BONAPARTE GIVES ENGLAND A RIVAL
"Great let me call him, for he conquered me."
The next morning was Easter, and, dressed in a new suit of
puce-colored ferrandine, with fresh ruffles of finest lace, and a new
plume in my hat, I walked decorously beside my aunt through the
thronged streets, every one dressed in his best and every one going
the same way--to the Church of the Madeleine, to see the First Consul
attend service. The sun was shining, birds were singing, the air was
soft and warm and filled with the mingled perfume of flowers and
incense, borne out through the open doors of all the churches.
The world was happy, and so was I. I was greatly excited, too, for I
was to behold, for the first time, the man who held in his hand the
destinies of nations, and before whose terrible word even our own
proud republic trembled.
I had been three weeks in Paris and had not seen him. It seemed to be
my ill fortune never to be on the streets when he made one of his
dashing progresses through them, and though there had been several
levees my wardrobe had not been in condition to attend them. At
least, so my aunt thought. I think I would have been willing to don
once more the old plum-colored velvets for the sake of seeing the
great Bonaparte, but Madame Marbois thought otherwise.
"Nobody is such a stickler for forms and ceremonies, or such a lover
of magnificence, as the First Consul," said she, "and if you want to
make a good impression upon him, or do credit to your family at home
and to your uncle and to me, you must wait for your new costumes."
So she had me to the tailor's, and more suits were ordered than I
thought I could wear in a lifetime. When they came home and my man
Cæsar (my own colored boy whom I had brought with me from home) had
laid them all out for me in my room, I thought them well worth waiting
for. There were suits for church and suits for dinner, suits for
riding and for walking, and, most resplendent of all, two court
costumes. One especially of white satin with much gold lace and
bullion quite took my breath away. Now I have always had a weakness
for fine clothes that I secretly deprecated, for I feared it was a
womanish weakness quite unbefitting a soldier of fortune, which was
the career I had laid out for myself and was quite determined upon.
Yet I have never found that my liking for fine clothes has made me
less ready to draw my sword to help the innocent or weak, and so I
hope it may not be a sign in me of any lack of true manliness.
Be this as it may, I was walking joyously beside my aunt that
beautiful Easter morning, and part of the joy in my heart was for the
beautiful puce-colored ferrandine that sat so well and had an air of
distinction I was sure no other clothes of mine had ever had, for
these were made in Paris.
I have no very distinct recollection of the services; indeed, I hardly
paid enough attention to them to follow them decorously, for I was
consumed with an eager desire for but one event--the entrance of the
First Consul.
A subdued murmur (almost, it seemed to me, like suppressed "Vive le
rois") announced to me that he was just entering the door, and as I
sat by the aisle down which he was coming, and far to the front, by
turning in my seat and stretching my neck shamelessly I had time to
see him well.
Could this little fellow, who might easily have stood under my arm
stretched level with my shoulder, could he be the hero of Marengo! the
Dictator of France who held all Europe trembling in his grasp! I think
that I had heretofore had an unconscious feeling that greatness of
stature meant greatness of heart and mind and courage, and I had
gloried in my inches. Now I was almost ashamed of them, for this
little man coming rapidly down the aisle with a firm, quick step
seemed to breathe power from the chiseled curve of the nostril, from
the haughty curl of the beautiful lips, but most of all from the
imperial flash of the dark eyes under level brows. If his face had not
been so full of power, yes, and of arrogance, it would have been
almost too beautiful for a man's face, framed in silky brown hair
thinning at the temples, but curling in one dark lock above the broad
white brow.
But if it humbled me to see so much greatness in such small stature,
it comforted me not a little to observe that the great man was no
despiser of dress. He might have been molded into his small-clothes
and waistcoat of white doeskin, so exactly did they fit every line and
curve of his perfect figure. His dark-blue military coat of finest
cloth was set off by heavy epaulets of gold and by a broad azure
ribbon crossing his breast and bearing the jeweled insignia of the
Legion of Honor. The crimson sword-sash which bore his sword sheathed
in a scabbard of gold flashing with jewels, completed in his own dress
the tricolor of France. He wore high military boots, I think to carry
out the military effect of his epaulets and sword, for it was in the
character of soldier, the hero of many battles, the winner of glory
for France, that the people idolized him.
