Some minutes before noon we entered the Place du Carrousel, now thronged
with equipages and led horses. Officers in the rich uniforms of every arm
of the service were pressing their way to the Palace, amid the crash of
carriages, the buzz of recognitions, and the thundering sounds of the
brass band, whose echo was redoubled beneath the vaulted vestibule of
the Palace.
Borne along with the torrent, we mounted the wide stair and passed
from room to room, until we arrived at the great antechamber where the
officers of the household were assembled in their splendid dresses. Here
the crowd was so dense we were unable to move on for some time, and
it was after nearly an hour's waiting that we at last found ourselves
within that gorgeous gallery named by the Emperor “La Salle des
Maréchaux.” At any other moment my attention had been riveted upon
the magnificence and beauty of this great _salon_--its pictures, its
gildings, the richness of the hangings, the tasteful elegance of the
ceiling, with its tracery of dull gold, the great works of art in bronze
and marble that adorned it on every side,--but now my mind took another
and very different range. Here around me were met the greatest generals
and warriors of Europe,--the names second alone to his who had no equal.
There stood Ney, with his broad, retiring forehead, and his eyes black
and flashing, like an eagle's. With what energy he spoke! how full of
passionate vigor that thick and rapid utterance, that left a tremulous
quivering on his lip even when he ceased to speak! What a contrast to
the bronzed, unmoved features of the large man he addressed, and who
listened to him with such deference of manner: his yellow mustache
bespeaks not the Frenchman; he is a German, by blood at least,--for it
is Kellerman, the colonel of the curassiers of the Guard. And yonder was
Soult, with his strong features seamed by many a day of hardship,
the centre of a group of colonels of the staff to whom he was rapidly
communicating their orders. Close beside him stood Lannes, his arm in
a sling; a gunshot wound that defied the art of the surgeons still
deprived him of his left hand. And there leaned Savary against the
window, his dark eyes riveted on the corps of _gendarmerie_ in the court
beneath; full taller by a head than the largest about him, he seemed
almost gigantic in the massive accoutrements of his service. The fierce
Davoust; the gay and splendid Murat, with his waving plumes and jewelled
dolman; Lefebvre, the very type of his class, moving with difficulty
from a wound in his hip,--all were there: while passing rapidly from
place to place, I remarked a young and handsome man, whose uniform of
colonel bore the decoration of the Legion; he appeared to know and be
known to all. This was Eugène Beauharnais, the stepson of the Emperor.
“Ah, Général d'Auvergne!” cried he, approaching with a smile, “his
Majesty desires to see you after the levée. You leave to-night, I
believe?”
“Yes, Colonel; all is in readiness,” said the general; while I thought a
look of anxiety at the Emperor's summons seemed to agitate his features.
“One of your staff?” said Beauharnais, bowing, as he looked towards me.
“My aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Burke,” replied the general, presenting me.
“Ah! I remember,” said the colonel, as he drew himself proudly up, and
seemed as though the recollection were anything but favorable to me.
But just then the wide folding-doors were thrown open, and a loud voice
proclaimed, “Sa Majesté l'Empereur!”
In an instant every voice was hushed, the groups broke up, and fell
back into two long lines, between which lay a passage; along this the
officers of the Palace retired slowly, facing the Emperor, who came step
by step after them. I could but see the pale face, massive and regular,
like the head of an antique cameo; the hair combed straight upon his
fine forehead; and his large, full eyes, as they turned hither and
thither among that crowd, once his equals, now how immeasurably his
inferiors! He stopped every now and then to say a word or two to some
one as he passed, but in so low a tone, that even in the dead silence
around nothing was audible save a murmur. It was a relief to my own
excited feelings, as, with high, beating heart, I gazed on the greatest
monarch of the world, that I beheld the others around, the oldest
generals, the time-worn companions of his battles, not less moved than
myself.
