Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume I Part 33

There was a tone of easy and frank good-nature in all he said, which at once disposed me to like the young Creole; and we spent the whole afternoon recounting our various adventures and fortunes, and before night came on were sworn friends for life.

CHAPTER XXII. THE TUILERIES IN 1803

The life of the cadet differed little from that of the schoolboy. The same routine of study, the same daily round of occupation and duty, were his. Until drafted to the particular corps to which he might be appointed, he only could absent himself from the college by special leave; and the most rigid of all military discipline prevailed during the brief interval which was to fit him for the arduous life of a soldier. The evenings, however, were at our disposal; and what a pleasure it was, the fatigue of the day over, to wander forth into the city,--that brilliant Paris, near which I had lived so long, and yet had seen so little of!

At first the splendor of the shops, the unceasing flow of population, the might and grandeur of the public buildings, attracted all my attention; and when these wore off in novelty, I could still wander with delight through the gay gardens of the Tuileries, and watch the sparkling fountains as they splashed in the pale moonlight, and look upon the happy children who played about them, their merry laughter ringing through the water's plash. What a fairy scene it was to watch the groups as they pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed--came and went and disappeared--amid those dark alleys where the silent footstep did not mar the sounds of happy voices! and then, how have I turned from these to throw a wistful glance towards the palace windows, where some half-closed curtain from time to time would show the golden sparkle of a brilliant l.u.s.tre or the rich frame of a mirror,--mayhap an open sash would for a moment display some fair form, the outline only seen as she leaned on the balcony and drank in the balmy air of the mild evening, while the soft swell of music would float from the gorgeous saloon, and falling on my ear, set me a-dreaming of pleasures my life had never known!

My utter loneliness pressed deeper on me every day; for while each of my companions had friends and relatives, among whom their evenings were pa.s.sed, I was friendless and alone. The narrowness of my means--I had nothing save my pay--prevented my frequenting the theatre, or even accepting such invitations as the other cadets pressed upon me; and thus for hours long have I sat and watched the windows of the palace, weaving to myself stories of that ideal world from which my humble fortune debarred me.

It had been years since the Tuileries exhibited anything resembling the state that formerly prevailed in that splendid palace; but at the period I speak of Bonaparte had just been chosen Consul for life, and already the organization of his household had undergone a most considerable alteration. In the early years of the Consulate a confused a.s.semblage of aides-de-camp, whose heavy gait and loud speech betokened less the court than the camp, were the only attendants on his person; he lived in the centre pavilion, as if in a tent in the midst of his army. But now he inhabited the splendid suite of rooms to the left of the pavilion,--_de l'horloge_, as it is called,--which stretches away towards the river.

The whole service of the palace was remodelled; and without wounding those prejudices that attached to the times of the deposed Monarchy by adopting the t.i.tles of chamberlain, or gentlemen of the chamber, he gradually inst.i.tuted the ceremonial of a Court by preferring to the posts about his person those whose air and manners savored most of the higher habitudes of society, and whose families were distinguished among the n.o.blesse of the kingdom.

Duroc, the chief aide-de-camp of the General, was appointed governor of the palace; and it was said that the Consul himself studied all the ancient ceremonial of the old Court, and ordained that every etiquette of royalty should be resumed with the most unerring accuracy. The chamberlains were represented by prefects of the palace; and Josephine had her ladies of honor, like any princess of the blood royal.

The Consul, still imitating the observances of the Bourbons, had his _pet.i.ts levers_ and his grand receptions; and if the new-created functionaries possessed little of the courteous ease and high-bred habitudes of the old Court, there was in their hard-won honors--most of them promoted on the very field of battle--that which better suited the prejudices of the period, and scarcely less became the gilded saloons of the Tuileries.

Like all newly-organized societies, the machinery worked ill at first. Few if any of them had ever seen a Court; and the proud but yet respectful obedience which characterized the French gentleman in the presence of his sovereign was converted into an obsequious and vulgar deference towards Bonaparte, equally opposite to the true type, as it was foreign to the habits, of the blunt soldier who proffered it.