To the right and the left, his eagle glance took in the whole great
congregation, and as he passed it fell on me. His glances were never
idle ones; I knew he had seen me, and my pulses quivered and fluttered
like a young maiden's. From that moment I was as much his slave as any
soldier of La Vendée, and had he not himself disillusioned me most
bitterly, I should still have been regarding him as the hero of my
dreams, _sans peur et sans reproche_, the greatest man and greatest
soldier of all time. I still believe the latter title belongs to him,
but not the first, for a great man must be a good man too, like our
Washington, and that Bonaparte was not.
It is no wonder, then, that I was quite beside myself with excitement
when at déjeuner my uncle said to me:
"Would you like to ride out to St. Cloud with me this afternoon? The
First Consul has summoned me to a conference with him, if I mistake
not, on the subject you heard discussed yesterday."
"Oh, thank you, sir. And shall I be present at the conference?" I
spoke quickly and foolishly, for I was greatly excited.
My uncle laughed.
"Well, hardly, my boy, unless you find a way, as you did yesterday, of
compelling the First Consul to invite you to be present."
I liked not to be laughed at, but I knew it was but my uncle's teasing
fashion, and all the way out through the beautiful Boulogne woods, the
birds singing, the sun shining, the soft spring airs blowing, the
alders and willows pale pink and yellow in the distance, the great
buds of the horse-chestnuts just bursting into leaf and everywhere the
vivid green of the fresh turf; my heart beating high with happy
excitement to be in beautiful Paris and on my way to historic St.
Cloud, where dwelt the most wonderful man of the world; and Fatima
prancing and curveting under me, her dainty hoofs scarce touching the
earth as she danced along the green allées of St. Cloud's beautiful
park, sharing my happy excitement (though only, I suppose, for a
horse's natural joy in trees and grass and sunshine)--all that swift
and beautiful ride, galloping beside my uncle's coach, his words rang
in my ears, and I longed with all my heart to be present at that
conference: not so much to hear what was said as to see the great
Bonaparte saying it.
I parted from my uncle at one of the great fountains, he riding up in
his coach to the palace doors, and Fatima and I starting off on an
exploring tour around the park. He would not hear to my waiting for
him, for he said he might be detained for hours, and indeed it was
possible the Consul would keep him all night at St. Cloud, as
sometimes happened, to call upon at any hour of the night when some
new suggestion occurred to him.
Riding fast, as was my custom when alone with Fatima, it did not take
us long to exhaust the beauties of the park, and my eyes began to turn
longingly toward the palace. Somewhere within its stately walls I
supposed the conference was going on. Verily, there were some
compensations in diplomacy when it gave a man like my uncle a chance
to hold close converse with a man like the First Consul. (And in that
I do not intend to speak slightingly of my Uncle François, for he was
ever in my regard the most admirable of men. Only, it seemed to me
then that to be able to talk familiarly with the great Bonaparte was a
privilege above the deserts of ordinary mortals.)
I intended to remain at St. Cloud until toward evening, for if the
conference should prove short I might still have the pleasure of my
uncle's company on the homeward trip. But time began to hang heavily
on my hands, and it occurred to me that I would ask the sentry, whom I
had seen from a distance walking up and down in front of the main
entrance, whether it were possible to gain admission to the palace. I
thought it probable that it was not open to visitors, since the First
Consul was occupying it, but it would do no harm to find out, and if
by chance I should be admitted, I would at least have the pleasure of
wandering through the rooms where he dwelt.
It was necessary first to dispose of Fatima, and a thicket of
evergreen at one side of the palace caught my eye as affording a
grateful shade from the warm afternoon sun (which so early in the
season could be found only under evergreens) and a hiding-place from
any prowling thief who might want to steal her, or from any
troublesome guard who might come upon her and carry her off to the
Consul's stables.
So into the thicket I rode, following a winding path that led toward
the upper end near the palace, and at the very upper edge I found just
what I wanted--a clump of bushes so thick set that they formed an
almost impenetrable screen. They were lower than the other
evergreens--not much higher than my horse's ears, but that was high
enough. Into the midst of this clump I rode Fatima and dismounted.
