Literature · Historical Fiction

The rose of old St. Louis 22

A Tempest in a Bath-Tub

DillonEnglish

"The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul."

"Prepare my bath!" Did ever such simple words have so dire a sound? Now was all hope of escape cut off; for was not the Consul's bath in the very room into which the closet where I was hiding opened, and through which I had expected to make my exit as I had made my entrance? Now did I curse the folly that had led me into such a trap for the sake of a mere adventure.

Whereas a moment ago I had been congratulating myself on the spirit of enterprise and daring that had led me to be the witness of such great and stirring events, I now despised it all as a silly boyishness which had brought me into what seemed like to prove something more than a foolish scrape. Nor could I help reflecting that whether death or disgrace (which seemed to me far worse than death) awaited me, it would not affect me alone. My uncle's reputation, and honor also, might easily be involved in his nephew's downfall. And, most intolerable of all, what would the Comtesse de Baloit think when she should come to hear (as it was inevitable that she would) that I had been caught spying like any common eavesdropper?--found hid in the Consul's private closet, taken and done to death, as I had not the least doubt in the world I should be!

Yet it was not in me to wait idly for the worst to happen; I began at once to plan other means of escape than those I had been relying upon. If I could not make my exit through the dressing-room, why not through the other apartment, from which my closet was separated only by a curtain?

As far as I could judge, the apartment had three entrance-doors. One which was not within my range of vision was the one by which the ministers had withdrawn and through which my uncle had returned. This, no doubt, was the main entrance, and led into some public corridor, where detection by passers-by would be certain, to say nothing of the fact that the door was no doubt strongly guarded, and by a soldier who would not be so complacent as Gaston had been (having neither handled my gold nor tasted a maiden's kisses as reward for his complacency).

The second door led into the dressing-room, where even now I could hear the splashing of water and the vigorous preparations of the valet for the Consul's bath. That, of course, was not to be considered. The third one was the one through which I had seen Rustan glide; and at the thought of entering that room, and falling into the tender mercies of the mysterious Mameluke, I shuddered. A stealthy stiletto with poisoned point I had no doubt would make short work with me. And even could it be possible to seize a moment when Rustan was out of the room in attendance on his master, it was more than likely the room would prove a cul-de-sac and I would be more securely trapped than ever.

In the midst of these perplexing meditations I heard a heavy splash, followed by a vigorous sputtering, that assured me the First Consul was already in his bath. A moment later I heard a scratching at the door through which my uncle had departed. ('Tis the fashion, I have heard, at the Tuileries and St. Cloud, to scratch instead of knock.) Rustan answered it immediately, and led the gentleman who entered directly through the outer apartment to the dressing-room. This seemed a novel procedure to me, but I remembered that the French often received callers at the toilet, and perhaps it was nothing unusual for the First Consul to receive his friends in the bath.

I could hear all that went on in the dressing-room; even the slightest sound was as audible in my closet as if no door intervened. I was surprised at this until I discovered that just higher than my head a small panel, not more than three inches square, had been removed from the door of the closet, admitting a little light and a little air. It was through this opening that sounds were conveyed, and it was through it that I heard the Consul's voice a moment after the visitor was conducted through the outer apartment.

"Ah, my dear Lucien! Where were you last night, and where was my brother Joseph? Did you not intend to join me at the Théâtre Français? I expected you, and Talma showed great power in 'Hamlet.' I was surprised and disappointed not to see you both there."

I do not remember what answer his brother made, but Bonaparte replied with the greatest good humor:

"You might have seen, too, that the Parisians always like to see me. In fact, I scarcely flattered myself they would ever become so sympathetic when I had to shoot them down that October day in 1795."

I could scarcely believe it was the First Consul speaking, so unlike were his tones to any I had heard from him before,--playful, affectionate, almost tender,--and I said to myself, "Ah, this despot has a heart! He loves his brother."

