Louise Muehlbach - A Conspiracy of the Carbonari

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She did not answer immediately, but covered her glowing face with her
hands, while her whole frame trembled with emotion. "Oh," she groaned
sorrowfully, "you will never repeat the question, for you will perish in
the dangers which you are preparing for yourself."

"No," he cried joyously, "I shall not perish in them, and I shall come to
repeat my question. Believe me, love, and be glad and strong. Do not fear
for me, and forgive me if, during the next few days, I keep away from you.
The last preparations for our great enterprise are to be made; all my
strength of mind, all the courage of my soul must be summoned, and perhaps
I might be cowardly and weak if I should see you, gaze into your beloved
face, and think of the possibility that I was beholding it for the last
time; that death might clasp me in his arms ere I again pressed you to my
heart. So I will bid you farewell, my dearest, farewell for a week. During
this time, remember me, pray for me, and love me. A week, my dear one, then
I will return to you; and then, oh, then may I be permitted never to leave
you again; then perhaps we shall make the dream of your heart a reality,
and in some valley of the New World seek for ourselves a new world of
happiness."

He again pressed her closely in his arms and imprinted a long, ardent kiss
upon her lips. "Farewell, beloved, farewell for a week, an eternity."

"Do not say that; do not talk so!" she cried, trembling, as she threw her
arms around his neck and clung closely to him. "Oh, do not speak of an
eternity of separation, as you bid me farewell, or my arms will hold you to
draw you by force from the dangers that threaten you; my lips will betray
you by calling for help and accusing you of a conspiracy, merely to save
you--compel you to renounce your perilous plans."

"If you should do that, Leonore; if even for love of me you could become a
traitress, I would kill myself, but ere I died I would curse you and invoke
heaven's vengeance upon you! But why conjure up such terrible pictures! I
know that my Leonore would be incapable of treachery, and that, during this
week of separation, no word, no look, no hint, will betray that her mind is
anxious and that some care oppresses her."

"I swear to you that by no word, no look, no hint will I betray anything,"
she said solemnly. "I swear that I will not even attempt to guess your
secrets, in order not to be disturbed by them. But one question more,
dearest. I shall give an entertainment to-morrow. Count Andreossy, Colonels
Mariage and Schweitzer, Captain de Guesniard, and the two Counts von
Poldring will be present, as well as Generals Berthier and Massena, and
several men who are prominent in aristocratic Austrian society. Will you
not attend my reception? Will you not come to-morrow?"

"No," he replied, "no, I cannot attend gay entertainments now. My week of
exile begins from this hour, and the first festival for me will be when I
again clasp you in my arms. And now, dearest, let me go. This last kiss on
your eyes--do not open them until I have left you; for your eyes exert a
magic power, and if they are gazing at me I shall not have courage to go.
Farewell, my beloved star, farewell, and when you rise for me once more,
may it be for the radiant hour of a reunion, unshadowed by fresh pangs of
parting."

He pressed a last lingering kiss upon her eyes. She submitted and sat
quietly with closed lids and clasped hands until the door had closed behind
him and the sound of his steps died away in the anteroom.

Then she slipped from the divan upon her knees, and, raising her hands to
heaven, cried: "I thank Thee, oh God, I thank Thee. He is not one of the
conspirators; he has no share in these plans; for he is not coming to the
entertainment to-morrow, and therefore does not belong to those who have
their secret appointment with me. Oh, God be praised for it, and may He
guard and protect him in all his enterprises! I do not wish to know them; I
will not investigate them. Thou, oh God, canst shield and defend him. Thou
alone!"

CHAPTER IV.

BARON VON MOUDENFELS.

Colonel Mariage, alone in his room, was pacing restlessly up and down, with
his eyes fixed intently, almost anxiously, upon the door.

"The appointed hour has come and he is not here," he murmured in a low
tone. "Has suspicion been roused, and have they arrested him? Oh, God
forbid! then we should all be lost, for we are all compromised, and letters
from me, also, would be found among his papers."

At this moment the door was softly opened and the servant announced "Baron
von Moudenfels."

