"There is his daughter," said Henri, pointing to Aminta.
The countenance of the Prince lost its icy coldness, and assumed an expression of deep tenderness. Drawing near to Aminta, with tears in his eyes, he said, "The daughter of Rovero?" and with increasing agitation, "Are you the daughter of Rovero?"
Looking at her for a few moments in silence, his countenance assumed an indefinable expression, and seemed to read in the countenance of the young girl an infinitude of memories and dreams. Finally, completely carried away by a feeling he could not control, he folded Aminta in his arms and clasped her to his bosom.
III.—THE MAN WITH THE MASK.
Paris, that great theatre on which, for fifty years, so much sublime and common-place republicanism, so many monarchic, imperial, constitutional, and other dramas had been represented—Paris, about the end of 1818, two years after the occurrence of the events described in the last chapter, presented a strange aspect, over which we will cast a retrospective glance for the purpose of making our story intelligible.
Louis XVIII. reigned perhaps a little more absolutely than the charter permitted. By the aggregation of power, kings and kingdoms almost always fall; and this king, who wished to govern with the restrictions on power which he had himself yielded to France, found himself in endless controversy, from the errors of his friends, his family, and his minister. Monsieur[O] was in the opposition, and with him were all the malcontents of the realm. Monsieur had his creatures, and his ministers in casû, all ready to consecrate their services to the good of the country. These were the only men, said the Prince, who could rescue the restoration from the factions in arms against it. At the head of this ministry was the Count Jules de Polignac, the favorite of the ex-comte d'Artois. Next to Polignac came M. de Vitrolles, famous for his intellect and his devotion to the royal family, M. de Grosbois, and others, who had made progress in the graces and confidence of the Prince. The King at that time exhibited a decided favoritism to a certain statesman of merit and worth, the rapid fortune of whom, however, had made many persons jealous and had excited much hatred. The star of M. de Blacus, which till then had been so brilliant, began to grow pale. From these palace intrigues, from these divisions of families, arose in public affairs a species of perpetual controversy which impeded the progress of the ship of state. In the mean time, parties taking advantage of this discontent, excited every bad passion, and silently undermined the soil preparing the explosion which ultimately destroyed this feeble and disunited monarchy. The great parties were divided and subdivided into many factions opposed to each other, but, as will be seen hereafter, all striving to overturn the existing order of things—though in the end each purposed the triumph of his own cause when a general chase should have ensued. The French nation, though strong, great and powerful when its parts are united, was then composed of royalists frankly devoted to the government of the restoration of ultra royalists, more so even than the King himself—and who wished the country to retrace its steps to principles, which good sense, time, healthy reason, and especially the revolutionary tempest, had most painfully refuted. Next came the Bonapartists, who seeing themselves disinherited by a peaceful government, and deprived of the prospects of glory they had deemed their own, regretted sincerely the man of victory and his triumphs. Next came the liberals, a portion of whom were sincerely devoted to political progress, for which the country was not yet prepared—and, finally, the Jacobins, old relics of 1793, who sought to precipitate France into that abyss of horror, the very trace of which the wonderful genius of Napoleon had effaced. All these opinions, advocated by intelligent and capable men, of gifted minds, but also of turbulent and dangerous spirits, to whom agitation is the natural element—all these were secretly busy, watching their opportunity to burst upon the public attention. Paris, the head of the great French body, was all the time happy as possible, and seemed calm and flourishing. It was like those men with a smiling face, a calm and cold icy exterior, but who nurse violent passions and bitter animosities. The police at that time was under the control of a minister who was young and active, but who was often led astray; just as greyhounds, who, when almost overrunning their quarry, catch a glimpse of other prey. The multiplied and contradictory devices of the factions, therefore, led the police and its agents into difficulties of which the criminals always contrived to take advantage. For two years, plot followed plot, almost uninterruptedly; Bonapartist, liberal, ultra-royalist plots followed each other; that of Didier was the first. His object was to confide the Kingly office to a Lieutenant-General, to the Duke of Orleans. Didier sought for his confederates among the men, whom a kind of fanaticism yet attached to the exile of Saint-Helena; among the old soldiers of the valley of the Loire, and that crowd of imperial agents whom the restoration had stripped of honor and employment. He promised good titles, orders, to all, and seduced many. The plot failed from its own impotence, for the police had little to do with it. Another affair, the consequences of which to those concerned in it were great, gave increased activity to the police, and diverted it from the only circumstances which could unfold to it the true enemies of the government of Louis XVIII. This affair was known as the Society of Patriots of 1816, and had as its chiefs Pleigner, Carbonneau, and Tolleron. They intended to ask the Emperor of Russia to grant them a constitutional King, chosen elsewhere than from the elder branch of the Bourbons. A man named Schellstein, who had been a kind of enlisting agent to the conspirators, informed M. Angles, chief of police, of their plan, and intentions, and by a sentence given July 7, 1816, Pleigner, Carbonneau, and Tolleron, were sentenced to have their hands cut off and to be beheaded. Three days after the sentence was executed. Finally, in 1818, a third conspiracy was pointed out to the notice of the police. This conspiracy had a more exalted character than the preceding ones, for it included the ultra-royalists, that is to say the nobles, generals, peers, and high functionaries of France.
