Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1880 — THE GYPSY COUNTESS. [ARTICLE]

THE GYPSY COUNTESS.

Romantic Incident in the Life of Napoleon Boneparte,

BY S. A. SMITH.

Paris was wild with enthusiasm, and shonts of “Long live the Emperor” came from every street and lane of the great city. Applause, congratulations, and expressions of confidence came to the great conqueror from all quarters. At the palace the scene was a brilliant one. The magnificent dresses of the ladies, their costly velvets, and flashing jewels, the rich uniforms and court costumes blazing with gems of the courtiers and brave Generals of France, then the thousand gleaming lights, the gorgeous furniture and ornaments, the parade and pomp of royal etiquette made up a bright, glowing picture, equal to a fairy land. Boated under a silken canopy was the Emperor Napoleon, and at his side Josephine the Empress, whose quiet yet regal demeanor would havo marked her anywhere as a distinguished personagq. Napoleon, with his pale, intellectual countenance, his dark, piercing eyes, and haughty air, looked every inch the great General and conqueror. The Empress, noted for her love and splendor, was attired in a rich, white silk, thickly covered with gold embroidery and costly lace; ou her dark, shining hair rested a coronet of diamonds and a necklace of the same gems flashed like a river of light on the white throat. Her mantle was of imperial purple, relieved by small, white flowers formed of pearls. She was surrounded by a bevy of beauties whose fresh, young charms far outshone those of the creole Empress. After the affairs of court and camp had been discussed and the royal pair had received the congratulations find compliments of those by whom they were so greatly admired and revered, Napoleon and Josephine retired to the privacy of their own apartments, and then each one gave themselves up to the gayety and enjoyments of the hour. “What say you to a visit to the gypsy camp?” said the young Count Bt. Aubyn, one of the handsomest gallants at the court. “I hear that among the tribe is a beautiful girl, a sort of Queen, to whom all pay homage, and this Tara, for such is her name, has a wonderful gift of seeing into the future, can lift the mystic veil and read a page from each life for those whose curiosity prompts them to take a peep into the dim beyond.” “With all my heart, say I,” exclaimed a bejewelled and perfumed exquisite, who stood near the Count; “I arn all impatient to catch a glimpse of the gyp»y Queen, and to see what the future has in store.

All the ladies were ready and eager to accompany the gentlemen on their visit to the camp, and soon carriage after carriage, with their gay and lovely occupants, rolled away over the shaded avenues out into the beautiful country where the roving band of gypsies were encamped. It was a scene for an artist. On all sides an autumn-liued forest, which the lavs of the declining sun were bathing in a sea of liquid, golden light. Through the leafy interstices a picturesque encampment of gypsies could be seen at a little distance. Standing apart from the other tents was a small one made of alternate stripes of crimson and white. It was near a silvery stream, the music of whose running waters made a sweet, low melody. As the party of high-bred court beauties and gay cavaliers approached the tents, men, women and children came out and gazed curiously at the elegantly-dressed group. Approaching a man who seemed to be the chief, Bt. Aubyn said, in imperious tones: “We want our fortunes told. Bring the woman hither, for wo are not used to waiting!”

'‘lndeed,” replied the man, laughing scornfully, as he very deliberately sat down on the mossy ground and took a child in his arms, “me-tliiuks, my haughty gentleman, you forget you are away from court, where cringing and fawning is the fashion of the hour. Here you are in the forests, out in free air, not ifiore free than we, whom you address so loftily. We are not used to such a manner. Nay, I care not for your frowns; I am king here and brook no commands. When you ask in a more fitting way to see my daughter I may comply with your request,” and, rising, the mart was about to retire, when Blanche Deveigne. the belle and beauty, the rarest flower amid all the court exotics, came forward, and with a smile upon her lovely countenance and a sparkle of mischief in her violet eyes, said, in her well-bred, silvery tones: “Monsieur, pardon; but you would not disappoint so many, especially the Indies? We are all so impatient to have our fortunes told by the pretty queen who is said to have the rare gift of second sight. Surely your majesty will deign to notice my request, made in the most humble manner possible,” and the maiden made a low, sweeping courtesy to the dark-browed man before her, who, for a moment, hardly knew whether to be pleased or vexed with the merry girl; but at length, vanquished by the lovely, smiling face, and more by the shining gold piece she slipped into his hand, he answered:

