Under the Corsican

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Chapter I

On a dark, wet night, somewhere about the end of March, in the year of our Lord 1804, several young men were gathered together in an upper room of a small, dingy-looking house that stood crowded between two taller ones in the now extinct Rue des Trois Canettes, which inconspicuous thoroughfare was then to be found amid the devious ways of the ever-populous Isle of St. Louis, that lies, with all its teeming denizens, within the very heart of the city of Paris. This narrow street, with many others, has long since been swept away by the march of modern improvement, and the site of its picturesque old houses is at present occupied by the new and imposing Hotel Dieu. At the time of which we write, however, the passage was both contracted and crooked, and 5

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many of the dwellings along its length were timber-fronted and gable-roofed, while over them all there lay an air of unarrested deca5^

The time-worn building to which the attention of the reader is directed was a tavern or “ cabaret,” a small pot-house frequented mostly by the working people ; but it was clean and neat within the mouldering walls, and an atmosphere of cheerful bustle usually animated the interior. Without, a miniature pine-tree placed above the door testified to the owner’s trade, the branches, though dead and russet-colored, supplementing the words on the weather-beaten signboard that called attention both to the “ Commerce de Vins” and to the hospitable intent of the “ Sapin Vert.” To the right of the entrance a bracket of curling iron supported a lantern, and after dark, lights twinkled also from behind the small leaded panes that looked out on to the street. A cavernous portal led to the courtyard in the rear that was perpetually encumbered with household superfluities. The inn was so squeezed between its neighbors that its lines were uncertain, and it looked as though held up by their supporting walls; and being over-to'pped by the greater height it appeared smaller than it really

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was. The constant dripping of water that ran unchecked from a broken stone spout left streaks of green and other discoloration upon the surface of the masonry. Thus its outward appearance was not particularly prepossessing, and the lowceiled room where the little company was assembled was plain almost to bareness.

Though the pleasant days of early spring were near at hand, the temperature on the evening in question was far more indicative of the winter season ; and the pile of rain-soaked cloaks thrown carelessly over a chair in the corner of the apartment witnessed to the violence of a drenching storm.

Only a matter of urgent business or of eagerly desired pleasure could have tempted the young men to come together on such a night. They were darkly dressed, and, though much bespattered with the clinging Paris mud, there was still something in their bearing and in their general appearance that betokened a higher station in life than was in keeping with their present simple, not to say penurious, surroundings. Had the condition of their finances warranted it, they would have undoubtedly sought a more luxurious

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trysting-place, and we might have looked for them successfully in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, that haunt of the truly aristocratic; but the wheel of fortune has brought about strange things in its revolutions, and Anatole d’Harcourt, in whose room the meeting took place, was b)^ no means the only scion of the old nobility who was forced to content himself with very humble quarters.

The modest hostelry in the Rue des Trois Canettes was kept by one Amand Gourtain, who had been formerly a valet in the service of the old Marquis d’Harcourt, Anatole’s father; but when the Revolution came, sweeping everything before it in a whirlwind of destruction, the nobleman lost his head and the servant his comfortable home at about the same time. The latter, however, having a mind of great adaptability as well as a thrifty soul, perceived that there were many fragments to be picked up from out of the wreck, and he forthwith adjusted his political creed to existing necessities, and by watching his opportunities managed so well that circumstances favored him, and he was now doing a very pretty business as inn-keeper almost within the shadow of Notre Dame. He knew how to trim his sails to every

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wind, and he understood perfectly how to take up life just as he found it. Being a person of fickle moods, the “ Qa ira” of the Revolution and the “ Paris en vaudeville” of Ange Pitou, the popular singer, found an equal response in his mobile nature; and just as he had given his devoted service to the nobility in the past, and as “ citoyen” his adherence to the bloody upholders of the Reign of Terror, he now, in the last days of the Consulate, was above all else a Bonapartist, — turncoat of course; but withal so genial and so plausible that a speedy forgiveness was ever forthcoming for his delinquencies.

Balancing his position with nicety, he had always been above reproach among the Republicans, and had yet managed from time to time to extend assistance to the family of his old master, which had fallen into dire extremity, but which still lived upon a corner of the old estate in Brittany, occupying a tumble-down stone house and existing upon a microscopic income.

Whenever Anatole came to Paris he gladly descended at the Sapin Vert, for he was sure of finding there not only a welcome, but a good omelette and a pair of clean sheets as well; and Maitre lO

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Gourtain was singularly forgetful in the matter of presenting accounts.

