Louise Muehlbach - A Conspiracy of the Carbonari

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He moved swiftly forward several steps and greeted with a hasty nod the
officers who had all bowed respectfully before him, and stood motionless in
absolute silence.

"General Bertrand," said the emperor, in his sonorous, musical voice, "you
will proceed at once to the island of Lobau to make preparations for the
great bridge-building which must be commenced at once and completed within
a week. The restoration and strengthening of the bridges which connect the
island of Lobau and the other little islands with the right bank of the
Danube is our principal task for the moment. Be mindful of that, general,
and act accordingly. General Massena, you will undertake with me the
principal direction of this bridge-building, and accompany me daily to the
island of Lobau. Bertrand will direct the building of the four firm bridges
which will connect Lobau with the shore of the Danube. We will select the
places for six bridges of boats which must also be thrown across. To
prevent interruption, the Austrians must be occupied, and Generals Fouchet
and Roguet will therefore post batteries of fifty cannon and bomb-proof
storehouses for ammunition, in order not only to keep the enemy from the
left bank, but also to drive him out of all the islands in the Danube. You
will all take care to execute my orders with the utmost rapidity and
punctiliousness. The Austrians disputed the victory with us at Esslingen;
in their arrogance they will perhaps even go so far as to assert that
_they_ obtained it; so I will give them a battle in which the victory will
be on my side so undoubtedly that the Austrians must bow without resistance
beneath its heavy, imperious hand. The bridge-building is the first and
most necessary condition of this conquest. It must be carried on swiftly,
cautiously, secretly--the enemy must not suspect where the bridges will be
erected; all the portions of the structures must be made on the island of
Lobau, then the bridges must appear out of nothingness, like a miracle
before the astonished eyes of the foe. These bridges, gentlemen, will be
the road for us all to gain new laurels, win fresh victories, and surround
the immortal fame of our eagles with new glory. I went to Germany to
chastise and force into submission and obedience the insolent German
princes who wished to oppose me. I know that they are conspiring, that
their treacherous designs are directed toward robbing France of her
sovereign, who was summoned to his authority by the will of the French
nation. But they, like all who venture to rebel against me, must learn
that God has placed in my hand the sword of retribution and of vengeance,
and that it will crush those who blasphemously seek to conspire against me
and dispute my power. Austria has done this, Prussia would fain attempt it,
but I will deter Prussia by chastising Austria. To work, gentlemen! In six
weeks, at latest, we must give Austria a decisive battle which will make it
depend solely on my will whether I permit the house of Hapsburg to reign
longer or bury it in the nonentity of inglorious oblivion!"

After the emperor, standing among his silent generals, had spoken in a
voice which rose louder and louder till it finally echoed like menacing
thunder through the hall, he nodded a farewell, by a haughty bend of the
head, and returned to his office, whose door he now not merely left ajar,
but closed with a loud bang.

With his hands behind his back, an angry expression upon his face, and a
frowning brow, the emperor paced up and down his room, absorbed in gloomy
thought. Sometimes a flash of indignation illumined his face, and he raised
his arm with a threatening gesture, as if, like a second Jupiter, to hurl
back into the depths the Titans who dared to rise to his throne.

"To appoint a successor," he muttered in a fierce, threatening tone, "they
dare to think, to busy themselves with that. The ingrates! It is I who gave
them fame, honor, titles, wealth; they are already cogitating about my
death--my successor! It is a conspiracy which extends throughout the whole
army. I know it. I was warned in Spain against the plots of the Carbonari,
and the caution has been repeated here. And I must keep silence. I cannot
punish the traitors, for that would consign the majority of my generals to
the ax of the executioner. But I will give them all a warning example. I
will intimidate them, let them have an intimation that I am aware of their
treacherous plans."

He sank down into the armchair which stood before his writing-desk, took a
pen-knife and began to mark and cut the arm of the chair with as much zeal
and perseverance as if the object in view was to accomplish some useful and
urgent task. Then, when the floor was covered with tiny chips, and the
black, delicately carved wood of the old-fashioned armchair was marked
with white streaks and spots, the emperor hurled the knife down and rose
hastily from his seat.

"This Colonel Oudet must die," he said, each word falling slowly and
impressively from his lips. "I cannot crush all the limbs, but I will make
the head fall, and that will paralyze them. Yes, this Colonel Oudet must
die!"