I did not hear anything more that was said for a while, for I was revolving in my mind all possible modes of escape. I had just come to the conclusion that the only safe way was to remain quietly where I was until Bonaparte should have finished his bath and left his dressing-room (which I felt sure could not be long, since he had already been in the water for more than a quarter of an hour), when I heard again that peculiar little scratching sound on the dressing-room door, and Rustan entered, announcing to the Consul his brother Joseph.

"Let him come in," said the Consul; "I shall stay in the bath a quarter of an hour longer."

Black despair seized me. A quarter of an hour seemed to me interminable when I knew not at what moment the valet would fling open the closet door in his search for some article of dress, and discover me. There was nothing to do, however, but to make the best of it, hoping against hope that the great Bonaparte, who seemed inordinately fond of his bath, would some time be through with it and leave his dressing-room free for me to traverse it in safety. For I had made up my mind that I would wait no longer for Félice; the first minute that I could be quite sure that the dressing-room was vacant, I would open my closet door and escape, trusting to find Gaston still on guard at the outer dressing-room door.

It occurred to me that if I were only a little taller, and could look through that open panel just above my head, it would be well, for then I could assure myself that the room was empty before attempting my escape, and not stumble upon some lurking valet or Mameluke. Then I remembered what I had noticed on entering the closet, but had not thought of since, a low three-legged taboret, not more than five inches high, but quite high enough, were I once upon it, to enable me to look through the open panel. I stooped carefully down and felt around the floor of the closet in the dark. My hand struck against it. I picked it up and set it noiselessly directly under the small opening, and slowly and carefully, and absolutely without making a sound, I mounted upon it.

Just below me was the most remarkable group I had ever looked upon, or, I have no doubt, ever shall look upon. Respectfully standing near the bath were the two brothers Lucien and Joseph, and it was easy for me to decide at a glance which was Joseph and which Lucien, for I had heard much of both and knew their characteristics, though I knew not their faces. Joseph was the handsomer of the two, and looked more like his august brother, with the same fiery eye and mobile mouth, showing the same excitable temperament. Lucien had the calmer face that belongs to a scholar, though in some respects I thought it a stronger one than his brother Joseph's. In the marble bath lay Bonaparte, only his head and a little of his shoulders visible, for the water was frothy and opaque from quantities of cologne, whose sweet, pungent odor rose to my nostrils refreshingly. Bonaparte was in the act of speaking to Joseph:

"Well, brother, have you spoken to Lucien?"

"What about!" said Joseph.

"Of our plan as to Louisiana--don't you know?"

"Of your plan, you mean, my dear brother; you cannot have forgotten that--far from being mine--"

Bonaparte interrupted him with good-natured scorn.

"Well, well, preacher, I don't need to discuss that with you; you are so obstinate. I like better to talk about serious things with Lucien; for, although he sometimes takes it into his head to go against me, he knows how to give up to my idea when I think fit to change his."

Joseph's color rose quickly, and he spoke with some spirit:

"You are unjust enough to attribute to obstinacy what is the effect of wise reflection."

Lucien was evidently afraid of an outbreak, and he interposed quickly and laughingly:

"Then that means, brother Joseph, that I hold my ideas so lightly I can easily be reasoned out of them."

"Ah, my dear boy," said Bonaparte, with affectionate raillery, "fear not that any one will accuse thee of lightness. Thou art more likely to be named 'Iron-head.'"

For a few minutes the two brothers playfully called each other nicknames, going back to the days of their boyhood in Corsica, while Joseph stood by, looking bored and every moment growing more impatient. Finally he broke in quite brusquely:

"Well, you say nothing more about your famous plan!"

Bonaparte turned at once to Lucien.

"Well, Lucien, I have made up my mind to sell Louisiana to the Americans."

"Indeed!" said Lucien, in a tone of curiosity, but with so much coolness I suspected he was not hearing the announcement for the first time.

Bonaparte turned to Joseph with an air of triumph.

"Well, Joseph, you see Lucien does not utter loud cries about this thing. Yet he almost has a right to, seeing that Louisiana is, so to speak, his own conquest."