Possibly, too, Anatole’s vanity was titillated by the obsequious manner with which he was served ; and it was certainly most gratifying to be waited upon as a gentleman should be. His clothes were carried away at night and were returned in the morning well brushed, and his linen was not only looked over and mended, but it was also when washed, starched and ironed to the last degree of perfection. It was far from displeasing also to have his hot water handed in by the pretty Gabrielle, Amand’s daughter ; and when the young man was shaved, his host performed the important function himself while she stood by and held the shining copper “ bouillotte.” Thus it will be seen that ease and comfort were not altogether lacking even within the unpretending interior of the inn known as the “ Green Pine-tree.”

The room in which the party gathered on that inclement night, though bare, was clean and decently furnished, and a porcelain stove did its best to temper the air and to overcome the draughts that caused the candles to sputter and run. The wind and rain howled and beat against the ill-fit-

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II ting windows, and the raw chill of the Parisian atmosphere penetrated the apartment and caused the inmates to shiver as they sat about the table on which stood a light repast beside a couple of flasks of wine and a pack of cards.

But though Anatole’s hand lay on the dice-box the young men were not playing, for their minds were occupied with a game of a widely different sort. As they listened to the storm raging furiously without, the draught drew up the chimney so well that the flames roared behind the brassbound doors of the china stove; and, in the gloom of the dimly lighted room, the party drew closer together about the deal boards. Dismay and sorrow were written on their faces as they discussed in lowered tones the lamentable death of the young Due d’Enghien, the last hope of the Condes, that had but lately taken place, — a judicial murder at which the whole civilized world was to stand aghast. It was therefore no wonder that these young men, all patricians though miserably poor, should have been deeply moved by the cruel injustice of his fate, and have resented as an insult to their own caste the arbitrary fiat that had arrested and finally brought him to his death.

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“ Ha!” cried Anatole angrily as his hand closed firmly over the unoffending cards. “ He has been made a victim to Bonaparte’s inexorable will. By all the laws of equity, his freedom should have remained inviolate beyond the frontier.”

And Anatole was right. As his fingers clinched and his eyes flashed, a quick response came to him from the others. Muttered oaths and dark threats were uttered, and one of the party, a mere lad, started to his feet and flung his gentleman’s sword upon the table so that the good steel quivered and rang as it fell. “ I am ready!” he cried, then sank back abashed to his seat as he met the other’s quick glance.

“ Peace, Raoul,” he said, fixing him with a look that made the boy quail. “ Here craft boots as much as steel. A rash act may ruin everything. ‘All comes to those who know how to wait,’ ” he added, quoting the proverb. “ The murderer shall be hunted down, and vengeance sure and unrelenting shall find him out. Trust me, and I will lead you.”

As they looked at each other across the poor deal table their pale faces and trembling lips appeared ghastly in the dim light, and each one of

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the little company lived through again in thought the fateful night that had blotted the fair world from d’Enghien’s eyes and had ended in blood beneath the dark walls of Vincennes.

At this late date it is hardly worth while to repeat the tale, for the whole world knows how the unfortunate man was seized at the castle of Ettenheim in the Grand-Duchy of Baden, and hastened from thence to Vincennes. The arrest was made upon suspicion only, and adequate proof of his complicity in the plots endangering the First Consul’s life was never forthcoming; but an example was demanded, and though he denied all knowledge of the Chouan Cadoudal’s movements, he admitted having been in Strasburg once or twice, and upon the strength of this alone the law effecting the “emigres” bearing arms against France was put in force to his perdition. Tried and condemned at night, he was executed without delay. His death remains a dark blot upon Napoleon’s career. It was never justified even by those nearest to him, and posterity has taken even a harsher view than they did.

In vain the beautiful Josephine had pleaded; in vain Hortense, Louis Bonaparte’s wife, had added

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her entreaties. The First Consul was obdurate.

Laisse moi ; tu lies q'mie femme ; tu fi etne?ids rien a la politique f he said to the first. When the Second Consul Cambaceres advocated clemency, he received for a reply: “ Vous lies devemi bien avare du sang des Bourbons.” Therefore, the unhappy Prince was hastened to his doom, and the very soldiers who carried out the sentence were so much touched by the courage with which he died that they refused afterwards to rifle the corpse, although they had full permission to do so. The body, still clad in its uniform, was laid in an unconsecrated grave and hastily covered with earth; and before the morning sun arose the tragedy was completed and all trace of it removed.

When you drop a stone into a pond and watch the widening circles, they soon disappear; but has it occurred to )mu that long after they are lost to sight they are in reality increasing until they break in a wash against the confines of the water? Events that move all parties with sudden and intense feeling also leave a wake behind them. Young d’Enghien’s melancholy fate thrilled all hearts, even those to whom he was politically opposed, and among his own friends there were those

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who became not only saddened but desperate. Though Moreau and Pichegru had been arrested, and the authorities were in hot pursuit of Georges Cadoudal, the Chouan leader, the enemies of Bonaparte were not discouraged, and there was one more widening circle on the sea of daily events that was silently advancing to break against the political shore.

