Arthur O'Leary Part 35

Two hours after, I was enjoying the pleasant fire of the Hotel de Flandre, where I arrived in time for table d'hote, not a little to the surprise of the host and six waiters, who were totally lost in conjectures to account for my route, and sorely puzzled to ascertain the name of my last hotel in the mountains.

A watering-place at the close of a season is always a sad-looking thing.

The barricades of the coming winter already begin to show; the little statues in public gardens are a.s.suming their greatcoats of straw against the rigours of frost; the _jets d' eau_ cease to play, or perform with the unwilling air of actors to empty benches; the tables d'hote present their long dinner-rooms unoccupied, save by a little table at one end, where some half-dozen s.h.i.+vering inmates still remain, the debris of the mighty army who flourished their knives there but six weeks before--these half-dozen usually consisting of a stray invalid or two, completing his course of the waters, having a fortnight of sulphuretted hydrogen before him yet, and not daring to budge till he has finished his 'heeltap' of abomination. Then there's the old half-pay major, that has lived in Spa, for aught I know, since the siege of Namur, and who pa.s.ses his nine months of winter in shooting quails and playing dominoes; and there's an elderly lady, with spectacles, always working at a little embroidery frame, who speaks no French, and seems not to be aware of anything going on around her--no one being able to guess why she is there, she probably not knowing why herself. Lastly, there is a very distracted-looking young gentleman, with a shooting-jacket and young moustaches, who having been 'cleaned out' at _rouge et noir_, is waiting in the hope of a remittance from some commiserating relative in England.

The theatre is closed; its little stars, dispersed among the small capitals, have shrunk back to their former proportions of third and fourth-rate parts--for though b.u.t.terflies in July, they are mere grubs in December. The clink of the croupier's mace is no longer heard, revelling amid the five-franc pieces; all is still and silent in that room which so late the conflict of human pa.s.sion, hope, envy, fear, and despair, had made a very h.e.l.l on earth.

The donkeys, too, who but the other day were decked in scarlet trappings, are now despoiled of their gay panoply, and condemned to the mean drudgery of the cart. Poor beasts! their drooping ears and fallen heads seem to show some sense of their changed fortunes; no longer bearing the burden of some fair-cheeked girl or laughing boy along the mountain-side, they are brought down to the daily labour of the cottage, and a cutlet is no more like a mutton-chop than a donkey is like an a.s.s.

So does everything suffer a 'sea-change.' The modiste, whose pretty cap with its gay ribbons was itself an advertis.e.m.e.nt of her wares, has taken to a close bonnet and a woollen shawl--a metamorphosis as complete as is the misshapen ma.s.s of cloaks and mud-boots of the agile danseuse, who flitted between earth and air a few moments before. Even the doctor--and what a study is the doctor of a watering-place!--even he has laid by his smiles and his soft speeches, folded up in the same drawer with his black coat for the winter. He has not thrown physic to the dogs, because he is fond of sporting, and would not injure the poor beasts, but he has given it an _au revoir_; and as grouse come in with autumn, and black-c.o.c.k in November, so does he feel chalybeates are in season on the first of May. Exchanging his cane for a Manton, and his mild whisper for a dog-whistle, he takes to the pursuit of the lower animals, leaving men for the warmer months.

All this disconcerts one. You hate to be present at those _demenagements_, where the curtains are coming down, and the carpet is being taken up; where they are nailing canvas across pictures, and storing books into pantries. These smaller revolutions are all very detestable, and you gladly escape into some quiet and retired spot, and wait till the fussing be over. So felt I. Had I come a month later, this place would have suited me perfectly, but this process of human moulting is horrible to witness; and so, say I once more, _En route_.

Like a Dutchman who took a run of three miles to jump over a hill, and then sat down tired at the foot of it, I flurried myself so completely in canva.s.sing all the possible places I might, could, would, should, or ought to pa.s.s the winter in, that I actually took a fortnight to recover my energies before I could set out.

Meanwhile I had made a close friends.h.i.+p with a dyspeptic countryman of mine, who went about the Continent with a small portmanteau and a very large medicine-chest, chasing health from Naples to Paris, and from Aix-la-Chapelle to Wildbad, firmly persuaded that every country had only one month in the year at most wherein it were safe to live there--Spa being the appropriate place to pa.s.s the October. He cared nothing for the ordinary topics that engross the attention of mankind; kings might be dethroned and dynasties demolished; states might revolt and subjects be rebellious--all he wanted to know was, not what changes were made in the code but in the pharmacopoeia. The liberty of the Press was a matter of indifference to him; he cared little for what men might say, but a great deal for what it was safe to swallow, and looked upon the inventor of blue-pill as the greatest benefactor of mankind. He had the a.n.a.lysis of every well and spring in Germany at his fingers' end, and could tell you the temperature and atomic proportions like his alphabet.

