CHAPTER XXXVII. HASTY RESOLUTION
In my last chapter I brought my reader to that portion of my storywhich formed the turning-point of my destiny. And here I might, perhaps,conclude these brief memoirs of an early life, whose chief object wasto point out the results of a hasty and rash judgment, which, formed inmere boyhood, exerted its influence throughout the entire of a lifetime.Only one incident remains still to be told; and I shall not trespass onthe good-natured patience of my readers by any delay in the narrative.
From being poor, houseless, and unknown, a sudden turn of fortunehad made me wealthy and conspicuous in station; the owner of a largeestate,--almost a lead-ing man in my native county. My influence wassufficient to procure the liberation of M'Keown; and my interference inhis behalf mainly contributed to procure for Fortescue the royal pardon.The world, as the phrase is, went with me; and the good luck whichattended every step I took and every plan I engaged in was become aproverb among my neighbors.
Let not any one suppose I was unmindful or ungrateful, if I confess,that even with all these I was not happy. No: the tranquil mind, thespirit at ease with itself, cannot exist where the sense of duty is not.The impulse which swayed my boyish heart still moved the ambition of theman. The pursuits I should have deemed the noblest and the purest seemedto me uninteresting and ignoble; the associations I ought to havefelt the happiest and the highest appeared to me vulgar, and low, andcommonplace. I was disappointed in my early dream of liberty, andhad found tyranny where I looked for freedom, and intolerance where Iexpected enlightenment; but if so, I recurred with tenfold enthusiasm tothe career of the soldier, whose glories were ever before me. Thatnoble path had not deceived me; far from it. Its wild and whirlwindexcitement, its hazardous enterprise, its ever-present dangers, werestimulants I loved and gloried in. All the chances and changes of apeaceful life were poor and mean compared to the hourly vicissitudes ofwar. I knew not then, it is true, how much of enjoyment I derived fromforgetful ness; how many of my springs of happiness flowed from thatpreoccupation which prevented my dwelling on the only passion that everstirred my heart,--my love for one whose love was hopeless.
How thoroughly will the character of an early love tinge the whole of alife! Our affections are like flowers,--they derive their sweetness andtheir bloom from the soil in which they grow: some, budding in joy andgladness, amid the tinkling plash of a glittering fountain, live on everbright and beautiful; others, struggling on amid thorns and wildweeds, overshadowed by gloom, preserve their early impressions to thelast,--their very sweetness tells of sadness.
To conquer the memory of this hopeless passion, I tried a hundred ways.I endeavored, by giving myself up to the duties of a country gentleman,to become absorbed in all the cares and pursuits which had such interestfor my neighbors. Failing in this, I became a sportsman; I kept horsesand dogs, and entered, with all the zest mere determination can impart,upon that life of manly exertion, so full of pleasure to thousands. Buthere again without succeeding.
I went into society; but soon retired from it, on finding, that amongthe class of my equals the prestige of my early life had still trackedme. I was in their eyes a rebel, whose better fortune had saved himfrom the fate of his companions. My youth had given no guarantee for mymanhood; and I was not trusted. Baffled in every endeavor to obliteratemy secret grief, I recurred to it now, as though privileged by fate,to indulge a memory nothing could efface. I abandoned all the pettyappliances by which I sought to shut out the past, and gave myself up infull abandonment to the luxury of my melancholy.
Living entirely within the walls of my demesne, never seen by myneighbors, not making nor receiving visits, I appeared to many aheartless recluse, whose misanthropy sought indulgence in solitude;others, less harshly, judged me as one whose unhappy entrance on lifehad unfitted him for the station to which fortune had elevated him. Byboth I was soon forgotten.
The peasantry were less ungenerous, and more just. They saw in me onewho felt acutely for the privations they were suffering; yet never gavethem that cheap, delusive hope, that legislative changes will touchsocial evils,--that the acts of a parliament will penetrate the thousandtortuous windings of a poor man's destiny. They found in me a friend andan adviser. They only-wondered at one thing,--how any man could feel forthe poor, and not hate the rich. So long had the struggle lasted betweenaffluence and misery, they could not understand a compromise.
