Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXVII. THE MARCH TO VERSAILLES

  They who remember the excited state of England on the rupture of thepeace of Amiens; the spirit of military ardor that animated every classand condition of life; the national hatred, carried to the highest pitchby the instigations and attack of a violent press,--can yet form but animperfect notion of the mad enthusiasm that prevailed in France on thesame occasion. The very fact that there was no determinate and precisecause of quarrel added to the exasperation on both sides. It was lesslike the warfare of two great nations, than the personal animosity oftwo high-spirited and passionate individuals, who, having interchangedwords of insult, resolve on the sword as the only arbiter between them.All that the long rivalry of centuries, national dislike, jealousy inevery form, and ridicule in a thousand shapes could suggest, were addedto the already existing hate, and gave to the coming contest a characterof blackest venom.

  In England, the tyrannic rule of Bonaparte gave deep offence to all truelovers of liberty, and gave rise to fears of what the condition of theirown country would become should he continue to increase his power byconquest. In France, the rapid rise to honor and wealth the career ofarms so singularly favored, made partisans of war in every quarter ofthe kingdom. The peaceful arts were but mean pursuits compared withthat royal road to rank and riches,--the field of battle; and theirself-interest lent its share in forming the spirit of hostility, whichwanted no element of hatred to make it perfect.

  Paris,--where so lately nothing was heard save the roll of splendidequipages, the din of that gay world whose business is amusement; whereamid gilded salons the voluptuous habits of the Consulate mixed withthe less courtly but scarce less costly display of militarysplendor,--became now like a vast camp. Regiments poured in daily,to resume their march the next morning; the dull rumble of ammunitionwagons and caissons, the warlike clank of mounted cavalry, awoke thecitizens at daybreak; the pickets of hussar corps and the dusty andtravel-stained infantry soldiers filled the streets at nightfall. Yetthrough all, the mad gayety of this excited nation prevailed. The cafeswere Crowded with eager and delighted faces; the tables spread in theopen air were occupied by groups whose merry voices and ready laughterattested that war was the pastime of the people, and the very note ofpreparation a tocsin of joy and festivity. The walls were placardedwith inflammatory addresses to the patriotism and spirit of France.The papers teemed with artful and cleverly written explanations of therupture with England; in which every complaint against that country wasmagnified, and every argument put forward to prove the peacefuldesires of that nation whose present enthusiasm for war was an unhappycommentary on the assertion. The good faith of France was extolled; themoderation of the First Consul dwelt upon; and the treachery of that"perfidious Albion, that respected not the faith of treaties," wasdisplayed in such irrefragable clearness, that the humblest citizenthought the cause his own, and felt the coming contest the ordeal of hisown honor.

  All the souvenirs of the former wars were invoked to give spirit to theapproaching struggle, and they were sufficiently numerous to let no weekpass over without at least one eventful victory to commemorate. Now itwas Kellerman's cuirassiers, whose laurel-wreathed helmets remindedthe passing stranger that on that day eight years they tore through thedense ranks of the Austrians, and sabred the gunners at the very guns.Now it was the Polish regiments, the steel-clad lancers, who paradedbefore the Tuileries in memory of the proud day they marched throughMontebello with that awful sentence on their banners, "Venice existsno longer!" Here were corps of infantry, intermingled with dragoons,pledging each other as they passed along; while the names ofCastiglione, Bassano, and Roveredo rang througl the motley crowd. Thevery children, "les enfants de troupe," seemed filled with the warlikeenthusiasm of their fathers; and each battalion, as it moved past,stepped to the encouraging shouts of thousands who gazed with enviousadmiration on the heroes of their country.

  Never did the pent-up feelings of a nation find vent in such a universaltorrent of warlike fervor as now filled the land. The clank of thesabre was the music that charmed the popular ear; and the "coquettevivandiere," as she tripped along the gravel avenued of the Tuileriesgardens, was as much an object of admiration as the most splendidlyattired beauty of the Faubourg St. Germain. The whole tone of societyassumed the feature of the political emergency. The theatres onlyrepresented such pieces as bore upon the ancient renown of the nationin arms,--its victories and conquests; the artists painted no othersubjects; and the literature of the period appealed to few othersympathies than are found in the rude manners of the guardroom or aroundthe watchfires of the bivouac. Pegault Lebrun was the popular author ofthe day; and his works are even now no mean indication of the currenttastes and opinions of the period.

  The predictions too hastily made by the English journals, that theinfluence of Bonaparte in France could not survive the rupture of thatpeace which had excited so much enthusiasm, were met by a burst ofnational unanimity that soon dispelled the delusive hope. Never wasthere a greater error than to suppose that any prospect of commercialprosperity, any vista of wealth and riches, could compensate toFrenchmen for the intoxication of that glory in which they lived asin an orgy. Too many banners floated from the deep aisles of theInvalides--too many cannon, the spoils of the Italian and German wars,bristled on the rampart--not to recall the memory of those fete dayswhen a bulletin threw the entire city into a frenzy of joy. The Louvreand the Luxembourg, too, were filled with the treasures of conqueredStates; and these are not the guarantees of a long peace.

