for the greater part of the day, and he amused himself by sitting beside
her, turning over the leaves of music-books and albums, saying soft
little nothings all the while. Madame the mother often sang in
accompaniment, and they had become quite like old acquaintances. But
the gruff manufacturer of cotton hose and shirts had watched their
proceedings with a louring eye, and towards evening he took up a new
position, which cut short the preparations for the _fete_. He placed
both mother and daughter in durance vile, by locking them up in some
retired room; after which he rode off with the key in his pocket.
Whether he was influenced by jealousy, or by national dislike, it is
impossible to say, but the first is rather unlikely. Mademoiselle was
tolerably agreeable, and had a very white hand for the daughter of a
plebeian; but her mother was ugly enough to have frightened an old
troop-horse, and Monsieur, the cotton manufacturer of Bavay, need have
given himself no uneasiness on her account. But the awkward affair made
a great noise in the town, and the story was related with various
pleasant additions and variations by the officers of the _forty-twa_, on
their arrival at Clichy camp, and there was many a hearty laugh at
Ronald's expense in the mess-rooms of the ninth brigade.
Next morning, while the ladies were still under lock and key, the
detachments quitted the ancient capital of the Nervii, and marched for
La Coteau.
They were now in France; the boasted, "the beautiful, the invincible,
the sacred France," marching over it, treading upon its soil,--with
bayonets fixed, drums beating, and all the pomp of war,--unobstructed
and free, as conquerors. The proud and triumphant feelings attendant on
such circumstances conflicted in their breasts with the sentiments of
Lord Wellington's order, desiring that the allied army were "to remember
that their respective sovereigns were the allies of his Majesty the king
of France, and that therefore France must be considered as a _friendly_
country." The inhabitants of the towns, and the rural districts also,
beheld them march on with apparent apathy; whatever their secret
feelings might have been, they were admirably concealed. A few old
friends of the Bourbons may be excepted, and these were chiefly old men
and women, living in remote parts of the country. In some little
villages they were received with shouts of welcome: in large towns,
their drums and pipes gave forth the only sounds heard in the streets.
At Cambray, Stuart was agreeably surprised to find that, by certain
changes which had taken place in the regiment, he had, as Lisle
predicted, gained his "spurs," and was now regimental major.
"You may thank your lucky stars for this rapid promotion, Stuart," said
the Guardsman who had saved his life at Mons.
"I may thank death,--the slaughter of Maya, Vittoria, Orthes, Toulouse,
and Waterloo rather," replied Ronald. "Certes! I have no reason to
complain, though I have seen work, both hard and hot, while _roughing
it_ in the Peninsula."
"But a major!" continued the other, "and only three-and-twenty! Major!
a rank ever associated with ease and good living, the gout, and six
allowances of wine at the mess, with a belt of greater girth than that
of any other man in the regiment! I congratulate you, my friend, and
propose that we wet the commission." And it was 'wetted' forthwith
accordingly, in some excellent _eau-de-vie_.
This promotion made Ronald completely happy; it was the more agreeable
because, like his accession to the property of his uncle, it was quite
unlooked-for. As for the death of the latter, he had neither reason to
be glad nor very sorry; but he felt as merry as a man can be who has
suddenly succeeded to a handsome fortune, and he demonstrated the fact
by tossing his bonnet a dozen of times to the ceiling, at which strange
employment his friend of the Coldstream surprised him in his billet at
Brussels.
They continued their route by Peronne, Saint Quentin, by the handsome
town of Compiegne on the Oise, and through Senlis. The beauty and
fertility of the country through which they marched, formed a continual
theme of conversation and wonder. Often, for the space of thirty miles,
their line of march would be overshadowed by a profusion of apple and
pear trees, bordering the highway like one long and matchless avenue.
The trees were laden with ripe and tempting fruit; and, in those places
where the harvest had commenced, all the inhabitants of the district,
men, women, and children, were employed in beating the golden produce
from the trees with long poles, and gathering it into vast heaps, which
were borne off in carts or baskets to the cider presses. Every where
Nature seemed in her richest bloom and beauty, and the hawthorn flower,
the day-flower, the woodbine, and the honeysuckle filled the air with
the most fragrant perfumes. The march from Brussels to Paris was perhaps
the most agreeable that the soldiers had ever performed.
