"I am sorry, monsieur; no, I cannot."
"Then I will visit you."
"That must not be either: a man never passes our threshold. I must bid
you farewell."
"Ah, you do not mean to be so cruel, Antoinette?"
"There is no cruelty," said she, pouting; "but I mean what I say."
"Our acquaintance must not cease, however," said Ronald, taking her hand
and seating her beside him near the window which overlooked the bustling
_Rue Haute_. "Must we never see each other more, and only because there
are no more confounded drugs to be swallowed and pillows to be
smoothed?"
"It must be so, my friend; and I--I hope you have been satisfied with
me."
"Antoinette! satisfied? and with _you_? Ah! how can you speak so
coldly? My dear little girl, you know not the deep interest I take in
you. But, tell me, would you wish to leave Brussels? It cannot be your
native place."
"Monsieur, I do not understand--"
"Would not you wish to leave the dull convent of the sisterhood to live
in the midst of the gay and the great world,--to live in a barrack,
perhaps, and be awakened every morning by the merry reveille or the bold
pibroch, or to--"
He paused, for the last observation had been misunderstood. The eyes of
the French girl flashed fire, and her pouting lips curled so haughtily
and so prettily, that, yielding only to the impulse of the moment,
Ronald was tempted to carry on the war with greater vigour.
"Pardon me, Antoinette; I did not mean to offend you," said Stuart,
drawing her nearer to him by the little unresisting hand which he still
held captive.
"O monsieur! what do you mean?" cried the poor girl, trembling
violently, while a deep blush covered her whole face and neck; her
sparkling eyes were cast languidly down, and the palpitations of her
heart could be distinctly seen beneath the tight serge vest or boddice
which encased her noble bust. "_Oh, mon Dieu!_" she added, "what is the
matter with me? I feel very ill and giddy." Yet she made but feeble
struggles to release herself.
"Promise you will come again and see me, Antoinette," said Ronald,
drawing her very decidedly on his knee.
"Oh, let me go, monsieur. I must have the honour to wish you a good
morning." She made a motion to go, but his arm had encircled her. "My
vows! Oh, pray, for the love of Heaven, let me go. Unhand me, I implore
you!"
"One kiss, then, Antoinette,--only one kiss; and in sisterly love, you
know?" and his lips were pressed to her hot cheek ere she was aware.
"But one more, dear Antoinette!" but she burst from his grasp and
covered her burning face with her robe, weeping as if her heart would
break.
"Holy Virgin, look down upon me!" she exclaimed. "How shall I ever atone
for this deadly sin? I _must_ confess it, and to the stern dean of Saint
Gudule, that the lips of a man have touched mine. Me! a Sister of
Charity, a nun, a miserable woman, sworn and devoted to the service of
Heaven! Oh, monsieur, you have done me a great wrong; but may Heaven
forgive you as readily as _I_ do! Adieu! we shall never meet again."
Ronald made an attempt to catch her, but nimbly and gracefully as a fawn
she eluded his grasp, and fled down stairs like an arrow, leaving the
discomfited soldado more charmed than ever with her simplicity and
modesty. And it may easily be supposed that the interest she had
excited in his bosom was increased when he discovered that, in spite of
her vows and veil of lawn, he was not indifferent to the little French
nun.
"Still," he reflected, "it is better that we should meet no more.
Antoinette is wise: yet I hope she may look up here to-morrow, if it's
only to see me for the last time."
To-morrow came and passed away, but the Sister of Charity came not to
visit him as usual, and he regretted that he had frightened her away.
"However," thought he, "she may yet come to-morrow: the little fairy
loves me better than she dares to acknowledge."
Three days elapsed without her visiting him, and it was evident that she
would come no more. He grew very impatient and uneasy, and spent most
of his time in watching alternately the square and the Rue Haute, with
the hope of seeing her pass. Once he saw a Sister of Charity coming
from the church of Saint Gudule. Her figure seemed light and graceful
as she tripped down the immense flight of steps at the entrance: it was
Antoinette, without doubt. Regardless of distance and the crowded street
below, Ronald called aloud to her; but she was too far off to hear, and
turned a corner down the Rue de Shaerbeck without bestowing one glance
on the mansion of widow Vandergroot, which was sufficiently conspicuous
by its large yellow gables, its green Venetian blinds, and red streaks
round the windows. If the little figure which glided along the street
were Antoinette's, he never beheld it again.
