CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PARK OF VERSAILLES
The instructions delivered to me soon after my arrival in Versaillesconvinced me that the transmission of despatches was not the service wewere called on to discharge, but merely a pretence to blind others as toour presence; the real duty being the establishment of a cordonaround the Royal Palace, permitting no one to enter or pass within theprecincts who was not provided with a regular leave, and empowering usto detain all suspected individuals, and forward them for examination toSt. Cloud.
To avoid all suspicion as to the true object, the men were ordered topass from place to place as if with despatches, many being stationed indifferent parts of the park; my duty requiring me to be continually onthe alert to visit these pickets, and make a daily report to the Prefetde Police at Paris.
What the nature of the suspicion, or from what quarter Monsieur Savaryanticipated danger, I could not even guess; and though I well knew thathis sources of information were unquestionable, I began at last to thinkthat the whole was merely some plot devised by the police themselves,to display uncommon vigilance and enhance their own importance. Thisconviction grew stronger as day by day I remarked that no person morethan ordinary had even approached near the town of Versailles itself,while the absurd exactitude of inquiry as to every minute thing thatoccurred went on just as before.
While my life passed on in this monotonous fashion, the little Court ofMadame Bonaparte seemed to enjoy all its accustomed pleasure. Theactors of the Francais came down expressly from Paris, and gave nightlyrepresentation in the Palace; _fourgons_ continued to arrive from thecapital with all the luxuries for the table; new guests poured in dayafter day; and the lighted-up saloons, and the sounds of music thatfilled the Court, told each evening, that whatever fear prevailedwithout, the minds of those within the Palace, had little to causedepression.
It was not without a feeling of wounded pride I saw myself omitted inall the invitations; for although my rank was not sufficient of itselfto lead me to expect such an attention, my position as the officer onguard would have fully warranted the politeness, had I not even alreadyreceived marks of civility while in Paris. From time to time, as Ipassed through the park, I came upon some of the Court party; and it waswith a sense of painful humiliation I observed that Madame Bonapartehad completely forgotten me, while from one whose indifference wasmore galling still, I did not even obtain a look in passing. How hadI forfeited the esteem which voluntarily they had bestowed onme,--the good opinion which had raised me from an humble cadet of thePolytechnique to a commission in one of the first corps in the service?Under what evil influence was I placed?
Such were the questions that forced themselves on me night and day; thathaunted my path as I walked, and my dreams at night. As the impressiongrew on me, I imagined that every one I met regarded me with a look ofdistance and distrust,--that each saw in me one who had forfeited hisfair name by some low or unworthy action,--till at last I actuallyavoided the walks where I was likely to encounter the visitors of thePalace, and shunned the very approach of a stranger, like a guiltything. All the brilliant prospects of my soldier's life, that a few daysback shone out before me, were now changed into a dreamy despondence.The service I was employed on--so different from what I deemed becamea chivalrous career--was repugnant to all my feelings; and when thetime for visiting my pickets came, I shrank with shame from a duty thatsuited rather the spy of the police than the officer of hussars.
Every day my depression increased. My isolation, doubly painful from thegayety and life around me, seemed to mark me out as one unfit to know,and lessened me in my own esteem; and as I walked the long, dark alleysof the park, a weighty load upon my heart, I envied the meanest soldierof my troop, and would willingly have changed his fortune with my own.It was a relief to me even when night came--the shutters of my littleroom closed, my lamp lighted--to think that there at least I was freefrom the dark glances and sidelong looks of all I met; that I was alonewith my own sorrow,--no contemptuous eye to pierce my sad heart, andsee in my gloom a self-convicted criminal. Had I one, but one friend,to advise with! to pour out all my sufferings before him, and say, "Tellme, how shall I act? Am I to go on enduring? or where shall I, where canI, vindicate my fame?"
With such sad thoughts for company, I sat one evening alone,--my mindnow recurring to the early scenes of my childhood, and to that harshteaching which even in infancy had marked me for suffering; nowstraying onward to a vision of the future I used to paint so brightly tomyself,--when a gentle tap at the door aroused me.
"Come in," said I, carelessly, supposing it a sergeant of my troop.
The door slowly opened, and a figure wrapped in a loose horseman's cloakentered.
