Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the
file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an
entire meal of them. D.W.]
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 4
[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]
Dublin
MDCCCXXXIX.
Volume 4. (Chapter XXIV-XXVIII)
Contents:
CHAPTER XXIV
The Gen d'Arme
CHAPTER XXV
The Inn at Chantraine
CHAPTER XXVI
Mr O'Leary
CHAPTER XXVII
Paris
CHAPTER XXVIII
Paris
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GEN D'ARME.
I had fortunately sufficient influence upon my fair friends to persuade
them to leave Calais early on the morning following; and two hours before
Kilkee had opened his eyes upon this mortal life, we were far upon the
road to Paris.
Having thus far perfectly succeeded in my plot, my spirit rose rapidly,
and I made every exertion to make the road appear short to my
fellow-travellers. This part of France is unfortunately deficient in any
interest from scenery; large undivided tracts of waving cornfields, with
a back-ground of apparently interminable forests, and occasionally, but
rarely, the glimpse of some old time-worn chateau, with its pointed gable
and terraced walk, are nearly all that the eye can detect in the
intervals between the small towns and villages. Nothing, however, is
"flat or unprofitable" to those who desire to make it otherwise; good
health, good spirits, and fine weather, are wonderful travelling
companions, and render one tolerably independent of the charms of
scenery. Every mile that separated me from Calais, and took away the
chance of being overtaken, added to my gaiety, and I flatter myself that
a happier party have rarely travelled that well frequented road.
We reached Abbeville to dinner, and adjourned to the beautiful little
garden of the inn for our coffee; the evening was so delightful that I
proposed to walk on the Paris road, until the coming up of the carriage,
which required a screw, or a washer, or some such trifle as always occurs
in French posting. To this la chere mamma objected, she being tired, but
added, that Isabella and I might go on, and that she would take us up in
half an hour. This was an arrangement so very agreeable and unlooked for
by me, that I pressed Miss Bingham as far as I well could, and at last
succeeded in overcoming her scruples, and permitting me to shawl her.
One has always a tremendous power of argument with the uninitiated
abroad, by a reference to a standard of manners and habits totally
different from our own. Thus the talismanic words--"Oh! don't be
shocked; remember you are in France," did more to satisfy my young
friend's mind than all I could have said for an hour. Little did she
know that in England only, has an unmarried young lady any liberty, and
that the standard of foreign propriety on this head is far, very far more
rigid than our own.
"La premiere Rue a gauche," said an old man of whom I inquired the road;
"et puis," added I.
"And then quite straight; it is a chaussee all the way, and you cannot
mistake it."
"Now for it, mademoiselle," said I. "Let us try if we cannot see a good
deal of the country before the carriage comes up."
We had soon left the town behind and reached a beautifully shaded high
road, with blossoming fruit trees, and honeysuckle-covered cottages;
there had been several light showers during the day, and the air had all
the fresh fragrant feeling of an autumn evening, so tranquillizing and
calming that few there are who have not felt at some time or other of
their lives, its influence upon their minds. I fancied my fair companion
did so, for, as she walked beside me, her silence, and the gentle
pressure of her arm, were far more eloquent than words.
If that extraordinary flutter and flurry of sensations which will now and
then seize you, when walking upon a lonely country road with a pretty
girl for your companion, whose arm is linked in yours, and whose
thoughts, as far you can guess at least, are travelling the same path
with your own--if this be animal magnetism, or one of its phenomena, then
do I swear by Mesmer, whatever it be, delusion or otherwise, it has given
me the brightest moments of my life--these are the real "winged dreams"
of pleasures which outlive others of more absorbing and actual interest
at the time. After all, for how many of our happiest feelings are we
indebted to the weakness of our nature. The man that is wise at
nineteen, "Je l'en fais mon compliment," but I assuredly do not envy him;
and now, even now, when I number more years than I should like to
"confess," rather than suffer the suspicious watchfulness of age to creep
on me, I prefer to "go on believing," even though every hour of the day
should show me, duped and deceived. While I plead guilty to this
impeachment, let me show mitigation, that it has its enjoyments--first,
although I am the most constant and devoted man breathing, as a very
cursory glance at these confessions may prove, yet I have never been able
to restrain myself from a propensity to make love, merely as a pastime.