On the 26th of September the detachment arrived at Clichy, a village
about two or three miles from Paris. Behind it the British camp was
formed, and the long lines or streets of white canvas bell-tents pitched
on the grassy bank sloping down to the Seine, all shining white as snow
in the sun and with 'the union' floating over them, formed an agreeable
prospect amid the universal green of the scenery around. Guards and
sentries were posted round the encampment at regular distances. The
regiments were on their several evening parades, and a loud but somewhat
confused medley of martial music was swelling from amid the tents, and
floated away through the still evening air. On the smooth green banks,
and by the sandy margin of the clear blue river, hundreds of soldiers'
wives were engaged in the homely occupation of washing and bleaching for
the troops; while swarms of healthy but ragged-looking children,
belonging to the camp, gambolled and scampered about the green, sailed
little ships on the river, played at hide-and-seek among the tubs,
around the tents and sentries, as they made the welkin ring with shouts
of hearty English merriment. Beyond the camp was seen the snug French
village, with its picturesque and old-fashioned houses and still older
trees, which had survived many generations of men. There was something
very pleasing in the aspect of some of the ancient mansions, the high
bevelled roofs, with the upper stories projecting far above the
lower,--the walls displaying a quantity of planks running up and down,
and cross-ways, and the gables ornamented with a variety of gilt finials
and weathercocks,--all showing the grotesque taste of a remote age.
Still farther beyond Clichy rose the smoke and spires of Paris, which
spread afar off like a wilderness of stone and lime, from which rose a
murmur like that from a beehive,--the strange mingling but musical hum
of a vast and distant city.
Ronald soon 'handed over' his detachment, and joined the group of his
comrades on the evening parade. By them he was congratulated on his
promotion and recovery, and received such an account of the delights of
Paris and the neighbourhood of Clichy, that he regretted having been
compelled to tarry so long at Brussels.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*THE CHATEAU DE MARIELLE.*
Immediately after parade next day, Ronald departed from Clichy on a
visit to Paris, "the City of delights," as an enthusiastic French author
has termed it,--the famous Paris of which so much has been said, sung,
and written. But Ronald was, to a certain degree, disappointed. The
look of every man was sad and louring. The armed sentinels of the
allies were in every street, their guards on every barrier; cannon were
planted to rake every thoroughfare and avenue, and the artillery-men
were around them, match in hand, by day and night. The soldier slept
with his accoutrements on, and the horse in his harness; and to ensure
the peace of the capital, the whole of the troops were ready to act on a
moment's notice. The banner of Blucher waved over Paris, and his
advance was in front of it, in position on the Orleans road; a brigade
of British occupied the Champs Elysees, and the union jack and the white
standard of Austria waved over the summit of Montmartre. Proud Gaul was
completely humbled, and the Parisian had lost all his swagger, his
laughter, and lightness of head and heart. Many of the British officers
were insulted, abused,--I believe were spit upon by the lower classes,
when the allies first entered the French metropolis. The people had no
other means of giving loose to the sentiments of rage, hatred, and
hostility which boiled within them. A resort to open violence in arms
would only have ended in the destruction of Paris, and the annihilation
of its inhabitants. The defeat on the plains of Waterloo will not be
soon forgotten in France. Like the murder of Joan of Arc, it will be
handed down from parent to child; and thus, from one generation to
another, the hereditary hatred to "perfidious Albion" will increase
rather than diminish.
In Paris, and in France generally, the Highland garb attracted more
attention, and perhaps respect, than that of any other nation.
Notwithstanding the bitter hatred which the French avowedly bear to the
whole Isle of Britain, they sometimes make a distinction between the
Scot and his southern neighbour, as if they were now, as of old,
politically aliens to each other. At the cafes, the restaurateurs, the
concerts, theatres, promenades, the Boulevards, the Jardin des
Tuileries, the Champ de Mars, the Bois de Boulogne, and public places of
every kind, the officers who wore the Celtic garb found themselves
treated with the utmost respect, attention, and even kindness, when
their countrymen belonging to regiments 'in breeks' experienced marked
coldness and aversion. The figure of a Highland officer passing a
milliner's shop, invariably brought all the girls in it rushing to the
door. "An officer of the Scots!" was the cry, and all the pretty
grisettes were in the street in a moment, to stare at and talk of the
stranger until he was out of sight.