Anatole d’Harcourt was at the head of the new conspiracy; and as he brooded over his plans and watched the course of events in France, all his racial prejudices were intensified. Profoundly disgusted with the growing power of the popular government, his animosity was fed as fire is with oil when the news of the Duke’s treacherous arrest and unjustifiable execution reached him. Among his closest friends were two young Royalists who.se homes had been wrecked in the Revolution, and whose e5’es were in no wise dazzled by the nation’s increasing glory and prosperity. They were animated by an almost fanatical hatred of Bonaparte; and though the quasi court of the Consulate was already frequented by many of even nobler blood than their own, they held haughtily aloof, Now their deepest indignation was aroused,

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i6 and, stirred by what had taken place, they were ready in their excitement to act the part of desperate men. D’Harcourt became the leading spirit, and inspired by a temper of absolute recklessness, these three formed a new plot, the immediate object of which was to avenge d’Enghien’s death by assassinating the First Consul, while their ultimate desire was to facilitate the return of the white flag and the royal lilies of France, They met at night in Anatole’s rooms to formulate their still indeflnite schemes; and carried away by their emotion and intoxicated by the fervor of their purpose, they were apt to talk themselves into a white heat, garnishing their conversation with high-flown Latin quotations, and drawing examples both from antiquity and from more modern times.

They considered that the title of “ First Consul for Life” was but a thin veil to disguise Bonaparte’s real ambition; and it .seemed to them a sacrilege that an upstart military leader should dare to cast his eyes towards the throne of St. Louis, even though he was the hero of many victories, and his firm hand on the helm of state was leading their country forward to a great place

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among the nations of the earth. Embittered by the sense of loss sustained by those of their own rank, they took it upon themselves to become the instruments of France’s social and political regeneration by removing the modern Coesar; and they forgot that assassination is always base murder even when accompanied by purest love of country, and that they also were moved by personal considerations. Moreover, the old order of things had been swept away forever, and the mighty hand of the Corsican was already reconstructing society as well as politics upon an entirely new basis.

As the conspirators sat together that stormy night they looked out into the future through eyes that were blinded to its tremendous possibilities, and they were intent alone upon what their own puny attempts might accomplish. Anatole d’Harcourt was the only one of the three whose motives w^ere in any sense redeemed by the unselfishness of his purpose. Devoted to his cause, he believed in the unfortunate fallacy that the end often justifies the means, and throwing himself with his whole soul into what he regarded as a duty to his exiled king, he was ready to sacrifice himself ep- 2

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tirely rather than to fail; — and this the others were not.

The young men who formed the group about the table were all very fair representatives of their class. Careful in their appearance, they were attired in clothes that, though somewhat worn, were essentially those of aristocrats; and their grace of manner and their polished politeness betrayed a school of good breeding and courtliness that has never become extinct in France. Their surroundings were humble, but the party was composed of men who were pre-eminently gentlemen.

D’Harcourt was on his feet as he expounded his plans, and his companions listened to him intently. He was tall and imposing in appearance, his gestures were graceful, and his voice was well modulated and firm. Presently he broke off in what he was saying and began to inveigh against the government.

“ Are we dogs, that we can be shot down thus?” he asked. There was a moment of silence before he continued : “ He who commands such things to be done in the name of justice is a red-handed tyrant!”

“ And yet this Bonaparte has lately accomplished

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something for France,” observed the man directly opposite him.' “ He has at least brought back^ /a sainte religion. The churches stand open once more, and our country is no longer pagan. Chateaubriand even dedicates his ‘Gdnie de Christianisme’ to the conqueror of Italy. The days of Voltaire and of Rousseau are over.”

The speaker, Raoul de Boissy, was a young fellow of twenty or thereabouts. He had delicate, almost feminine features, and dark hair and eyes. His long white fingers played nervously with the ruffles in his sleeve. He was as yet unstained with crime, and he shrank from committing the awful deed they were contemplating, though he never wavered in his desire that some one else should do it. Perhaps a lingering sense of right and wrong warned him that good can never come of evil, and he was therefore less self-poised and assertive than his leader.

