CHAPTER XLI. THE CONCLUSION
France never appeared to less advantage in the eyes of Europe than atthe period I speak of. Scarcely had the proud star of Napoleon set, whenthe whole current of popular favor flowed along with those whom, but afew days before, they accounted their greatest enemies. The Russians andthe Prussians, whom they lampooned and derided, they now flattered andfawned on. They deemed no adulation servile enough to lay at the feetof their conquerors,--not esteeming the exaltation of their victorssufficient, unless purchased at the sacrifice of their own honor as anation.
The struggle was no longer who should be first in glory, but whoforemost in desertion of him and his fortunes whose word had madethem. The marshals he had created, the generals he had decorated, theministers and princes he had endowed with wealth and territory, nowturned from him in his hour of misfortune, to court the favor of oneagainst whom every act of their former lives was directed.
These men, whose very titles recalled the fields of glory to which heled them, now hastened to the Tuileries to proffer an allegiance to amonarch they neither loved nor respected. Sad and humiliating spectacle!The long pent-up hatred of the Royalists found a natural vent in thismoment of triumphant success. Chateaubriand, Constant, and Madame deStael led the way to those declarations of the press which denouncedNapoleon as the greatest of earthly tyrants; and inveighed even againsthis greatness and his genius, as though malevolence could produceoblivion.
All Paris was in a ferment of excitement,--not the troubled agitation ofa people whose capital owned the presence of a conquering army, but thetumultuous joy of a nation intoxicated with pleasure. Fetes andballs, gay processions and public demonstrations of rejoicing, met oneeverywhere; and ingenuity was taxed to invent flatteries for thevery nations whom, but a week past, they scoffed at as barbarians andScythians.
Sickened and disgusted with the fickleness of mankind, I knew not whereto turn. My wound had brought on a low, lingering fever, accompaniedby extreme debility, increased in all likelihood by the harassingreflections every object around suggested. I could not venture abroadwithout meeting some evidence of that exuberant triumph by whichtreachery hopes to cover its own baseness; besides, the reputation ofbeing a Napoleonist was now a mark for insult and indignity from thosewho never dared to avow an opinion until the tide of fortune had turnedin their favor. The white cockade had replaced the tricolor; everyemblem of the Empire was abolished; and that uniform, to wear whichwas once a mark of honorable distinction, was now become a signal forinsult.
I was returning one evening from a solitary ramble in the neighborhoodof Paris,--for, by some strange fatality, I could not tear myself awayfrom the scenes to which the most eventful portions of my life wereattached,--and at length reached the Boulevard Montmartre, just asthe leading squadrons of a cavalry regiment were advancing up the widethoroughfare. I had hitherto avoided every occasion of witnessingany military display which should recall the past; but now the rapidgathering of the crowd to see the soldiers pass prevented my escape, andI was obliged to wait patiently until the cortege should move forward.
They came on in dense column,--the brave Chasseurs of the Guard, thebronzed warriors of Jena and Wigram; but to my eyes they seemed sternerand sadder than their wont, and heeded not the loud "vivas" of themob around them. Where were their eagles? Alas! the white banner thatfloated over their heads was a poor substitute for the proud ensignthey had so often followed to victory. And here weie the dragoons,--oldKellermann's brave troopers; their proud glances were changed to amournful gaze upon that crowd whose cheers they once felt proud of: andthere, the artillery, that glorious corps which he loved so well,--didnot the roll of their guns sound sorrowfully on the ear!
They passed! And then came on a strange cortege of mountedcavaliers,--old and withered men, in uniforms of quaint antique fashion,their chapeaux decorated with great cockades of white ribbon, and theirsword-knots garnished with similar ornaments; the order of St. Louisglittered on each breast, and in their bearing you might read the air ofmen who were enjoying a long-wished-for and long-expected triumph. Thesewere the old seigneurs of the Monarchy; and truly they were not wantingin that look of nobility their ancient blood bestowed. Their featureswere proud; their glance elated; their very port and bearing spoke thatconsciousness of superiority, to crush which had cost all the horrorsand bloodshed of a terrible Revolution. How strange! it seemed as ifmany of their faces were familiar to me,--I knew them well; but where,and how, my memory could not trace. Yes, now I could recall it: theywere the frequenters of the old "Pension of the Rue de Mi-Careme,"--thesame men I had seen in their day of adversity, bearing up with noblepride against the ills of fortune. There they were, revelling in thelong-sought-after restoration of their former state. Were they not moreworthy of admiration in their hour of patient and faithful watching,than in this the period of their triumph?
