A Conspiracy of the Carbonari Part 6

"For heaven's sake," cried the colonel, pale and horror-stricken, "what does Fouche mean? Of whom is he speaking?"

"Why, of whom except Bonaparte, or, as he likes to call himself, the Emperor Napoleon!" said the baron coolly. "And you will admit that Fouche is right. If, at Ebersdorf, the sleeping Bonaparte had been thrust into a sack and flung into the Danube, the whole affair would have been ended in the most successful and shortest way, instead of our now being obliged to rack our brains and plunge into dangers of every kind to attain the same goal which we were then so near without peril or trouble. But it is useless to complain; we must rather be mindful to seize the best means of repairing the omission."

"Has Fouche given no counsel, suggested no plan?"

"Yes, he sent verbally, by Commissioner Kraus, counsels and plans to be communicated by me to the conspirators, and this communication has occupied me during these last few days. The point was to discover, among those who were in close attendance upon the emperor, certain individuals who could be won over to our plans."

"And have you succeeded?"

"Yes, I have succeeded. Do not ask the persons and names. I have sworn to mention none, and just as I would communicate your name to no one, I may not impart the names of the others to you. Secrecy and silence must envelop the whole conspiracy like a veil that bestows invisibility, if we are to hope for success. No one will know of the others until the day of decision, and even the necessary arrangements which the conspirators have to make must be done under a mask. I am the mediator, who conveys the messages to and fro, and I know very well that I risk my life in doing it. But I am ready to sacrifice it for my native land, and death is a matter of indifference, if my suffering serves my country. Now listen! Within a week Napoleon must be removed; for every day beyond endangers us the more. He has a suspicion of our plans; he has a whole legion of spies in the army, in Vienna, acting in concert with friends and foes, to watch the designs of the conspirators. For he is perfectly conscious that a conspiracy exists, and some inkling even of the conversation of his generals at Castle Ebersdorf has reached his ears. It caused such an outburst of fury that he was attacked with convulsions, and for three days ate nothing until Roustan had tasted it, because he was afraid of being poisoned. The Emperor Napoleon also learned that Colonel Oudet was head of the secret society, and his most dangerous enemy, because he was extremely popular in the army and possessed rare powers of persuasion. So Oudet must be removed, and he has been."

"Then you think that--"

"That the bullet which struck Colonel Oudet at the battle of Wagram was not a chance shot, sent by the enemy? Certainly I think so, and the proof of it is that the wound was in the back of the head. So he was struck from behind, and his murderer was in the ranks of his fellow-combatants. So you see that the emperor had sentenced him to death and he had his executioners ready to fulfill his commands. We must let this serve as a warning to us.

We must kill him, that he may not discover us and order his executioners to kill us."

"It is true, we are all lost if he discovers the conspiracy. As I said, the work must be accomplished within a week, or you and all your companions, all the members of the society, will be imperiled. The emperor has his suspicions; if he becomes certain, your death-sentence will be signed. You hate Bonaparte. You are an adherent of the Count de Lille. You desire to replace the legitimate King Louis XVIII. upon the throne of his ancestors.

Well, to accomplish this, Bonaparte must fall. Help to overthrow him, help to rid the world of this monster, who feeds upon the blood of all the youth of Europe, and you will be sure of the grat.i.tude of your king. He has a general's commission ready for you, promises orders and a t.i.tle, and he will keep his royal word."

"And what is asked of me? What part have I to perform?"

"The part of a man who is blind and deaf, colonel. You are commander of the military police, and your officials will perhaps spy out the conspiracy and make reports to you. You will be deaf to these reports, and order your subordinates to be the same. You are on the staff of the present Governor-general of Vienna, Count Andreossy, and it is your task not merely to hear, but also to see what is occurring in the capital. But, during the next few days, you will have the kindness to be blind and see nothing that is pa.s.sing around you, not to notice the preparations that attract the attention of the suspicious. You will give the same directions to your confidant, our fellow-conspirator, Captain de Guesniard, and if our enterprise is endangered, you will warn us through him, as we will communicate to you, by the same person, what other aid we expect from you.