But his great system was a kind of reciprocity treaty between health and sickness, by which a man could commit any species of gluttony he pleased when he knew the peculiar antagonist principle. And thus he ate--I was going to say like a shark, but let me not in my ignorance calumniate the fish; for I know not if anything that ever swam could eat a soup with a custard pudding, followed by beef and beetroot, stewed mackerel and treacle, pickled oysters and preserved cherries, roast hare and cuc.u.mber, venison, salad, prunes, hashed mutton, omelettes, pastry, and finally, to wind up with effect, a sturgeon baked with brandy-peaches in his abdomen--a thing to make a cook weep and a German blessed. Such was my poor friend, Mr. Bartholomew Cater, the most thin, spare, emaciated, and miserable-looking man that ever sipped at Schwalbach or s.h.i.+vered at Kissingen.

To permit these extravagances in diet, however, he had concocted a code of reprisals, consisting of the various mineral waters of Germany and the poisonous metals of modern pharmacy; and having established the fact that 'bitter wa.s.ser' and 'Carlsbad,' the 'Powon* and 'Pilnitz,' combined with blue-pill, were the natural enemies of all things eatable, he swallowed these freely, and then left the matter to the rebellious ingredients--pretty much as the English used to govern Ireland in times gone by: set both parties by the ears, and wait the result in peace, well aware that a slight derangement of the balance, from time to time, would keep the contest in motion. Such was the state policy of Mr.

Cater, and I can only say that _his_ const.i.tution survived it, though that of Ireland seems to suffer grievously from the experiment.

This lively gentleman was then my companion; indeed, with that cohesive property of your true bore, he was ever beside me, relating some little interesting anecdote of a jaundice or a dropsy, a tertian or a typhus, by which agreeable souvenirs he preserved the memory of Athens or Naples, Rome or Dresden, fresh and unclouded in his mind. Not satisfied, however, with narration, like all enthusiasts he would be proselytising; and whether from the force of his arguments or the weakness of my nature, he found a ready victim in me, insomuch that under his admirable instruction I was already beginning to feel a dislike and disgust to all things edible, with an appet.i.te only grown more ravenous, while my reverence for all springs of unsavoury taste and smell--once, I must confess, at a deplorably low ebb--was gradually becoming more developed.

It was only by the accidental discovery that my waistcoat could be made to fit by putting it twice round me, and that my coat was a dependency of which I was scarcely the nucleus, that I really became frightened.

'What!' thought I, 'can this be that Arthur O'Leary whom men jested on his rotundity? Is this me, around whom children ran, as they would about a pillar or a monument, and thought it exercise to circ.u.mambulate?

Arthur, this will be the death of thee; thou wert a happy man and a fat before thou knewest Kochbrunnens and thermometers; run while it is yet time, and be thankful at least that thou art in racing condition.'

With noiseless step and cautious gesture, I crept downstairs one morning at daybreak. My enemy was still asleep. I heard him muttering as I pa.s.sed his door; doubtless he was dreaming of some new combination of horrors, some infernal alliance of cuc.u.mbers and quinine. I pa.s.sed on in silence; my very teeth chattered with fear. Happy was I to have them to chatter! another fortnight of his intimacy, and they would have trembled from blue-pill as well as panic! With a heavy sigh I paid my bill, and crossed the street towards the diligence office. One place only remained vacant--it was in the _banquette_. No matter, thought I, anywhere will do at present.

'Where is monsieur going?--for there will be a place vacant in the _coupe_ at--'

'I have not thought of that yet,' said I; 'but when we reach Verviers we 'll see.'

'_Allons_, then,' said the _conducteur_, while he whispered to the clerk of the office a few words I could not catch.

'You are mistaken, friend,' said I; 'it's not creditors, they are only chalybeates I 'm running from'; and so we started.

Before I follow out any further my own ramblings, I should like to acquit a debt I owe my reader--if I dare flatter myself that he cares for its discharge--by returning to the story of the poor shepherd of the mountains, and which I cannot more seasonably do than at this place; although the details I am about to relate were furnished to me a great many years after this, and during a visit I paid to Lyons in 1828.