The pressure of the crowd obliged the cavalcade to halt. And now the airresounded with the cries of "Vive le Roi!"--the long-forgotten cheerof loyalty. Thousands re-echoed the shout, and the horsemen waved theirhats in exultation. "Vive le Roi!" cried the mob, as though the voiceshad not called "Vive l'Empereur!" but yesterday.
"Down with the Napoleonist,--down with him!" screamed a savage-lookingfellow, who, jammed up in the crowd, pointed towards me, as I stood amere spectator of the scene.
"Cry 'Vive le Roi!' at once," whispered a voice near me, "or theconsequences may be serious. The mob is ungovernable at a moment likethis."
A dozen voices shouted out at the same time, "Down with him! down withhim!"
"Off with your hat, sir!" said a rude-looking fellow beside me, as heraised his hand to remove it.
"At your peril!" said I, as I clenched my hand, and prepared to strikehim down the moment he should touch me.
The words were not well uttered, when the crowd closed on me, and ahundred arms were stretched out to attack me. In vain all my efforts toresist. My hat was torn from my head, and assailed on every side, I wasdragged into the middle of the street, amid wild cries of vengeance andtaunting insults. It was then, as I lay overcome by numbers, that a loudcry to fall back issued from the cavalcade, and a horseman, sword inhand, dashed upon the mob, slashing on every side as he went, mountedon a high-mettled horse. He cleared the dense mass with the speed oflightning, and drove back my assailants.
BrowneBeauvais341]
"Catch my horse's mane," said he, hurriedly. "Hold fast for a fewseconds, and you are safe."
Following the advice, I held firmly by the long mane of his charger,while, clearing away the mob on either side, he protected me by hisdrawn sabre above my head.
"Safe this time!" said he, as we arrived within the ranks. And thenturning round, so as to face me, added, "Safe! and my debt acquitted.You saved my life once; and though the peril seemed less imminent now,trust me, yours had not escaped the fury of that multitude without me."
"What! Henri de Beauvais! Do we meet again?"
"Yes; but with altered fortune, Burke. Our king, as the words of ourGarde Ecossaise song says,--our king 'has got his own again.' The dayof loyalty has again dawned on France, and a grateful people may carrytheir enthusiasm for the Restoration, even as far as vengeance on theiropponents, and yet not merit much reproach. But no more of this. We canbe friends now; or if not, it must be your fault."
"I am not too proud, De Beauvais, either to accept or acknowledge afavor at your hands."
"Then we are friends," said he, joyfully. "And in the name offriendship, let me beg of you to place this _cordon_ in your hat." Andso saying, he detached the cockade of white ribbon he wore from his own,and held it towards me. "Well, then, at least remove the tricolor; itcan but expose you to insult. Remember, Burke, its day is over."
"I am not likely to forget it," replied I, sadly.
"Monsieur le Colonel, his royal highness wishes to speak with you," saidan aide-de-camp, riding up beside De Beauvais's horse.
"Take care of this gentleman for me," said De Beauvais, po
inting to me;and then, wheeling round his horse, he galloped at full speed to therear.
"I will spare you all trouble on my account, sir," said I. "My way liesyonder, and at present I see no obstacle to my pursuing it."
"Let me at least send an escort with you."
I thanked him and declined the offer; and leaving the ranks of theprocession, mingled with the crowd, and in a few minutes after reachedmy hotel without further molestation. The hour was come, I saw plainly,in which I must leave France. Not only was every tie which bound me tothat land severed, but to remain was only to oppose myself singly tothe downward current of popular opinion which now threatened to overturnevery landmark and vestige of the Empire. Up to this moment, I neverconfessed to my heart with what secret hope I had prolonged each day ofmy stay,--how I cherished within me the expectation that I should onceagain, though but for an instant, see her who lived in all my thoughts,and, unknown to my self, formed the mainspring of all my actions!