Are you ready to fulfill these demands?"

"Yes, baron, I am ready. I hate Napoleon and I love the legitimate king of France. So I have no choice. I will risk my life to serve the king, for the kings of France have been kind and gracious lords to my family for centuries, and we owe them all that we are. I am ready to prove my grat.i.tude by deeds, and I hope that, if I fall in the service of the king, he will have pity on my wife and my two children as soon as he himself returns to France. I will fulfill your commands. I will play the part of one who is blind and deaf. I will see and hear nothing, warn no one, unless I am forced to warn the conspirators."

"In that case you will have the kindness to send your friend, Captain de Guesniard, to St. Stephens. One of our emissaries will be waiting night and day at the entrance of the main door of the cathedral, and every message he receives will be faithfully brought to us."

"But who will it be? How is De Guesniard to recognize your confidant?"

"Who will it be? To-day our messenger at the door of St. Stephens will be a beggar-woman, to-morrow perhaps a blind cripple, the day after a priest, a lady, or some other person who would not rouse suspicion. The token by which to recognize the envoy will be a strip of blue paper, held in the left hand."

"Well, that will suffice. You have nothing more to say, baron?"

"No, colonel. So you will have the kindness to see and hear nothing for the s.p.a.ce of a week, but if, at the end of that time, you learn the news that the Emperor Napoleon has disappeared, you will hear it with the joy of a true patriot. It will be reserved for you to set off at once with post horses to bear to the Count de Lille in England this message of the rescue and purification of his throne."

"Ah, that is indeed a delightful and honorable task," cried the colonel joyously. "Heaven grant that it may be executed."

"It will be, for our arrangements are well made, and we are all anxious to do our utmost to regain the greatest of blessings, over liberty. Farewell, Colonel Mariage, in a week we shall see each other again."

"In a week or never," sighed Colonel Mariage, pressing the baron's proffered hand in his own.

CHAPTER V.

COMMISSIONER KRAUS.

After taking leave of Colonel Mariage, old Baron von Moudenfels pa.s.sed through the antechamber, where he found the valet, with slow and weary steps. Panting and resting on every stair, he descended the staircase, coughing, and moved slowly past the houses to the nearest carriage, into which he climbed with difficulty and sank with a groan upon the cus.h.i.+ons.

"Where shall I drive, your lords.h.i.+p?" asked the hackman, lifting his whip to rouse the weary nags from their half slumber.

"Where? I don't know myself, my friend," replied the old man, sighing. "I only want to ride about a little while to rest my poor old limbs and get some fresh air. So take me through the busiest streets in Vienna, that I may see them. I am a stranger who has seen little of your capital, because his weary limbs will not carry him far. So drive very slowly, at a walk, that I may see and admire everything--so slowly that if I liked anything especially, and wanted to get out, I could do so without stopping the vehicle."

"Then your lords.h.i.+p does not want to drive by the trip, but by the hour?"

"Yes, my friend, by the hour, and here are four florins in prepayment for two hours. You'll have no occasion to trouble yourself now, but drive as slowly as possible and your horses will be able to rest. So go on through the busiest streets, and at a walk."

"Well, that will suit my poor beasts," said the driver, laughing, "they have already been standing for six hours, and stiff enough from it."

He touched his horses' backs with the are whip, and the animals started.

The carriage now rolled on slowly, like a hea.r.s.e, at the pace drivers usually take when they wish to notify pedestrians that they have no occupant in their vehicles and can receive a pa.s.senger. So no one noticed the slow progress of the carriage; no one in the crowded streets through which it pa.s.sed heeded it. Yet many a person might have been interested if he could have cast a glance within.

Something strange and unusual was certainly occurring inside the hack. No sooner had it started than Baron von Moudenfels hastily raised both the side windows and pulled down the little curtains of dark red silk. No curious eyes could now look in at him, and he could fearlessly devote himself to his occupations, which he did with perfect composure and unconcern. First, he drew from the back pocket of his coat a package wrapped in paper, which he unrolled, placing its contents on the back seat.

