Queen Hortense: A Life Picture of the Napoleonic Era Part 30

By a strange chance, it was at the "_Hotel de Hollande_" that the former Queen of Holland descended from her carriage, and took up her residence, holding thus, in a measure, her entrance into Paris, under the fluttering banner of the past. In the little _Hotel de Hollande_, the Queen of Holland took possession of the apartments of the first floor, which commanded a view of the boulevard and the column of the _Place Vendome._ "Say to the column on the _Place Vendome_ that I am dying, because I cannot embrace it," the Duke de Reichstadt once wrote in the alb.u.m of a French n.o.bleman, who had succeeded, in spite of the watchful spies, who surrounded the emperor's son, in speaking to him of his father and of the empire. This happiness, vainly longed for by the emperor's son, was at least to be enjoyed by his nephew.

Louis Napoleon could venture to show himself. In Paris he was entirely unknown, and could therefore be betrayed by no one. He could go down into the square and hasten to the foot of the _Vendome_ column, and in thought at least kneel down before the monument that immortalized the renown and grandeur of the emperor. Hortense remained behind, in order to perform a sacred duty, imposed on her, as she believed, by her own honor and dignity.

She was not willing to sojourn secretly, like a fugitive criminal, in the city that in the exercise of its free will had chosen itself a king, but not a Bonaparte. She was not willing to partake of French hospitality and enjoy French protection by stealth; she was not willing to go about in disguise, deceiving the government with a false pa.s.s and a borrowed name. She had the courage of truth and sincerity, and she resolved to say to the King of France that she had come, not to defy his decree of banishment by her presence, not for the purpose of intriguing against his new crown, by arousing the Bonapartists from their sleep of forgetfulness by her appearance, but solely because there was no other means of saving her son; because she must pa.s.s through France with him in order to reach England.

Revolution, which so strangely intermingles the destinies of men, had surrounded the new king almost entirely with the friends and servants of the emperor and of the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu. But, in order not to excite suspicion against these, Hortense now addressed herself to him with whom she had the slightest acquaintance and whose devotion to the Orleans family was too well known to be called in doubt by her undertaking. Hortense therefore addressed herself to M. de Houdetot, the adjutant of the king, or rather, she caused her friend Mlle. de Ma.s.suyer to write to him. She was instructed to inform the count that she had come to Paris with an English family, and was the bearer of a commission from the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu to M. de Houdetot.

M. de Houdetot responded to her request, and came to the _Hotel de Hollande_ to see Mlle. Ma.s.suyer. With surprise and emotion, he recognized in the supposit.i.tious English lady the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu, who was believed by all the world to be on the way to Malta, and for whom her friends (who feared the fatigue of so long a journey would be too much for Hortense in her weak state of health) had already taken steps to obtain for her permission to pa.s.s through France on her way to England.

Hortense informed Count Houdetot of the last strokes of destiny that had fallen upon her, and expressed her desire to see the king, in order to speak with him in person about the future of her son.

M. de Houdetot undertook to acquaint the king with her desire, and came on the following day to inform the d.u.c.h.ess of the result of his mission.

He told the d.u.c.h.ess that the king had loudly lamented her boldness in coming to France, and the impossibility of his seeing her. He told her, moreover, that, as the king had a responsible ministry at his side, he had been compelled to inform the premier of her arrival, and that Minister Casimir Perrier would call on her during the day.

A few hours later, Louis Philippe's celebrated minister arrived. He came with an air of earnest severity, as it were to sit in judgment upon the accused d.u.c.h.ess, but her artless sincerity and her gentle dignity disarmed him, and soon caused him to a.s.sume a more delicate and polite bearing.

"I well know," said Hortense in the course of the conversation, "I well know that I have broken a law, by coming hither; I fully appreciate the gravity of this offence; you have the right to cause me to be arrested, and it would be perfectly just in you to do so!"--Casimir Perrier shook his head slowly, and replied: "Just, no! Lawful, yes[63]!"

[Footnote 63: La Reine Hortense: Voyage en Italie, etc., p. 110.]

CHAPTER VIII.

LOUIS PHILIIPE AND THE d.u.c.h.eSS OF ST. LEU.

The visit which Casimir Perrier had paid the d.u.c.h.ess seemed to have convinced him that the fears which the king and his ministry had entertained had really been groundless, that the step-daughter of Napoleon had not come to Paris to conspire and to claim the still somewhat unstable throne of France for the Duke de Reichstadt or for Louis Napoleon, but that she had only chosen the way through France, in the anxiety of maternal love in order to rescue her son.

In accordance with this conviction, Louis Philippe no longer considered it impossible to see the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu, but now requested her to call. Perhaps the king, who had so fine a memory for figures and money-matters, remembered that it had been Hortense (then still Queen of Holland) who, during the hundred days of the empire in 1815, had procured for the d.u.c.h.ess Orleans-Penthievre, from the emperor, permission to remain in Paris and a pension of two hundred thousand francs per annum; that it had been Hortense who had done the same for the aunt of the present king, the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans-Bourbon. Then, in their joy over an a.s.sured and brilliant future, these ladies had written the d.u.c.h.ess the most affectionate and devoted letters; then they had a.s.sured Hortense of their eternal and imperishable grat.i.tude[64].