"Ah! Lieutenant, don't you know me?" said a voice, whose peculiar tonestruck me as well known. "The Abbe d'Ervan, at your service."
"Indeed!" said I, starting with surprise, not less at the unexpectedvisitor himself than at the manner of his appearance. "Why, Abbe, youmust have passed the sentinel."
"And so I did, my dear boy," replied he, as he folded up his cloakleisurely on one chair, and seated himself on another opposite me."Nothing wonderful in that, I suppose?"
"But the countersign; they surely asked you for it?"
"To be sure they did, and I gave it,--'Vincennes;' au easy word enough.But come, come! you are not going to play the police with me. I havetaken you in, on my way back to St. Cloud, where I am stopping just now,to pay you a little visit and talk over the news."
"Pardon me once more, my dear abbe; but a young soldier may seemover-punctilious. Have you the privilege to pass through the royal parkafter nightfall?"
"I think I have shown you that already, my most rigid inquisitor,otherwise I should not have known the password. Give me your report forto-morrow. Ah, here it is! What's the hour now?--a quarter to eleven.This will save you some trouble."
So saying, he took a pen and wrote in a large free hand, "The Abbed'Ervan, from the chateau d'Ancre to St. Cloud."
"Monsieur Savary will ask you no further questions, trust me. And now,if you have got over all your fears and disquietudes, may I take theliberty to remind you that the chateau is ten leagues off; that Idined at three, and have eaten nothing since. Abbes you are aware, areprivileged gastronomists, and the family of D'Ervan have a most unhappyaddiction to good things. A poulet, however, and a flask of Chablis,will do for the present; for I long to talk with you."
While I made my humble preparations to entertain him, he rambled onin his usual free and pleasant manner,--that mixture of smartnessand carelessness which seemed equally diffused through all he said,imparting a sufficiency to awake, without containing anything to engagetoo deeply, the listener's attention.
"Come, come, Lieutenant, make no apology for the fare: the pate isexcellent; and as for the Burgundy, it is easy enough to see yourChambertin comes from the Consul's cellar. And so you tell me that youfind this place dull, which I own I'm surprised at. These little soireesare usually amusing; but perhaps at your age the dazzling gayety of theballroom is more attractive."
"In truth, Abbe, the distinction would be a matter of some difficulty tome, I know so little of either. And indeed, Madame la Consulesse is notover likely to enlighten my ignorance; I have never been asked to thePalace."
"You are jesting, surely?"
"Perfectly in earnest, I assure you. This is my third week of beingquartered here; and not only have I not been invited, but, strangerstill, Madame Bonaparte passed and never noticed me; and another, oneof her suite, did the same: so you see there can be no accident in thematter."
"How strange!" said the abbe, leaning his head on his hand. And then, asif speaking to himself, muttered, "But so it is; there is no such tyrantas your _parvenu_. The caprice of sudden elevation knows no guidance.And you can't even guess at the cause of all this?"
"Not with all my ingenuity could I invent anything like a reason."
"Well, well; we may find it out yet. These are strange times altogether.Lieutenant. Me
n's minds are more unsettled than ever they were. TheJacobin begins to feel he has been laboring for nothing; that all hedeems the rubbish of a monarchy has been removed, only to build up agreater oppression. The soldier sees his conquests have only made thefortune of one man in the army, and that one not overmindful of his oldcompanions. Many begin to think--and they may have some cause for thenotion--that the old family of France knew the interests of the nationbest, after all; and certain it is, they were never ungrateful to thosewho served them. Your countrymen had always their share of favor shownthem; you do surprise me when you say you've never been invited."
"So it is, though; and, worse still, there is evidently some secretreason. Men look at me as if I had done something to stain my characterand name."
"No, no; you mistake all that. This new and patchwork Court does but tryto imitate the tone of its leader. When did you see De Beauvais?"
"Not for some months past. Is he in Paris?"
"No; the poor fellow has been ill. He 's in Normandy just now, but Iexpect him back soon. There is a youth who might be anything he pleased:his family, one of the oldest in the South; his means abundant; his ownability first-rate. But his principles are of that inflexible materialthat won't bend for mere convenience' sake; he does not like, he doesnot approve of, the present Government of France."
"What would he have, then? Does not Bonaparte satisfy the ambition ofa Frenchman? Does he wish a greater name than that at the head of hisnation?"
