Читать книгу The Emperor and his Double - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 5

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"I must get rid of Fouché."

"Consul, I believe that he is faithful and devoted to you; it is only carelessness of which he has been guilty."

"Silence, sir; do not bandy words with me. Carelessness—it is worse than treachery."

Ségur flushed crimson at this rude speech from his master. Napoleon, perceiving that he had hurt the feelings of the young scion of the old regime, for whom he entertained a lively affection, slipped over to the soldier's side, and, twining a lock of Ségur's hair around the forefinger which had commanded a score of victorious charges, pulled his head gently from side to side.

"Ah, young hot-blood," he said, while Ségur again flushed, this time with pleasure, at the mark of Napoleon's regard.

Of a sudden the First Consul grew stern and hard again. "Can I retain this Fouché, if he cannot, or will not, protect me from the blows of assassins and the plots of conspirators?"

Never did Napoleon seem more anxious to his aide-de-camp than on that day. There was, too, good reason why the marble imperturbability of the Man of Destiny should be disturbed. He had just been acquainted with a far-reaching plot to seize his person, and by a "coup d'état" overthrow the Consular Government. No less persons than the Red Republican, General Moreau, and the proscribed Royalist, Pichegru, were at the head of the conspiracy; and at that very moment La Malmaison was surrounded by the emissaries of the conspirators. Napoleon, within a league of his army, was helplessly ensnared. A hundred men held in their chain the half a dozen of his personal attendants on whose fidelity he could rely.

"Beloved master," Ségur at last cried, after a moment or two of painful silence, "let me lead the guard out and fight our way through. Even my dead body will continue to fight to protect the destiny of France. We will succeed."

"Hopeless."

"God will not permit you to be assassinated."

"God! He will be with the most numerous daggers."

For fully a minute Ségur watched in silence the face of Napoleon, whose brow was—almost imperceptibly—rippled now and again by a quick tremor. Then the tense stare of the great eyes relaxed and an ironic smile wreathed the mouth.

"I am to be seized after dinner in the garden. That is four hours yet. I may not pass out, as every carriage is scanned. Is that so?"

"Yes, Consul."

"You brought Paolo here yesterday?"

"Yes, General."

"We have not examined him yet."

Ségur seemed perplexed. "No, General," he answered.

Napoleon thought a moment and then turned affectionately to the young soldier. "Good," he cried. "You love Moreau, whose Jacobin tongue defiled the reputation of your noble father. Good, Ségur. You shall be with me when next we meet. Go. Bring Paolo to me."

Josephine did not appear at dinner that night, and the First Consul was gloomy and more than ordinarily taciturn. Ségur dined with him and not a score of words were spoken during the course of the meal. Two of the waiters, who were spies of Moreau, noticed this fact, and quickly communicated it to the conspirators outside.

"Well," said Cretin, a fellow who had charge of the main body entrusted with the seizure of Napoleon, "if he suspects and does not come out for his usual walk in the grounds after dinner we must enter the house."

"If he resists?" muttered a man nearby, his voice unconsciously showing his awe at the thought of attacking the hero of Arcola.

"Bah! All the better. I would run the Corsican through with much pleasure."

As Napoleon was sallying out for his usual stroll, accompanied by Ségur, the latter slapped him familiarly on the shoulder.

"Paolo," he said, "you are splendid. But what a devil of a difference that black prison-grown beard of yours made in you. Now, you know your role. Be silent. Speak as little as possible, and await a rescue."

The sham Napoleon, again restored to liberty, and again masquerading as his august brother, appeared to resent Ségur's familiarity.

"Silence, sir."

The voice was so like the First Consul's that Ségur started. "The devil," he muttered; "this gentleman orders me about in Imperial style."

The double of Napoleon paced gloomily along, his head bent to the earth. As he reached a little clump of almond trees a dozen muskets were levelled at his breast.

"Bonaparte, surrender in the name of the Republic," called out Cretin.

"Ségur, my guards!" The despairing cry was too late. When Ségur, with half a dozen others, reached the spot, the sham Napoleon was bound hand and foot.

Ségur tore open his coat. "Traitors," he cried; "here is my life."

"We want but your sword," said Cretin.

"That, you dog, you shall never soil," exclaimed the young man, as he broke his blade across his knee, and flung the hilt in Cretin's face.

A dozen of the conspirators rushed forward, but Cretin waved them back.

"Let him be," he said, "General Moreau is not hunting for lacqueys."

The men moved off with their great capture.