Perhaps Louis Philippe remembered this, and was desirous of rewarding Hortense for her services to his mother and his aunt.

[Footnote 64: La Reine Hortense: Voyage en Italie, etc., p. 185.]

He solicited a visit from Hortense, and, on the second day of her sojourn in Paris, M. de Houdetot conducted the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu to the Tuileries, in which she had once lived as a young girl, as the step-daughter of the emperor; then as Queen of Holland, as the wife of the emperor's brother; and which she now beheld once more, a poor, nameless pilgrim, a fugitive with shrouded countenance, imploring a little toleration and protection of those to whom she had once accorded toleration and protection.

Louis Philippe received the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Leu with all the elegance and graciousness which the "Citizen King" so well knew how to a.s.sume, and that had always been an inheritance of his house, with all the amiability and apparent open-heartedness beneath which he so well knew how to conceal his real disposition. Coming to the point at once, he spoke of that which doubtlessly interested the d.u.c.h.ess most, of the decree of banishment.

"I am familiar," said the king, "with all the pains of exile, and it is not my fault that yours have not been alleviated." He a.s.sured her that this decree of banishment against the Bonaparte family was a heavy burden on his heart; he went so far as to excuse himself for it by saying that the exile p.r.o.nounced against the imperial family was only an article of the same law which the conventionists had abolished, and the renewal of which had been so vehemently demanded by the country! Thus it had seemed as though he had uttered a new decree of banishment, while in point of fact he had only renewed a law that had already existed under the consulate of Napoleon. "But," continued the king with exultation, "the time is no longer distant when there will be no more exiles; I will have none under my government!"

Then, as if to remind the d.u.c.h.ess that there had been exiles and decrees of banishment at all times, also under the republic, the consulate, and the kingdom, he spoke of his own exile, of the needy and humiliating situation in which he had found himself, and which had compelled him to hire himself out as a teacher and give instruction for a paltry consideration.

The d.u.c.h.ess had listened to the king with a gentle smile, and replied that she knew the story of his exile, and that it did him honor.

Then the d.u.c.h.ess informed the king that her son had accompanied her on her journey, and was now with her in Paris; she also told him that her son, in his glowing enthusiasm for his country, had written to the king, begging that he might be permitted to enter the army.

"Lend me the letter," replied Louis Philippe; "Perrier shall bring it to me, and, if circ.u.mstances permit, I shall be perfectly willing to grant your son's request; and it will also give me great pleasure to serve you at all times. I know that you have legitimate claims on the government, and that you have appealed to the justice of all former ministries in vain. Write out a statement of all that France owes you, and send it _to me alone_. I understand business matters, and const.i.tute myself from this time on your _charge d'affaires_[65]. The Duke of Rovigo," he continued, "has informed me that the other members of the imperial family have similar claims. It will afford me great pleasure to be of a.s.sistance to all of you, and I shall interest myself particularly for the Princess de Montfort[66]."

[Footnote 65: The king's own words. See Voyage en Italie, etc., p. 201.]

[Footnote 66: The Princess de Montfort was the wife of Jerome, the sister of the King of Wurtemberg, and a cousin of the Emperor of Russia.]

Hortense had listened to the king, her whole face radiant with delight.

The king's beneficent countenance, his friendly smile, his hearty and cordial manner, dispelled all doubt of his sincerity in Hortense's mind.

She believed in his goodness and in his kindly disposition toward herself; and, in her joyous emotion, she thanked him with words of enthusiasm for his promised benefits, never doubting that it was his intention to keep his word.

"Ah, sire!" she exclaimed, "the entire imperial family is in misfortune, and you will have many wrongs to redress. France owes us all a great deal, and it will be worthy of you to liquidate these debts."

The king declared his readiness to do every thing. He who was so fond of taking in millions and of speculating, smilingly promised, in the name of France, to disburse millions, and to pay off the old state debt!

The d.u.c.h.ess believed him. She believed in his protestations of friendship, and in his blunt sincerity. She allowed him to conduct her to his wife, the queen, and was received by her and Madame Adelaide with the same cordiality the king had shown. Once only in the course of the conversation did Madame Adelaide forget her cordial disposition. She asked the d.u.c.h.ess how long she expected to remain in Paris, and when the latter replied that she intended remaining three days longer, Madame exclaimed, in a tone of anxious dismay: "So long! Three days still! And there are so many Englishmen here who have seen your son in Italy, and might recognize you here!"

But Fate itself seemed to delay the departure of the d.u.c.h.ess and her son. On returning home from her visit to the Tuileries, she found her son on his bed in a violent fever, and the physician who had been called in declared that he was suffering from inflammation of the throat.