This hope only became confessed when about to leave me forever.
As I busied myself in the preparations for departure, a note arrivedfrom De Beauvais, stating that he desired particularly to see and conferwith me that same evening, and requesting me on no account to be fromhome, as his business was most pressing. I felt little curiosity toknow to what he might allude, and saw him enter my room some hours laterwithout a single particle of anxiety as to his communication.
"I am come, Burke," said he, after a few commonplaces had been exchangedbetween us,--"I am come, Burke, on a mission which I hope you willbelieve the sincerest regard for you has prompted me to undertake, andwhich, whatever objections it may meet with from you, none can arise, Iam certain, on the score of his fidelity who now makes this propositionto you. To be brief: the Count d'Artois has sent me to offer you yourgrade and rank in the army of his Majesty Louis the Eighteenth. Yourlast gazette was as colonel; but there is a rumor you should havereceived your appointment as general of brigade. There will be littledifficulty in arranging your brevet on that understanding; for yourservices, brief as they were, have not been unnoticed. Marshal Neyhimself bears testimony to your conduct at Montereau; and your nametwice occurs on the list of the minister of war for promotion.Strange claims these, you will say, to recompense from the rightfulsovereign of France, gained as they were in the service of the Usurper!But it is the prerogative of legitimacy to be great and noble-minded,and to recognize true desert wherever it occurs. Come, what say you?Does this proposal meet your wishes?"
"If to surpass my expectations, and flatter my pride, were to convincemy reason, and change my estimation of what is loyal and true, I shouldsay, 'Yes, De Beauvais; the proposition does meet my wishes.' But notso. I wore these epaulettes first in my admiration of him whose fortunesI have followed to the last. My pride, my glory, were to be his soldier;that can be no longer, and the sword I drew in his cause shall never beunsheathed in another's."
"Are you ignorant that such arguments apply with equal force to allthose great men who have, within these few weeks past, sworn allegianceto his Majesty? What say you to the list of marshals, not one of whomhas refused the graciously offered favor of his Majesty? Are Ney, Soult,Augereau, Macdonald, and Marmont nothing as examples?"
"I will not say so, De Beauvais; but this I will say, they had had bothmore respect and esteem from me had they done otherwise. If they weretrue to the Emperor, they can scarce be loyal to the King."
"Can you not distinguish between the forced services exacted by a tyrantand the noble duty rendered to a rightful sovereign?"
"I can better estimate the fascinations which lead men to follow a hero,than to be the parade-soldier around the gilded gates of a palace."
De Beauvais's cheek flashed scarlet, and his voice was agitated, as hereplied,--
"The nobles of France, sir, have shown themselves as high in deeds ofchivalry and heroism as they have ever been in the accomplishments oftrue-born gentlemen."
"Pardon me, De Beauvais! I meant no imputation of them and theirmotives. There is every reason why you and your gallant companionsshould enjoy the favors of that crown your efforts have placed upon thehead of the King of France. Your true and fitting station is around thethrone your bravery and devotion have restored. But as for us,--wewho have fought and marched, have perilled limb and life, to raisethe fortune and elevate the glory of him who was the enemy of thatsovereign,--how can we be participators in the triumph we labored toavert, and rejoice in a consummation we would have died rather thanwitness?"
"But it has come; the fates have decided against you. The cause youwould serve is not merely unfortunate,--it is extinct; the Empire hasleft no banner behind it. Come, then, and rally round one whose boast itis to number among its followers the high-born and the noble,--to assertthe supremacy of rank and worth above the claim of the base and low."
"I cannot; I must not."
"At least, you will wait on the Comte d'Artois. You must see his royalhighness, and thank him for his gracious intentions."
"I know what that means, De Beauvais; I have heard that few can resistthe graceful fascinations of the prince's manner. I shall certainly notfear to encounter them, however dangerous to my principles."
