^^A ^LI B RARY OF THL UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 8Z3 "D3Z-4p V. I PKINCES, PUBLIC MEN AND PKETTY WOMEN: (BpmXit^ in ISeal Eift. BY FLORA DAWSON. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, f ublis^a in ^rbinarg ta l^c Pajistg. 1864. ^23 V. •/ PREFACE, At the present day it is felt and acknow- ledged that a preface cannot be too short. But it is my wish to make one or two observations on the contents of this work. I desire it to be distinctly 2inderstood, that every circumstance and every character has ^ been drawn from memory^ and not from , imagination. <^ Amidst the ever-changing scenes of a varied -it life, the events here recorded have remained ; deeply and vividly impressed upon my mind. ^:i // has appeared then to me, that they could not be entirely devoid of interest. Let me c-}^ add, that this is the age when everything ^^ genuine is undoubtedly appreciated. We may ^ laugh over an exaggerated farce, or weep, IV Preface. perhaps, over an impossible tragedy, but one touch of real and natural feeling moves us to the quick. In the following pages I have adhered strictly and simply to the facts as I re- member them ; discarding all imaginary and worked-up adventures. It has been my chief ambition to be accurate and truthful. In one respect only have I deviated from this course. While the names of persons well known in history are given without reserve, the appellations of private individuals, whose friends or families might shrink from pub- licity, have been generally changed. If any, incredulous, should object that there is too clearly a tinge of romance about some of the narratives, let me ask if even one of my readers will own to having led so homespun an existence, that he has not discovered by experience the correctness of the old adage which says, " Truth is stranger than Fiction!* Preface. v Having passed many years at foreign courts y and mingled much with men whose ''^ names are famous in story'' — and being connected by ties of friendship and consanguinity with seve- ral who were themselves leaders and actors in the stirring events which convulsed Europe for more than fifty years — / have been enabled to gather, from eye-witnesses, a number of curious and interesting incidents. From, among these I have at present only taken a few slight sketches — such as might best suit the tone and character of this Work. • London, August 1864. CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 4 PAOB The Royal Family of Murat — The Pages and the Soaped Stairs . . 3 The Pink Robe and the Last Parting . . 31 Lucy 65 The Three Regents 116 The Sisters and the Four Portraits . . 161 The Night-fire of the Apennines and the Courier 197 Rome 219 The Tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii . 285 Evenings in London. I. — The Countess of C — , The Prince of Wales, and the Irish Friend—" Hot Cockles" . 243 viii Contents to Vol. I. PAGE Evenings in London. II. . . . . 265 The anticipated explosion — Safety and suc- cess — and the expulsion of the Fiery Monster 271 Evenings in London. Ill 285 Frederick William III. of Prussia — Frederick William of Prussia and Carlshad . 309 Koyal Partners and Polonaises . . .314 His Second Marriage and the Bride . . 321 The Wedding Morning .... 323 THE EOYAL FAMILY OF MURAT. THE PAGES AND THE SOAPED STAIKS. THE PINK ROBE AND THE LAST PARTING. VOL. L THE ROYAL FAMILY OF MURAT. THE PAGES AND THE SOAPED STATES. TTOW often have the memoirs of a woman, ■*"^ the correspondence of her leisure hours, the small records of her diary, rendered clear some of the more obscure portions of history. Her light and careless hand lifts the cur- tain, drawn by deep-scheming politicians, over the hidden springs and motives that in- fluence alike events and individuals. It is not for me to moralize, in these brief sketches, upon the great results that follow trifling causes, or to point out how even a few passing words from the lips of women, whose very existence is unacknowledged in history, have made and unmade heroes. b2 4 The Royal Family of Murat. I have now before my mind's eye a charm- ing Frenchwoman, of high birth and of won- derful talents, whose fate it was, while still in the bloom of her earliest youth, to be mixed up in events, which are now chronicled in history. Those events which altered the face of Europe at the beginning of the present cen- tury, which changed dynasties, and raised new kings to old thrones, were witnessed by many who still live ; but their number di- minishes daily, and I would fain snatch from oblivion a few facts and anecdotes imparted to me by the young Frenchwoman I have mentioned, and relate them as she related them to me, fresh from the scenes she de- scribed. Their historical importance may be but small, their accuracy, however, may be relied on ; and the smallest fragment of a picture, if that picture be true to nature, may sometimes be studied with advantage. It happened, in the changes and chances of party, that Aurore de Courval (for such was the name of my young friend), though The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 5 descended from a family devoted to the fleur- de-lys, had become a favourite with the Bees. Her father, the Marquis de Courval, an emigre at the time of the Revolution, had ever remained a faithful servant of the Bour- bons ; but after his death, the Buonapartes had taken by the hand all that remained of his family. The great Napoleon was then in the zenith of his power ; by him the Mar- chioness de Courval, mother of Aurore, was placed as dame d'honneur to his sister Caro- line, Queen of Naples, wife of Murat ; while the young Aurore was educated at Paris, at an imperial establishment for the daughters of royal and noble houses. She was rapidly acquiring honours and accomplishments under the care of the first artists in France, when her studies were suddenly interrupted. A messenger arrived, dispatched by the emperor himself, declaring it as his command that Aurore de Courval should forthwith pro- ceed to Naples, there to join her mother, and occupy also some post about the court. She was informed that every preparation 6 The Royal Family of Murat. must be made at once ; no time was to be lost ; a carriage would be provided for her ; she must travel post, as fast as four horses could take her ; an old and trusted servant of her father's would escort her on the way. Here was a surprise ! but a delightful one to Aurore. Her heart beat high with happy anticipations. The journey seemed to her ex- cited imagination like a dream of fairy land. Another and another messenger arrived to hurry on her departure ; yet it excited some little surprise among those versed in court matters, that the emperor exhibited a solicitude