"That's a brilliant lamp before us. But see there," cried the abbe, ashe flung open the shutter, and pointed to the bright moon that shonepale and beautiful in the clear sky--"see there! Is there not somethinggrander far in the glorious radiance of the orb that has thrown itslustre on the world for ages? Is it not a glorious thought to revel inthe times long past, and think of those, our fathers, who lived beneaththe same bright beams, and drank in the same golden waters? Men are tooprone to measure themselves with one of yesterday; they find it hardto wonder at the statue of him whom they have themselves placed on thepedestal. Feudalism, too, seems a very part of our nature."
"These are thoughts I've never known, nor would I now wish to learnthem," said I; "and as for me, a hero needs no ancestry to make himglorious in my eyes."
"All true," said the abbe, sipping his glass, and smiling kindly onme. "A young heart should feel as yours does; and time was when suchfeelings had made the fortune of their owner. But even now the world ischanged about us. The gendarmes have the mission that once belonged tothe steel-clad cuirassiers; and, in return, the hussar is little betterthan a mouchard."
The blood mounted to my face and temples, and throbbed in every vein andartery of my forehead, as I heard this contemptuous epithet applied tothe corps I belonged to,--a sarcasm that told not less poignantly onme, that I felt how applicable it was to my present position. He saw howdeeply mortified the word had made me; and, putting his hand in mine,with a voice of winning softness he added:--
"One who would be a friend must risk a little now and then; as he whopasses over a plank before his neighbor will sometimes spring to try itssoundness, even at the hazard of a fall. Don't mistake me, Lieutenant;you have a higher mission than this. France is on the eve of a mightychange; let us hope it may be a happy one. And now it 's gettinglate,--far later, indeed, than is my wont to be abroad,--and so I 'llwish you good-night. I 'll find a bed in the village; and since I havemade you out here, we must meet often."
There was something--I could not define what exactly--that alarmed me inthe conversation of the abbe; and lonely and solitary as I was, it waswith a sense of relief I saw him take his departure.
The pupil of a school where the Consul's name was never mentionedwithout enthusiasm and admiration, I found it strange that any oneshould venture to form any other estimate of him than I was used tohear; and yet in all he said I could but faintly trace out anything totake amiss. That men of his cloth should feel warmly towards the exiledfamily was natural enough. They could have but few sympathies with thesoldier's calling, and of course felt themselves in a very differentposition now from what they once had occupied. The restoration ofCatholicism was, I well knew, rather a political and social than areligious movement; and Bonaparte never had the slightest intention ofreplacing the Church in its former position of ascendency, but ratherof using it as a state engine and giving a stability to the new orderof things, which could only be done on the foundation of prejudices andconvictions old as the nation itself.
In this way the rising generation looked on the priests; and in thisway had I been taught to regard the whole class of religionists. It was,then, nothing wonderful if ambitious men among them, of whom D'Ervanmight be one, felt somewhat indignant at the post assigned them, and didnot espouse with warmth the cause of one who merely condescended to makethem the tool of his intentions. "Yes, yes," said I to myself, "I havedefined my friend the abbe; and though not a very dangerous characterafter all, it 's just as well I should be on my guard. His being inpossession of the password, and his venturing to write his name in thepolice report, are evidences that he enjoys the favor of the Prefet dePolice. Well, well, I'm sure I am heartily tired of such reflections.Would that the campaign were once begun! The roll of a platoon and thedeep thunder of an artillery fire would soon drown the small whisperingof such miserable plottings from one's head."
About a week passed over after this visit, in which, at first, I wasrather better pleased that the abbe, did not come again; but as mysolitude began to press more heavily on me, I felt a kind of regret atnot seeing him. His lively tone in conversation, though spiced with that_morqueur_ spirit which Frenchmen nearly all assume, amused me greatly;and little versed as I was in the world or in its ways, I saw that heknew it thoroughly.
Such were my thoughts as I returned home one evening along the broadalley of the park, when I heard a foot coming rapidly up behind me.
"I say, Lieutenant," cried the voice of the very man I was thinking of,"your people are terribly on the alert to-night. They refused to letme pass, until I told them I was coming to you; and here are two worthyfellows who won't take my word for it without your corroboration."
I then perceived that two dismounted dragoons followed him at thedistance of a few paces.
