Marie Antoinette and Her Son Part 76

On the 19th of April, 1798, the French fleet left the harbor of Toulon, and sailed toward the East, for, as Bonaparte said, "Only in the Orient are great realms and great deeds--in the Orient, where six hundred millions of men live."

But these six hundred millions have no army such as the French is, no commander like Bonaparte, no generals like Murat, Junot, Desaix, and, above all, Kleber.

Kleber was the second in command. He shared his perils, he shared his victories, and with him was united his nephew Louis, a youth of fourteen years, who, from his tall, slim figure, his gravity, and his ready understanding, would have pa.s.sed at least for a youth of eighteen, and who, trained in the school of misfortune, belonged to those early-matured natures which destiny has steeled, that they may courageously contend with and gain the victory over destruction.

It was on the morning of the 3d of July. The French army had disembarked, and stood not far from Alexandria, on the ancient sacred soil of Egypt. Whatever was done must be done quickly, for Nelson was approaching with a fleet, prepared to contend with the French for the possession of Alexandria. Should the city not be taken before the arrival of the English fleet, the victory would be doubtful. Bonaparte knew this well. "Fortune gives us three days'

time at the most," cried he, "and if we do not use them we are lost!"

But he did use them! With fearful rapidity the disembarkation of the troops was effected; with fearful rapidity the French army arranged itself on Egyptian soil in three divisions, under Morand, Bon, and Kleber. Above them all was he whose head had conceived the gigantic undertaking, he whose heroic spirit comprehended the whole. This was Bonaparte.

After inspecting all the army and issuing his orders, he rode up the hill in company with his staff to the pillar of Pompey, in order to observe from that point the course of events. The army was advancing impetuously, and soon the city built by Alexander the Great must open its gates to his successor, Bonaparte the Great.

After a short respite, the army advanced farther into the land of the pyramids. "Remember," cried Bonaparte to his soldiers, pointing to those monuments--"remember that forty centuries look down upon you."

And the pyramids of the great plain of Cairo beheld the glorious deeds and victories of the French army, beheld the overthrow of the Egyptian host. The Nile murmured with its blood-red waves the death- song of the brave Mamelukes, and the "forty centuries" which looked down from the pyramids were obliterated by the glorious victories that Bonaparte gained at the foot of those sacred monuments. A new epoch was to begin. The old epoch was buried for Egypt, and out of the ruins of past centuries a new Egypt was to be born, an Egypt which was to serve France and be tributary to it as a va.s.sal.

This was Bonaparte's plan, and he did every thing to bring it to completion. He pa.s.sed from battle to battle, from victory to victory, and after conquering Egypt and taking up his residence in Cairo, he at once began to organize the newly-won country, and to introduce to the idle and listless East the culture of the earnest and progressive West. But Egypt would not accept the treasures of culture at the hand of its conqueror. It rose again and again in rebellion against the power that held it down, and hurled its flaming torches of revenge against the hated enemy. A token of this may be seen in the dreadful revolt at Cairo, which began in the night of the 20th of October, and, after days of violence, ended with the cruel cutting down of six thousand Mamelukes. A proof of it may be seen in the constantly renewed attacks of swarms of Bedouins and Mamelukes on the French army. These hordes advanced even to the gates of Cairo, and terrified the population, which had at last taken refuge beneath the foot of the conqueror. But Bonaparte succeeded in subjugating the hostile Bedouin tribes, as he had already subjugated the population of the cities. He sent one of his adjutants, General Croisier, with a corps of brave soldiers, into the desert to meet the emir of the hostile tribes, and Croisier won respect for the commands of his general. He succeeded in taking captive the whole body. A fearful sentence was inflicted on them.

Before the eyes of their wives, their children, and their mothers, all the men of the tribe, more than five hundred in number, were killed and their heads put into sacks. The howling and weeping women and children were driven to Cairo. Many perished of hunger on the road, or died beneath the sabre-blows of their enemies; but more than a thousand succeeded in reaching Cairo. They were obliged to encamp upon the great square El Bekir, in the heart of Cairo, till the donkeys arrived which bore the dreadful spoils of victory in blood-dripping bags upon their backs. The whole population of Cairo was summoned to this gigantic square, and was obliged to look on while the sacks were opened and the b.l.o.o.d.y heads rolled out upon the sacred soil of Egypt.