that the young Aurore should be equipped with everything that was most magnificent and costly ; indeed, there was a reason for this, little dreamt of at the time by Aurore herself or those around her. But I will not forestall. Amongst all the rich jewellery that was brought for the hair, the arms, the neck, I can still well remember a locket, where |on one side the chiffres of Napoleon and the em- press blazed in a multitude of tiny diamonds, while on the other side was seen a portrait of The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 7 the empress, beautifully executed by Isabeau, which made this little locket the most trea- sured and valuable gift of all. It still re- mained in her possession when I knew her, the most prized but solitary relic of so much splendour. After a few days spent in brief and hurried preparations, she was off. The luxurious and well-padded cushions of the large berline in which she travelled invited to repose ; which was well, for orders were given that they should halt neither night nor day, if possible. A rapid journey brought them soon through France, through Switzerland. No accident befel them. They crossed the Alps, down into the rich plains of Lombardy ; but, as soon as they arrived into the less secure roads of Italy, a strong escort of soldiers was always ordered to protect her from attack, as it was said her costly wardrobe and cases of valuables might tempt the robbers, who were supposed to be lying in wait for unwary travellers. This was repeated to Aurore at every stage, and repeated to the by-standers, and seemed natural enough. 8 The Royal Family of Murat. Much did the young girl long to halt and loiter on her way, or rest for a brief interval at places of note. But the old servant re- spectfully, yet firmly, urged the emperor's orders. Rome itself, Rome, "the Eternal City," was traversed by night, nor could Aurore, though straining her eyes, and stretching her head out through the windows of the carriage, see more than the dark and shadowy outlines of those monuments of its greatness, of which she had heard so much. She threw herself back on the well-stuffed cushions of the carriage in some disappoint- ment, and there sleep closed her eyelids through ^ several hours of darkness. On, still on, went the bright black horses — so famous for their speed and vigour in these countries at that period. But a languor and fatigue followed the long excitement for Aurore — she hardly looked around — and dreamefd and dozed away the day. At last, after night had once again been passed, a cry of " Napoliy Napoli, la hella Napoli^'^ aroused her — and there the blue waves of the Mediterranean glanced beneath the early The Pages and the Soaped Stairs, 9 rays of the sun. A slight haze, floating away in wreaths of vapour, indicated the site of old Vesuvius, and Naples itself in- deed lay before her. Its bay, its beauties, all revealed to the wondering eyes of our young traveller. As her gemmed and enamelled watch pointed to five, they drove into the court of the palace — several guards were standing about — an officer or two reclined on a stone bench. But one there was, wrapped in a military cloak, who paced rapidly and impatiently up and down the flagstones. When the carriage rolled in through, the wide portals, a sign was made by this officer, whom all hastened to obey. The carriage- was driven under cover into a low arched building, that communicated with the court. The doors were closed behind them; they were almost in darkness, but a few rays gleamed in from a chink high np in the old roof. "What now!" thought Aurore, "this is a strange reception." The officer politely handed her out. A peculiarity in his ap- lo The Royal Family of Mur at. pearance arrested her attention. His head was near her, close to her as he leaned forward almost hurriedly, to lift her from the carriage. The ray of light fell across his face and figure, as he bent towards her. The black ringlets fell on his shoulders long and glossy, but parting as he moved, showed the ear ! — a part, the upper part, was missing. One man in that court was known by those peculiarities, Murat, the king of Naples. Could it be Murat, himself ? She gazed with surprise, and watched his move- ments. One more gesture — of enquiry — was the door well shut ? It was. And then Aurore de Courval beheld with astonishment the officer whose glossy black ringlets and incomplete ear had caught her attention, spring into the carriage. His companion, or attendant, handed him a knife with a strong blade, and in a few instants the carriage lining was ripped open, papers tumbled out, and our friend Aurore learnt for the first time that she had been the bearer of most important documents. More than half the care shown to hasten her on her journey, and The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 1 1 escort her with guards, for which her youth, her rich jewellery, and her tempting cases, formed a plausible excuse, had, in fact, been provided for these important documents, con- cealed in the carriage, and which had thus passed without suspicion. Little did she dream that she had been reposing amidst such dangerous matter ; and now she found herself standing almost un- heeded, while Murat (for it was he indeed) was hastily casting his eye over the packets which had been dislodged. After a brief interval, during which he had apparently forgotten her presence, he turned towards her with a bland smile, — " Ah, mademoiselle," he said, " you do not know how impatiently you were expected." " Cest Men c'est tres bien.'" " Will you con- descend to follow me — but stop — M'^- de B will conduct you to your friends. I have much here to look at." " And much sleep to take, I hope," said the other officer, who was standing by. " His majesty expected you before midnight ; he has been waiting ever since." 1 2 The Royal Family of Mural. ^^Tush!'' said the king. "Who would not wait for so fair a demoiselle !" "And the papers?" said Aurore, smiling. The king looked for a moment scrutiniz- ingly at her, then said, " I was told you were not bete, and might be trusted." " But was I ? " said Aurore. " Grand Dieu! If I had known what I was bringing !" " You would have been alarmed, and showed you were," said Murat. "We saved you the alarm, and ourselves the risk. But my im- patience has made you now a witness to this scene ; you can forget it — you know who asks you?" '' Sire," exclaimed Aurore, and would have continued, but he interrupted her. " I have not much patience ; it was tried by your not coming. I am not good at waiting. You have a king's secret : keep it. Bon Dieu I there are many fair girls, not half so pretty as you, obliged to keep secrets for Murat's sake ;" and a tender squeeze of the hand followed. But the impatience of the young traveller The Pages mid the Soaped Stairs. 