Bitter as their poverty had been, it never extinguished the poetry oftheir lives. They were hungry and naked; but they held to their ancienttraditions, and they built on them great hopes for the future. The oldfamily names, the time-honored memories of place, the famous deedsof ancestors, made an ideal existence powerful enough to exclude thepressure of actual daily evils; and they argued from what had been towhat might be, with a persistency of hope it seemed almost cruel todestroy. So deeply were these thoughts engrained into their natures,they felt him but half their friend who ventured to despise them. Therelief of present poverty, the succor of actual suffering, became intheir eyes an effort of mere passing kindness. They looked to some greatamelioration of condition, some wondrous change, some restoration to animaginary standard of independence and comfort, which all the effortsof common interference fell sadly short of; and thus they strained theirgaze to a government, a ruling power, for a boon undefined, unknown, andillimitable.
To expectations like these advice and slight assistance are as the meredrop of water to the parched tongue of thirst; and so I found it. Icould neither encourage them in their hopes of such legislative changesas would greatly ameliorate their condition, nor flatter them in thedelusion that none of their misfortunes were of home origin; and thus,if they felt gratitude for many kindnesses, they reposed no confidencein my opinion. The trading patriot, who promised much while he pocketedtheir hard-earned savings; the rabid newspaper writer, who libelledthe Government and denounced the landlord,--were their standards ofsympathy; and he who fell short of either was not their friend.
In a word, the social state of the people was rotten to its very core.Their highest qualities, degraded by the combined force of poverty,misrule, and superstition, had become sources of crime and misery. Theyhad suffered so long and so much, their patience was exhausted; and theypreferred the prospect of any violent convulsion which might change theface of the land, whatever dangers it might come with, to a slow andgradual improvement of condition, however safe and certain.
To win their confidence at the only price they would accord it, I nevercould consent to; and without it I was almost powerless for good.Here again, therefore, did I find closed against me another avenue forexertion; and the only one of all I could have felt a fitting spherefor my labor. The violence of their own passionate natures, the headlongimpulses by which they suffered themselves to be swayed, left them nopower of judgment regarding those whose views were more moderate andtemperate. They could understand the high Tory landlord, whom theyinvested with every attribute of tyranny, as their open, candidopponent; they could see a warm friend in the violent mob-orator of theday; but they recognized no trait of kindness in him who would rathersee them fed than flattered, and behold them in the enjoyment of comfortsooner than in the ecstasy of triumph.
From "Darby the Blast"--for he was now a member of my household--Ilearned the light in which I was regarded by the people, and heard thedissatisfaction they expressed that one who "sarved Boney" should notbe ready to head a rising, if need be. Thus was I in a false positionon every side. Mistrusted by all, because I would neither enter into theexaggerations of party, nor become blind to the truth my senses revealedbefore me, my sphere of utility was narrowed to the discharge of themere duties of common charity and benevolence, and my presence among mytenantry no more productive of benefit than if I had left my purse as myrepresentative.
Years rolled on, and in the noiseless track of time I forgot its flight.I now had grown so wedded to the habits of my solitary life, that itsvery monotony was a source of pleasure. I had intrenched myself within ali
ttle circle of enjoyments, and among my books and in my walks my dayswent pleasantly over.
For a long time, I did not dare to read the daily papers, nor learn thegreat events which agitated Europe. I tried to think that an interval ofrepose would leave me indifferent to their mention; and so rigidly did Iabstain from indulging my curiosity, that the burning of Moscow, and thecommencement of the dreadful retreat which followed, was the first factI read of.
From the moment I gave way, the passion for intelligence from Francebecame a perfect mania. Where were the different corps of the "GrandArmy"? where the Emperor himself? by what great stroke of genius wouldhe emerge from the difficulties around him, and deal one of his fatalblows on the enemy?--were the questions which met me as I awoke, andtortured me during the day.
Each movement of that terrible retreat I followed in the gazettes withan anxiety verging on insanity. I tracked the long journey on the map,and as I counted towns and villages, dreary deserts of snow, and vastrivers to be traversed, my heart grew faint to think how many a bravesoldier would never reach that fair France for whose glory he had shedhis best blood. Disaster followed disaster; and as the news reachedEngland, came accounts of those great defections which weakened theforce of the "Grand Army," and deranged the places formed for itsretiring movements.
They who can recall to mind the time I speak of, will remember theeffect produced in England by the daily accounts from the seat of war;how heavily fell the blows of that altered fortune which once rested onthe eagles of France; how each new bulletin announced another feature ofmisfortune,--some shattered remnant of a great _corps d'armee_ cut offby Cossacks,--some dreadful battle engaged against superior numbers, andfought with desperation, not for victory, but the liberty to retreat.Great names were mentioned among the slain, and the proudest chivalry ofGaul left to perish on the far-off steppes of Russia.