While the Emperor passed slowly along, I could mark that Eugène
Beauharnais moved rapidly through the gallery, whispering now to this
one, now to that, among the officers of superior grade, who immediately
after left the salon by a door at the end. At length he approached
General d'Auvergne, saying,--
“The audience of the marshals, will not occupy more than half an hour;
pray be in readiness to wait on his Majesty when he calls. You can
remain in the blue drawing-room next the gallery!”
The general bowed, and taking my arm, moved slowly from the spot in
the direction mentioned, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in the
small room where the Empress used to receive her morning visitors during
the Consulate.
“You remember this _salon_ Burke?” said the general, carelessly.
“Yes, sir, but too well; it was here that his Majesty gave me that
rebuke--”
“True, true, my dear boy; I forgot that completely. But come, there has
been time enough to forget it since. I wonder what can mean this summons
to attend here! I have received my orders; there has been, so far as I
understand, no change of plan. Well, well, we shall soon know. See,
the levée has begun to break up already; there goes the staff of the
artillery; that roll of the drum is for some general of division.”
And now the crash of carriages, and the sounds of cavalry escorts
jingling beside them, mingled with the deep beating of the drums, made
a mass of noises that filled the air, and continued without interruption
|or above an hour.
“_Sacristi_” cried the general, “the crowd seems to pour in as fast as
it goes out; this may last for the entire day. I have scarce two hours
left me now.”
He walked the room impatiently; now muttering some broken words to
himself, now stopping to listen to the sounds without. Still the din
continued, and the distant roll of equipages, growing louder as they
came, told that the tide was yet pressing onwards towards the Palace.
“Three o'clock!” cried the general, as the bell of the pavilion sounded;
“at four I was to leave. Such were my written orders, signed by the
minister.”
His impatience now became extreme. He knew how difficult it was, in a
matter of military discipline, to satisfy Napoleon that any breach,
even when caused by his direct orders, was not a fault. Besides, his old
habits had taught him to respect a command from the Minister of War as
something above all others.
“Beauharnais must have mistaken,” said he, angrily. “His Majesty gave me
my final directions; I'll wait no longer.”
Yet did he hesitate to leave, and seemed actually to rely on me for some
hint for his guidance. I did not dare to offer a suggestion; and while
thus we both stood uncertain, the door opened, and a huissier called
out,--
“Lieutenant-Greneral d'Auvergne,--this way, sir,” said the official, as
he threw open a folding-door into a long gallery that looked into the
garden. They passed out together, and I was alone.
The agitation of the general at this unexpected summons had communicated
itself to me, but in a far different way; for I imagined that his
Majesty desired only to confer some mark of favor on the gallant old
general before parting with him. Yet did I not venture to suggest this
to him, for fear I should be mistaken.
While I revolved these doubts in my mind, the door was flung open with a
crash, and a page, in the uniform of the Court, rushed in.
“May I ask, sir,” cried he, breathlessly, “can you inform me where
is the aide-de-camp of the General d'Auvergne? I forget the name,
unfortunately.”
“I am the person,--Lieutenant Burke.”
“The same; that is the name. Gome after me with all haste; this way.”
And so saying, he rushed down a flight of stone stairs, clearing six or
seven at a spring.
“A hurried business this, Lieutenant,” said the page, laughingly; “took
them by by surprise, I fancy.”
“What is it? What do you mean?” asked I, eagerly.
“Hush!” said he, placing his fingers on his lips; “here they come.”
We had just time to stand to one side of the gallery, as the officers
of the household came up, two and two, followed by the Chancellor of
France, and the Dean of St. Roch in his full canonicals. They approached
the table, on which several papers and documents were lying, and
proceeded to sign their names to different writings before them. While
I looked on, puzzled and amazed, totally unable to make the most vague
conjecture of the nature of the proceedings, I perceived that General
d'Auvergne had entered the room, and was standing among the rest at the
table.
“Whose signature do you propose here. General?” said the chancellor, as
he took up a paper before him.
“My aide-de-camp. Lieutenant Burke.”
“He is here, sir,” said the page, stepping forward.
“You are to sign your name here, sir, and again on this side,” said
the chancellor, “with your birthplace annexed, age, and rank in the
service.”
“I am a foreigner,” said I; “does that make any difference here?”
