Chapter 39
"Did no one come in daring the evening?
"No, not any."
"Nor did any leave the party?"
"No; we separated at the same moment."
"Who accompanied you to the barracks?"
"No one; I returned alone."
"And this Monsieur de Beauvais,--you can't tell anything of him? What age is he? what height?"
"About my own," said I, blus.h.i.+ng deeply at the thought of the events of a few moments back. "He may be somewhat older, but he looks not much more than twenty-one or two."
"Have you mentioned any of these circ.u.mstances to any of your brother officers or to your colonel?"
"No, sir, never."
"Very right, sir. These are times in which discretion is of no common importance. I have only to recommend similar circ.u.mspection in future.
It is probable that some of these gentlemen may visit you and write to you; they may invite you to sup or to dine. If so, sir, accept the invitation. Be cautious, however, not to speak of this interview to any one. Remember, sir, I am the messenger of one who never forgave a breach of trust, but who also never fails to reward loyalty and attachment. If you be but prudent, Mr. Burke, your fortune is certain."
With these words. Monsieur Gisquet threw his cloak over his shoulder, and raising his hat, he bowed formally to me and withdrew; leaving me to meditations which, I need not say, were none of the happiest.
If my fears were excited by the thought of the acquaintances I had so rashly formed, so also was my pride insulted by the system of watching to which my movements had been subjected; and deeper still, by the insulting nature of the proposal the minister of police had not scrupled to make to me,--on reflecting over which, only, did I perceive how base and dishonorable it was.
"What!" asked I of myself, "is it a spy--is it a false underhand betrayer of the men into whose society I have been admitted on terms of friendly intercourse--he would make of me? What saw he in me or in my actions to dare so far? Was not the very cloth I wear enough to guard me against such an insult?" Then came the maddening reflection, "Why had I not thought of this sooner? Why had I not rejected his proposal with scorn, and told him that I was not of the stuff he looked for?"
But what is it that he wished to learn? and who were these men, and what were their designs? These were questions' that flashed across me; and I trembled to think how deeply implicated I might become at any moment in plans of which I knew nothing, merely from the imprudence with which I had made their acquaintance. The escape of De Beauvais, if discovered, would also inevitably involve me; and thus did I seem hurried along by a train of incidents without will or concurrence, each step but increasing the darkness around me.
That Gisquet knew most of the party was clear; De Beauvais alone seemed personally unknown to him. What, then, did he want of me? Alas! it was a tangled web I could make nothing of: and all I could resolve on was, to avoid in future all renewal of intimacy with De Beauvais; to observe the greatest circ.u.mspection with regard to all new acquaintance; and since the police thought it worth their while to set spies upon my track, to limit any excursions, for some time at least, to the routine of my duty and the bounds of the barrack-yard. These were wise resolutions, and if somewhat late in coming, yet not without their comfort; above all, because, in my heart, I felt no misgivings of affection, no lack of loyalty, to him who was still my idol.
"Well, well," thought I, "something may come of this,--perhaps a war. If so, happy shall I be to leave Paris and all its intrigues behind me, and seek distinction in a more congenial sphere, and under other banners than a police minister would afford me."
With thoughts like these I fell asleep, to dream over all the events of the preceding day, and wake the next morning with an aching head and confused brain,--my only clear impression being that some danger hung over me; but from what quarter, and how or in what way it was to be met or averted, I could not guess.
The whole day I felt a feverish dread lest De Beauvais should appear.
Something whispered me that my difficulties were to come of my acquaintance with him; and I studiously pa.s.sed my time among my brother officers, knowing that, so long as I remained among them, he was not likely to visit me. And when evening came, I gladly accepted an invitation to a barrack-room supper, which, but the night before, I should have declined without hesitation.
This compliance on my part seemed well taken by my companions; and in their frank and cordial reception of me, I felt a degree of reproach to myself for my having hitherto lived estranged from them. We had just taken our places at table, when the door was flung wide open, and a young captain of the regiment rushed in, waving a paper over his head, as he called out,--
"Good news, mes braves, glorious news for you! Listen to this: The English amba.s.sador has demanded his pa.s.sports, and left Paris. Expresses are sent off to the fourth corps to move towards the coast; twelve regiments have received orders to march; so that before my Lord leaves Calais, he may witness a review of the army. '"
"Is this true?"
"It is all certain. Read it; here 's the 'Moniteur,' with the official announcement."
In an instant a dozen heads were bent over the paper, each eager to scan the paragraph so long and ardently desired.
"Come, Burke, I hope you have not forgotten your English," said the major. "We shall want you soon to interpret for us in London; if, pardieu, we can ever find our way through the fogs of that ill-starred island."
