CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PENSION DE LA RUE MI-CAREME.
When I returned to the garden, I found that the Pere Arsene was seizedby an access of that dreadful malady, whose intervals of comparativerelease are but periods of dread or despondence. The tertian of Egypt,so fatal among the French troops, now numbered him among its victims,and he looked worn and exhausted, like one after weeks of illness.
My first care was to present myself to the official whose business itwas to inspect the passports, and by explaining the condition of my poorfriend, to entreat permission to delay my journey,--at least untilhe should be somewhat recovered. The gruff old sergeant, however,deliberately examined my passport, and as rigidly decided that I couldnot remain. The words of the minister were clear and definite,--"Dayby day, without halt, to the nearest frontier of France," was thedirection; and with this I must comply. In vain I assured him that nopersonal convenience, no wish of my own, urged the request, but the dutyof humanity towards a fellow-traveller, and one who had strong claims onevery soldier of the Empire.
"Leave him to me, Monsieur," was the only reply I could obtain; and theutmost favor he would grant was the permission to take leave of my poorfriend before I started.
Amid all the sufferings of his malady, I found the good priest dwellingin his mind on the scene with the vivandiere,--which, perhaps, fromthe impressionable character of a sick man's temperament, had entirelyfilled his thoughts; and thus he wandered from the subject of hissorrows to hers, with scarcely a transition between them.
When I mentioned the necessity of our parting, he seemed to feel it moreon my account than his own.
"I wished to have reached Paris with you," he repeated over and over."It was not impossible I could have arranged your return home. But youmust go down to Sevres,--the priest there, whoever he may be, will knowof me; tell him everything without reserve. I am too ill to write, butif I get better soon--Well, well; that poor girl is an orphan too; andAlphonse was an orphan. With what misery have we struggled in Francesince this man has ruled our destinies! how have the crimes of a peoplebrought their retribution to every heart and every home!--nonetoo low, none too humble, to feel them. Leave this land; no blessing canrest upon it now. Poor thing! how worthy of a better lot she is! If thissame officer should know,--it is not impossible. But, why do I say this?No, no; you'll never meet him now."
He continued to mutter thus some broken and disjointed sentences,half-aloud, for some minutes, apparently unconscious of my presence.
"He was in a regiment of the Guard. Alas! she told me which, but Iforget it now; but his name, surely I remember his name! Well, well, itis a sad story. Adieu, my dear child! good-by! We have each a wearyroad before us; but my journey, although the longest, will be soonestaccomplished. Do not forget my words to you. Your own country, and yourcountry's cause, above every other; all else is the hireling's part. Thesense of duty alone can sustain a man in the trials which fit him forthis world, or that better one which is to follow. Adieu!" He threw hisarm around me as he said this, and leaned exhausted and faint upon myshoulder.
The few who journey through life with little sympathy or friendship fromtheir fellow-men, may know how it rent my heart to part with one to whomI clung every hour closer; my throat swelled and throbbed, and I couldonly articulate a faint good-by as we parted. As the door was closing, Iheard his voice again.
"Yes, I have it now; I remember it well,--'Le Capitaine Burke.'"
I started in amazement, for during all our intercourse he had neverasked nor had I told my name, and I stood unable to speak; when hecontinued,--"You 'll think of the name,--she said, too, he was on thestaff,--'Burke!' Poor girl!"
I did not wait for more, but like one flying from some dreaded enemy Irushed through the garden, and gained the road, my heart torn with manya conflicting thought; the bitterest of all being the memory of Minette,the orphan girl, who alone of all the world cared for me. Oh! if strong,deep-rooted affection, the love of a whole heart, can raise the spiritabove the every-day contentions of the world,--can ennoble thought,refine sentiments, and divest life of all its meaner traits, making apath of flowers among the rocks and briers of our worldly pilgrimage; sodoes the possession of affection for which we cannot give requital throwa gloom over the soul, for which there is no remedy. Better, a thousandtimes better, had I borne all the solitary condition of my lot,unrelieved by one token of regard, than think of her who had wrecked herfortunes on my own.
With many a sad thought I plodded onward. The miles passed over seemedlike the events in some troubled dream; and of my journey I have not arecollection remaining. It was late in the evening when I reached theBarriere de l'Etoile, and entered Paris. The long lines of lamps alongthe quays, the glittering reflection in the calm river, the subdued butcontinual hum of a great city, awoke me from my reverie, and I bethoughtme that my career of life must now begin anew, and all my energies mustbe called on to fashion out my destiny.