Although Ronald had no acquaintances in Paris, excepting those made by
frequenting public places, yet he was well pleased with the Parisians,
and as long as he had money to spare and to spend, he enjoyed himself in
a manner that he had never done before. Through his banker in London,
he drew many a cool hundred on his Scotch agents, Messrs. Diddle and
Fleece; and, for a time, he wasted among grisettes, Frenchmen, and
fools, rather more than was quite prudent. Being junior major, he had
of course nothing to do but to amuse himself, appear on parade once
a-day, and ride round the guards and posts when on duty: he spent the
whole day in Paris, and generally returned to camp when the _reveille_
was beating, so that his hours were rather _early_ than late.
One evening, when making up a party for the next day, the hard visage of
Sergeant Macrone appeared at the door of the tent, announcing that his
round of pleasure was closed. The orderly-book--that tome of ill omen,
with its brass clasps and parchment boards, was handed in, while the
non-commissioned officer, raising his hand to his sunburned and wrinkled
forehead, conveyed the unpleasant intelligence "that her honour was for
tuty,--no the tay pefore the morn, put the fera neist."
"To-morrow? The devil, Macrone! do you say so?" cried the impatient
major, snatching the book from the hand of the Celt, and scanning over
the brigade orders. "'Major Ronald Stuart, of the Gordon Highlanders,
will take command of the detachment ordered to proceed to--' to where?
A cursed cramped hand this! Who wrote these orders, Macrone?"
"The orderly sergeant, sir."
"Who is orderly?"
"Just my ainsel, sir. Hoomh!"
"Stupid! Could you not have said so at once. '--Command of the
detachment proceeding to the Chateau de Marielle, to relieve the
Hanoverian regiment of Kloster Zeven.' Does anybody know where the
Chateau de Marielle is?"
"Two days' march from this," said Macildhui; "near Melun. I know the
place. Archy Douglas and I have shot and coursed over it for a whole
week, without leave or license. 'Tis the property of the Marquis of
Laurieston."
"What!" exclaimed one, "old Clappourknuis's brother?"
"The same. You remember him at Merida."
"And what do the wiseacres at head-quarters mean, in sending a
detachment there?"
"I suppose they scarcely know themselves. But obedience-- We all know
the adage."
"Wellington is the man to keep us in mind of that; and old Pack too,
with his drills for five hours every Sunday after divine service."
"And so," said Stuart, "we must forego all the gay scenes of Paris to
live in an old chateau among rooks and ancient elms. Country quarters
spoil many a gay fellow: we had better leave our razors at Clichy."
"Wellington has ordered you on this service as a change, and to cure you
of dangling after actresses and grisettes; for in Paris they quite spoil
decent Highlandmen like ourselves."
"There will be neither the first nor the last at Melun,--nothing but
brown-visaged and red-haired dairy-maids. I hope the chateau contains
Laurieston's family--some agreeable young ladies especially, to make us
amends for the loss we sustain in being ordered so far from Paris and
this agreeable camp of Clichy, where we have always dry canvas, soft
grass, and plenty of sunshine and _vin ordinaire_."
"Ladies! I hope so," added Macildhui. "Pretty faces, guitars, and
pianos enliven country quarters amazingly."
Ronald and the four officers who accompanied him were doomed to be
disappointed, for the chateau was occupied only by the regiment of
Kloster Zeven, and a few aged servants. The old marchioness and her
daughters had retreated to Paris on the first arrival of the lads in
scarlet and buff. The Hanoverians marched out of the court of the
chateau, with their bugles playing one of those splendid marches for the
production of which Germany is so famous: the Highlanders marched in at
the same moment, with carried arms, and their pipes playing "The wee
German Lairdie," a tune which Macvurich, the leading piper, adopted for
the occasion.
