CHAPTER XXXI. THE CHATEAU
The same day that De Beauvais left me, the Court took its departurefrom Versailles. A sudden resolution of the Consul to visit the campat Boulogne, where he was to be accompanied by Madame Bonaparte, wasannounced as the reason for this change; while a dark rumor ran thatsome detected scheme for his assassination had induced his friends toadvise this step. Certain it was, the preparations were made with theutmost speed, and in less than an hour after the despatch had arrivedfrom Paris, the Court was on its way back to the capital.
It was not without a sense of sadness that I watched the equipages asthey rolled one by one from beneath the deep colonnade, and traversedthe wide terrace, to disappear in the recesses of the dark forest. Istrained my eyes to catch even a passing look at one who to me had madeevery walk and every alley a thing to love. But I could not see her; andthe last roll of the retiring wheels died away in the distance withoutone friendly voice to say adieu, one smile at parting.
Though I had not participated in the festivities of the chateau, noreven been noticed by any of the guests, the absence of its gay world,the glitter of its brilliant cortege, the neighing steeds in all theirbright panoply, the clank of military music, the gorgeously dressedladies who strolled along its terraced walks, made the solitude thatfollowed appear dark and desolate indeed; and now, as I walked thepark, whose avenues at noonday were silent as at midnight, the desertionimparted a melancholy feeling to my heart I could not explain. How oftenhad I stopped beneath that balcony, striving to distinguish the softtones of one gentle voice amid the buzz of conversation! How had Iwatched the crowded promenade every evening upon the terrace, to see onefigure there among the rest! and when my eye had fallen upon her, howhas it followed and traced her as she went! And now I frequented eachspot where I had ever seen her,--pacing at sunset the very walk she usedto take, dwelling on each word she ever spoke to me. The chateau, too,of which before I had not passed the door, I now revisited again andagain, lingering in each room where I thought she had been, and evenresting on the chairs, and calling up before me her image as thoughpresent.
Thus passed over weeks and months. The summer glided into the mellowautumn, and the autumn itself grew cold and chill, with grayish skiesand sighing winds that swept the leaves along the dark walks and moanedsadly among the tall beech-trees. The still, calm waters of the littlelake, that reflected the bright foliage and the deep blue sky motionlessas in a mirror, was now ruffled by the passing breeze, and surged with alow, sad sound against its rocky sides; and as I watched these changes,I sorrowed less for the departing season than that every trace of herI loved was fading from before me. The bare and skeleton branches nowthrew their gaunt shadows where I had seen her walk at noonday envelopedin deep shade. Dark, watery clouds were hurrying across the surface ofthe stream where I had seen her fair form mirrored. The cold windsof coming winter swept along the princely terrace where not a zephyrrustled her dress as she moved. And somehow, I could not help connectingthese changes with my own sensations, and feeling that a gloomy winterwas approaching to my own most cherished hopes.
Months passed over with me thus, in which, save on my round of duty,I never spoke to any one. D'Ervan did not return as he promised,--acircumstance which, with all my solitude, I sincerely rejoiced at. Andof De Beauvais I heard nothing; and yet, on one account, I could havewished much to learn where he was. Unhappily, in the excitement ofthe morning I last saw him, he forgot on the table at my quarters thecommission of colonel by which he had endeavored to tempt my ambition,and which I never noticed till several hours after his departure.Unwilling to destroy, and yet fearful of retaining it in my possession,I knew not well what to do, and had locked it up in my writing-desk,anxiously looking for an opportunity to forward it to him. None such,however, presented itself, nor did I ever hear from him from the hour heleft me.
The unbroken solitude in which I lived disposed me to study, andI resumed the course which in earlier days had afforded me so muchinterest and amusement; and by this, not only was my mind drawn off fromthe contemplation of the painful circumstances of my own loneliness, butgradually my former ardor for military distinction came back in all itsforce. And thus did I learn, for the first time, how many of the griefsthat our brains beget find their remedies in the source they springfrom,--the exercise of the intellect being like that of the body, anessential to a healthy state of thinking and feeling. Each day impartedfresh energy to me in the path I followed; and in these solitary hours Imade those acquisitions in knowledge which in after life were to renderme the most important services, and prepare me for the contingencies ofa soldier's career.
While thus engaged, time rolled over, and already the dark and gloomymonth of January set in with clouded skies and nights of storm andrain. Everything wore its most cheerless aspect. Not only were the treesleafless and bare, the roads broken up and fissured with streams ofwater, but the neglected look of the chateau itself bespoke the sadand gloomy, season. The closed shutters, the closely barred doors,the statues covered up with mats to protect them from the weather, theconservatories despoiled of all their gay habitants, betrayed that thetime was passed when in the warm air of sunset happy groups wanderedhither and thither, inhaling the rich odors of the flowers and gazing onthe brilliant landscape.
