Marie Antoinette and Her Son Part 77

The victory that Bonaparte desired was thus won, and he could return with honor to Prance. He made secret preparations for his journey thither, fitting up two s.h.i.+ps, which were to carry him and his companions. The army was to hear of his departure only after he had gone; but, much as he desired to keep the thing secret, there were some who had to know of it, and among them, happily, was General Kleber. Bonaparte had chosen him as his successor, and therefore he must be informed respecting the condition of affairs before the head of the army should withdraw. On the same day when this communication took place, Kleber repaired to General Desaix, who was his intimate friend, and from whom he learned that he was to be one of Bonaparte's companions on the return. The two generals had a prolonged secret interview, and at the close of it they both went to Kleber's house, and entered the room of his adjutant Louis. General Desaix bowed with great deference to the young man, who, blus.h.i.+ng at the honor which so distinguished a general paid him, extended his hand to him. Desaix pressed a kiss upon it, and from his eyes, unused to tears, there fell a drop upon the young man's hand.

"General," cried Louis, in amazement, "what are you doing?"

"I am paying my homage to misfortune and to the past," said Desaix, solemnly, "and the tear which I drop on your hand is the seal of my fidelity and silence in the future. Young man, I swear to you that I will cherish your secret in my heart as a hallowed treasure, and will defend with my life's blood the papers which your uncle, General Kleber, has intrusted to my care this day. I am a soldier of the republic, I have pledged my fidelity to her, and must and shall keep it. I cannot become a partisan; but I shall always be the protector of misfortune, and a helper in time of need. Trust me in this, and accept me as your friend."

"I do accept you, general," said Louis, gently, "and if I do not promise to love you just as tenderly as I love my uncle, General Kleber, who has been to me father, brother, and protector, and to whom I owe every thing, yet, I can a.s.sure you, that, after him, there is no one whom I will love as I shall you, and there is no one in Europe who can contend with you for my love. I am very poor in friends, and yet I feel that my heart is rich in love that no one desires now."

"Preserve that possession well, my son," said Kleber, as he took leave of his son, and laid his hand on the head of the young man.

"Preserve your heart tender and loving, for if Fate is just, it may one day be for the advantage of a whole nation that you are so, and the heart of the man be the mediator between the people and its king! Farewell, my son; we see each other to-day for the last time, for in this very hour you will go to your s.h.i.+p with Desaix. It may be that the s.h.i.+ps will sail this very night, and if so, well! A quick and unlooked-for separation mitigates the pains of parting.

You will soon have overcome them, and when you reach Paris, the past will sink behind you into the sea."

"Never, oh, never!" cried Louis, with emotion. "I shall never forget my benefactor, my second father!"

"My son, one easily forgets in Paris, and especially when he goes thither for the purpose of creating a new future out of the ruins of the past! But I shall never forget you; and if my presentiment should not deceive me, and I should soon die, you will learn after my death that I have loved you as a son. Now go, and I say to you, as another loved voice once said to you, and as the sick and the dying once repeated it to you, 'G.o.d bless you! All saints and angels protect you!'"

They remained locked in their tender embrace, and then parted--never to meet again!

That very night, before the morning began to dawn, General Desaix started, accompanied by his adjutant Louis, and a few servants.

Their first goal was Alexandria, whither the command of General Bonaparte summoned them and a few others.

The proposed journey of the commanding general was still a carefully concealed secret, and the divan in Cairo had merely been informed that Bonaparte was planning to undertake a short journey in the Delta.

On the 22d of August, 1799, an hour after midnight, two French frigates left the harbor of Alexandria. On board of one of them was Bonaparte, the emperor of the future;--on the other was Louis Charles, the king of the past. Nameless and unknown, the descendant of the monarchs of France, with his sixteen years, returned to France --to France, that seemed no longer to remember its past, its kings, and to have no thoughts, no love, no admiration for aught excepting that new, brilliant constellation which had arisen over France-Bonaparte.

