They who took their tone in politics from the public journals of France
must have been somewhat puzzled at the new and unexpected turn of
the papers in Government influence at the period I now speak of. The
tremendous attacks against the “perfide Albion,” which constituted
the staple of the leading articles in the “Moniteur,” were gradually
discontinued; the great body of the people were separated from the
“tyrannical domination of an insolent aristocracy;” an occasional eulogy
would appear, too, upon the “native good sense and right feeling of John
Bull” when not led captive by appeals to his passions and prejudices;
and at last a wish more boldly expressed that the two countries, whose
mission it should be to disseminate civilization over the earth, could
so far understand their real interest as to become “fast friends,
instead of dangerous enemies.”
The accession of the Whigs to power in England was the cause of this
sudden revolution. The Emperor, when First Consul, had learned to
know and admire Charles Fox,--sentiments of mutual esteem had grown up
between them,--and it seemed now as if his elevation to power were
the only thing wanting to establish friendly relations between the two
countries.
How far the French Emperor presumed on Fox's liberalism,--and the strong
bias to party inducing him to adopt such a line of policy as would run
directly counter to that of his predecessors in office, and thus dispose
the nation to more amicable views towards France,--certain it is that he
miscalculated considerably when he built upon any want of true English
feeling on the part of that minister, or any tendency to weaken, by
unjust concessions, the proud attitude England had assumed at the
commencement and maintained throughout the entire Continental war.
A mere accident led to a renewal of negotiations between the two
countries. A villain, calling himself Guillet de la Grevillière, had
the audacity to propose to the English minister the assassination of
Napoleon, and to offer himself for the deed. He had hired a house at
Passy, and made every preparation for the execution of his foul scheme.
To denounce this wretch to the French minister of foreign affairs,
Talleyrand, was the first step of Fox. This led to a reply, in which
Talleyrand reported, word for word, a conversation that passed between
the Emperor and himself, and wherein expressions of the kindest nature
were employed by Napoleon with regard to Fox, and many flattering
allusions to the times of their former intimacy; the whole concluding
with the expression of an ardent desire for a good understanding and
a “lasting peace between two nations designed by nature to esteem each
other.”
Although the whole scheme of the assassination was a police stratagem
devised by Fouché to test the honor and good faith of the English
minister, the result was eagerly seized on as a basis for new
negotiations; and from that hour the temperate language of the French
papers evinced a new policy towards England. The insolent allusions of
journalists, the satirical squibs of party writers, the caricatures of
the English eccentricity, were suppressed at once; and by that magic
influence which Napoleon wielded, the whole tone of public feeling
seemed altered as regarded England and Englishmen. From the leaders
in the “Moniteur” to the shop windows of the Palace an Anglomania
prevailed; and the idea was thrown out that the two nations had divided
the world between them,--the sea being the empire of the British, the
land that of Frenchmen. Commissioners were appointed on both sides:
at first Lord Yarmouth, and then Lord Lauderdale, by England; General
Clarke and M. Champagny, on the part of France. Lord Yarmouth, at that
time a _détenu_ at Verdun, was selected by Talleyrand to proceed to
England, and learn the precise basis on which an amicable negotiation
could be founded.
Scarcely was the interchange of correspondence made public, when the
new tone of feeling and acting towards England displayed itself in every
circle and every _salon_. If a proof were wanting how thoroughly the
despotism of Napoleon had penetrated into the very core of society, here
was a striking one: not only were many of the _détenus_ liberated and
sent back to England, but were fêted and entertained at the various
towns they stopped at on their way, and every expedient practised to
make them satisfied with the treatment they had received on the soil
of France. An English guest was deemed an irresistible attraction at
a dinner party, and the most absurd attempts at imitation of English
habits, dress, and language were introduced into society as the last
“mode,” and extolled as the very pinnacle of fashionable excellence.
It would be easy for me here to cite some strange instances of this new
taste; but I already feel that I have wandered from my own path, and owe
an apology to my reader for invading precincts which scarce become me.
Yet may I observe here,--and the explanation will serve once for all,--I
have been more anxious in this “true history” to preserve some passing
record of the changeful features of an eventful period in Europe, than
merely to chronicle personal adventures, which, although not devoid of
vicissitudes, are still so insignificant in the great events by which
they were surrounded. The Consulate, the Empire, and the Restoration
were three great tableaux, differing in their groupings and color, but
each part of one mighty whole,--links in the great chain, and evidencing
the changeful aspect of a nation crouching beneath tyranny, or dwindling
under imbecility and dotage.
I have said the English were the vogue in Paris; and so they were, but
especially in those _salons_ which reflected the influence of the Court,
and where the tone of the Tuileries was revered as law. Every member of
the Government, or all who were even remotely connected with it, at once
adopted the reigning mode; and to be _à l'Anglaise_ became now as much
the type of fashion as ever it had been directly the opposite. Only such
as were in the confidence of Fouché and his schemes knew how hollow all
this display of friendly feeling was, or how ready the Government
held themselves to assume their former attitude of defiance when
circumstances should render it advisable.