1 3 was also great, and mingled with it was ^some fear of the celebrated man before her. Even in the far off chambers of the Royal "Pension," where she had been educated, some rumours had reached her of Murat's feats in love^ as well as of his feats in war ; and she was bewildered and alarmed at this singular reception. However, Monsieur de B stepped for- ward, and said, "As I have his majesty's permission, and you must greatly require repose, after your journey, allow me, made- moiselle, to conduct you at once to your mother." " Oh, yes ! " cried Aurore, and she walked hastily forward in the direction he had pointed out. "But," said Monsieur de B , "you did not take leave of the king." "AYas he the king?" said Aurore; then added, colouring, " He was so odd. I was glad to get away. Besides, he was only thinking of those papers." " Well !" said Monsieur de B , " he found 14 The Royal Family of Mural. time to look at you. His majesty has a ready eye for beauty." "Nothing but compliments !" said Aurore. " Then," said Monsieur de B , " instead of compliments, take a word of caution. The queen " " Eh Men, the queen ?" said Aurore. "You need not mention before her that you have seen his majesty ; in fact, he asks as much. When you are presented, address him as a stranger. You comprehend me." " Ah, monsieur !" said she, " I shall not address him. Why, what should a young girl like me have to say to the king ?" A peculiar smile was the only reply ; and as they had reached that part of the palace inhabited by the queen, M^- de B sum- moned another officer, into whose charge he gave the young Aurore, and, bowing low, wished her God speed. In a few minutes more she was face to face with her mother, clasped in her arms — and there we will leave her — for a time at least. It is not the history of Aurore de Courval I would write, though her adventures might The Pages and the Soaped Stairs, 1 5 fill a volume. But I would pass on to some of the events or grave or gay which fell under her own notice not very long after her arrival. The court of Naples was enjoying a brief season of gaiety and enjoyment. Murat, not wanted at the moment to fight the battles of his imperial and imperious brother-in-law, found himself at liberty to taste the pleasures of life in his beautiful capital. But alas for Murat, pleasure createcj as much war around him as ambition. The fair sex was his idol, and he was the idol of the fair sex. The gallantries, the loves of the king, the anger of the queen, her surveillance and his escapes, were the chief topics of the court. A host of pages, whose good looks and espiegleries were as remarkable as if they had lived under the ancien regime, kept up a constant supervision on the amours of his majesty. By the pages of the king, the 1 6 The Royal Family of Murat, names and adventures of many a frail beauty would be whispered to the pages of the queen ; and it was not difficult for her majesty to learn the exact state of the different intrigues car- ried on by her husband : these did not much affect her heart, for she had no great affection for him, but they deeply wounded her vanity, and both as a queen and as a woman, she re- sented these affronts. Many a lady had been obliged to leave the court by the open contempt of the queen, who never condescended to conceal her dis- pleasure. Let us do Murat the justice of saying, that, if he was soon in love, he was soon out of it ; he was a hot wooer, but it did not last long ; and he would witness the departure of the fair lady he had but now "been dying for" with a sang-froid and indifference, which did much to reconcile him to his wife after these " esclandresr Wooed and won in secret, then discovered, then dismissed, — this was the usual fate of the ladies of his love : and those who would win the favour of the queen, and some also who The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 1 7 were themselves desirous of reigning supreme over the affections of Murat, were always at work to aid in the discovery and hasten on the denouement. One mysterious visitor, however, baffled the curiosity of all. She had succeeded in completely escaping detection, though fre- quently admitted to the private apartments of the king. The emissaries of the queen were completely at fault. Even the pages were obliged to confess themselves as much in the dark as the rest of the world. Of course it was expected they would soon be able to unravel the mystery, for etiquette demanded that some of their number should be in waiting at every entrance to the king's apartments. The incognita had then passed them, and frequently. Who was she ? Mar- vellous as it may seem, not one of them could tell. The queen frowned, the courtiers laughed ; the pages became furious ; it was not to be borne ; their reputation was at stake. She must be discovered, and by them. Something must be attempted. Force ? that would not VOL. I. c 1 8 The Royal Family of Murat. do. What then ? a whispered consultation followed. She always came alone, up a long flight of steps, which led into the ante-room, where they were posted ; here she did not pause, but entered at once into the king's apartment. Her dress was of the deepest black from head to foot. A large and wrapping mantle concealed the outlines of her person. She was neither short nor tall. A thick black veil covered her face, — it was impenetrably thick ; her hands were gloved ; and had it not been for the lightness of her tread, and the exquisite beauty of a small foot that had once escaped for a moment from the long folds of her mourning habit, the female might have been old and ugly and deformed. When the audience was over, she returned, closely veiled and muffled as before, passed their room slowly, and descending the long flight of stairs, was driven away in one of the carriages belonging to the king. Those stairs ! A sudden ray of inspiration darted across the face of the youngest of the pages. " Victory ! victory ! " cried he. The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 19 ^^ Those stairs — yes, that will do — we'll soap them ! — she'll slip — we'll rush to the rescue — raise her up — lift her veil — learn n^lio she is — c'est V affaire (Tun moment — what do you say ? " " Capital ! capital ! " All applauded. It could be done, it should be done. Their eyes brightened, success already seemed within their grasp, — the lady too. With what spirits and gaiety they hurried off to the evening reunion ; how did they laugh and glitter in their dazzling dresses; with what flashes of wit and humour they brightened up the courtly scene. "Ah!" said an old countess, winking hard at her