Then, as if the sentence of death which he had just uttered had relieved
his soul of an oppressive burden, and lightened his heart, the gloomy
expression vanished from his face, which was now almost brightened by a ray
of joy.

Seizing the silver hand-bell, he rang it violently twice. Instantly the
door leading into his sleeping-room opened and Roustan, gliding in, stood
humbly and silently awaiting the emperor's orders.

Napoleon, with a slight nod, beckoned to him to approach, and when
Roustan, like a tiger-cat, noiselessly reached his side with two swift
bounds, the emperor gazed with a long, searching look into the crafty,
smiling face of his Mameluke.

"So you listened to the conversation between the generals?" asked the
emperor.

"I don't know, sire," said Roustan, shaking his head eagerly. "I probably
did not understand everything, for they spoke in low tones, and sometimes I
lost the connection. But I heard them talking about my illustrious emperor
and master, so, as your majesty meanwhile had awaked, I thought it
advisable to inform you that the generals were having a conversation in the
drawing-room, because your majesty might perhaps desire to take part in
it."

"You did right, Roustan," said the emperor, with the pleasant smile that
won every heart; "yes, you did right, and I will reward you for it. You can
go to Bourrienne and have him pay you a hundred gold pieces."

"Oh, sire," cried Roustan, "then I shall be very happy, for I shall have a
hundred portraits of my worshiped emperor."

"Which you will doubtless scatter to the four winds quickly enough, you
spendthrift," exclaimed Napoleon. "But listen, you rogue: besides my
hundred gold portraits, I'll give you a bit of advice which is worth more
than the gold coins. Forget everything that you have heard to-day, beware
of treasuring in your memory even a single word of the generals, or
recollecting that you have called my attention to it."

"Sire," replied Roustan, with an expression of astonishment, "Sire, I
really do not know what your majesty is talking about, and what I could
have said or heard. I only know that my gracious emperor and master has
given me a hundred gold napoleons, and present happiness has so overpowered
me, so bewildered my senses that I have lost my memory."

The emperor laughed, and as a special proof of his favor pinched the
Mameluke's ear so hard that the latter with difficulty concealed his
suffering under a smile of delight.

CHAPTER II.

LEONORE DE SIMONIE.

Napoleon's word was fulfilled! Scarcely two months had passed when he
avenged the battle of Aspern on Austria, and twined fresh laurels of
victory around his brow. On the 6th of July a conflict occurred which
completed Austria's misfortunes and wrested from her all the advantages
which the victory of Aspern had scarcely won.

The fight of Wagram gave Austria completely into the hands of the victor,
made Napoleon again master of the German empire, compelled the Emperor
Francis and his whole family to seek refuge in Hungary, and yielded Vienna
and its environs to the conqueror's will. The French imperial army, amid
the clash of military music, again entered Vienna, whose inhabitants were
forced to bow their heads to necessity in gloomy silence, and submit to
receiving and entertaining their victorious foes as guests in their homes.
The Emperor Napoleon selected Schoenbrunn for his residence, and seemed
inclined to rest comfortably there after the fresh victory won at Wagram.
It had indeed been a victory, but it had cost great and bloody sacrifices.
Thrice a hundred thousand men had confronted each other on this memorable
6th of July, 1809; eight hundred cannon had shaken the earth all day
incessantly with their terrible thunder, and the course of their balls was
marked on both sides with heaps of corpses. Both armies had fought with
tremendous fury and animosity, for the Austrians wished to add fresh
laurels to the fame just won at Aspern, the French to regain what the days
of Esslingen at least rendered doubtful: the infallibility of success, the
conviction that victory would ever be associated with their banners.

It was the fury of the conflict which made the victory uncertain. The
Austrians showed themselves heroes on the day of Wagram, and for a long
time it seemed as if victory would fall to them. But Napoleon, who seemed
to be indefatigable and tireless, who all day long did not leave his horse,
directing and planning everything himself, perceived in time the danger of
his troops and brought speedy and effective reinforcements to the already
yielding left wing of the army. But more than twenty thousand men on both
sides had fallen victims on this terrible field. Though Napoleon, in his
bulletins of victory, exultingly announced to the world another magnificent
triumph, France did not join enthusiastically as usual in the rejoicing of
the commander-in-chief, for she had been obliged to pay for the new laurels
with the corpses of too many thousands of her sons, and the paeans of
victory were drowned by the sighs and lamentations of so many thousand
orphaned children, widowed wives, and betrothed maidens.