Anatole sneered as he answered, “ Bonaparte knew well enough that by restoring religion he would win the support of the people. It was a fine policy in truth ! Do you believe that his republican generals are Christians? When the Te Deum was sung in celebration of the Concordat

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two years ago at Notre Dame, the First Consul drove his officers to their positions about the high altar with the same authority that has sent them into battle. There was no faith in their hearts. When the Host is lifted they kneel and bow their heads, but the salute is the result of discipline. Art thou weakening, Raoul, in thy determination?”

De Boissy shook his head, and Anatole went on : “Poor d’Enghien lies sweltering in his bloody grave, and his beloved, the young Princess Charlotte de Rohan, has naught but his little dog to comfort her. They tore the faithful beast away from his master’s dead body, and they sent it to her with a lock of the Duke’s hair that he had clipped for her himself.” The speaker’s eyes flashed and his voice grew hoarse with emotion. “Blood calls for blood,” he exclaimed. “Napoleon Bonaparte must die. Sic semper tyrannis!" He lifted his hand and brought it down so heavily upon the table that it trembled, and he looked about him defiantly.

“Where you lead I follow,” said Jules de Montfort bluntly. “ May the Holy Mother protect us!”

“ It is the part of patriots to save their country in the best way they can, ” said Raoul. “ If nec-

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essary, I will strike the blow with my own hand. Mayhap the saints will consider that all means are good when employed to serve the king. I wear this constantly for protection.” He pulled out a small reliquary that hung from a chain that was hidden among the ruffles at his breast.

“Tyrants and usurpers must ever die!” said Anatole in his low, firm tones. “ It is the law of nature. Cae.sar found his Brutus; Henri HI. his Clement; even Henri of Navarre a Ravaillac. ”

“And yet Henri was the ‘bon roi, ’ the darling of the people,” objected Raoul.

Though at one as regarded the main purpose of their plan, the plotters held different opinions as to the manner of its accomplishment; consequently nothing had been done. Anatole was in favor of prompt and uncompromising assassination, while Raoul inclined more to the project of Pichegru and Cadoudal that aimed to seize the First Consul bodily, only resorting to his death if forced to in the struggle. De Montfort agreed with d’Harcourt, but preferred the use of poison to that of firearms.

How little they all knew, and how futile are the plans of man! Destiny accomplished his final de-

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struct! on without their aid. Had the conspirators been able to look a few years in advance they would have stood both amazed and aghast, for the conqueror’s ambitious schemes were to wreck himself and France; though when he came at last to die alone upon his solitary rock in the ocean he had made his peace with God, and the world was satisfied. They knew nothing of what was to come, and intent only upon their own plot, talked of casting lots to decide which of them should be the one to undertake the dark deed.

In the gloomy upper room there was but little good cheer. Even the wine in the flasks was sour, and the fire, though it roared fiercely, was of light wood and gave out but little heat. The young men shivered as the rain rattled on the windows, and the candles flickered and sent up curling spirals of evil-smelling smoke. Outside on the stairs heavy footsteps came and went, and the business of the inn progressed as usual.

“ Shall we cast the dice?” said de Montfort as he slowly lifted the box. “ The one who first throws a couplet wins.”

“Or loses all?” muttered Raoul between his teeth.

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Anatole took the box from him and rattled it, blit then he laid it down again.

“Listen,” said he. “We must add a fourth to our number, and I propose my most intimate friend. Count Victor d’Olonet. He has better opportunities than we have of getting near to Bonaparte’s person. Moreover, he is the soul of honor and as true as steel. ”

“ For that very reason he will not join us,” said Raoul, “for he has accepted a commission in the army.”

“What of that?” replied the other fiercely. “ We also fight an enemy of France. I am willing to stake my life that he will accept my proposition, but we must approach him carefully at first. He has everything to gain if we succeed. The d’ Olonets have always shown the greatest devotion to the royal family, and it is high time that Victor should return to their traditions, for his race has been singularly favored by Louis XVI. While in the Temple his Majesty actually wrote a line of farewell in his breviary, which his faithful attendant C16ry delivered to Count d’Olonet after the king’s death, and this the family will always keep as a relic. How can my friend hesi-

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tate to come to us? His father was a victim of the Revolution, and his mother and his sweet sister Antoinette are with the ‘emigres’ in Germany.”

De Boissy only shrugged his shoulders doubtfully; but Anatole’s counsels prevailed, and a letter couched in ambiguous terms was then and there written to the proposed member, and this d’Harcourt took charge of himself.