In the Cafe de la Coupe d'Or, so conspicuous in the Place des Terreaux, where I usually resorted to pa.s.s my evenings, and indulge in the cheap luxuries of my coffee and cheroot, I happened to make a bowing acquaintance with a venerable elderly gentleman, who each night resorted there to read the papers, and amuse himself by looking over the chess-players, with which the room was crowded. Some accidental interchange of newspapers led to a recognition, and that again advanced to a few words each time we met--till one evening, chance placed us at the same table, and we chatted away several hours, and parted in the hope, mutually expressed, of renewing our acquaintance at an early period.

I had no difficulty in interrogating the _dame du cafe_ about my new acquaintance. He was a striking and remarkable-looking personage, tall and military-looking, with an air of _grand seigneur_, which in a Frenchman is never deceptive; certainly I never saw it successfully a.s.sumed by any who had no right to it. He wore his hair _en queue_, and in his dress evinced, in several trifling matters, an adherence to the habitudes of the old regime--so, at least, I interpreted his lace ruffles and silk stockings, with his broad buckles of brilliants in his shoes. The ribbon of St. Louis, which he wore unostentatiously on his waistcoat, was his only decoration.

'This is the Vicomte de Berlemont, _ancien colonel-en-chef_,' said she, with an accent of pride at the mention of so distinguished a frequenter of the cafe; 'he has not missed an evening here for years past.'

A few more words of inquiry elicited from her the information that the vicomte had served in all the wars of the Empire up to the time of the abdication; that on the restoration of the Bourbons he had received his rank in the service from them, and, faithful to their fortunes, had followed Louis XVIII. in exile to Ghent.

'He has seen a deal of the world, then, madame, it would appear?'

'That he has, and loves to speak about it too; time was when they reckoned the vicomte among the pleasantest persons in Lyons; but they say he has grown old now, and contracted a habit of repeating his stories. I can't tell how that may be, but I think him always amiable.'

A delightful word that same 'amiable' is! and so thinking, I wished madame good-night, and departed.

The next evening I lay in wait for the old colonel, and was flattered to see that he was taking equal pains to discover me. We retired to a little table, ordered our coffee, and chatted away till midnight.

Such was the commencement, such the course, of one of the pleasantest intimacies I ever formed.

The vicomte was unquestionably the most agreeable specimen of his nation I had ever met--easy and unaffected in his manner, having seen much, and observed shrewdly; not much skilled in book-learning, but deeply read in mankind. His views of politics were of that unexaggerated character which are so often found correct; while of his foresight I can give no higher token than that he then predicted to me the events of the year 1830, only erring as to the time, which he deemed might not be so far distant. The Empire, however, and Napoleon were his favourite topics.

Bourbonist as he was, the splendour of France in 1810 and 1811, the greatness of the mighty man whose genius then ruled its destinies, had captivated his imagination, and he would talk for hours over the events of Parisian life at that period, and the more brilliant incidents of the campaigns.

It was in one of our conversations, prolonged beyond the usual time, in discussing the characters of those immediately about the person of the Emperor, that I felt somewhat struck by the remark he made, that, while 'Napoleon did meet unquestionably many instances of deep ingrat.i.tude from those whom he had covered with honours and heaped with favours, nothing ever equalled the attachment the officers of the army generally bore to his person, and the devotion they felt for his glory and his honour. It was not a sentiment,' he said, 'it was a religious belief among the young men of my day that the Emperor could do no wrong. What you a.s.sume in your country by courtesy, we believed _de facto_. So many times had events, seeming most disastrous, turned out pregnant with advantage and success, that a dilemma was rather a subject of amusing speculation amongst us than a matter of doubt and despondency. There came a terrible reverse to all this, however,' continued he, as his voice fell to a lower and sadder key; 'a fearful lesson was in store for us. Poor Aubuisson----'

'Aubuisson!' said I, starting; 'was that the name you mentioned?'

'Yes,' said he, in amazement; 'have you heard the story, then?'

'No,' said I, 'I know of no story; it was the name alone struck me.

Was it not one of that name who was mentioned in one of Bonaparte's despatches from Egypt?'

'To be sure it was, and the same man too; he was the first in the trenches at Alexandria; he carried off a Mameluke chief his prisoner at the battle of the Pyramids.'