It was about nine o'clock at night. The storm that usually began eachevening at the same hour was already stirring in fitful gusts among thebare branches of the trees, or sending a sudden plash of rain againstthe windows, when, as I drew closer to ray fire, and was preparing toenjoy myself for the evening over my book, I heard the regular trampingsound of a cavalry horse approaching along the terrace; the jingle ofthe accoutrements was a noise I could not mistake. I arose, but before Ireached the door I heard a deep voice call out,--
"The Sous-Lieutenant Burke; a despatch from Paris." I took the paper, which was sealed and folded in the most formal manner, and returning to the room, opened it. The contents ran thus:--
Sous-Lieutenant: On receipt of this you are commanded to station four dragoons of your party, with a corporal, on the road leading from Chaillot to Versailles, who shall detain all persons passing that way unable to account satisfactorily for their presence. You will also station a picket of two dragoons at the cross-road from the Tron to St. Cloud for the like purpose. The remainder of your party to be under arms during the night, and if requisite, at the disposal of Captain Lepelletier. For the execution of which, the present order will be your responsibility.
(Signed) Savary,
Colonel de Gendarmerie d'Elite.
Given at the Tuileries, January 14, 1804.
"So," thought I, "there is, then, something astir after all. Theseprecautions all indicate minute and accurate information; and now toperform my part." Just at that instant I perceived at my feet a smallnote, which apparently had fallen from the envelope as I opened it. Itook it up. It was addressed: "Sous-Lieutenant Burke," with the words"in haste" written in the corner. Tearing it open at once, I read thefollowing:--
All is discovered; Pichegru arrested; Moreau at the Temple. A party have left this to capture the others at the Chateau d'Ancre; they cannot be there before midnight; you may then yet be in time to save H. de B., who is among them. Not an instant must be lost.
There was no signature to this strange epistle, but I knew at oncefrom whom it came. Marie alone could venture on such a step to save herlover. My own determination was taken at once; should my head be onit, I 'd do her bidding. While I sent for the sergeant to give him theorders of the colonel, I directed my servant to bring round my horseto the door as lightly equipped as possible, and, save the holsters,nothing of his usual accoutrements. Meanwhile I prepared myself for theroad by loading my pistols and fastening on my sword. The commission,too, which De Beauvais had left behind, I did not forget, but taking itfrom my desk, I placed it safely in my bosom. Nor was the brief billetomitted, which, having read and re-
read, I placed in the lining of mycap for safety. One difficulty still presented itself: where was thechateau, and how in the darkness of a winter's night should I find it?I just then remembered that my troop sergeant, a sharp, intelligentfellow, had been for some weeks past engaged in procuring forage aboutthe neighborhood, for several miles round. I sent for him at once andasked him if he knew it.
"Yes, lieutenant; perfectly. It was an old-seigneurie once; and thoughmuch dismantled, has a look of respectability still about it. I 'veoften been there to buy corn; but the gruff old farmer, they say, hatesthe military, and it 's not easy to get him to deal with us at all."
"What's the distance from here?"
"Two leagues and a half, almost three; indeed you may count it as much,the road is so bad."
"Now then for the way. Describe it; be as brief as you can."
"You know the cross on the high road beyond Ypres?"
"I do. Proceed."
"Passing the cross and the little shrine, go forward for a mile orsomething more, till you come to a small cabaret on the roadside, at theend of which you 'll find a 'chemin de traverse,' a clay road, whichwill lead you up the fields about half a league to a large pond wherethey water the cattle; cross this, and continue till you see the lightsof a village to your left; the barking of the dogs will guide you if thelights be out; don't enter the village, but go on till you meet an oldgateway covered with ivy,--enter there, and you are in the avenue of thechateau. The high road is full five leagues about, but you 'll easilyfind this way. There 's a mastiff there you should be on your guardagainst,--though you must not fire on him either; they were going totake my life once that I half drew a pistol from my holster against him,and I heard one of the fellows say to another that monseigneur's dog waswell worth a bleu any day, whatever he meant by that."
Very few minutes sufficed to give my orders respecting the picket, andI was in my saddle and ready for the road; and although my departureexcited no surprise among my men, coupled as it was with the orders Ihad just given, I overheard the troop sergeant mutter to another as Ipassed out, "Parbleu, I always suspected there was something wrong aboutthat old chateau yonder; come what weather it would, they'd never letyou take shelter within the walls of it."
The night was so dark that when I turned into the road I could not evendistinguish my horse's head; heavy drifts of rain, too, went sweepingalong, and the wind roared through the forest with a noise like the seain a storm.