friend, General B , "those pages have some deviltries in hand, depend upon it ; on entendra de leurs nouvelles demainJ' And for the morrow did they wait. They could hardly contain their impatience to see her arrive. Once housed in the king's apart- ments, two of the most active of the pages promised to do the soaping to perfection ; and outbursts of merriment accompanied the oper- ation. The audience lasted longer than usual, the operation was renewed, at least a few o2 20 The Royal Family of Murat. fresh touches on the very spot she was most likely to step were skilfully applied. At last footsteps were heard approaching the door ; " She treads heavily to-day/' was hardly re- marked, before the door opened, and the king himself was there; the lady had remained behind. A look of comic disappointment was fol- lowed by a thrill of terror and dismay. His majesty, looking right and left with his usual jaunty air, approached the flight of steps ; before aught could be done, thought of, or decided on, by the petrified group of pages, his foot was on the stair, one moment, then a slide — an oath — a fall — a roll — down, down the whole flight, the pages rushing, tumbling over one another, and even over Murat him- self, in a vain endeavour to stop or even check his descent. All reached the bottom of the steps one way or other. Murat, active, strong, self-possessed in every emergency, was first on his feet ; his splendid costume, always rather theatrically arranged, was torn and awry ; his hair, worn in long wavy locks, was thrown across his brow ; his hand searched The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 2 1 for the pommel of his sword, — rage, fury blazed in his eye — he looked round as a tiger that is about to make a spring. The pages shrunk back self-convicted and terror-struck, except one wretch of a young fellow, who, grasping the soap and flannel employed in the nefarious operation, had been seized by one of those uncontrollable fits of laughter which the sight of a ridiculous fall will excite, even sometimes when the laugh costs a friend or makes an enemy for life. Stung to the quick by this fresh incident, Murat turned the full lightning of his coun- tenance on the offender. One glance at the stairs, a moment's recollection, revealed the whole to Murat— acute enough in love and war ; a terrible panic kept all silent. Oaths fast and furious from the " fallen monarch " would have been a relief to the conspirators ; his gaze was rivetted now on the bold and merry page who could not quail beneath that look, though the very implements in his hands proclaimed him the chief offender. Another of those uncontrollable peals of merriment burst from him at the discomfited group, and 22 The Royal Family of Murat. as the recollection of the promiscuous roll down those fated stairs came over him ; a deep guttural sound chimed in ; Murat, glaring there as a wild beast, is he roaring as one ? will he strike the young fellow dead on the spot, in ungovernable fury ? Another ex- plosion, that sounded like a suppressed and stifled growl, broke from the heaving chest of the king, and then out it came — a sound — such a sound— a laugh — loud, ringing, ir- resistible, even as the page's. The infection was caught, and Murat, throwing himself on a seat, gave way to as full, long, repeated a laugh as ever broke from the lips of man. He saw the whole thing — the curiosity, the contrivance, the denouement— ^a complete, and so unexpected. He was never a hard-hearted man. In battle he seldom drew a drop of blood ; the victorious sword, with which he led his troops into the thickest of the fight, was a mere court bauble. The dolorous dis- play of discomfited faces, the despair of his young attendants, amused him infinitely ; his own fall he made light as air of. The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 23 He would have read them a lecture, but he had joined in the laugh, though against him- self; he could not now play the mentor. Besides, a slight shudder came over him, — "the queen," — the story would probably be much to her taste, in which she would imagine he received but just measure for his offences ; so his majesty restored the young offenders to his favour, on the distinct understanding that the whole thing was to be kept perfectly secret. In fact, Murat felt the story must tell against himself, should it get wind ; and punish them as he would, he could not purehase silence. But one only of the group did he single out to speak to. The young man whose gay and dauntless spirit had borne him up even at the moment of Murat's fiercest anger, whose courage was well known, and whose bold merriment had been shared in and for- given. The father of this young man was suspected of favouring the Bourbon race, and lived a voluntary exile for a long period of years. 24 The Royal Family of Mural, His mother, whom lie had not seen since he was some ten or twelve years old, was also absent. She had accompanied his father, though their political feelings were diametri- cally opposite, for she was a devoted admirer of glory and the empire. Her husband, suffering in health, and grow- ing feeble, wearied of the pale sunshine of the land that gave him shelter, gladly would have returned once more if possible to the warm and voluptuous climate of his native city. Pressed by his wife, he accepted from the reigning family the offer of a nomination for his son, as page about the person of Murat, whom he esteemed for his bravery, though he still detested the master-hand which had placed him on the throne of Naples. His son, the young man I have spoken of, and who was the leader of the giddy band, did however feel an awe he could not control, when something of a dark and solemn nature threw a pallor over the face of Murat, as, touching him on the shoulder, with a counte- nance from which every shade of merriment or The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 2 5 anger had vanished, he bade him follow him, and taking him back with him to his own apartment, himself cautiously closed the en- trance door behind them. " Young man/' he said, turning with much emotion towards the page, who still wore the gay trappings of that office, though in height and figure he looked more like an officer who had seen some service, "Young man, you have this day joined in a frolic that has ended so far well, since I am perhaps the only suf- ferer," and a half smile lit up his face once more, as his disordered attire testified to the rapid and involuntary descent he had made ; but his brow grew fixed again. " But you have escaped a danger, so great, so immeasurably great, that it will haunt you to your dying day. " The woman you would have helped ex- pose to the mad pranks of your