"All right, men," said I, passing my arm beneath the abba's, and turningagain towards my quarters. "Would n't they take the password, then?"continued I, as we walked on.
"_Ma foi_, I don't know, for I haven't got it."
"How I not got it?"
"Don't look so terribly frightened, my dear boy! you 'll not be putunder arrest or any such mishap on my account. But the truth is, I 'vebeen away some days from home, and have not had time to write to theminister for the order; and as I wanted to go over to St. Cloud thisevening, and as this route saves me at least a league's walking, ofcourse I availed myself of the privilege of our friendship both to restmy legs and have a little chat with you. Well! and how do you geton here now? I hope the chateau is more hospitable to you, eh? Notso?--that is most strange. But I have brought you a few books which mayserve to while away the hours; and as a recompense, I 'll ask you for asupper."
By this time we were at the door of my quarters, where, having orderedup the best repast my cuisine afforded, we sat down to await itsappearance. Unlike the former evening, the abbe now seemed low anddepressed; spoke little, and then moodily, over the unsettled stateof men's minds, and the rumors that pervaded Paris of some momentouschange,--men knew not what; and thus, by a stray phrase, a chanceword, or an unfinished sentence, gave me to think that the hour wasapproaching for some great political convulsion.
"But, Lieutenant, you never told me by what accident you came firstamongst us: let me hear your story. The feeling with which I ask is notthe fruit of an impertinent curiosity. I wish sincerely to know moreabout one in whose fortunes I have taken a deep interest. De Beauvaistold me the little anecdote which made you first acquainted; and thoughthe event promised but little of future friendship, the circumstanceshave tur
ned out differently. You have not one who speaks and thinks ofyou more highly than he does. I left him this morning not manymiles from this. And now that I think of it, he gave me a letterfor you,--here it is." So saying, he threw it carelessly on thechimney-piece, and continued: "I must tell you a secret of poor DeBeauvais, for I know you feel interested in him. You must know, then,that our friend is desperately in love with a very beautiful cousin ofhis own, one of the suite of Madame Bonaparte. She 's a well-known Courtbeauty; and if you had seen more of the Tuileries, you'd have heard ofLa Rose de Provence."
"I have seen her, I think," muttered I, as my cheek grew crimson, and mylips trembled.
"Well," resumed the abbe, and without noticing my embarrassment, "thislove affair, which I believe began long ago, and might have ended inmarriage,--for there is no disparity of rank, no want of wealth, norany other difficulty to prevent it,--has been interrupted by GeneralBonaparte, because, and for no other reason, mark ye, than that DeBeauvais's family were Bourbonists. His father was a captain of theGarde du Corps, and his grandfather a grand falconer, or something orother, with Louis the Fifteenth. Now, the young marquis was well enoughinclined to go with the current of events in France. The order of thingsonce changed, he deemed it best to follow the crowd, and frequented theTuileries like many others of his own politics,--I believe you met himthere,--till one morning lately he resolved to try his fortune where thegame was his all. And he waited on Madame Bonaparte to ask her consentto his marriage with his cousin; for I must tell you that she is anorphan, and in all such cases the parental right is exercised by thehead of the Government. Madame referred him coldly to the General, whoreceived him more coldly still; and instead of replying to his suit, ashe expected, broke out into invectives against De Beauvais's friends;called them_Chouans_and assassins; said they never ceased to plotagainst his life with his most inveterate enemies, the English; thatthe exiled family maintained a corps of spies in Paris, of whom he halfsuspected him to be one; and, in a word, contrived to heap more insulton him in one quarter of an hour than, as he himself said, his wholefamily had endured from the days of Saint Louis to the present. DeBeauvais from that hour absented himself from the Tuileries, and indeedalmost entirely from Paris,--now living with his friends in Normandy,now spending a few weeks in the South. But at last he has determined onhis course, and means to leave France forever. I believe the object ofhis coming here at this moment is to see his cousin for the last time.Perhaps his note to you has some reference to it."