"He is welcome, heartily welcome!" cried the colonel joyfully, swiftly
advancing toward the door, through which the person announced had just
entered the room. It was an old man with a long white beard, his head
covered with a large wig, whose stiff, powdered locks adorned the temples
on both sides of his pale, emaciated face. Thick, bushy brows shaded a pair
of large dark eyes, whose youthful fire formed a strange contrast to the
bowed frame and the white hair. His figure, which must once have been
stately and vigorous, was attired in the latest fashion, and the elegance
of his dress showed that Baron von Moudenfels, though a man perhaps
seventy, had not yet done with the vanities of this world, but was ready to
pay them homage. In his right hand, over which fell a broad lace cuff, he
held an artistically carved cane, on whose gold handle he leaned, as he
moved wearily forward, and a pin with beautiful diamonds glittered in the
huge lace jabot on his breast.

Colonel Mariage held out both hands to the old man, but the baron contented
himself with placing the finger-tips of the little hand adorned with
glittering rings in the colonel's right hand a moment, and then sank into
the armchair, panting for breath.

"Pardon me," he gasped, "but the exertion of climbing your two long flights
of stairs has exhausted my strength, and I must rest. You probably see that
I am a poor, fragile old man, who has but a few steps to take to his
grave."

"But who will probably carefully avoid them," replied the colonel,
smiling. "You are, as you say, an old man, but in this aged form dwells a
fiery, youthful soul, whose strength of will will support the body so long
as it needs the aid."

"So long as it is necessary to the native land, yes," cried the baron
eagerly; "so long as there are foes to fight, friends to aid. Yes, the last
years of my life belong to my native land and the foes who oppress it, and
I know that I shall not die until I have attained the object of my life,
until I have helped to overthrow the tyrant who has not only rendered my
native land, Germany, wretched, but is also hurling his own country,
France, into ruin."

Colonel Mariage glanced around the room with a hasty, anxious look. "For
heaven's sake," he whispered, "don't speak so loud, baron; who knows
whether my valet is not a paid spy; whether he is not standing at the door
listening to betray me at once to Count Andreossy, or even to the emperor."

"My dear colonel," said the baron, smiling, "that is why it is quite time
that we should secure you against such treason, and remove those who
threaten you."

"What do you mean by that, baron?" asked the colonel timidly. "What are
you saying?"

"I am saying that the great hour of decision is approaching," replied the
baron solemnly. "I mean that ere a week has passed, the world will be
released from the yoke which oppresses it--released from the evil demon,
Napoleon."

The colonel, without answering even by a word, crossed the large apartment,
and with a swift jerk opened the door leading into the anteroom. Then,
after convincing himself that no one was near, he closed it, and made a
tour of the spacious room, carefully examining every _portiere_, every
article of furniture, and at last approached the baron, who had been
watching him with a quiet, scornful smile.

"Now, my dear baron, speak," he said, taking his seat in an armchair
opposite to him. "We are really alone and without listeners, so I am ready
to hear you. Do you bring news from our friends? News from France,
especially?"

"Yes, news from France. I mean news from the Minister of Police, Fouche. Do
you know, my dear sir, that Fouche is very much dissatisfied with his
beloved fellow conspirators; that he thinks they have not acted so
resolutely and energetically as might have been expected from the brave
generals and colonels of the French army?"

"Why should he be dissatisfied?" asked the colonel. "What ought we to have
done? When and where could we have acted more energetically?"

"At Castle Ebersdorf, my dear colonel. Surely you know that, after the
battle of Aspern, when Napoleon left his exhausted and conquered army on
the island of Lobau, and went to Castle Ebersdorf himself to enjoy a
refreshing sleep after his first great defeat."

"Yes, that sleep was really singular enough," said Mariage thoughtfully.
"The emperor slept soundly twenty-two hours; slept so soundly, in so
motionless a posture, breathing so softly, that he might have been
believed to be dead, and did not even hear his drunken soldiers force their
way into the castle garden, and, with furious shouts, plunder and destroy
everything until our representations and entreaties forced them to retire."

