldier like you, only we can’t all serve our cause in
the same way. Every religion has its heroes and its martyrs; happy the
heroes in this world, and happy the martyrs in the next.”
The young man uttered these words with a conviction which moved, or
rather astonished, Roland.
“But,” continued Morgan, abandoning his enthusiasm to revert to the
gayety which seemed the distinctive trait of his character, “I did not
come here to talk political philosophy. I came to ask you to let me
speak to the First Consul.”
“What! speak to the First Consul?” exclaimed Roland.
“Of course. Read my letter over; did I not tell you that I had a request
to make?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that request is to let me speak to General Bonaparte.”
“But permit me to say that as I did not expect that request--”
“It surprises you; makes you uneasy even. My dear colonel, if you don’t
believe my word, you can search me from head to foot, and you will find
that those pistols are my only weapons. And I haven’t even got them,
since there they are on your table. Better still, take one in each hand,
post yourself between the First Consul and me, and blowout my brains at
the first suspicious move I make. Will that suit you?”
“But will you assure me, if I disturb the First Consul and ask him to
see you, that your communication is worth the trouble?”
“Oh! I’ll answer for that,” said Morgan. Then, in his joyous tones,
he added: “I am for the moment the ambassador of a crowned, or rather
discrowned, head, which makes it no less reverenced by noble hearts.
Moreover, Monsieur Roland, I shall take up very little of your general’s
time; the moment the conversation seems too long, he can dismiss me. And
I assure you he will not have to say the word twice.”
Roland was silent and thoughtful for a moment.
“And it is to the First Consul only that you can make this
communication?”
“To the First Consul only, as he alone can answer me.”
“Very well. Wait until I take his orders.”
Roland made a step toward the general’s room; then he paused and cast an
uneasy look at a mass of papers piled on his table. Morgan intercepted
this look.
“What!” he said, “you are afraid I shall read those papers in your
absence? If you only knew how I detest reading! If my death-warrant lay
on that table, I wouldn’t take the trouble to read it. I should consider
that the clerk’s business. And every one to his own task. Monsieur
Roland, my feet are cold, and I will sit here in your easy-chair and
warm them. I shall not stir till you return.”
“Very good, monsieur,” said Roland, and he went to the First Consul.
Bonaparte was talking with General Hedouville, commanding the troops of
the Vendée. Hearing the door open, he turned impatiently.
“I told Bourrienne I would not see any one.”
“So he told me as I came in, but I told him that I was not any one.”
“True. What do you want? Be quick.”
“He is in my room.”
“Who?”
“The man of Avignon.”
“Ah, ha! And what does he want?”
“To see you.”
“To see me?”
“Yes, you, general. Does that surprise you?”
“No. But what can he want to say to me?”
“He refused obstinately to tell me. But I dare answer for it that he is
neither importunate nor a fool.”
“No, but he may be an assassin.”
Roland shook his head.
“Of course, since you introduce him--”
“Moreover, he is willing that I should be present at the conference and
stand between you and him.”
Bonaparte reflected an instant.
“Bring him in,” he said.
“You know, general, that except me--”
“Yes, General Hedouville will be so kind as to wait a second. Our
conversation is of a nature that is not exhausted in one interview. Go,
Roland.”
Roland left the room, crossed Bourrienne’s office, reentered his own
room, and found Morgan, as he had said, warming his feet.
“Come, the First Consul is waiting for you,” said the young man.
Morgan rose and followed Roland. When they entered Bonaparte’s study the
latter was alone. He cast a rapid glance on the chief of the Companions
of Jehu, and felt no doubt that he was the same man he had seen at
Avignon.
Morgan had paused a few steps from the door, and was looking curiously
at Bonaparte, convincing himself that he was the man he had seen at the
table d’hôte the day he attempted the perilous restoration of the two
hundred louis stolen by an oversight from Jean Picot.
“Come nearer,” said the First Consul.
Morgan bowed and made three steps forward. Bonaparte partly returned the
bow with a slight motion of the head.
“You told my aide-de-camp, Colonel Roland, that you had a communication
to make me.”
“Yes, citizen First Consul.”
“Does that communication require a private interview?”
“No, citizen First Consul, although it is of such importance--”
“You would prefer to be alone.”
“Beyond doubt. But prudence--”
“The most prudent thing in France, citizen Morgan, is courage.”
“My presence here, general, proves that I agree with you perfectly.”
Bonaparte turned to the young colonel.
“Leave us alone, Roland,” said he.
“But, general--” objected Roland.
Bonaparte went up to him and said in a low voice: “I see what it is. You
are curious to know what this mysterious cavalier of the highroad has to
say to me. Don’t worry; you shall know.”
“That’s not it. But suppose, as you said just now, he is an assassin.”