I took the letter with a trembling hand,--a fear of something undefinedwas over me,--and tearing it open, read as follows:--
Dear Friend,--The Abbe, d'Ervan will deliver this into your hands, and if you wish it, explain the reason of the request it contains,--which is simply that you will afford me the shelter of your quarters for one day in the park at Versailles. I know the difficulty of your position; and if any other means under heaven presented itself, I should not ask the favor, which, although I pledge my honor not to abuse, I shall value as the dearest a whole life's gratitude can repay. My heart tells me that you will not refuse the last wish of one you will never see after this meeting. I shall wait at the gate below the Trianon at eleven o'clock on Friday night, when you can pass me through the sentries.
Yours, ever and devoted,
Henri De Beauvais.
"The thing is impossible," said I, laying down the letter on the table,and staring over at D'Ervan.
"No more so, dear friend, than what you have done for me this evening,and which, I need not tell you, involves no risk whatever. Here am Inow, without pass or countersign, your guest,--the partaker of as good asupper and as excellent a glass of wine as man need care for. In an hourhence,--say two at most,--I shall be on my way over to St. Cloud. Whois, then, I ask you, to be the wiser? You'll not put me down in thenight report. Don't start: I repeat it, you can't do it, for I had nocountersign to pass through; and as the Consul reads these sheets everymorning, you are not going to lose your commission for the sake of anabsurd punctilio that nobody on earth will thank you for. Come, come, myworthy lieutenant, these same excellent scruples of yours savor far moreof the scholar at the rigid old Polytechnique than the young officer ofhussars. Help me to that ortolan there, and pass the bottle. There! abumper of such a vintage is a good reward for so much talking."
While the abbe, continued to exert himself, by many a flippant remarkand many a smart anecdote, to dissipate the gloom that now fell overmy spirits, I grew only more and more silent. The one false step I hadtaken already presented itself before me as the precedent for furtherwrong, and I knew not what course to take, nor how to escape from mydilemma.
"I say, Lieutenant," said D'Ervan, after a pause of some minutes, duringwhich he had never ceased to regard me with a fixed, steady stare, "youare about as unlike the usual character of your countrymen as one canwell conceive."
"How so?" said I, half smiling at the remark.
"All the Irishmen I have ever seen," replied he,--"and I have knownsome scores of them,--were bold, dashing, intrepid fellows, that carednothing for an enterprise if danger had no share in it; who loved adifficulty as other men love safety; who had an instinct for where theirown reckless courage would give them an advantage over all others; andtook life easily, under the conviction that, every day could present thecircumstance where a ready wit and a stout heart could make the way tofortune. Such were the Irish I knew in the brigade; and though not aman of the number had ever seen what they called the Green Island, theywere as unlike the English, or French, or Germans, or any other people,as--as the old Court of Louis the Fourteenth was unlike the guardroomstyle of reception that goes on nowadays yonder."
"What you say may be just," said I, coolly; "and if I seem to have fewfeatures of that headlong spirit which is the gift of my nation, thecircumstances of my boyhood could well explain, perhaps excuse them.From my earliest years I have had to struggle against ills that manymen in a long lifetime do not meet with. If suspicion and distrust havecrept or stolen into my heart, it is from, watching the conduct ofthose I deemed high-spirited and honorable, and seeing them weak and,vacillating and faithless. And lastly, if every early hope that stirredmy heart does but wane and pale within me, as stars go out when day isnear, you cannot wonder that I, who stand alone here, without home orfriend, should feel a throb of fear at aught which may tarnish a namethat has yet no memory of past services to rely upon. And if you knewhow sorely such emotions war against the spirit that lives here, believeme you had never made the reproach; my punishment is enough already."
"Forgive me, my dear boy, if I said anything that could wound you for amoment," said the abbe. "This costume of mine, they say, gives awoman's privilege, and truly I believe it does something of the sex'simpertinence also.. I ought to have known you better; and I do know youbetter by this time. And now let me press a request I made some half anhour ago: tell me this same story of yours. I long to learn something ofthe little boy, where I feel such affection for the man."
The look of kindness and the tone of soothing interest that accompaniedthese words I could not resist; so, drawing my chair close towardshim, I began the narrative of my life. He listened with the mosteager attention to my account of the political condition of Ireland;questioned me closely as to my connection with the intrigues of theperiod; and when I mentioned the name of Charles de Meudon, a lividpaleness overspread his features as he asked, in a low, hollow tone, ifI were with him when he died?
"Yes," replied I, "by his bedside."
"Did he ever speak to you of me? Did he ever tell you much of his earlylife when in Provence?"