Such were the fearful tales men read of that terrible campaign; and thejoy in England was great, to hear that the most powerful of her enemieshad at length experienced the full bitterness of defeat. While men viedwith one another in stories of the misfortunes of the Emperor,--wheneach post added another to the long catalogue of disasters to the "GrandArmy,"--I sat in my lonely house, in a remote part of Ireland, broodingover the sad reverses of him who still formed my ideal of a hero.
I thought how, amid the crumbling ruins of his splendid force, his greatsoul would survive the crash that made all others despair; that eachnew evil would suggest its remedy as it arose, and the mind that neverfailed in expedient would shine out more brilliantly through the gloomof darkening fortune than even it had done in the noonday splendorof success. When all others could only see the tremendous energy ofdespair, I thought I could recognize those glorious outbursts of heroismby which a French army sought and won the favor of their Emperor. Therouted and straggling bodies which hurried along in seeming disorder, Igloried to perceive could assume all the port and bearing of soldiers atthe approach of danger, and form their ranks at the wild "houra" of theCossack as steadily as in the proudest day of their prosperity.
The retreat continued: the horrible suffering of a Russian winter addedto the carnage of a battle-tide, which flowed unceasingly from theruined walls of the Kremlin to the banks of the Vistula: the battle ofBorisow and the passage of the Berezina followed fast on each other.And now we heard that the Emperor had surrendered the chief commandto Murat, and was hastening back to France with lightning speed; foralready the day of his evil fortune had thrown its shadow over thecapital. No longer reckoned by tens of thousands, that vast army had nowdwindled down to divisions of a few hundred men. The Old Guard scarceexceeded one thousand; and of twenty entire regiments of cavalry,Murat mustered a single squadron as a bodyguard. Crowds of wounded andmutilated men dragged their weary limbs along over the hardened snow,or through dense pine forests where no villages were to be met with,--afatuous determination to strive to reach France, the only impulsesurviving amid all their sufferings.
With the defections of D'York and Massenbach, then began that newfeature of disaster which was so soon to burst forth with all the fellfury of long pent-up hatred. The nationality of Germany--so long, socruelly insulted--now saw the day of retribution arrive. Misfortunehastened misfortune, and defeat engendered treason in the ranks of theEmperor's allies. Murat, too, the favorite of Napoleon, the king of hiscreation, deserted him now, and fled ignominiously from the command ofthe army.
"The Elbe! the Elbe!" was now the cry amid the shattered ranks of thatarmy which but a year before saw no limit to its glorious path. The Elbewas the only line remaining which promised a moment's repose from thefatigues and privations of months long. Along that road the army couldhalt, and stem the tide of pursuit, however hotly it pressed. ThePrussians had already united with the Russians; the defection of Austriacould not be long distant; Saxony was appealed to, as a member of theGerman family, to join in arms against the Tyrant; and the wild "houra"of the Cossack now blended with the loud "Vorwarts" of injured Prussia.
"Where shall he seek succor now? What remains to him in this lasteventful struggle? How shall the Emperor call back to life the legionsby whose valor his great victories were gained, and Europe made a vassalat the foot of his throne?" Such was the thought that never left me dayor night. Ever present before me was his calm brow, and his face paler,but not less handsome, than its wont. I could recall his rapid glance;the quick and hurried motion of his hand; his short and thick utterance,as words of command fell from his lips; and his smile, as he heard someintelligence with pleasure.
I could not sleep,--scarcely could I eat. A feverish excitement burnedthrough my frame, and my parched tongue and hot hand told how the verysprings of health were dried up within me. I walked with hurried stepsfrom place to place; now muttering the words of some despatch, nowfancying that I was sent with orders for a movement of troops. As Irode, I spurred my horse to a gallop, and in my heated imaginationbelieved I was in presence of the enemy, and preparing for the fray.Great as my exhaustion frequently was, weariness brought no rest. OftenI returned home at evening, overcome by fatigue; but a sleepless night,tortured with anxieties and harassed with doubts and fears, followed,and I awoke to pursue the same path, till in my weakened frame andhectic cheek the signs of illness could no longer be mistaken.