Among those who speedily took up the tone of the Imperial counsels,
the _salons_ of the Hôtel Glichy were conspicuous. English habits, as
regarded table equipage; English servants; even to English cookery did
French politeness extend its complaisance; and many of the commonest
habitudes and least cultivated tastes were imported as the daily
observances of fashionable people _outremer_.
In this headlong Anglomania, my English birth and family (I say English,
because abroad the petty distinctions of Irishman or Scotchman are
not attended to) marked me out for peculiar attention in society; and
although my education and residence in France had well-nigh rubbed off
all or the greater part of my national peculiarities, yet the flatterers
of the day found abundant traits to admire in what they recognized as
my John Bull characteristics. And in this way, a blunder in French, a
mistake in grammar, or a false accentuation became actually a _succès
de salon_. Though I could not help smiling at the absurdity of a vogue
whose violence alone indicated its unlikeliness to last, yet I had
sufficient of the spirit of my adopted country to benefit by it while it
did exist, and never spent a single day out of company.
At the Hôtel Clichy I was a constant guest; and while with Mademoiselle
de Lacostellerie my acquaintance made little progress, with the countess
I became a special favorite,--she honoring me so far as to take me into
her secret counsels, and tell me all the little nothings which Fouché
usually disseminated as state secrets, and circulated twice or thrice
a week throughout Paris. From him, too, she learned the names of the
various English who each day arrived in Paris from Verdun, and thus
contrived to have a succession of those favored guests at her dinner and
evening parties.
During all this time, as I have said, my intimacy with mademoiselle
advanced but slowly, and certainly showed slight prospect of verifying
the prophecy of Duchesne at parting. Her manner had, indeed, lost its
cold and haughty tone; but in lieu of it there was a flippant, half
impertinent, _moqueur_ spirit, which, however easily turned to advantage
by a man of the world like the chevalier, was terribly disconcerting to
a less forward and less enterprising person like myself. Dobretski still
continued an invalid; and although she never mentioned his name nor
alluded to him in any instance, I could see that she suspected I knew
something more of his illness and the cause of it than I had ever
confessed. It matters little what the subject of it be, let a secret
once exist between a young man and a young woman,--let there be the
tacit understanding that they mutually know of something of which others
are in ignorance,--and from that moment a species of intelligence is
established between them of the most dangerous kind. They may not be
disposed to like each other; there may be attachments elsewhere; there
may be a hundred reasons why love should not enter into the case; yet
will there be a conscious sense of this hidden link which binds them;
strangely at variance with their ordinary regard for each other,
eternally mingling in all their intercourse, and suggesting modes
of acting and thinking at variance with the true tenor of the
acquaintanceship.
Such, then, was my position at the Hôtel Clichy, at which I was almost
daily a visitor or a guest, in the morning, to hear the chit-chat of the
day,--the changes talked of in the administration, the intended plans of
the Emperor, or the last modes in dress introduced by the Empress, whose
taste in costume and extravagant habits were much more popular with the
tradespeople than with Napoleon.
An illness of a few days' duration had confined me to the Luxembourg,
and unhappily deprived me of the Court ball, for which I had received
my invitation several weeks before. It seemed as if my fate forbade any
chance of my ever seeing her once more whose presence in Paris was the
great hope I held out to myself when coming. Already a rumor was afloat
that several officers had received orders to join their regiments; and
now I began to fear lest I should leave the capital without meeting her,
and was thinking of some plan by which I could attain that object, when
a note arrived from Mademoiselle de Lacostellerie, written with more
than her usual cordiality, and inviting me to dinner on the following
day with a very small party, but when I should meet one of my oldest
friends.
I thought of every one in turn who could be meant under the designation,
but without ever satisfying my mind that I had hit upon the right one.
Tascher it could not be, for the very last accounts I had seen from
Germany spoke of him as with his regiment. My curiosity was sufficiently
excited to make me accept the invitation; and, true to time, I found
myself at the Hôtel Clichy at the hour appointed.
On entering the _salon_, I discovered that I was alone. None of the
guests had as yet arrived, nor had the ladies of the house made their
appearance; and I lounged about the splendid drawing-room, where every
appliance of luxury was multiplied: pictures, vases, statues, and
bronzes abounded,--for the apartment had all the ample proportions of
a gallery,--battle scenes from the great «vents of the Italian and
Egyptian campaigns; busts of celebrated generals and portraits of
several of the marshals, from the pencils of Gerard and David. But
more than all was I struck by one picture: it was a likeness of Pauline
herself, in the costume of a Spanish peasant. Never had artist caught
more of the character of his subject than in that brilliant sketch,--for
it was no more. The proud tone of the expression; the large, full eye,
beaming a bright defiance; the haughty curl of the lip; the determined
air of the figure, as she stood one foot in advance, and the arms
hanging easily on either side,--all conveyed an impression of high
resolve and proud determination quite her own.