It was the daring plan of Generals Moreau and Pichegru, whose mutual animosity had been slain by their stronger feeling of hate for Napoleon, to seize the person of the First Consul at La Malmaison, and to immure him in some prison, taking advantage of the confusion caused by his inexplicable disappearance to themselves seize the reigns of power. They thought that their names combined would rally to their scheme the support of both Republicans and Royalists. It was part of their plan to allow the sudden disappearance of the First Consul to remain unexplained until their 'coup d'état' had been effected. When they imagined that they had the person of Napoleon secured, they went quietly to bed, and the next day, at noon, presented themselves at the Tuileries, innocently asking for an interview with the First Consul. The impudent assurance of Pichegru caused intense wonder in the precincts of the palace. That he should thus set at defiance the proscription of the Republic by coming to Paris, and to the very seat of Government, seemed to argue that he held his life cheaply. But no one molested him as he walked by Moreau's side.

All was orderly and usual at the Tuileries. No reign of confusion indicated the conclusion of the Bonaparte regime, and an orderly at once ushered the conspirators into a private reception-room. There they were confronted by—Napoleon!

Pichegru had something of superstition in his nature. Faced by the man whom he had left half an hour before incarcerated at the Château La Roche Guyon, he turned pale as death, staggered; then crossing himself, seemed to recover a little. Moreau was more stoical. Only a slight twitching of his lips betrayed the agitation which convulsed him. He recalled the previous night, when he crouched behind the almond copse and himself saw Napoleon seized. He heard again the passionate cry of Ségur and Cretin's taunt "Moreau does not hunt lacqueys." Now, Napoleon stood in the reception-room of the ancient Kings of France and Ségur was by his side. Moreau prepared to meet death with Republican firmness.

A pleasant greeting shone from the First Consul's face. Ségur's, on the contrary, was inartistically immobile.

"Good morning, citizens," cried Napoleon.

Neither Moreau nor Pichegru could find a word. Has he then made his peace with the Republic? Still there was no reply.

"And Pichegru, Moreau, thus arm-in-arm? Why, indeed, the wounds of our noble France are healing. Gentlemen, my congratulations on your friendship."

Pichegru was muttering oaths under his breath. Moreau remained stolidly silent; his mouth twitching, thinking this mocking was the worst part of death. And how had the devil Napoleon escaped? Cretin, half an hour before, had reported Napoleon safely gaoled.

Now he was here.

"Citizens, you are silent. The emotion of your recent reconciliation still affects you?"

"Sire," stammered Pichegru.

"Sire," retorted Napoleon sharply; "Sire—Citizen Pichegru, I am not your King."

"You infernal Satin," muttered the discomfited Royalist, under his breath.

"Your business, citizens?" Napoleon went on. "France demands my care. Perhaps you wish me to congratulate you on your new amity."

"Yes, general," said Moreau at last.

"Then I do so. This is a time of peace; it is well you should be reconciled. I have business now with Captain Ségur, the son, General Moreau, of a general whose sword was always faithful to France, and who never took the gold of foreign assassins."

The terrible glance which Napoleon bent upon the conspirators scorched their very souls. They could not comprehend his purpose, while recognising that he had full knowledge of their schemes. Dumbfounded, the prey of torturing doubts and fears, they returned to Cretin, dreading every moment the appearance of arresting officers. Arrived at their headquarters the chiefs of the conspiracy sent for Cretin and found that he had gone to the château, a mile distant, where "Napoleon" was incarcerated.

A moment or two afterwards the discharge of muskets and the clash of steel came faintly to their ears. Five minutes elapsed and Cretin came rushing in. "General," he cried, "he has escaped. The château was surrounded by soldiers and Bonaparte rescued. My forces were overwhelmed."

"You lie."

The words simply burst from Pichegru, who seemed to be on the verge of apoplexy.

But the arrival of Cretin's following, bearing two of their number dead, soon proved the truth of the report. "Napoleon" had just escaped!

An hour afterwards Ségur reported to Napoleon that the Double had, after being rescued, got free from his rescuers, by the simple expedient of representing to them that it was the First Consul's order that he should go to Havre.

For several days after this incident a deep gloom reigned over the Tuileries. The First Consul shut himself in his closet and would see no one.

Twice daily Fouché came with his resume of the reports collected by his spies, to be met each time with the same question, "Have you found Paolo?" to which he was forced always to confess, "No, Citizen Consul," and reluctantly to retire, carrying his bulletin with him, neglected, sometimes even unopened.

On the morning of the 23rd December it was announced that Napoleon, with his staff, would attend Haydn's oratorio of "The Creation," which was to be presented at the Opera House that evening, and this announcement somewhat relieved the gloom which had enfolded the palace for so long.