“None,” said he, smiling; “the witness is but a very subordinate
personage here.”
I took the pen, and proceeded to write as I was desired; and, while thus
engaged, the door opened, and a short, heavy step crossed the room. I
did not dare to look up; some secret feeling of terror ran through me,
and told me it was the Emperor himself.
“Well, D'Auvergne,” said he, in a frank, bold way, quite different from
his ordinary voice, “you seem but half content with this plan of mine.
_Pardieu!_ there's many a brave fellow would not deem the case so hard a
one.”
“As your wish, sire--”
“As mine, _diantre!_ my friend. Do not say mine only; you forget that
the lady expressed herself equally satisfied. Come I is the _acte_
completed?”
“It wants but your Majesty's signature,” said the chancellor.
The Emperor took the pen, and dashed some indescribable scroll across
the paper; then turning suddenly towards the general, he conversed with
him eagerly for several minutes, but in so low a voice as not to
be audible where I stood. I could but catch the words “Darmstadt--
Augsburg--the fourth corps;” from which it seemed the movements of the
army were the subject; when he added, in a louder voice,--
“Every hour now is worth a day, ay, a week, hereafter. Remember that,
D'Auvergne.”
“Everything is finished, sire,” said the chancellor, handing the folded
papers to the Emperor.
“These are for your keeping, Greneral,” said he, delivering them into
D'Auvergne's hand.
“Pardon, sire,” said the chancellor, hastily, “I have made a great error
here. Madame la Comtesse has not appended her signature to the consent.”
“Indeed!” said the Emperor, smiling. “We have been too hasty, it would
seem; so thinks our reverend father of Saint Roch, I perceive, who is
evidently not accustomed to officiate _au coup de tambour_.”
“Her Majesty the Empress!” said the _huissier_, as he opened the doors
to permit her to enter. She was dressed in full Court dress, covered
with jewels; she held within her arm the hand of another, over whose
figure a deep veil was thrown, that entirely concealed her from head to
foot.
“Madame la Comtesse will have the kindness to sign this,” said the
chancellor, as he handed over a pen to the lady.
She threw back her veil as he spoke. As she turned towards the table, I
saw the pale, almost deathlike features of Marie de Meudon. Such was the
shock, I scarce restrained a cry from bursting forth, and a film fell
before my eyes as I looked, and the figures before me floated like
masses of vapor before my sight.
The Empress now spoke to the general, but no longer could I take notice
of what was said. Voices there were, but they conveyed nothing to my
mind. A terrible rush of thoughts, too quick for perception, chased one
another through my brain, and I felt as though my temples were bursting
open from some pressure within.
Suddenly the general moved forward, and knelt to kiss the Empress's
hand; he then took that of Mademoiselle de Meudon, and held it to his
lips. I heard the word “Adieu!” faintly uttered by her low voice; the
veil fell once more over her features. That moment a stir followed, and
in a few minutes more we were descending the stairs alone, the general
leaning on my arm, his right hand pressed across his eyes.
When we reached the court, several officers of rank pressed forward, and
I could hear the buzz of phrases implying congratulations and joy, to
which the old general replied briefly, and with evident depression of
manner. The dreadful oppression of a sad dream was over me still, and I
felt as though to awake were impossible, when, to some remark near him,
the general replied,--
“True! Quite true, Monseigneur; I have made her my wife. There only
remains one reparation for it, which is to make her my widow.”
“His wife!” said I, aloud, re-echoing the word without knowing.
“Even so, mon ami,” said he, pressing my hand softly; “my name and my
fortune are both hers. As for myself,--we shall never meet again.”
He turned away his head as he spoke, nor uttered another word during the
remainder of the way.
When we arrived at the Rue de Rohan the horses were harnessed to the
carriage, and all in readiness for our departure. The rumor of expected
war had brought, a crowd of idlers about the door, through which we
passed with some difficulty into the house. Hastily throwing an eye
over the now dismantled room, the old general approached the window that
looked out upon the Tuileries. “Adieu!” muttered he to himself; “je ne
vous reverrai jamais!” And with that he pressed his travelling-cap over
his brows, and descended the stairs.
