"All eyes now fixed on the Emperor, and I noticed few eyes which were not moist with tears. You know that calm unrevealing face of his--a face which sometimes disappoints expectation. But there is that in it which I have seen in no other, but which I can imagine to have been common to the Romans of old, the dignity that arises from self-control--an expression which seems removed from the elation of joy, the depression of sorrow--not unbecoming to one who has known great vicissitudes of Fortune, and is prepared alike for her frowns or her smiles.
"I had looked at that face while M. Schneider was reading the address--it moved not a muscle, it might have been a face of marble.
Even when at moments the words were drowned in applause and the Empress, striving at equal composure, still allowed us to see a movement of her eye lids, a tremble on her lips. The boy at his right, heir to his dynasty, had his looks fixed on the President, as if eagerly swallowing each word in the address, save once or twice, when he looked around the hall curiously, and with a smile as a mere child might look. He struck me as a mere child. Next to the Prince was one of those countenances which once seen are never to be forgotten--the true Napoleonic type, brooding, thoughtful, ominous, beautiful. But not with the serene energy that characterises the head of the first Napoleon when Emperor, and wholly without the restless eagerness for action which is stamped in the lean outline of Napoleon when First Consul: no--in Prince Napoleon there is a beauty to which, as woman, I could never give my heart--were I a man, the intellect that would not command my trust. But, nevertheless, in beauty, it is signal, and in that beauty the expression of intellect is predominant.
"Oh, dear Eulalie, how I am digressing! The Emperor spoke--and believe me, Eulalie, whatever the journals or your compatriots may insinuate, there is in that man no sign of declining intellect or failing health. I care not what may be his years, but that man is in mind and in health as young as Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon.
"The old cling to the past--they do not go forward to the future. There was no going back in that speech of the Emperor. There was something grand and something young in the modesty with which he put aside all references to that which his Empire had done in the past, and said with a simple earnestness of manner which I cannot adequately describe--
""We must more than ever look fearlessly forward to the future. Who can be opposed to the progressive march of a regime founded by a great people in the midst of political disturbance, and which now is fortified by liberty?"
"As he closed, the walls of that vast hall seemed to rock with an applause that must have been heard on the other side of the Seine.
""Vive l"Empereur!"" ""Vive l"Imperatrice!"" ""Vive le Prince Imperial!""--and the last cry was yet more prolonged than the others, as if to affirm the dynasty.
"Certainly I can imagine no Court in the old days of chivalry more splendid than the audience in that grand hall of the Louvre. To the right of the throne all the amba.s.sadors of the civilised world in the blaze of their rich costumes and manifold orders. In the gallery at the left, yet more behind, the dresses and jewels of the dames d"honneur and of the great officers of State. And when the Empress rose to depart, certainly my fancy cannot picture a more queenlike image, or one that seemed more in unison with the representation of royal pomp and power.
The very dress, of colour which would have been fatal to the beauty of most women equally fair--a deep golden colour--(Valerie profanely called it buff)--seemed so to suit the splendour of the ceremony and the day; it seemed as if that stately form stood in the midst of a sunlight reflected from itself. Day seemed darkened when that sunlight pa.s.sed away.
"I fear you will think I have suddenly grown servile to the gauds and shows of mere royalty. I ask myself if that be so--I think not. Surely it is a higher sense of greatness which has been impressed on me by the pageant of to-day I feel as if there were brought vividly before me the majesty of France, through the representation of the ruler she has crowned.
"I feel also as if there, in that hall, I found a refuge from all the warring contests in which no two seem to me in agreement as to the sort of government to be established in place of the present. The "Liberty"
clamoured for by one would cut the throat of the "Liberty" worshipped by another.
"I see a thousand phantom forms of LIBERTY--but only one living symbol of ORDER--that which spoke from a throne to-day."
Isaura left her letter uncompleted. On the following Monday she was present at a crowded soiree given by M. Louvier. Among the guests were some of the most eminent leaders of the Opposition, including that vivacious master of sharp sayings, M. P-------, whom Savarin ent.i.tled "the French Sheridan;" if laws could be framed in epigrams he would be also the French Solon.
There, too, was Victor de Mauleon, regarded by the Republican party with equal admiration and distrust. For the distrust, he himself pleasantly accounted in talk with Savarin.
"How can I expect to be trusted? I represent "Common Sense;" every Parisian likes Common Sense in print, and cries "Je suis trahi" when Common Sense is to be put into action."