But what, after all, signified these blemishes? There was beauty: never in the brighter annals of France had more lovely women filled those gorgeous saloons. There was genius, heroism: the highest chivalry of the great nation could scarce vie with the proud deeds of those grouped around him,--the mighty one on whom each eye was fixed. And if, as M.

Talleyrand remarked, there were those who knew not how to walk on the waxed floor of a palace, few could tread more finely the field of battles, and step with firmer foot the path that led to glory. Yet, with all the First Consul's pride in those whose elevation to rank and dignity was his own work, his predilections leaned daily more and more towards the high and polished circles of the Faubourg St. Germain. The courteous and easy politeness of Talleyrand, the chivalrous and courtly bearing of the Comte de Narbonne, and the graceful elegance of Sgur's manners, formed too striking a contrast with the soldierlike rudeness of the newly-promoted generals, not to make a profound impression on one who could, in the deepest and weightiest concerns of life, take into calculation the most minute and trivial circ.u.mstances.

This disparity, remarkable as it was among the men, was still more so in the ladies of the Court,--few of those newly elevated having tact enough either to imitate successfully the polished usages of the old n.o.bility, or resolution sufficient to maintain their original habits without blushing at their own want of breeding.

If I have been led somewhat from the current of my own story by this digression, it is merely that I may pa.s.singly note down some of the features of the period,--one of the most remarkable in the history of Modern Europe, and one which already, to the far-seeing eye of some, betokened the speedy return to those very inst.i.tutions of Monarchy to uproot which cost the best blood of France, and a revolution the most terrific the world has ever witnessed.

And now, looking back on the great career of that great man, no portion of his history can, perhaps, present anything to compare with the splendor of the Consulate. A long succession of victories, the spoils of half Europe, glory to very satiety, had intoxicated the nation.

A country flourishing in every element of prosperity; social order restored; a high position amid surrounding nations; and everything that could gratify national ambition obtained,--France stood at the very pinnacle of her greatness. Even the splendor of those names who represented the various states of Europe at her Court seemed to attest her supremacy. The stately and polished Whitworth, conspicuous by the elegance of his appearance and the perfection of his aristocratic bearing; the Russian Amba.s.sador, Marcoff; the Chevalier Azara, the Minister of Spain, the courtier of Europe; Baron de Cetto, the Envoy of Saxony, one of the most distinguished, both by manners and ability, m the whole diplomatic circle, were among those who frequented the First Consul's levies, which already, in the splendor of costume and the gorgeous display of uniform, rivalled the most sumptuous days of the Monarchy.

All the long-forgotten ceremonial of a Court was restored. Dinners, most splendid in all the array of pomp and grandeur, were given every week; ftes, that vied with the luxurious era of Louis the Fourteenth himself, took place frequently; and Paris became the rendezvous for all Europe, curious to behold the rich trophies of successful wars, and mix in the delight of a capital where pleasure reigned triumphant.

The theatre presented an array of genius and talent hitherto unequalled.

Talma and Mademoiselle Mars were in the very zenith of their fame, and obtained a large share of Bonaparte's favor, whose tastes were eminently dramatic. In a word, a new era had commenced, and every cla.s.s and walk, every condition of man, seemed resolved to recompense itself, by the pursuit of pleasure, for the long and dark night of trouble through which it had pa.s.sed.

While, therefore, the Court of the First Consul partook of such features as those, the circle of Josephine possessed attractions totally different. There, amid her intimate friends, all the charm and fascination of French society held sway. Each evening saw a.s.sembled around her the wittiest and most polished persons of the day,--the gay and spirited talkers who so pre-eminently gave the tone to Parisian society: the handsomest women, and the most distinguished of the litterateurs of the period, found ready access to one whose own powers of pleasing have left an undying impression on some, who even still can recall those delightful moments.

Such were, in brief, the leading features of the Court then held in the Tuileries; and such the germ of that new order of things which was so soon to burst forth upon astonished Europe under the proud t.i.tle of The Empire.