A cheer burst from the mob; the postilion's whip cracked loudly;
the horses dashed over the pavement; and ere the first flurry of mad
excitement had subsided from my mind, Paris was some miles behind us,
and we were hastening on towards the frontier.
Almost every man has experienced at least one period of his life when
the curtain seems to drop, and the drama in which he has hitherto acted
to end; when a total change appears to pass over the interests he has
lived among, and a new and very different kind of existence to open
before him. Such is the case when the death of friends has left us
alone and companionless; when they into whose ears we poured our whole
thoughts of sorrow or of joy are gone, and we look around upon the bleak
world without a tie to existence, without one hope to cheer us. How
naturally then do we turn from every path and place once lingered
over! how do we fly the thoughts wherein once consisted our greatest
happiness, and seek from other sources impressions less painful, because
unconnected with the past! Still, the bereavement of death is never
devoid of a sense of holy calm, a sort of solemn peace connected with
the memory of the lost one. In the sleep that knows no waking we see the
end of earthly troubles; in the silence of the grave come no sounds
of this world's contention; the winds that stir the rank grass of the
churchyard breathe at least repose. Not so when fate has severed us from
those we loved best during lifetime; when the fortunes we hoped to link
with our own are torn asunder from us; when the hour comes when we must
turn from the path we had followed with pleasure and happiness, and
seek another road in life, bearing with us not only all the memory of
the past, but all the speculation on the future. There is no sorrow, no
affliction, like this.
It was thus I viewed my joyless fortune,--with such depressing
reflections I thought over the past. What mattered it now how my career
might turn? There lived not one to care whether rank or honor, disgrace
or death, were to be my portion. The glorious path I often longed to
tread opened for me now without exciting one spark of enthusiasm. So
is it even in our most selfish desires, we live less for ourselves than
others.
If my road in life seemed to present few features to hang hopes on, he
who sat beside me appeared still more depressed. Seldom speaking, and
then but in monosyllables, he remained sunk in reverie.
And thus passed the days of our journey, when on the third evening we
came in sight of Coblentz. Then indeed there burst upon my astonished
gaze one of those scenes which once seen are never forgotten. From the
gentle declivity which we were now descending, the view extended several
miles in every direction. Beneath us lay the city of Coblentz, its
spires and domes shining like gilded bronze as the rays of the setting
sun fell upon them; the Moselle swept along one side of the town till it
mingled its eddies with the broad Rhine, now one sheet of liquid gold;
the long pontoon bridge, against whose dark cutwaters the bright stream
broke in sparkling circles, trembled beneath the dull roll of artillery
and baggage-wagons, which might be seen issuing from the town, and
serpentining their course along the river's edge for miles, till they
were lost in the narrow glen by which the Lahn flows into the Rhine.
Beyond rose the great precipice of rock, with its crowning fortress
of Ehrenbreitstein, along whose battlemented walls, almost lost in the
heavy clouds of evening, might be seen dark specks moving from place to
place,--the soldiers of the garrison looking down from their eyrie on
the war-tide that flowed beneath. Lower down the river many boats were
crossing, in which, as the sunlight shone, one could mark the glancing
of arms and the glitter of uniforms; while farther again, and in deep
shadow, rose the solitary towers of the ruined castle of Lahneck, its
shattered walls and grass-grown battlements standing clearly out against
the evening sky.
Far as we were oif, every breeze that stirred bore towards us the
softened swell of military music, which, even when too faint to trace,
made the air tremulous with its martial sounds. Along the ramparts of
the city were crowds of townspeople, gazing with anxious wonderment at
the spectacle; for none knew, save the generals in command of divisions,
the destination of that mighty force, the greatest Europe had ever
seen up to that period. Such indeed were the measures taken to ensure
secrecy, that none were permitted to cross the frontier without a
special authority from the Minister for Foreign Affairs; the letters in
the various post-offices were detained, and even travellers were denied
post-horses on the great roads to the eastward, lest intelligence
might be conveyed to Germany of the movement in progress. Meanwhile,
at Manheim, at Spire, at Strasburg, and at Coblentz, the long columns
streamed forth whose eagles were soon destined to meet in the great
plains of Southern Germany.
