The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic

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The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic Page 63

by Eugène Sue


  CHAPTER VIII.

  RETURN OF NAPOLEON.

  It was ten o'clock in the morning of the 20th day of March, of the year1815. Monsieur Desmarais and his brother-in-law, Monsieur Hubert, wereawaiting in a chamber of the Tuileries an audience which they hadrequested with the Duke of Blacas, minister to Louis XVIII, and his mostintimate favorite. They had anticipated the hour of the interview, inorder to arrive among the first; for great was the throng of solicitantswhich sought Monsieur Blacas, whose recommendation was all-powerful withthe King. Desmarais and Hubert were dressed in the costume of peers ofthe realm of France. The former, first senator under the Consulate, thenunder the Empire, had been besides created a Count by Napoleon. Thus,turned royalist, just as he had been Bonapartist (and, to retrace hispolitical career, Thermidorean, Terrorist, Jacobin, and first of allConstitutional), Count Desmarais owed to his recent royalist devotionthe fact that he had been included in the list of senators who were madepeers of France since the Bourbon return. He was now in his sixty-ninthyear; his careworn, bitter features began to show the weakening hand ofage. Hubert, on the contrary, seemed lively and brisk as ever. He hadbecome the possessor of an enormous fortune, thanks to his purveyorshipunder the Directorate, while he was a member of the Council of Ancients.He had curried no favors at the hand of the Empire, whose absolutismconflicted with his political principles; his ideal government hadalways been a constitutional King, subordinated to an oligarchy ofbourgeois. Hubert had been one of a batch of large proprietors whomLouis XVIII had in one day admitted to the Chamber of Peers; but he hadnot been long in alienating himself from the government of theRestoration, which was piling fault upon fault; he accordingly attachedhimself to the Orleanist faction.

  While awaiting their audience with Minister Blacas, the two were engagedin a political discussion. Soon there entered Fouche, in tow of anusher. "You will inform his Excellency that the Duke of Otranto begs anaudience with him," said Fouche to the usher. The usher bowed anddisappeared into the ante-room, while the new Duke exclaimed:

  "What, is this you, Citizen Brutus Desmarais? And pray, what are yousoliciting here? An order for the debut at the Opera of that dancinggirl you are protecting?"

  "That devil of a Fouche knows everything! You would think he was stillMinister of Police," interjected Hubert.

  "The cask will always smell of the herring, my dear. I saw this morningtwo of my old agents, who continue to make me their little confidences."

  "Prefect of police, chief of spies! A pretty function, and highlyhonorable!" sneered Hubert.

  "Take care, take care, Citizen Hubert," cautioned Fouche. "I have my eyeon the Orleanist conspiracy, in which you have taken it upon yourself toplay a role!"

  "Your spies are robbing you. You are very ill informed," retorted thebanker.

  "Why try to trifle with me? Everybody conspires under the open heavensthese days. These Bourbons are imbeciles, and their Prefect of Police,Monsieur Andre, is a ninny! We play all around their legs."

  "How can you dare to hold such language in the very palace of ourbeloved sovereigns?" protested Count Desmarais.

  "Come, now! You and your fellows in the Chamber of Peers are yourselvesconspirators and enemies of the Bourbons."

  "Your conspiracies are pure will-o'-the-wisps," again retorted Hubert.

  "Well, I tell you that you, Hubert, are conspiring for the Duke ofOrleans. Several officers and generals are conspiring in favor ofBonaparte. A number of colonels in command of regiments are connectedwith this second plot; while, finally, the old Jacobins, and notablyyour son-in-law John Lebrenn, Citizen Brutus, as well as the painterMartin and their friends, are conspiring for the Republic; that's athird conspiracy."

  "All these plots and complots are of your own invention," grumbledDesmarais, feeling very uneasy.