On the morning after my arrival I presented myself, in compliance withthe requisite form, before the minister of police. Little informationof mine was necessary to explain the circumstances under which I wasplaced. He was already thoroughly acquainted with the whole, and seemedin nowise disposed to evince any undue lenity towards one who hadvoluntarily quitted the service of the Emperor.
"Where do you purpose to remain, sir?" said the prefet, as he concludeda lengthened and searching scrutiny of my appearance.
"In Paris," I replied, briefly.
"In Paris, I suppose," said he, with a slight derisive curl of thelip,--"of that I should think there can be little doubt; but I wished toascertain more accurately your address,--in what part of the city."
"As yet I cannot tell; I am almost a stranger here. A day or two will,however, enable me to choose, and then I shall return here with theintelligence."
"That is sufficient, sir; I shall expect to see you soon."
He waved his hand in sign to me to withdraw, and I was but too happy tofollow the indication. As I hastened down the stairs, and forced my waythrough the crowd of persons who awaited an audience with the prefet,I heard a voice close to my ear whisper, "A word; one word with you,Monsieur." Conceiving, however, it could not have been intended for me,to whom no face there was familiar, I passed on, and reached the court.
The noise of footsteps rapidly moving on the grave behind me inducedme to turn; and I beheld a small, miserably-dressed man, whose spare andwasted form bespoke the sorest trials of poverty, advancing towards me,hat in hand.
"Will you deign me one word, Monsieur?" said he, in a voice whose tone,although that of entreaty, was yet remote from the habitual accent ofone asking alms.
"You must mistake me," said I, desirous to pass on; "I am unknown toyou."
"True, sir; but it is as a stranger I take the liberty of addressingyou. I heard you say just now that you had not fixed on any place ofabode in Paris; now, if I might venture to entreat your preference forthis establishment, it would be too much honor for me, its poor master."
Here he placed in my hands a small card, inscribed with the words,"Pension Bourgeoise, Rue de Mi-Careme, Boulevard Mont Parnasse, No. 46,"at top; and beneath was a paragraph, setting forth the economical factthat a man might eat, drink, and sleep for the sum of twelve francs aweek, enjoying the delights of "agreeable society, pleasant environs,and all the advantages of a country residence."
It was with difficulty I could avoid a smile at the shivering figurewho ventured to present himself as an inducement to try the fare of hishouse. Whether my eyes did wander from the card to his countenance, orany other gesture of mine betrayed my thoughts, the old man seemed todivine what was passing in my mind, and said,--
"Monsieur will not pronounce on the 'pension' from the humble guise ofits master. Let him but try it; and I promise that these poor rags, thismiserable figure, has no type within the walls."
There was a tone of deep dejection, mingled with a sense of consciouspride, in which he said these few words, that at once decided me not
togrieve him by a refusal.
"You may count on me, then, Monsieur," said I. "My stay here is so faruncertain, that it depends not altogether on myself; but for the presentI am your guest."
I took my purse from my pocket as I spoke, knowing the custom in thesehumbler boarding-houses was to pay in advance; but the old man reddenedslightly, and motioned with his hand a refusal.
"Monsieur is a captain in the Guards," said he, proudly; "no more isnecessary."
"You mistake, friend, I am no longer so; I have left the army."
"Left it, _en retraite?_" said he, inquiringly.
"Not so; left it at my own free will and choice. And now, perhaps, Ihad better tell you, that as I may not enjoy any considerable share ofgoodwill from the police authorities here, my presence might be lessacceptable to your other guests, or to yourself."
The old man's eyes sparkled as I spoke, and his lips moved rapidly, asthough he were speaking to himself; then, taking my hand, he pressed itto his lips, and said,--
"Monsieur could not be more welcome than at present. Shall we expect youto-day at dinner?"
"Be it so. Your hour?"
"Four o'clock, to the moment. Do not forget the number, 46 MonsieurRubichon; the house with a large garden in front."
"Till then," said I, bowing to my host, whose ceremonious politenessmade me feel my own salute an act of rudeness in comparison.
As I parted from the old man, I was glad at the relief to my ownthoughts which even thus much of speculation afforded, and sauntered on,fancying many a strange conceit about the "pension" and its inhabitants.At last the hour drew near; and having placed my few effects in acabriolet, I set out for the distant boulevard of Mont Parnasse.
I remarked with pleasure, that as we went along the streets andthoroughfares became gradually less and less crowded; scarcely acarriage of any kind was to be met with. The shops were, for the mostpart, the quiet, unpretending-looking places one sees in a provincialtown; and an air of peacefulness and retirement prevailed, strongly atvariance with the clamor and din of the heart of the capital. This wasmore than ever so as we emerged upon the boulevard itself: on one sideof which houses, at long straggling intervals, alone were to be seen;at the other, the country lay open to the view, with its orchards andgardens, for miles away.