Such was the gorgeous spectacle that each moment grew more palpable to
our astonished senses,--more brilliant far than anything painting could
realize,--more spirit-stirring than the grandest words that poet ever
sang.
“The cuirassiers and the dragoons of the Guard are yonder,” said the
general, as he directed his glass to a large square of the town where
a vast mass of dismounted cavalry were standing. “You see how punctual
they are; we are but two hours behind our time, and they are awaiting
our arrival.”
“And do we move forward to-night, General?” asked I, in some surprise.
“Yes, and every night. The marches are to be made fourteen hours each
day. There go the Lancers of Berg; you see their scarlet dolmans, don't
you? And yonder, in the three large boats beyond the point, there are
the sappers of the Guard. What are the shouts I hear? Whence comes that
cheering? Oh, I see! it's a vivandière; her horse has backed into the
river. See, see! she is going to swim him over! Look how the current
takes him down! Bravely done, faith! She heads him to the stream; it
won't do, though; she must be carried down.”
Just at this critical moment a boat shoots out from under the cliff; a
few strokes of the oars and they are alongside. There's a splash and a
shout, and the skiff moves on.
“And now I see they have given her a rope, and are towing her and her
horse across. See how the old spirit comes back with the first blast of
the trumpet,” said the old general, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm.
“That damsel there,--I 'll warrant ye, she 'd have thought twice about
stepping over a rivulet in the streets of Paris yesterday; and look at
her now! Well done! gallantly done! See how she spurs him up the
bank! _Ma foi!_ Mademoiselle, you 'll have no lack of lovers for that
achievement.”
A few minutes more and we entered the town, whose streets were thronged
with soldiers hurrying on to their different corps, and eager townsfolk
asking a hundred questions, to which, of course, few waited to reply.
“This way, General,” said an officer in undress, who recognized General
d'Auvergne. “The cavalry of the third division is stationed on the
square.”
Driving through a narrow street, through which the _calèche_ had barely
room to pass, we now found ourselves in the Place,--a handsome space
surrounded with a double row of trees, under which the dragoons were
lying, holding the bridles of their horses.
The general had scarcely put foot to ground when the trumpets sounded
the call. The superior officers came running forward to greet him.
Taking the arm of a short man in the uniform of the cuirassiers, the
general entered a café near, while I became the centre of some dozen
officers, all eagerly asking the news from Paris, and whether the
Emperor had yet left the capital. It was not without considerable
astonishment I then perceived how totally ignorant they all were of the
destination of the army; many alleging it was designed for Russia,
and others equally positive that the Prussians were the object of
attack,--the arguments in support of each opinion being wonderfully
ingenious, and only deficient in one respect, having not a particle of
fact for their foundation.
In the midst of these conjecturings came a new subject for discussion;
for one of the group, who had just received a letter from his brother, a
page at the Tuileries, was reading the contents aloud for the benefit of
the rest:--
“Jules says that they are all astray as to the Emperor's movements.
Duroc has left Paris suddenly, but no one knows for where; the only
thing certain is, a hot campaign is to open somewhere. One hundred and
eighty thousand men--”
“Bah!” said an old, white-mustached major, with a look of evident
unbelief; “we never had forty with the army of the Sambre.”
“And what then?” said another, fiercely. “Do you compare your army of
the Sambre, your sans-culottes Republicans, with the Imperial troops?”
The old major's face became deeply crimsoned, and with a muttered _À
demain_ he walked away.
“Go after him, Amédée,” said another; “you had no right to say that.”
“Not I, faith,” said the other, carelessly. “There is a grudge between
us these three weeks past, and we may as well have it out. Go on with
the letter, Henri.”