After this time quiet reigned for a season. Horror had brought the conquered into subjection, and Bonaparte could continue his victorious course. He withdrew to Syria, taking with him Kleber and Kleber's young adjutant, the little Louis. He saw the horrors of war; he was there, the son of the Kings of France, when the army of the republic conquered the cities El Arish and Gaza; he took part by the side of Kleber in the storming of Jaffa. He was there when the captured Jaffa had to open its gates to the victors. He was there when, in the great caravansary, four thousand Turkish soldiers grounded their arms and surrendered themselves as prisoners, after receiving the promise that their lives should be spared. He was there, too, the son of Marie Antoinette, when the unfortunates were driven down to the sea-coast and shot, in order that their enemies might be rid of them. He was there, the son of Louis XVI., when Bonaparte visited the pest-house in Jaffa; he walked through the sick-rooms at the side of his uncle Kleber, who noticed how the face of the young man, which had so often been calm in meeting death on the battle-field or in the storm of a.s.sault, now quivered, and the paleness of death swept over his cheeks.

"What was the matter, my son?" asked Kleber, as he returned home from this celebrated visit to the pest-house. "Why did you turn pale all at once, Louis?"

"General," responded Louis, perplexed, "I know not how to answer."

"You ought not to have gone with me to the hospital," said Kleber, shaking his head. "You know I did not want you to go at first; but you insisted on it, and begged and implored so long that at last I had to yield and let you accompany us. But, I confess it myself, it was a dreadful sight, these sick people with their swollen bodies covered with blood and running sores. I understand now why you trembled and turned pale--you were afraid of this dreadful sickness?"

"No, general," answered Louis, softly--"no, I have no fear. Did you not notice that I sprang forward and a.s.sisted General Bonaparte, when he lifted up the poor sick man who lay on the floor before the door, and that I helped carry him into the room?"

"I saw it, Louis, and I was much pleased with your courage, and was therefore surprised afterward when you turned pale and trembled, and I saw tears in your eyes. What agitated you all at once so much?"

The young man slowly raised his head and looked at Kleber with his great blue eyes. "General," he said, softly, "I myself do not know what agitated me so much. We were both standing before the bed of a sick man, to whom I handed a pitcher of water which he begged for earnestly. He fixed his great eyes upon me, and his quivering lips murmured: 'G.o.d bless you! all saints and angels protect you!' As he spoke these words, there resounded in my heart the echo of a time long since past. It seemed to me as if suddenly a dark curtain parted, and I looked as in a dream at a wondrous, brilliant spectacle. I saw a beautiful and dignified woman of princely figure, of n.o.ble, majestic nature. With her I saw two children, a girl and a boy, whom she led by the hand, and with whom she walked through a long hall which was filled with rows of beds. And as she walked there, it seemed as if the sun lightened up the dismal hall, and illumined the pale faces of the sick ones. They raised themselves up in their beds and extended their thin, emaciated hands to the tall lady, and thanked her with earnest blessings for her visit and her comforting words. There was only one of the patients who did not rise, but lay stiff upon his bed and moaned and sighed and whispered unintelligible words, which no one heeded, because the attention of all was fixed upon the great visitor. But the boy who was walking by the side of the tall lady had understood the sobs of the sick one.

He left his mother, took the jug which stood upon a table between two beds, filled a gla.s.s with water from it, and held it to the dry, quivering lips of the sick one. He drank greedily, and then fixed his eyes upon the boy and lisped the words: 'G.o.d bless you! all saints and angels protect you!' And all the people repeated aloud: 'G.o.d bless you, all saints and angels protect you!' The dignified lady stooped with a heavenly smile to her son, pressed a tender kiss upon his golden locks, and repeated the same words aloud. This, general, was the fantasy which suddenly appeared before my eyes when the patient spoke those words to-day. It seemed to me as if I perceived all at once a long-silent song of home. I heard the wonderful voice of the exalted lady who spoke those words. It seemed to me as if I felt the kiss which she then imprinted on the head of the five-year-old boy, felt it to my inmost heart, and it glowed there with the fire of an undying love, and shook my whole being, and filled my eyes with tears. You will not chide me for that, general, for those were the lips of my mother who pressed that kiss of blessing on her unhappy son."

He ceased, tears choked his utterance, and, as if ashamed of his deep emotion, he hid his face in his hands.