The Morning Chronicle, June 27, 1818, published at London the following:—"There was a report at Paris, that a conspiracy had been discovered at Saint Cloud, embracing many of the ultra-royalist party. The King would abdicate, and be replaced by Monsieur."
The Times, on the 2d July, said—"The plan of the conspiracy is known. Should the King abdicate, the conspirators have resolved to treat him like Paul I. The following is the list of ministers:—General Canuel, of war; M. de Chateaubriand, of foreign affairs; M. Bruges, of the navy; M. Villele, of the interior; M. de Labourdonnaie, of the police; General Donadieu, commandant of Paris." All this was announced with an appearance of truth; for all the persons named belonged to the opposition to the King and his favorite. When, however, facts were sought for, and the proof was pointed out, all the edifice crumbled away, and there remained only a few malcontents, but no rebels were to be found. The sentence of the Royal Court of Paris, given November 3d following, declared—"Generals Canuel and Donadieu, MM. de Rieux, de Songis, de Chapdelaine, de Romilly, and Joannis, are released and declared innocent." They had been imprisoned forty days. This affair produced a most painful sensation in France, and the minister of police was reproached with great imprudence, which made many new enemies to the government, and did not add to its security. The fact was, the true criminals had been overlooked; and, like the worms which eat away the interior of a beautiful fruit without changing its form and color, they more skilfully and adroitly attacked the very heart of society when it seemed most secure and safe. The perfidious worm which was eating away at the heart of France, as it had long done those of the other European monarchies, was Carbonarism. As we said in our first chapters, the existence of this power was scarcely suspected, while in secret, by its ramifications, it ruled Europe.
A man of mind and energy, but whose mild and almost effeminate manners concealed vigor and perseverance, M. H——, at that time under the direction of M. Angles, supervised the political police of the kingdom. M. H—— was always aware of the extent of the operations of the various factions, and probably was the only man in France really alarmed at the influence which Carbonarism exerted in France and the neighboring states. Often he had made communications to the prefect, another minister, who paid attention to known parties and attached but little importance to this new foe, which was, however, the most terrible of all, and proposed to itself the object of destroying, at any risk, and received into its bosom all the operatives of this work, whatsoever might be their opinions. M. H—— had no evidence in relation to this terrible organization, nor did he know where it met. Towards the end of February, 1819, M. H—— received a letter sealed in black, and with the impression on the wax of an auger piercing the globe. The strange seal did not escape his notice. The direction was, "M. H——, for himself alone, confidential." The superior of the political police read the letter, which was as follows:—
"Monsieur,—A man who can do the state great service wishes to have an interview with you, and requests that you will grant him a moment's conversation to-morrow evening at nine-oclock, in your cabinet. He will be masked. He begs you to permit him to keep his mask until he shall be satisfied that he is seen by no one else. Should the strangeness of this request not permit you to accept it, place a lighted taper in your window opening on the quai des Orfevres and no one will come. The writer knows that he addresses a man of courage and honor, who never is terrified by mere forms when he looks for important results. It is also known that this man, though protected by wise precautions, made necessary by the grave circumstances in which he is often placed, would be incapable of taking an advantage of those who come to him frankly and truly."