"Stand here, Sweetheart," I said softly, "and budge not a step for any
man but your master."
She rubbed her nose against my shoulder in token that she understood,
and I whispered again in her ear:
"Not a whinny, not a sound, my Beauty," and left her, feeling sure no
man could steal her and no guard could lead her away by guile or
force, nor would she betray her presence there by any noise.
As I left the evergreens, intending to go around to the front of the
building and speak to the sentry, I saw, coming down the path toward
me, a young and pretty woman, who, I recognized by her dress, must be
in service at the palace.
"I will inquire from her," I said to myself promptly, "for she will
know as well as the sentry whether there is any admission, and she
will no doubt have a much pleasanter way of saying either yes or no."
So, as she was about to pass me with a little curtsy and a pretty
smile, I stopped her.
"Mademoiselle," I said, and doffed my hat, "is it permitted to see the
palace to-day?"
"No, Monsieur," she answered, "unless one is invited or has business
of importance with the First Consul."
Now I have ever had great faith in woman's wit, and especially a
Frenchwoman's, and it suddenly struck me if this one should prove as
quick-witted as most of her kind, she would know how to secure my
admission into the palace; and if she should prove as kindly disposed
as I believed the sight of gold and a pleasant word might make her,
then was my success assured.
"Mademoiselle," I said, and my manner was as deferential as it might
have been to her mistress. "I am not invited, and I have no business
of importance with the First Consul; but I am from America, and it
would please me greatly to see the rooms where the famous general
lives. Cannot Mademoiselle think of a way?" and I slipped into her
hand a louis d'or.
She curtsied again and smiled again, and then she answered:
"It is difficult, Monsieur, but I have a friend on guard in the upper
corridor. If I can arrange with him to let us pass, I can show
Monsieur the grand salon, the little salon, and the state dining-room.
Would that please Monsieur?"
"Vastly," I answered, for though it might not be seeing all I would
like to see, it would be doing something to while away the tedium of
waiting, and there seemed a little of the spice of adventure about it
that pleased my restless spirit.
"I will go and consult Gaston," said Mademoiselle Félice (for that,
she told me, was her pretty name, and I took it as a felicitous omen),
"and I will return in five minutes. If Monsieur will await me by the
pines, he will not have to wait long."
Yet it seemed long. I am sure many five minutes had passed, and I had
begun to think I would never see again either my gold piece or my
pretty Félice, when she came tripping up in an entirely different
direction from the one in which she had left me.
She had had trouble. Gaston had scruples. Suppose harm were intended
his general? Women were easily deceived. Her "American" might be a
British assassin in disguise. She had had to make herself
responsible--she, Félice!--for my innocence and honor. She had also
been obliged to show Gaston the piece of gold I had given her and to
assure him there would be another for him if he were complaisant. I
judged, also, that she had found it necessary to offer him a bribe
quite as tangible as the gold piece but less mercenary, for her face
was rosier and her eyes brighter and her hair a little more disheveled
than when I had first seen her.
And now began a real adventure, for Félice assured me much caution
would be necessary. How we both slipped out of the pine thicket, she
some distance ahead, I strolling carelessly behind, how by almost
insensible little signs she indicated to me when to advance and when
to stay my steps; how she finally guided me through a narrow rear
entrance and by dark corridors and winding staircases to the very
corridor Gaston was guarding; and how I slipped another gold piece
into Gaston's hand as we passed him, would be too long in the telling.
Gaston was doing sentry duty before two doors some twenty paces apart.
One of them opened into a dark side corridor (where we had passed him
and I had slipped the gold into his hand), and the other into the head
of the main corridor. We had just entered the main corridor, and
Félice was leading the way into the grand salon, when she turned
quickly:
"Go back, Monsieur," she said in an excited whisper, "here comes an
officer!"
I had caught sight of him, too, and I was the more ready to turn back
quickly, because in my hasty glimpse the officer had looked to me very
much like the Chevalier Le Moyne. I thought it was more than likely I
was mistaken, but I did not wish to run any possible risk of being
seen by him, and I hoped that in the semi-obscurity of that part of
the corridor he had either not seen us at all or at least not
recognized us.
