Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXIV. THE PAVILLON DE FLORE.

  As my humble carriage slackened its pace to a walk on approaching thePlace Carousel, I for the first time perceived that the open spacearound was thronged with equipages, moving slowly along in line towardsthe gate of the Palace. A picket of dragoons was drawn up at the greatarchway, and mounted gendarmes rode up and down to preserve order in thecrowd. Before me stretched the long facade of the Tuileries, now lightedup in its entire extent; the rich hangings and costly furniture could beseen even where I was.

  What a sinking sense of shame overwhelmed me as I thought of myhumble position amid that mighty concourse of all that was great andillustrious in France! and how I shrunk within myself as I thought ofthe poor scholar of the Polytechnique--for such my dress, proclaimedme--mixing with the most distinguished diplomatists and generals ofEurope! The rebuke I had met with from my colonel in the morningwas still fresh in my recollection, and I dreaded something like arepetition of it.

  "Oh, why had I not known that this was a grand reception?" wasthe ever-rising thought of my mind. My card of invitation said asoiree,--even that I might have dared: but here was a regular levee!Already I was near enough to hear the names announced at the foot of thegrand staircase, where ambassadors, senators, ministers of state, andofficers of the highest rank succeeded each other in quick succession.My carriage stood now next but two. I was near enough to see the lastarrival hand his card to the huissier in waiting, and hear his titlecalled out, "Le Ministre de la Guerre," when the person in the carriagebefore me cried to his coachman, "To the left,--the Pa villon deFlore;" and at the same moment the carriage turned from the line, anddrove rapidly towards a distant wing of the Palace.

  "Move up! move up!" shouted a dragoon. "Or are you for the soiree deMadame?"

  "Yes, yes!" said I, hastily, as I heard his question.

  "Follow that carriage, then," said he, pointing with his sabre; and ina moment we left the dense file, and followed the sounds of the retiringwheels towards a dark corner of the Palace, where a single lamp over agate was the only light to guide us.

  Never shall I forget the sense of relief I felt as I lay back in thecarriage, and listened to the hum and din of the vast crowd growing eachmoment fainter. "Thank Heaven," said I, "it's no levee!" Scarce halfa dozen equipages stood around the door as we drove up, and a singledragoon was the guard of honor.

  "Whom shall I announce, sir?" said a huissier in black, whose manner wasas deferential as though my appearance bespoke an ambassador. I gavemy name, and followed him up a wide stair, where the deep velvet carpetleft no footfall audible. A large bronze candelabra, supporting a blazeof waxlights, diffused a light like day on every side. The doors openedbefore us as if by magic, and I found myself in an antechamber, wherethe huissier, repeating my name to another in waiting, retired. Passingthrough this, we entered a small drawing-room, in which sat two personsengaged at a chess table, but who never looked up or noticed us as weproceeded. At last the two wings of a wide folding door were thrownopen, and my name was announced in a low but audible voice.

  The salon into which I now entered was a large and splendidly-furnishedapartment, whose light, tempered by a species of abat-jour, gave akind of soft mysterious effect to everything about, and made even thefigures, as they sat in little groups, appear something almostdramatic in their character. The conversation, too, was maintained ina half-subdued tone,--a gentle murmur of voices, that, mingling withthe swell of music in another and distant apartment, and the plash of asmall fountain in a vase of goldfish in the room itself, made a strangebut most pleasing assemblage of sounds. Even in the momentary glancewhich, on entering, I threw around me, I perceived that no studiedetiquette or courtly stateliness prevailed. The guests were disposed inevery attitude of lounging ease and careless abandon; and it was plainto see that all or nearly all about were intimates of the place.

  As the door closed behind me, I stood half uncertain how to proceed.Unhappily, I knew little of the habitudes of the great world, and everystep I took was a matter of difficulty.

  "I think you will find Madame Bonaparte in that room," said amiddle-aged and handsome man, whose mild voice and gentle smile did muchto set me at my ease. "But perhaps you don't know her."

  I muttered something I meant to be a negative, to which he immediatelyreplied,--

  "Then let me present you. There is no ceremony here, and I shall be yourgroom of the chambers. But here she is. Madame la Consulesse, this younggentleman desires to make his respects."

  "Ha! our friend of the Polytechnique,--Monsieur Burke, is it not?"

  "Yes, Madame," said I, bowing low, and blushing deeply as I recognized,in the splendidly-attired and beautiful person before me, the ladywho so kindly held the water to my lips the day of my accident at theschool.

  "Why, they told me you were promoted,--a hussar, I think."

  "Yes, Madame; but--but--"

  "You are too fond of old associations to part from them easily," saidshe, laughing. "Come here, Stephanie, and see a miracle of manhood, thatcould resist all the _clinquant_ of a hussar for the simple costume ofthe E cole Militaire. Monsieur de Custine, this is my young friend ofwhom I told you the other day."