Napoleon seemed to pay little heed to this; he was enjoying at Schoenbrunn
his victory and his triumph; he gathered his brilliant staff around him,
gave superb entertainments, and by parades and reviews lured the Viennese
to Schoenbrunn to witness the brilliant spectacle.

In Vienna, also, the conquerors arranged magnificent festivals, seeking to
win the favor of the conquered people by the amusements offered them. The
French governor-general of Vienna, Count Andreossy, zealously endeavored to
collect around him the remains of the Austrian aristocracy, attract the
society of the capital by elegant dinners, balls, and receptions, and since
the armistice of Znaim, which occurred soon after the battle of Wagram had
put an end to hostilities the Viennese appeared disposed to accept the
truce and attend the brilliant entertainments and pleasant amusements
offered by Count Andreossy.

The latter was not the only person who opened his drawing-rooms to the
Viennese; others soon followed; fashionable Parisian society seemed for
the time to have transferred its gay circle from Paris to Vienna; to make
in the German imperial capital propaganda for the gay, intellectual, and
brilliant circle of the imperial capital of France.

Beautiful women, distinguished by illustrious names, by wealth and charm,
suddenly appeared in Vienna, opened their drawing-rooms, and seemed to make
it their object to reconcile the hostile elements of French and German
society, smooth away contrasts and bring them together.

Among these ladies whom the victory brought to Vienna, the beautiful Madame
de Simonie was conspicuous as a brilliant and unusual person. She was
young, lovely, endowed with rare intellectual gifts, understood how to do
the honors of her drawing-room with the most subtle tact, and was better
suited than any one to act as mediator between the Viennese and the French,
since she herself belonged to both nations. A German by birth, she had
married a Frenchman, lived several years in Paris with her husband, one of
the richest bankers in the capital, and now, being widowed, had come to
Vienna in order, as she said, to divert the minds of her countrymen from
the great grief which the loss of their beloved capital caused them.

Beautiful Leonore de Simonie certainly appeared to be thoroughly in earnest
in her purpose to divert their minds from their great grief. Every evening
her drawing-rooms were thrown open for the reception of guests; every
evening all the generals, French courtiers, and people who belonged to
good society in France were present; every evening more and more Germans
and Viennese went to Madame de Simonie's, until it seemed as if she
afforded Viennese and Parisian society a place of meeting where, forgetting
mutual aversion and hatred, they associated in love and harmony.

To be a visitor at Madame de Simonie's therefore soon became a synonym of
aristocracy in the new fashionable society of Vienna, which was composed of
so many different elements. The foreigners who had come to the Austrian
capital, attracted by the renown of the French emperor, or led by
selfishness, strove with special earnestness to obtain the _entree_ to
Madame de Simonie's drawing-room, for there they were sure of meeting those
whose acquaintance was profitable; by whose meditation they might hope to
obtain access to the presence of the French emperor.

The day before Baroness Leonore had given a brilliant entertainment. Until
a late hour of the night all the windows of the story which she occupied in
one of the palaces on the Graben were brightly lighted; the curious,
characterless poor people had gathered in the street to watch the carriages
roll up and away, and gaze at the windows whence the candles blazing in the
chandeliers shone down upon them, and behind whose panes they saw in swift
alternation so many gold-embroidered uniforms, so many showy ball dresses.

As has been said, it was a brilliant entertainment and the Baroness de
Simonie might well be content with it; for though the hostess she had also
been its queen. Every one, French as well as Austrians, Russians and
Italians, Hungarians and Poles, had offered her enthusiastic homage; had
expressed in glowing encomiums their greatful thanks for the magnificent
festival she had given.

She had been radiant, too, in grace and beauty yesterday evening. The
gayest jests were throned upon her scarlet lips, the proudest light had
sparkled in her large black eyes, the most radiant roses of youth had
bloomed on her delicate cheeks, and the long black tresses which, with
wonderful luxuriance, encircled her high white brow, had been to many the
Armida nets in which their hearts were prisoned.

But to-day, on the morning after this festival, all that was left of the
brilliant queen of the ball was a pale, exhausted young woman, who lay on
the divan with a sorrowful expression in her eyes, while ever and anon deep
sighs of pain escaped from her breast.