CHAPTER XXIII. A SURPRISE.

I WAS sitting one evening alone in my quarters, an open volume before me, in which I persuaded myself I was reading, while my thoughts were far otherwise engaged, when my comrade Tascher suddenly entered the room, and throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed, in a tone of pa.s.sionate impatience,--

"_Pardieu!_ it is a fine thing to be nephew to the first man in France!"

"What has happened?" said I, when I perceived that he stopped short without explaining further.

"What has happened!--enough to drive one mad. Just hear this. You know how fond I am of Paris, and how naturally I must wish to be near the Tuileries, where I have the _entre_ to my aunt's soirees. Well, there was a vacancy occurred yesterday in the huitieme hussars,--a corps always stationed here or at Versailles,--and as I am longing to have a cavalry grade, I waited on Madame Bonaparte to solicit her interest in my favor. She promised, of course. The General was to breakfast with her, and it was all settled: she was to ask him for the promotion, and I had not a doubt of success; in fact, if I must confess, I told two or three of my friends, and actually received their congratulations.

"It so fell out, however, that he did not come to breakfast, nor dinner either,--there's no knowing that man. But what think you? He walked in this evening, just as we were preparing to act a proverb. Such a scene as it was, to be sure. No one expected him. Most of us were dressed up in costumes of one kind or other; and I, _ma foi!_--ridiculous enough, I suppose,--I was costumed like a galley slave. He stood for a second or two at the door with his arms folded, and his stern eyes wandering over the whole room. There was not one amongst us would not have wished himself many a mile away; even my aunt herself seemed quite confused, and blushed, and grew pale, and blushed again.

"'Ha!' cried he at last, in his dry, short voice. 'Pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I have made a mistake; I believed I was in the Palace of the Tuileries, and I find this is the Porte St. Martin.'

"'Fi donc, Bonaparte!' cried my aunt, blushing, while with one of her sweetest-smiles she endeavored to bring him back to good-humor. 'See how you have frightened Madame de Narbonne--she 'll never be able to play the miller's wife; and Marie here,--her tears will wash away all her rouge.'

"'And this amiable gentleman, what is to become of him?' said he, interrupting her, while he laid his hand on my shoulder, and I stood trembling like a culprit beside him.

"'Ah, there! that 's Tascher,' said she, laughingly; and as if happy to escape from her greater embarra.s.sment by any means, she continued: 'Your question comes, indeed, quite a propos. I have a request to make in his favor: there's a vacancy in the huitieme, I think it is,--eh, Edward?'

(I nodded slightly, for if my life depended on it, I could not have uttered a word.) 'Now, I am sure he 's been sous-lieutenant long enough; and in the infantry too.'

"'Can you ride well, sir?' said he, turning to me with a half frown on his pale face.

"'Yes, General,' replied I, with my heart almost choking me as I spoke.

"'Well, sir, you shall be employed, and in a service worthy your present tastes, if I may judge from your costume. A detachment of prisoners is to march to-morrow from this for the Bagne de Brest; hold yourself in readiness to accompany the military escort. Go, sir, and report yourself to your colonel.' He waved his hand when he had finished; and how I left the room, reached the street, and found myself here, hang me if I can tell you."

"And is there no help for this? Must you really go?" said I, compa.s.sionating the dejected and sorrow-struck expression of the youth.

"Must I go! _Ma foi_ you know little of this dear uncle of mine, if you ask such a question. When once his mind 's made up, anything like an attempt to argue only confirms his resolve. The best thing now is, to obey and say nothing; for if my aunt remonstrates, I may spend my life in garrison there over the galley slaves."

A knocking at the outer door interrupted our conversation at this moment, and a corporal of the staff entered, with a despatch-bag at his waist.

"Sous-Lieutenant Tascher," said he, touching his cap, and presenting a large official-looking letter to my companion, who threw it from him on the table, and turned away to hide his confusion. "Monsieur Burke," said the corporal, withdrawing another ominous doc.u.ment from his leathern pouch.