“Didn’t you declare he was not. Come, don’t be a baby; leave us.”
Roland went out.
“Now that we are alone, sir,” said the First Consul, “speak!”
Morgan, without answering, drew a letter from his pocket and gave it
to the general. Bonaparte examined it. It was addressed to him, and the
seal bore the three fleurs-de-lis of France.
“Oh!” he said, “what is this, sir?”
“Read it, citizen First Consul.”
Bonaparte opened the letter and looked at the signature: “Louis,” he
said.
“Louis,” repeated Morgan.
“What Louis?”
“Louis de Bourbon, I presume.”
“Monsieur le Comte de Provençe, brother of Louis XVI.”
“Consequently Louis XVIII., since his nephew, the Dauphin, is dead.”
Bonaparte looked at the stranger again. It was evident that Morgan was a
pseudonym, assumed to hide his real name. Then, turning his eyes on the
letter, he read:
January 3, 1800.
Whatever may be their apparent conduct, monsieur, men like you
never inspire distrust. You have accepted an exalted post, and
I thank you for so doing. You know, better than others, that
force and power are needed to make the happiness of a great
nation. Save France from her own madness, and you will fulfil
the desire of my heart; restore her king, and future generations
will bless your memory. If you doubt my gratitude, choose your
own place, determine the future of your friends. As for my
principles, I am a Frenchman, clement by nature, still more so
by judgment. No! the conqueror of Lodi, Castiglione and Arcola,
the conqueror of Italy and Egypt, cannot prefer an empty
celebrity to fame. Lose no more precious time. We can secure
the glory of France. I say we, because I have need of Bonaparte
for that which he cannot achieve without me. General, the eyes
of Europe are upon you, glory awaits you, and I am eager to
restore my people to happiness.
LOUIS.
Bonaparte turned to the young man, who stood erect, motionless and
silent as a statue.
“Do you know the contents of this letter?” he asked.
The young man bowed. “Yes, citizen First Consul.”
“It was sealed, however.”
“It was sent unsealed under cover to the person who intrusted it to
me. And before doing so he made me read it, that I might know its full
importance.”
“Can I know the name of the person who intrusted it to you?”
“Georges Cadoudal.”
Bonaparte started slightly.
“Do you know Georges Cadoudal?” he asked.
“He is my friend.”
“Why did he intrust it to you rather than to another?”
“Because he knew that in telling me to deliver the letter to you with my
own hand it would be done.”
“You have certainly kept your promise, sir.”
“Not altogether yet, citizen First Consul.”
“How do you mean? Haven’t you delivered it to me?”
“Yes, but I promised to bring back an answer.”
“But if I tell you I will not give one.”
“You will have answered; not precisely as I could have wished, but it
will be an answer.”
Bonaparte reflected for a few moments. Then shaking his shoulders to rid
himself of his thoughts, he said: “They are fools.”
“Who, citizen?” asked Morgan.
“Those who write me such letters--fools, arch fools. Do they take me for
a man who patterns his conduct by the past? Play Monk! What good would
it do? Bring back another Charles II.? No, faith, it is not worth while.
When a man has Toulon, the 13th Vendemiaire, Lodi, Castiglione, Arcola,
Rivoli and the Pyramids behind him, he’s no Monk. He has the right to
aspire to more than a duchy of Albemarle, and the command by land and
sea of the forces of his Majesty King Louis XVIII.”
“For that reason you are asked to make your own conditions, citizen
First Consul.”
Bonaparte started at the sound of that voice as if he had forgotten that
any one was present.
“Not counting,” he went on, “that it is a ruined family, a dead branch
of a rotten trunk. The Bourbons have so intermarried with one another
that the race is depraved; Louis XIV. exhausted all its sap, all its
vigor.--You know history, sir?” asked Bonaparte, turning to the young
man.
“Yes, general,” he replied; “at least as well as a _ci-devant_ can know
it.”
“Well, you must have observed in history, especially in that of France,
that each race has its point of departure, its culmination, and its
decadence. Look at the direct line of the Capets; starting from Hugues
Capet, they attained their highest grandeur in Philippe Auguste and
Louis XI., and fell with Philippe V. and Charles IV. Take the Valois;
starting with Philippe VI., they culminated in François I. and fell with
Charles IX. and Henry III. See the Bourbons; starting with Henry IV.,
they have their culminating point in Louis XIV. and fall with Louis
XV. and Louis XVI.--only they fall lower than the others; lower in
debauchery with Louis XV., lower in misfortune with Louis XVI. You talk
to me of the Stuarts, and show me the example of Monk. Will you tell me
who succeeded Charles II.? James II. And who to James II.? William of
Orange, a usurper. Would it not have been better, I ask you, if Monk
had put the crown on his own head? Well, if I was fool enough to restore
Louis XVIII. to the throne, like Charles II. he would have no children,
and, like James II., his brother Charles X. would succeed him, and like
him would be driven out by some William of Orange. No, no! God has not
put the destiny of this great and glorious country we call France into
my hands that I should cast it back to those who have gambled with it
and lost it.”