"Yes, the emperor fell into a deathlike slumber and would have been unable
to resist or to defend himself had he been bound and gagged and quietly
carried away. Yet what did the generals and colonels who had assembled in
the large reception-hall close beside the sleeping emperor's private
office? What did the gentlemen who all belonged to the secret league which
has existed in the French army four years, and whose object is to overthrow
the hated tyrant and oppressor? Did they avail themselves of the
opportunity to attain this desired goal with a single bold stroke? No,
they stood whispering and irresolute, asking one another what should be
done if Napoleon did not wake from his deathlike slumber--who should then
be his heir to the throne of France? Whether they should make Bernadotte,
the Prince of Ponte Corvo, or Eugene, the Viceroy of Italy, or the Count of
Provence, who styles himself Louis XVIII., king of France, or again restore
the great and glorious republic? And since they could not agree upon these
questions, they did nothing at all, but contented themselves with sending a
secret envoy to Paris to ask Fouche what should be done, how they should
act in such a case, and what counsel he had to give."

"But how do you know all this so accurately?" asked the colonel in
surprise. "One would really suppose you had been present, yet I distinctly
remember that this was not the case."

"No, I was not; but you probably know that a certain Commissioner Kraus was
there. Bernadotte had made the acquaintance of this Herr Kraus at Colonel
Oudet's, who, as is well-known, is the head of the secret society, which
existed in the French army, and to whose laws all members, or, if you
choose, all fellow-conspirators, were compelled to submit. Oudet had
recommended Kraus to the Prince of Ponte Corvo as a faithful and reliable
man, a skillful negotiator, who was qualified to maintain and to promote
the agreements and alliances between the French conspirators and the German
patriots, and who could be employed without fear or reserve. Well, this
Commissioner Kraus, as you probably know, had come to Ebersdorf to
negotiate in behalf of myself and my German friends, and to ask whether the
time had not now come to accomplish the great work and rid Germany of the
scourge which God had sent in punishment of all her sins. Commissioner
Kraus described that scene in the great hall of Castle Ebersdorf. He
returned as your messenger, and brought us the news that we must keep quiet
and wait for further tidings, and, after bringing this message, he went to
Paris to Fouche, the minister of police, to deliver the letter and inquiry
of the conspirators."

"And he has not yet returned," said Mariage, sighing. "Some misfortune has
befallen him; the emperor's spies have doubtless tracked him, and he has
atoned for his reckless enterprise with his life."

"No, Kraus is too clever and too bold to let himself be discovered by
Napoleon's spies," said the baron with a subtle smile, "and, since Monsieur
Bonaparte must fare like the worthy citizens of Nuremberg who hang no one
until they have caught him, Commissioner Kraus has not been compelled to
atone for his bold enterprise with his life, but has returned successful
and unharmed."

"What? He has returned?"

"Four days ago."

"Four days ago, and I, we all, know nothing of it?"

"Yes, I knew it. Surely you are aware that Fouche was not to direct his
reply directly to any one of you, to a subject of the emperor, in order, in
case of discovery, to compromise no one. So Fouche addressed his reply to
me; for if the letter had actually been opened, it could have done Baron
von Moudenfels no harm, since fortunately I am not one of the emperor's
subjects, and what he could punish in you as high-treason, he must
recognize in us Germans as patriotism."

"But the letter, Fouche's answer!" said Mariage impatiently. "Pray do not
keep me on the rack any longer. What does Fouche write?"

"Why, his letter is tolerably laconic, and one must understand how to read
between the lines to interpret the meaning correctly. Here it is. You see
that it is directed to me--Baron von Moudenfels--and contains nothing but
the following words: 'Why ask me anything, when you ought already to have
accomplished everything yourselves? Put him in a sack, drown him in the
Danube--then all will be easily arranged everywhere.'"[C]

"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 gratitude of your king. He has a
general's commission ready for you, promises orders and a title, 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 passing 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
gratitude 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
space 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 passed
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 cushions.

"Where shall I drive, your lordship?" 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 lordship 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 hearse, at the pace drivers
usually take when they wish to notify pedestrians that they have no
occupant in their vehicles and can receive a passenger. So no one noticed
the slow progress of the carriage; no one in the crowded streets through
which it passed 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 cushion 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 hitherto 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 buttoned 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 unscrewing 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 passing down the crowded and
busy Grabenstrasse moving behind a long row of equipages following a
funeral procession, and the driver was of course compelled to proceed
slowly.

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