"Yes, yes; he spoke often of those happy days in the old chateau, wherehis sister, on whom he doted to distraction, was his companion. Hers wasa sad story, too. Strange, is it not,--I have never heard of her since Icame to France?"
A long pause followed these words, and the abbe, leaned his head uponhis hand, and seemed to be lost in thought.<
br />
"She was in love with her cousin," I continued, "and Charles, unhappily,refused his consent. Unhappily, I say; for he wept over his conduct onhis deathbed."
"Did he?" cried the abbe, with a start, while his eye flashed fire, andhis nostrils swelled and dilated like a chafed horse. "Did he do this?"
"Yes, bitterly he repented it; and although he never confessed it, Icould see that he had been deceived by others, and turned from his ownhigh-souled purpose, respecting his sister. I wonder what became ofClaude,--he entered the Church."
"Ay, and lies there now," replied the abbe, sternly.
"Poor fellow! is he dead, too? and so young."
"Yes; he contrived to entangle himself in some Jacobite plot."
"Why, he was a Royalist."
"So he was. It might have been another conspiracy, then,--some _Chouan_intrigue. Whatever it was, the Government heard of it. He was arrestedat the door of his own _presbyiere_; the grenadiers were drawn up in hisown garden; and he was tried, condemned, and shot in less than an hour.The officer of the company ate the dinner that was preparing for him."
"What a destiny! And Marie de Meudon?"
"Hush! the name is proscribed. The De Meudons professed strong Royalistopinions, and Bonaparte would not permit her bearing her family name.She is known by that of her mother's family except by those poor minionsof the Court who endeavor, with their fake affectation, to revive thegraceful pleasantries of Marie Antoinette's time, and they call her LaRose de Provence."
"La Bose de Provence," cried I, springing up from my chair, "the sisterof Charles!" while a thrill of ecstasy ran through my frame,--followedthe moment after by a cold, faint feel,--and I sank almost breathless inthe chair.
"Ha!" cried the abbe, leaning over me, and holding the lamp close tomy face, "what--" And then, as he resumed his place, he slowly mutteredbetween his teeth, "I did not dream of this!"
Not a word was now spoken by either. The abbe, sat mute and motionless,his eyes bent upon the floor, and his hands clasped before him. Asfor me, every emotion of hope and fear, joy and sorrow, succeeded oneanother in my mind; and it was only as I thought of De Beauvais oncemore that a gloomy despair spread itself before me, and I rememberedthat he loved her, and how the abbe, hinted his passion was returned.
"The day is breaking," said D'Ervan, as he opened the shutter and lookedout; "I must away. Well, I hope I may tell my poor friend De Beauvaisthat you 'll not refuse his request. Charles de Meudon's sister may havea claim on your kindness too."
"If I thought that she--"
"You mean, that she loved him. You must take his word for that; she isnot likely to make a confidant of you. Besides, he tells you it's alast meeting; you can scarcely say nay. Poor girl, he is the only oneremaining to her of all her house! On his departure you are not more astranger here than is she in the land of her fathers."
"I'll do it I I'll do it!" cried I, passionately. "Let him meet me wherehe mentioned; I 'll be there."
"That's as it should be," said the abbe, grasping my hand, and pressingit fervently. "But come, don't forget you must pass me through this samecordon of yours."
With a timid and shrinking heart I walked beside the abbe, across theopen terrace, towards the large gate, which with its bronzed and gildedtracery was already shining in the rich sunlight.
"A fine-looking fellow, that dragoon yonder; he 's deco' rated, I see."
"Yes; an old hussar of the Garde."
"What 's he called?"
"Pierre Dulong; a name well known in his troop."
"Halte-la!" cried the soldier, as we approached.
"Your officer," said I.
"The word?"
"Arcole."
"Pass, 'Arcole;' and good-morrow."
"Adieu, Lieutenant; adieu, Pierre," said the abbe, as he waved his handand passed out.
I stood for a minute or two uncertain of purpose; why, I know not. Thetone of the last few words seemed uttered in something like a sneer."What folly, though!" said I to myself. "D'Ervan is a strange fellow,and it is his way."
"We shall meet soon, Abbe," I cried out, as he was turning the cornerof the park wall.
"Yes, yes, rely on it; we shall meet,--and soon."
He kept his word.
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