boyish con- federates, to the ribald jests of the court, that woman is — your mother ;" and so say- ing, Murat led forward a woman of great beauty, but of that beauty which lingers only around age, for the hair was blanched 26 The Royal Family of Murat. as if of silver ; the face calm^ attenuated, shrunk ; the foot, the small arched beauti- ful foot, still spoke of the time when the Countess de M had been the reigning toast; but all else indicated age, — age ad- vanced by sorrows, anxieties, and ill-health. The young man, her youngest and now her only son, recognized the pale and emaciated countenance unveiled before him, but how changed from the brilliant woman who, ten years back, had parted from him with tears and smiles. He knelt before her with sudden reverence ; he took her hand, he placed it on his brow, his lips— she raised him with calmness and dignity. ^^ I am here, my son, for thee— for thy father. His return has been planned, arranged by the brave man before you. You yourself have been this day nominated by him as an officer in the — regiment, which your father once commanded. Forbidden by my husband to take one public step for his return, or for your promotion, his majesty has honoured me with his friendship and assistance ; my age and my position have The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 2 7 rendered the step wtich appeared suspicious, the only safe one open to me. "You would have rent the veil that shrouded my projects ; you would have exposed my silver hairs to insult and derision ; go — you are fit for nothing but ' a page ; ' his • ma- jesty's commission shall not be entrusted to a — laced buffoon. His majesty shall have my eternal gratitude ; but you have the com- mission! — never! Thus I tear " She raised the paper from the table, and in one instant would have been too true to her words. But Murat, with sudden energy, sprung forward and held her hand. The young man had risen and stood speech- less, paralysed at her rebuke. Growing like a true woman in vehemence, as she gave expression to her feelings, a pas- sion of tears closed her harangue, and drops fell thick and fast upon the paper she was about to destroy. Murat, with kindness and gallantry mixed, interposed. "Nay, madame," he said, "if I have done you some little favour, forgive the boy ; eh ! mais cest un peu forty le pauvre g argon, vous Vaccahlez^^ 28 The Royal Family of Mural. If tears are wonderful pleaders, they are also wonderful allayers to tlie stormy pas- sions. The countess had been calm, vehe- ment, tearful : she was now calm again ; and the king, good-humouredly and skilfully pro- fiting by the lull, spoke well and warmly for the young man, whose follies as a page should be, he would himself vouch for it, cast off with the dress. The scene terminated happily. The young man received the commission from the hands of Murat himself ; he felt two inches taller at least as he stuck it in his bosom. The Countess de M embraced her son, and announced to him the happy tidings that she was to fetch his father, and that they would shortly return openly to Naples, to inhabit once more the beautiful villa of his fore- fathers ; then, while the king gallantly raised her hand to his lips, and her son stepped back to let them pass, she once more resumed her disguise, and the king himself led her care- fully down the scene of his late unexpected and headlong descent. The royal carriage re- ceived the countess, and she was driven away, The Pages and the Soaped Stairs. 29 never to return in mysterious guise bj those unlucky stairs. A few months afterwards, with a suitable retinue, and with much pomp, she and her husband performed the journey from the land of their exile and arrived in Naples. No one, till all concerned, save the young officer, were dead and gone — no one knew that the veiled and mysterious visitant was the identical and aged Countess de M , whose magnificent mansion was at that period once more thrown open for courtly and noble guests. The story of the stairs, however, got wind much sooner, though the name of the sup- posed inamorata was not to be discovered; and, perhaps, had not more serious disturb- ances claimed his thoughts and his time, the king would have had that particular and much talked of entry to his apartments blocked up. It is certain that upon one occasion, when in her own peculiar manner the queen had made him aware of her knowledge that some such catastrophe had there occurred, he was 30 The Royal Family of Mur at. heard to wish those stairs at the bottom of the Eed Sea ; but too honourable to mix up the name of the exemplary countess in court gossip, or to reveal to the world and to her hus- band the active part the aged lady had taken in his restoration to his home, and, as a ne- cessary sequel, his conversion to the Buona- parte interest, he endured with a shrug of the shoulders allusions and jests; shoulders on which enough was already laid of good and bad fortune, and which bore it bravely. THE ROYAL FAMILY OF MURAT. THE PINK KOBE AND THE LAST PAKTING. In the grand drama being worked out in Europe at that period, when the greatest man of his age struggled like a giant in his last throes against a host of enemies, and which left the hero of that wondrous story a caged lion on a lonely rock in the ocean — in that drama Murat had played his part, and not a mean one ; and he had played it well — a crown of laurel to the brave chief ! Darkling discontent passing through the mind of Napoleon, shadowed the last inter- course between him and his brother-in-law — may we not say, his brother-in-arms ? He could not forgive the victorious leader, whom 32 The Royal Family of Murat. lie had rewarded witli a kingdom, some few sighs, when called upon to leave the land of the luscious grape, the orange and the myrtle, to lead the legions of France over the wide plains of Russia, under the icy bolts of heaven, and the sharp lance of the Cossack. The grand emperor, though himself weary, baffled, and betrayed, could not endure that the chiefs under his command should move with less vigour, less zeal, less devotion, than in the days of their triumphant prosperity. It is seldom that the hot Buonapartist be- trays any deep-felt sorrow for the fate of Murat. And yet how gallantly did he play out his stake, how nobly did he bear the penalty of failure ! If the policy of the Allies kept him on the throne, when Napoleon first was banished from France ; if he had wisdom to temporize ; if, for a time, like Bernadotte, he turned his sword against his friend ; still the most tempting offers did not detach him from Na- poleon in the last great contest. When Na- poleon again stepped forth, a mighty con- queror of his own kingdom, to throw the The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 33 gauntlet before Europe, Murat despaired not, — he despaired not for the eagles of France. He dashed forward to the rescue. His troops, his throne, his life were cast into the balance, not heedlessly, not without calculat- ing the cost, not reckless of his people's wel- fare. He dreamed of a united Italy : he did more than dream of it ; he fought for it. When Austria would have purchased him off with offers of security and immunity, he would not make common cause with the ene- mies of France ; he would not join the hand of fellowship with the oppressors of Italy. His words at Parma were a prophecy, — " V Italie veut elre libre — elle le sera.'