“Permit me, general, to remark that I did not ask you for all this.”
“But I, I ask you--”
“I think you are doing me the honor to take me for posterity.”
Bonaparte started, turned round, saw to whom he was speaking, and was
silent.
“I only want,” said Morgan, with a dignity which surprised the man whom
he addressed, “a yes or a no.”
“And why do you want that?”
“To know whether we must continue to war against you as an enemy, or
fall at your feet as a savior.”
“War,” said Bonaparte, “war! Madmen, they who war with me! Do they not
see that I am the elect of God?”
“Attila said the same thing.”
“Yes; but he was the elect of destruction; I, of the new era. The grass
withered where he stepped; the harvest will ripen where I pass the plow.
War? Tell me what has become of those who have made it against me? They
lie upon the plains of Piedmont, of Lombardy and Cairo!”
“You forget the Vendée; the Vendée is still afoot.”
“Afoot, yes! but her leaders? Cathelineau, Lescure, La Rochejaquelin,
d’Elbée, Bonchamps, Stoffiet, Charette?”
“You are speaking of men only; the men have been mown down, it is true;
but the principle is still afoot, and for it are fighting Autichamp,
Suzannet, Grignon, Frotté, Châtillon, Cadoudal. The younger may not be
worth the elder, but if they die as their elders died, what more can you
ask?”
“Let them beware! If I determine upon a campaign against the Vendée I
shall send neither Santerre nor Rossignol!”
“The Convention sent Kléber, and the Directory, Hoche!”
“I shall not send; I shall go myself.”
“Nothing worse can happen to them than to be killed like Lescure, or
shot like Charette.”
“It may happen that I pardon them.”
“Cato taught us how to escape the pardon of Cæsar.”
“Take care; you are quoting a Republican!”
“Cato was one of those men whose example can be followed, no matter to
what party they belong.”
“And suppose I were to tell you that I hold the Vendée in the hollow of
my hand?”
“You!”
“And that within three months, she will lay down her arms if I choose?”
The young man shook his head.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I hesitate to believe you.”
“If I affirm to you that what I say is true; if I prove it by telling
you the means, or rather the men, by whom I shall bring this about?”
“If a man like General Bonaparte affirms a thing, I shall believe it;
and if that thing is the pacification of the Vendée, I shall say in my
turn: ‘Beware! Better the Vendée fighting than the Vendée conspiring.
The Vendée fighting means the sword, the Vendée conspiring means the
dagger.’”
“Oh! I know your dagger,” said Bonaparte. “Here it is.”
And he drew from a drawer the dagger he had taken from Roland and laid
it on the table within reach of Morgan’s hand.
“But,” he added, “there is some distance between Bonaparte’s breast and
an assassin’s dagger. Try.”
And he advanced to the young man with a flaming eye.
“I did not come here to assassinate you,” said the young man, coldly.
“Later, if I consider your death indispensable to the cause, I shall do
all in my power, and if I fail it will not be because you are Marius
and I the Cimbrian. Have you anything else to say to me, citizen First
Consul?” concluded the young man, bowing.
“Yes. Tell Cadoudal that when he is ready to fight the enemy, instead
of Frenchmen, I have a colonel’s commission ready signed in my desk for
him.”
“Cadoudal commands, not a regiment, but an army. You were unwilling to
retrograde from Bonaparte to Monk; why should you expect him to descend
from general to colonel? Have you nothing else to say to me, citizen
First Consul?”
“Yes. Have you any way of transmitting my reply to the Comte de
Provençe?”
“You mean King Louis XVIII.?”
“Don’t let us quibble over words. To him who wrote to me.”
“His envoy is now at the camp at Aubiers.”
“Well, I have changed my mind; I shall send him an answer. These
Bourbons are so blind that this one would misinterpret my silence.”
And Bonaparte, sitting down at his desk, wrote the following letter with
a care that showed he wished to make it legible:
I have received your letter, monsieur. I thank you for the good
opinion you express in it of me. You must not wish for your return
to France; it could only be over a hundred thousand dead bodies.
Sacrifice your own interests to the repose and welfare of France.
History will applaud you. I am not insensible to the misfortunes of
your family, and I shall hear with pleasure that you are
surrounded with all that could contribute to the tranquillity of
your retreat. BONAPARTE.
Then, folding and sealing the letter, he directed it to “Monsieur le
Comte de Provençe,” and handed it to Morgan. Then he called Roland, as
if he knew the latter were not far off.