Towards noon Fouché was making his way to the First Consul's room, when he was stopped by Ségur.

"The First Consul is engaged; he cannot be disturbed, Citizen Fouché," said the aide-de-camp.

The courtier smiled. "We shall wait," he replied softly.

"How does the General to-day, captain?" he enquired later.

"He frowns always," replied Ségur in a low voice. "He seldom speaks. When he speaks, it is to condemn."

"Whom does he condemn?"

"Everyone. Especially is he furious with the police, whom he accuses of being incompetent," answered Ségur dryly.

Fouché, with a mournful shrug of his shoulders and a deprecatory wave of his palms complained—"There are those in the palace who are opposed to me. My services are unexampled—my chain of observation complete. I detect certain plots; I prevent others; I avert dangers; and yet the First Consul remains displeased with me."

"Have you found Paolo?" asked Ségur.

"Paolo, Paolo—that is merely a question of time," replied Fouché contemptuously.

"And yet the First Consul appears to consider his immediate arrest important," said Ségur.

Fouché appeared to be about to make some retort, but at the moment he opened his lips to speak Napoleon, without warning, entered the room from his closet. His face wore an expression of more than usual complaisance. Upon perceiving the Minister of Police he halted and questioned him abruptly.

"Have you found Paolo?" he demanded.

Fouché assumed a look of concern and answered humbly—"Paolo still eludes us, Citizen Consul; but without doubt——"

"Without doubt he will continue to elude you, Citizen Minister," Napoleon interrupted curtly. "What brings you here?"

"There are rumors, Citizen Consul——"

"Rumors—always rumors," muttered Napoleon.

"Yes, but these are definite," said Fouché eagerly. "We have discovered an infernal machine designed undoubtedly for your destruction."

"Where did you discover this machine?"

"In the grounds of a convent, where it had exploded by accident."

Napoleon pondered over this information for a few seconds; then signed for the others to retire, taking the Minister's arm familiarly.

"What is this new plot you have discovered?" he asked presently.

"We have taken a chemist who has been induced to confess a plan to assassinate you at the opera this evening, Citizen Consul," answered Fouché.

"Who are these conspirators?"

"Pichegru, Cadoudal, Saint-Regent, and others."

"Royalists," cried Napoleon, with a start.

"Undoubtedly!"

"You have arrested these assassins?"

"Not yet," confessed Fouché. "They have many friends in Paris."

At this moment an attendant entering the room handed a scrap of paper to the First Consul, who glanced at the contents mechanically. Upon reading them, however, he turned to the attendant quickly. "Admit him," he said.

"Do you know whom we are about to see. Citizen Minister?" he asked.

Fouché shook his head. "No, Citizen Consul," he answered.

"Paolo," said Napoleon laconically.

"Impossible," cried the Minister of Police. At that moment Paolo Gracci entered the room and bowed before the First Consul.

"Well?" cried Napoleon authoritatively.

"I crave a private audience, General," said Paolo.

"What you have to say, say here!" said the First Consul.

Paolo glanced apprehensively at Fouché, whom he was not acquainted with, while the Minister of Police, in return, attentively regarded him, marvelling at his extraordinary resemblance to the First Consul, in spite of the difference in dress; and even more wondering at the similarity of the voices of the two men, whom he did not yet know to be related.

"I come here," said Paolo, impressively, "to save the life of the First Consul of France." He addressed these words rather to his whole audience than to Napoleon.

"Ah," sighed Fouché.

"Another plot," sneered Napoleon.

"Is it true that you intend to visit the opera to-night?" asked Paolo.

Napoleon started. "And if it should be true?"

"You will be destroyed by an earthquake."

"How, an earthquake?"

"By an invention of the devil—an infernal machine!"

"Ah," sighed Fouché again. "You will now credit what a moment ago I informed you, Citizen Consul."

"How did you learn this plot?" demanded Napoleon, entirely disregarding Fouché.

"By listening to the conversation of the guests of a limonadier, at whose house I lodged myself," answered the adventurer.

For the first time Fouché regarded Paolo suspiciously.

"It is queer they would speak such things before a stranger," he murmured.

"They did not see me, and, besides, they imagined that I could only speak Corsican," explained Paolo.

"Ah! a spy; a spy of the first water," muttered Fouché, admiringly to himself. "Decidedly this young man must enter my service."

"The address of this limonadier," demanded Napoleon.

"No. 17, Rue de Cattisrs," replied Paolo, which address Fouché immediately transferred to his notebook.