As he placed the written words within the breastpocket of his coat he rose to his feet again and looked at the others. There was something in his bearing as he did so that awed them, they knew not wh5^ Perhaps it was because his nature was so different from theirs that they were thrilled in spite of themselves, and were carried along on the wave of his purpose, just as the whirlwind sweeps up the chaff and hurries it on its own course. Even Raoul, who had been quick to resent a fancied affront, forgot his irritation. With d’Harcourt things went deeply. Though the passions of his companions could be aroused into a storm of fury, it was like a tempest that ruffles the surface of the sea. With him a strong emotion was an upheaval that took its birth in depths they

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never dreamed of. He stood in the gloom of the upper room that night and paused, and the others waited, hanging on his words and with eyes riveted upon their chief. They knew that something must be coming.

“Comrades!” he cried at last in a low ringing tone that thrilled and swayed them. “ Comrades, let us take an oath to slay the tyrant, and to defend the king, God bless him! One sword lies already there !”

He pointed to Raoul’s blade, that still lay where it had fallen, and the lad looked up quickly and gratefully, more than appeased.

“Swords must not rust,” continued Anatole in that low, magnetic, inspiring voice. “ When the time comes, good steel must bend and strike and flash for the cause! Comrades, follow me!”

He drew his own with sudden, impetuous movement as his voice rose, and he held it high above his head while the light from the dying candle caught on its edge with a red glow. In quick response his companions’ blades leaped forth from discarded scabbards, and they flashed and clanged as they crossed each other and lay together in the brotherhood of well-tempered steel. They were

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gentlemen’s swords drawn for their own caste and for the king!

“ In the name of justice!” exclaimed the leader in that tone that was weighted with sterner meaning than any shout, and at which young Raoul’s blood turned chill,

“For holy, righteous vengeance, strike!” cried Anatole; and carried away by their emotion the young men fell into position as by instinct, and the bright blades crossed, and rang, and quivered until the blue sparks flew. “We swear it,” repeated the leader, and the others answered, “ We swear!” as they still held their weapons aloft and the blood rushed through their veins, while eyes flashed and nerves grew tense.

“And,” cried Anatole hoarsely, “with blood we will seal this bond.”

The moment of elation had carried them away on the wings of an awakened enthusiam, but suddenly the sputtering candle flared up and went out, the wind and storm increased in fury, and the windows rattled, while the darkness fell over tlie room ominously, — and like a bad augury to Raoul, at least.

Shortly afterwards the party dispersed without

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any more definite conclusion having been reached, and the prime mover in the plot was left alone.

It was late, but he could not sleep. Throwing open the door of the stove, he let the ruddy light pour forth into the room ; and dropping down upon a chair before it he leaned his head on his hand and became lost in meditation. The candles burned down in fheir sockets and went out, and only the glow of the fire gave him any light, but he did not heed the growing darkness. Half dozing, half dreaming of a brilliant future that was to come to him as the result of a dastardly deed, he sat far into the night, unconscious of the raging elements without that vied with the tumultuous surging of the thoughts in his own breast. He was not a wicked or a criiel man by nature. A happier lot than his might have developed qualities that would have been gallant in a good cause, but he had been impoverished and embittered by a course of events that every one of his inherited instincts taught him to detest. Good feeling had been dried up at its very spring, and his qualities of daring and of enterprise had been perverted by his unreasoning faculties into criminal desires.

Chapter II

When pretty Gabrielle Gourtain knocked on Anatole’s door the next morning-, she thought her father’s lodger would never wake; but when she heard him stir at last, she turned and ran down quickly to her mother in the kitchen and begged her to hasten and prepare Monsieur’s chocolate at once, for he hated to be kept waiting and she knew that he would ring for it soon.

Anatole had in truth slept late, but he had heard the city bells chime four o’clock before he had gone to rest ; and even after he had cast himself down in utter weariness upon his bed, his mind had continued to be so overwrought and perplexed that it was long before oblivion had come to sooth him. At last, however, his heavy eyelids had closed and he had lost himself in a refreshing slumber that had remained quite undisturbed until he was aroused by the timid tap on his door. His first exclamation was one of impatience, but when he heard the voice outside bid- 28

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ding the servant to heat water and to bring another log for the stove, he smiled, for he knew perfectly well to whom the silvery tones belonged. Despite the dark workings of his thoughts, he was by no means proof against the charms of a pretty face, and the attractive daughter of his host had always stood high in his favor. Besides, he had known Gabrielle since her earliest childhood, and he had been wont to regard her somewhat in the light of a pet and a plaything during his visits to the Sapin Vert. She was so fresh and winning, and her hands and feet were so ready in his service, that she had always seemed to him, even in the old days, as the perfection of a miniature handmaiden; and he had promised her repeatedly that when she was fully grown he would bestow upon her a box of trinkets which was to be laid aside against her wedding-day. This had been regarded by both of them as a fine joke ; and whenever he arrived from the country, he never failed to ask if the time had come when he was to look about for the marriage gift.