He had returned from Egypt to regain Italy, but he found other work awaiting him in Paris. This he brought to completion with the energy and boldness which characterized all his dealings. By a prompt stroke he put an end to the const.i.tution which had prevailed till then, abrogated the Convention and the Council of Five Hundred, and gave the French republic a new const.i.tution, putting at the head of the government three consuls, Sieyes, Roger Ducos, and himself. But these three consuls were intended to be a mere transition, a mere step forward in the victorious march of Bonaparte. After a few weeks they were superseded, and Bonaparte became the First Consul and the head of France.

On the 25th of December, 1799, France hailed General Bonaparte as the First Consul of the French republic. A new century was dawning, and with the beginning of this new century the gates of the Tuileries, the deserted palace of kings, opened to a new possessor.

Bonaparte, the First Consul, took up his residence there; and in the first spring of the new century the consul, accompanied by Josephine, removed to St. Cloud for summer quarters. The park of Queen Marie Antoinette was given by the French nation to the First Consul; and in the apartments where the queen with her son Louis Charles and her daughter Theresa once dwelt, Josephine, with her son Eugene and her daughter Hortense, now abode.

"I would I had remained in Egypt," sighed the dauphin often, when in the silence and solitude of his apartment he surrendered himself to his recollections and dreams. "It had been better to die young in a foreign land, while all the stars of hope were beaming above me, than to protract a miserable, obscure life here, and see all the stars fade out one by one!"

Yes, the stars of hope were paling one by one for the son of King Louis. No one thought of him, no one believed in him. He had died in the Temple, that was all that any one wanted to know. The dead was lamented by all, the living would have been unwelcome to any. He had died and been buried, little King Louis XVII., and no one spoke of him more.

The only subject of men's talk was the glory and greatness of the First Consul. The beauty and grace of Josephine were celebrated in the same halls which had once resounded with the praises of fair Queen Marie Antoinette. The half million lovers who had once bowed to Marie were now devoted to Josephine, and paid their homage to her with the same enthusiasm with which they had before wors.h.i.+pped the queen. The son of the general who once had given the oath of fidelity to King Louis XVI., the son of General Beauharnais, is now the adopted son of the ruler of France; while the son of the king must secrete himself and remain without name, rank, and t.i.tle. It is his good fortune that Desaix is there to pity the forsaken one, and to give him a place in his home and his heart. No one else knows him; he is the adjutant of General Desaix, that is his only rank and t.i.tle.

But he still remained the nephew of General Kleber, who had been left in Egypt, and who, at the end of the century, gained a decisive victory at Heliopolis over the Turks and Mamelukes. He remained the nephew of General Kleber, and at the end of the year 1800 the frigate l'Aigle, on its return from Egypt, brought a great packet for General Desaix. It contained many papers of value, many rolls of gold-pieces, besides gems and pearls. But; it also contained a sealed black doc.u.ment directed to the adjutant of General Desaix.

This doc.u.ment contained the will of Kleber, commander-in-chief of the French army in Egypt. He had given it to General Menou, together with his papers and valuables, with the intimation that directly after his death they should all be sent to General Desaix in France.

General Menou followed this instruction, for Kleber was dead. The murderous bullet of a Mameluke killed him on the 14th of June, 1800.

His will was the last evidence of his love for his nephew Louis, whom he designated as his only heir, and Kleber was rich through inherited wealth as well as the spoils of war.

But Louis Charles took no satisfaction, and it made no impression on him, when Desaix informed him that he was the possessor of a million. "A million! What shall I do with it?" answered Louis, sadly. "Were it a million soldiers, and I might put myself at their head and with them storm the Tuileries and make my entrance into St.

Cloud, I should consider myself fortunate. But what advantage to me are a million of francs? I can begin nothing with them; I should have to establish a store and perhaps have the custom of the First Consul of the republic!"