"_Saprelotte!_" said the driver, who, like so many of his calling, was ablunt son of Alsace,--"_saprelotte!_ we have come to the end of the worldhere. How do you call the strange street you are looking for?"
"The Rue de Mi-Careme."
"Mi-Careme? I 'd rather you lived there than me; that name does notpromise much in regard to good feeding. Can this be it?"
As he spoke he pointed with his whip to a narrow, deserted-lookingstreet, which opened from the boulevard. The houses were old anddilapidated, but stood in small gardens, and seemed like the remainsof the villa residences of the Parisians in times long past. A few moremodern edifices, flaring with red brick fronts, were here and therescattered amongst them; but for all the decay and dismantlement of theothers, they seemed like persons of rank and condition in the company oftheir inferiors.
Few of the larger houses were inhabited. Large placards, "a louer,"on the gateways or the broken railings of the garden, set forth theadvantages of a handsome residence, situated between court and garden;but the falling roofs and broken windows were in sad discordance withthe eulogy.
The unaccustomed noise of wheels, as we went along, drew many to thedoors to stare at us, and in the gathering groups I could mark theastonishment so rare a spectacle as a cabriolet afforded in thesesecluded parts.
"Is this the Rue Mi-Careme?" said the driver to a boy, who stood gazingin perfect wonderment at our equipage.
"Yes," muttered the child,--"yes. Who are you come for now?"
"Come for, my little man? Not for any one. What do you mean by that?"
"I thought it was the commissary," said the boy.
"Ah, _sapperment!_ I knew we were in a droll neighborhood," murmured thedriver. "It would seem they never see a cabriolet here except when itbrings the _commissaire de police_ to look after some one."
If this reflection did not tend to allay my previous doubts upon thenature of the locality, it certainly aided to excite my curiosity, andI was determined to persist in my resolution of at least seeing theinterior of the "pension."
"Here we are at last," cried the driver, throwing down his whip on thehorse's back, as he sprang to the ground, and read aloud from a boardfastened to a tree, "'Pension Bourgeoise. M. Rubichon, proprietaire.'Shall I wait for monsieur?"
"No. Take out that portmanteau and cloak; I'm not going back now."
A stare of most undisguised astonishment was the only reply he made, ashe took forth my baggage, and placed it at the little gate.
"You 'll be coming home at night," said he, at length; "shall I cometo fetch you? Not to-night," repeated he, in amazement. "Well, adieu,Monsieur,--you know best; but I 'd not come a-pleasuring up here, if Iwas a young fellow like you."
As he drove away, I turned to look at the building before me, which upto this time I had not sufficiently noted. It was a long, two-storiedhouse, which evidently at an early period had been a mansion of no meanpretension. The pilasters which ornamented the windows, the balustradesof the parapet, and the pediment above the entrance, were stillremaining, though in a dilapidated condition. The garden in front showedalso some signs of that quaint taste originally borrowed from the Dutch,and the yew-trees still preserved some faint resemblance to the beastsand animals after which they had once been fashioned, though time andgrowth had altered the outlines, and given to many a goodly lion or stagthe bristly coat of a porcupine. A little fountain, which spouted froma sea-monster's nostrils, was grass-grown and choked with weeds.Everything betokened neglect and ruin; even the sundial had fallenacross the walk, and lay moss-grown and forgotten; as though to say thatTime had no need of a record there. The _jalousies_, which were closedin every window, permitted no view of the interior; nor did anything,save a faint curl of light blue smoke from one chimney, give token ofhabitation.
I could not help smiling to myself at the absurd fancy which hadsuffered me to feel that this deserted quarter, this lonesome dwelling,contained anything either adventurous or strange about it, or thatI should find either in the "pension" or its guests wherewithal tointerest or amuse me. With this thought I opened the wicket, and,crossing the garden, pulled the bell-rope that hung beside the door.
The deep clanging echoed again and again to my summons, and ere itceased the door was opened, and M. Rubichon himself stood before me: nolonger, however, the M. Rubichon of the morning, in garments of wornand tattered poverty, but attired in a suit which, if threadbare, wasat least clean and respectable-looking,--a white vest, and ruffles also,added to the air of neatness of his costume; and whether from hisown deserts, or my surprise at the transformation, he seemed to me topossess the look and bearing of a true gentleman.
Having welcomed me with the well-bred and easy politeness of one whoknew the habits of society, he gave orders to a servant girl to conductme to a room, adding, "May I beg of monsieur to make a rapid toilet, forthe dinner will be served in less than ten minutes?"
