CHAPTER VIII.
The intervention of Josephine in Charney’s favour had not proved so efficient as might have been supposed. At the conclusion of her mild intercessions in favour of the prisoner and his plant, when she proceeded to place in the hands of Napoleon the handkerchief inscribed with his memorial, the Emperor recalled to mind the singular indifference—so mortifying to his self-love—with which, during the warlike evolutions of the morning at Marengo, Josephine had cast her vacant, careless gaze upon the commemoration of his triumph. And thus predisposed to displeasure, the obnoxious name of Charney served only to aggravate his ill-humour.
“Is the man mad?” cried he, “or does he pretend to deceive me by a farce? A Jacobin turned botanist?—about as good a jest as Marat descanting in the tribune on the pleasures of a pastoral life; or Couthon presenting himself to the Convention with a rose in his button-hole!”
Josephine vainly attempted to appeal against the name of Jacobin thus lightly bestowed upon the Count; for, as she commenced her remonstrance, a chamberlain made his appearance to announce that the general officers, ambassadors, and deputies of Italy, were awaiting their majesties in the audience-chamber; where, having hastily repaired, Napoleon immediately burst forth into a denunciation against visionaries, philosophers, and liberals, mainly inspired by the recent mention of the Count de Charney. In an imperious tone, he threatened that all such disturbers of public order should be speedily reduced to submission; but the loud and threatening tone he had assumed, which was supposed to be a spontaneous outbreak of passion, was, in fact, a premeditated lesson bestowed on the assembly; and more especially on the Prussian ambassador, who was present at the scene. Napoleon seized the opportunity to announce to the representatives of Europe the divorce of the Emperor of the French from the principles of the French revolution!
By way of homage to the throne, the subordinates of the Emperor hastened to emulate his new profession of faith. The general commandant at Turin, more especially, Jacques-Abdallah Menon, forgetting or renouncing his former principles, burst forth into a furious diatribe against the pseudo Brutuses of the clubs and taverns of Italy and France; on which signal arose from the minions of the empire a unanimous chorus of execrations against all conspirators, revolutionists, and more especially Jacobins, till, overawed by their virulence, Josephine began to tremble at the storm she had been unwittingly the means of exciting. At length, drawing near to the ear of Napoleon, she took courage to whisper, in a tone of mingled tenderness and irony, “What need, sire, of all these denunciations? My memorial regards neither a Jacobin nor a conspirator; but simply a poor plant, whose plots against the safety of the empire should scarcely excite such vast tumults of consternation.”
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. “Can you suppose me the dupe of such absurd pretences?” he exclaimed. “ThisCharney is a man of high faculties and the most dangerous principles—would you pass him upon me for a blockhead? The flower, the pavement, the whole romance, is a mere pretext. The fellow is getting up a plan of escape! It must be looked to. Menon! let a careful eye be kept upon the movements of those imprisoned for political offences in the citadel of Fenestrella. One Charney has presumed to address to me a memorial. How did he manage to forward his petition otherwise than through the hands of the commandant? Is such the discipline kept up in the state-prisons of the empire?”
Again the Empress ventured to interpose in defence of herprotégé.
“Enough, madam, enough of this man!” exclaimed the commander-in-chief; and discouraged and alarmed by the displeasure expressed in his words and looks, Josephine cast down her eyes and was silent from confusion. General Menon, on the other hand, mortified by the public rebuke of the Emperor, was not sparing in the reprimand despatched to the captain-commandant of the citadel of Fenestrella; who, in his turn, as we have seen, vented his vexation on the prisoners committed to his charge. Even Girardi, in addition to the cruel sentence of separation from his daughter (who, on arriving full of hopes at the gate of the fortress, was commanded to appear there no more), had been subjected, like Charney, to a domiciliary visit, by which, however, nothing unsatisfactory was elicited.
But emotions more painful than those resulting from the forfeiture of his manuscripts, now awaited the Count; as he traversed the courtyard on his way to the bastion with the commandant and his two acolytes, Captain Morand, who had either passed without notice on his arrival, the fences and scaffolding surrounding the plant, or was now stimulated by the arrogant contumacy of Charney to an act of vengeance, paused to point out to Ludovico this glaring breach of prison discipline manifested before his eyes.
“What is the meaning of all this rubbish?” cried he. “Issuch, sir, the order you maintain in your department?”