I hung my head without speaking; the miserable isolation of him who has no country is a sad and sickening sense of want no momentary enthusiasm, no impulse of high daring can make up for. Happily for me, all were too deeply interested in the important news to remark me, or pay any attention to my feelings.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE MARCH TO VERSAILLES
They who remember the excited state of England on the rupture of the peace of Amiens; the spirit of military ardor that animated every cla.s.s and condition of life; the national hatred, carried to the highest pitch by the instigations and attack of a violent press,--can yet form
All that the long rivalry of centuries, national dislike, jealousy in every form, and ridicule in a thousand shapes could suggest, were added to the already existing hate, and gave to the coming contest a character of blackest venom.
In England, the tyrannic rule of Bonaparte gave deep offence to all true lovers of liberty, and gave rise to fears of what the condition of their own country would become should he continue to increase his power by conquest. In France, the rapid rise to honor and wealth the career of arms so singularly favored, made partisans of war in every quarter of the kingdom. The peaceful arts were but mean pursuits compared with that royal road to rank and riches,--the field of battle; and their self-interest lent its share in forming the spirit of hostility, which wanted no element of hatred to make it perfect.
Paris,--where so lately nothing was heard save the roll of splendid equipages, the din of that gay world whose business is amus.e.m.e.nt; where amid gilded salons the voluptuous habits of the Consulate mixed with the less courtly but scarce less costly display of military splendor,--became now like a vast camp. Regiments poured in daily, to resume their march the next morning; the dull rumble of ammunition wagons and caissons, the warlike clank of mounted cavalry, awoke the citizens at daybreak; the pickets of hussar corps and the dusty and travel-stained infantry soldiers filled the streets at nightfall. Yet through all, the mad gayety of this excited nation prevailed. The cafs were Crowded with eager and delighted faces; the tables spread in the open air were occupied by groups whose merry voices and ready laughter attested that war was the pastime of the people, and the very note of preparation a tocsin of joy and festivity. The walls were placarded with inflammatory addresses to the patriotism and spirit of France.
The papers teemed with artful and cleverly written explanations of the rupture with England; in which every complaint against that country was magnified, and every argument put forward to prove the peaceful desires of that nation whose present enthusiasm for war was an unhappy commentary on the a.s.sertion. The good faith of France was extolled; the moderation of the First Consul dwelt upon; and the treachery of that "perfidious Albion, that respected not the faith of treaties," was displayed in such irrefragable clearness, that the humblest citizen thought the cause his own, and felt the coming contest the ordeal of his own honor.
All the souvenirs of the former wars were invoked to give spirit to the approaching struggle, and they were sufficiently numerous to let no week pa.s.s over without at least one eventful victory to commemorate. Now it was Kellerman's cuira.s.siers, whose laurel-wreathed helmets reminded the pa.s.sing stranger that on that day eight years they tore through the dense ranks of the Austrians, and sabred the gunners at the very guns.
Now it was the Polish regiments, the steel-clad lancers, who paraded before the Tuileries in memory of the proud day they marched through Montebello with that awful sentence on their banners, "Venice exists no longer!" Here were corps of infantry, intermingled with dragoons, pledging each other as they pa.s.sed along; while the names of Castiglione, Ba.s.sano, and Roveredo rang througl the motley crowd. The very children, "les enfants de troupe," seemed filled with the warlike enthusiasm of their fathers; and each battalion, as it moved past, stepped to the encouraging shouts of thousands who gazed with envious admiration on the heroes of their country.
Never did the pent-up feelings of a nation find vent in such a universal torrent of warlike fervor as now filled the land. The clank of the sabre was the music that charmed the popular ear; and the "coquette vivandire," as she tripped along the gravel avenued of the Tuileries gardens, was as much an object of admiration as the most splendidly attired beauty of the Faubourg St. Germain. The whole tone of society a.s.sumed the feature of the political emergency. The theatres only represented such pieces as bore upon the ancient renown of the nation in arms,--its victories and conquests; the artists painted no other subjects; and the literature of the period appealed to few other sympathies than are found in the rude manners of the guardroom or around the watchfires of the bivouac. Pegault Lebrun was the popular author of the day; and his works are even now no mean indication of the current tastes and opinions of the period.
The predictions too hastily made by the English journals, that the influence of Bonaparte in France could not survive the rupture of that peace which had excited so much enthusiasm, were met by a burst of national unanimity that soon dispelled the delusive hope. Never was there a greater error than to suppose that any prospect of commercial prosperity, any vista of wealth and riches, could compensate to Frenchmen for the intoxication of that glory in which they lived as in an orgy. Too many banners floated from the deep aisles of the Invalides--too many cannon, the spoils of the Italian and German wars, bristled on the rampart--not to recall the memory of those fte days when a bulletin threw the entire city into a frenzy of joy. The Louvre and the Luxembourg, too, were filled with the treasures of conquered States; and these are not the guarantees of a long peace.