The M. Rubichon of the morning no more prepared me for that gentleman atevening than did the ruinous exterior of the dwelling for the neat andcomely chamber into which I was now installed. The articles of furniturewere few, but scrupulously clean; and the white curtains of the littlebed, the cherry-wood chairs, the table, with its gray marble top,--allwere the perfection of that propriety which gives even to humble thingsa look of elegance.
I had but time to make a slight change in my dress when the bell soundedfor dinner, and at the same instant a gentle knock came to my door. Itwas M. Rubichon, come to conduct me to the _salle_, and anxious to knowif I were satisfied with my chamber.
"In summer, Monsieur, if we shall have the happiness of possessing youhere at that season, the view of the garden is delightful from thiswindow; and,--you have no
t noticed it, of course, but there is a littlestair, which descends from the window into the garden, which you willfind a great convenience when you wish to walk. This way, now. We are asmall party to-day, and indeed shall be for a few weeks. What name shallI have the honor to announce?"
"Mr. Burke."
"Ah! an Irish name," said he, smiling, as he threw open the door of aspacious but simply furnished apartment, in which about a dozen personswere standing or sitting around the stove.
I could not help remarking, that as Monsieur Rubichon presented me tohis other guests, my name seemed to meet a kind of recognition from eachin turn. My host perceived this, and explained it at once by saying,--
"We have a namesake of yours amongst us; not exactly at this moment,for he is in Normandy, but he will be back in a week or so. Madame deLangeac, let me present Mr. Burke."
Monsieur Rubichon's guests were all persons somewhat advanced in life;and though in their dress evincing a most unvarying simplicity andeconomy, had yet a look of habitual good tone and breeding which couldnot be mistaken. Among these, the lady to whom I was now introduced wasconspicuous, and in her easy and graceful reception of me, showed thepolished manners of one accustomed to the best society.
After some half-jesting observations, expressive of surprise that ayoung man--and consequently, as she deemed, a gay one--should haveselected as his residence an unvisited quarter and a very retired house,she took my arm, and proceeded to the dinner-room.
The dinner itself, and the table equipage, were in keeping with thesimplicity of the whole establishment; but if the fare was humble andthe wine of the very cheapest, all the habitudes of the very highestsociety presided at the meal, and the polished ease and elegance, soeminently the gift of ancient French manners, were conspicuous.
There prevailed among the guests all the intimacy of a large family;at the same time a most courteous deference was remarkable, which neverapproached familiarity. And thus they talked lightly and pleasantlytogether of mutual friends and places they had visited; no allusion everbeing made to the popular topics of the day,--to me a most inexplicablecircumstance, and one which I could not avoid slightly expressing myastonishment at to the lady beside me. She smiled significantly at myremark, and merely said,--
"It is so agreeable to discuss matters where there can be no greatdifference of opinion,--at least, no more than sharpens the wit of thespeakers,--that you will rarely hear other subjects talked of here."
"But have the great events which are yet passing no interest?"
"Perhaps they interest too deeply to admit of much discussion," saidshe, with some earnestness of manner.
"But I am myself transgressing; and, what is still worse, losing you theobservations of Monsieur de Saint George on Madame de Sevigne."
The remark was evidently made to change the current of our conversation;and so I accepted it,--listening to the chit-chat around me, which, fromits novelty alone, possessed a most uncommon charm to my ears. It wasso strange to hear the allusions to the courtiers and the beauties ofbygone days made with all the freshness of yesterday acquaintance; andthe stores of anecdotes about the court of Louis the Fifteenth and theRegency told with a piquancy that made the event seem like an occurrenceof the morning.
Before we retired to the drawing-room for coffee, I saw that the"pension" was a Royalist establishment, and wondered how it happenedthat I should have been selected by the host to make one of his guests.Yet unquestionably there seemed no reserve towards me; on the contrary,each evinced a tone of frankness and cordiality which made me perfectlyat ease, and well satisfied at the fortune which led me to the RueMi-Careme.
The little parties of dominoes and piquet scattered through the _salon_;some formed groups to converse; the ladies resumed their embroidery; andall the occupations of indoor life were assumed with a readiness thatbetokened habit, and gave to the "pension" the comfortable air of ahome.
Thus passed the first evening. The next morning the party assembled atan early hour to breakfast; after which the gentlemen went out, and didnot appear until dinnertime,--day succeeding day in unvarying but to menot unpleasing monotony. I rarely wandered from the large wilderness ofa garden near the house, and saw weeks pass over without a thought everoccurring to me that life must not thus be suffered to ebb.
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume II Page 28
