Part 27 (1/2)
I have no very distinct recollection of the services; indeed, I hardly paid enough attention to them to follow them decorously, for I was consumed with an eager desire for but one event--the entrance of the First Consul.
A subdued murmur (almost, it seemed to me, like suppressed ”Vive le rois”) announced to me that he was just entering the door, and as I sat by the aisle down which he was coming, and far to the front, by turning in my seat and stretching my neck shamelessly I had time to see him well.
Could this little fellow, who might easily have stood under my arm stretched level with my shoulder, could he be the hero of Marengo! the Dictator of France who held all Europe trembling in his grasp! I think that I had heretofore had an unconscious feeling that greatness of stature meant greatness of heart and mind and courage, and I had gloried in my inches. Now I was almost ashamed of them, for this little man coming rapidly down the aisle with a firm, quick step seemed to breathe power from the chiseled curve of the nostril, from the haughty curl of the beautiful lips, but most of all from the imperial flash of the dark eyes under level brows. If his face had not been so full of power, yes, and of arrogance, it would have been almost too beautiful for a man's face, framed in silky brown hair thinning at the temples, but curling in one dark lock above the broad white brow.
But if it humbled me to see so much greatness in such small stature, it comforted me not a little to observe that the great man was no despiser of dress. He might have been molded into his small-clothes and waistcoat of white doeskin, so exactly did they fit every line and curve of his perfect figure. His dark-blue military coat of finest cloth was set off by heavy epaulets of gold and by a broad azure ribbon crossing his breast and bearing the jeweled insignia of the Legion of Honor. The crimson sword-sash which bore his sword sheathed in a scabbard of gold flas.h.i.+ng with jewels, completed in his own dress the tricolor of France. He wore high military boots, I think to carry out the military effect of his epaulets and sword, for it was in the character of soldier, the hero of many battles, the winner of glory for France, that the people idolized him.
To the right and the left, his eagle glance took in the whole great congregation, and as he pa.s.sed it fell on me. His glances were never idle ones; I knew he had seen me, and my pulses quivered and fluttered like a young maiden's. From that moment I was as much his slave as any soldier of La Vendee, and had he not himself disillusioned me most bitterly, I should still have been regarding him as the hero of my dreams, _sans peur et sans reproche_, the greatest man and greatest soldier of all time. I still believe the latter t.i.tle belongs to him, but not the first, for a great man must be a good man too, like our Was.h.i.+ngton, and that Bonaparte was not.
It is no wonder, then, that I was quite beside myself with excitement when at dejeuner my uncle said to me:
”Would you like to ride out to St. Cloud with me this afternoon? The First Consul has summoned me to a conference with him, if I mistake not, on the subject you heard discussed yesterday.”
”Oh, thank you, sir. And shall I be present at the conference?” I spoke quickly and foolishly, for I was greatly excited.
My uncle laughed.
”Well, hardly, my boy, unless you find a way, as you did yesterday, of compelling the First Consul to invite you to be present.”
I liked not to be laughed at, but I knew it was but my uncle's teasing fas.h.i.+on, and all the way out through the beautiful Boulogne woods, the birds singing, the sun s.h.i.+ning, the soft spring airs blowing, the alders and willows pale pink and yellow in the distance, the great buds of the horse-chestnuts just bursting into leaf and everywhere the vivid green of the fresh turf; my heart beating high with happy excitement to be in beautiful Paris and on my way to historic St.
Cloud, where dwelt the most wonderful man of the world; and Fatima prancing and curveting under me, her dainty hoofs scarce touching the earth as she danced along the green allees of St. Cloud's beautiful park, sharing my happy excitement (though only, I suppose, for a horse's natural joy in trees and gra.s.s and suns.h.i.+ne)--all that swift and beautiful ride, galloping beside my uncle's coach, his words rang in my ears, and I longed with all my heart to be present at that conference: not so much to hear what was said as to see the great Bonaparte saying it.
I parted from my uncle at one of the great fountains, he riding up in his coach to the palace doors, and Fatima and I starting off on an exploring tour around the park. He would not hear to my waiting for him, for he said he might be detained for hours, and indeed it was possible the Consul would keep him all night at St. Cloud, as sometimes happened, to call upon at any hour of the night when some new suggestion occurred to him.
Riding fast, as was my custom when alone with Fatima, it did not take us long to exhaust the beauties of the park, and my eyes began to turn longingly toward the palace. Somewhere within its stately walls I supposed the conference was going on. Verily, there were some compensations in diplomacy when it gave a man like my uncle a chance to hold close converse with a man like the First Consul. (And in that I do not intend to speak slightingly of my Uncle Francois, for he was ever in my regard the most admirable of men. Only, it seemed to me then that to be able to talk familiarly with the great Bonaparte was a privilege above the deserts of ordinary mortals.)
I intended to remain at St. Cloud until toward evening, for if the conference should prove short I might still have the pleasure of my uncle's company on the homeward trip. But time began to hang heavily on my hands, and it occurred to me that I would ask the sentry, whom I had seen from a distance walking up and down in front of the main entrance, whether it were possible to gain admission to the palace. I thought it probable that it was not open to visitors, since the First Consul was occupying it, but it would do no harm to find out, and if by chance I should be admitted, I would at least have the pleasure of wandering through the rooms where he dwelt.
It was necessary first to dispose of Fatima, and a thicket of evergreen at one side of the palace caught my eye as affording a grateful shade from the warm afternoon sun (which so early in the season could be found only under evergreens) and a hiding-place from any prowling thief who might want to steal her, or from any troublesome guard who might come upon her and carry her off to the Consul's stables.
So into the thicket I rode, following a winding path that led toward the upper end near the palace, and at the very upper edge I found just what I wanted--a clump of bushes so thick set that they formed an almost impenetrable screen. They were lower than the other evergreens--not much higher than my horse's ears, but that was high enough. Into the midst of this clump I rode Fatima and dismounted.
”Stand here, Sweetheart,” I said softly, ”and budge not a step for any man but your master.”
She rubbed her nose against my shoulder in token that she understood, and I whispered again in her ear:
”Not a whinny, not a sound, my Beauty,” and left her, feeling sure no man could steal her and no guard could lead her away by guile or force, nor would she betray her presence there by any noise.
As I left the evergreens, intending to go around to the front of the building and speak to the sentry, I saw, coming down the path toward me, a young and pretty woman, who, I recognized by her dress, must be in service at the palace.
”I will inquire from her,” I said to myself promptly, ”for she will know as well as the sentry whether there is any admission, and she will no doubt have a much pleasanter way of saying either yes or no.”
So, as she was about to pa.s.s me with a little curtsy and a pretty smile, I stopped her.
”Mademoiselle,” I said, and doffed my hat, ”is it permitted to see the palace to-day?”
”No, Monsieur,” she answered, ”unless one is invited or has business of importance with the First Consul.”
Now I have ever had great faith in woman's wit, and especially a Frenchwoman's, and it suddenly struck me if this one should prove as quick-witted as most of her kind, she would know how to secure my admission into the palace; and if she should prove as kindly disposed as I believed the sight of gold and a pleasant word might make her, then was my success a.s.sured.