If the strange medley of every nation and costume which we beheld on
entering Paris surprised us, how much greater was our astonishment when,
having finished a hurried breakfast, we issued forth into the crowded
streets! Here were assembled, among the soldiers of every country,
visitors from all parts of Europe, attracted by the novel spectacle
thus presented to them, and eager to participate in the pleasures of a
capital whose rejoicings, so far from being checked by the sad reverse
of fortune, were now at the highest pitch; and the city much more
resembled the gay resort of an elated people than a town occupied by
the troops of conquering enemies. The old soldier of the Empire alone
grieved in the midst of this general joy; with the downfall of Napoleon
died his every hope. The spirit of conquest, by which for so many years
the army had been intoxicated, was annihilated by the one line that
signed the treaty of Fontainebleau. Thus among the gay and laughing
groups that hurried onward might now and then be seen some veteran of
the Old Guard scowling with contemptuous look upon that fickle populace,
as eager to celebrate the downfall as ever they had been to greet the
glory of their nation.
Nothing more strikingly marked the incongruous host that filled the city
than the different guards of honour which were mounted at the several
hotels where officers and generals of distinction resided. At this time
the regulation was not established which prevailed somewhat later, and
gave to the different armies of the Allies the duty of mounting all the
guards in rotation. Thus at one door might be seen the tall cuirassier
of Austria, his white cloak falling in heavy folds over the flank and
haunches of his coal-black horse, looking like some Templar of old; at
another the plumed bonnet of a Highlander fluttered in the breeze, as
some hardy mountaineer paced to and fro, his grey eye and stern look
unmoved by the eager and prying gaze of the crowd that stopped to look
upon so strange and singular a costume. Here was the impatient schimmel
of some Hungarian hussar pawing the ground with restless eagerness, as
his gay dolman slashed with gold glittered in the sun. The Jager from
Bohemia, the deadly marksman with the long rifle, the savage Tartar
of the Ukraine devouring his meal on his guard, and turning his
dark suspicious eye around him, lest every passer-by might mean some
treachery--all denoted that some representative of their country dwelt
within; while every now and then the clank of a musket would be heard,
as a heavy _porte cochere_ opened to permit the passage of an equipage,
as strange and as characteristic as the guard himself. Here would issue
the heavy waggon of some German prince, with emblazoned panels and
scarlet hammer-doth, the horses as fat and lethargic as the smoking
and moustached figure they were drawing; there was a low drosky of a
Russian, three horses abreast, their harness tinkling with brass bells
as the spirited animals plunged and curvetted along. The quiet and
elegant-looking phaeton of English build, with its perfection of
appointment, rolled along with its deep woody sound beside the quaint,
old-fashioned _calèche_ of Northern Germany, above whose cumbrous
side-panels only the heads of the passengers were visible. Nor were the
horsemen less dissimilar; the stately Prussian, with his heel _à plomb_
beneath his elbow; the Cossack, with short stirrups, crouched upon
his horse's mane; the English horse artilleryman powdering along with
massive accoutrements and gigantic steed; the Polish light cavalry
soldier, standing high in his stirrups, and turning his restless eye on
every side--all were subjects for our curiosity and wonder.
The novelty of the spectacle seemed, however, to have greatly worn off
for the Parisians, who rarely noticed the strange and uncouth figures
that every moment passed before their eyes, and now talked away as
unconcernedly amid the scene of tumult and confusion as though nothing
new or remarkable was going on about them--their very indifference and
insouciance one of the strangest sights we witnessed.
Our progress, which at the first was a slow one, ceased entirely at
the corner of the palace, where a considerable crowd was now collected.
Although we asked of the bystanders, no one could tell what was going
forward; but the incessant roars of laughter showed that something droll
or ridiculous had occurred. O'Grady, whose taste in such matters would
suffer no denial, elbowed his way through the mob, I following as well
as I was able. When we reached the first rank of the spectators, we
certainly needed no explanation of the circumstances to make us join in
the mirth about us.