"But not to refuse his royal highness?" said he, quickly. "I trust youwill not do that."
"You would not have me yield to the flattery of a prince's notice what Irefuse to the solicitations of a friend, would you?"
"And such is your intention,--your fixed intention?"
"Undoubtedly it is."
De Beauvais turned away impatiently, and leaned on the window for someminutes. Then, after a pause, and in a slow and measured voice, added,--
"You are known to the Court, Burke, by other channels than those I havementioned. Your prospects of advancement would be most brilliant, if youaccept this offer: I scarcely know to what they may not aspire. Reflectfor a moment or two. There is no desertion,--no falling off here.Remember that the Empire was a vision, and like a dream it has passedaway. Where there is no cause, there can be no fealty."
"It is but a sorry memory, De Beauvais, that only retains while thereare benefits to receive; mine is a more tenacious one."
"Then my mission is ended," cried he, taking up his hat. "I may mentionto his royal highness that you intend returning to England; that youare indisposed to service at present. It is unnecessary to state moreaccurately the views you entertain?"
"I leave the matter completely to your discretion."
"Adieu, then. Our roads lie widely apart, Burke; and I for one regretit deeply. It only remains that I should give you this note; which Ipromised to deliver into your hands in the event of your declining toaccept the prince's offer."
He blushed deeply, as he placed a small sealed note in my fingers; andas if anxious to get away, pressed my hand hurriedly, and left the room.
My curiosity to learn the contents of the billet made me tear it open atonce; but it was not before I had perused it several times that I couldcredit the lines before me. They were but few, and ran thus:--
Dear Sir,--May I request the honor of a visit from you this evening at the Hotel de Grammont?
Truly yours,
Marie d'Auvergne, nee De Meudon.
Colonel Burke.
How did I read these lines over again and again!--now interpreting themas messengers of future hope; now fearing they might exclude every rayof it forever. One solution recurred to me at every moment, and torturedme to the very soul. Her family had all been Royalists. The mereaccidents of youth had thrown her brother into the army, and herselfinto the Court of the Empire, where personal devotion and attachment tothe Empress had retained her. What if she should exert her influence toinduce me to accept the prince's offer? How could I resist a request,perhaps an entreaty, from her? The more I reflected over it, the morefirmly this opinion gained ground with me, and the more deeply did Igrieve over a position environed by such difficulty; and ardently as Ilonged for the moment of meeting her once more
, the desire was temperedby a fear that the meeting should be our last.
The eventful moment of my destiny arrived, and found me at the door ofthe Hotel de Grammont. A valet in waiting for my arrival conducted me toa _salon_, saying the countess would appear in a few moments.
What an anxious interval was that! I tried to occupy myself withthe objects around, and distract my attention from the approachinginterview; but every sound startled me, and I turned at each instanttowards the door by which I expected her to enter.
The time appeared to drag heavily on,--minutes became like hours; andyet no one appeared. My impatience had reached its climax, when I heardmy name spoken in a low soft voice. I turned, and she was before me.
She was dressed in deep mourning, and looked paler, perhaps thinner,than I had ever seen her,--but not less beautiful. Whether prompted byher own feelings at the moment, or called up by my unconsciously fixedlook, she blushed deeply as our eyes met.
"I was about to leave France, Colonel," said she, as soon as we wereseated, "when I heard from my cousin, De Beauvais, that you were here,and delayed my departure to have the opportunity of seeing you."
She paused here, and drew a deep breath to continue; but leaning herhead on her hand, she seemed to have fallen into a reverie for someminutes, from which she started suddenly, by saying,--
"His royal highness has offered you your grade in the service, Iunderstand?"
"Yes, Madame; so my friend De Beauvais informs me."
"And you have refused,--is it not so?"
"Even so, Madame."
"How is this, sir? Are you so weary of a soldier's life, that you wouldleave it thus early?"
"This was not the reason, Madame."
"You loved the Emperor, sir," said she, hastily, and with a tone ofalmost passionate eagerness, "even as I loved my dear, kind mistress;and you felt allegiance to be too sacred a thing to be bartered at amoment's notice. Is this the true explanation?"