“General?” said the young officer, appearing instantly.
“Conduct this gentleman to the street,” said Bonaparte. “Until then you
are responsible for him.”
Roland bowed in sign of obedience, let the young man, who said not a
word, pass before him, and then followed. But before leaving, Morgan
cast a last glance at Bonaparte.
The latter was still standing, motionless and silent, with folded arms,
his eyes fixed upon the dagger, which occupied his thoughts far more
than he was willing to admit even to himself.
As they crossed Roland’s room, the Chief of the Companions of Jehu
gathered up his cloak and pistols. While he was putting them in his
belt, Roland remarked: “The citizen First Consul seems to have shown you
a dagger which I gave him.”
“Yes, monsieur,” replied Morgan.
“Did you recognize it?”
“Not that one in particular; all our daggers are alike.”
“Well,” said Roland, “I will tell you whence it came.”
“Ah! where was that?”
“From the breast of a friend of mine, where your Companions, possibly
you yourself, thrust it.”
“Possibly,” replied the young man carelessly. “But your friend must have
exposed himself to punishment.”
“My friend wished to see what was happening at night in the Chartreuse.”
“He did wrong.”
“But I did the same wrong the night before, and nothing happened to me.”
“Probably because some talisman protects you.”
“Monsieur, let me tell you something. I am a straight-forward man who
walks by daylight. I have a horror of all that is mysterious.”
“Happy those who can walk the highroads by daylight, Monsieur de
Montrevel!”
“That is why I am going to tell you the oath I made, Monsieur Morgan.
As I drew the dagger you saw from my friend’s breast, as carefully
as possible, that I might not draw his soul with it, I swore that
henceforward it should be war to the death between his assassins and
myself. It was largely to tell you that that I gave you a pledge of
safety.”
“That is an oath I hope to see you forget, Monsieur de Montrevel.”
“It is an oath I shall keep under all circumstances, Monsieur Morgan;
and you would be most kind if you would furnish me with an opportunity
as soon as possible.”
“In what way, sir?”
“Well, for example, by accepting a meeting with me, either in the Bois
de Boulogne or at Vincennes. We don’t need to say that we are fighting
because you or one of your friends stabbed Lord Tanlay. No; we can say
anything you please.” (Roland reflected a moment.) “We can say the duel
is on account of the eclipse that takes place on the 12th of next month.
Does the pretext suit you?”
“The pretext would suit me,” replied Morgan, in a tone of sadness of
which he seemed incapable, “if the duel itself could take place. You
have taken an oath, and you mean to keep it, you say. Well, every
initiate who enters the Company of Jehu swears that he will not expose
in any personal quarrel a life that belongs to the cause and not to
himself.”
“Oh! So that you assassinate, but will not fight.”
“You are mistaken. We sometimes fight.”
“Have the goodness to point out an occasion when I may study that
phenomenon.”
“Easily enough. If you and five or six men, as resolute as yourself,
will take your places in some diligence carrying government money, and
will defend it against our attack, the occasion you seek will come. But,
believe me, do better than that; do not come in our way.”
“Is that a threat, sir?” asked the young man, raising his head.
“No,” replied Morgan, in a gentle, almost supplicating voice, “it is an
entreaty.”
“Is it addressed to me in particular, or would you include others?”
“I make it to you in particular;” and the chief of the Companions of
Jehu dwelt upon the last word.
“Ah!” exclaimed the young man, “then I am so fortunate as to interest
you?”
“As a brother,” replied Morgan, in the same soft, caressing tone.
“Well, well,” said Roland, “this is decidedly a wager.”
Bourrienne entered at that moment.
“Roland,” he said, “the First Consul wants you.”
“Give me time to conduct this gentleman to the street, and I’ll be with
him.”
“Hurry up; you know he doesn’t like to wait.”
“Will you follow me, sir?” Roland said to his mysterious companion.
“I am at your orders, sir.”
“Come, then,” And Roland, taking the same path by which he had brought
Morgan, took him back, not to the door opening on the garden (the garden
was closed), but to that on the street. Once there, he stopped and said:
“Sir, I gave you my word, and I have kept it faithfully, But that there
may be no misunderstanding between us, have the goodness to tell me that
you understand it to have been for this one time and for to-day only.”
“That was how I understood it, sir.”
“You give me back my word then?”
“I should like to keep it, sir; but I recognize that you are free to
take it back.”
“That is all I wish to know. Au revoir! Monsieur Morgan.”
“Permit me not to offer you the same wish, Monsieur de Montrevel.”
The two young men bowed with perfect courtesy, Roland re-entered the
Luxembourg, and Morgan, following the line of shadow projected by the
walls, took one of the little streets to the Place Saint-Sulpice.
It is he whom we are now to follow.