Terrified at the ravages a few weeks had made in my health, and fearfulwhat secret malady was preying upon me, Darby, without asking any leavefrom me, left the house one morning at daybreak, and returned with thephysician of the neighboring town. I was about to mount my horse, when Isaw them coming up the avenue, and immediately guessed the object of thevisit. A moment was enough to decide me as to the course to pursue;for well knowing how disposed the world ever is to stamp the impressof wandering intellect on any habit of mere eccentricity, I resolved toreceive the doctor as though I was glad of his coming, and consult withhim regarding my state. This would at least refute such a scandal, byenlisting the physician among the allies of my cause.
By good fortune, Dr. Clibborn was a man of shrewd common sense, as wellas a physician of no mean skill.
In the brief conversation we held together, I perceived, that while hepaid all requisite attention to any detail which implied the existenceof malady, his questions were more pointedly directed to the possibilityof some mental cause of irritation,--the source of my ailment. I couldsee, however, that his opinion inclined to the belief that the events ofthe trial had left their indelible traces on my mind; which, inducingme to adopt a life of isolation and retirement, had now produced theeffects he witnessed.
I was not sorry at this mistake on his part. By suffering him toindulge in this delusive impression, I saved myself all the trouble ofconcealing my real feelings, which I had no desire to expose before him.I permitted him, therefore, to reason with me on the groundless notionshe supposed I had conceived of the world's feeling regarding me,and heard him patiently as he detailed the course of public duty, byfulfilling which I should occupy my fitting place in society, and bestconsu
lt my own health and happiness.
"There are," said he, "certain fixed impressions, which I would not socombat. It was but yesterday, for instance, I yielded to the wish ofan old general officer, who has served upwards of half a century, anddesires once more to put himself at the head of his regiment. Hisheart was bent on it. I saw that though he might consent to abandon hispurpose, I was not so sure his mind might bear the disappointment; forthe intellect will sometimes go astray in endeavoring to retrace itssteps. So I thought it better to concede what might cost more in therefusal."
The last words of the doctor remained in my head long after he took hisleave, and I could not avoid applying them to my own case. Was not _my_impression of this nature? Were not _my_ thoughts all centred on onetheme as fixedly as the officer's of whom he spoke? Could I, by anyeffort of my reason or my will, control my wandering fancies, and callthem back to the dull realities amongst which I lived?
These were ever recurring to me, and always with the same reply. It isin vain to struggle against an impulse which has swallowed up all otherambitions. My heart is among the glittering ranks and neighing squadronsof France; I would be there once more; I would follow that career whichfirst stirred the proudest hopes I ever cherished.
That same evening the mail brought the news that Eugene Beauharnais hadfallen back on Magdeburg, and sent repeated despatches to the Emperor,entreating his immediate presence among the troops, whom nothing butNapoleon himself in the midst of them could restore to their wontedbravery and determination. The reply of Napoleon was briefly,--
"I am coming; and all who love me, follow me."
How the words rang in my ears,--"_Tous ceux qui m'aiment!_" I heardthem in every rustling of the wind and motion of the leaves against thewindow; they were whispered to my sense by every avenue of my brain;and I sat no longer occupied in reading as usual, but with folded arms,repeating word by word the brief sentence.
It was midnight. All was still and silent through the house; no servantstirred, and the very wind was hushed to a perfect calm. I was sittingin my library, when the words I have repeated seemed spoken in a low,clear voice beside me. I started up: the perspiration broke over myforehead and fell upon my cheek with terror; for I knew I was alone, andthe fearful thought flashed on me,--this may be madness! For a second ortwo the agony of the idea was almost insupportable. Then came a resolveas sudden. I opened my desk, and took from it all the ready money Ipossessed; I wrote a few hurried lines to my agent; and then, making myway noiselessly to the stable, I saddled my horse and led him out.
In two hours I was nearly twenty miles on my way to Dublin. Day wasbreaking as I entered the capital. I made no delay there; but takingfresh horses, started for Skerries, where I knew the fishermen of thecoast resorted.
"One hundred pounds to the man who will land me on the coast of Franceor Holland," said I to a group that were preparing their nets on theshore.
A look of incredulity was the only reply. A very few words, however,settled the bargain. Ere half an hour I was on board. The windfreshened, and we stood out to sea.
"Let the breeze keep to this," said the skipper, "and we'll make thevoyage quickly."
Both wind and tide were in our favor. We held down Channel rapidly; andI saw the blue hills grow fainter and fainter, till the eye could butdetect a gray cloud on the horizon, which at last disappeared in thebright sun of noon, and a wide waste of blue water lay on every side.