THE PLOT TO BLOW UP NAPOLEON.

Upper Hutt Weekly Review, Volume II, Issue 16, 2 April 1937, Page 4

THE PLOT TO BLOW UP NAPOLEON.

The Fatal Moment that Changed the History of the World. In the crypt of the Convent of the "Visitation in Georgetown, Columbia, stands the tomb of Father Joseph de Cloriviere, once the director and the confessor of the Sisterhood, and the donor of the chapel under which he lies. A long inscription tells the world of his virtues—a record edifying, but a little dull. One longs to brighten it with one electrifying line: "He tried to blow Napoleon into atoms." For, though his flock would have been stunned to hear it, the fact i~emains a part of history. Let us recall the story of this saint-assassin, as it is know to-day. In the year 1800, the Chevalier de Limoelan, who had been in exile as a royalist, was permitted to return to Paris. For many years his adventures had resembled those of the immortal Musketeers. He had been a soldier and an outlaw, a vagabond who slept with rats in barns and haystacks, a bandit stopping coaches on the public highway. He now appeared in Paris as a man of birth and breeding; as indeed he was. His age was thirtytwo. In figure he was tall and slender, with lean features, large grey eyes, and eagle's beak. His dress ■was in the fashion—blue coat and pantaloons, boots waxed to brilliance, and a hat with a pearl buckle. From his mode of life he had conceived a passion for disguises, so that his hair varied between black and chestnut, while his face took on by turns a beard, the moustachois of a Mephistopheles, or a pair of whiskers that cascaded to his coat. In character he -was one of those most dangerous of human beings, a rabid and sincere fanatic, who believed that he was charged by Providence to strike a blow for the salvation of mankind. His life, indeed, held but a single purpose. That purpose was the murder of Napoleon. In his pro.iect he had two confederates. One of these, his valet, Carbon, was an ex-highwayman; the other, Saint-Rejant, had been his comrade in the army. Their first step was to hire a cart-shed, in which they placed a two-wheeled truck or dray, which they had purchased for a song, together with a spavined horse fit only for the knacker's. In the concealment of the shed they fixed an awning to the cart, under which they placed a barrel, strengthened with thick bands of iron, and stuffed with gunpowder and stones. A fuse, carried from the powder, projected through the awning at the back. And thus the instrument of death was ready. On Christmas Eve it was reported that Napoleon would attend the opera, at eight o'clock, for the performance of the oratorio of "Saul." At half-past seven Limoe-

lan and Saint-Rejant, dressed in the blue smocks of carters, drove the horse and truck into the street outside the palace, through which the carriage of Napoleon was to pass. Liimoelan then took up his station at the angle of the street, where he could see the carriage as it issued from the palace gates. It was agreed that, at the proper moment, he should give the signal for the firing of the train. Saint-Re j ant, left alone, drew up the cart against the -wall of the Carousel, and hiring a little girl for twenty sous to hold the horse's head, retired behind the awning ■where the fuse projected, and j waited for Limoelan to lift his arm. The street was swarming with a Christmas crowd. People were playing dominoes before a lemonade shop, and thronging round a wine-seller's and a pastrycook's, buying provisions for the Christmas feast. A number of women were gathering on the side-walks, eager to catch a glimpse of Napoleon and Josephine. The night was damp and misty, but not very cold. Napoleon was late in starting. He had been feeling tired and out of temper, and had been dozing on a sofa. At eight o'clock his attendants felt compelled to rouse him. They brought his sword and his cocked hat and prepared to conduct him to the carriage. But Josephine, as usual, was not ready even now. The great man left a testy order that she was to follow later—and the procession started on its way. The moment was at hand when Limoelan should have made his signal. But now a strange thing came to pass. As by a lightning-stroke, a thought flashed upon his mind: "Was it in very truth the voice of Heaven that bade him blast Napoleon into mince-meat? His arm sank palsied by his side. SaintRejant, straining his eyes for the expected signal, became aware that Napoleon's coach was rolling past him and in a moment would be out of danger. It had been reckoned that the fuse would burn about six seconds —time enough for him to gain a corner close at hand. He blew his pipe into a blaze, laid it to the train, and bolted for the place of safety. The thunder-crash of the explosion was audible for many miles. But it was noted afterwards, as strange, that not a person in the street was conscious of a sound. The truth is, that every soul -was either stunned or slaughtered on the spot. Bricks, tiles, and windows came crashing down in ruins. Eighty bodies of the dead and wounded piled the pavement like a battlefield. Of the cart, the pony, and the child, not a trace was left remaining. It seemed as though they had vanished into air. But Napoleon—what of him ? His carriage had passed nearly out of range ; but his riders and postilions were blown out of their saddles, and the conveyance was capsized upon one wheel. But Napoleon's star was still in the ascendant. Without a scratch he picked himself unruffled, from the broken glass and shattered woodwork, and having ascertained that none of his attendants had been slaughtered, proceeded cooly to his destination. At the theatre, the news had spread before him; and, when he was seen standing in his box, "calm and majestic as a god," the spectators, rising as a single man, roared huzzas until they were hoarse. No man ever had a more miraculous escape. Had Limoelan made his signal had the train been fired a moment sooner Napoleon

would have been a corpse, and in tlie twinkling of an eye, the history of the -world -would have been changed for ever. Saint-Re j ant, though he had bolted like a hare, had not been quite quick enough. The tail of the explosion caught him and whirled him like a straw against the gallery of the Louvre. It was an hour before he was able to rise up, and stagger, crushed and bleeding, to a garret -where he lodged. For a time he kept in hiding. But the police were on the track. The owners of the cart-shed and of the horse and truck -were able to describe the three conspirators in detail. Carbon and Saint-Rejant -were arrested, brought to trial, and guillotined. As for Limoelan, the hunt was hot upon his heels. Indeed, every man and woman in France was in the hue and cry. But now his habit of disguises stood him in good stead. On one occasion, in the likeness of a dandy, he -walked away before the very eyes of the police, twirling his cane and peering at them through his quizzing-glass. It was in disguise this time as his brother's valet that he escaped at last, on board a vessel to New York. And now began a life of new adventures. For some time he earned a living as a portrait painter. But a strange romance determined his career. He had left a girl, the idol of his heart behind him, a girl -whom he adored with all the passion of his soul. He now wrote to her to join him in his land of exile. Alas ! In the hour of his supremest peril the devoted girl had taken vows that, if it were the will of God to save him, she would dedicate her life to heaven. She had now become a Sister in a convent of the Carmelites, and was lost to him forever. —"Golden Bloom."