“You think, perhaps, that my child is rude, ignorant and coarse; that she is nothing but a vulgar, wandering vagrant like her tribe. You are mistaken. She is fit to mate with the eagle, and she shall. But you shall see her,” and putting a whistle to his lips the man blew a shrill call. The flowing drapery of crimson and white at the door of the tent occupied by the queen was drawn aside, and at the entrance stood the slight, girlish figure of Tara; a dark complexion, but with a vivid blush upon her cheeks and lips. Her hair was bluish black, and was braided in massive braids, falling far below the slender waist; her eyes were intensely dusk and full of fire, her teeth white and beautiful. Her dress was crimson, and around her waist a sash of crimson and orange; on her bare neck and arms were bands of gold, and a small circlet of gold was bound across her forehead. In coming forward, with a light step, she bowed, but very distantly and somewhat haughtily, and waited for her visitors to speak. All, both ladies and gentlemen, were astonished at the beauty and apparent refinement of the gypsy fortuneteller. “Will you oblige us,” said the handsome St. Aubyn, “by telling our fortunes? We have come far for that purpose, find hope you will not refuse.” And for obce the happy gallant was quite humble m his demeanor, for the charms of the girl before him had subdued the

anger he felt at the insolent conduct of her father. “I will read the future of those who wish it. Let one at a time come to my tent, ask me no question, but listen to my words and follow my advice.” The girl spoke in low, musical tones, standing gracefully and in a careless attitnde before the group. At length, turning, she entered the tent. Blanche. Deveigne, her costly silken robe trailing over the bright-hued leaves, and her white hands flashing with gems, looked the very embodiment of beanty and patrician birth; yet even she felt somewhat awed by the imperious manner of Tara. Entering the tent, she found the gypsy seated on a pile of crimson cushions, and as Blanche let the drapery fall at the entrance, Tara, with one little hand, motioned the court lady to advance. She did so; and the fortuneteller, taking the snowy, jewelled hand within her own brown palm, examined the lines vqry attentively. “You are fated to see many changes, and a foreign soil will end your days. You will wed with one whom you love, but he will prove false to you; but, lady, you may avoid all the sorrow that will come if you will give up your high station, your riches and luxury, and marry one who truly loves you but is too humble for one so haughty as you to notice. You will meet him soon; marry him and be happy, or wed the noble and your life will be full of shadows.” Ending abruptly, the girl motioned her visitor away, and Blanche, pale as a lily, after placing some money in the hand of Tara, left her presence. To each one the sibyl predicted coming events, gave them warning and startled even the most sceptical by her wondrous skill. That night there was great rejoicing in tire encampment, for Tara had received a large pile of shining gold from those who had come from the palace.

About a week after the visit of the coivrt party to the gypsy Queen, Tara, at the close of a warm October evening, was seated in her favorite haunt, near the silvery stream. The moon slowly rising above the distant hills transmitted tbe soft gleam to amethystine mist, the foliage of the trees looked mottled with silver, while their shadows lay underneath in great black patches; now and then could be heard the sweet notes of the whip-poor-will ana the merry chirp of crickets. Deeply lost in thought, the girl noted not the beauty of the night, nor heal'd the sound of approaching footsteps. ‘ ‘ I must, I will be great, I care not by what means, but rich and powerful I will become; my father tells me that my mother was a lady, the daughter of a wealthy land owner in the north of England, that she was well educated but silly and romantic; meeting the handsome gypsy lad at a fair she fell in love with ' him, ran away from home andin two years after died in a decline, brought on by exposure and her rude wandering life. From her I get my refined tastes and love of ease and luxury. From my father the art of deceiving and talent for reading character. My little spy and helper Antonio is of great service. He, by going to the servants’ hall and pretending to read their future, finds out the secrets of each family, and now will he come? I have waited long and patiently to gain the desire of my heart; I must and will be great.” Such were the thoughts of Tara, and so deeply was she meditating she had not heard the footsteps that came softly and rapidly over the mossy ground, and not until a deep but musical voice addressed her did she awaken from her dreamings. “ I wish to see Tara, the gypsy queen; can you direct me to her?” and looking up the bright moonlight revealed to the . girl a gentleman, dressed in plain, dark 51 clothes, with nothing about him denoting rank or wealth; but underneath his chapeau gleamed out a pair of keen, dark eyes, and his face, pale and intellectual, was stamped with nobility, while he had an air as though born to command.

‘ ‘ Sire, you see before you the humble personage you deign to seek; command me, for I am your obedient servant.” And the wily gypsy knelt humbly at the feet of Napoleon, for she knew him immediately. Struck by her great beauty the Emperor raised her from the ground, and with looks of admiration, which were not lost on the cunning, artful fortune-teller, he bade her lead the way to her tent, as he wished his fortune told. He had heard of her wonderful talent at predicting future events, and he wished her to tell him something of the past, a little of the present, but more of the future. An hour passed, and when the Emperor left the gypsy camp it was with a lighter step and a smile on his stern countenance, for in Napoleon’s nature there was much of superstition, and he implicitly believed all that Tara had told him. Blie had flattered him by the bright pictures she drew of the brilliant future, telling of more victories, more conquests, and that emperors, kings and princes would humbly sue for favors at his hands. Nothing was said of defeat, disappointment or sorrow; all was rosehued and full of brilliant promise. One year passed rapidly away. Then there appeared at court a new star, a fresh exotic amid the bouquet of rare flowers—one whose dark, rich beauty far outshone the cold, stately lily, Blanche Deveigne. All recognize in Madame, Countess de Lisle, Tara, the gypsy. All but the Empress. She knows her as the wife of one of the haughtiest and most powerful nobles of the empire, and his romantic meeting with the beauty, love at first sight, the marriage, sanctioned by the Emperor, etc.; all these facts were known; but the infatuation of Napolean for the gypsy Countess, his daily interviews, her predictions, and her influence, these facts were a secret even from the vain old Count, who fondly imagined his fair wife was a pattern of prudence and virtue. One night a masked ball was given by the Empress.