'What manner of man was he?'

'A powerful fellow, one of the largest of his regiment, and they were a Grenadier battalion; he had black hair and black moustache, which he wore long and drooping, in Egyptian fas.h.i.+on.'

'The same, the very same!' cried I, carried away by my excitement.

'What do you mean?' said the colonel; 'you've never seen him, surely; he died at Charenton the same year Waterloo was fought.'

'No such thing,' said I, feeling convinced that Lazare was the person.

'I saw him alive much later'; and with that I related the story I have told my reader, detailing minutely every little particular which might serve to confirm my impression of the ident.i.ty.

'No, no,' said the vicomte, shaking his head, 'you must be mistaken; Aubuisson was a patient at Charenton for ten years, when he died. The circ.u.mstances you mention are certainly both curious and strange, but I cannot think they have any connection with the fortunes of poor Lazare; at all events, if you like to hear the story, come home with me, and I 'll tell it; the cafe is about to close now, and we must leave.'

I gladly accepted the offer, for whatever doubts he had concerning Lazare's ident.i.ty with Aubuisson, my convictions were complete, and I longed to hear the solution of a mystery over which I had pondered many a day of march and many a sleepless night.

I could scarcely contain my impatience during supper. The thought of Lazare absorbed everything in my mind, and I fancied the old colonel's appet.i.te knew no bounds when the meal had lasted about a quarter of an hour. At last having finished, and devised his modest gla.s.s of weak wine and water, he began the story, of which I present the leading features to my readers, omitting, of course, those little occasional digressions and reflections by which the narrator himself accompanied his tale.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE RETREAT FROM LEIPSIC

'The third day of the disastrous battle of Leipsic was drawing to a close, as the armies of the coalition made one terrible and fierce attack, in concert, against the Imperial forces. Never was anything before heard like the deafening thunder, as three hundred guns of heavy artillery opened their fire at once from end to end of the line, and three hundred thousand men advanced, wildly cheering, to the attack.

'Wearied, worn out, and exhausted, the French army held their ground, like men prepared to die before their Emperor, but never desert him, when the fearful intelligence was brought to Napoleon that in three days the army had fired ninety-five thousand cannon-b.a.l.l.s; that the reserve ammunition was entirely consumed, and but sixteen thousand cannon-b.a.l.l.s remained, barely sufficient to maintain the fire two hours longer! What was to be done? No resources lay nearer than Magdeburg or Erfurt. To the latter place the Emperor at once decided on retiring, and at seven o'clock the order was given for the artillery waggons and baggage to pa.s.s the defile of Lindenau, and retreat over the Elster, the same order being transmitted to the cavalry and the other corps of the army. The defile was a long and difficult one, extending for two leagues, and traversing several bridges. To accomplish the retreat in safety, Napoleon was counselled to hold the allies in check by a strong force of artillery, and then set fire to the faubourg; but the conduct of the Saxon troops, however deserving of his anger, could not warrant a punishment so fearful on the monarch of that country, who, through every change of fortune, had stood steady in his friends.h.i.+p. He rejected the course at once, and determined on retreating as best he might.

'The movement was then begun at once, and every avenue that led to the faubourg of Lindenau was crowded by troops of all arms, eagerly pressing onward--a fearful scene of confusion and dismay, for it was a beaten army that fled, and one which until now never had thoroughly felt the horrors of defeat. From seven until nine the columns came on at a quick step, the cavalry at a trot; defiling along the narrow gorge of lindenau, they pa.s.sed a mill at the roadside, where at a window stood one with arms crossed and head bent upon his bosom. He gazed steadfastly at the long train beneath, but never noticed the salutes of the general officers as they pa.s.sed along. It was the Emperor himself, pale and care-worn, his low chapeau pressed down far on his brows, and his uniform splashed and travel-stained. For over an hour he stood thus silent and motionless; then throwing himself upon a bed he slept.

yes; amid all the terrible events of that disastrous retreat, when the foundations of the mighty empire he had created were crumbling beneath him, when the great army he had so often led to victory was defiling beaten before him, he laid his wearied head upon a pillow and slept!

'A terrible cannonade, the fire of seventy large guns brought to bear upon the ramparts, shook the very earth, and at length awoke Napoleon, who through all the din and clamour had slept soundly and tranquilly.

'"What is it, Duroc?" said he, raising himself upon one arm, and looking up.