It was a single combat of a very remarkable description. A tall Cossack,
with a long red beard now waving wildly on every side, was endeavouring
to recover his mutcka cap from a little decrepit old fellow, from whom
he had stolen a basket of eggs. The eggs were all broken on the
ground; and the little man danced among them like an infuriated fiend,
flourishing a stick all the while in the most fearful fashion. The
Cossack, whose hand at every moment sought the naked knife that was
stuck in his girdle, was obliged to relinquish his weapon by the groans
of the mob, who unequivocally showed that they would not permit foul
play, and being thus unarmed, could make nothing of an adversary whose
contemptible appearance caused all the ridicule of the scene. Meanwhile
the little fellow, his clothes in rags, and his head surmounted by a
red Cossack mutcka, capered about like nothing human, uttering the most
frightful sounds of rage and passion; at length, in a paroxysm of fury,
he dealt the tall Cossack a rap on the temples which made him reel
again. Scarcely had the blow descended, when, stung by the insult and
the jeers of the mob, the enraged savage grasped his knife; with one
spring he pounced upon the little man; but as he did so a strong hand
from behind seized him by the collar, and with one tremendous jerk
hurled him back upon the crowd, where he fell stunned and senseless.
[Illustration: 3-143]
I had only time to perceive that it was O'Grady who had come to the
rescue, when the little old fellow, turning fully round, looked up in
his protector's face, and, without evincing any emotion of surprise or
wonder or even of gratitude, croaked out--
'And it's standin' looking on ye wor all the time, and I fighting my
sowle out! Ugh! bad luck to service! Look at my coat and small-clothes!
Ay, you might laugh, ye grinning bastes as ye are--and a basket of fresh
eggs in smithereens, and this Friday!'
The convulsions of laughter which this apparition and the speech excited
prevented our hearing more. The mob, too, without understanding a word,
were fully sensible of the absurdity of the scene, and a perfect chorus
of laughter rang through the street.
'And my elegant beaver, see it now!' said Corny--for we hope our
reader recognises him--as he endeavoured to empty the batter from his
head-piece, and restore it to shape. 'Ugh! the Haythins! the Turks! see
now, Master Phil, it's warning I'm giving you this minit--here, where
I stand. May the divil---- Ah, if ye dare, ye eternal robber!' This
elegant exordium was directed to the poor Cossack, who, having regained
his feet, was skulking away from the field, throwing as he went a
lingering look at his red cap, which Mr. Delany still wore as a spoil of
his victory.
We now made our way through the crowd, followed by Corny, whose angry
looks on every side elicited peals of laughter; and thus accompanied
we approached the massive _porte cochère_ of a large hotel in the Place
Vendôme, where a Swiss, in full costume of porter, informed us that Lady
Charlotte Hinton resided. While I endeavoured to pass on, he interposed
his burly person, informing me, in very short phrase, that her ladyship
did not receive before four o'clock.
'Arrah, hould your prate!' cried Corny; sure it's the woman's son you're
talking to. Two pair of stairs to your left hand, and the first door
in the passage. Look at the crowd there, the lazy craytures! that has
nothing better to do than follow a respectable man. Be off! bad luck to
yez! ye ought to be crying over the disgrace ye're in. Be the light that
shines! but you desarved it well.'
Leaving Corny to his oration before the mob, of which, happily for the
safety of his own skin, they did not comprehend one word, I took the
direction he mentioned, and soon found out the door, on which a visiting
card with my mother's name was fastened.
We were now introduced into a large and splendidly furnished saloon,
with all that lightness and elegance of decoration which in a foreign
apartment is the compensation--a poor one sometimes--for the more
comfortable look of our English houses. The room was empty, but the
morning papers and all the new publications of the day were scattered
about with profusion. Consigning my friend for a short time to these, I
followed the _femme de chambre_, who had already brought in my card
to my mother, to her ladyship's dressing-room. The door was opened
noiselessly by the maid, who whispered my name. A gentle 'Let him come
in' followed, and I entered.
[Illustration: 3-147]
My mother was seated before a glass, under the hands of a coiffeur,
and dared not turn her head. As I approached she reached me her hand,
however, which having kissed dutifully, I drew my chair, and sat down
beside her. 'My dear boy!' said she, as her eyes turned towards me, and
a tear fell from the lid and trickled down her cheek. In spite of the
unnatural coldness of such a meeting, the words, the accents, and the
look that accompanied them came home to my heart, and I was glad to hide
my emotion by again pressing my lips to her hand. Having kindly informed
me that the ceremony she was then submitting to was imperative,
inasmuch as if she had not M. Dejoncourt then, she could not have him at
all--that his time was so filled up, every moment of it, from eight in
the morning till eleven at night, that the Emperor Alexander himself
couldn't obtain his services, if he wished for them--she proceeded to
give me some details of my father, by which I could learn that the
change in his circumstances had never been made known to her, and that
she had gone on since we last met in her old career of extravagance and
expense, the indulgence of which, and the cares of her ever-declining
health, having given her abundant occupation.