^ The political horizon was dark indeed all around. The storm had burst ; and even the great emperor succumbed a while before it. But the court of Naples was still immersed in gaiety. On her sunny throne the beautiful Queen Caroline, the wife of Murat, had re- mained unscathed ; she ruled the court in the absence of her husband. What was the strife to her ? Murat had gone forth at the head of VOL. I. D 3 4 The Royal Family of Murat. a brilliant army to chastise tlie Austrians, to drive them from the land, to lay new trophies at her feet. The emperor triumphant, and at Paris ! The queen, self-willed, beautiful, and ca- pricious, cared not much for the dangers that surrounded her family. She listened pee- vishly and disdainfully to " prophets of evil ;" she had a blind faith in her brother's star. She found the easiest manner of meeting all difficulties was to frown, and say, " The em- peror will make all right ; leave it to him ! — let no one torment me — send out orders for another state ball." The state balls had at last to boast but a thin attendance : the nobles hung back ; they did not know which way the scale would turn. The queen found deserted saloons as she passed onwards through the illuminated rooms. "The opera, at least, would be amusing." Her favourite opera was commanded. She dozed away the morning amidst flowers and soft cushions. Alas ! where was Murat ? the brave leader, the chivalrous prince, the The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 35 king of Naples. Naples ! The king was not there ; but a strange rumour was ; first whis- pered by pale lips to listeners, who gasped and blanched as they listened. Louder, wider, far and near, spread some horrible tidings, which all men told, but no man told aloud ! The army of Italy which he had led to victory, had met, they said, defeat, destruction ; their sons, their nobles, trusting to Murat, had marched forth a goodly host. Where were they ? all slaughtered, fallen, trampled under the hoof of the Austrian cavalry — dead, destroyed, all but Murat! He had escaped ; he alone was saved — aad for what ? ah ! soon, too soon, he, too, the brave leader, the chivalrous prince, the king of Naples, shall fall ; but not at the head of his troops, not leading them on to victory, not on the glorious battle-field, but shot down like a dog in his own land, among his own people, almost within sight of his own capital, soon to pass into other and hostile hands ; so short a distance from where his queen still reigns, or fancies she reigns, in her gay court. d2 ^6 The Royal Family of Murat. But see where she is now — in her own gorgeous apartments. The windows are open. Blue and glistening lies the calm sea in the wide bay. Bright beams glance with a fairy-like brilliancy through the window, and rest on all, above and below, like a golden film. The maids of honour — Aurore was there — gather around her : they watch the tressing of the rich hair, and clasp the bracelet on her rounded and beautiful arm. Aurore's mother was not there. An un- usual attendant, with a strange mien and tottering step, had grasped her robe as she passed onward to the queen's chamber. A rapid entreaty induced her to pause, to step aside into a small ante-chamber. There the deadly tidings that had reached the city were communicated briefly, suddenly. Like a death-warrant on her own head did they fall — like a death-warrant did I say ? Women in France had learned to smile at death-warrants, and tread the path to the scaffold with a joyful step ; but here was ruin and desolation to a thousand homes — The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 37 ruin to the cause, ruin to Italy ! The death of her sons brought the rule of the Austrian, — of the Bourbon. Was it not enough that France should see the overthrow of all the splendid fabric of French glory ? Must the classic soil of Italy be stained by the blood of her children ; and on whom did they cry out vengeance ? On Murat, and the queen ! She must be warned ; she must be prepared. The Marchioness de Courval flew to the chamber where the queen was occupied in the busy selection of a robe of the most becoming hue. The floor, the chairs, were strewed with different coloured materials. The maids of honour displayed each their favourite ha- biliment, while Aurore de Courval' s blooming countenance and glossy black hair were just distinguishable above the folds of a pink ROBE of the richest and softest satin. Whether it was the insinuating smiles and persuasions of the young girl, or the beautiful effect of the tender colouring in the haze of the glowing sunset, as Aurore waved it tempt- ingly hither and thither, the queen at once 38 The Royal Family of Mural. exclaimed, with almost passionate admiration, " Oh, the pink robe — the pink robe !" The words were ringing in the chamber as Madame de Courval opened the door, the ghastly tidings on her heart, her face shaded with her hand, to conceal the features, which might betray too suddenly some fearful in- telligence. Her care was useless, for her entrance was quite unobserved in the eager- ness of the moment. "Ah!" said the queen as she rose, and they passed the pink robe over her white and swan-like shoulders, then let it fall in graceful outlines to her feet, " Ah ! I never looked so well ! What a beautiful colour ! It is re- flected on my cheek." In fact it was so : or the transient excite- ment of the scene had called up a delicate carnation to her face ; for, as Madame de Courval drew near, she thought she had never seen the queen look so dazzlingly lovely. A coronet of diamonds was in her hair. More diamonds, of immense value, sparkled on her throat. She stood before the tall mirror, which reflected her queen-like form, viewing The Pink Robe and the Last Parting, 39 with pride this reflection of herself, and lift- ing, amidst murmurs of applause from the young girls, now this arm and now that ; and, finally, seated herself, in a graceful and ma- jestic attitude, to take, as she told them, the ''pose,'' in which she would