The gambler that sits down to play cards, or hazard against himself, may
perhaps be the only person that can comprehend this tendency of mine. We
both of us are playing for nothing (or love, which I suppose is
synonymous;) we neither of us put forth our strength; for that very
reason, and in fact like the waiter at Vauxhall who was complimented upon
the dexterity with which he poured out the lemonade, and confessed that
he spent his mornings "practising with vater," we pass a considerable
portion of our lives in a mimic warfare, which, if it seem unprofitable,
is, nevertheless, pleasant.
After all this long tirade, need I say how our walk proceeded? We had
fallen into a kind of discussion upon the singular intimacy which had so
rapidly grown up amongst us, and which years long might have failed to
engender. Our attempts to analyse the reasons for, and the nature of the
friendship thus so suddenly established--a rather dangerous and difficult
topic, when the parties are both young--one eminently handsome, and the
other disposed to be most agreeable. Oh, my dear young friends of either
sex, whatever your feelings be for one another, keep them to yourselves;
I know of nothing half so hazardous as that "comparing of notes" which
sometimes happens. Analysis is a beautiful thing in mathematics or
chemistry, but it makes sad havoc when applied to the "functions of the
heart."
"Mamma appears to have forgotten us," said Isabella, as she spoke, after
walking for some time in silence beside me.
"Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has taken all this time to repair; but
are you tired?"
"Oh, by no means; the evening is delightful, but--"
"Then perhaps you are ennuyee," said I, half pettishly, to provoke a
disclaimer if possible. To this insidiously put quere I received, as I
deserved, no answer, and again we sauntered on without speaking.
"To whom does that chateau belong, my old friend?" said I addressing a
man on the road-side.
"A Monsieur le Marquis, sir," replied he.
"But what's his name, though?"
"Ah, that I can't tell you," replied the man again.
There you may perceive how, even yet, in provincial France, the old
respect for the aristocracy still survives; it is sufficient that the
possessor of that fine place is "Monsieur le Marquis;" but any other
knowledge of who he is, and what, is superfluous. "How far are we from
the next village, do you know?"
"About a league."
"Indeed. Why I thought 'La Scarpe' was quite near us."
"Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road."
"Yes, of course; and is not this the Amiens road?"
"Oh, no; the Amiens road lies beyond those low hills to the right. You
passed the turn at the first 'barriere'."
"Is it possible we could have come wrong?"
"Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don't say so, I entreat of you."
"And what road is this, then, my friend?"
"This is the road to Albert and Peronne."
"Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is there any crossroad from
the village before us now, to the Amiens road?"
"Yes; you can reach it about three leagues hence."
"And we can get a carriage at the inn probably?"
"Ah, that I am not sure of--. Perhaps at the Lion d'or you may."
"But why not go back to Abbeville?"
"Oh, Mrs. Bingham must have left long since, and beside you forget the
distance; we have been walking two hours."
"Now for the village," said I, as I drew my friend's arm closer within
mine, and we set out in a fast walk.
Isabella seemed terribly frightened at the whole affair; what her mamma
might think, and what might be her fears at not finding us on the road,
and a hundred other encouraging reflections of this nature she poured
forth unceasingly. As for myself, I did not know well what to think of
it; my old fondness for adventure being ever sufficiently strong in me to
give a relish to any thing which bore the least resemblance to one. This
I now concealed, and sympathised with my fair friend upon our mishap, and
assuring her, at the same time, that there could be no doubt of our
overtaking Mrs. Bingham before her arrival at Amiens.
"Ah, there is the village in the valley; how beautifully situated."
"Oh, I can't admire any thing now, Mr. Lorrequer, I am so frightened."
"But surely without cause," said I, looking tenderly beneath her bonnet.
"Is this," she answered, "nothing," and we walked on in silence again.
On reaching the Lion d'or we discovered that the only conveyance to be
had was a species of open market-cart drawn by two horses, and in which
it was necessary that my fair friend and myself should seat ourselves
side by side upon straw: there was no choice, and as for Miss Bingham,
I believe if an ass with panniers had presented itself, she would have
preferred it to remaining where she was. We therefore took our places,
and she could not refrain from laughing as we set out upon our journey in
this absurd equipage, every jolt of which threw us from side to side, and
rendered every attention on my part requisite to prevent her being upset.
After about two hours' travelling we arrived at the Amiens road, and
stopped at the barriere. I immediately inquired if a carriage had
passed, resembling Mrs. Bingham's, and learned that it had, about an hour
before, and that the lady in it had been informed that two persons, like
those she asked after, had been seen in a caleche driving rapidly to
Amiens, upon which she set out as fast as possible in pursuit.
