Louisa of Prussia and Her Times Part 58

"Then you have seen and conversed with our poor, unhappy king?" said Madame Bonaparte to the beautiful and richly-dressed lady who was sitting on the sofa at her side, and who was none other than the Princess Marianne von Eibenberg.

"Yes, madame, I have often had the good fortune to converse long with him," said the princess, heaving a sigh. "I pa.s.sed a few weeks in his neighborhood, and touched by his resignation, his unfaltering patience, and calm greatness, I offered him my mediation; I wished to be the messenger whom the poor unfortunate would send out in order to see whether the sh.o.r.es of his country will never again be visible to him, and whether the great and intrepid pilot who is now steering the s.h.i.+p of France with so firm a hand has no room left for the poor s.h.i.+pwrecked man. The Count de Provence accepted my services; he gave me a letter which I was to deliver to the First Consul himself, and I set out for Paris provided with numerous and most satisfactory recommendations. All these recommendations, however, were useless; even the intercession of Minister Talleyrand was in vain; the First Consul refused to grant me an audience."

"He had been told, perhaps, how beautiful and charming a messenger had been this time sent to him by the Count de Provence," said Josephine, smiling, "and he was, therefore, afraid of you, madame. For Bonaparte, the most intrepid hero in battle, is quite timid and bashful in the presence of beautiful ladies, and not having the strength to withstand your smiles and prayers, he evades you and refuses to see you."

"Oh, madame," exclaimed the princess, quickly, "if the First Consul is unable to resist the smiles of the most beautiful lady, I predict to you an even more brilliant future; for in that case he will lay the whole world at your feet to do you homage. He who has remained at the side of Josephine a hero and a man of iron will, need not fear the beauty of any other woman."

"You know how to flatter," said Josephine, smiling. "You forget, however, that we are in a republic here, and that there is no court with courtiers in the Tuileries, but merely the humble household of a citizen and general, which, I trust, will soon give way to the splendor of royalty."

"Do you believe so, madame?" asked the princess, eagerly. "Do you believe that the hopes which the Count de Provence has built on the n.o.ble and grand spirit of General Bonaparte are not illusory? Oh, let us be frank and sincere toward each other, for I know you sympathize with the sufferings of the royal family, and the terrible misfortunes of the august exiles find an echo in your heart. Hence, when I did not succeed in obtaining an interview with the First Consul, and in delivering my letter to him in person, I applied to you, and the Count de Provence himself authorized me to do so. 'If Bonaparte refuses to hear you,'

he said, 'go to Josephine. Bring her the greetings of the Count de Provence; remind her of the happy days of Versailles, where, as Viscountess de Beauharnais, she was always welcome at the court of my lamented brother. Ask her if she still remembers how often we joked and laughed together at that time. Ask her whether my present misfortunes shall last forever, or whether she, who holds my destiny in her hand, will restore me to mirth and joy.'"

"Oh!" exclaimed Josephine, bursting into tears, "if I held his destiny in my hand, he would not have to wait long for his throne and for happiness. I should be the first to jubilantly welcome him to France, the first to joyously leave these Tuileries, this royal palace, the grandeur of which frightens me, and in the walls of which it always seems to me as though I were a criminal adorning herself with stolen property, and stretching out her hands toward the holy of holies. And yet I am innocent of this outrage; my conscience is clear, and I am able to say that King Louis XVIII. has no more devoted, faithful, and obedient subject than the wife of the First Consul of France."

"The king knows it, and depends on you," said the princess. "Bonaparte's heart is in your hands; you alone are able to move it."

"But do I know, then, whether he has yet a heart or not?" exclaimed Josephine, pa.s.sionately. "Do I know, then, if he loves any thing but his glory? Man cannot serve two G.o.ds, and his G.o.d is glory. He soars aloft with the glance of an eagle, and the radiance of the sun does not dazzle him. Where will he finally rest and build his aerie? I do not know.

As yet no rock has been too lofty for him, no summit too steep and sufficiently near the sun. I follow his flight with anxious eyes, but I am unable to restrain him. I can only pray for him, for myself, and for the unhappy king; I can only pray that the bold eagle may not finally conclude that the vacant throne will be an aerie worthy of himself, and occupy it."

"But you believe that he will do so?" asked the princess, quickly.

"Oh, my dear," replied Josephine, with a melancholy smile, "no one is able to know at the present time, nay, even to conjecture, what Bonaparte will do; no one, not even myself. His mind is impenetrable, and he only speaks of what he has done, not of what he is going to do.