These consisted of a wig of short fair hair, a mustache of the same color, and two little boxes containing red, white, and black paints. Then the baron took from his breast-pocket another package, which he unwrapped and produced a mirror, brushes and combs.

After hanging the mirror by a small hook on the cus.h.i.+on of the back seat, the baron began to make his toilet, that is, to transform himself from an old man into a young one. First, he removed his powdered wig and exchanged it for the blonde one, doing it so quickly that the most watchful eye would have had no time to see the color of his own hair concealed beneath. With the same speed he fastened over his. .h.i.therto beardless lips a pointed mustache of reddish-fair hair and, after removing from his face the skillfully painted wrinkles and the powder, he hastened to add red cheeks to the fair curls on his head, and to tinge the tip of his nose with the rosy hue which suggests a convivial nature. After this was accomplished, and the baron had convinced himself by a careful examination in the mirror that he was transformed into a charming, gay, young fellow, he began a similar metamorphosis of his costume. Taking the diamond pin from his lace jabot he hid it under his vest, which he b.u.t.toned to the necktie. Then removing the light silk long-skirted dress-coat, he turned it completely on the other side and, by taking out some pins which held them, let the tails fall back. The dress-coat was now changed into an overcoat, a blue cloth overcoat, whose color harmonized very pleasantly with his fair hair.

Now the metamorphosis was complete, and, from the skill and speed with which the baron had performed it, one might suppose that he was not practising such arts of disguise for the first time, but was well-trained in them. With perfect calmness and deliberation he now put the cast-off articles into the parcels, hid them in the pockets of his clothes, and, after uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the gold crutch-handle from his cane and replacing it by a plain ivory head, he drew up the little curtains and looked out with a keen, watchful gaze. The carriage was just pa.s.sing down the crowded and busy Grabenstra.s.se moving behind a long row of equipages following a funeral procession, and the driver was of course compelled to proceed slowly.

The baron now cautiously opened the carriage door, and as it was just in the act of turning a corner, he took advantage of the opportunity offered to spring with a swift leap into the street.

He now hurried rapidly along the opposite side; his bearing was as vigorous and energetic as it had just been bowed and feeble; and with the wrinkles and gray hair every trace of age had also vanished he was now a young man, but the large black eyes, with their bold, fiery gaze, suited the rosy cheeks and fair hair as little as they had formerly harmonized with the old man's pallid countenance. But at any rate the present youthfulness was no disguise, and the swift, vigorous movements were no a.s.sumption; that was evident from the ease and speed with which the baron, after entering one of the handsomest houses in the Grabenstra.s.se, ran up the stairs, never pausing until he had mounted the third flight. Beside the bell of a gla.s.s door, on a s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s plate, was engraved the name of Count von Kotte.

Baron von Moudenfels pulled this bell so violently that it echoed loudly, and at the door, which instantly opened, appeared a liveried servant with an angry face, muttering with tolerable distinctness something about unseemly noise and rude manners.

"Is Count von Kotte at home?" asked the baron hastily.

"No," muttered the lackey, "the count isn't at home, and it wasn't necessary to ring so horribly loud to ask the question."

He stepped back and was about to close the door again, but the baron thrust his foot between it and the frame and seized the man's sleeve.

"My good fellow, I _must_ see the count," he said imperiously.

"But when I tell you that the count isn't--"

He stopped suddenly in the middle of his sentence and cast a stolen glance at the florin which the baron had pressed into his hand.

"Announce me to Count von Kotte," said the baron pleasantly. "He will certainly receive me."

"Your name, sir?" asked the lackey respectfully.

"Commissioner Kraus," was the reply. The man withdrew, and, a few minutes after, returned with a smiling face.

"The count is at home and begs the gentleman to come in," he said, throwing the door wide open and standing respectfully beside it.