"Certainly," said I, "the plot is thickening; but for that unlucky
mistake she might in all probability have waited here for us. Amiens is
only two leagues now, so our drive will not be long, and before six
o'clock we shall all be laughing over the matter as a very good joke."
On we rattled, and as the road became less frequented, and the shadows
lengthened, I could not but wonder at the strange situations which the
adventurous character of my life had so often involved me in. Meanwhile,
my fair friend's spirits became more and more depressed, and it was not
without the greatest difficulty I was enabled to support her courage. I
assured her, and not altogether without reason, that though so often in
my eventful career accidents were occurring which rendered it dubious and
difficult to reach the goal I aimed at, yet the results had so often been
more pleasant than I could have anticipated, that I always felt a kind of
involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path, setting it
down as some especial means of fortune, to heighten the pleasure awaiting
me; "and now," added I, "even here, perhaps, in this very mistake of our
road--the sentiments I have heard--the feelings I have given utterance
to--" What I was about to say, heaven knows--perhaps nothing less than a
downright proposal was coming; but at that critical moment a gen-d'arme
rode up to the side of our waggon, and surveyed us with the peculiarly
significant scowl his order is gifted with. After trotting alongside for
a few seconds he ordered the driver to halt, and, turning abruptly to us,
demanded our passports. Now our passports were, at that precise moment,
peaceably reposing in the side pocket of Mrs. Bingham's carriage; I
therefore explained to the gen-d'arme how we were circumstanced, and
added, that on arriving at Amiens the passport should be produced. To
this he replied that all might be perfectly true, but he did not believe
a word of it--that he had received an order for the apprehension of two
English persons travelling that road--and that he should accordingly
request our company back to Chantraine, the commissionaire of which place
was his officer.
"But why not take us to Amiens," said I; "particularly when I tell you
that we can then show our passports?"
"I belong to the Chantraine district," was the laconic answer; and like
the gentleman who could not weep at the sermon because he belonged to
another parish, this specimen of a French Dogberry would not hear reason
except in his own "commune."
No arguments which I could think of had any effect upon him, and amid a
volley of entreaty and imprecation, both equally vain, we saw ourselves
turn back upon the road to Amiens, and set out at a round trot to
Chantraine, on the road to Calais.
Poor Isabella, I really pitied her; hitherto her courage had been
principally sustained by the prospect of soon reaching Amiens; now there
was no seeing where our adventure was to end. Besides that, actual
fatigue from the wretched conveyance began to distress her, and she was
scarcely able to support herself, though assisted by my arm. What a
perilous position mine, whispering consolation and comfort to a pretty
girl on a lonely road, the only person near being one who comprehended
nothing of the language we spoke in. Ah, how little do we know of fate,
and how often do we despise circumstances that determine all our fortunes
in the world. To think that a gen-d'arme should have any thing to do
with my future lot in life, and that the real want of a passport to
travel should involve the probable want of a licence to marry. Yes, it
is quite in keeping, thought I, with every step I have taken through
life. I may be brought before the "maire" as a culprit, and leave him as
a Benedict.
On reaching the town, we were not permitted to drive to the inn, but at
once conveyed to the house of the "commissaire," who was also the "maire"
of the district. The worthy functionary was long since in bed, and it
was only after ringing violently for half an hour that a head, surmounted
with a dirty cotton night-cap, peeped from an upper window, and seemed to
survey the assemblage beneath with patient attention. By this time a
considerable crowd had collected from the neighbouring ale-houses and
cabarets, who deemed it a most fitting occasion to honour us with the
most infernal yells and shouts, as indicating their love of justice, and
delight in detecting knavery; and that we were both involved in such
suspicion, we had not long to learn. Meanwhile the poor old maire, who
had been an employe in the stormy days of the revolution, and also under
Napoleon, and who full concurred with Swift that "a crowd is a mob, if
composed even of bishops," firmly believed that the uproar beneath in the
street was the announcement of a new change of affairs at Paris,
determined to be early in the field, and shouted therefore with all his
lungs--"vive le peuple"--"Vive la charte"--"A bas les autres." A
tremendous shout of laughter saluted this exhibition of unexpected
republicanism, and the poor maire retired from the window, having learned
his mistake, covered with shame and confusion.
Before the mirth caused by this blunder had subsided, the door had
opened, and we were ushered into the bureau of the commissaire,
accompanied by the anxious crowd, all curious to know the particulars of
our crime.