"_Diantre!_" cried Tascher, turning quickly about, "have I got you into a sc.r.a.pe as well as myself? I remember now the General asked me who was my 'comrade.'"

I took the paper with a trembling hand, and tore it open. The first line was all I could read; it was a War Office official, appointing me to the vacant commission in the huitieme hussars.

Tascher's hand shook as he leaned on my shoulder, and I could feel a convulsive twitching of his fingers as his agitation increased; but in a second or two he recovered his self-command, and taking my hand within both of his, he said, while the large tears were starting from his eyes,--

"I'm glad it's you, Burke!" and then turned away, unable to say more.

It was some time before I could bring myself to credit my good fortune.

Had I been free to choose, I could have desired nothing better nor more to my liking; and when I succeeded at length, then came my embarra.s.sment at my poor friend's disappointment, which must have been still more poignant as contrasted with my success. Tascher, however, had all the Creole warmth of temperament. The first burst over, he really enjoyed the thought of my promotion; and we sat up the entire night talking over plans for the future, and making a hundred resolves for contingencies, some of which never arose, and many, when they came, suggested remedies of their own.

At daybreak my comrade's horses came to the door, and a mounted orderly attended to accompany him to the prison where the convoy were a.s.sembled.

We shook hands again and again. He was leaving what had been his home for years,--Paris, the gay and brilliant city in whose pleasures he had mixed, and whose fascinations he had tasted. I was parting from one with whom I had lived in a friendship as close as can subsist between two natures essentially different. We both were sad.

"Adieu, Burke!" said he, as he waved his hand for the last time. "I hope you'll command the huitieme when next we meet."

I hurried into the quarters, which already seemed lonely and deserted, so soon does desolation throw its darkening shadow before it. The sword that had hung above the chimney crosswise on my own was gone; the shako, too, and the pistols were missing; the vacant chair stood opposite to mine; and the isolation I felt became so painful that I wandered out into the open air, glad to escape the sight of objects every one of which only suggested how utterly alone I stood in the world when the departure of one friend had left me companionless.

No one save he who has experienced it can form any just idea of the intense hold a career of any kind will take of the mind of him who, without the ties of country, of kindred, and of friends, devotes all his energies in one direction. The affections that might, under other influences, have grown up,--the hopes that might have flourished in the happy sphere of a home,--become the springs of a more daring ambition.

In proportion as he deserts other roads in life, the path he has struck out for himself seems wider and grander, and his far-seeing eye enables him to look into the long distance with a prophetic vision, where are rewards for his hard won victories, the recompense of long years of toil. The pursuit, become a pa.s.sion, gradually draws all into its vortex; and that success which at first he believed only attainable by some one mighty effort, seems at last to demand every energy of his life and every moment of his existence: and as the miser would deem his ruin near should the most trifling opportunity of gain escape him, so does the ambitious man feel that every incident in life must be made tributary to the success which is his mammon. It was thus I thought of the profession of arms: my whole soul was in it; no other wish, no other hope, divided my heart; that pa.s.sion reigned there alone. How often do we find it in life that the means become the end,--that the effort we employ to reach an object takes hold upon our fancy, gains hourly upon our affections, and at length usurps the place of what before had been our idol? As a boy, liberty, the bold a.s.sertion of my country's rights, stirred my heart, and made me wish to be a soldier. As years rolled on, the warlike pa.s.sion sank deeper and deeper in my nature,--the thirst for glory grew upon me; and forgetting all save that, I longed for the time when on the battle-field I should win my name to fame and honor.

In this wise were my musings, as I loitered homeward and entered my quarters. A sealed packet, addressed Sous-Lieutenant Burke,--how that humble t.i.tle made my heart beat!--lay on my table. Supposing it referred to my new appointment, I sat down to con it over at my leisure; but no sooner had I torn open the envelope than a card fell to the ground. I took it up hastily, and read,--"D'aprs l'ordre de Madame Bonaparte, j'ai l'honneur de vous inviter une soire--"