His plans lie inscrutable and silent in his breast, and n.o.body can boast that he is aware of them. He knows that I am a royalist at heart, and he often mocks me for it, but more frequently he is angry with me on this account. Since the French people have elected him First Consul for life, I see him tremble and frown whenever I dare to mention our exiled king, and to call him our master. He has strictly ordered me to receive no stranger unless he has given me permission to do so, and all friends of mine, whom he knew to be enthusiastic royalists, have already been banished by him. I must feign to forget all I owe to friends.h.i.+p and grat.i.tude, and yet all those cherished reminiscences will never be effaced from my heart. But I must obey my master; for Bonaparte is no longer only my husband, but he is also my master. Thus impeded in all her inclinations, the wife of the First Consul must swallow her grief and seem ungrateful, although she is not. State it to those who believe my fate to be an enviable one; state it to the Count de Provence, who deems my influence greater than it really is. He is, and always remains for me, the legitimate king of France, and I call G.o.d to witness that I do not long for the crown which is his legitimate property. I call G.o.d to witness that I have improved every opportunity to promote the interests of the Count de Provence, and that I have always taken pains to remind Bonaparte of his duty to his legitimate king. But my success has been insignificant, and to-day for the first time since a long while I dare again to entertain a glimmer of hope. Bonaparte knew that I wanted to receive you to-day, and he did not forbid it, although he had already been informed that the Princess von Eibenberg was highly esteemed as a devoted friend at the court of Coblentz, that she had made a journey to Mitau for the express purpose of seeing the Count de Provence, that she had been sent by the latter with letters and messages to Paris, and that the Duke d'Enghien, who some time ago had secretly been at Vienna, had been every day at your house."

"What! The First Consul is aware of all that?" asked Marianne, wonderingly.

"His spies serve him well," said Josephine, heaving a sigh, "and Bonaparte has got spies everywhere, even here in the Tuileries, here in my own rooms--and I should not wonder if he should learn even within the next quarter of an hour what we have conversed about here, although it may have seemed to us as though we were alone."

"But if the First Consul learns that the Count de Provence wants to avail himself of my services for the purpose of promoting his interests here in Paris, and if he has, nevertheless, permitted you to receive me, it seems to me a favorable symptom," said Marianne Eibenberg, musingly.

"Of course, he has some object in view in permitting it," replied Josephine, sighing, "but who knows what? I am unable to fathom his intentions; I content myself with loving him, admiring him, and endeavoring cautiously to lead him back to the path of duty. But hus.h.!.+" she interrupted herself all at once, "I hear steps in the small corridor. It is Bonaparte! He comes. .h.i.ther. He will see that I have wept, and he will be angry with me!"

And after breathing into her handkerchief in anxious haste, Josephine pressed it against her eyes, and whispered tremblingly, "Can it be seen that I have wept?"

Marianne was about replying to her, when quick steps were heard in the adjoining room. "He is coming," whispered Josephine, and she rose from the sofa for the purpose of going to meet her husband. He just opened the door by a quick pressure of his hand and appeared on the threshold.

His eyes swept with a quick glance over the room and seemed to pierce every corner; a slight cloud covered his expansive marble forehead; his thin lips were firmly compressed, and did not show the faintest tinge of a smile.

"Ah, I did not know that there was a visitor with you, Josephine," he said, bowing to Marianne, who returned his salutation by a deep and reverential obeisance, and then fixed her large dark eyes upon him with an air of admiration.

"My friend," said Josephine, with a fascinating smile, "the Princess von Eibenberg has been recommended to me by persons of the highest distinction, and I confess that I am very grateful to those who gave me an opportunity to make the acquaintance of this beautiful and agreeable lady. It is true, I hear that the princess is a native of Germany, but she has got the heart of a Frenchwoman, and speaks our language better than many of the ladies whom I hear here in the Tuileries."

"Ah, she doubtless speaks that language of ancient France, which always pleases you so well," exclaimed Bonaparte; and now there appeared on his finely formed lips a smile, illuminating and beautifying his face like suns.h.i.+ne. "I suppose, madame," he said, suddenly turning to Marianne, "you have come hither in order to bring to my dear Josephine greetings from a cavalier of that ancient France which has forever fallen to ruins?"

"No, general," said Marianne, whose radiant eyes were constantly and fearlessly fixed on Bonaparte--"no, general, I have come hither in order to admire the New France, and never shall I be able to thank Madame Bonaparte sufficiently for the happiness she has procured me at this moment. It is the first time in my life that I have been able to see a great man, a hero!"

"And yet you were in Loudon and Mitau and there saw the Counts d'Artois and Provence," replied Bonaparte, sitting down in an arm-chair by Marianne's side, and requesting the ladies by a wave of his hand to resume their seats on the sofa.

"And in Loudon, in Mitau, in Coblentz, everywhere they admire the hero who has risen like a new sun with the young century!" said Marianne, with irresistible grace.

"Those gentlemen of ancient France spoke of me, then?" asked Bonaparte.

"You see, madame, I speak without circ.u.mlocution. I am nothing but a good soldier, and always strike directly at my aim. I have been told that you have come hither as an emissary of the Bourbons, and I confess to you that to-day for the first time I feel grateful to those gentlemen, for they have made a very beautiful selection. The emissaries sent hither heretofore were less beautiful and less amiable. Those Bourbons know the foibles of the male heart better than anybody else, and they want to fascinate me in order to seduce me afterward the more surely."