  The gentleman, the same who had so kindly noticed me, bowed politely.

  "And now I must leave you together, for I see they are teasing poorMadame Lefebvre." And with a smile she passed on into a small boudoir,from which the sounds of merry laughter were proceeding.

  "You don't know any one here?" said Monsieur de Custine, as he motionedme to a place beside him on a sofa. "Nor is there any very remarkableperson here to point out to you this evening. The First Consul's leveeabsorbs all the celebrities; but by and by they will drop in to paytheir respects, and you 'll see them all. The handsome woman yonder withher fan before her is Madame Beauharnais Lavalette, and the good-lookingyoung fellow in the staff uniform is Monsieur de Melcy, a stepson ofGeneral Rapp."

  "And the large handsome man with the embroidered coat who passed throughso hurriedly?"

  "Yes, he is somebody,--that's Decres, the Ministre de la Marine; he isgone to the levee. And there, next the door, with his eyes cast down andhis hands folded, that is the Abbe Maynal, one of the most 'spirituel'men of the day. But I suppose you 'd much rather look at the beautiesof the Court than hear long stories about literature and politics. Andthere is the gem of loveliness among them."

  I turned my eyes as he spoke, and close beside me, engaged in an eagerconversation with an old lady, stood a young and most beautiful girl.Her long hair, through which, in the then mode, violets were wreathedand interwoven, descended in rich masses of curl over a neck white asmarble. The corsage of her dress, which, in imitation of Greek costume,was made low, displayed her well-rounded shoulders to the greatestadvantage; and though rather below than above the middle size, therewas a dignity and grace in the air of her figure, and a certain eleganceabout her slightest movements, that was most fascinating.

  "And the 'Rose de Provence,'--how is she this evening?" said mycompanion, rising suddenly, and presenting himself with a smile beforeher.

  "Ah! you here. Monsieur de Custine? we thought you had been at Nancy."

  The accent, the tone of voice in which she said these few words, senta thrill through me; and as I looked again, I recognized the young ladywho stood at Madame Bonaparte's side on the memorable day of my fall.Perhaps my astonishment made me start; for she turned round towards me,and with a soft and most charming smile saluted me,

  "How they are laughing in that room!" said she, turning towards herother companions. "Monsieur de Custine has deserted his dear friend thisevening, and left her to her unassisted defence."

  "_Ma foi_," replied he, "I got ill rewarded for my advocacy. It was onlylast week, when I helped her out through one of her blunders in grammarshe called me a 'ganache' for my pains."

  "How very ungrateful! You that have been interpreter to her, her tutorfor the entire winter, without whom she could neither have obtained anice nor a glas
s of water!"

  "So is it; but you are all ungrateful. But I think I had better go andpay my respects to her. Pray, come along with me."

  The Rose of Provence 247]

  I followed the party into a small room fitted up like a tent, where,amid some half-dozen persons assembled around like an audience, sat alarge, florid, and good-looking person, her costume of scarlet velvet,turban, and robe adding to the flushed and high-colored expression ofher features. She was talking in a loud voice, and with an accent ofsuch _patois_ as I should much more naturally have expected in a remotefaubourg than in the gilded _salons_ of the Tuileries. She had beenrelating some anecdotes of military life, which came within her ownexperience; and evidently amused her auditory as much by her manner asthe matter of her narrative.

  "Oui, parbleu," said she, drawing a long breath, "I was only the wifeof a sergeant in the 'Gardes Francaises' in those days; but they werepleasant times, and the men one used to see were men indeed. They werenot as much laced in gold, nor had not so much finery on their jackets;but they were bold, bronzed, manly fellows. You 'd not see such a poor,miserable little fellow as De Custine there, in a whole demi-brigade."When the laugh this speech caused, and in which her own merry voicejoined, subsided, she continued; "Where will you find, now, anythinglike the Twenty-second of the line? Pioche was in that. Poor Pioche! Itied up his jaw in Egypt when it was smashed by a bullet. I remember,too, when the regiment came back, your husband, the General, reviewedthem in the court below, and poor Pioche was quite offended at notbeing noticed. 'We were good friends,' quoth he, 'at Mount Tabor, buthe forgets all that now; that 's what comes of a rise in the world. "LePetit Caporal" was humble enough once, I warrant him; but now he can'tremember me.' Well, they were ordered to march past in line; and therewas Pioche, with his great dark eyes fixed on the General, and his bigblack beard flowing down to his waist. But no, he never noticed him nomore than the tambour that beat the rappel. He could bear it no longer;his head was twisting with impatience and chagrin; and he sprang out ofthe lines, and seizing a brass gun,--a _piece de quatre_,--he mountedit like a fusee to his shoulder, and marched past, calling out, 'Tu'--healways _tu'toied_ him--' tu te rappelles maintenant, n'est-ce pas,petit?'"