first show her- self to the admiring gaze of the noble crowd, who would, no doubt, be assembled at the theatre. Oh ! terrible contrast : the vain, the beau- tiful woman in her gay trappings, her mind a chaos of gauds and floating ribbons ; crowned, perfumed, jewelled ; imaginary deity of surrounding admirers and worship- pers. And her husband, a fugitive from the lost battle-field — " Mid the cries of the dying, Borne down by the flying!" with breaking heart, seeking death— to end a despair he knows not how to endure — and finds it not— not then, not there ! " Ahime, my queen! AhimeV burst from the lips of Madame de Oourval. The queen looked round; what wail of sorrow dared 40 The Royal Family of Murat. there to interrupt the reign of beauty, and that beauty a queen. The Marchioness de Courval quickly recovered herself Her face, habitually pale, was now calm once more. All her nerves trembled, but her words came gentle and soft. She advanced to the queen, and after a few expressions of admiration, which her majesty seemed to expect as a natural tribute to her charms, the marchioness leant over her ca- ressingly. "Alas!" said she, "that hot theatre will destroy the beautiful bloom on your majesty's cheek. The evening is most oppressive," and she laid her hand on the queen's rounded arm. The queen started, for the touch was of a hand cold as death. "Madame," said she, " cela me fait rnal-Ai the evening is hot, what ails you that your hand is as cold as death ? " The marchioness would gladly have had the queen still question her, and draw from her the dreadful news she had to tell ; but, quickly passing to other thoughts, the un- fortunate queen, whose heart was elated with The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 4 1 the prospect of pleasure, and the contem- plation of her own beauty, and its adorn- ment, rose to leave the room, and ordered the doors to be thrown open, that she might proceed to the apartment where she supposed a gay throng of noble courtiers awaited her arrival, to attend upon her at her evening appearance in the royal box. The lovely girls flew forward. One ten- dered the bouquet of the choicest flowers, another the embroidered gloves, a third the little flaconof scent most patronized by '^la Reine Caroline ,'' whose name it bore ; a fourth the handkerchief of finest texture, bordered with drooping and delicate mechlin. Madame de Courval had no time for de- liberation. For the first time in her life, before any human being, she flung herself on her knees. Her arms were round the queen, impeding her progress, and with tears bursting from her eyes, she exclaimed, '' Oh ! chere reine — beautiful queen ! go not forth. Some- thing is wrong. The people murmur. The times are dangerous. Many perils encom- pass your house. Remain, remain, till we, 42 The Royal Family of Murat. till your friends, can devise means for your safety!" " What mean you, madame, vous revez — you dream. Will events go worse because we enjoy ourselves ? You are strangely troublesome/' — and a deep shade of annoy- ance crossed her face ; " but now, you warn us the evening is too hot for theatres. See here— the sweet breeze is dancing among those flowers." And truly, through the open casement, the early air of night came over vases of richly scented and living flowers, that swayed their heads backwards and for- wards, as if wooing the zephyr to kiss their tender petals as it passed. " There," said the queen less petulantly, " our pale, our calm marchioness is agitated ; she is herself acting a tragedy part for our amusement. See, how she looks at us!"— and she laughed a gay ringing laugh. But the tones of that laugh had hardly time to find an echo from the gay beings around her, when another sound, low, rushing, as of a mighty flood in the distance — awful, heart chill- ing — broke in upon the queen's merriment. The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 43 The voice of a multitude. The deep, raging voice of a multitude in the distance, came in at the open window — the very win- dow, with its flowers and its perfume, to which the queen had pointed. First were heard indistinct murmurs, as distant thunders from the far-ofif storm. Then, while panic-struck the women stood, still, white, motionless, wrapped up in one terror of they knew not what, there arose another nearer outburst. And, above the groans, the execrations that joined in one horrible chorus, some shrill fierce voice yelled loudly a few words — a brief sen- tence, how innocent, how unmeaning seemed the words thus shouted. But they were worse than all. It was the cry of blood, of discord, of rebellion, of expulsion, " JEv- viva il Naso^' the soubriquet by which the Bourbon Ferdinand was known amongst his subjects. Laugh not, reader. The queen laughed not now. To Caroline Murat, to the sister of Napoleon, it was as a death-blow, aimed at all she held most dear. We have said. 44 The Royal Family of Mural. " she lauglied not now," but a rigid calmness, a grandeur almost, came over that young queen. The blood of the Buonapartes crowded on her heart ; her face was pale, white as marble, but the heart was strong as well as full — at least, at that moment, when all sank trembling around her. She gathered together her every energy ; for a moment the weak, the vain woman felt herself a queen, the sister of the great Napoleon. A vision of disasters she could not measure passed through her soul. She would not measure, but she could meet. She advanced with rapid step, threw open with her own hand the doors — wide, that led to her presence chamber. There, instead of the splendid and admiring circle that usually awaited her, were but a few faithful and devoted friends of her race, who, with signs of trouble and agony on their countenances, were rapidly congregating. "Messieurs," said Caroline of Naples, ad- vancing towards them with a noble and be- coming courage, " Messieurs, here is revolt. Here is danger. Let us meet it at once. Accompany me ; we will show ourselves to The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 45 this unralj people. Italians, they will re- spect a woman. Neapolitans, they will obey their queen." "Alas, madame," said an old general, " they will respect no one ; they will obey no one. There is but one alternative : flight, the most rapid flight, or evils may overtake your majesty — evils too great for you to endure." " Never will I believe it ! " said the queen. Still, a tremor over her heart, and over her features, which she could not control, revealed an awakening alarm. " You would have me fly, leave Naples, my palace, my kingdom*?" "Alas, madame, I fear it is yours no longer," said a stern old veteran, almost angrily. " Haste, madame, haste, and do not peril