The maire soon appeared, his night-cap being replaced by a small black
velvet skull-cap, and his lanky figure enveloped in a tarnished silk
dressing-gown; he permitted us to be seated, while the gen-d'arme
recounted the suspicious circumstances of our travelling, and produced
the order to arrest an Englishman and his wife who had arrived in one of
the late Boulogne packets, and who had carried off from some
banking-house money and bills for a large amount.
"I have no doubt these are the people," said the gen-d'arme; "and here is
the 'carte descriptive.' Let us compare it--'Forty-two or forty-three
years of age.'"
"I trust, M. le Maire," said I, overhearing this, "that ladies do not
recognize me as so much."
"Of a pale and cadaverous aspect," continued the gen-d'arme.
Upon this the old functionary, wiping his spectacles with a snuffy
handkerchief, as if preparing them to examine an eclipse of the sun,
regarded me fixedly for several minutes, and said--"Oh, yes, I perceive
it plainly; continue the description."
"Five feet three inches," said the gen-d'arme.
"Six feet one in England, whatever this climate may have done since."
"Speaks broken and bad French."
"Like a native," said I; "at least so said my friends in the chaussee
D'Antin, in the year fifteen."
Here the catalogue ended, and a short conference between the maire and
the gen-d'arme ensued, which ended in our being committed for examination
on the morrow; meanwhile we were to remain at the inn, under the
surveillance of the gen-d'arme.
On reaching the inn my poor friend was so completely exhausted that she
at once retired to her room, and I proceeded to fulfil a promise I had
made her to despatch a note to Mrs. Bingham at Amiens by a special
messenger, acquainting her with all our mishaps, and requesting her to
come or send to our assistance. This done, and a good supper smoking
before me, of which with difficulty I persuaded Isabella to partake in
her own room, I again regained my equanimity, and felt once more at ease.
The gen-d'arme in whose guardianship I had been left was a fine specimen
of his caste; a large and powerfully built man of about fifty, with an
enormous beard of grizzly brown and grey hair, meeting above and beneath
his nether lip; his eyebrows were heavy and beetling, and nearly
concealed his sharp grey eyes, while a deep sabre-wound had left upon his
cheek a long white scar, giving a most warlike and ferocious look to his
features.
As he sat apart from me for some time, silent and motionless, I could not
help imagining in how many a hard-fought day he had borne a part, for he
evidently, from his age and bearing, had been one of the soldiers of the
empire. I invited him to partake of my bottle of Medoc, by which he
seemed flattered. When the flask became low, and was replaced by
another, he appeared to have lost much of his constrained air, and
seemed forgetting rapidly the suspicious circumstances which he supposed
attached to me--waxed wondrous confidential and communicative, and
condescended to impart some traits of a life which was not without its
vicissitudes, for he had been, as I suspected, one of the "Guarde"--the
old guarde--was wounded at Marengo, and received the croix d'honneur in
the field of Wagram, from the hands of the Emperor himself. The headlong
enthusiasm of attachment to Napoleon, which his brief and stormy career
elicited even from those who suffered long and deeply in his behalf, is
not one of the least singular circumstances which this portion of history
displays. While the rigours of the conscription had invaded every family
in France, from Normandie to La Vendee--while the untilled fields, the
ruined granaries, the half-deserted villages, all attested the
depopulation of the land, those talismanic words, "l'Empereur et la
gloire," by some magic mechanism seemed all-sufficient not only to
repress regret and suffering, but even stimulate pride, and nourish
valour; and even yet, when it might be supposed that like the brilliant
glass of a magic lantern, the gaudy pageant had passed away, leaving only
the darkness and desolation behind it--the memory of those days under the
empire survives untarnished and unimpaired, and every sacrifice of
friends or fortune is accounted but little in the balance when the honour
of La Belle France, and the triumphs of the grand "armee," are weighted
against them. The infatuated and enthusiastic followers of this great
man would seem, in some respects, to resemble the drunkard in the
"Vaudeville," who alleged as his excuse for drinking, that whenever he
was sober his poverty disgusted him. "My cabin," said he, "is a cell, my
wife a mass of old rags, my child a wretched object of misery and malady.