We fled precipitately back through the dark side corridor, I with a
keen feeling of elation (for a sense of risk or peril of any kind
always sends my spirits to the highest point), but Félice, I believe,
beginning to repent of her bargain.
"Monsieur," she whispered, "we will go back the way we came--" but
what further she was about to say I know not, for at that moment a
door opened at the farther end of the side corridor. It was a door we
must pass in finding our way out, and through it now we heard much
loud laughing and loud talking of men. Evidently a party at cards was
breaking up, and through that open door some of the players were about
to pass. Our retreat was cut off.
Félice clutched her hair in desperation.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" she moaned, "I will lose my place! I will lose my
life!"
I had hardly time to think of my own plight, I was so sorry for her
distress, and so remorseful to think I had brought her into such
straits for the sake of a silly adventure.
But an idea struck Félice. We had come to a stand beside Gaston and
the one of the two doors he was guarding which opened into the side
corridor. He had himself stopped a moment in his pacing to and fro,
perplexed by our dilemma.
"Quick, Gaston," Félice whispered eagerly, "let Monsieur into the
dressing-room closet; it is the only place!"
Gaston seemed to demur, but Félice overruled him imperiously.
"You must, Gaston! And be quick! Would you have Monsieur Fouché throw
us both into prison? I will be back for him in a few minutes, as soon
as all is quiet."
Gaston hesitated no longer. He threw open the door before which we
were standing, and together they hurried me into a room which I saw at
once was a dressing-room belonging to a gentleman.
"You must be very still, Monsieur," whispered Félice; then she opened
a door and thrust me into a dark closet, closing the door noiselessly
behind me as she whispered, "I will return in a few minutes."
I was but as wax in her hands, for having led her into such distress
and peril, I felt that I must submit to any means that would save her
from disastrous results. Yet I liked not being shut up in a dark
closet in a gentleman's dressing-room. I began, too, to think of my
own peril, and for a full minute after finding myself in my
hiding-place my knees did so shake beneath me, and my heart did so
pound within me, I was as one deaf and unconscious to all
surroundings.
But as my excitement began to calm itself I became aware that I had
for some time been hearing several voices: one, which did most of the
talking, high, rasping, vehement, passionate; the other two, making
brief or monosyllabic replies, low-toned and restrained. I began to
perceive, too, that I was not entirely in the dark. A faint light was
coming through between slightly parted curtains which seemed to
separate my closet from some other apartment than the dressing-room. I
looked through this aperture, barely wide enough for the line of
vision, not wide enough to betray me to any one in the room beyond,
especially since I was in the dark and the Easter sun was flooding the
richly furnished apartment.
Standing in an attitude of respect on either side of a low marble
mantel bearing a wonderful golden clock stood two gentlemen. One of
them was my uncle, Monsieur Marbois, and the other, whom I did not
know, I learned later was Minister Decrés. Gesticulating vehemently
and speaking with great excitement, through the center of the room
back and forth strode rapidly the First Consul!
I was overwhelmed at the sight. By what trick of fate had I been
thrust into the very midst of this conference at which I had so longed
to be present? My blood rushed through my veins at such tumultuous
pace as carried my reason with it. No thought of listening to what was
not intended for me to hear entered my mind, only a great joy that I
was in the midst of some strange adventure such as I had read of in
books, where wonderful things happen to the hero who hides behind an
arras. And no more wonderful thing could happen to me than to be
seeing and hearing the great Bonaparte!
And this is what he was saying:
"I know the full value of Louisiana, and I have been desirous of
repairing the fault of the French negotiator who abandoned it in
1763. A few lines of a treaty have restored it to me, and I have
scarcely recovered it when I must expect to lose it. But if it escapes
from me," he stopped and turned suddenly to the two ministers, lifting
a threatening hand, "it shall one day cost dearer to those who oblige
me to strip myself of it than to those to whom I wish to deliver it."
