For the city of Paris the 16th of February, 1804, was a day of terror. The gates remained closed the whole day, military patrols passed through the streets, at whose corners the proclamations were posted, by which Murat, the governor of Paris, announced to the city that fifty assassins were within the walls, intent on taking the life of the First Consul.
The condemned surgeon, Querolle, had, meantime, made his confession, and named the heads of the conspiracy and their accomplices, and, only after all the persons mentioned by him were arrested, were the gates of the city opened.
A great trial then commenced of the men who had been sent by the Bourbons for this nefarious purpose. Among the accused were General Pichegru, the abettor of Georges, and General Moreau, the most prominent of all.
The history of this trial was enveloped in obscurity, and it was faintly whispered that Pichegru had taken his own life in prison, and more faintly yet was it rumored that he was secretly dispatched in prison. And then, on one of these days, there were to be seen through all Paris only pale, sad faces, and a murmur of horror ran through all the streets and all the houses.
The story was current that the Duke d'Enghien, the grandson of the Prince de Conde, had been arrested by French soldiers at Baden, beyond the frontier, and had been brought to Vincennes; that he was accused there that same night of being an accomplice in a plot to take the life of the First Consul, and to disturb the peace of the republic; that he was quickly condemned by a court-martial, and shot before morning within the fortress of Vincennes.
The report was only too true. Bonaparte had kept his word; he had sacrificed a royal victim to the threatened cause of the republic; he would, by one deed of horror, fill the conspirators with fear, and cause them to abandon their bloody plans.
The means employed were cruel, but the end was reached which Bonaparte hoped to attain, and thenceforth there were no more conspiracies against the life of the First Consul, who, on the 18th of May, that same year, declared himself emperor.
A few days after this, the public trial of the accused began, which Fouche attended as the reinstalled minister of police, and over which Regnier presided in his new capacity of chief judge.
Seventeen of those indicted were condemned to death, others to years of imprisonment, and among these was General Moreau. But the popular voice declared itself so loudly and energetically for the brave general of the republic, that it was considered expedient to heed it. Moreau was released from prison, and went to the Spanish frontier, whence he sailed to North America.
On the 25th of June, twelve of the conspirators, Georges at their head, were executed; the other five, who had been condemned to death, had their sentence commuted to banishment.
The gentle, kind-hearted Josephine viewed all these things with sadness, for her power over the heart of her husband was waning, and the sun of her glory had set. Her prayers and tears had no longer a prevailing influence over Bonaparte, and she had not been able to avert the death of the Duke d'Enghien.
"I have tried all means," she said, with tears, to Bourrienne, the chief secretary of the emperor; "I wanted at any cost to turn him aside from his dreadful intention. He had not apprised me of it, but you know in what way I learned it. At my request he confessed to me his purpose, but he was steeled against my prayers. I clang to him, I fell on my knees before him. 'Do not meddle with what is none of your business!' he cried, angrily, as he pushed me away from him.
'These are not women's affairs--leave me in peace.' And so I had to let the worst come, and could do nothing to hinder it. But afterward, when all was over, Bonaparte was deeply affected, and for several days he remained sad and silent, and scolded me no more when he found me in tears." [Footnote: Bourrienne, "Memoires du Consulat et de l'Empire."]
The days passed by, the days of splendor, and then followed for Josephine the days of misery and grief. Repelled by Napoleon, she mourned four years over her spurned love and her ruined fortunes; but then, when Napoleon's star went down, when he was robbed of his imperial crown and compelled to leave France, Josephine's heart broke, and she hid herself in her grave, in order not to witness Napoleon's humiliation.
And thus the empire was abolished, and the Count de Lille called back by foreign potentates, and not by the French nation, in order, as Louis XVIII., to reerect the throne of the Lilies.
And where, all this time, was the son of Queen Marie Antoinette?
Where was Louis XVII.?
He had kept his word which he gave to Josephine. He had gone to the primeval forests and to the savages, and they had given him a crown of feathers and made him their king.[Footnote: "Memoires du Due de Normandie," pp. 89-102.] For years he lived among them, honored as their king, loved as their hero. Then a longing for his country seized him, and going to Brazil in the service of his people, he made use of the opportunity to enter into a contract with Don Juan, and not return to his copper-colored tribe. The precious treasure which he possessed, his papers, he had been able to preserve during all the journeys and amid all the perils of his life, and these papers procured him a hospitable and honorable reception with Don Juan. From him the king without name or inheritance learned the changes that had meanwhile taken place in France, and, at the first opportunity which offered, he returned to Europe, arriving at Paris in the middle of the year 1816.
The Prince de Conde, now the Duke de Bourbon, received the wanderer with tenderness, but with deep regret, for now it was too late, and his hope for a restoration of the returning prince could rest on no basis. The Count de Provence was now King Louis XVIII., and never would he descend from his throne to give back to the son of Marie Antoinette that crown which he wore with so much satisfaction and pride.