But give me brandy; let me only have that, and then my hut is a palace,
my wife is a princess, and my child the very picture of health and
happiness;" so with these people--intoxicated with the triumphs of their
nation, "tete monte" with victory--they cannot exist in the horror of
sobriety which peace necessarily enforces; and whenever the subject turns
in conversation upon the distresses of the time or the evil prospects of
the country, they call out, not like the drunkard, for brandy, but in the
same spirit they say--"Ah, if you would again see France flourishing and
happy, let us once more have our croix d'honneur, our epaulettes, our
voluntary contributions, our Murillos, our Velasquez, our spoils from
Venice, and our increased territories to rule over." This is the
language of the Buonapartiste every where, and at all seasons; and the
mass of the nation is wonderfully disposed to participate in the
sentiment. The empire was the Aeneid of the nation, and Napoleon the
only hero they now believe in. You may satisfy yourself of this easily.
Every cafe will give evidence of it, every society bears its testimony to
it, and even the most wretched Vaudeville, however, trivial the interest
--however meagre the story, and poor the diction, let the emperor but
have his "role"--let him be as laconic as possible, carry his hands
behind his back, wear the well-known low cocked-hat, and the "redingote
gris"--the success is certain--every sentence he utters is applauded, and
not a single allusion to the Pyramids, the sun of Austerlitz, l'honneur,
et al vieille garde, but is sure to bring down thunders of acclamation.
But I am forgetting myself, and perhaps my reader too; the conversation
of the old gen-d'arme accidentally led me into reflections like these,
and he was well calculated, in many ways, to call them forth. His
devoted attachment--his personal love of the emperor--of which he gave me
some touching instances, was admirably illustrated by an incident, which
I am inclined to tell, and hope it may amuse the reader as much as it did
myself on hearing it.
When Napoleon had taken possession of the papal dominions, as he
virtually did, and carried off the pope, Pius VI, to Paris, this old
soldier, then a musketeer in the garde, formed part of the company that
mounted guard over the holy father. During the earlier months of the
holy father's confinement he was at liberty to leave his apartments at
any hour he pleased, and cross the court-yard of the palace to the chapel
where he performed mass. At such moments the portion of the Imperial
Guard then on duty stood under arms, and received from the august hand of
the pope his benediction as he passed. But one morning a hasty express
arrived from the Tuilleries, and the officer on duty communicated his
instructions to his party, that the apostolic vicar was not to be
permitted to pass, as heretofore, to the chapel, and that a most rigid
superintendence was to be exercised over his movements. My poor
companion had his turn for duty on that ill-starred day; he had not been
long at his post when the sound of footsteps was heard approaching, and
he soon saw the procession which always attended the holy father to his
devotions, advancing towards him; he immediately placed himself across
the passage, and with his musket in rest barred the exit, declaring, at
the same time, that such were his orders. In vain the priests who formed
the cortege addressed themselves to his heart, and spoke to his feelings,
and at last finding little success by these methods, explained to him the
mortal sin and crime for which eternal damnation itself might not be a
too heavy retribution if he persisted in preventing his holiness to pass,
and thus be the means of opposing an obstacle to the head of the whole
Catholic church, for celebrating the mass; the soldier remained firm and
unmoved, the only answer he returned being, "that he had his orders, and
dared not disobey them." The pope, however, persisted in his resolution,
and endeavoured to get by, when the hardy veteran retreated a step, and
placing his musket and bayonet at the charge, called out "au nom de
l'Empereur," when the pious party at last yielded and slowly retired
within the palace.
Not many days after, this severe restriction was recalled, and once more
the father was permitted to go to and from the chapel of the palace, at
such times as he pleased, and again, as before, in passing the corridor,
the guards presented arms and received the holy benediction, all except
one; upon him the head of the church frowned severely, and turned his
back, while extending his pious hands towards the others. "And yet,"
said the poor fellow in concluding his story, "and yet I could not have
done otherwise; I had my orders and must have followed them, and had the
emperor commanded it, I should have run my bayonet through the body of
the holy father himself.
"Thus, you see, my dear sir, how I have loved the emperor, for I have
many a day stood under fire for him in this world, 'et il faut que
j'aille encore au feu pour lui apres ma mort.'."
He received in good part the consolations I offered him on this head, but
I plainly saw they did not, could not relieve his mind from the horrible
conviction he lay under, that his soul's safety for ever had been
bartered for his attachment to the emperor.
This story had brought us to the end of the third bottle of Medoc; and,
as I was neither the pope, nor had any very decided intentions of saying
mass, he offered no obstacle to my retiring for the night, and betaking
myself to my bed.