I now put spurs to my horse, and the animal, fresh from long pampering,sprang forward madly, and dashed onward. The very beating of the rain,the adverse wind, seemed to chafe his spirits and excite his courage.With head bent down, and hands firmly grasping the reins, I rode on,till the faint glimmering of a light caught my eye at a distance; a fewmiles brought me beside it. It was a little candle that burned in theshrine above the image of the Virgin. Some pious but humble hand hadplaced it there, regardless of the rain and storm; and there it was nowburning secure from the rude assaults of the harsh night, and throwingits yellow light on the few cheap trinkets which village devotion hadconsecrated to the beloved saint. As I looked at the little altar, Ithought of the perilous enterprise I was engaged in. I could have wishedmy heart to have yielded to the influence of a superstition which forevery moment of life seems to have its own apt consolation and succor.For when, as wayworn travellers refresh their parched lips at someroadside well, and bless the charity that carved the little basin in therock,--so followers of this faith have ever and anon before their eyessome material evidence of their Church's benevolence: now armingthem against the arrows of the world; now rendering them grateful forbenefits received; now taxing their selfishness by sacrifices whichelevate them in their own esteem; now comforting them by examples whichmake them proud of their afflictions. It is this direct appeal fromthe human heart to the hourly consolations of religion, that forms thestronghold of belief in Catholic countries.
These thoughts were passing through my mind long after I left the littleshrine behind me. "So," said I, "here must be the _cabaret_ the sergeantspoke of," as I heard the sound of a voice issuing from a small houseon the roadside. For a second or two I hesitated whether I should notdismount and ask the way; but a moment's consideration satisfied me itwere better to risk nothing by delay, and cautiously advancing, I heardby the sound of my horse's feet that we had left the highroad, and werenow on the clay path I looked for.
Again I dashed onward at a gallop, my powerful horse splashing throughthe deep ground, or striding boldly across the heavy furrows; nowbreasting some steep and rugged ascent where the torn-up way gavepassage to a swollen rivulet; now plunging down into some valley wherethe darkness seemed thicker and more impenetrable still. At last I couldsee, far down beneath me, the twinkling light of the village, and beganto deliberate with myself at what point I should turn off leftwards.Each moment the path seemed to lead me in the direction of the light,while I felt that my road led straight onwards. I drew my rein todeliberate what course I should take, when directly in front of me Ithought I could detect the clank of a sabre flapping against the flankof a horse. I lowered my head on a level with my horse's main, and couldnow distinctly hear the sound I suspected; and more still, the deeptones of a soldier's voice interrogating some one, who by the patois ofhis answer I guessed to be a peasant.
"You are certain, then, we have not come wrong?" said the horseman.
"Ah! I know the way too well for that,--travelling it daylight and darksince I was a boy. I was born in the village below. We shall soon reachthe little wooden bridge, and then, taming to the left, beside MartinGuichard's--"
"What care I for all that?" interrupted the other, roughly. "How far arewe now from the chateau? Is it still a league off?"
"_Parbleu!_ no, nor the half of it. When you rise the hill yonder,you 'll see a light,--they always have one burning in the tourellethere,--and that 's the chateau."
"Thank Heaven for that!" muttered I. "And now only let me pass them, andall is safe."
The figures before me, whom I could now dimly trace in the darkness,were descending step by step a rugged and narrow path, where a tallhedge formed a wall on either side. To get before them here, therefore,was out of the question; my only chance was by a detour through thefields to come down upon the village, and if possible gain the bridge hespoke of before them. Quick as the thought, I turned from the deep roadto the still deeper earth of the ploughed field beside it. My horse,a strong and powerful Norman, needed but the slightest movement of thehand to plunge hotly on. My eyes bent upon the twinkle of the few lightsthat still marked the little hamlet, I rode fearlessly forward,--nowtearing madly through some low osier fence; now slipping in the wet andplashy soil, where each stride threatened to bring us both to the earth.The descent became soon almost precipitous; but the deep ground gavea footing, and I never slackened my speed. At length, with a crashingsound, I found that we had burst the little enclosure of some villagegarden, and could dimly trace the outline of a cottage at some distancein front. Dismounting now, I felt my way cautiously for the path thatusually conducts at the end of the cabin to the garden. This I soon madeout, and the next minute was in the street. Happily, the storm, whichraged still as violently as before, suffered no one to be without doors,and save the rare glimmer of a light, all was sunk in darkness.
I walked on beside my horse for some minutes, and at last I heard therushing sound of a swollen river as it tore along in its narrow bed;and approaching step by step discovered the little bridge, which simplyconsisted of two planks, unprotected by any railing at either side. Witha little difficulty I succeeded in leading my horse across, and was justabout to mount, when the sound of the trooper's voice from the villagestreet again reached me.