She was in her boudoir, whose equipments displayed French luxury and taste.
Everything about her bore the appearance of wealth, happiness, and
pleasure, yet her face was sad--yet Leonore de Simonie sighed--yet her lips
sometimes murmured words of lamentation, satiety, even bitter suffering.
But suddenly a ray of delight flitted over her face; a happy smile
brightened her pale features; and this was when, among the many letters the
servant had just brought to her, she discovered the little note which she
had just read and then, with passionate impetuosity, pressed to her lips.

"He will come, oh, he will come; he will be with me in an hour!" she
whispered, again glancing over the note with beaming, happy eyes, and then
thrusting it into her bosom.

"This is mine," she said softly; "my property; no one shall dispute it with
me, and--"

A tremor ran through every limb, a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks, then
yielded to a deep pallor--she had heard steps approaching in the
drawing-room outside, recognized the voice which called her name.

"He is coming!" she murmured. "It is he! My executioner is approaching to
begin the tortures of the rack afresh."

At that moment the door which led into the apartment really did open, and a
little gentleman, daintily and fashionably attired, entered.

"May I venture to pay my respects to Baroness de Simonie?" he asked,
pausing at the door and bowing low, with a smiling face.

Leonore did not answer. She lay motionless on the divan, her beautiful
figure outstretched at full length, her face calm and indifferent, her
large eyes uplifted with a dreamy expression to the ceiling.

"Madame la Baronne does not seem to have heard me," said the gentleman,
shrugging his shoulders. "I ventured to ask the question whether I could
pay my respects to you."

Still she did not move, did not turn her eyes toward him, but said in a
loud, distinct voice: "You see. We are alone! What is the use of playing
this farce?"

"Well," he cried, laughing, "your answer shows that we are really alone and
need no mask. Good-day, then, Leonore, or rather good-morning, for, as I
see, you are still in your dressing-gown and probably have just risen from
your couch."

"It was four o'clock in the morning when the guests departed and I could go
to rest," she said, still retaining her recumbent attitude.

"It is true, the entertainment lasted a very long time," he cried, dropping
unceremoniously into the armchair which stood beside the divan. "Moreover,
it is true that you were an admirable hostess and understood how to do the
honors of your house most perfectly. The gentlemen were all completely
bewitched by you, and, in my character of your uncle and social guide, I
received more clasps of the hand and embraces than ever before in my whole
life."

"I can imagine how much it amused you," she said coldly and indifferently.

"Yes," he cried, laughing, "I admit that it amused me, especially when I
thought what horror and amazement would fill these haughty aristocrats who
yesterday offered me their friendship, if they knew who and what we both
really were."

"I wish they did know," she said quietly.

"Heaven forbid!" he cried, starting up. "What put such a mad, preposterous
wish into your head?"

"I am bored," she replied. "I am weary of perpetually playing a farce."

"But how are we playing a farce?" he asked in astonishment. "We are trying
to make our fortune, or as the French more correctly express it, _Nous
corrigous notre fortune_. Why do you call it playing a farce?"

"Because we pretend to be what we are not, honest aristocrats."

"My dear, you are combining what is rarely put together in life; for you
see aristocratic people are rarely honest, and honest folk are seldom
aristocrats."

"But we are neither," she said quietly.

"The more renown for us that we appear to be both," he cried, laughing,
"and that no one suspects us. My dear Leonore seems to have an attack of
melancholy to-day, which I have never witnessed in her before, and which
renders me suspicious."

"Suspicious?" she asked, and, for the first time, turned her head slightly,
fixing her eyes with a questioning glance upon the old man who sat beside
her, nodding and smiling. "Suspicious! I don't know what you mean."

"Well, I really did not intend to say anything definite," he replied,
smiling. "I only meant that it is strange to see you suddenly so depressed
by your position, which hitherto so greatly amused you. And, because this
seemed strange, I sought--searching you know is a trait of human nature--I
sought the cause of this new mood."

"Do you think you have found it?" she asked carelessly.

"Perhaps so," he said, smiling. "The most clever and experienced woman may
be deluded by love, and suffer her reason to be clouded by sweet, alluring
visions."

"You mean that I have done so?"

"Yes, that is what I mean; but it gives me no further anxiety, for I have
confidence that your reason will soon conquer your heart. So I do not
grudge you the rare satisfaction of enjoying the bliss of being loved. Only
I warn you not to take the matter seriously and strive to make the dream a
reality."