One day, about a fortnight afterwards, while seated reading a despatch
of Wellington's, he heard footsteps, much lighter than those of the
substantial widow Vandergroot, ascending the wooden staircase. "She has
come at last," said he, as the cigar fell from his mouth: he threw down
the paper, and half rose. The door opened, and Lisle entered.
"Louis!" he exclaimed, leaping up with astonishment. "Gracious powers!
how changed you are."
"I may observe the same of you! Faith, man! you are wasted to a mummy,"
replied Lisle, smiling sadly. "I have been winged at last," he added,
pointing to his left sleeve, which was empty, and hung, attached by a
loop, to a button at his breast. "It is now doing very well," he
continued, "but the sight of my empty sleeve and stump will scare the
ladies at Inchavon: _that_, though, is the least part of the affair. My
soldiering is now ended: the Gordon Highlanders and Louis Lisle must
part at last! 'Every bullet'--you know the adage."
"I am glad you bear with your loss so easily."
"Your own escape was a narrow one."
"Very. Had I been a few yards nearer the ridge, where the enemy's guns
were in position, that unlucky twelve-pound shot would have cut me into
halves like a fishing-rod. But how are all the rest of ours? I have
not been abroad yet."
"All doing famously, and ready to swear that the ladies of Brussels are
angels upon earth,--the Sisters of Charity especially." This was said
unwittingly, but Stuart felt the blood mounting to his temples. "As yet
there have been no more amputations, but Macildhui is in a worse
predicament than any of us."
"How, pray?";
"He has been deeply smitten with the charms of a certain little French
Sister of Charity, by whom he has been, luckily or unluckily, nursed;
but his romantic ladye-love has deserted him, without warning, for the
last few days, and poor Mac is very sorrowful, sentimental, and all
that. He poured all his sorrows in my ear one evening, being thrown
completely off his guard by the mellow influence of a glass of _vin
ordinaire_ at sixteen sous per bottle. But the Sister--"
"Never mind her," said Ronald, colouring very perceptibly again; "tell
me about the army. What's the news from head-quarters?"
"Oh, glorious! the power of France and of Buonaparte has been completely
laid prostrate. The army pressed forward into the enemy's country; and
Marshal Davoust sent the Marquis of Wellington a flag of truce, craving
a suspension of hostilities, and offering to yield up Paris. It was
surrendered on the 4th of this month (July), and the marshal commenced
his retreat beyond the Loire. Our troops are all in Paris by this time;
so make haste and get well, my dear fellow, that you may rejoin. Only
think how the rogues will be enjoying themselves in Paris!"
"There are few of ours left to rejoice."
"About one hundred and fifty bayonets are with Campbell, and we have
nearly five hundred wounded here in Brussels. That cursed affair at
Quatre Bras mauled us sadly. Before the engagement, we marched out of
Brussels exactly one thousand and ten strong, and more than one-half lay
on the sod ere sunset. Poor Cameron! the corps will feel his loss.
By-the-by, I forgot to mention that Campbell has got the
lieutenant-colonelcy. Our romantic friend Macildhui gets the majority,
and you are now senior captain. I hope you will win your spurs ere I
see you again. I set out for Scotland to-morrow."
"So soon?"
"Yes. My letters from Virginia and Alice are very importunate; and I
shall either sell, or go upon half-pay. I leave Flanders on sick leave,
in the first instance."
"Well, I shall soon rejoin you in Perthshire. I have seen enough blood
shed and battles won, and long to see the old peak of Benmore, and hear
the leaves rustling pleasantly in the woods of Oich and Lochisla again."
Next day Lisle took his departure from Brussels. He still singularly
left Ronald in ignorance of what had occurred at home. A thousand times
he was on the point of adverting to the subject, but always refrained.
In a letter to Alice, he said that he would leave to _her_ "the
disagreeable task of conveying to Stuart the information of his father's
ruin, and the emigration of the Lochisla men; because," continued the
letter, "so great is Ronald's veneration for his parent, and such his
Highland pride and his love of the old ancestral tower, with all its
feudal and family associations, that I verily believe he would shoot
himself in the first gust of his passion, were I to acquaint him with
what has happened at Lochisla."