"Hus.h.!.+ young man, hus.h.!.+" replied Desaix, "you are bitter and sad, and I understand it, for the horizon is dark for you, and offers you no cheerful prospect; but a million francs is a good thing notwithstanding, and one day you will know how to prize it. This million of francs makes you a rich man, and a rich man is a free and independent man. If you do not wish to live longer as a soldier, you have the power to give up your commission and live without care, and that is something. My next business will be to a.s.sure you your fortune against all the uncertainties of the future, which are the more to be guarded against, as we are soon to advance into Italy again for the next campaign. I can, therefore, not put your property and your papers into your hands, for they const.i.tute your future, and we must deposit them with some one with whom they shall be safe, and that must be with a man of peace. Do you know who this man is?"

"I know no one, general, excepting yourself," replied Louis, with a shrug, "whom I should dare to trust."

"But, fortunately, I know an entirely reliable man; shall I tell you who he is?"

"Do so, I beg you, general."

"His name is Fouche."

Louis started, and a deathly paleness covered his cheeks.

"Fouche, the chief of police! Fouche, the traitor, who gave his voice in the Convention for the death of King Louis--to him, the red republican, a man of blood and treachery, do you want to convey my papers and my property?"

"Yes, Louis, for with him alone are they secure. Fouche will protect you, and will stand by you with just as much zeal as he once displayed in the persecution of the royal family. I know him well, and I vouch for him. Men must not always be judged by their external appearance. He who shows himself our enemy to-day, lends us to- morrow, it may be, a helpful arm, and becomes our friend, sometimes because his heart has been changed, and sometimes because his character is feeble. I cannot with certainty say which of these reasons has determined Fouche, but I am firmly convinced that he will be a protector and a friend to you, and that in no hands will your property and your papers be safer than in his." [Footnote: Desaix's own words--See "Memoires du Due de Nonuandie," p. 61.]

Louis made no reply; he dropped his head with a sigh, and submitted.

On, in the new century, rolled the victorious car of Bonaparte, down the Alps, into the fertile plains of Italy. The conqueror of Lodi and Arcole meant to take revenge on the enemies who had s.n.a.t.c.hed back the booty--revenge on Austria, who had broken the peace of Campo Formio. And he did take this revenge at Marengo, where, on the 14th of June, he gained a brilliant victory over Austria, and won all Italy as the prize of the battle.

But the day was purchased at a sacrifice. General Desaix paid with his death for his impetuous onset. In the very thick of the fight, mortally wounded by a ball, he fell into the arms of his adjutant Louis, and only with extreme peril could the latter, himself wounded, bear the general away from the melee, and not. be trampled to death by the horses of his own soldiers.

Poor Louis Charles! He now stood entirely alone--the last friend had left him. Death had taken away every thing, parents, crown, home, name, friends. He was alone, all alone in the world--no man to take any interest in him, no one to know who he was.

Sunk in sadness, he remained in Alessandria after the battle of Marengo, and allowed his external wound to heal, while the internal one continued to bleed. He cursed death, because it had not taken him, while removing his last friend.

And when the wound was healed, what should he do?--under what name and t.i.tle should he be enrolled in the army? His only protector was dead, and the adjutant was reported to have died with him. He put off the uniform which he had worn as the soldier of the republic which had destroyed his throne and his inheritance, and, in simple, unpretending garments, he returned to Paris, an unknown young man.

Desaix was right; it was, indeed, something to possess a million of francs. Poor as he was in love and happiness, this million of francs made him at least a free and independent man, and therefore he would demand his inheritance of him whom he formerly shunned because he was one of the murderers of his father.