I thought at first this threat was uttered against the United States,
and so terrible did he look, so like an avenging fury, that I
shuddered as I thought of my country the object of his vindictive
wrath. But his next words enlightened me. He resumed his rapid stride
and went on speaking with the same excitement:
"The English have successively taken from France Canada, Cape Breton,
Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and India. They are engaged in exciting
troubles in San Domingo. _They shall not have the Mississippi, which
they covet._
"Louisiana is nothing in comparison with their conquests in all parts
of the globe, and yet the jealousy they feel at the restoration of
this colony to the sovereignty of France acquaints me with their wish
to take possession of it, and it is thus they will begin the war.
"They have twenty ships of war in the Gulf of Mexico; they sail over
those seas as sovereigns! The conquest of Louisiana would be easy, if
they only took the trouble to make a descent there. I have not a
moment to lose in putting it out of their reach! I know not whether
they are not already there. It is their usual course, and if I had
been in their place, I would not have waited. I wish, if there is
still time, to take away from them any idea that they may have of ever
possessing that colony."
[Illustration: "He stopped and turned suddenly to the two ministers"]
Once more he stopped and faced the two ministers, and gazed at them
steadily for a moment, first one, then the other, before he uttered
his next words. I know not whether he paused because he hesitated to
utter them, or because he wished to make them more forcible. Then he
said slowly and impressively, with no trace of the excitement that had
characterized his former words:
"I think of ceding it to the United States."
If he had expected to create a sensation he was not disappointed; the
irrepressible start of each, the glowing eyes, the eager desire to
speak expressed in both countenances were abundant evidences of it,
and I in my dark closet was far more excited than either: for here was
more than my wildest dreams to be realized. But Bonaparte had not
finished his speech; with a gesture restraining them from giving
utterance to the words that were hurrying to their lips, he went on:
"You will say that I can scarcely cede it to them, for it is not yet
in our possession. If, however, I leave the least time to our enemies,
I shall transmit only an empty title to those republicans whose
friendship I seek. They ask of me only one town in Louisiana; but I
already consider the colony as entirely lost, and it appears to me
that in the hands of this growing power it will be more useful to the
policy of France, and even to its commerce, than if I should attempt
to keep it. Citizen Minister," looking at my uncle, "what is your
opinion?"
My uncle, who had been all eagerness to speak at first, seemed to
hesitate now that the opportunity was given him.
"I believe, Citizen First Consul," he said slowly, "that we should not
hesitate to make a sacrifice of that which is about slipping away from
us. War with England is inevitable. Shall we be able with inferior
naval forces to defend Louisiana against that power? At the time of
the discovery of Louisiana the neighboring provinces were as feeble as
herself. They are now powerful and Louisiana is still in her infancy.
The country is scarcely at all inhabited; you have not fifty soldiers
there. Where are your means of sending garrisons thither? Can we
restore fortifications that are in ruins, and construct a long chain
of forts upon a frontier of four hundred leagues? If England lets you
undertake these things, it is because they will drain your resources,
and she will feel a secret joy in seeing you exhaust yourself in
efforts of which she alone will derive the profit. You will send out a
squadron; but while it is crossing the oceans, the colony will fall,
and the squadron will in its turn be in great danger. Louisiana is
open to the English from the north by the Great Lakes, and if, to the
south, they show themselves at the mouth of the Mississippi, New
Orleans will immediately fall into their hands. This conquest would be
still easier to the Americans: they can reach the Mississippi by
several navigable rivers, and to be masters of the country it will be
sufficient for them to enter it. The colony has existed for a century,
and, in spite of efforts and sacrifices of every kind, the last
account of its population and resources attests its weakness. If it
becomes a French colony and acquires increased importance, there will
be in its very prosperity a germ of independence which will not be
long in developing itself. The more it nourishes the less chance shall
we have of preserving it.
"The French have attempted to form colonies in several parts of the
continent of North America. Their efforts have everywhere proved
abortive. The English are patient and laborious; they do not fear the
solitude and silence of newly settled countries. The Frenchman, lively
and active, requires society; he is fond of conversing with neighbors.
He willingly enters on the experiment of cultivating the soil, but at
the first disappointment quits the spade and ax for the chase."
Bonaparte, as my uncle ceased talking, had thrown himself into a
fauteuil and signed to the others to sit down. He had listened with
keen attention to my uncle's long speech, but now he interrupted him
abruptly and harshly.