I knew what the Consul meant by that, for it was Lucien who had negotiated the San Ildefonso treaty which gave Louisiana to France. This speech of his brother's seemed to irritate Joseph still more, and he replied quite sharply:

"I assure you, if Lucien says nothing, he thinks none the less."

"Indeed!" said Bonaparte, his eyes beginning to flash and his lip to curl. "And why should he be diplomatic with me?"

It was evident that Lucien thought it time to come forward to support Joseph, but that he also wished to placate the rising wrath of the Consul. So he spoke very gently:

"I really think as my brother Joseph does on this matter, and I undertake to say that the Chambers will never assent."

Bonaparte's head shot up above the rim of the bath-tub, and he leveled a fiery glance at Lucien.

"You undertake to say! A pretty piece of business!" with an air and tone of withering contempt.

"Yes; and I undertake to say," cried Joseph, in a tone of triumph, "that it will be so. And that is what I told the First Consul before."

"And what did I say?" said the Consul, his tone rising with his wrath, and with his head still above the rim of the bath-tub, looking by turns quickly from one brother to the other, as if not to lose any change in the countenance of either.

"You declared," said Joseph, his voice also rising, "you would get along without the assent of the Chambers; did you not?"

"Exactly," said Bonaparte, concentrated irony in his tone. "That is what I took the liberty to say to Monsieur Joseph, and what I repeat here to Citizen Lucien, begging him to give me his opinion about it, derived from his paternal tenderness for that mighty diplomatic conquest of his, the treaty of San Ildefonso."

Now I thought this a very unkind thrust at Lucien, for I had heard his part in the treaty had been most creditable and that the First Consul had been much pleased with it. I could see that Lucien found it hard to brook, but he struggled for mastery with himself, and spoke still gently:

"My brother, my devotion is deep enough to sacrifice everything for you, except my duty. If I believed, for example, this sale of Louisiana would be fatal to me alone, I would consent to it to prove to you my devotion. But it is too unconstitutional."

Bonaparte broke into his sentence with a fit of rasping, sarcastic laughter, sinking back into the bath-tub almost in a convulsion of demoniacal mirth.

"Ha, ha, ha! You are drawing it fine. 'For example'!" His words struggled out in the intervals of his spasms of laughter. "Ha, ha, ha! 'For example'!"--catching his breath. "'Unconstitutional'! That's droll from you; a good joke--ha, ha!" As his laughter ceased an expression of ironical and contemptuous rage passed over his face.

"How have I touched your constitution?" he cried. "Answer!"

"I know well," said Lucien, still trying to control himself, "you have not done so; but you know well that to alienate any possession of the republic without the consent of the Chambers is unconstitutional."

That last word seemed to drive the Consul beside himself. Once more his head shot above the top of the bath-tub, and with blazing eyes he shook his fist at Lucien.

"Clear out!" he shouted. "'Constitution'! 'Unconstitutional'! 'Republic'! Great words--fine phrases! Do you think you are still at the Club of St. Maximin? We are past that, you had better believe! Parbleu! You phrase it nobly. 'Unconstitutional'! It becomes you well, Sir Knight of the Constitution, to talk that way to me. You hadn't the same respect for the Chambers on the eighteenth Brumaire."

Lucien, roused at last, broke in, in a tone as high as Bonaparte's:

"You well know, my dear brother, that your entry into the Five Hundred had no warmer opponent than I. No! I was not your accomplice, but the repairer of the evil which you had done to yourself!--and that at my own peril, and with some generosity on my part, because we did not then agree. Not to boast, I may add that no one in Europe, more than I, has disapproved the sacrilege against the national representation."

Bonaparte's eyes blazed like diamonds.

"Go on--go on!" he thundered. "That's quite too fine a thing to cut short, Sir Orator of the Clubs! But at the same time take note of this: that I shall do just as I please; that I detest, without fearing, your friends the Jacobins!--not one of whom shall remain in France if, as I hope, things continue to remain in my hands; and that, in fine, I snap my fingers at you and your 'national representation.'"