The costumes were all that wealth could make them, perfect, and costly in the highest degree. Among the maskers the Emperor could be distinguished by his air of haughty reserve, and his favorite attitude when standing apart from the crowd. Hovering near him was a lady in the garb of a Spanish dancer, the short, orange-satin skirt, gold-embroid-ered bodice and tiny velvet cap making a charming costume. While the merriment was in the highest a man, wrapped in a long, dark mantle, and masked, stole to the side of the monarch, who stood in an alcove watching the dancers, and in another moment the flash of a dagger was seen by the Spanish dancer, who threw herself between the would-be assassin and the Emperor. The blade passed through the rounded arm, and the Countess de Lisle sank fainting at Napoleon’s feet, while the man who attempted the murder was secured. He proved to be one of the many enemies of the great conqueror, whom he styled “tyrant and murderer.” From this time Tara, the gypsy’s lucky-star, was in the ascendant, and even Josephine began to notice the attentions and favors that were lavished upon the beautiful Countess. At length the eyes of the old Count were opened. Under a pretense of failing health, he asked leave to travel, and permission was granted. The Countess accompanied him. When they arrived in Wales, where even to this day can be seen ruins of old castles and strongholds built centuries ago, the Count, who had property here, left by relatives who had emigrated from .La Belle France to this ragged, hardy, and romantic place, he confined his guilty spouse in one of the gloomiest castles, that was situated in an isolated spot, far away from any other habitation. Here day after day the beautiful woman languished, seeing only her stern, unrelenting husband and her keeper. At length, after two months had passed, Tara, yrith ft fierce light in )ier dusky

orbs and a smothered wrath darkening her fair face, resolved that this tyranny, as she termed it, should end. All the long gloomy day she had sat at the barred window of her room, her face pale but determined, until at twilight her husband entered, telling her this was bis farewell visit, “for,” said he, “I am about to return to France; soon the tyrant, the despot, the one who has wronged me so deeply, will feel my vengeance. I have concocted a plan for his death that will not fail of being achieved, and I shall rid myself of a dangerous enemy. To-night I leave Wales. You are to remain here until my return, and until the death of your lover, the Emperor, is accomplished; then, madame, you will retire to a convent, there to pass the rest of your days repenting of your sinß. ” Tara answered not a word, put clenched her little hands together and muttered softly, “My mind is made up; I will endure no longer;” and while the Count arose to ring for supper to be brought, his wife, taking a lx>x of ivory from her bosom, concealed it beneath her handkerchief, awaitjpg the advent of the evening meal. When the Count, as was his nightly custom, drank a glass of mulled wine prepared by his valet, he did not notice the slightly bitter taste, but in a few moments he complained of dizziness and faintness, and being carried to bed he became delirious, and before day dawned was no more.

“He brought it on himself,” said his wife, as she gazed upon him. “I could not endure confinement—l, who have always been freg as the wild bird, to pass my remaining days in a convent—that thought made me desperate. ” When carried to England for trial (for Tara was proved guilty of poisoning her husband) she was sentenced to death; but, bribing her jailer, she escaped to France, where she once more gained her former influence over Napoleon. But when misfortunes came to the conqueror —defeat, exile and despair—then Tara, the gypsy, forsook her protector and friend. Years passed. In a far-off city, miles away from the gay French capital, a poor old woman, wretched, sick and infirm, wandered about, asking charity of those who passed her by. Every one noticed that around her throat was a blood-red cord, and day after day, as the beggarwoman sat in the sun holding out her hand for alms, the cord about her withered throat seemed a huge serpent enwrapping her in its folds. One day she was missed from her accustomed pladfe on the steps of the mosscovered cathedral, and some charitable person, wandering amid the haunts- of vice, found the mysterious woman with the cord encircling her neck. Bhe was lying, and her last cpnfession was that slio was once the Countess De Lisle; had murdered her husband, was condemned to death, but escaped, and when, years afterward, she again visited England, she was recognized, was arrested, but through some unknown influence, was released, but was condemned to wear a cord about her neck for the remainder of her days. Tims ended the life of the Gypsy Countess, and Napoleon, once her friend and protector, died in exile. Truly, our sins will find us out.