Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume II. Lever Charles James
I, half laughingly, “it is your Republican gorge that rises against all this useless ceremonial?”
“You are the very first ever detected me in that guise,” said he, bursting into a hearty laugh. “But come, I’d wager you agree with me all this while. This was a very contemptible exhibition; and, for my own part, I ‘d rather see the colors back again with those poor fellows we chased at Austerlitz, than fluttering in the imbecile hands of dotage and bigotry.”
“Then I must say we differ totally. I like to think of the warlike spirit nourished in a nation by the contemplation of such glorious spoils. I am young enough to remember how the Invalides affected me – ”
“When you took your Sunday walk there from the Poly-technique, two and two, with a blue ribbon round your neck for being a good boy during the week. Oh, I know it all; delicious times they were, with their souvenirs of wooden legs and plum-pudding. Happy fellow you must be, if the delusion can last this while!”
“You are determined it shall not continue much longer,” said I, laughing; “that is quite evident.”
“No; on the contrary, I shall be but too happy to be your convert, instead of making you mine. But unfortunately, Sa Majesté, Empereur et Roi, has taught me some smart lessons since I gave up mathematics; and I have acquired a smattering of his own policy, which is to look after the substance, and leave the shadow – or the drapeau, if you like it better – to whoever pleases.”
“I confess, however,” said I, “I don’t well understand your enthusiasm about war and your indifference about its trophies. To me the associations they suggest are pleasurable beyond anything.”
“I think I remember something of that kind in myself formerly,” said he, musing. “There was a time when the blast of a trumpet, or even the clank of a sabre, used to set my heart thumping. Happily, however, the organ has grown steeled against even more stirring sounds; and I listened to the salute to-day, fired as it was by that imposing body, the artillery of the ‘Garde Nationale,’ with an equanimity truly wonderful. Apropos, my dear Burke; talk of heroism and self-devotion as you will, but show me anything to compare with the gallantry of those fellows we saw to-day on the Quai Voltaire, – a set of grocers, periwig-makers, umbrella and sausage men, with portly paunches and spectacles, – ramming down charges, sponging, loading, and firing real cannon. On my word of honor, it was fearful.”
“They say his Majesty is very proud indeed of the National Guard of Paris.”
“Of course he is. Look at them, and just think what must be the enthusiasm of men who will adopt a career so repugnant, not only to their fancy, but their very formation. Remember that he who runs yonder with a twenty-four pounder never handled anything heavier than a wig-block, and that the only charges of the little man beside him have been made in his day-book. By Saint Denis! the dromedary guard we had in Egypt were more at home in their saddles than the squadron who rode beside the archbishop’s carriage.”
“It is scarcely fair, after all,” said I, half laughing, “to criticise them so severely; and the more, as I think you had some old acquaintances among them.”
“Ha! you saw that, did you?” said he, smiling. “No, by Jove! I never met them before. But that confrèrie of soldiers – you understand – soon made us acquainted; and I saw one old fellow speaking to a very pretty girl I guessed to be his daughter, and soon cemented a small friendship with him: here’s his card.”
“His card! Why, are you to visit him?”
“Better again; I shall dine there on Monday next. Let us see how he calls himself: ‘Hippolyte Pierrot, stay and corset-maker to her Majesty the Empress, No. 22 Rue du Bac, – third floor above the entresol.’ Diable! we ‘re high up. Unfortunately, I am scarcely intimate enough to bring a friend.”
“Oh, make no excuses on that head,” said I, laughing; “I really have no desire to see Monsieur Hippolyte Pierrot’s menage. And now, what are your engagements for this evening? Are you for the Opera?”
“I don’t well know,” said he, pausing. “Madame Caulaincourt receives, and of course expects to see our gay jackets in her salon any time before or after supper. Then there’s the Comtesse de Nevers: I never go there without meeting my tailor; the fellow’s a spy of the police, and a confectioner to boot, and he serves the ices, and reports the conversations in the Place Vendôme and that side of the Rue St. Honoré, – I couldn’t take a glass of lemonade without being dunned. Then, in the Faubourg I must go in plain clothes, – they would not let the ‘livery of the Usurper’ pass the porter’s lodge; besides, they worry one with their enthusiastic joy or grief, – as the last letter from England mentions whether the Comte d’Artois has eaten too many oysters, or found London beer too strong for him.”
“From all which I guess that you are indisposed to stir.”
“I believe that is about the fact. Truth is, Burke, there is only one soirée in all Paris I ‘d take the trouble to dress for this evening; and, strange enough, it’s the only house where I don’t know the people. He is a commissary-general, or a ‘fournisseur’ of some kind or other of the army; always from home, they say; with a wife who was once, and a daughter who is now, exceeding pretty; keeps a splendid house; and, like an honest man, makes restitution of all he can cheat in the campaign by giving good dinners in the capital. His Majesty, at the solicitation of the Empress, I believe, made him a count, – God’s mercy it was not a king! – and as they come from Guadaloupe, or Otaheite, no one disputes their right. Besides, this is not a time for such punctilio. This is all I know of them, for unfortunately they settled here since I joined the army.”
“And the name?”
“Oh, a very plausible name, I assure you. Lacostellerie, – Madame la Comtesse de Lacostellerie.”
“By Jove! you remind me I have letters for her, – a circumstance I had totally forgotten, though it was coupled with a commission.”
“A letter! Why, nothing was ever so fortunate. Don’t lose a moment; you have just time to leave it, with your card, before dinner. You’ll have an invitation for this evening at once.”
“But I have not the slightest wish.”
“No matter, I have; and you shall bring me.”
“You forget,” said I, mimicking his own words, “I am unfortunately not intimate enough.”
“As to that,” replied he, “there is a vast difference between the etiquette Rue du Bac, No. 22, three floors above the entresol, and the gorgeous salons of the Hôtel Clichy, Rue Faubourg St. Honoré; ceremony has the advantage in the former by a height of three pair of stairs, not to speak of the entresol.”
“But I don’t know the people.”
“Nor I.”
“But how am I to present you?”
“Easily enough, – ‘Captain Duchesne, Imperial Guard;’ or, if you prefer it, I ‘ll do the honors for you.”
“With all my heart, then,” said I, laughing; and pre-pared to pay the visit in question.
CHAPTER X. THE HÔTEL DE CLICHY
Duchesne was correct in all his calculations. I had scarcely reached the Luxembourg when a valet brought me a card for the comtesse’s soirée for that evening. It was accordingly agreed upon that we were to go together; I as the invited, he as my friend.
“All your finery, Burke, remember that,” said he, as we separated to dress. “The uniform of the compagnie d’élite is as much a decoration in a salon as a camellia or a geranium.”
When he re-entered my room half an hour later, I was struck by the blaze of orders and decorations with which his jacket was covered; while at his side there hung a magnificent sabre d’honneur, such as the Emperor was accustomed to confer on his most distinguished officers.
“You smile at all this bravery,” said he, wilfully misinterpreting my look of admiration;