"On my side," shouted Lucien, "I do not snap my fingers at you, Citizen Consul, but I well know what I think about you."

"What do you think about me, Citizen Lucien? Parbleu! I am curious to know. Out with it!"

"I think, Citizen Consul, that, having sworn to the constitution of the eighteenth Brumaire, as President of the Council of the Five Hundred, and seeing you despise it thus, if I were not your brother I would be your enemy!"

"My enemy!" screamed Bonaparte. "Try it once! That's rather strong!" And, shaking his fist at Lucien, as he had done once before, "Thou my enemy!" he screamed again, and then sank back in the water up to his neck, as if exhausted. In a moment he spoke again in a somewhat quieter tone:

"Cease this miserable caviling which you and Joseph are at work on night and day--ridiculous for him, and still less appropriate for you. It is not from you that I expect lessons in government. Enough! Forget all you have said about it! I shall contrive to dispense with you. A precious, well-disposed pair of brothers you are! Please call back the valet; I must get out of the bath-tub at once."

The valet had come in; Joseph and Lucien, thinking the matter was dropped, were turning toward the door; the valet was spreading open the sheet to wrap up his master, when the Consul suddenly returned to the charge, and thundered in a tone that made Lucien and Joseph start and turn back quickly, and the valet drop the sheet from his trembling hands:

"Well, sirs, think what you please about the sale of Louisiana! but you may both of you put on mourning over this thing--you, Lucien, over the sale of your province; you, Joseph, because I propose to dispense with the consent of all persons whatsoever. Do you hear?"

I fairly shivered in my hiding-place at such an outbreak on such a topic in the presence of a servant. Lucien shrank farther toward the door, but Joseph, who had held his peace through the quarrel of the two brothers, stung by the scornful words and manner, and especially by the contemptuous "Do you hear?" which was like a cutting snapper to the Consul's lashing wrath, rushed back, exclaiming:

"You will do well, my dear brother, not to lay your plan before the Chambers, for I swear to you I will put myself, if necessary, at the head of the opposition which will certainly be made."

There was no reply from Bonaparte but an outburst of loud and sardonic laughter.

Joseph flushed dark red, and, almost beside himself with rage, stooping over the figure that lay immersed in the bath, screamed out:

"Laugh! laugh! laugh, then! All the same, I shall do what I say, and, though I do not like to mount the tribune, this time you'll see me there!"

At these words, Bonaparte rose in the bath-tub so as to show half his body out of the water, opaque and frothy with cologne, and pale as his brother was red, he cried sternly:

"You will not need to play the orator, for I repeat to you that this debate will not take place, because the plan so unlucky as to be disapproved by you, conceived by me, negotiated by me, will be ratified and executed by me--by me alone; do you understand?--by me!" Then he sank back once more to his neck in the water. Joseph, whose self-control was all gone, his face aflame, roared:

"Well, general, on my side, I tell you that you and I and all the family, if you do what you say you will, may get ready to join shortly those poor innocent devils whom you so legally, so humanely,--above all, with so much justice,--have had transported to Cayenne!"

This was a terrible home thrust, and I could see Lucien draw hastily still farther back toward the door, and the valet literally cowered.

"You insolent fellow!" thundered Bonaparte. "I ought--" But I did not hear the rest of the sentence, for as he spoke he rose quickly from the water and plunged heavily back, so that the water dashed out in a flood on the floor. Lucien, who was back by the door, escaped a wetting; but Joseph received the splash full in his face, and his clothes were drenched. The valet ran to Joseph's assistance, but had no more than begun to sponge him off than he fell to the floor in a fainting fit. The quarrel was calmed at once, and the Bonapartes good-heartedly ran to the rescue. Joseph hurried to pick him up from the wet floor; Lucien rang the bell so hard that Rustan and another servant came running in, frightened; and the First Consul, his eyes and lips just visible above the rim of the bath-tub, called out sympathetically:

"Carry off the poor fellow, and take good care of him."