"Perhaps Citizen Paolo will give us the details of this conspiracy," suggested the Minister of Police.

"The conspirators," said Paolo, "rely upon the First Consul visiting the opera this evening, and they have timed the explosion of their infernal machine to take place when his carriage should pass a certain spot in the Rue Saint Nicaise on its way to the opera."

"Perhaps Citizen Paolo can tell us the names of the gentlemen who made these arrangements?" suggested Fouché, notebook in hand.

The Corsican shrugged his shoulders. "They were all strangers to me," he answered.

Napoleon stamped his foot impatiently upon the floor, uttering an ejaculation of disappointment.

"Ah! bah!" he cried. "Why could not a member of the police have occupied this man's place—a fellow to whom these conspirators' faces would be familiar? These police."

Fouché continued his questioning.

"Perhaps they mentioned names, Citizen Paolo—think," he entreated.

"They mentioned names, certainly. They spoke of two men as their leaders. They spoke of two parties having sunk their mutual hatred to destroy the First Consul."

"What parties?" cried Napoleon quickly.

"The Royalists and the Republicans."

"Who were these leaders they mentioned?" demanded Napoleon.

"Moreau and Pichegru," replied Paolo briefly.

The First Consul's face flushed with surprise and pleasure, and he rubbed his hands together in evident delight.

"Good, good," he cried exultantly; "now Fouché, we have them. Moreau, le diable, the only one who had a chance against me. Moreau plotting with the Bourbons. Excellent. I have indeed a lucky star."

"But, Citizen Consul."

"What is the matter with you, old bloodhound?" said Napoleon good-humoredly, turning to Fouché.

"There are certain details to be arranged before we can effect an arrest—certain proofs."

"I have a plan," suddenly interrupted Paolo.

"Let us hear Citizen Paolo's plan," said Napoleon genially.

"It appears to me," said the Corsican, "that it is necessary besides averting the consequences of this conspiracy, to obtain as well proofs of the crime, in order to secure the conviction of the offenders."

"This young man is a born policeman," muttered Fouché.

"Proceed," said Napoleon.

"In order to obtain these proofs, it would be necessary to allow the conspirators to commit their crime undisturbed."

"Explain yourself!"

"Let the First Consul's carriage leave the Tuileries a few moments earlier than the appointed time, and it will thus escape the explosion, which is calculated to the fraction of a minute."

"What think you of this plan, Citizen Minister?" asked Napoleon.

"It is clever, but, I fear, too dangerous. The First Consul should not undergo such a risk. It would——"

"My plan," interrupted Paolo, "provided for that. I was about to suggest that the First Consul should allow a substitute to appear in his place at the opera this evening—some person who would closely resemble him in person."

Napoleon frowned. "You?" he said, questioningly.

Ségur rudely broke in—"The First Consul need not draw on his prisons for volunteers for such a service," he said. The young soldier seemed to have been seized with a violent antipathy to Paolo.

Napoleon silenced Ségur with a glance. "I approve," he said. "Citizen Minister, to you I leave the details."

As the door closed upon the First Consul, Paolo turned to Ségur—"Wherein have I offended you, Citizen Ségur?" he enquired abruptly.

Ségur shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of disdain; then, with a bow, replied, "You have not offended me, Citizen Paolo. I merely quarrel with your accent. It is vulgar, believe me!"

At this insult Paolo started forward, but Fouché placed himself between the two. "Come, come, citizens," he said, warningly, "remember we are in the Tuileries. Besides, there is work to be done. Citizen Paolo, your arm." Then, taking the Corsican by the arm, he hurried him off, leaving Ségur pacing up and down the room, biting his lips angrily.

That evening, to all appearances, the First Consul, according to arrangement, departed in his carriage at the usual time for the opera, in order to take part in the first presentation in Paris of Haydn's oratorio, "The Creation." This much the world saw. There were two details, however, in this departure from the Tuileries concerning which the world rested unacquainted. The first was that the First Consul's carriage set out four minutes before the appointed time. The second was that although a man so precisely resembling the First Consul as to be capable of deceiving his closest relatives, entered the carriage, the First Consul himself at that moment was standing in his private chamber, the doors of which he had taken the precaution to lock, while he occupied the time in alternately gazing out of the window into the night and impatiently drumming with the tips of his fingers upon the pane.