A sudden thought flashed through my mind. Each moment might now beprecious; and stooping down, I lifted the end of the plank and sent itwith a crash into the stream; the other soon followed it, and beforeI was in my saddle again the torrent was carrying them along amid therocks of the stream.
"Here is a misfortune," cried the peasant, in a tone of misery; "thebridge has been carried away by the flood."
"_Tonnerre de ciel_! and is there no other way across?" said thedragoon, in a voice of passion.
I waited not to hear more, but giving the spur to my horse, dashed upthe steep bank, and the next moment saw the light of the chateau,--forsuch I guessed to be a bright star that twinkled at a distance. "Speednow will do it," said I, and put my strong Norman to his utmost. Thewind tore past me scarce faster than I went, while the beating rain cameround me. The footway soon altered, and I found that we were crossinga smooth turf like a lawn. "Ha! this is the old gate," thought I, asa tall archway, overhung with ivy and closed by a strong door, opposedfarther progress. I beat loudly against it with the heavy handle of mywhip, but to no purpose; the hoarse voice of the storm drowned all suchsounds. I dismounted and endeavored to make myself heard by knockingwith a large stone. I shouted, I cried aloud, but all in vain. My terrorincreased every instant. What was to be done? The dragoon might arriveat any moment, and then I myself must share the ruin of the others.Maddened by the emergency that each moment grew more pressing, I spranginto the saddle, and following the direction of the wall, rode roundto the other side of the chateau, seeking some open spot, some breakwhereby to enter.
I had not gone far when I saw a portion of the wall which broken anddilapidated, afforded the opportunity desired. I hesitated not, butdashed wildly at it. My horse, unaccustomed to such an effort, chestedthe barrier, and came rolling head foremost to the earth, throwing meseveral yards before him. A cry of pain escaped me as I fell; and Iscarcely could gain my knees to rise, when the hoarse bay of a savagedog broke upon my ear, and I heard the animal tearing through thebrushwood towards me. I drew my sabre in a trice, and scarce knowing atwhat side to defend myself, laid wildly about me, while I shouted withall my might for help. The furious beast sprang like a tiger at mythroat, and, though wounded by a chance cut, seized me in his terriblefangs. Fortunately the strong collar of my uniform served to protect me;but the violence of the assault carried me off my balance, and we rolledone over the other to the ground. Grasping his throat with both hands, Iendeavored to strangle him, while he vainly sought to reach my face.
At this critical moment my cries were heard within, and numerous lightsflitted up and down in front of the chateau, and a crowd of persons, allarmed, were quickly about me. Seizing the dog by his collar, a peasanttore him away; while another, holding a lantern to my face, cried out ina voice of terror, "They are upon us! we are lost!"
"_Parbleu!_ you should let Colbert finish his work,--he is a 'blue;'they are but food for dogs any day."
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"Not so," said another, in a low, determined voice; "this is a surerweapon.', I heard the cock of a pistol click as he spoke.
"Halt there! stop, I say!" cried a voice, in a tone of command. "I knowhim; I know him well. It 's Burke; is it not?"
It was De Beauvais spoke, while at the same moment he knelt down besideme od the grass, and put his arm round my neck. I whispered one wordinto his ear. He sprang to his feet, and with a hasty direction toassist me towards the house, disappeared. Before I could reach the doorhe was again beside me.
"And you did this to save me, dear friend?" said he, in a voice halfstifled with sobs. "You have run all this danger for my sake?"
I did not dare to take the merit of an act I had no claim to, stillless to speak of her for whose sake I risked my life, and leaned on himwithout speaking, as he led me within the porch.
"Sit down here for a moment,--but one moment," said he, in a whisper,"and I'll return to you."
I sat down upon a bench, and looked about me. The place had allthe evidence of being one of consequence in former days. The walls,wainscoted in dark walnut wood, were adorned with grotesque carvingsof hunting scenes and instruments of venery. The ceiling, in the sametaste, displayed trophies of weapons, intermingled with differentemblems of the _chasse_; while in the centre, and enclosed within agarter, were the royal arms of the Bourbons,--the gilding that onceshone on them was tarnished and faded; the fleurs-de-lis, too, werebroken and dilapidated; while but a stray letter of the proud mottoremained, as if not willing to survive the downfall of those on whom itwas now less a boast than a sarcasm.
As I sat thus, the wide hall was gradually filled with men, whoseanxious and excited faces betokened the fears my presence had excited,while not one ventured to speak or address a word to me. Most of themwere armed with cutlasses, and some carried pistols in belts round theirwaists; while others had rude pikes, whose coarse fashion betokened thehandiwork of a village smith. They stood in a semicircle round me;and while their eyes were riveted upon me with an expression of mostpiercing interest, not a syllable was spoken. Suddenly a door was openedat the end of a corridor, and De Beauvais called out,--
"This way, Burke; come this way!"
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I Page 34