As for me, the excitement was too much for me also. I did not faint, but my stool, which was none of the steadiest on its three legs, suddenly tipped from the excess of my emotion, and, though I caught myself from falling entirely, I yet made what sounded to my horrified ears a deafening racket. In reality I suppose it was only a slight scuffling noise, but it was enough to catch the quick ears of the First Consul and Rustan.

"What was that?" I heard the First Consul say in a startled tone.

"I think, sir, it was some noise in the closet," I heard Rustan reply. "If Monsieur Joseph will assist in supporting your valet, I will investigate."

Now was my last hour come. But I was not going to die like a rat in a trap. I would rush out the door into the public corridor, and, if necessary, slay the guard and make one bold dash for safety. I drew my sword from its scabbard to have it in readiness in my hand for whatever might befall, pulled back the curtain, and came near running through the body my pretty Félice! She was coming to keep her promise to me and show me the way out. She did not seem to see my sword, but the moment she saw me she spoke in great excitement:

"Make haste, Monsieur; there is not a moment to lose. You can escape through the main corridor. But you must be quick, for the Consul may finish his bath at any minute, and his brothers retire here to await him while he dresses."

We were hurrying toward the door as she spoke, but I, feeling as if the Mameluke were close behind me, seized her hand and dragged her roughly into the corridor as I whispered:

"Yes, we must be quick, for Rustan is after us!"

With a half-suppressed scream she let go my hand, turned to Gaston, who was standing at the door motionless as a statue and, to all appearance, deaf and blind as one also, uttered the one word, "Rustan!" and fled swiftly down the dark side corridor, leaving me utterly bewildered. The western sun was flooding the cabinet of the First Consul when I went into my hiding-place, but the sun had set and twilight had fallen and the candles had been long lit when I stepped out into the corridor. The wax tapers set in sconces along the corridor lighted it but poorly, and I knew not which way to go.

"Run, Monsieur!" cried Gaston, in a terrified whisper, "straight down the corridor till you come to the grand staircase. And run as if the devil was after you, for he is!"

That was all I needed,--a word of direction,--and I was off. But scarcely had I gone a few feet when I heard a great noise and shouting behind me, and Gaston crying, "Stop thief!" I thought at first he was turning traitor, now that he had my gold piece with no chance of gaining another from me. But as I ran the faster, and the noise behind me did not seem to gain on me, as I feared it might, I concluded he was making a great outcry to cover his own part in my escape, and perhaps was hindering the pursuit more than helping it.

Yet when I came to the turn of the grand staircase I thought for a moment I had also come to the end of my days; for just as I felt sure I was distancing those behind me, there came running swiftly toward me from the other end of the dim corridor an officer with sword drawn, and I saw he would meet me exactly at the head of the grand staircase. The light from a tall taper fell on his face as he neared the staircase. It was the Chevalier Le Moyne!

I had but a moment to think. Should I stop to engage with him, I had no doubt I could unsword him as easily as he had unsworded me in the dance by Chouteau's Pond; but the delay would bring a score to his help, and I would be quickly overpowered, if not done to death at once. Neither did I like to turn my back on that drawn sword as I fled down the steps, feeling sure it would spit me through the shoulders, much as Narcisse spitted the wild fowl for roasting at Émigré's Retreat. But above all I did not wish the chevalier to see my face; for, even should I make good my escape, Paris would be no safe place for me should he recognize in the flying "thief" his hated St. Louis rival.

I pulled my hat low over my eyes, lifted my left arm before my face as if to shield it from his sword, rushed straight toward him, met him, as I thought I should, at the top of the staircase, and, with a quick twist of my foot (a school-boy's trick), sent him sprawling down the stairs. In three great bounds I had cleared the staircase and his prostrate body, and like a whirlwind I threw myself upon the sentry at its foot, who--half dazed by this sudden descent of the chevalier and myself, one rolling and bumping from step to step, the other leaping through the air like some great winged creature--was nevertheless in the act of raising his gun to fire at me. As I hurled my great weight full upon him, the gun flew from his hands, and his little dancing-master figure went pirouetting across the terrace into the darkness beyond, in a vain struggle to recover his balance. I sprang down the terrace after him, and disappeared in the friendly darkness.