Hortense was to tremble once more for the life of a son, and this son was the last treasure Fate had left her.

Once more the mother sat at the bedside of her son, watching over him, lovingly, day and night. That her son's life might be preserved was now her only wish, her only prayer; all else became void of interest, and was lost sight of. She only left her son's side when Casimir Perrier came, as he was in the habit of doing daily, to inquire after her son's condition in the name of the king, and to request the d.u.c.h.ess to name the amount of her claims against France, and to impart to him all her wishes with regard to her future. Hortense now had but one ardent wish--the recovery of her son; and her only request was, that she might be permitted to visit the French baths of the Pyrenees during the summer, in order to restore her failing health.

The minister promised to procure this permission of the king, and of the Chambers, that were soon to be convened. "In this way we shall gradually become accustomed to your presence," observed Casimir Perrier. "As far as you are personally concerned, we shall be inclined to throw open the gates of the country to you. But with your son it is different, his name will be a perpetual obstacle in his way. If he should really desire at any time to take service in the army, it would be, above all, necessary that he should lay aside his name. We are in duty bound to consider the wishes of foreign governments: France is divided into so many parties, that a war could only be ruinous, and therefore your son must change his name, if--"

But now the d.u.c.h.ess, her cheeks glowing, blushing with displeasure and anger, interrupted him. "What!" exclaimed she, "lay aside the n.o.ble name with which France may well adorn itself, conceal it as though we had cause to be ashamed of it?"

Beside herself with anger, regardless, in her agitation, even of the suffering condition of her son, she hastened to his bedside, to inform him of the proposition made to her by Louis Philippe's minister.

The prince arose in his couch, his eyes flaming, and his cheeks burning at the same time with the fever-heat of disease and of anger.

"Lay aside my name!" he exclaimed. "Who dares to make such a proposition to me? Let us think of all these things no more, mother. Let us go back to our retirement. Ah, you were right, mother: our time is pa.s.sed, or it has not yet come!"

CHAPTER IX.

THE DEPARTURE OF THE d.u.c.h.eSS FROM PARIS.

Excitement had made the patient worse, and caused his fever to return with renewed violence. Hortense was now inseparable from his bedside; she herself applied ice to his burning throat, and a.s.sisted in applying the leeches ordered by the physician. But this continuous anxiety and excitement, all these troubles of the present, and sad remembrances of the past, had at last exhausted the strength of the delicate woman; the flush of fever now began to show itself on her cheeks also, and the physician urged her to take daily exercise in the open air if she desired to avoid falling ill.

Hortense followed his advice. In the evening twilight, in plain attire, her face concealed by a heavy black veil, she now daily quitted her son's bedside, and went out into the street for a walk, accompanied by the young Marquis Zappi. No one recognized her, no one greeted her, no one dreamed that the veiled figure that walked so quietly and shyly was she who, as Queen of Holland, had formerly driven through these same streets in gilded coaches, hailed by the joyous shouts of the people.

But, in these wanderings through Paris, Hortense also lived in her memories only. She showed the marquis the dwelling she had once occupied, and which had for her a single happy a.s.sociation: her sons had been born there. With a soft smile she looked up at the proud _facade_ of this building, the windows of which were brilliantly illumined, and in whose parlors some banker or enn.o.bled provision-dealer was now perhaps giving a ball; pointing to these windows with her slender white hand, she said: "I wished to see this house, in order to reproach myself for having been unhappy in it; yes, I then dared to complain even in the midst of so much splendor; I was so far from dreaming of the weight of the misfortune that was one day to come upon me[67]."

[Footnote 67: The d.u.c.h.ess's own words: see Voyage, etc., p. 225.]

She looked down again and pa.s.sed on, to seek the houses of several friends, of whom she knew that they had remained faithful; heavily veiled and enveloped in her dark cloak she stood in front of these houses, not daring to acquaint her friends with her presence, contented with the sweet sense of being near them!

When, after having strengthened her heart with the consciousness of being near friends, she pa.s.sed on through the streets, in which she, the daughter of France, was now unknown, homeless, and forgotten!--no, not forgotten!--as she chanced to glance in at a store she was just pa.s.sing, she saw in the lighted window her own portrait at the side of that of the emperor.

Overcome by a sweet emotion, Hortense stood still and gazed at these pictures. The laughing, noisy crowd on the sidewalk pa.s.sed on, heedless of the shrouded woman who stood there before the shop-window, gazing with tearful eyes at her own portrait. "It seems we are still remembered," whispered she, in a low voice. "Those who wear crowns are not to be envied, and should not lament their loss; but is it possible that the love of the people, to receive which is so sweet, has not yet been wholly withdrawn from us?"

The profound indifference with which France had accepted the exile of the Bonapartes had grieved her deeply. She had only longed for some token of love and fidelity in order that she might go back into exile consoled and strengthened. And now she found it. France proved to her through these portraits that she was not forgotten.