your life, or the lives of these brave men, by delay. The advice they give you is good." The queen looked around her from one to the other of her advisers; she thought this was the counsel of the old, the timid. Her mind reverted to one brave, noble, gallant chief, — the star of victory had sparkled on 4-6 The Royal Family of Murat. his brow. He fly ? — never, without a resist- ance as glorious as victory. Estrangement, jealousy, rivalry, all vanished ; and her heart cried aloud for him before whose sword, blood- less as it was, hosts had fled, by whose good arm the whole tide of war had been driven back. And now was she — his wife, his queen, to fly before a base, low-born multitude? "Oh, were he here!" broke from her lips, while tears poured from her eyes ; " Where is Murat — where is my husband ?" That voice, those words, that appeal, who would answer, where all could and none dare speak, no, not one of the veterans around her. Who could tell the wife, the queen, the ruin that had befallen on Italy, the army, and her husband, now when her high braced courage had filled them with fresh devotion ? But the task must be accomplished. A brief colloquy was held by those devoted men, and at last the same aged and grey-haired general who had addressed the queen so roughly, when she appeared to him but as a gay and painted butterfly caught in a storm, now that he beheld her struggling with feelings The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. A^rj deep, true, overpowering, advanced with al- most a woman's tenderness, and unfolded to her with a cautious and trembling voice the terrible result of the campaign — the de- struction of the army, the rage of the popu- lace, the flight of Murat. Hurriedly as the tale of disaster was told, it was broken in upon once and again by the deep lowering tones of the raging mul- titude without, cursing the race they had but now adored, and shriller and more often came the well-known and detested cry, " Evviva il Naso ! " Struck to the heart in a paroxysm of gdef and (though she would not own it) of terror, the queen wrung her hands in speechless agony. One moment she stood erect, but the next a gush of womanly and natural sorrow overwhelmed her, and sinking almost to the earth, she sought to bury her face in the folds of her robe, while she abandoned herself to tears and lamentations that would not be checked. She tried to stifle the sound of her own voice, to shut out the yelling curses of the crowd. 48 The Royal Family of Mttrat. Her attendants surrounded her, raised her from the ground ; she was exhausted, almost motionless ; a torpor, as of despair, came over her. She no longer questioned, commanded ; she obeyed, she moved where they wished, she went where they led her. Hoping compliance from her mood of pros- tration and despair, offers were again made to convey her at once in safety from Naples. But the queen raised her head, the colour came into the beautiful face, the large dark eyes beamed with a bright lustre, and she exclaimed, with a vehemence that left no room for opposition, " No. Murat left me queen of this kingdom, regent in his stead ; to none but him will I yield up my power ; from his lips alone will I receive commands to leave this city. One thing I require of you, tell me you have not deceived me — is the king alive or dead ? A dark and dreadful surmise — something awful as a presentiment has chilled my heart. Speak the truth, I charge you — is Murat still alive ?" Even while she spoke, a horseman, pale, disordered, accompanied but by a few mounted The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 49 dragoons, had rode into the court of the palace. Haggard and weary, his step was still rapid and commanding ; the guards, clustering at the palace gates in fear of an attack from the mutinous crowds in the city, gave way readily before him, but they looked upon him as a ghost who returns unwelcome to the scene of his earthly career. He sprung forward, and yet no glad smile spoke of a happy return ; the herald of death could not have looked more wan or horror- struck. His eye, familiar with the palace, missed the accustomed group of courtiers, the rooms were deserted ; his step was "not arrested, onwards to the queen's own pre- sence-chamber came the horseman; his hand is on the door — a moment's pause — the ac- cents of the queen, as she spoke the sentences I have recorded, impetuously, and above her natural key in her eager anxiety, had reached his ear, as he stood for one brief space with the unclosed door in his hand. Something of sunshine revisited the splendid features of the horseman, as the voice of the queen, asking with heartfelt anxiety of her VOL. I. E 50 The Royal Family of Murat. husband's safety, thrilled upon his ear ; he stepped forward,— need I say it, it was Murat himself! History has recorded his return, and the words which he uttered as he presented himself before the eyes of the queen : — " Madame, je rHai pu mourir ! " An expression new, unwonted, of inex- pressible tenderness in those queenly eyes, as they rested on the hero she thought she should see no more, reached the very soul of the disconsolate soldier ; and Murat found in the moment of his defeat a triumph he little expected. In this hour of his humiliation, when he had looked for the anger, the con- tempt of the queen, to add bitterness to his fate, he found a tender wife, a noble counsellor. She rallied her fainting spirits ; hopeless as was the prospect, the queen still spoke of hope. Both Murat and Caroline of Naples came forth from that brief conference armed with fresh courage and high resolution. All should be tried ; but if it must be in vain, The Pink Robe and the Last Parting. 5 1 they mutually vowed to meet the worst with fortitude. It was decided between them that Murat should instantly leave Naples, and endeavour to join the Emperor Napoleon. The excited populace had obtained some indistinct knowledge of the king's return ; rumours got afloat that the prisons were to be opened, and the worst criminals let loose to lead the people on to plunder and to massacre. Mothers cried aloud for their sons, left on the bloody battle-field of Tolentino, and invoked death on Murat. Murat must not be recognized : if he was to leave the city, a disguise was indispensable. With wonderful energy the queen herself directed everything, and provided for the safety of Murat. The disguise was procured for him, as well as for the two generals who were to accompany him. Something was still considered necessary to complete the transformation in the personal appearance of the king. But Murat, whose glorious valour was dashed with but one little failing, an almost womanly vanity in his e2 UBRAHY uNivERSiTir OF nn'»^