Some time after this military revolution, which created a great stir in Europe, convulsing the Continent for a time, as a tempest convulses the ocean—some time after, we say, on the morning of the 30th Nivoise, better and more clearly known to our readers as the 20th of January, 1800, Roland, in looking over the voluminous correspondence which his new office entailed1 upon him, found, among fifty other letters asking for an audience, the following:
MONSIEUR THE GOVERNOR-I know your loyalty2 to your word, and you
will see that I rely on it. I wish to speak to you for five
minutes, during which I must remain masked.
I have a request to make to you. This request you will grant or
deny. In either case, as I shall have entered the Palace of the
Luxembourg in the interest o£ the First Consul3, Bonaparte, and
the royalist party to which I belong, I shall ask for your word
of honor that I be allowed to leave it as freely as you allow
me to enter.
If to-morrow, at seven in the evening, I see a solitary4 light
in the window over the clock, I shall know that Colonel Roland
de Montrevel has pledged me his word of honor, and I shall boldly
present myself at the little door of the left wing of the palace,
opening on the garden. I shall strike three blows at intervals5,
after the manner of the free-masons.
In order that you may know to whom you engage or refuse your word,
I sign a name which is known to you, that name having been, under
circumstances you have probably not forgotten, pronounced before
you.
MORGAN,
Chief of the Companions of Jehu.
Roland read the letter twice, thought it over for a few moments, then rose suddenly, and, entering the First Consul’s study, handed it to him silently. The latter read it without betraying the slightest emotion, or even surprise; then, with a laconism6 that was wholly Lacedæmonian, he said: “Place the light.”
Then he gave the letter back to Roland.
The next evening, at seven o’clock, the light shone in the window, and at five minutes past the hour, Roland in person was waiting at the little door of the garden. He had scarcely been there a moment when three blows were struck on the door after the manner of the free-masons; first two strokes and then one.
The door was opened immediately. A man wrapped in a cloak was sharply defined against the grayish atmosphere of the wintry night. As for Roland, he was completely hidden in shadow. Seeing no one, the man in the cloak remained motionless for a second.
“Come in,” said Roland.
“Ah! it is you, colonel!”
“How do you know it is I?” asked Roland.
“I recognize your voice.”
“My voice! But during those few moments we were together in the dining-room at Avignon I did not say a word.”
“Then I must have heard it elsewhere.”
Roland wondered where the Chief of the Companions of Jehu could have heard his voice, but the other said gayly: “Is the fact that I know your voice any reason why we should stand at the door?”
“No, indeed,” replied Roland; “take the lapel of my coat and follow me. I purposely forbade any lights being placed in the stairs and hall which lead to my room.”
“I am much obliged for the intention. But on your word I would cross the palace from one end to the other, though it were lighted à giorno, as the Italians say.”
“You have my word,” replied Roland, “so follow me without fear.”
Morgan needed no encouragement; he followed his guide fearlessly. At the head of the stairs Roland turned down a corridor equally dark, went twenty steps, opened a door, and entered his own room. Morgan followed him. The room was lighted by two wax candles only. Once there, Morgan took off his cloak and laid his pistols on the table.
“What are you doing?” asked Roland.
“Faith! with your permission,” replied Morgan, gayly, “I am making myself comfortable.”
“But those pistols you have just laid aside—”
“Ah! did you think I brought them for you?”
“For whom then?”
“Why, that damned police! You can readily imagine that I am not disposed to let citizen Fouché lay hold of me, without burning the mustache of the first of his minions7 who lays hands on me.”
“But once here you feel you have nothing to fear?”
“The deuce!” exclaimed the young man; “I have your word.”
“Then why don’t you unmask?”
“Because my face only half belongs to me; the other half belongs to my companions. Who knows if one of us being recognized might not drag the others to the guillotine? For of course you know, colonel, we don’t hide from ourselves that that is the price of our game!”
“Then why risk it?”
“Ah! what a question. Why do you venture on the field of battle, where a bullet may plow8 through your breast or a cannon-ball lop off your head?”
“Permit me to say that that is different. On the battlefield I risk an honorable death.”
“Ah! do you suppose that on the day I get my head cut off by the revolutionary triangle I shall think myself dishonored? Not the least in the world. I am a soldier like you, only we can’t all serve our cause in the same way. Every religion has its heroes and its martyrs9; happy the heroes in this world, and happy the martyrs in the next.”
The young man uttered these words with a conviction which moved, or rather astonished, Roland.
“But,” continued Morgan, abandoning his enthusiasm to revert10 to the gayety which seemed the distinctive11 trait of his character, “I did not come here to talk political philosophy. I came to ask you to let me speak to the First Consul.”
“What! speak to the First Consul?” exclaimed Roland.
“Of course. Read my letter over; did I not tell you that I had a request to make?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that request is to let me speak to General Bonaparte.”
“But permit me to say that as I did not expect that request—”
“It surprises you; makes you uneasy even. My dear colonel, if you don’t believe my word, you can search me from head to foot, and you will find that those pistols are my only weapons. And I haven’t even got them, since there they are on your table. Better still, take one in each hand, post yourself between the First Consul and me, and blowout my brains at the first suspicious move I make. Will that suit you?”
“But will you assure me, if I disturb the First Consul and ask him to see you, that your communication is worth the trouble?”
“Oh! I’ll answer for that,” said Morgan. Then, in his joyous12 tones, he added: “I am for the moment the ambassador of a crowned, or rather discrowned, head, which makes it no less reverenced13 by noble hearts. Moreover, Monsieur Roland, I shall take up very little of your general’s time; the moment the conversation seems too long, he can dismiss me. And I assure you he will not have to say the word twice.”
Roland was silent and thoughtful for a moment.
“And it is to the First Consul only that you can make this communication?”