General Kleber turned away too, and put his hand over his eyes, as though a film had come over them. Then, after a long pause he gently laid his hand upon the shoulder of the young man, who was still sitting with covered face.

"Such memories are holy," he said, "and I honor them, my dear, faithful son. May the blessing which then fell from the lips of a woman whom I too knew and honored, but whose name may never be spoken between us, may it be fulfilled to you! May angels and saints protect you when men shall no longer have the power, and when fate shall separate you from those who have devoted their love and fidelity to you!"

The youth let his hands fall from his face, and looked at the general with a startled, searching glance.

"What do you mean, uncle? You do not mean to say that--"

"That we must part? Yes, my dear nephew, that is what I must say,"

interrupted Kleber, sadly. "This word has long been burning in my soul, and it is necessary that I speak it. Yes, we must part, Louis."

"Why, oh why?" asked Louis, bitterly. "Why will you too drive me away? You, the only one who loves me a little!"

"Exactly because I love you--exactly for that reason must I separate myself from you. Since we came to Egypt you have been sickly, your cheeks have become pale. The fulness of your limbs has gone, and the dry and hard cough that troubles you every morning has long made me anxious, as you know. On that account, after all the appliances of my physician failed, I applied, as you know, to the physician of the commanding general, to Corvisart, and he has subjected you to a thorough examination."

"It is true," said Louis, thoughtfully, "he has investigated me with the carefulness of a merchant who is about to buy a slave and means to test him. He made a hearing-trumpet of his ear and laid it on my breast, and listened while I had to breathe as if I were a volcano.

He put his ear to my heart, he told me that his father had been physician at the French court, and that the murdered queen had a great deal of confidence in him, and then he wondered that my heart beat so violently while he told me this."

"And the result of all these investigations is, that you must return to Europe, Louis," said Kleber, sadly. "Corvisart had declared it an unavoidable necessity for your const.i.tution, and the command of the physician must be obeyed as if it were the command of G.o.d. You cannot endure the climate of Egypt, so says Corvisart, and if your life is not to be shortened and you to be made a perpetual invalid, you must return to Europe as quickly as possible, for only there will you recover and grow strong. You see therefore, Louis, that I must separate from you, although it is a sore thing for me to do, for I love you as my own son, and I have no one in the world who is nearly related to me."

"And I, whom else have I in the world?" asked Louis, bitterly. "Who has interest in me excepting you? Ah, general, do not drive me from you. Believe me, it is better for me if for a few short and happy years I live at your side, and then breathe my last sigh in your faithful and tender arms, than if I have to wander solitary and friendless through the strange, cold world, where no one loves me, and where I shall always be surrounded by enemies, or by those who are indifferent. It may be that my body will gain health and strength in the air of Europe, but my heart will always be sick there, for it will lose its home when it shall have lost you, my fatherly friend."

General Kleber slowly shook his head. "In youth one sorrows and forgets it quickly."

"General, do you say that to me, after seeing me weep in the hospital because the word of a dying man called back the recollection of my earliest childhood? Oh, believe me, my heart forgets its sorrows never, and if I must return to France, to Paris, it will seem to me as if I had always to be climbing the hill of Calvary with b.l.o.o.d.y feet to reach the top where I might perish on the cross. For, believe me, general, my whole life will be nothing but such a wandering through scenes of pain if you drive me from the refuge that your love has offered me. Leave me here, let me live in secrecy and silence beneath the pinions of your love, and do not believe what the physicians tell you. Man's life lies in the hands of G.o.d, and if He will sustain it, it is as safe in the deserts of Egypt as in Paris, the capital of the world."

"Because G.o.d will sustain your life, Louis, for that very reason, He instructs me, through the voice of the physician, what my duty is, bids me conquer my own grief, and send the son of my heart to his distant home. No, Louis, it is a decided thing, we must part; you must return to France."

"And if it is true," asked Louis, bitterly, "if I am then really to return to France, why must we part? Why must I return without you?

Why, if you really love me, do you not accompany me? I heard you say yesterday that several ships, with a part of our troops, were to return to France. Why, then, can you not go back with me?"

"Why?" asked Kleber, sadly. "I will tell you, Louis: because Bonaparte will not allow it. Listen, my son, I will communicate a secret to you: there has news come within the last few days, the first that we have received for ten months. The newspapers which have arrived bring very unwelcome intelligence; they inform us that all the advantages gained in Italy by the French army have been lost--that France is arrayed against Austria, Spain, and all the European powers--that the French Government is threatened by internal factions, which threaten to bring back the reign of terror.