Scarcely had Lisle left Brussels, when Ronald found that his thoughts
were beginning to revert to Antoinette de la Misericorde; and longing to
see her again, he determined to sally forth the next day and take an
airing, in the hope of meeting her in the streets. There were many
hobbling about in the sunshine, on the Boulevard de l'Este and the
Boulevard du Nord, who had been more severely wounded than himself.
On the morrow, therefore, immediately after discussing his
breakfast,--chocolate and a cigar,--he went forth into the streets of
Brussels for the first time since he passed through them in a waggon.
The noise, whirl, and din of the passengers and vehicles of every kind,
caused such a spinning sensation in his head, that he nearly fell to the
ground. He moved along the crowded streets, scarcely knowing whether
his head or heels were uppermost. The glare of the noon-day sun seemed
hot and strange, and every thing--the houses, the lamp-posts, the church
spires, seemed waving and in motion. With the aid of a patriarchal
staff, which erst belonged to Mynheer Vandergroot, he made his way
through Brussels, and reached the long shady walk of the Boulevard de
l'Este, where, in thankfulness, he seated himself for some minutes on a
stone sofa.
The convent of the Sisters of Charity bordered somewhere on the
Boulevard. He had been directed thither, not by verbal instructions,
but by signs, of which every Fleming seems to be a professor, as it
saves the mighty labour of using his tongue. Each mynheer whom he
accosted, being too lazy to use his mouth, generally replied by pointing
with his long pipe, or by jerking the summit of his steeple-crowned hat
in the direction inquired for.
The streets were thickly crowded with military convalescents, of every
rank and of many nations. The regimentals were numerous. The English,
the Prussian, the Highland, the Belgian, and the Hanoverian, were
creeping about every where, supporting themselves on sticks and
crutches; and in the sunny public areas, long ranks of them might be
seen basking on the ground, or propped against the wall on stilts and
wooden legs, yet all laughing and smoking, as merrily as crickets.
After a great deal of trouble, Ronald discovered the convent of the
Sisters of Charity, somewhere near the end of the Boulevard, at the
corner of the Rue aux Laines. It was a huge, desolate-looking building,
and might very well have passed for the military prison, which is not
far from it. Its windows were small,--grated and far between; and the
whole place looked not the less sombre because the morning sun shone
cheerily on its masses of grey wall, lighting up some projections
vividly, and throwing others into the deepest shadow. He heard a bell
tolling sadly somewhere close by, and a strain of choral voices mingled
with its iron tones. It rung a knell, and a dismal foreboding fell upon
Stuart as he listened. He struck gently with the gigantic knocker which
ornamented the iron-studded gate, and immediately a panel was pulled
aside, and the grim wrinkled visage of the _portiere_ appeared within.
He solicited admittance.
"No man can ever pass this threshold, monsieur," replied the other, who
was a little woman of French Flanders, and clad in the garb of the
order.
"How is the sister Antoinette de la Misericorde?"
"Well,--I hope."
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Ronald. "But can I not see her,
Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, monsieur! that is impossible," replied the portiere sadly. "When I
tell you she is gone to--"
"To where, Mademoiselle?"
"Heaven!" replied the little woman tartly; and being offended probably
at Ronald's impetuosity, she closed the panel in his face without
ceremony.
The fragile and delicate creature,--how utterly unsuited for the life to
which she had been doomed--had fallen a victim to the vile and stupid
superstition that had consigned her to a Convent. While attending, in
her mild and gentle innocency, on the sick in one of the military
hospitals, she had been attacked with a violent fever that raged there,
and wasted quickly away under its fiery power.
Stuart reeled against the iron-studded door as the words of the portiere
fell upon his ear, for at that moment he felt sick at heart, and his
knees tottered with weakness; but he walked away as quickly as he could,
till the requiem of the sisterhood and the iron clang of the bell could
no longer be heard amidst the bustle of the Rue aux Laines.
