Napoleon And Blucher Part 63

whispered Constant.

"Ah, she is not to suspect that her child has come to me!" murmured Josephine, while fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

"The emperor, besides, implores your majesty not to frighten the prince by a sadness which your majesty, in the generosity and kindness of your heart, has so often overcome."

"Yes," said the empress, removing her hands from her face, and hastily drying her tears with her handkerchief, "I will not weep. It is true, I have often begged that I might see the King of Rome--the child for whom I have suffered so much, and to read in his face whether he is worthy of my sacrifice. The emperor is so kind as to fulfil my wish; tell him that I am profoundly grateful to him, that I will restrain my emotion and not make the prince suspect who I am.

Tell him that I shall not weep when I see the child of the present empress. No, do not tell him that, Constant; it would grieve him-- tell him only that I thank him, and that he shall not be displeased with me. Go! I am ready, and shall be happy to see the boy. It is not HER child, but HIS that I am to embrace." And greeting Constant with that inimitable smile of grace and kindness peculiar to her, she walked toward the reception-room. "How my heart throbs!" she murmured; "it is as if my limbs were failing me--as if I should die." Nearly fainting, she slowly glided through the adjoining apartment, and entered the reception-room. "Courage, my heart! for it is HIS child that I am to greet." Sitting down on an easy-chair near the window, she looked in anxiety and suspense toward the large folding doors.

At length the emperor appeared. Josephine had not seen him for nearly a year, and at first her eyes beheld only him. She read in his pallid and furrowed face the secret history of his sorrows, which he had not, perhaps, communicated to any one, but which he could not conceal from the eye of love. Unutterable sympathy and tender compa.s.sion for him filled her soul. And now she almost timidly looked upon the child that Napoleon led by the hand.

How charming was this child! How proud of him was his father!

Josephine felt this, and she said almost exultingly to herself "I have not, been sacrificed in vain! This child is an ample indemnity for my tears. I am the boy's real mother, for I have suffered, sorrowed, and prayed for him!" Rejoicing in this sentiment, which seemed to restore the beauty of former days, Josephine stretched out her arms toward the child.

"Go, my son, and embrace the lady," said Napoleon, dropping the hand of the prince. He advanced, while his father stood at the table in the middle of the room, supporting his right hand on the marble slab. He looked gravely but kindly upon the empress, from whom he felt separated, by the presence of his child, as by an impa.s.sable gulf.

The little prince offered his hand to the empress with a smile, and Josephine drew him into her arms, pressing his head to her bosom. A sigh, in spite of herself, came from the depths of her heart. She slowly bent back the boy's head and gazed at him with a mournful but loving expression. Then her glance fell upon the emperor, and, with an indescribable look of love and tenderness, she said: "Sire, he is like you; G.o.d bless him for it!"

There was something so touching and heartfelt in these words--in the tone of her voice, and the glance of her eyes, that the emperor was profoundly moved, and responded only by a silent nod, not venturing to speak lest the tremor of his words should betray his emotion.

Even the little king seemed to understand the excellent heart of this lady. He clung to her and said in a sweet voice, "I love you, madame, and want you to love me, too!"

"I love you, sire," cried Josephine, "and shall pray G.o.d every day to preserve you to your father--to your parents," she corrected herself with the self-abnegation of a true woman. "You will one day confer happiness on France and your people, for you undoubtedly wish to become as good, great, and wise, as your father."

"Oh, yes, my papa emperor is very good, and I love him dearly!"

exclaimed the boy, looking toward his father. "But, papa, why do you not come to us? Why do you not shake hands with this dear lady, who is so good and loves me so well?"

"The emperor is generous," said Josephine, gently; "he wished me to have you a moment by yourself, sire; he has you every day, but I have never had you before."

"Why did you not come and see me?" asked the child. "You live near Paris; and, if you loved me, you would often come and see how the little King of Rome is getting on. The emperor told me you were a dear and kind-hearted lady, and that every one loved you."

"Did he tell you so, sire?" exclaimed the empress, drawing the boy into her arms. "Oh, tell the emperor that I shall always be grateful to him for it, and that these words will forever silence my grief."

Her eyes glanced in grat.i.tude to the emperor, who softly laid his finger on his mouth, to admonish her to be silent and calm.

The little prince had now, with the facility with which children pa.s.s from one subject to another, turned his attention to a large diamond brooch fastened to Josephine's golden sash. "How beautiful it is!" he exclaimed--"how it is flas.h.i.+ng as though it were a star fallen from heaven, and fastened to your breast, because it loves you, madame, and because you are so good! And what fine ornaments you have on your watch! Ah, look here, papa emperor; see those pretty things! Come, papa, and look at them!"

"No, sire," said the emperor, with a strange and mournful smile, "let me remain here. I can see all those pretty things quite distinctly."

"They are very beautiful, are they not?" cried the child. "And if--"

"Well, sire," asked Josephine, "why do you pause? Pray speak!"

The boy had suddenly a.s.sumed a grave air, and gazed upon the ornaments of the empress. "I was just thinking--but you will be angry if I tell you what, madame."

