"And I, Prince de Conde, I accept your oath," said Louis Charles, gravely. "I go away now into exile, but I carry your oath with me as my hope for the future, and may God grant that I shall never be compelled to remind you of it, but that you will faithfully and truly keep it. Fare you well! My crown rests in your heart."
"And in these papers, sire. Deliver them to the brave General Kleber, and he will preserve them as his most sacred and cherished possession."
He kissed the hand of the prince, which was reached out for the papers, and then hastened to summon the officer, who was waiting in the adjoining room for the nephew of General Kleber, having no suspicion what an important mission was intrusted to him.
But General Kleber knew the secret better, and although not a word and not an action disclosed it, yet the gentle friendliness, the mild look, the subdued smile with which the general received his young nephew in Mayence, testified that he was familiar with the secret, and knew how to guard it.
In Mayence, under the care of General Kleber, his nephew, Louis, as he called him, remained during the subsequent time, and very soon gained the heart of his uncle, and was his inseparable friend by day and by night. They slept in one room, they ate at one table. The nephew accompanied his uncle at all parades and military exercises; and, in order to make his favorite a skilful soldier, the general undertook the duties of teacher, gave him instruction in the art of war, and taught him the more familiar duties of a soldier's life. The nephew comprehended readily, and pursued zealously the studies which his uncle assigned him. The pains and sorrows of the past were forgotten, and only the recollections of his happy child-hood rested silently at the bottom of his heart like pearls at the bottom of the sea.
"When shall I arise from this estate? When will the crown of the future be linked with these pleasant recollections of the past?" These were the questions which the growing boy repeated to himself every morning and every evening. But his lips never uttered them; he never gave the slightest indication that he was any thing else than the nephew of General Kleber. The French garrison of Mayence considered him to be so and no one thought of asking whether he bore any other name. It sufficed that he was the nephew of the noble, valiant, and heroic General Kleber. That was the name and rank of the little prince.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE BARON DE EICHEMONT.
Thus passed weeks, months, and even years, and on the gloomy horizon of France arose a new constellation, and from the blood-spotted, corpse-strewn soil of the French republic sprang an armed warrior—a solitary one!—but one to whom millions were soon to bow, and who, like the divinity of battles, was to control the destinies of nations and of princes. This one solitary man was General Bonaparte, the same young man who in the first bloody days of the French Revolution beheld the storm at the Tuileries, and expressed his regret to his companion—the actor Talma—that the king did not command his soldiers to mow down the canaille with grape-shot. The young lieutenant of that day, who had been the friend of the actor, dividing his loaf and his dinner with him, had now become General Bonaparte. And this general was serving the same people which as a lieutenant he had wanted to mow down with grape-shot. At the siege of Toulon, in the close contests with the allies against the republic and in the Italian campaign of 1794, Bonaparte has so distinguished himself that the eyes of the French government were already directed to him, and no one could be surprised at the action of General Beauharnais' widow, the fair Josephine, in giving her hand to the young and extraordinary man. This marriage had not only brought happiness to Bonaparte, but it satisfied his ambition. Josephine was the friend of Barras and Tallien, the chief magistrates of the republic at that time, and through her influence the young Bonaparte was sent to Italy to assume the chief command of the French army there. A general of twenty-six years to have the direction of an army, whose four corps were commanded by Generals Massena, Augereau, Serrurier, and La Harpe! The father of Junot, the late Duke de Abrantes, wrote at that time to his son, who was with the French army in Italy: "Who is this General Bonaparte? Where has he served? Does anybody know any thing about him?" And Junot, who was then the faithful friend and the admirer of Bonaparte, replied to his father: "You ask me who General Bonaparte is. I might answer, in order to know who he is, you must be he. I can only say to you that, so far as I am able to judge him, he is one of those men with whom Nature groans, and only brings forth in a century."
Had Junot not replied to his father, the deeds of the young general would soon have done so. Presently, in all France, in all Italy, yes, in all Europe, there was not a man who could ask, "Who is General Bonaparte?" His name was in every mouth, and the soldiers adored the man who had stood victoriously at their head at Lodi and Milan, and borne the banner forward amid the murderous shower of balls at the bridge of Arcoli. Diplomatists and statesmen wondered at him who had taken Venice, and compelled proud and hated Austria to make peace with the French republic, which had brought Marie Antoinette to the scaffold. The republicans and the Directory of the republic feared Bonaparte, because they recognized an enemy of the republic in him, and dreaded his growing power and increasing renown.