"How does it happen that the French, who are incapable of succeeding
in a continental colony, have always made great progress in the West
Indies?"
"Because," replied Monsieur Marbois, "the slaves perform all the
labors. The whites, who would soon be exhausted by the heat of the
climate, have, however, the vigor of mind necessary to direct their
operations."
"By whom is the land cultivated in Louisiana?" asked the First Consul.
"Slavery," answered my uncle, "has given Louisiana half her
population. An inexcusable imprudence was committed in suddenly
granting to the slaves of San Domingo a liberty for which they had not
been prepared. The blacks and whites both have been victims of this
great fault."
"I am undecided," said Bonaparte, "whether it would be better to
maintain or abolish slavery in Louisiana."
"Of all the scourges that have afflicted the human race," responded my
uncle, "slavery is the most detestable! But even humanity requires
great precautions in the application of the remedy, and you cannot
apply it if Louisiana should again become French. Governments still
half resist emancipation: they tolerate in secret what they ostensibly
condemn, and they themselves are embarrassed by their false position.
The general sentiment of the world is in favor of emancipation; it is
in vain that the colonists and planters wish to arrest a movement
which public opinion approves. The occupation of Louisiana--a colony
with slaves--will occasion us more expense than it will afford us
profit."
As my uncle ceased speaking, Bonaparte turned to Minister Decrés and
with a motion of his hand indicated that he was ready to hear his
opinion. The minister began eagerly:
"We are still at peace with England," said he; "the colony has just
been ceded to us; it depends on the First Consul to preserve it. It
would not be wise in him to abandon, for fear of a doubtful danger,
the most important establishment that we can form out of France, and
despoil ourselves of it for no other reason than the possibility of a
war; it would be as well, if not better, that it should be taken from
us by force of arms.
"You will not acknowledge, by a resignation of Louisiana, that England
is sovereign mistress of the seas, that she is there invulnerable, and
that no one can possess colonies except at her good pleasure! It does
not become you to fear the kings of England! If they should seize
Louisiana, as some would have you fear, Hanover would be immediately
in your hands, as a certain pledge of its restoration. France,
deprived of her navy and her colonies, is stripped of half her
splendor and of a great part of her strength. Louisiana can indemnify
us for all our losses. There does not exist on the globe a single
port, a single city, susceptible of becoming as important as New
Orleans, and the neighborhood of the American States already makes it
one of the most commercial in the world. The Mississippi does not
reach there until it has received twenty other rivers, most of which
surpass in size the finest rivers of Europe.
"The navigation to the Indies, by doubling the Cape of Good Hope, has
changed the course of European trade and ruined Venice and Genoa. What
will be its direction if, at the Isthmus of Panama, a simple canal
should be opened to connect the one ocean with the other? The
revolution which navigation will then experience will be still more
considerable, and the circumnavigation of the globe will become easier
than the long voyages that are now made in going to and returning from
India. Louisiana will be on this new route, and it will then be
acknowledged that this possession is of inestimable value.
"Finally, France, after her long troubles, requires such a colony for
her internal pacification; it will be for our country what a century
ago were for England the settlements which the emigrants from the
three kingdoms have raised to so high a degree of prosperity. It will
be the asylum of our religious and political dissenters; it will cure
a part of the maladies which the Revolution has caused, and be the
supreme conciliator of all the parties into which we are divided. You
will there find the remedies for which you search with so much
solicitude!"
I thought this a very bold speech, and it was uttered with much fire
and enthusiasm. I could not be sure how the Consul took it, for he
said not a word through it all. When the minister had finished
speaking he dismissed them both with a few words, but telling them he
should expect them to remain all night.
As the door closed behind the two ministers, Bonaparte threw himself
back in his chair, his arms folded across his breast, his head
drooping forward, in an attitude of deep thought. It seemed to me more
than likely that Minister Decrés's words had touched his pride and his
patriotism, and he was hesitating now at the thought of getting rid
of France's last important colony.
He was interrupted in his reverie by an officer bringing in the
despatches from London which had just arrived, and he sent word by the
officer to have Minister Marbois sent to him immediately.