"Certainly not, sire; tell me what you thought."

"It occurred to my mind that we met in the forest on our way a poor man who looked haggard and wretched, and begged us to give him something. But papa and I could not, for we had already distributed all our money among the unfortunate persons whom we had previously met. Why are there so many poor people, madame?--why does my papa emperor not order all men to be happy and rich?"

"Because it is impossible for him to do so, sire," said Josephine.

"And because, in order to be able to make others happy, we must ourselves be rich!" exclaimed the emperor, smiling. "Now you said yourself, sire, we could not give the poor man in the forest any thing, for we had nothing to give him."

"Yes, and I was very sorry," said the boy, "And now I was thinking if we sent for the poor man, and you, madame, gave him your watch and your diamonds, and he sold them, he would have a great deal of money, and be very rich and happy."

Josephine pressed the boy tenderly to her heart. "Sire," she said, "I promise you that I will send for your poor man and give him so much money that he will never again be wretched."

"Oh!" exclaimed the prince, encircling the lady's neck with his arms, "how good you are, madame, and how I love you!"

Josephine pressed his head to her bosom. "Oh, you may certainly love me a little," she replied, with a touching smile; "I have really deserved it of you."

"Sire," said the emperor, advancing a few steps, "now bid the lady farewell. We must go."

"Papa!" cried the boy, joyously--"papa, we must take the dear lady with us; she is so good, and I love her. Let her live with us in the Tuileries, and always stay with us. I want her to do so, and you, too, papa, do you not?"

Josephine's eyes filled with tears, and she looked at the emperor with an expression of unutterable woe. He immediately averted his face, perhaps to prevent Josephine from noticing his emotion. "Come, sire," he said imperiously, "it is high time; it is growing dark.

Take leave of madame!"

"Oh, no; I will not take leave of her!" cried the boy, vehemently.

"I say to her rather--Come with us to the Tuileries!"

"It cannot be, sire," said Josephine, smiling amidst her tears.

"Why?" cried the boy, impatiently, and throwing back his head.

"Come; you may accompany the emperor, and I want you to do so!"

Napoleon, painfully moved by this scene, quickly advanced to the prince, and took his hand. "Come, sire," he said in a tone so grave that the boy dared no longer resist. Submitting to his father's will, he stepped back, and, pleasantly bowing, took leave of the empress.

"We shall meet again," said Josephine, and, turning her tearful eyes to Napoleon, she asked, "We shall meet again, sire, shall we not?"

"Yes," said Napoleon, gravely, "we shall meet again." He then took leave of her with an affectionate look, which fell as a sunbeam upon her desolate heart, and, leading the boy by the hand, turned quickly toward the door. She looked after them in silence and with clasped hands. As the door opened, the emperor turned again with a parting but melancholy glance.

Josephine was again alone. With a groan she fell on her knees, and lifting her face toward heaven, she cried, "My G.o.d, protect-- preserve him! Whatever I may suffer, oh, let him be happy!"

CHAPTER XLV.

TALLEYRAND.

For a week the emperor had scarcely left his cabinet; bending over his maps, he anxiously examined the position of his army, and that of the constantly advancing allies. Every day couriers with news of fresh disasters arrived at Paris; rumors of invading armies terrified the citizens, and disturbed the emperor's temper. It was impossible for the government to conceal the misfortunes which had befallen France from the beginning of the new year. The people knew that Blucher had crossed the Rhine, and, victoriously penetrating France, on the 16th of January had taken up his quarters at Nancy.

It was publicly known that a still larger army of the allies, commanded by Prince Schwartzenberg, had advanced through Switzerland, Lorraine, and Alsace, taken the fortresses, overcome all resistance, and that both generals had sworn to appear in front of Paris by February, and conquer the capital. All Paris knew this, and longed for peace as the only way to put an end to the sufferings of the nation. The strength and the superiority of the allied army could not be concealed, and it was felt to be impossible to expel the powerful invaders.

Napoleon himself at length saw the necessity of peace, and, conquering his proud heart, he sent the Duke de Vicenza, his faithful friend Caulaincourt, to the headquarters of the allies, to request them to send plenipotentiaries to a peace congress. The allies accepted this proposition, but they declared that, despite the peace congress, the course of the war could not in the least be interrupted; that the operations in the field must be vigorously continued. Napoleon responded to this by decreeing a new conscription, ordering all able-bodied men in France to be enrolled in the national armies. The terrors of war were, therefore, approaching, and yet Paris was in hope that peace would be concluded; Caulaincourt was still at the headquarters of the allies, treating with them about the congress.

Early on the morning of the 23d of January, another dispatch from Caulaincourt to Maret was received at Paris, and the minister immediately repaired to the Tuileries, to communicate it to the emperor. This dispatch confirmed all the disastrous tidings which had arrived from day to day, and convinced Napoleon and his minister that the vast superiority of the allied armies rendered it impossible for the emperor to rid his country of the formidable invaders.

"Maret," said Napoleon, gloomily, "come and look at this map. What do you see here?"

"Sire, a number of colored pins extending in all directions."