“That, captain,” replied the jailer, in a half-hesitating, half-grumbling tone, drawing his pipe out of his mouth with one hand and raising the other to his cap in a military salute, “that, under your favour, is the plant I told you of—which is so good for the gout and all sorts of disorders.”
Then, letting fall his arm by an imperceptible movement, he replaced his pipe in its usual place.
“Death and the devil!” cried the captain, “if these gentlemen were allowed to have their own way, all the chambers and courts of the citadel might be made into gardens, menageries, or shops—like so many stalls at a fair. Away with this weed at once, and everything belonging to it!”
Ludovico turned his eyes alternately towards the captain, the Count, and the flower, and was about to interpose a word or two of expostulation. “Silence!” cried the commandant; “silence, and do your duty.”
Thus fiercely admonished, Ludovico held his peace; removing the pipe once more from his mouth, he extinguished it, shook out the dust, and deposited it on the edge of the wall while he proceeded to business. Deliberately laying aside his cap, his waistcoat, and rubbing his hands as if to gain courage for the job, he paused a moment, then suddenly, with a movement of anger, as if against himself or his chief, seized the haybands and matting, and dispersed them over the court. Next went the uprights which had supported them, which he tore up one after the other, broke over his knee, and threw the pieces on the pavement. His formertenderness for Picciola seemed suddenly converted into a fit of abhorrence.
Charney, meanwhile, stood motionless and stupefied, his eyes fixed wistfully upon the plant thus exposed to view, as if his looks could still afford protection to its helplessness. The day had been cool, the sky overclouded, and from the stem, which had rallied during the night, sprang several little healthy, verdant shoots. It seemed as though Picciola were collecting all her strength to die!
To die!Picciola!—his own, his only!—the world of his existence and his dreams, the pivot on which revolved his very life, to be reduced to nothingness! Midway in his aspirations towards a higher sphere, the flight of the poor captive, over whose head heaven has suspended its sentence of expiation, is to be suddenly arrested! How will he henceforward fill up the vacant moments of his leisure? how satisfy the aching void in his own bosom? Picciola, the desert which thou didst people is about to become once more a solitary wilderness! No more visions, no more hopes, no more reminiscences, no more discoveries to inscribe, no farther objects of affection! How narrow will his prison now appear—how oppressive its atmosphere—the atmosphere of a tomb—the tomb of Picciola! The golden branch—the sibylline divining rod, which sufficed to exorcise the evil spirits by which he was beset, will no longer protect him against himself! The sceptic—the disenchanted philosopher, must return to his former mood of incredulity, and bear once more the burden of his bitter thoughts, with no prospect before him but eternal extinction! No, death were a thousand times preferable to such a destiny!
As these thoughts glanced through the mind of Charney, he beheld, at the little grated window, the shadow of the venerable Girardi. “Alas!” murmured the Count, “I have deprived him of all he had to live for; and he comes to triumph over my affliction—to curse me—to deride me! And he is right; for what are sorrows such as mine compared to those I have heaped upon his revered head?”
Charney perceived the old man clasping the iron window-bars in his trembling hands, but dared not meet his eyes and hazard an appeal to the forgiveness of the only human being of whose esteem he was ambitious. The Count dreaded to find that venerable countenance distorted by the expression of reproach or contempt; and when at length their glances met, he was touched to the soul by the look of tender compassion cast upon him by the unhappy father—forgetful of his own sorrows in beholding those of his companion in misfortune. The only tears that had ever fallen from the eyes of the Count de Charney started at that trying moment! But, consolatory as they were, he dried them hurriedly as they fell, in the dread of exposing his weakness to the contempt and misapprehension of the men by whom he was surrounded.
Among the spectators of this singular scene, the two sbirri alone remained indifferent to what was passing—staring vacantly at the prisoner, the old man, the commandant, and the jailer; wondering what reference their emotions might bear to the supposed conspiracy, and nothing doubting that the mysterious plant, about to be dislodged, would prove to have been a cover to some momentous hiding-place.
Meanwhile, the fatal operations proceeded. Under the orders of the commandant, Ludovico was attempting to take up the rustic bench, which at first seemed to resist his feeble efforts.
“A mallet—take a mallet!” cried Captain Morand.
Ludovico obeyed; but the mallet fell from his hands.