"Poor Antoinette!" thought he, as he turned down the Rue Royale and,
skirting the famous park, made straight for his billet--"fair and gentle
as she was, she deserved a better fate than to perish in such a den of
gloomy superstition and of blind devotion."
The poor girl's death made him very sad for some days; but the
impression which her beauty and artlessness had made upon him wore away
as he grew better, and became able to frequent the _cafes_, the park,
the Rue Bellevue, and other public places of resort at Brussels. There
the important events following the great victory at Waterloo,--the
capture of Paris, the public entry of Louis XVIII., the flight of
Buonaparte, and his surrender to Captain Maitland of the Bellerophon,
were all canvassed fully and freely, amidst the boasts of the Belgians
about the wonders performed by their countrymen on the glorious 18th of
June!
After residing in Brussels about two months, Stuart reported himself
"well," and was appointed to take command of three hundred
convalescents, who were declared fit for service by a medical board, and
were to rejoin the Highlanders at Paris "forthwith."
Early on the morning of his departure, just as Ronald was getting on his
harness, a man who brought the widow's letters from the _Hotel des
Postes_, placed in his hand one addressed to himself. He tore it open:
it was from Lisle, dated "Edinburgh," and ran thus:--
"Dear Stuart,
I have merely written a short note to announce my arrival in Scotland,
and that all are well at Inchavon. Your uncle, old Sir Colquhoun
Monteith of Cairntowis, has taken his departure to a better world; and,
as we cannot regret his death, allow me to congratulate you on becoming
possessed of seven thousand a-year, with one of the finest estates in
Scotland for shooting and coursing. Messrs. Diddle and Fleece, W.S.,
Edinr., will send you further intelligence. I have since seen, by the
Gazette, that Cluny Monteith, your cousin, died of his wound somewhere
on the Brussels road.
Yours, &c."
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*FRANCE.*
"These six years past I have been used to stir
When the reveille rung; and that, believe me,
Chooses the hours for rousing me at random,
And having giving its summons, yields no license
To indulge a second slumber."
_Auchindrane._
It was on the morning of the 16th September that Ronald quitted
Brussels, having under his command three hundred rank and file of the
Gordon Highlanders, as many more of the 42nd, and fifty men of the
Coldstream Guards. Three other officers were with him, but he was their
senior both by rank and standing. They paraded in the park before the
king's palace, in heavy marching order, about six o'clock in the
morning, and, moving round the corner of the palace of the Prince of
Orange, they proceeded along the Boulevard, after passing through the
Namur gate. As they quitted the city, with bayonets fixed and pipes
playing before the fifty Coldstreams, who of course marched in front,
they elicited shouts of applause from the Belgians, many of whom
followed them for many miles on the Waterloo road, and several young
women went much farther, so that they never returned at all. Stuart had
a very affectionate leave-taking with Widow Vandergroot, whose fat oily
face was bedewed with tears at his departure.
Their route, for part of the way, lay through the forest of Soignies; on
quitting which, they entered the plains of Waterloo, so lately the scene
of that fierce contest in which the greatest empire in Europe had been
lost and won. They were now treading on the hallowed ground of the
field, and the murmur of conversation, which had arisen among the
detachment the moment command to "march at ease" had been given, now
died away, and the soldiers trod on in silence, or spoke to each other
only at intervals, and in whispers, for there was something in the
appearance of the vast grave-yard around them which caused strange
feelings of sadness to damp the military pride that burned in every
breast.
The morning was remarkably fine, with a pure air and almost cloudless
sky. All nature looked bright and beautiful, and the rising sun cast
the long shadows of every house and tree far across the level landscape,
where every thing was beginning to assume a warm autumnal tint.
The farm of La Haye Sainte, the fine old chateau of Hougoumont, and
other houses, were all roofless and ruined, the walls breached and
battered by cannon-shot, the parterres, the shrubberies, and orchards
destroyed; but on these wrecks of the strife they scarcely bestowed a
look. As they marched over the ridge where the British infantry formed
line, the sights which greeted them there caused the
Highlanders--naturally thoughtful at all times--to become more so.