  "True!" acquiesced Fouche with a smile. "But if I never follow theconspiracies I invent, I at least always let myself into those which theimbeciles are nursing. I've a foot everywhere: with the republicans, asan ex-Terrorist; among the Bonapartists, as ex-minister of the Emperor;with the Orleanists as an old friend of Philip Equality's; in short, thebest proof I can give you of the existence of these complots is, that Ihave just come to denounce them. Yes," he continued, his smilebroadening, while Desmarais and Hubert stared at him in stupefaction, "Ihave come to denounce them to that blockhead of a Blacas."

  "His Excellency will have the honor to receive Monsieur the Duke ofOtranto," announced the usher, making a low bow to Fouche.

  "Messieurs," beamed Fouche as he moved towards the open door, "aroyalist like me comes before everybody."

  As the door closed after Fouche, a new group of solicitors entered thewaiting room. These newcomers were the Count of Plouernel, now in spiteof his missing eye lieutenant-general and second in command of thecompany of Black Musketeers of the military household of Louis XVIII;the Count's son, Viscount Gonthram, a boy of thirteen, in the costume ofKing's page; and, lastly, Cardinal Plouernel, the Count's youngerbrother. The prelate was garbed in a red cloak and cap. For a momentthese new personages stood apart, then the Count of Plouernel advancedtowards Monsieur Hubert, whom he did not at first recognize, and engagedhim in the following conversation:

  "Will you have the goodness, sir, to inform me whether the audienceshave commenced?"

  "Yes, monsieur; just now the Duke of Otranto was called in by Monsieurthe Duke of Blacas. But, pardon me," he added, as little by little herecalled the other's features, "is it not Monsieur the Count ofPlouernel whom I have the honor to address?"

  "Yes, monsieur," replied the latter.

  "Monsieur, do you not recognize me?" continued Hubert. "I will assistyou. We met in 1792, during the trial of our unhappy King. We wereconspiring then against the Republic--"

  "St. Roche Street, at the house of the former beadle of the parish? NowI recall it!"

  "Who would have told us then, Monsieur Count, that more than twentyyears after that meeting we would encounter each other again in thepalace of the brother of that royal martyr?"

  "I fear lest that terrible lesson be lost upon royalty."

  "Between ourselves, and without reproach, you have been somewhat thecause of these unhappinesses, you gentlemen of the nobility."

  "In conspiring against the republican Constitution we but defended ourproperty and our honor. The Republic despoiled us of our seigniorialrights, sacred and consecrated rights which we held of God and of oursword."

  "Ah, the eternal strife between the Franks and the Gauls! Why is not mynephew Lebrenn here to reply to you!"

  "What say you, sir?" asked Plouernel, shuddering at the name. "ThatLebrenn, that ironsmith, has he become your nephew? What strange news!"

  "He married my niece, the daughter of advocate Desmarais, to-day Countand peer of France."

  Under the weight of the memories evoked by the name of Lebrenn, theCount fell silent. The Cardinal drew close to the speakers, holding bythe hand his nephew Gonthram. His Eminence, better served by his memorythan his brother the Count, recognized Hubert at once, and addressed himin the most courteous tones:

  "It has indeed been many years since we met, monsieur; for, if yourecollect, I accompanied my brother to the cabal in St. Roche Street.What a time! What sad days!"

  "Indeed; and your Eminence must recall how lacking in respect to you thereverend Father Morlet was, who arrogated to himself the chairmanship ofour meeting. The reverend was accompanied by his god-son, who seemed tobe about the age of this pretty page" (indicating Gonthram); "but he wasfar from resembling him, for I never saw a face more sly andhypocritical than that child of the Church wore."

  "Father Morlet is dead, and his god-son, taking orders in Rome under thename of Abbot Rodin, is affiliated with the Society of Jesus," theCardinal informed the group. "This Father Rodin, as private secretary ofthe present General of the Order, enjoys great influence. Ah! by myfaith! I did not know that our master hypocrite was in Paris!"