  Such! in brief, was the state of Paris when the declaration of war byGreat Britain once more called the nation to arms. Every regiment was atonce ordered to make up its full complement to the war standard, and thefurnaces were employed in forging shot and casting cannon throughout thelength and breadth of France. The cavalry corps were stationed aboutSt. Omer and Compiegne, where a rich corn country supplied forage inabundance. Among the rest, the order came for the huitieme to march: onesquadron only was to remain behind, chosen to execute _le servicedes depeches_ from St. Cloud and Versailles to Paris; and to this Ibelonged.

  From the evening of Monsieur Gisquet's visit I had never seen or heardof De Beauvais; and at last the hope grew in me that we were to meet nomore, when suddenly the thought flashed across my mind: this is what hespoke 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 gaveme far more embarrassment than pleasure. My fear that my acquaintancewith him was in the end to involve me in some calamity, was a kind ofsuperstition which I could not combat; and I resolved at once to seemy colonel,--with whom, happily, I was now on the best of terms,--andendeavor to exchange with some other officer, any being willing toaccept a post so much more agreeable than a mere country quarter, Ifound the old man busied in the preparations for departure; he wasmarking out the days of march to the adjutant as I entered.

  "Well, Burke," said he, "you are the fortunate fellow this time; yourtroop remains behind."

  "It is on that account, sir, I am come. You'll think my request astrange one, but if it be not against rule, would you permit me toexchange 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 wecould talk unheard by others. "Burke," continued he, "I'm not the manto question my young fellows about secrets which they 'd rather keep forthemselves; but there is something here more than common. Do you knowthat in the order it was your squadron was specially marked out--allthe officers' names were mentioned, and yours particularly--forVersailles?"

  A deadly paleness and a cold chill spread over my face. I tried to saysome commonplace, but I could not utter more than the words, "I fearedit." Happily for me he did not hear them, but taking my hand kindly,said,--
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  "I see it all: some youthful folly or other would make you betterpleased to leave Paris just now. Never mind,--stormy times are coming;you 'll have enough on your hands presently. And let me advise you tomake 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 suchshort intervals as I could snatch from duty, one thought ever rose tomy mind: Can this be De Beauvais's doing? has he had any share, in mypresent destination,--and with what object? "Well," said I to myself atlast, "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 thewhole world intrigued and plotted around me? And after all, was it notmost likely that we should never see each other again?"

  The day was just breaking when we left Paris; the bright beams of a Maymorning's sun were flickering and playing in the rippling river that rancold and gray beneath. The tall towers of the Tuileries threw theirlong shadows across the Place Carrousel, where a dragoon regiment wasencamped. They were already astir, and some of the men were standingaround the fountains with their horses, and others were lookingafter the saddles and accoutrements in preparation for the march; ahalf-expiring fire here and there marked where some little party hadbeen sitting together, while the jars and flasks about bespoke a merryevening. A trumpeter sat, statue-like, on his white horse his trumpetresting on his knee,--surveying the whole scene, and as if deferring tothe last the wakeful summons that should rouse some of his yet sleepingcomrades: I could see thus much as we passed. Our road led along thequay towards the Place Louis the Fifteenth, where an infantry battalionwith four guns was picketed. The men were breakfasting and preparing forthe route. They were part of the grande armee under orders for Boulogne.

  We soon traversed the Champs Elysees, and entered the open country. Forsome miles it was merely a succession of large cornfields, and hereand there a small vineyard, that met the eye on either side: but as weproceeded farther, we were girt in by rich orchards in full blossom,the whole air loaded with perfume; neat cottages peeped from the woodyenclosures, the trellised walls covered with honeysuckles and wildroses; the surface, too, was undulating, and waved in every imaginabledirection, offering every variety of hill and valley, precipice andplain, in even the smallest space. As yet no peasant was stirring, nosmoke 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 weleft behind us, and whatever ambitious yearnings filled my heart as Ilooked upon the armed ranks of the mailed cuirassiers, I felt a deepersense of happiness as I strayed along those green alleys through whichthe sun came slanting sparingly, and where the leaves only stirred astheir winged tenants moved among them.

  We travelled for some hours through the dark paths of the Bois deBoulogne, and again emerged in a country wild and verdant as before. Andthus passed our day; till the setting sun rested on the tall roof of thegreat Palace, and lit up every window in golden splendor as we enteredthe town of Versailles.

  I could scarce avoid halting as I rode up the wide terrace of thePalace. Never had I felt before the overcoming sense of grandeur whicharchitecture can bestow. The great facade in its chaste and simplebeauty, stretched away to a distance, where dark lime-trees closed thebackground, their tall summits only peeping above the lofty terrace inwhich the chateau stands. On that terrace, too, were walking a crowd ofpersons of the Court, the full-dress costume showing that they had butleft the salons to enjoy the cool and refreshing air of the evening.I saw some turn and look after our travel-stained and dusty party, andconfess I felt a half sense of shame at our wayworn appearance.

  I had not long to suffer such mortification, for ere we marchedmore than a few minutes, we were joined by a Marechal de Logis, whoaccompanied us to our quarters,--one of the buildings adjoining thePalace,--where we found everything in readiness for our arrival. Andthere! to my surprise, discovered that a most sumptuous supper awaitedme,--a politeness I was utterly a stranger to, not being over-cognizantof the etiquette and privilege which await the officer on guard at aRoyal Palace.