Fouche received the young man exactly as Desaix had expected. He showed himself in the light of a sympathizing protector; he was touched with the view of this youth, whose countenance was the evidence of his lineage, the living picture of the unfortunate Louis XVI., whom Fouche had brought to the scaffold. Perhaps this man of blood and the guillotine had compunctions of conscience; perhaps he wanted to atone to the son for his injuries to the parents; perhaps he was planning to make of the son of the Bourbons a check to the ambitious consul of the republic; perhaps to humiliate the grasping Count de Lille, who was intriguing at all the European courts for the purpose of raising armies against the French republic. The son of Louis XVI. could be employed as a useful foil to all these political manoeuvres, and subsequently he could either be publicly acknowledged, or denounced as an impostor, as circ.u.mstances might determine.

At present it suited the plans of the crafty Fouche to acknowledge him, and to a.s.sume the att.i.tude of a protector. He put on a very respectful and sympathetic air to the poor solitary youth; with gentle, tremulous voice he called him your Majesty; he begged his pardon for the past; he spoke with such deep emotion and so solemn a tone of the good, great, and gentle Louis XVI., that the heart of the son was powerfully touched. And when Fouche, with flaming words of enthusiasm, began to speak of the n.o.ble, unhappy Queen Marie Antoinette, when with glowing eloquence he celebrated her beauty and her gentleness in time of good-fortune, her greatness and steadfastness in ill-fortune, all the anger of the young man melted in the tears of love which he poured out as he remembered his mother.

"I forgive you, Fouche; yes, I forgive you," he cried, extending both his hands. "I see plainly the power of political faction hurried you away; but your heart cannot be bad, for you love my n.o.ble mother. I forgive you, and I trust you."

Fouche, deeply moved, sank upon his knee before the dauphin, and called himself one of his loyal subjects, and promised to take all means to restore the young king to the throne of his fathers. He conjured Louis to trust him, and to enter upon no plan without asking his counsel.

Louis promised this. He told Fouche that he was the only man who had talked with him about the past without using ambiguous language; that he was surprised at this, and compelled to recognize as true what formerly had been fettered on his tongue. He told him that he had promised his rescuer, with a solemn oath, never to acknowledge himself as the son of Louis XVI., and King of France, till this rescuer and benefactor empowered him to do so, and released him from his vow of silence. He made it, therefore, the first condition of his confidence that Fouche should disclose his secret to no one, but carry it faithfully in his own breast.

Fouche promised all, and took a sacred oath that he would never reveal the secret confided to him by the King of France. But he confessed at the same time that the First Consul knew very well that the son of the king had been released from the Temple, and that among the posthumous papers of Kleber there was a letter directed to Bonaparte, stating that he, Kleber, knew very well that the little Capet was still living, and imploring Bonaparte to restore the orphan to the throne of the Lilies. The consul had, therefore, quietly, made investigations, and learned that Louis had taken part as the adjutant of General Desaix in the battle of Marengo, that he had been wounded there, and remained in the hospital of Alessandria till his recovery. Since then all trace of the young man had been lost, and he had commissioned Fouche to discover the adjutant of Kleber and Desaix and bring him to him.

"You will not do that?" cried Louis, eagerly; "you will not disclose me?"

"Are you afraid of him?" asked Fouche, with a suspicious smile.

The young man blushed, and a cloud pa.s.sed over his clear forehead.

"Fear!" he replied with a shrug. "The sons of my ancestors have no fear; and I have shown on the battle-fields of Aboukir and Marongo, and in the pest-houses of Jaffa, that I know not the word. But when one meets a blood-thirsty lion in his path he turns out of the way, and when a tiger extends its talons at one he flies; that is the duty of self-preservation, and not the flight of a coward."

"Do you believe, then, that this lion thirsts for royal blood?"

"I believe that he thirsts for royal rank, and that he will neglect no means to vanquish all hinderances that might intervene between himself and the throne. Do you believe, sir, that the man who, after the battle of Aboukir, sentenced five thousand prisoners to death, would hesitate a moment to take the life of a poor, defenceless young man such as I am? He would beat me into the dust as the lion does the flea which dares to play with his mane."

"It appears you know this aon very well," said Fouche with a smile, "and I really believe you judge him rightly. But be without concern.