As I looked at her beautiful features and delicately fair complexion,
upon which time had scarcely laid a touch, I sighed to think at what
a frightful sacrifice of feeling, of duty, and of happiness, too, such
loveliness had been purchased. If the fine pencilling of that brow had
never known a wrinkle, the heart had never throbbed to one high or holy
thought; if the smile sat easily on the lip, it was the habitual garb of
fashionable captivation, and not the indication of one kind thought
or one affectionate feeling. I felt shocked, too, that I could thus
criticise my mother; but in truth for a minute or two I forgot she was
such.
'And Julia,' said I, at length--'what of her?'
'Very handsome indeed--strikingly so. Beulwitz, the emperor's
aide-de-camp, admires her immensely. I am sincerely glad that you are
come, dear John. You know Julia's fortune has all been saved: but of
that another time. The first point now is to secure you a ticket for
this ball; and how to do it, I'm sure I know not.'
'My dear mother, believe me I have not the slightest desire----'
'How very unkind you are to think we could separate from you after such
an absence! Besides, Julia would be seriously offended, and I think with
cause. But the ticket--let's consider about that. Dejoncourt, is it
true that the Princesse de Nassau was refused a card for the ball?'
'Oui, miladi. The King of Prussia has sent her one of his, and is to
take her; and Madame la Duchesse de St. Bieve was so angry at being left
out that she tried to get up an alarm of conspiracy in the _faubourg_,
to prevent the sovereigns from going.'
'But they will go, surely--won't they?'
'Ah, to be sure. _Pardieu_, they would say to-morrow that they had been
omitted too, if they didn't appear.'
'What are we to do?' said her ladyship with energy. 'Grammont can be of
no use here; for unfortunately these people are not French.'
'What then,' said I, 'is it some of the crowned heads who are the
entertainers?'
'Oh, no! Indeed, I don't know who they are; nor do I know any one
who does. The only fact of importance is that this is their third
_fête_--the first two were the most brilliant things ever given in
Paris; that the Emperor of Russia always dances there; that the King of
Prussia makes his whist-party; that Blucher takes the head of one of
the supper-tables; and, in a word, Talleyrand himself has employed
more diplomacy to secure an extra ticket than he has often dispensed in
carving out a new monarchy.'
My mother handed me a splendidly embossed card, as she spoke, upon
which, in letters of pale burnished gold, were inscribed the following
words: 'Madame de Roni, née Cassidy de Kilmainham, prie honneur,' etc.
A burst of laughter at the absurdity of the title stopped my reading
further.
'She's an Italian, possibly,' said my mother.
'I should think not,' I replied; 'the “née Cassidy de Kilmainham”
smacks of something nearer home. What think you of Ireland?'
'Ireland! Are these people Irish?' said she, starting with horror at the
thought. 'I trust, my dear John, you would not think it proper to jest
on such a subject.'
'My dear mother, I never heard of them before; the only thing that
strikes me is the name. “Cassidy” is assuredly more Milesian than
Roman.'
'But she has birth--that's certain,' replied my mother proudly.
Not caring to argue the point, which after all resolved itself into the
question that the lady was the child of somebody, and that somebody was
called 'Cassidy,' I began to meditate on the singularity of such a phase
in life as the entertainers of sovereigns, kaisers, kings, princes,
archdukes, and ambassadors being a person utterly unknown.
'But here's Grammont,' said my mother, as a gentle tap was heard at the
door and the Count entered--the only change in his appearance since last
I saw him being the addition of another cordon to his blue coat, and a
certain springiness in his walk, which I afterwards remarked as common
among all the returned _émigrés_ at the restoration.
'Que diable faut il faire,' said the Count, entering, 'with this Madame
de Roni? She refuses all the world. Ah, Jack, _mon cher_, how do you
do?--safe and sound from all the perils of these terrible French, who
cut you all to pieces in the Peninsula? But only think, _miladi_, no
card for la Duchesse de Tavenne; Madame de Givry left out! _Sapristi!_ I
hope there is nothing against _ce pauvre_ Roi de Prusse.'
'Well, and here is John,' said my mother; 'what are we to do about him?'
My renewed disclaimer of any wish in the matter was cut short by a look
of reproof, and I waited the whole discussion with patience.
'Never was there such a difficulty,' said the Count, musing. 'There
is certainly nothing to be done through the worthy husband of Madame.