  No one enjoyed this little story more than Madame Bonaparte herself, wholaughed for several minutes after it was over. Story after story did shepour forth in this way; most of them, however, had their merit insome personality or other, which, while recognized by the rest, had noattraction for me. There was in all she said the easy self-complacencyof a kind-hearted but vulgar woman, vain of her husband, proud ofhis services, and perfectly indifferent to the habits and usages of asociety 'whose manners she gave herself no trouble to imitate, nor ofwhose ridicule was she in the least afraid.

  I sauntered from the room alone, to wander through the other apartments,where objects of art and curiosities of every kind were profuselyscattered. The marbles of Greece and Rome, the strange carvings ofEgypt, the rich vases of Sevres were there, amid cabinet pictures of therarest and most costly kind. Those delicious landscapes of the time ofLouis the Fifteenth, where every charm of nature and art was conveyedupon the canvas: the cool arbors of Versailles, with their terracedpromenades and hissing fountains,--the subjects which Vanloo loved topaint, and which that voluptuous Court loved to contemplate,--the longalleys of shady green, where gay groups were strolling in the mellowsoftness of an autumn sunset; those proud dames whose sweeping garmentsbrushed the velvet turf, and at whose sides, uncovered, walked thechivalry of France,--how did they live again in the bright pencil ofMoucheron! and how did they carry one in fancy to the great days of theMonarchy! Strange place for them, too,--the boudoir of her whose husbandhad uprooted the ancient dynasty they commemorated, had erased from thelist of kings that proudest of all the royal stocks in Europe. Was itthe narrow-minded glory of the Usurper, that loved to look upon thegreatness he had humbled, that brought them there? or was it rather thewellspring of that proud hope just rising in his heart, that he was tobe successor of those great kings whose history formed the annals ofEurope itself?

  As I wandered on, captivated in every sense by the charm of what to mewas a scene in fairyland, I came suddenly before a picture of Josephine,surrounded by the ladies of her Court. It was by Isabey, and had allthe delicate beauty and transparent finish of that delightful painter.Beside it was another portrait by the same artist; and I started backin amazement at the resemblance. Never had color better caught the richtint of a Southern complexion; the liquid softness of eye, the full andsparkling intelligence of ready wit and bright fancy, all beamed in thatlovely face. It needed not the golden letters in the frame which calledit "La Rose de Provence." I sat down before it unconsciously, delightedthat I might gaze on such beauty unconstrained. The white hand leaned ona balustrade, and seemed almost as if stretching from the very canvas. Icould have knelt and kissed it. That was the very look she wore thehour I saw her first,--it had never left my thoughts day or night.The half-rising blush, the slightly averted head, the mingled look ofimpatience and kindness,--all were there; and so entranced had I become,that I feared each instant lest the vision would depart, and leaveme dark and desolate. The silence of the room was almost unbroken. Adistant murmur of voices, the tones of a harp, were all I heard; and Isat, I know not how long, thus wrapped in ecstasy.

  A tall screen of Chinese fabric separated the part of the room Ioccupied from the rest, and left me free to contemplate alone thosecharms which each moment grew stronger upon me. An hour mightperhaps have thus elapsed, when suddenly I heard the sound of voicesapproaching, but in a different direction from that of the salons. Theywere raised above the ordinary tone of speaking, and one in particularsounded in a strange accent of mingled passion and sarcasm which I shallnever forget. The door of the room was flung open before I could risefrom my chair; and two persons entered, neither of whom could I see frommy position behind the screen.

  "I ask you, again and again, Is the treaty of Amiens a treaty, or is itnot?" said a harsh, imperious tone I at once recognized as that of theFirst Consol, while his voice actually trembled with anger.

  "My Lord Whitworth observed, if I mistake not," replied a measured andsoft accent, where a certain courtier-like unction prevailed, "that thewithdrawal of the British troops from Malta would follow, on our makinga similar step as regards our forces in Switzerland and Piedmont."

  "What right have they to make such a condition? They never complained ofthe occupation of Switzerland at the time of the treaty. I will not hearof such a stipulation. I tell you. Monsieur de Talleyrand, I 'd rathersee the English in the Faubourg St. Antoine than in the Island of Malta.Why should we treat with England as a Continental power? Of India, ifshe will; and as to Egypt, I told my lord that sooner or later it mustbelong to France."

  "A frankness he has reason to be thankful for," observed M. deTalleyrand, in a voice of sarcastic slyness.