A group of admiring listeners had collected round one (perhaps the most brilliant) of those oratorical lawyers by whom, in France, the respect for all laws has been so often talked away: he was speaking of the Sat.u.r.day"s ceremonial with eloquent indignation. It was a mockery to France to talk of her placing Liberty under the protection of the Empire.
There was a flagrant token of the military force under which civil freedom was held in the very dress of the Emperor and his insignificant son: the first in the uniform of a General of Division; the second, forsooth, in that of a sous-lieutenant. The other liberal chiefs chimed in: "The army," said one, "was an absurd expense; it must be put down:"
"The world was grown too civilised for war," said another: "The Empress was priest-ridden," said a third: "Churches might be tolerated; Voltaire built a church, but a church simply to the G.o.d of Nature, not of priestcraft,"--and so on.
Isaura, whom any sneer at religion pained and revolted, here turned away from the orators to whom she had before been listening with earnest attention, and her eyes fell on the countenance of De Mauleon, who was seated opposite.
The countenance startled her, its expression was so angrily scornful; that expression, however, vanished at once as De Mauleon"s eyes met her own, and drawing his chair near to her, he said, smiling: "Your look tells me that I almost frightened you by the ill-bred frankness with which my face must have betrayed my anger, at hearing such imbecile twaddle from men who aspire to govern our turbulent France. You remember that after Lisbon was destroyed by an earthquake a quack advertised "pills against earthquakes." These messieurs are not so cunning as the quack; he did not name the ingredients of his pills."
"But, M. de Mauleon," said Isaura, "if you, being opposed to the Empire, think so ill of the wisdom of those who would destroy it, are you prepared with remedies for earthquakes more efficacious than their pills?"
"I reply as a famous English statesman, when in opposition, replied to a somewhat similar question,--"I don"t prescribe till I"m called in.""
"To judge by the seven millions and a half whose votes were announced on Sat.u.r.day, and by the enthusiasm with which the Emperor was greeted, there is too little fear of an earthquake for a good trade of the pills of these messieurs, or for fair play to the remedies you will not disclose till called in."
"Ah, Mademoiselle! playful wit from lips not formed for politics makes me forget all about emperors and earthquakes. Pardon that commonplace compliment--remember I am a Frenchman, and cannot help being frivolous."
"You rebuke my presumption too gently. True, I ought not to intrude political subjects on one like you--I understand so little about them--but this is my excuse, I do so desire to know more."
M. de Mauleon paused, and looked at her earnestly with a kindly, half compa.s.sionate look, wholly free from the impertinence of gallantry.
"Young poetess," he said, softly, "you care for politics. Happy, indeed, is he--and whether he succeed or fail in his ambition abroad, proud should he be of an ambition crowned at home--he who has made you desire to know more of politics!"
The girl felt the blood surge to her temples. How could she have been so self-confessed? She made no reply, nor did M. de Mauleon seem to expect one; with that rare delicacy of high breeding which appears in France to belong to a former generation, he changed his tone, and went on as if there had been no interruption to the question her words implied.
"You think the Empire secure--that it is menaced by on earthquake? You deceive yourself. The Emperor began with a fatal mistake, but a mistake it needs many years to discover. He disdained the slow natural process of adjustment between demand and supply--employer and workmen. He desired--no ign.o.ble ambition--to make Paris the wonder of the world, the eternal monument of his reign. In so doing, he sought to create artificial modes of content for revolutionary workmen. Never has any ruler had such tender heed of manual labour to the disparagement of intellectual culture. Paris is embellished; Paris is the wonder of the world; other great towns have followed its example; they, too, have their rows of palaces and temples. Well, the time comes when the magician can no longer give work to the spirits he raises; then they must fall on him and rend: out of the very houses he built for the better habitation of workmen will flock the malcontents who cry, "Down with the Empire!" On the 21st of May you witnessed the pompous ceremony which announces to the Empire a vast majority of votes, that will be utterly useless to it except as food for gunpowder in the times that are at hand. Seven days before, on the 14th of May, there was a riot in the Faubourg d"Temple--easily put down--you scarcely hear of it. That riot was not the less necessary to those who would warn the Empire that it is mortal. True, the riot disperses--but it is unpunished; riot unpunished is a revolution begun. The earthquake is nearer than you think; and for that earthquake what are the pills you quacks advertise? They prate of an age too enlightened for war; they would mutilate the army--nay, disband it if they could--with Prussia next door to France. Prussia, desiring, not unreasonably, to take that place in the world which France now holds, will never challenge France; if she did, she would be too much in the wrong to find a second: Prussia knowing that she has to do with the vainest, the most conceited, the rashest antagonist that ever flourished a rapier in the face of a spada.s.sin--Prussia will make France challenge her.