"No display of carnage, violence, and devastation could have had so
pathetic an effect as the quiet orderly look of its fields, brightened
with the sunshine, but thickly strewed with little heaps of upturned
earth, which no _sunshine could brighten_. On these the eye instantly
fell; and the heart, having but a slight call made upon it from without,
pronounced with more solemnity the dreadful thing that lay below,
scarcely covered with a sprinkling of mould. In some spots they lay
thick in clusters and long ranks: in others, one would present itself
alone; betwixt these, a black scathed circle told that fire had been
employed to consume, as worthless refuse, what parents cherished,
friends esteemed, and women loved. The summer wind, that shook the
branches of the trees and waved the clover and gaudy heads of the
thistles, brought along with it a foul stench, still more hideous to the
mind than to the offended sense. The foot that startled the small bird
from its nest among the grass, disturbed at the same time some poor
remnant of a human being,--either a bit of the showy habiliments in
which he took pride, or of the war-like accoutrements which were his
glory, or of the framework of his body itself, which he felt as
comeliness and strength the instant before it became a mass of senseless
matter."
The ideas which appear to have pervaded the mind of the writer quoted,
were those of every man of that detachment; such, indeed, as the objects
in their path, and the mournful scenes by which they were surrounded,
could scarcely fail to inspire.
Marching by easy stages, they entered Mons, the strongly-fortified
capital of Hainault. During the halt of two days here, most of the
officers one evening attended the theatre, a visit which nearly cost
some of them their lives. The play was "The Fall of Zutphen," and the
dresses of the actors were as ridiculous as their acting. The ferocious
Duke of Alba was represented by a little fat Fleming, clad in a cocked
hat and old red coat; Frederick, his son, by a boor, _en blouse_, who
smoked a pipe composedly during the performance. The Dutch troops were
represented by a party of Belgian chasseurs, and the Spanish by a strong
brigade of motley-garbed scene-shifters and candle-snuffers. At a part
of the play where Frederick storms Zutphen, and orders his soldiers to
give it to the flames, sparing neither sex nor age in the sack, some
ashes dropped from the bowl of this ferocious commander's pipe, and,
lighting among some sulphur and other ingredients kept for stage
purposes, set the whole scenery in a blaze. Zutphen was in flames in
earnest. The players rushed about in every direction, crying for help
like distracted people; but the audience, supposing the conflagration to
be a part of the play, applauded with increasing vehemence, till the
flames of Zutphen began to extend from the stage to the other parts of
the house, and the blazing wood tumbling about their ears, warned the
Flemings of their danger. A tremendous rush was made for the door.
Stuart was thrown over by the press, and trod under their feet; and had
not the officer who commanded a party of the Coldstream Guards menaced
the citizens with his sword and rescued him, my narrative would probably
have ended here. He dragged him out from the crowd, and they gained the
street in safety.
The next stage was Bavay, in France. It is a little, but very ancient
town of French Hainault; and the inhabitants, either actuated by loyalty
to Louis XVIII., or by some remnant of that old friendship which the
French had, or rather, pretended to have had for the Scots, received the
Highland detachment with loud acclamations, and the entire population of
the little city followed them through its gloomy old streets, till
Ronald halted before the Hotel de Ville, where the magistrates
distributed the billet orders. The soldiers were treated with the utmost
attention and kindness by the citizens, and this was the more pleasant,
because quite unexpected on entering the enemy's country. It was
Ronald's lot to be quartered upon a manufacturer of those woollen
commodities which, with iron plate, are the principal commerce of Bavay.
This worthy had a splendid residence outside the city, where his ample
garden, orchard, &c. furnished every luxury that the delightful climate
and fruitful soil of France could yield him. He received Stuart coldly,
for he was one of those thorough-paced business mortals who consider the
soldier a burden, a bore, a useless and unnecessary animal. His wife, a
plump old dame, in a large French cap and ample petticoat, and
mademoiselle her daughter, a lively and good-looking girl about twenty,
seemed to think otherwise, and made all the preparations in their power
to receive the soldier with attention. There is a mysterious something
in the scarlet coat which, to the feminine portion of this world, is
quite irresistible.
The young lady made arrangements to give a little _fete_ that evening,
and all her female companions--everybody that was anybody in and about
Bavay, were to be there, and the whole house was turned topsy-turvy; but
she was wofully disappointed.