  While the Cardinal was uttering these last words, the door
opened and instepped himself, the reverend Father Rodin. He was accompanied by anusher, into whose ear he dropped a couple of words. Rodin was now pasthis thirtieth year. His meager face, smooth shaven and wan, hishalf-closed and restless reptile eyes, his slightly bowed back, hisalready bald forehead, his bent neck, his sidling gait, his attitude ofmock-humility, through which shone his contempt for others--everythingabout the man stamped him as hypocrisy incarnate. His black gown wasthreadbare and whitened at the seams; the mud was caked on his clumsyshoes. In one hand he held a squalid-looking cap, in the other an oldcotton umbrella with red-and-white checks.

  The usher to whom he spoke stepped for a moment into the next room andreturned almost immediately. He made a deep obeisance of respect to theJesuit, and said to him in a voice marked with great deference,"Reverend Father, I have the honor to conduct you at once to the privatecabinet of monseigneur, who is at present engaged with the Duke ofOtranto."

  Rodin made a sign of assent, and with eyes fixed on his shoes, so thathe did not see the Cardinal, he was about to walk by the group in whichthe latter stood.

  "Usher!" called the Cardinal, haughtily, "a word with you. We, Monsieurthe Count of Plouernel and I, were here before this reverend, which hedoes not seem to know. The reverend gentleman should wait his time ofaudience, and not usurp ours," he added, while Rodin bowed himselfalmost to the ground before him.

  "I have the honor to inform your Eminence that I have orders fromMonseigneur the Duke of Blacas on the subject of this holy Father. He isto be introduced whenever he presents himself, and before all otherpersons. I obey the orders given me," returned the usher.

  "I shall not allow a simple priest to precede by a single step a Princeof the Church!" stamped the Cardinal. Rodin only bowed before himseveral times, lower than before, without raising his eyes to his face.

  "My orders are imperative," said the usher.

  Indignant the Cardinal turned to his brother. "Well, brother," he said,"there we are! By the navel of the Pope, I'd like to knock theinterloper down!"

  For all answer Rodin again mutely and humbly inclined towards theCardinal. Then he made a sign to the usher to precede him, and vanishedthrough a door on the opposite side of the room from where he hadentered.

  The latter entrance again swung open, and admitted Lieutenant GeneralCount Oliver, in the garish uniform of his rank and decorated with theLegion of Honor and several foreign orders. He wore the great red ribbonon his scarf, the order of the Iron Crown over his shoulder, and theCross of St. Louis in one of the buttonholes of his coat, whichglittered with braid. John Lebrenn's old apprentice was nowthirty-eight; his moustache still held its blackness, but his hair wasstreaked with grey; his face still was handsome and martial. A totalstranger to the other personages in the audience chamber, he seatedhimself a little distance off from the group formed by the Cardinal, theCount of Plouernel, and Monsieur Hubert. Count Desmarais had withdrawninto the alcove of a window.

  "That Jesuit, that scamp, that priestlet, introduced to Monsieur Blacasbefore me!" stormed the Cardinal to the Count, his brother. "Me, aPrince of the Church! I declare, as things are going, helped along bythat execrable charter of 1814, we are marching towards another '93!France is lost!"

  "The Restoration has done a great deal for the clergy, MonsieurCardinal," declared Hubert. "You are very wrong to cast reproaches atthe King and the government."

  "I am of my brother's opinion as to what concerns the nobility," saidthe Count of Plouernel. "I blame the King strongly for giving thecommand of two regiments of his guards to ex-Marshals of the Empire,clodhoppers, men of no account, like all these plebeians, hardly scrapedclean by the nobility Napoleon covered them with." General Oliver, sofar unnoticed by the Count of Plouernel, here moved indignantly, but theCount proceeded: "The King should never have entrusted commands to thesebarrack-heroes, smelling of the pipe and the bottle, bumpkins whom wemust elbow out of our way at the Tuileries, we, old Emigrants, whofought them under the Republic. We sacrificed all for our masters, andthey do us the outrage to treat these upstarts as our equals! Thesespecimens, during their Emperor's time, expressed themselves mostinsultingly toward the house of Bourbon; and to-day they acceptservices, favors, and commands from the King. It is only to betray himsome day; at least that would not be the last word in the renegades'baseness, and they would not even be conscious of their apostasy!"