It was time. Starting from the gloom in every direction, armed figures seemed to spring from the ground, while down the great staircase behind me clattered, shrieking and shouting in every key, a throng of officers and soldiers, led by a dark figure gliding swiftly and silently far in advance, and holding in his upraised hand something that glittered as it caught the rays from wax tapers. In the very act of springing down the first terrace, I saw the glittering dagger leave Rustan's hand, hurled straight at my head, and heard it fall far below me on the stone parapet of the last terrace.

It was but the work of a moment to run swiftly to the pines and find Fatima, and lead her out of the thicket. I had not found my seat upon her back when she bounded away into the dark, straight down the broad green allée that led toward the Bois de Boulogne and Paris. Then was there hurrying to horse, and the pounding of many hoofs behind me on the soft turf, and the wild clamor of confused orders shouted back and forth, and a fusillade of bullets firing into the dark, if by chance one might find its mark.

But I no longer felt any fear. Fatima was stretching away beneath me with the swift and easy motion of a bird, and I did not believe there was a horse in all France could overtake her. The night was my friend, too, and a dark night it was; for the clouds had gathered and shut out even the faint light of stars, and I could not so much as see my hand before my face. But I could trust Fatima to find her way, and I felt nothing but a wild exhilaration as we went swinging along in great strides through the cool, damp night breeze, and I could tell, from the clamor of voices and pounding of hoofs growing more distant, that we were gaining on our pursuers.

Out from the soft turf of the park we clattered on to the stony streets of the little village. Here there were lights, and people passing to and fro, who stopped and stared at the wild flight of horse and rider. But none molested until the hallooes and the clatter of hoofs of those following reached their ears. Then men rushed out from low taverns, from hut and hovel and respectable houses, brandishing arms and shouting "Stop thief!" and adding much to the noise and excitement, but availing nothing to stop the fugitive. Only one young fellow, an officer by his dress, snatched a gun from a bystander, and fired with so true an aim that had I not ducked my head I would have had no head to duck.

But in a few moments we had left the village behind us and were once more on the unlighted country roads. Faster and faster we flew, by hedge and stone wall and orchard, whence the night breeze wafted the scent of blossoming fruit-trees, with ever the sound of hallooes and hoofs growing fainter in the distance.

Yet not until I had long ceased to catch even the slightest sound of pursuit, and we were well on our way through the gloomy depths of the Bois,--night haunt of robbers, suicides, and assassins,--did I draw rein and give Fatima a chance to breathe. As we ambled along, my pulses growing quieter as Fatima's breath no longer came in deep-drawn sobs, but regularly in warm puffs from her wide nostrils, I fell to thinking over the events of the afternoon.

Now that it was all safely over, and no ill had befallen me, and I had brought no disgrace upon my uncle, I was elated beyond measure that my adventure had exceeded my wildest hopes of its success. I had seen the great Bonaparte, and would henceforth know him as no man outside the circle of his intimate friends could possibly know him. He would no longer be, in my eyes, the impossible hero of romance, faultless and beyond criticism, but a man with more than the ordinary man's meed of shortcomings as to temper, yet with also a thousand times more than any ordinary man's power to control men and mold circumstance. Dictatorial, harsh, intolerant of all opinions that did not coincide with his own, brooking no interference with his methods or suggestions as to his duty, he could yet be playful and affectionate with the brother he loved, sympathetic with a servant whom his own harsh temper had frightened into fainting, and touched with a soft feeling of regret for the colony he ruthlessly alienated from the fatherland.

My mind pictured him vividly in every aspect in which I had seen him, but strongest and most persistent of all was the vision of the figure in the deep-armed chair, bowed in mournful thought, or with arm outstretched to my uncle, and voice trembling with suppressed emotion, saying:

"Let the Louisianians know that we separate ourselves from them with regret. Let them retain for us sentiments of affection. And may our common origin, descent, language, and customs perpetuate the friendship!"

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