Dejoncourt and two or three more gave him a _diner en gourmand_ at
Very's, to seduce him; and after his fifth flask of champagne he frankly
confessed he was sorry he could not return their civilities as he
wished. I 'll entertain you here, and have Blucher and Platon, Fouché,
and any one else you like to meet you. I'll introduce you to old Prussia
and the Czar whenever you please; you shall have permission to shoot
at Fontainebleau any day you mention; but as to Madame de Roni, she is
devilish exclusive. I really cannot manage that for you.'
'I wish you could prevail on yourself to be serious,' said my mother, in
nowise pleased with the jocular spirit the Count's anecdote had excited.
'But here is Julia--what does she advise?'
As my mother spoke, the door opened, and my cousin appeared. Her figure
had more of the roundness of womanhood, and her face, though paler, was
fuller, and its expression had assumed a more decided character than
when I last saw her. Her winning smile and her graceful carriage
were all unchanged; and her low soft voice never struck me as more
fascinating than when she held out her hand and said--
'My dear cousin, how happy it makes me to see you again!'
Her dark-blue eyes were tearful as she spoke, and her lip--that haughty
lip--trembled. A strange wild thrill crept through my heart as I pressed
her hand within both of mine--a vague feeling which I dared not suffer
to dwell in my mind, and yet feared lest when it should depart that I
had lost my chance of happiness. Yes, there are times when a man without
the admixture of any coxcombry in the feeling, without a particle
of vanity--nay, with a deep sense of his own un worthiness--can ask
himself, 'Does this woman like me?' And at such moments, if his own
heart give not the ready answer, it were far better that he sought not
the reply from his reason.
It was only when my mother asked, for the second time, what was to be
done about John's ticket, that Julia seemed aware of the question--a
slight, a very slight, curving of her lip showing the while the sense
she entertained of such an inquiry after long years of separation; and
at last, as if unable to repress the indignation of the moment, she said
abruptly--
'But, of course, as we shall not think of going tonight----'
'We not go! Eh, _pardieu!_ why not?' said the Count.
'The Colonel below-stairs begs to say that he will call somewhat later,'
said the _femme de chambre_ at this juncture.
'The Colonel! Whom does she mean?'
'Oh, my friend O'Grady. Poor fellow! I have been forgetting him all this
while. So allow me to join him, and well wait for your appearance in the
drawing-room.'
'I remember him perfectly,' said my mother--'an agreeable person, I
think. So take Julia and the Count with you, and I'll follow as soon as
I can.'
Julia blushed deeply, and as suddenly grew pale again as my mother
spoke. I knew that she had always treated my friend with hauteur and
reserve, without any assignable reason, and had long determined that
when an opportunity arose I would endeavour to get rid of the unjust
impression she had somehow conceived of my warmest, truest friend. This
was not, however, the time for explanations; and I merely said, as I
offered my arm--
'Poor O'Grady has been badly wounded; but I think he's now getting on
favourably.'
She said something in reply, but the words were lost in the noise of
descending the stairs. Just as we reached the landing I caught a glimpse
of my friend issuing from the _porte cochère_, and only in time to call
him by his name--
'Holloa, Phil! Don't go away.'
As he turned back towards the drawing-room, he cried out--
'It's only this instant, Jack, I remembered how very awkward it was of
me to come here with you at this hour. You have, of course, so much to
say and hear after your absence--'
The sight of my fair cousin cut short his speech, as she stood near the
door with her hand out to receive him. As O'Grady took her taper fingers
within his own, there was an air of cold distance in his manner that
actually offended me. Bowing deeply, he said a few brief words in a tone
of gravity and stiffness quite unusual with him; and then, turning to
Grammont, he shook the Count's hand with a warmth and cordiality most
markedly different. I only dared to glance at Julia; but as I did so
I could mark an expression of haughty displeasure that settled on her
brow, while her heightened colour made her turn away towards the window.
I was myself so much annoyed by the manner in which O'Grady had received
advances which I had never seen made to any one before, that I was
silent. Even Grammont saw the awkwardness of all parties so much in need
of his intervention that he at once opened the whole negotiation of the
ball to O'Grady, describing with a Frenchman's volubility and sarcasm
the stratagems and devices which were employed to obtain invitations,
the triumph of the successful, the despairing malice of the
unfortunate--heightening his narrative by the mystery of the fair
hostess, who, herself unknown and unheard of till now, was at this
moment at the pinnacle of fashion, dictating the laws and distributing
the honours of the beau monde to the greatest sovereigns of Europe.
'She is very beautiful, no doubt?' asked O'Grady.
'Oui, pas mal,' said Grammont, with that all-explaining shrug of the
shoulders by which a foreigner conveys so much.