  "Que voulez-vous?" replied Bonaparte, in a raised tone. "They want awar, and they shall have it. What matter the cause?--such treaties ofpeace as these had better be covered with black crape." Then droppinghis voice to a half-whisper, he added: "You must see him to-morrow;explain how the attacks of the English press have irritated me; howdeeply wounded I must feel at such a license permitted under the veryeyes of a friendly government,--plots against my life encouraged,assassination countenanced! Repeat, that Sebastiani's mission to Egyptis merely commercial; that although prepared for war, our wish, the wishof France, is peace; that the armaments in Holland are destined for theColonies. Show yourself disposed to treat, but not to make advances.Reject the word ultimatum, if he employ it; the phrase implies a parleybetween a superior and an inferior. This is no longer the France thatremembers an English commissary at Dunkirk. If he do not use theword, then remark on its absence; say, these are not times for longeranxiety,--that we must know, at last, to what we are to look; tell himthe Bourbons are not still on the throne here; let him feel with whom hehas to deal."

  "And if he demand
his passport," gravely observed Talleyrand, "you canbe in the country for a day; at Plombiferes,--at St. Cloud."

  A low, subdued laugh followed these words, and they walked forwardtowards the salons, still conversing, but in a whispered tone.

  A cold perspiration broke over my face and forehead, the drops fellheavily down my cheek, as I sat an unwilling listener of this eventfuldialogue. That the fate of Europe was in the balance I knew full well;and ardently as I longed for war, the dreadful picture that rose beforeme damped much of my ardor; while a sense of my personal danger, ifdiscovered where I was, made me tremble from head to foot. It was, then,with a sinking spirit, that I retraced my steps towards the salons, notknowing if my absence had not been remarked and commented on. How littlewas I versed in such society, where each came and went as itpleased him,--where the most brilliant beauty, the most spiritualconversationalist, left no gap by absence,--and where such as I were nomore noticed than the statues that held the waxlights!

  The salons were now crowded: ministers of state, ambassadors, generalofficers in their splendid uniforms, filled the apartments, in which thedin of conversation and the sounds of laughter mingled. Yet, through theair of gayety which reigned throughout,--the tone of light and flippantsmartness which prevailed,--I thought I could mark here and thereamong some of the ministers an appearance of excitement and a look ofpreoccupation little in unison with the easy intimacy which all seemedto possess. I looked on every side for the First Consul himself, buthe was nowhere to be seen. Monsieur Talleyrand, however, remained: Irecognized him by his soft and measured accent, as he sat beside MadameBonaparte, and was relating some story in a low voice, at which sheseemed greatly amused. I could not help wondering at the lively andanimated character of features, beneath which were concealed the darksecrets of state affairs, the tangled mysteries of political intrigue.To look on him, you would have said, "There sits one whose easy lifeflows on, unruffled by this world's chances."

  Not so the tall and swarthy man, whose dark mustache hangs far below hischin, and who leans on the chimneypiece yonder; the large veins of hisforehead are swollen and knitted, and his deep voice seems to tremblewith strong emotion as he speaks.

  "Pray, Monsieur, who is that officer yonder?" said I, to a gentlemanbeside me, and whose shoulder was half turned away.

  "That," said he, raising his glass, "that is Savary, the Minister ofPolice. And, pardon, you are Mr. Burke,--is 't not so?"

  I started as he pronounced my name, and looking fixedly at him,recognized the antagonist with whom I was to measure swords the nextmorning in the Bois de Boulogne. I colored at the awkwardness of mysituation; but he, with more ease and self-possession, resumed,--

  "Monsieur, this is, to me at least, a very fortunate meeting. I havecalled twice, in the hope of seeing you this evening, and am overjoyednow to find you here. I behaved very ill to you this morning; I feelit now, I almost felt it at the time. If you will accept my apology forwhat has occurred, I make it most freely. My character is in no need ofan affair to make me known as a man of courage; yours, there can be nodoubt of. May I hope you agree with me? I see you hesitate: perhapsI anticipate the reason,--you do not know how far you can or ought toreceive such an amende?" I nodded, and he continued: "Well, I am rathera practised person in these matters, and I can safely say you may."

  "Be it so, then," said I, taking the hand he proffered, and shaking itwarmly; "I am too young in the world to be my own guide, and I feel youwould not deceive me."

  A gratified look, and a renewed pressure of the hand, replied to myspeech.

  "One favor more,--you must n't refuse me. Let us sup together. My_caleche_ is below; people are already taking their leave here; and, ifyou have no particular reason for remaining--"

  "None; I know no one."

  "_Allons_, then," said he, gayly, taking my arm. And I soon found myselfdescending the marble stairs beside the man I had expected to standopposed to in deadly conflict a few hours later.