I was leaning over the back of a chair, my eye steadfastly fixed on the
painting, when I heard a slight rustling of a dress near me. I turned
about: it was mademoiselle herself. Although the light of the apartment
was tempered by the closed jalousies, and scarcely more than a mere
twilight admitted, I could perceive that she colored and seemed confused
as she said,--
“I hope you don't think that picture is a likeness?”
“And yet,” said I, hesitatingly, “there is much that reminds me of you;
I mean, I can discover--”
“Say it frankly, sir; you think that saucy look is not from mere fancy.
I deemed you a closer observer; but no matter. You have been ill; I
trust you are recovered again.”
“Oh, a mere passing indisposition, which unfortunately came at the
moment of the Court ball. You were there, of course?”
“Yes; it was there we had the pleasure to meet your friend, the general:
but perhaps this is indiscreet on my part; I believe, indeed, I promised
to say nothing of him.”
“The general! Do you mean General d'Auvergne?”
“That much I will answer you,--I do not. But ask me no more questions.
Your patience will not be submitted to a long trial; he dines with us
to-day.”
I made no reply, but began to ponder over in my mind who the general in
question could be.
“There! pray do not worry yourself about what a few moments will reveal
for you, without any guessing. How strange it is, the intense feeling of
curiosity people are afflicted with who themselves have secrets.”
“But I have none, Mademoiselle; at least, none worth the telling.”
“Perhaps,” replied she, saucily. “But here come our guests.”
Several persons entered the _salon_ at this moment, with each of whom I
was slightly acquainted; they were either members of the Government
or generals on the staff. The countess herself soon after made her
appearance; and now we only waited for the individual so distinctively
termed “my friend” to complete the party.
“Pauline has kept our secret, I hope,” said the countess to me. “I shall
be sadly disappointed if anything mars this surprise.”
“Who can it be?” thought I. “Or is the whole thing some piece of
badinage got up at my expense?”
Scarcely had the notion struck me, when a servant flung wide the
folding-doors, and announced “le Général” somebody, but so mumbled was
the word, the nearest thing I could make of it was “Bulletin.” This
time, however, my curiosity suffered no long delay; for quickly after
the announcement a portly personage in an English uniform entered
hastily, and approaching madame, kissed her hand with a most gallant
air; then turning to mademoiselle, he performed a similar ceremony. All
this time my eyes were riveted upon him, without my being able to make
the most remote guess as to who he was.
“Must I introduce you, gentlemen?” said the countess: “Captain Burke.”
“Eh, what! my old friend, my boy Tom! This you, with all that mustache?
Delighted to see you,” cried the large unknown, grasping me by the
hands, and shaking them with a cordiality I had not known for many a
year.
“Really, sir,” said I, “I am but too happy to be recognized; but a most
unfortunate memory--”
“Memory, lad! I never forgot anything in life. I remember the doctor
shaking the snow off his boots the night I was born; a devilish cold
December. We lived at Benhungeramud, in the Himalaya.”
“What!” cried I; “is this Captain Bubbleton, my old and kind friend?”
“General, Tom,--Lieutenant-General Bubbleton, with your leave,” said he,
correcting me. “How the boy has grown! I remember him when he was scarce
so high.”
“But, my dear captain--”
“General, lieutenant-general--”
“Well, Lieutenant-General,--to what happy chance do we owe the pleasure
of seeing you here?”
“War, boy,--the old story. But we shall have time enough to talk over
these things; and I see we are detaining the countess.”
So saying, the general gave his arm to madame, and led the way
towards the dinner; whither we followed,--I in a state of surprise
and astonishment that left me unable to collect my faculties for a
considerable time after.
Although the party, with the exception of Bubbleton, were French,
he himself, as was his wont, supported nearly the whole of the
conversation; and if his French was none of the most accurate, he amply
made up in volubility for all accidents of grammar. It appeared that he
had been three years at Verdun, a prisoner; though how he came there,
whence, and at what exact period, there was no discovering. And now
his arrival at Paris was an event equally shrouded in mystery, for no
negotiations had been opened for his exchange whatsoever; but he had
had the eloquence to persuade the préfet that the omission was a mere
accident,--some blunder of the War-Office people, which he would rectify
on his arrival at Paris. And there he was, though with what prospect
of reaching England none but one of his inventive genius could possibly
guess. He was brimful of politics, ministerial secrets, state news, and
Government intentions, not only as regarded England, but Austria and
Russia: and communicated in deep confidence a grand scheme by which the
Fox ministry were to immortalize themselves,--which was by giving up
Malta to the Bourbons, Louis the Eighteenth to be king, Goza to be a
kind of dependency to be governed by a lieutenant-general whom “he would
not name;” finishing his glass with an ominous look as he spoke.