I watched Bonaparte's face as he read these papers, and I saw there what he was resolved to do. He will, as soon as he shall gain one more great victory, leave Egypt and return to France."

"He will not return without you, the faithfulest and boldest of his generals. You know well that you are called the right-hand man of Bonaparte."

"Bonaparte means to show the world that he is not only the head, but the right arm too, the heart, the foot, the soul of the French army!

And because he means to show this, he will return alone to France; only a few of his faithful subordinates will accompany him; the men who might even oppose him, and put hinderances in the path of his growing ambition, will remain here. Now do you believe that Bonaparte will select me to accompany him?"

The young man let his head fall slowly on his breast. "No," he said, softly, "no, I do not believe he will."

"And I know he will not," replied Kleber. "I shall remain here in Egypt, and die here! Hush! Do not contradict me; there are presentiments which do not mislead us, and which G.o.d sends to us, that we may shape our course by them, and set our house in order. My house is set in order--my will is made; I have given it to Bonaparte, and he has solemnly sworn to carry it into execution in all respects. Only one care is left me--to provide for your immediate future, and to arrange that yon may reach France."

"You adhere to this?" asked Louis, sadly.

"Yes, I abide by this; you must not run away from your own future, and this will, I trust, be a brilliant one. All tokens indicate that France is wearied with the republic, and that it is perhaps nearly ready to restore the throne of the Lilies. Young man, shall this reestablished throne fall into the hands of that man who contributed so much to its downfall--who was the calumniator, the secret enemy of Queen Marie Antoinette? Would you consent that the Count de Provence should be King of France?"

"No, never!" cried Louis, with blazing eyes and naming face. "That never can be; for, before the brother of Louis XVI. can ascend the throne as Louis XVIII., his rightful predecessor, Louis XVII., must have died."

"He has died, and the French government has placed in its archives the certificate of the death of Louis Charles Capet, signed by the physicians and the servants of the Temple. My son, in order to prevent the Count de Provence acknowledging this certificate as genuine, you must be prepared to place before him and the world other testimonials that Louis XVII. is not dead. This is a sacred offering which you must make to the manes of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, even if the stake were not a throne and a crown!"

"You are right," cried Louis, with enthusiasm, "my whole life shall be devoted to this sacred trust; it shall have no other aim than this: to avenge Marie Antoinette of the most cruel of her enemies, the Count de Provence, and to place the son, whom, after the death of her husband, she acknowledged as King of France, on the throne which really belongs to him, and not to the Count de Provence! You are right, general, I must return to Europe; I must carry to Prance the papers which show that Louis XVII. did not die in the Temple, but was released. I am ready to go, and to endure the pain of parting from you."

"May G.o.d grant that we may both be compensated for this pain!"

replied Kleber, embracing the young man tenderly. "There remain to us a few weeks to be together. Let us use them so that they shall afford us many cheerful recollections. Bonaparte will not leave Egypt before adding one more glory to his reputation. He does not mean to return to France as the conquered, but as the conqueror!"

General Kleber was right. He knew Bonaparte sufficiently well to be able to read his countenance; he understood the dumb speech of the Caesar of the age.

Bonaparte wanted to gain one great battle, in order to return to Europe with glory. He gained it at Aboukir, winning the day in a contest with the united Turks and English--one of the most signal victories that he had ever won. Eight thousand prisoners were taken on that 21st of July, 1799. Four thousand lay dead upon the battle- field, and as many were sunk in the captured and destroyed ships of the English. On the day after the battle the foam of the waves was tipped with blood along the sh.o.r.e.

Bonaparte himself conducted the whole battle, and personally gained the victory. At the moment when the contest seemed doubtful, he a.s.sumed command of a cavalry regiment, advanced upon the Turkish pacha, and by his heroic courage kindled all the army afresh. Even General Kleber could not disguise his admiration of the hero of Aboukir; and when, at the close of the battle, he met Bonaparte on the field, he embraced him with pa.s.sionate tenderness. "General," he cried, with enthusiasm, "you are as great as the world; but the world is not great enough for you!" [Footnote: Denon, Mtooires, vol.

i., p. 349.]