It was only a few moments until the return of my uncle, but in the
interval I could see that Bonaparte was glancing through the
despatches with such lightning rapidity that to me, for whom all
reading is slow work, it seemed impossible he should have grasped
their meaning. As Monsieur Marbois entered the apartment Bonaparte
greeted him.
"Citizen Minister," he said, "the despatches from London have arrived.
Have you seen them?"
"I was just reading them," replied my uncle, "when you sent for me."
"Did you see that England is preparing for war? That both naval and
military preparations are going forward with extraordinary rapidity?"
"Yes," said the minister, "so I understand."
"Perhaps you saw, too, that in the American Congress Mr. Ross proposed
that the President should raise fifty thousand troops and capture New
Orleans?"
"Yes," repeated my uncle, "I saw it, and I regret greatly that any
cause of difference should arise between our countries."
The Consul sprang to his feet and resumed his rapid striding up and
down the room without uttering a word for full two minutes, but with a
deep frown between his eyes, as I could see whenever he faced me in
his hurried pacing to and fro.
Suddenly he stopped and turned to my uncle.
"Irresolution and deliberation are no longer in season," he said
slowly, and then added with sudden fire:
"I renounce Louisiana! It is not only New Orleans I will cede, it is
the whole colony without reservation. I renounce it with the greatest
regret! To attempt obstinately to retain it would be the greatest
folly. I direct you to negotiate this affair with the envoys of the
United States. Do not even await the arrival of Mr. Monroe; have an
interview to-morrow with Mr. Livingston. But I require a great deal of
money for this war with England, and I would not like to commence it
with new contributions. I will be moderate, in consideration of the
necessity in which I am of making a sale; but keep this to yourself. I
want fifty millions, and for less than that sum I will not treat; I
would rather make a desperate attempt to keep these fine countries.
To-morrow you shall have full power."
I think my uncle was somewhat aghast at the suddenness of the decision
to sell the whole country, though he had himself advised it, and still
more at the great responsibility thrust upon him of conducting the
negotiations in place of the Minister of Foreign Relations. Perhaps,
too, now that the sale was fully determined upon, he was touched with
regrets and misgivings. At any rate, he said, somewhat hesitatingly:
"You feel sure, Citizen Consul, that we have a right to cede the
sovereignty of a people without consulting the people themselves? Have
we a right to abandon what the Germans call the _souls_? Can they be
the subject of a contract of sale or exchange?"
Now I really think from what I had seen of Bonaparte's reverie while
the minister was out of the room, of his frowning cogitations in that
rapid walk to and fro, and of the solemnity of his manner when he
finally announced his determination to sell, that he had been troubled
by the same misgivings. But none the less did his lip curl satirically
as he listened to my uncle, and his eyes narrow and glow with a
malevolent fire. He hardly waited for him to finish till he burst
forth bitterly:
"You are giving me, in all its perfection, the ideology of the law of
nature and nations! But I require money to make war on the richest
nation of the world. Send your maxims to the London market! I am sure
they will be greatly admired there; and yet no great attention is paid
to them when the question is the occupation of the finest regions of
Asia!"
I thought my uncle would have wilted under such bitter sarcasm, for
never have I seen anything more malevolent than Bonaparte's whole
aspect, and I trembled for him. But he seemed not greatly afraid of
the great man's bluster, and persisted in his argument when it seemed
to me the part of wisdom would have been to keep silence.
"But, Citizen Consul," he urged, "are you not afraid by ceding such
great possessions to America you may make her in the course of two or
three centuries too powerful for Europe--the mistress of the world?"
The Consul's lip curled again. He answered in a harsh voice:
"My foresight does not embrace such remote fears. I have no children;
after me the deluge! Besides, we may hereafter expect rivalries among
the members of the Union. The confederations that are called perpetual
only last till one of the contracting parties finds it to his interest
to break them."