The chateau stood close to the margin of the Seine, not far from the
quiet and pretty little town of Melun, embowered among aged chesnuts,
and surrounded by orchards and groves. It was a large irregular
building of the days of Louis XII., and was said to have once been
honoured as the residence of the celebrated Lady de Beaujeu. It was
covered with carved work in wood and stone, and was surmounted by
numerous turrets, vanes, and high roofs, covered with singular round
slates jointed over each other like the scales of a serpent. It was in
every respect a mansion of the old school, and would have been the
permanent residence of some respectable ghost of the olden time, had it
stood in England, or more especially in Scotland.
The soldiers were billeted at free quarters on the tenants, while the
officers took up their residence in the chateau, to the servants of
which orders had been given by the proprietor to provide them with every
thing they required. Here they enjoyed themselves much more than at
Clichy, and the rickety old house was kept in an uproar the whole day,
and sometimes the whole night too, by their merriment, pranks, and
folly. Its splendid chambers, saloons, and galleries were a good
exchange for a turf floor and canvas tent, which, in rainy weather, was
never water-tight till it was thoroughly soaked through. The beds, with
hangings of silk, ostrich plumes, and silver fringes, for camp
shake-downs, and the white satin chairs, stuffed with down, were also a
good exchange for stone seats, trunks, cap-cases, knapsacks, ammunition
barrels, or whatever else could be had in the encampment. The mornings
were spent in riding, the days in shooting, till the preserves were
ruined and the game exterminated; and the evenings were devoted to chess
and cigars, moistened with a few bottles of _Volnay_, _Pomard_,
_Lafitte_, _champagne_, port, or sherry, for all the cellars were at
their absolute command. A bull-reel generally concluded their orgies,
or the sword-dance, performed on the dining-tables; after which they
were all carried off to bed by their servants, who, on one occasion,
required the aid of a fatigue party.
France is a glorious country in which to live at free quarters, and the
Highlanders remained till the end of October completely their own
masters, away from old Sir Dennis, from Wellington, and staff-office
surveillance, amid merriment and jollity, spending their days and nights
as they had never spent them before in country-quarters, which are
generally so dull and lifeless. In the frolic and festivity of their
superiors the privates fully participated, and many a merry though
rather confused dance did they enjoy with the cottagers by moonlight on
the grassy lawn, where the slender peasant girl, the agile husbandman,
and the strong thickset clansman mingled together, leaping and skipping,
with better will than grace, to the stirring sounds of the warlike
bagpipes.
There was one subject alone which kept Ronald in a certain state of
uneasiness,--the non-arrival of letters from his father, although he had
regular despatches from Alice and her brother, which were brought him
every fortnight from the _Hotel de Postes_ at Melun by Macvurich, who
acted as postman for the chateau. He concluded that all were well at
the old tower, but that by some strange fatality his father's letters
were always destined to miscarry.
On the 26th of October they took a sad adieu of the venerable Chateau de
Marielle, of its saloons, its parks, its emptied cellars and rifled
preserves. Right glad was old Chambertin, the butler, to behold them
depart; and I dare say he thanked Providence devoutly, when the last
gleam of their bayonets flashed down the old gloomy chestnut avenue.
Late on the night of the 25th, an aide-de-camp (Lieut. D---- of 22nd
Dragoons) brought Stuart an order, directing him to remove his
detachment to Clichy, from which the regiment was about to march _en
route_ for Calais. It was eleven at night when the order arrived; and
by daybreak next morning they were all on the road, with bag and
baggage, and had left Melun far behind them. The soldiers were
overjoyed at the prospect of returning home, and they cheered and
huzzaed lustily as they marched along, and displayed their handkerchiefs
on ramrods, and their bonnets on their bayonets, in the extravagance of
their delight. So eager were they to rejoin, that they marched back the
twenty-eight miles in one day, and arrived in the camp at Clichy just as
the bugles were proclaiming sunset.
On the tented ground all were in a state of commotion and preparation.
Many regiments were under orders for England; the brigades were broken
up, and many alterations were made regarding those troops that were to
remain in France, to form the 'Army of Occupation,' for three years.