“Death and the devil! how much longer am I to be kept waiting?” now vociferated the captain; and the jailer immediately let fall a blow, under which the bench gave way in a moment. Mechanically, Ludovico bent down towards his god-daughter, which was now alone and undefended in thecourt; while the Count stood ghastly and overpowered, big drops of agony rising upon his brow.
“Why destroy it, sir? why destroy it? You must perceive that the plant is about to die!” he faltered, descending once more to the abject position of a suppliant. But the captain replied only by a glance of ironical compassion. It was now his turn to remain silent!
“Nay, then,” cried Charney, in a sort of frenzy, “since it must needs be sacrificed, it shall die by no hand but mine!”
“I forbid you to touch it!” exclaimed the commandant; and, extending his cane before Charney, as if to create a barrier between the prisoner and his idol, he renewed his orders to Ludovico, who, seizing the stem, was about to uproot it from the earth.
The Count, startled into submission, stood like an image of despair.
Near the bottom of the stem, below the lowest branches, where the sap had got power to circulate, a single flower, fresh and brilliant, had just expanded! Already, all the others were drooping, withered, on their stalks; but this single one retained its beauty, as yet uncrushed by the rude hand of the jailer. Springing in the midst of a little tuft of leaves, whose verdure threw out in contrast the vivid colours of its petals, the flower seemed to turn imploringly towards its master. He even fancied its last perfumes were exhaling towards him; and, as the tears rose in his eyes, seemed to see the beloved object enlarge, disappear, and at last bloom out anew. The human being and the flower, so strangely attached to each other, were interchanging an eternal farewell!
If, at that moment, when so many human passions werecalled into action by the existence of an humble vegetable, a stranger could have entered, unprepared, the prison-court of Fenestrella, where the sky shed a sombre and saddening reflection, the aspect of the officers of justice, invested in their tri-coloured scarfs—of the commandant, issuing his ruthless orders in a tone of authority—would naturally have seemed to announce some frightful execution, of which Ludovico was the executioner, and Charney the victim, whose sentence of death had just been recited to him. And see, they come! strangersareentering the court—two strangers, the one, an aide-de-camp of General Menon, the other, a page of the Empress Josephine. The dust with which their uniforms were covered attests with what speed they have performed their journey to the fortress; yet a minute more, and they had been too late!
At the noise produced by their arrival, Ludovico, raising his head, relaxed his grasp of Picciola, and confronted Charney. Both the jailer and the prisoner were pale as death!
The commandant had now received from the hands of the aide-de-camp an order, the perusal of which seemed to strike him with astonishment; but after taking a turn or two in the courtyard, to compare in his mind the order of to-day with that of the day preceding, he assumed a more courteous demeanour, and, approaching the Count de Charney, placed in his hands the missive of General Menon. Trembling with emotion, the prisoner read as follows:
“His majesty, the Emperor and King, deputes me, sir, to inform you that he grants the petition forwarded to him by the prisoner Charney, now under your custody in the fortress of Fenestrella, relative to a plant growing among the stones of one of its pavements. Such as are likely to be injurious to the flower must be instantly removed; for which purpose you are requested to consult the wishes and convenience of your prisoner.”
“Long live the Emperor!” cried Ludovico.
“Long live the Emperor!” murmured another voice, which seemed to issue from the adjoining wall; and while allthis was proceeding, the commandant stood leaning on his cane, by way of keeping himself in countenance; the two officers of justice, completely puzzled, were trying in vain to connect the new turn of affairs with the plot which their imagination had created; while the aide-de-camp and page secretly wondered what could be the motive of the haste which had been so urgently recommended to them. The latter now addressed Charney, to inform him that the letter contained a postscript in the handwriting of the Empress; and the Count, turning over the page, read aloud as follows:
“I earnestly recommend Monsieur the Count de Charney to the good offices of Captain Morand; to whom I shall feel personally obliged for any acts of kindness by which he may be enabled to alleviate the situation of his prisoner.“Josephine.”
“I earnestly recommend Monsieur the Count de Charney to the good offices of Captain Morand; to whom I shall feel personally obliged for any acts of kindness by which he may be enabled to alleviate the situation of his prisoner.
“Josephine.”
“Long live the Empress!” cried Ludovico. Charney said not a word.Hisfeelings could not be satisfied with less than raising to his lips the precious signature of his benefactress. The letter, held for some minutes in silence before his eyes, served to conceal his face from the curiosity of the spectators.