Such! in brief, was the state of Paris when the declaration of war by Great Britain once more called the nation to arms. Every regiment was at once ordered to make up its full complement to the war standard, and the furnaces were employed in forging shot and casting cannon throughout the length and breadth of France. The cavalry corps were stationed about St. Omer and Compigne, where a rich corn country supplied forage in abundance. Among the rest, the order came for the huitime to march: one squadron only was to remain behind, chosen to execute _le service des dpches_ from St. Cloud and Versailles to Paris; and to this I belonged.
From the evening of Monsieur Gisquet's visit I had never seen or heard of De Beauvais; and at last the hope grew in me that we were to meet no more, when suddenly the thought flashed across my mind: this is what he spoke of,--he promised I should be sent to Versailles! Can it be chance?
or is this his doing? These were difficult questions to solve, and gave me far more embarra.s.sment than pleasure. My fear that my acquaintance with him was in the end to involve me in some calamity, was a kind of superst.i.tion which I could not combat; and I resolved at once to see my colonel,--with whom, happily, I was now on the best of terms,--and endeavor to exchange with some other officer, any being willing to accept a post so much more agreeable than a mere country quarter, I found the old man busied in the preparations for departure; he was marking out the days of march to the adjutant as I entered.
"Well, Burke," said he, "you are the fortunate fellow this time; your troop remains behind."
"It is on that account, sir, I am come. You'll think my request a strange one, but if it be not against rule, would you permit me to exchange my destination with another officer?"
"What,--eh? the boy 's mad! Why, it 's to Versailles you are going."
"I know, sir; but somehow I'd rather remain with the regiment."
"This is very strange,--I don't understand it," said he, leisurely; "come here." With that he drew me into the recess of a window where we could talk unheard by others. "Burke," continued he, "I'm not the man to question my young fellows about secrets which they 'd rather keep for themselves; but there is something here more than common. Do you know that in the order it was your squadron was specially marked out--all the officers' names were mentioned, and yours particularly--for Versailles?"
A deadly paleness and a cold chill spread over my face. I tried to say some commonplace, but I could not utter more than the words, "I feared it." Happily for me he did not hear them, but taking my hand kindly, said,--
"I see it all: some youthful folly or other would make you better pleased to leave Paris just now. Never mind,--stormy times are coming; you 'll have enough on your hands presently. And let me advise you to make the most of your time at Versailles; for if I 'm not mistaken, you 'll see much more of camps than courts for some time to come."
The rest of that day left me but little time for reflection; but in such short intervals as I could s.n.a.t.c.h from duty, one thought ever rose to my mind: Can this be De Beauvais's doing? has he had any share, in my present destination,--and with what object? "Well," said I to myself at last, "these are but foolish fears after all, and may be causeless ones.
If I but follow the straight path of my duty, what need I care if the whole world intrigued and plotted around me? And after all, was it not most likely that we should never see each other again?"
The day was just breaking when we left Paris; the bright beams of a May morning's sun were flickering and playing in the rippling river that ran cold and gray beneath. The tall towers of the Tuileries threw their long shadows across the Place Carrousel, where a dragoon regiment was encamped. They were already astir, and some of the men were standing around the fountains with their horses, and others were looking after the saddles and accoutrements in preparation for the march; a half-expiring fire here and there marked where some little party had been sitting together, while the jars and flasks about bespoke a merry evening. A trumpeter sat, statue-like, on his white horse his trumpet resting on his knee,--surveying the whole scene, and as if deferring to the last the wakeful summons that should rouse some of his yet sleeping comrades: I could see thus much as we pa.s.sed. Our road led along the quay towards the Place Louis the Fifteenth, where an infantry battalion with four guns was picketed. The men were breakfasting and preparing for the route. They were part of the grande arme under orders for Boulogne.
We soon traversed the Champs lyses, and entered the open country. For some miles it was merely a succession of large cornfields, and here and there a small vineyard, that met the eye on either side: but as we proceeded farther, we were girt in by rich orchards in full blossom, the whole air loaded with perfume; neat cottages peeped from the woody enclosures, the trellised walls covered with honeysuckles and wild roses; the surface, too, was undulating, and waved in every imaginable direction, offering every variety of hill and valley, precipice and plain, in even the smallest s.p.a.ce. As yet no peasant was stirring, no smoke curled from a single chimney, and all, save the song of the lark, was silent. It was a peaceful scene, and a strong contrast to that we left behind us, and whatever ambitious yearnings filled my heart as I looked upon the armed ranks of the mailed cuira.s.siers, I felt a deeper sense of happiness as I strayed along those green alleys through which the sun came slanting sparingly, and where the leaves only stirred as their winged tenants moved among them.