Next day Ronald mounted and set off for Paris, to pay some of his old
haunts a last visit, and to avoid the bustle of the camp, where he left
entirely to the care of Warristoun, his servant, the task of packing and
arranging his baggage for the cars.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*PARIS, DE MESMAI, AND THE HOTEL DE CLUGNY.*
"A light heart and a thin pair of breeches
Go through the world, my boys."
_Old Song._
While riding slowly along the Boulevard de la Madeline, Ronald saw
before him an officer,--a Frenchman, but one with whose figure he
imagined he was acquainted. He was a tall and handsome man, and wore
the scarlet uniform of Louis the Eighteenth's garde-du-corps.
"I'll bet a hundred to one that is De Mesmai," said Stuart, communing
with himself. "The rogue has changed sides; but I think I should know
him by that inconceivable swagger of his."
There was no doubt of his being the cuirassier; and, as he presently
stopped to speak at the door of a shop in the Rue Royale, Stuart touched
him on the shoulder.
"Monsieur de Mesmai," said he, holding out his hand, "I hope you are
quite well. You have not forgotten me, surely: we had some odd
adventures together in Spain. You remember the _cura_ of?--"
"Monsieur--monsieur-- _Diable_! I have quite forgotten your name."
"Stuart, of the Gordon Highlanders."
"Stuart? I remember now. A thousand pardons,--and as many welcomes to
Paris!" exclaimed the Frenchman, grasping his hand and breaking into a
profusion of bows, every one of which threatened to jerk to the other
side of the Boulevard the little red cap which surmounted his large
curly head.
"You have been very little about Paris, surely, Monsieur Stuart, very
little indeed since the--" he paused and smiled bitterly, "since the
allies came to it."
"I have been for two months in country quarters at the Chateau de
Marielle, near Melun."
"Delightful place: I know it well. Fine horse that of yours; very like
my old cuirassier."
"And so you have changed sides, I see; like Soult and many others."
"No, by the name of the bomb!" cried the Frenchman, his cheek flushing
while he spoke. "No, faith! compare me not with Soult! I was one of the
last who quitted the great Emperor, and my honour is spotless. But what
could I do, Monsieur Stuart? He has been hurried on by his destiny, his
evil genius, or some such villainous agent, to wreck the fame and
fortune of himself, his soldiers, and of France, by delivering himself
up--_sacre!_ to the British. What was I then to do? I had been a
soldier from my youth upwards. I had interest to procure a commission
as captain in the guards of Louis, who is pleased, _sacre nom de_--bah!
to array us in scarlet; and I've been in Paris ever since Waterloo,
where I received a severe wound. I have had hard work to get back from
King Louis' ministers the poor remnant that dice, wine, and women have
left of mine ancient patrimony, which has descended to my worshipful
self through as long a line of respectable ancestors as ever wore
bag-wigs, steel doublets, and long swords. I lost my chateau of Quinsay
when I went with the Emperor to Elba--that dismal isle, which the devil
confound! I gained it again on his happy return to France,--lost it at
Waterloo; but regained it when I donned the scarlet in the guards of the
most worshipful Louis, our dread lord and sovereign. _Peste_! After
all, I am a lucky dog."
It may be imagined that Ronald, having once fallen in with this veteran
scapegrace, would have found it by no means easy to escape from his
society, even had he felt disposed to venture on attempting the feat.
So well was the young Highlander acquainted with the probabilities in
this particular, that he resolved to leave it unattempted; and having,
by especial and all but unhoped-for good luck, managed, though in
company with his unhesitating friend, to pass two days and nights
without coming to any serious bodily harm, he began to feel it incumbent
on him to return thanks for his preservation, and to prepare for his
approaching departure from the "City of delights."
Before De Mesmai could be induced to allow himself to be persuaded of
the necessity of even the last of these proceedings, he insisted on a
visit to the Baron de Clappourknuis, who, he averred, had made his peace
with the new ministry, kissed the hand of Louis XVIII., burned his
commission from Napoleon, and resided quietly at the venerable Hotel de
Clugny.