"Pardon me, general, they were not so bold as that," said the princess, smiling. "Let me say that I am not gifted with the magic power of Armida, nor are you with the sentimental weakness of Rinaldo."

"You do not deem me worthy to be compared with Rinaldo?" asked Bonaparte, casting so glowing a glance on the fair emissary that Josephine almost regretted having brought this fascinating beauty in contact with her husband.

"I do not deem Rinaldo worthy to be compared with Bonaparte," said the princess, with a charming smile. "Rinaldo did not conquer any countries; he did not cross the bridge of Arcole, holding aloft the waving colors; he did not see the pyramids of Egypt; he did not conquer at Marengo!"

"Ah, madame, you seem to have a good memory," exclaimed Bonaparte, merrily, "and you do not only know ancient France, but are also quite familiar with her recent history."

"General, it is owing to you that the history of France is that of the whole world, and that the victories of France signify the defeat of the remainder of Europe. But you have brought about an even greater miracle, for those whom you have vanquished do not hate you for it, but they admire you, and while cursing their own misfortune, they are astonished at your heroism and surpa.s.sing greatness as a military chieftain. There is no one who does not share this feeling of admiration, and there is no one who entertains it in a livelier manner than the two men who have reason to complain most of France, and who do so least!"

"Ah, you skilfully return to the charge," exclaimed Bonaparte, smiling.

"You would make a good general: you make a short cut on the field of flattery and so reach the more rapidly the straight road on which you want to meet the Counts de Provence and Artois in order to praise them before me."

"No, Bonaparte," said Josephine, hastily, "the princess, on the contrary, wishes to tell you how those gentlemen praise you, and with how much admiration they speak of you.--Oh, pray, madame, repeat to Bonaparte what the Count d'Artois told you the other day, and mention the honors and distinctions he would like to confer on my husband."

"Well, I should really like to know the honors and distinctions which that little emigre, M. de Bourbon, is able to confer on the First Consul of France," said Bonaparte, with a sarcastic smile. "Tell me, madame, what did the Count d'Artois say, and what that statement of yours is that has filled the ambitious heart of Madame Bonaparte with so much delight?"

"Oh, you want to mock me, my friend," said Josephine, reproachfully.

"By no means, I am in dead earnest, and should like to know what the pretenders did say about me. State to us, then, madame, with your seductive voice, the tempting promises of the Bourbons."

"General, there was no talk of promises, but of the admiration the Count d'Artois felt for you," said Marianne, almost timidly, and with downcast eyes. "We conversed about politics in general, and Madame de Guiche, in her charming innocence, took the liberty to ask the Count d'Artois how the First Consul of France might be rewarded in case he should restore the Bourbons."

"Ah, you conversed about this favorite theme of the emigres, about the restoration question!" said Bonaparte, shrugging his shoulders. "And what did the prince reply?"

"The Count d'Artois replied: 'In the first place, we should appoint the first consul Connetable of France, if that would be agreeable to him.

But we should not believe that that would be a sufficient reward; we should erect on the Place du Carrousel a lofty and magnificent column to be surmounted by a statue of Bonaparte crowning the Bourbons!'"

[Footnote: Las Cases, "Memorial de Sainte-Helene," vol. i., p. 337.]

"Is not that a beautiful and sublime idea?" exclaimed Josephine, joyfully, while the princess searchingly fixed her eyes on Bonaparte's face.

"Yes," he said, calmly, "it is a very sublime idea; but what did you reply, Josephine, when this was communicated to you?"

"What did I reply?" asked Josephine. "Good Heaven! what should I have replied?"

"Well," said Bonaparte, whose face now a.s.sumed a grave, stern expression, "you might have replied, for instance, that the pedestal of this beautiful column would have to be the corpse of the First Consul."

[Footnote: Bonaparte's own words.--Ibid., vol. ii., p. 337.]

"Oh, Bonaparte, what a dreadful idea that is!" exclaimed Josephine, in dismay--"dreadful and withal untrue, for did not the Count d'Artois say the Bourbons would appoint you Connetable of France?"

"Yes, just as Charles II. of England conferred the t.i.tle of duke on Monk. I am no Monk, nor am I a Cromwell. I have not injured a single hair on the head of the Bourbons, and my hand has not been stained by a drop of the blood of the unfortunate king who had to atone for the sins of his predecessors. He had ruined France, I saved her; and the example of Monk teaches me to be cautious, for the English people had confided in him, and he gave them a king who made them unhappy and oppressed them for twenty years, and finally caused a new revolution; I want to preserve France from the horrors of a new revolution, hence I do not want to become another Monk."

"And who should dare to compare you with Monk or Cromwell, general?"

exclaimed Marianne. "If there is a man worthy to be compared with the first consul of France, it is only the great Was.h.i.+ngton, the liberator of America."