The First Consul's carriage drove along at a smart pace until it reached the corner of the Rue Saint Nicaise, when a block of carriages in the street compelled a halt. The Double of Napoleon appeared to be excessively annoyed at this occurrence, and he occupied the time of forced inactivity in counting the seconds—one, two, three, four, five. He had counted 125 when with a sudden jolt the carriage again proceeded and he fell back in his seat with a gesture of relief. The carriage turned into the Rue Saint Nicaise, drove a few yards, and again stopped. The First Consul sprang up with a cry of rage. "What in the name of the devil keeps us," he called out to Caesar, the coachman. "Drive on, drive on!" An old woman with a handbarrow had come in the way of the horses, compelling the coachman to either pull up or run over her, perhaps leading to an accident which would, besides immolating her, have injured the occupants of the carriage. The Double of Napoleon had counted 55 seconds in this second halt. Three precious minutes had gone. Suddenly the carriage stopped again. Paolo sprang to the carriage window and himself gave the countersign, crying to the coachman—"Whip up your horses. Drive on, sir. We are late." For the next minute Paolo's face, as seen by the light of the lamps passed by the carriage was deathly white. Soon they passed a low, dark building, which occupied a considerable portion of the street. As the carriage cleared the last angle of the building, Paolo leaned forward. At that moment a terrific sound as of the explosion of a hundred cannon filled the air. It was immediately followed by frantic screams and cries of pain. This explosion came from behind the carriage, and the horses, springing forward terrified, could with difficulty be controlled by the coachman. "That is the infernal machine," said Napoleon's Double, turning with the utmost coolness to a staff officer. Presently the opera was reached, and when they entered the theatre "the First Consul" received the congratulations of the whole vast audience as soon as the news of his narrow escape had spread among them. Soon afterwards "the First Consul" attended by his suite, departed from the theatre and returned to the Tuileries, proceeding with Ségur immediately to the chamber of the real Napoleon, who greeted his double with a laconic "Well?"

Paolo answered by tearing off the coat, which had helped out his extraordinary resemblance to the First Consul, then he spoke, "I bear a message to you, Citizen Consul, from Citizen Minister Fouché."

"This message," asked Napoleon impatiently.

"The Citizen Minister craves that when he calls to confer with you upon the plot which has just been frustrated you should greet him with abuses in order to allay the suspicions of the Royalists. Moreau left Paris secretly this morning."

"Then," cried Napoleon excitedly, "that noise which I heard even here in my chamber——"

"Was the explosion of the infernal machine, which we narrowly escaped by some two seconds," interrupted Paolo. "It was reported to me in the opera that some 60 odd persons were destroyed, and judging by the cries of pain which reached us, it is easy to believe this report to be true."

Napoleon gazed into his Double's face with a strange commingling of emotions in his own. Rage, contempt, disappointment, affection, were all blended in that one curious look.

"So, Moreau has escaped," he said aloud.

"Alas, yes," answered Paolo.

Suddenly Napoleon spoke in Corsican.

"What shall I do for you?" he asked.

"I need revenge on a man who has insulted me," answered Paolo.

"How can I help you?" asked Napoleon.

"Make me a colonel."

"To-morrow you shall have the appointment," answered Napoleon.

Then Napoleon, overcome by a sudden graciousness, took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly.

"Au revoir, brother," he said, as he left.

Paolo walked across the room, showing extreme indifference to the presence of Ségur, and made as if to depart, when the latter cried out: "Hold, citizen."

Paola stopped. "What do you want with me?"

"Pending the Consul's orders, you are still my prisoner," answered Ségur grimly.

Paolo looked him in the face. "To-morrow, sir, I shall be a colonel, when I shall be easily able to repay your impertinence. To-night I am a private citizen who will teach you a lesson in manners in return for your politeness in drawing my attention to my accent."

"Good," said Ségur, briefly, "pray proceed."

"You have a habit," said Paolo, "of holding your head slightly to one side. It is an affectation which displeases me. I would cure it thus." With a swift movement Paolo sprang forward and hit the other a smart blow on the cheek with his open palm.

Ségur half drew his sword, his face grey with rage, "Sortons!" he cried shrilly.

"I should be happy to oblige you, citizen, but is it not true that you have charge of the First Consul?"

Ségur hesitated, though evidently racked with passion. "I shall obtain another officer to relieve me. Wait here," he cried, and rushed through the open door. When he returned a moment later with a brother officer the Corsican adventurer had vanished. He left a message with a porter—"At the Bons de Boulogne by the Avenue de Neuilly at noon," and he left his address in the Rue des Orties.

Ségur understood that it was to be a duel and dispatched a messenger to Paulo's rooms agreeing to the meeting, and arranging that there should be no seconds. The First Consul had set his face against duels, and Ségur feared that the knowledge of this might leak out.