“To the First Consul only, as he alone can answer me.”
“Very well. Wait until I take his orders.”
Roland made a step toward the general’s room; then he paused and cast an uneasy look at a mass of papers piled on his table. Morgan intercepted14 this look.
“What!” he said, “you are afraid I shall read those papers in your absence? If you only knew how I detest15 reading! If my death-warrant lay on that table, I wouldn’t take the trouble to read it. I should consider that the clerk’s business. And every one to his own task. Monsieur Roland, my feet are cold, and I will sit here in your easy-chair and warm them. I shall not stir till you return.”
“Very good, monsieur,” said Roland, and he went to the First Consul.
Bonaparte was talking with General Hedouville, commanding the troops of the Vendée. Hearing the door open, he turned impatiently.
“I told Bourrienne I would not see any one.”
“So he told me as I came in, but I told him that I was not any one.”
“True. What do you want? Be quick.”
“He is in my room.”
“Who?”
“The man of Avignon.”
“Ah, ha! And what does he want?”
“To see you.”
“To see me?”
“Yes, you, general. Does that surprise you?”
“No. But what can he want to say to me?”
“He refused obstinately16 to tell me. But I dare answer for it that he is neither importunate17 nor a fool.”
“No, but he may be an assassin.”
Roland shook his head.
“Of course, since you introduce him—”
“Moreover, he is willing that I should be present at the conference and stand between you and him.”
Bonaparte reflected an instant.
“Bring him in,” he said.
“You know, general, that except me—”
“Yes, General Hedouville will be so kind as to wait a second. Our conversation is of a nature that is not exhausted18 in one interview. Go, Roland.”
Roland left the room, crossed Bourrienne’s office, reentered his own room, and found Morgan, as he had said, warming his feet.
“Come, the First Consul is waiting for you,” said the young man.
Morgan rose and followed Roland. When they entered Bonaparte’s study the latter was alone. He cast a rapid glance on the chief of the Companions of Jehu, and felt no doubt that he was the same man he had seen at Avignon.
Morgan had paused a few steps from the door, and was looking curiously19 at Bonaparte, convincing himself that he was the man he had seen at the table d’hôte the day he attempted the perilous20 restoration of the two hundred louis stolen by an oversight21 from Jean Picot.
“Come nearer,” said the First Consul.
Morgan bowed and made three steps forward. Bonaparte partly returned the bow with a slight motion of the head.
“You told my aide-de-camp, Colonel Roland, that you had a communication to make me.”
“Yes, citizen First Consul.”
“Does that communication require a private interview?”
“No, citizen First Consul, although it is of such importance—”
“You would prefer to be alone.”
“Beyond doubt. But prudence—”
“The most prudent22 thing in France, citizen Morgan, is courage.”
“My presence here, general, proves that I agree with you perfectly23.”
Bonaparte turned to the young colonel.
“Leave us alone, Roland,” said he.
“But, general—” objected Roland.
Bonaparte went up to him and said in a low voice: “I see what it is. You are curious to know what this mysterious cavalier of the highroad has to say to me. Don’t worry; you shall know.”
“That’s not it. But suppose, as you said just now, he is an assassin.”
“Didn’t you declare he was not. Come, don’t be a baby; leave us.”
Roland went out.
“Now that we are alone, sir,” said the First Consul, “speak!”
Morgan, without answering, drew a letter from his pocket and gave it to the general. Bonaparte examined it. It was addressed to him, and the seal bore the three fleurs-de-lis of France.
“Oh!” he said, “what is this, sir?”
“Read it, citizen First Consul.”
Bonaparte opened the letter and looked at the signature: “Louis,” he said.
“Louis,” repeated Morgan.
“What Louis?”
“Louis de Bourbon, I presume.”
“Monsieur le Comte de Provençe, brother of Louis XVI.”
“Consequently Louis XVIII., since his nephew, the Dauphin, is dead.”
Bonaparte looked at the stranger again. It was evident that Morgan was a pseudonym24, assumed to hide his real name. Then, turning his eyes on the letter, he read:
January 3, 1800.
Whatever may be their apparent conduct, monsieur, men like you
never inspire distrust. You have accepted an exalted25 post, and
I thank you for so doing. You know, better than others, that
force and power are needed to make the happiness of a great
nation. Save France from her own madness, and you will fulfil
the desire of my heart; restore her king, and future generations
will bless your memory. If you doubt my gratitude26, choose your
own place, determine the future of your friends. As for my
principles, I am a Frenchman, clement27 by nature, still more so
by judgment28. No! the conqueror29 of Lodi, Castiglione and Arcola,
the conqueror of Italy and Egypt, cannot prefer an empty
celebrity30 to fame. Lose no more precious time. We can secure
the glory of France. I say we, because I have need of Bonaparte
for that which he cannot achieve without me. General, the eyes
of Europe are upon you, glory awaits you, and I am eager to
restore my people to happiness.
LOUIS.
Bonaparte turned to the young man, who stood erect31, motionless and silent as a statue.
“Do you know the contents of this letter?” he asked.
The young man bowed. “Yes, citizen First Consul.”
“It was sealed, however.”
“It was sent unsealed under cover to the person who intrusted it to me. And before doing so he made me read it, that I might know its full importance.”
“Can I know the name of the person who intrusted it to you?”
“Georges Cadoudal.”
Bonaparte started slightly.
“Do you know Georges Cadoudal?” he asked.
“He is my friend.”
“Why did he intrust it to you rather than to another?”
“Because he knew that in telling me to deliver the letter to you with my own hand it would be done.”
“You have certainly kept your promise, sir.”
“Not altogether yet, citizen First Consul.”
“How do you mean? Haven’t you delivered it to me?”
“Yes, but I promised to bring back an answer.”
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