  At this General Oliver rose, pale with anger, and striding roughly up toPlouernel said in a voice of concentrated rage:

  "Sir, you will regret, I am convinced, your last words, when you learnthat I, Lieutenant General, Count Oliver, have served the Emperor, towhom I owe my rank and title. For I have the honor to be a soldier offortune, sir. I shall know how to chastise any insolence that may beaddressed to me!"

  Disdainfully looking General Oliver over from head to foot, the Count ofPlouernel made answer: "Well, sir! I, Gaston, Count of Plouernel, secondin command in his Majesty's Black Musketeers, have the honor never tohave served any but my masters. I followed them into exile, and Ireturned to France in 1814. You have my opinion of traitors andturn-coats."

  "The King has conferred on me the command of a military division, and itpleased him to award me the Cross of St. Louis. Tell me, sir, am I inyour eyes because of that command and that decoration a traitor or arenegade? Answer, sir," demanded Oliver.

  "Since you ask me, sir, I shall reply in all sincerity----"

  At the moment when Plouernel would have finished the sentence, he wasinterrupted by the hilarious roar of a new personage who had burst intothe room laughing fit to split his sides. It was his old friend theMarquis of St. Esteve, that intolerable would-be conspirator, whom themost serious moment could not check in his buffoonery. Powdered white,the Marquis's hair was dressed in 'pigeon-wings'; his little queuebobbed up and down on the collar of his bourgeois' coat with goldepaulets. He wore a court sword, knee breeches, and top boots; he wasthe epitome of that type of Emigrant dubbed 'Louis XV's tumblers.' Onseeing Plouernel he at once ran toward him, clasped him in his arms, andall the while laughing fit to kill, exclaimed:

  "Ah, Count! Hold me! I die! Oh, the idea! Ha, ha, ha! This time I shallsplit of it, surely! Oh, oh, oh! If you knew the funny sto--ry! Ah, theidea! I shall surely choke--let me laugh!"

  Plouernel pushed him off, muttering "Devil take the nuisance!"

  "Hang the Emigrant!" growled Oliver, on his part. "Interrupting just asI was about to slap that insolent fellow's face!"

  "You don't know of it!" ran on the Marquis, continuing to shriek withlaughter. "Ha, ha, ha! Bonaparte--has--has--oh! the idea!--hasreturned--has landed at the gulf--oh! oh!--at the gulf of Juan, near thetown of Antibes! If that wouldn't make one split his sides laughing! Hi,hi, hi!"

  "Gentlemen," cried an usher rushing in in a fright, and beside himself,"his Excellency has just been summoned to the King in haste by animportant unforeseen matter. There is no need waiting--the audiences areoff for another day!"

  Following him hurriedly out of Blacas's cabinet, came Fouche, rubbinghis hands. Glimpsing Desmarais, pale and distracted at the news ofNapoleon's landing, he called to him: "If the tyrant does not have youshot on his return, Citizen Count Brutus, my faith, you will havefortune with you this time. Make your will!"

  "Such a catastrophe! The designs of God are indeed impenetrable!"exclaimed the Cardinal to Fouche.

  "On the contrary, this is the happiest event that could happen under thecanopy. You don't see that Bonaparte falls into the little trap I setfor him. His return is folly. He will reach Paris without striking ablow, for the Bourbons are execrated. But before a month, all Europewill march against France."

  Without waiting for Fouche to finish his speech, the various persons inthe hall fled to the door, each a prey to a different fear.

 

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