'Very rich, perhaps?'
'Millionaire!' said the Frenchman, in a tone of exultation that bespoke
his full acquiescence in that surmise at least.
'And her rank?'
'Ah, I don't read riddles. All I know is, her house is the best thing at
Paris; she has secured old Cambaceres' _chef de cuisine_; has bought up
the groom of the chambers of the ex-Emperor; keeps an _estafette_ going
on the Strasbourg road for _pâtés de foie gras_; and is on such terms
with the sovereigns that she has their private bands to play at all her
parties. Que voulez-vous?'
'Nothing more, indeed!' said O'Grady, laughing. 'Such admirable
supremacy in the world of _bon ton_ it would be rank heresy to
question further, and I no longer wonder at the active canvass for her
invitations.'
'Oui, parbleu!' said the Frenchman gaily. 'If Monsieur the Comte
d'Artois does not exert himself, people will be more proud of a ticket
to these balls than of the Croix de St. Louis. For my own part, I think
of wearing mine over the cordon.'
As he spoke, he flourished his card of invitation in the air, and
displayed it in his bosom.
'Madame de Roni, née Cassidy de Kilmainham,' said O'Grady, bursting into
a perfect roar of laughter. 'This is glorious, Jack! Did you see this?'
'See! eh? to be sure; and what then?'
But O'Gradys mirth had burst all bounds, and he sat back in an arm-chair
laughing immoderately. To all our questions he could give no other reply
than renewed bursts of merriment, which, however enjoyed by himself,
were very provoking to us.
'He knows her,' whispered Grammont in my ear; 'be assured he knows
Madame.'
'Jack, where shall we meet in half an hour?' said Phil at length,
jumping up and wiping his eyes.
'Here, if you like,' said I. 'I shall not leave this till you return.'
'Be it so,' said he; and then with a bow to my cousin and an easy nod to
Grammont, O'Grady took his hat and departed.
Grammont now looked at his watch, and remembering some half-dozen very
important appointments, took his leave also, leaving me once more, after
so long an interval, _tête-à-tête_ with Julia.
There were so many things to talk over since we had met, so many
reminiscences which each moment called up, that I never thought of the
hours as they ran over; and it was only by Lady Charlotte's appearance
in the drawing-room that we were apprised it was already past four
o'clock, and that the tide of her morning visitors would now set in, and
break up all hopes of continuing our colloquy.
'Where is your friend?' said my mother, as she carried her eyes
languidly round the spacious apartment.
'Gone some hours ago; but he promised to take me up here. We shall see
him soon, I suspect.'
'Colonel O'Grady,' said a servant; and my cousin had just time to leave
the room by one door as he entered by another.
Advancing to my mother with a manner of respectful ease which he
possessed in perfection, O'Grady contrived in a few brief words to
resume the ground he had formerly occupied in her acquaintance, throwing
out as he went an occasional compliment to her looks, so naturally and
unaffectedly done as not to need acknowledgment or reply, but yet with
sufficient _empressement_ to show interest.
'I have heard since my arrival that you were interested about this ball,
and took the opportunity to secure you some tickets, which, though late,
some of your friends may care for.'
He presented my mother as he spoke with several blank cards of
invitation, who, as she took them, could not conceal her astonishment
nor repress the look of curiosity, which she could scarcely repel in
words, as to how he had accomplished a task the highest people in Paris
had failed in. I saw what was passing in her mind, and immediately
said--
'My mother would like to know your secret about these same cards,
O'Grady; for they have been a perfect subject of contention here for the
last three weeks.'
'Her ladyship must excuse me--at least for the present--if I have one
secret I cannot communicate to her,' said O'Grady, smiling. 'Let me only
assure her that no one shall know it before she herself does.'
'And there is a secret?' said Lady Charlotte eagerly.
'Yes, there is a secret,' replied O'Grady, with a most ludicrous gravity
of tone.
'Well, at least we have profited by it, and so we may wait in patience.
Your friend Colonel O'Grady will give us the pleasure of his company at
dinner, I hope,' continued my mother, with her most winning smile.
O'Grady declined, having already accepted the invitation of the
Adjutant-General, but begged he might be permitted to join our party at
the ball--which being graciously acceded to by my mother, we both made
our bows, and sauntered out to see more of the sights of Paris.
'Come, Phil,' said I, when we were once more alone, 'what is the secret?
Who is Madame de Roni?'
'Not even to you, Jack,' was his answer, and we walked on in silence.