Volume I Part 6 (2/2)
Whatever the enthusiasm of the old Royalists to the Bourbon cause, there seemed an activity and determination on the part of the Buonapartists who had taken service with the King to exhibit their loyalty to the new sovereign; and Ney rode from one quarter of Paris to the other, with a c.o.c.kade of most conspicuous size, followed by a staff equally remarkable.
That same day Alfred left Paris for Lyons, where his regiment lay, with orders to move to the south, by forced marches, and arrest the advance of the small party which formed the band of the invader. It was Alice herself fastened the knot of white ribbon in his shako, and bade him adieu with a fondness of affection he had never witnessed before.
From Paris to Lyons, and to Gren.o.ble, Alfred hastened with prompt.i.tude.
At Lesseim, at last, he halted for orders.
His position was a small village, three leagues in advance of Lesseim, called Dulaure, where, at nightfall on the 18th of March, Alfred arrived with two companies of his regiment, his orders being to reconnoitre the valley towards Lesseim, and report if the enemy should present himself in that quarter.
After an anxious night on the alert, Alfred lay down to sleep towards morning, when he was awoke by the sharp report of a musket, followed immediately after by the roll of the drum and the call for the guard to ”turn out.” He rushed out, and hastened towards the advanced picket. All was in confusion: some were in retreat; others stood at a distance from their post, looking intently towards it; and at the picket itself were others, again, with piled arms, standing in a close group. What could this mean? Alfred called out, but no answer was returned. The men stared in stupid amazement, and each seemed waiting for the other to reply.
”Where is your officer?” cried De Vitry, in an angry voice.
”He is here!” said a pale, calm-featured man, who, b.u.t.toned up in a grey surtout, and with a low _chapeau_ on his head, advanced towards him.
”You the officer!” replied Alfred, angrily: ”you are not of our regiment, sir.”
”Pardon me, Colonel,” rejoined the other; ”I led the twenty-second at Rovigo, and they were with me at Wagram.”
”_Grand Dieu!_” said Alfred, trembling; ”who are you, then?”
”Your Emperor, Colonel de Vitry!”
Alfred stepped back at the words. The order to arrest and make him prisoner was almost on his lips. He turned towards his men, who instinctively had resumed their formation; his head was maddened by the conflict within it; his eyes turned again towards Napoleon--the struggle was over-he knelt and presented his sword.
”Take mine in exchange, _General_ de Vitry,” said the Emperor; ”I know you will wear it with honour.”
And thus, in a moment, was all forgotten--plighted love and sworn faith--for who could resist the Emperor?
The story is now soon told. Waterloo came, and once more the day of defeat descended, never to dawn upon another victory. Alfred, rejected and scorned, lived years in poverty and obscurity. When the fortunes of the Revolution brought up once more the old soldiers of the Empire, he fought at the Quai Voltaire and was wounded severely. The Three Days over, he was appointed to a sous-lieutenancy in the dragoons. He is now _chef-d'escadron_, the last of his race, weary of a world whose vicissitudes have crushed his hopes and made him broken-hearted.
The relator of this tale was Alfred de Vitry himself, who, under the name of his maternal grandfather, St. Amand, served in the second regiment of Carabiniers.
CHAPTER V.
12 o'clock, Tuesday night, May 31st, 184-.
”Que bella cosa” to be a king! Here am I now, returned from Neuilly, whither I dreaded so much to venture, actually enchanted with the admirable manner of his Majesty Louis Philippe, adding one more to the long list of those who, beginning with Madame de Genlis and Johnson, have delighted to extol the qualities whose pleasing properties have been expended on themselves.
There is, however, something wonderfully interesting in the picture of a royal family living _en bourgeois_--a King sitting with his spectacles on his forehead and his newspaper on his knee, playfully alluding to observations whose fallacy he alone can demonstrate; a Queen busily engaged amid the toils of the work-table, around which Princesses of every European royalty are seated, gaily chatting over their embroidery, or listening while an amusing book is read out by a husband or a brother: even an American would be struck by such a view of monarchy.
The Duc de Nemours is the least prepossessing of the princes; his deafness, too, a.s.sists the impression of his coldness and austerity: while the too-studied courtesy of the Prince de Joinville towards Englishmen is the reverse of an amicable demonstration.
I could not help feeling surprised at the freedom with which his Majesty canva.s.sed our leading political characters; for his intimate acquaintance with them all, I was well prepared. One remark he made worth remembering,--”The Duke of Wellington should always be your Minister of Foreign Affairs, no matter what the changes of party. It is not that his great opportunities of knowing the Continent, a.s.sisted by his unquestionable ability, alone distinguish him, but that his name and the weight of his opinion on any disputed question exert a greater influence than any other man's over the various sovereignties of Europe.
After the Emperor himself, he was the greatest actor in the grand drama of the early part of the century; he made himself conspicuous in every council, even less by the accuracy of his views than by their unerring, unswerving rect.i.tude. The desperate struggle in which he had taken part had left no traces of ungenerous feeling or animosity behind, and the pride of conquest had never disturbed the equanimity of the negotiator.”
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