The minister made no reply, though Bonaparte waited a moment as if
expecting one. Then he went on:
"Mr. Monroe is on the point of arriving. To this minister, going a
thousand leagues from his constituents, the President must have given
secret instructions for the stipulation of the payments to be made,
more extensive than the ostensible authorization of Congress. Neither
this minister nor his colleague is prepared for a decision which goes
infinitely beyond anything they are about to ask us. Begin by making
the overture without any subterfuge. You will acquaint me, day by day,
hour by hour, of your progress. The cabinet of London is informed of
the measures adopted at Washington, but it can have no suspicion of
those I am now taking. Observe the greatest secrecy, and recommend it
to the American ministers: they have not a less interest than yourself
in conforming to this counsel. You will correspond with Monsieur de
Talleyrand, who alone knows my intentions. Keep him informed of the
progress of this affair."
All this was uttered in a sharp clipping tone of voice, at times harsh
and rasping, that carried with it an inconceivable effect of
autocratic power. As he finished he made a gesture of dismissal, but
as the minister was about to withdraw he called him back again.
"Monsieur Marbois," he said in a far gentler tone than he had used at
all heretofore, "there will be a treaty drawn up between you and the
American ministers, of course, and I would like to write one article
of that treaty. If you will sit down a few moments I will not detain
you long."
My uncle bowed and seated himself, and with marvelous rapidity
Bonaparte's pen flew over the sheet before him. In scarcely more than
a minute's time he looked up from his paper.
"This is the article, Monsieur Marbois, that I wish you to make it
your business to see embodied somewhere in the treaty." And then he
read slowly, in a firm, clear voice, with no longer any rasping tones:
"The inhabitants of the ceded territory shall be incorporated in the
Union of the United States, and admitted as soon as possible,
according to the principles of the Federal Constitution, to the
enjoyment of all the rights, advantages, and immunities of citizens of
the United States. And in the meantime they shall be maintained and
protected in the free enjoyment of their liberty, property, and the
religion which they profess."
The Consul rose to his feet as he finished reading and extended the
paper toward my uncle.
"Citizen Minister," he said (and I almost thought there was a ring of
sadness in his tone, but that I could not believe such an emotion
possible to the imperious conqueror), "let the Louisianians know that
we separate ourselves from them with regret; that we stipulate in
their favor everything that they can desire; and let them hereafter,
happy in their independence, recollect that they have been Frenchmen,
and that France, in ceding them, has secured for them advantages which
they could not have obtained from a European power, however paternal
it might have been. Let them retain for us sentiments of affection;
and may their common origin, descent, language, and customs perpetuate
the friendship."
He finished speaking, and turned his back abruptly upon my uncle, who
bowed silently and withdrew. I could not see the face of either, but I
believe both were too deeply moved to utter another word. As my uncle
left the room, Bonaparte threw himself once more into his deep-armed
chair in the same attitude of reverie he had before maintained in the
interval of the minister's absence--arms folded, chin sunk deep on his
breast.
It seemed to me a long time that he sat thus, for I was growing every
moment more anxious for my own safe escape from my hiding-place.
Félice had promised to return for me in a few moments if the way was
open, and I was sure it must have been more nearly hours than moments
that I had been watching the foremost man of all the world decide the
fate of a people and the future of my own proud nation. I had been so
intensely interested that I had not noted the flight of time, but now
that the First Consul sat wrapped in thought, I, too, began to think,
to wonder, and to grow every moment more anxious. What had become of
my little guide? Had she forsaken me and left me to my fate? And
should she come for me now, would I be able, with my clumsy movements,
to escape unheard, when the room was no longer ringing with the
rasping tones of Bonaparte?
There was a deep-drawn sigh from the chair of the First Consul. He
unfolded his arms, flung back his head, and sprang to his feet, once
more pacing rapidly back and forth. Suddenly he stopped, lifted one
hand as if calling on Heaven to witness, and exclaimed aloud:
"This accession of territory strengthens forever the power of the
United States! I have just given to England a maritime rival that will
sooner or later humble her pride!"
His hand dropped upon a bell which he rang violently. Instantly there
was a little sound of scratching on the panel of a door leading into
an apartment beyond.
"Enter!" said Bonaparte, and there glided silently into the room
Rustan, the famous Mameluke attendant of whom I had heard much.
"I will dress for dinner, Rustan," said the First Consul; "call my
valet and tell him to prepare my bath."