Thence he wandered on to his repugnance to state, and dislike to any
government, function,--illustrating his quiet tastes and simple habits
by recounting a career of Oriental luxury in which he described himself
as living for years past; every word he spoke, whatever the impression
on others, bringing me back most forcibly to my boyish days in the old
barrack, where first I met him. Years had but cultivated his talents;
his visions were bolder and more daring than ever; while he had
chastened down his hurried and excited tone of narrative to a quiet flow
of unexaggerated description, which, taking his age and appearance into
account, it was difficult to discredit.
Whether the Frenchmen really gave credit to his revelations, or only
from politeness affected to do it at first, I cannot say, but assuredly
he put all their courtesy to a rude test by a little anecdote before he
left the dinner-room.
While speaking of the memorable siege of Valenciennes in '93, at which
one of the French officers was present and in a high command, Bubbleton
at once launched forth into some very singular anecdotes of the
campaign, where, as he alleged, he also had served.
“We took an officer of one of your infantry regiments prisoner in a
sortie one evening,” said the Frenchman. “I commanded the party, and
shall never forget the daring intrepidity of his escape. He leaped from
the wall into the fosse, a height of thirty feet and upwards. _Parbleu!_
we had not the heart to fire after him, though we saw that after the
shock he crawled out upon his hands and feet, and soon afterwards gained
strength enough to run. He gave me his pocket-book with his name; I
shall not forget it readily,--it was Stopford.”
“Ah, poor Billy! He was my junior lieutenant,” said Bubbleton; “an
active fellow, but he never could jump with me. Confound him! he has
left me a souvenir also, though a very different kind from yours,--a
cramp in the stomach I shall never get rid of.”
As this seemed a somewhat curious legacy from one brother officer to
another, we could not help calling on the general for an explanation,--a
demand Bubbleton never refused to gratify.
“It happened in this wise,” said he, pushing back his chair as he spoke,
and seating himself with the easy attitude of your true story-teller.
“The night before the assault--the 24th of July, if my memory serves
me right--the sappers were pushing forward the mines with all despatch.
Three immense globes were in readiness beneath the walls, and some minor
details were only necessary to complete the preparations. The stormers
consisted of four British and three German regiments,--my own, the Welsh
Fusiliers, being one of the former. We occupied the lines stretching
from L'Hérault to Damies.”
The French officer nodded assent, and Bubbleton resumed.
“The Fusiliers were on the right, and divided into two parties,--an
assaulting column and a supporting one; the advanced companies at half
cannon-shot from the walls, the others a little farther off. Thus we
were, when, about half-past ten, or it might be even eleven o'clock (we
were drinking some mulled claret in my quarters), a low, swooping
kind of a noise came stealing along the ground. We listened,--it grew
stronger and stronger; and then we could hear musket-shot and shouting,
and the tramp of men as if running. Out we went; and, by Jove! there
we saw the first battalion in full retreat towards the camp. It was a
sortie in force from the garrison, which drove in our advanced posts,
and took several prisoners. The drums now soon beat to quarters; the
men fell in rapidly, and we advanced to meet them,--no pleasant affair,
either, let me remark, for the night was pitch dark, and we could not
even guess the strength of your force. It was just then that I was
running with all my speed to come up with the flank companies, that my
cover-sergeant, a cool, old Scotch fellow, shouted out,--
“'Take care, sir! Stoop there, sir! stoop there!'
“But the advice came too late. I could just discern through the gloom
something black, hopping and bounding along towards me; now striking the
ground, and then rebounding again several feet in the air.
“'Stoop, sir! down!' cried he.
“But before I could throw myself flat, plump it took me here. Over I
went, breathless, and deeming all was finished; but, miraculous to say,
in a few minutes after I found myself coming to, and except the shock,
nothing the worse for the injury.
“'Was that a shell, Sergeant?' said I; 'a spent shell?'
“'Na, sir,' said he, in his own broad way, 'it was naething o' the kind;
it was only Lieutenant Stopford's head that was snapped aff up there.'”
“His head!” exclaimed we all of a breath,--“his head!»
“Yes, poor fellow, so it was; a damned hard kind of a bullet-head, too!
The blow has left a weakness of the stomach I suppose I shall never
recover from; and the occurrence being so singular, I have actually
never asked for a pension,--there are people, by Jove! would throw
discredit on it.”
This latter observation seemed so perfectly to sum up our own thoughts
on the matter that we really had nothing to remark on it; and after a
silence of a few seconds, politely relieved by the countess hinting at
coffee in the drawing-room, we arose and followed her.