“Oh, it is filled with Court gossip,” said the reader, negligently. “Ha!
what is this, though?--the postscript:--
“'I have just time to tell you the strangest bit of news we have chanced
upon for some time past. The Emperor has this moment married old
General d'Auvergne to the very handsomest girl in the Empress's
suite,--Mademoiselle de Meudon. There is a rumor afloat about the old
man having made her his heir, and desiring to confer her hand on
some young fellow of his own choosing. But this passion to make Court
matches, which has seized his Majesty lately, stops at nothing; and it
is whispered that old Madame d'Orvalle is actually terrified at every
levee lest she should be disposed of to one of the new marshals. I must
say that the general looks considerably put out by the arrangement,--not
unnaturally, perhaps, as he is likely to pass the honeymoon in the
field; while his aide-de-camp, a certain Monsieur Burke, whose name you
may remember figuring in the affair of Pichegru and George--'”
“Perhaps it were as well, sir,” said I, quietly, “that I should tell
you the person alluded to is myself. I have no desire to learn how
your correspondent speaks of me; nor, I take it for granted, do these
gentlemen desire to canvass me in my own hearing. With your leave, then,
I shall withdraw.”
“A word. Monsieur; one word, first,” said the officer, whose insolent
taunt had already offended the veteran major. “We are most of us here
staff-officers, and I need not say accustomed to live pretty much
together. Will you favor us, then, with a little explanation as to the
manner in which you escaped a trial in that business. Your name, if I
mistake not, did not figure before the tribunal after the first day?”
“Well, sir; and then?”
“And then? Why, there is one only explanation in such a circumstance.”
“And that is? if I may be so bold--”
“That the _mouchard_ fares better than his victim.”
“I believe, sir,” said I, “I comprehend your meaning; I hope there will
be no fear of your mistaking mine.”
With that I drew off the long gauntlet glove I wore, and struck him
across the face.
Every man sprang backwards as I did so, as though a shell had fallen
in the midst of us; while a deep voice called out from behind, “Le
Capitaine Amédée Pichot is under arrest.”
I turned, and beheld the provost-marshal with his guard approach, and
take my adversary's sword from him.
“What charge is this, Marshal?” said he, as a livid color spread over
his cheek.
“Your duel of yesterday, Capitaine; you seem to forget all about it
already.”
“Whenever and wherever you please, sir,” said I, passing close beside
him, and speaking in a whisper.
He nodded without uttering a word in reply, and moved after the guard,
while the others dispersed silently, and left me standing alone in the
Place.
What would I not have given at that moment for but one friend to counsel
and advise me; and yet, save the general, to whom I dared not speak on
such a subject, I had not one in the whole world. It was, indeed, but
too true, that life had little value for me; yet never did I contemplate
a duel with more abhorrence. The insult I had inflicted, however, could
have no other result. While I reasoned thus, the door of the café,
opened, and the general appeared.
“Burke,” cried he, “come in here, and make a hasty supper; you must be
in the saddle in half an hour.”
“Quite ready, sir.”
“I know it, my lad. Your orders are there: ride forward to Ettingen, and
prepare the billets for the fourth demi-brigade, which will reach that
village by to-morrow evening; you'll have time for something to eat, and
a glass of wine, before the orderly arrives. This piece of duty is
put on you, because a certain Captain Pichot, the only one of the
commissaries' department who can speak German, has just been put under
arrest for a duel he fought yesterday. I wish the court-marshal would
shoot the fellow, with all my heart and soul; he's a perfect curse to
the whole division. In any case, if he escape this time, I'll keep my
eye on him, and he'll scarce get clear through my hands, I'll warrant
him.”
It may be supposed that I heard these words with no common emotion,
bearing as they did so closely on my own circumstances at the moment.
But I hung down my head and affected to eat, while the old general
walked hastily up and down the _salon_ muttering half aloud heavy
denunciations on the practice of duelling, which at any cost of life he
resolved to put down in his command.
“Done already! Why, man, you've eaten nothing. Well, then, I see the
orderly without; you've got a capital moonlight for your ride. And so,
_au revoir_.”
“Good-by, sir,” said I, as I sprang into the saddle. “And now for
Ettingen.”