"And if that should happen, what would you do?"

"I would be inexorable," he answered sternly. "I would tell who and what
you are."

She lay motionless; her face still retained its calm, indifferent
expression, only for a moment an angry flash darted from her eyes at the
old gentleman, but she lowered her lids over them, as if they must not
betray the secrets of her soul.

A pause followed, interrupted only by the slow, regular ticking of the
great Rococo clock which stood on the marble mantelpiece.

"You will not find it necessary to make such disclosures," Leonore said at
last, slowly and wearily, "for you are perfectly right, I shall never grant
love the mastery over my future. I know who I am, and that says everything.
It will never be requisite to communicate it to others."

"I am sure of it," he said kindly. "And now, my dear Leonore, let us say
nothing about our private affairs and pass on to business."

"Yes, let us do so," she answered quietly. "I am waiting for your
questions."

"Then first: what did Count Andreossy want, when he begged for an interview
so urgently yesterday evening?"

"You were listening?" she asked calmly.

"I heard it. I would gladly have listened to your conversation, but you
were malicious enough to grant him the interview in the little corner
drawing-room, which has but a single entrance. So it was impossible to
enter it unnoticed. Well, what did the count want?"

"He wanted to tell me that he loved me unutterably. He wanted to implore
the favor of accepting from him the _coupe_ with the two dapple-grays, in
which he drove me yesterday, and which I had praised."

"I hope that you granted the favor."

"I did. The equipage will be sent to-day."

"The dapple-grays are remarkably beautiful," said the old gentleman,
rubbing his hands contentedly. "They are worth at least a thousand florins,
and the _coupe_ is a model of elegance and beauty. The count received it
from Paris a fortnight ago. But how did you repay Andreossy for his regal
gift?"

"I told him that I detested him, and that he need never hope for my love."

"Yet you accepted his gift?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes. I accepted it because he entreated it as the first and greatest
favor, and because, after the deep sorrow I had caused him, I could not
help granting so small a boon."

"Magnificent!" he cried, laughing; "you talk like a reigning queen,
accepting gifts from her vassal. Then the count loves you passionately,
does he not?"

"He loves nothing except himself and his ambition. He would like to obtain
the title of prince from Napoleon."

"And he believes that you could aid him?"

"Indirectly, yes. If I help him to discover an affair which is of great
importance to the emperor, and for whose disclosure he could not fail to
reward Count Andreossy."

"What kind of an affair?"

"A conspiracy," she said quietly.

"A conspiracy? Against whom?"

"Against the Emperor Napoleon. Andreossy naturally believes me to be an
enthusiastic admirer of his emperor, and therefore he imparted to me his
fears and conjectures. The point in question is a widespread conspiracy,
which is said to exist in the French army and have assistants among the
Austrians."

"And _you_? Do you believe in this conspiracy?"

"I am on the track and perhaps shall soon be able to give the particulars.
Only it requires time and great caution and secrecy. Let me say no more
now, but I promise that I will be active and watchful. Only I make one
condition."

"What is that?"

"If I succeed in discovering this conspiracy, delivering the leaders into
your hands, giving the emperor undeniable proofs of the existence of this
plot, perhaps even saving his life by the disclosure; if I succeed, as I
said, in doing all this, then you will release me and permit me to leave
Vienna."

"To go where?"

"Wherever I wish, only alone, only not--"

"Only not with you, you wanted to say," he added, completing the sentence.
"My child, you see that I was right in remarking that a change had taken
place in you. Formerly you were glad to be with me; you never felt a wish
to leave me; formerly it was your ardent desire to occupy a brilliant
position in society, to be rich, aristocratic, brilliant, influential; and
now, when you have attained all this, now you are still unsatisfied, now
you long to resign all this again. But you will reflect, Leonore; you will
listen to reason. You will consider what we have suffered from the
pettiness, the pitifulness, the arrogance, and the selfishness of men. You
will remember how often you vowed, with angry tears, to avenge yourself
some day for all that we have suffered. Remember, child, remember! Have you
forgotten how we starved and pined, when your mother died, because we were
so poor that, in her illness, we could not give her the necessary nursing,
could not pay a doctor. Have you forgotten how we both knelt beside her
corpse and, with tears of grief and anger, swore to avenge the death of the
poor sufferer upon cruel men, base society?"

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