"I am proud to say, you have read my motives; such were they."
"Why are there not many more to act thus?" cried she, vehemently. "Whydo not the great names _he_ made glorious, become greater by fidelitythan ever they were by heroism? There was one, sir, who, had he lived,had given this example to the world."
"True, most true, Madame. But was not his fate happier than to havesurvived for this?"
A long pause, unbroken by a word on either side, followed; when at lastshe said,--
"I had left with De Beauvais some few relics of my dear brother, hopingyou would accept them for his sake. General d'Auvergne's sword,--thesame he wore at Jena,--he desired might be conveyed to you when you leftthe service. These, and this ring," said she, endeavoring to withdraw arich brilliant from her finger, "are the few souvenirs I would ask youto keep for their sakes, and for mine. You mean to return to England,sir?"
"Yes, Madame; that is, I had intended,--I know not now whither I shallgo. Country has few ties for one like me."
"I, too, must be a wanderer," said she, half musingly, while stillshe endeavored to remove the ring from her finger. "I find," said she,smiling, "I must give you another keepsake; this will not leave me."
"Give it me, then, where it is," said I. "Yes, Marie! the devotion of aheart, wholly yours, should not go unrewarded. To you I owe all thatmy life has known of happiness,--to memory of you, every high and noblehope. Let me not, after years of such affection, lose the guiding starof my existence,--all that I have lived for, all that I love!"
These words, poured forth with all the passionate energy which a lasthope inspires, were followed by a story of my long-concealed love. Iknow not how incoherently the tale was told; I cannot say how oftenI interrupted my own recital by some appeal to the past,--somehalf-uttered hope that she had seen the passion which burned within me.I can but remember the bursting feeling of my bosom, as she placed herhand in mine, and said,--
"It is yours!"
These words ended the story of a life whose trials were many, andencountered at an age in which few have braved the world's cares.The lessons I had learned, however, were acquired in thatschool,--adversity,--where few are taught in vain; and if the morning ofmy life broke in clouds and shadow, the noon has been not less peacefuland bright. And the evening, as it draws near, comes with an aspect ofcalm tranquillity, ample enough to recompense every vicissitude of thoseearly days when the waves of fortune were roughest.
A PARTING WORD.
Dear Friends,--Time has hallowed the custom of a word at parting, and I am unwilling to relinquish the privilege. In the tale I have just concluded, my endeavor was to portray, with as little aid from fiction as might be, some lights and shadows of the most wonderful and eventful period of modern history,--the empire of Napoleon. The character I selected for my hero was not all imaginary, neither were many of the scenes, which bear less apparent proofs of reality. The subject was one long meditated on before undertaken; but as the work proceeded, I felt at some places, the difficulty of creating interest for persons, and incidents removed both by time and country from my reader; and at others, my own inadequacy to an effort, which mere zeal could never accomplish. These causes induced me to deviate from the plan I originally set down for my guidance; and combined with failing health, have rendered what might have been a matter of interest and amusement to the writer, a task of labor and anxiety.
It is the first time I have had to ask my reader's indulgence on such grounds; nor should I now allude to it, save as affording the only apology I can render for the many defects in a story, which, in defiance of me, took its coloring from my own mind at the period, rather from the reflex of the events I related.
The moral of my tale is simple,--the fatal influence crude and uncertain notions of liberty will exercise over a career, which, under happier direction of its energies, had won honor and distinction, and the impolicy of the effort, to substitute an adopted for a natural allegiance.
My estimate of Napoleon may seem to some to partake of exaggeration; but I have carefully distinguished between the Hero and the Emperor, and have not suffered my unqualified admiration of the one to carry me on to any blind devotion of the other.
Having begun this catalogue of excuses and explanations, I know not where to stop. So, once more asking forgiveness for all the errors of these volumes, I beg to subscribe myself, in great respect and esteem,
Your humble and obedient servant,
Harry Lorrequer.
Templeogue House,
August 26th, 1844.
THE END.
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