"And how do ces messieurs deal with the French army? Do they dare to say to the ministers, "Reform it"? Do they dare say, "Prefer for men whose first duty it is to obey, discipline to equality--insist on the distinction between the officer and the private, and never confound it; Prussian officers are well-educated gentlemen, see that yours are"? Oh no; they are democrats too stanch not to fraternise with an armed mob; they content themselves with grudging an extra sou to the Commissariat, and winking at the millions fraudulently pocketed by some "Liberal contractor." Dieu des dieux! France to be beaten, not as at Waterloo by hosts combined, but in fair duel by a single foe! Oh, the shame! the shame! But as the French army is now organised, beaten she must be, if she meets the march of the German."
"You appal me with your sinister predictions," said Isaura; "but, happily, there is no sign of war. M. Duplessis, who is in the confidence of the Emperor, told us only the other day that Napoleon, on learning the result of the plebiscite, said: "The foreign journalists who have been insisting that the Empire cannot coexist with free inst.i.tutions, will no longer hint that it can be safely a.s.sailed from without." And more than ever I may say L"Empire c"est la paix!"
Monsieur de Mauleon shrugged his shoulders. "The old story--Troy and the wooden horse."
"Tell me, M. de Mauleon, why do you, who so despise the Opposition, join with it in opposing the Empire?"
"Mademoiselle, the Empire opposes me; while it lasts I cannot be even a Depute; when it is gone, Heaven knows that I may be, perhaps Dictator; one thing, you may rely upon, that I would, if not Dictator myself, support any man who was better fitted for that task."
"Better fitted to destroy the liberty which he pretended to fight for."
"Not exactly so," replied M. de Mauleon, imperturbably--"better fitted to establish a good government in lieu of the bad one he had fought against, and the much worse governments that would seek to turn France into a madhouse, and make the maddest of the inmates the mad doctor!" He turned away, and here their conversation ended.
But it so impressed Isaura, that the same night she concluded her letter to Madame de Grantmesnil, by giving a sketch of its substance, prefaced by an ingenuous confession that she felt less sanguine confidence in the importance of the applauses which had greeted the Emperor at the Sat.u.r.day"s ceremonial, and ending thus: "I can but confusedly transcribe the words of this singular man, and can give you no notion of the manner and the voice which made them eloquent. Tell me, can there be any truth in his gloomy predictions? I try not to think so, but they seem to rest over that brilliant hall of the Louvre like an ominous thunder-cloud."
CHAPTER II.
The Marquis de Rochebriant was seated in his pleasant apartment, glancing carelessly at the envelopes of many notes and letters lying yet unopened on his breakfast-table. He had risen late at noon, for he had not gone to bed till dawn. The night had been spent at his club--over the card-table--by no means to the pecuniary advantage of the Marquis.
The reader will have learned, through the conversation recorded in a former chapter between De Mauleon and Enguerrand de Vandemar, that the austere Seigneur Breton had become a fast viveur of Paris. He had long since spent the remnant of Louvier"s premium of L10,000., and he owed a year"s interest. For this last there was an excuse. M. Collot, the contractor to whom he had been advised to sell the yearly fall of his forest-trees, had removed the trees, but had never paid a sou beyond the preliminary deposit; so that the revenue, out of which the mortgagee should be paid his interest, was not forthcoming. Alain had instructed M. Hebert to press the contractor; the contractor had replied, that if not pressed he could soon settle all claims--if pressed, he must declare himself bankrupt. The Chevalier de Finisterre had laughed at the alarm which Alain conceived when he first found himself in the condition of debtor for a sum he could not pay--creditor for a sum he could not recover.
"Bagatelle!" said the Chevalier. "Tschu! Collot, if you give him time, is as safe as the Bank of France, and Louvier knows it. Louvier will not trouble you--Louvier, the best fellow in the world! I"ll call on him and explain matters."
It is to be presumed that the Chevalier did so explain; for though both at the first, and quite recently at the second default of payment, Alain received letters from M. Louvier"s professional agent, as reminders of interest due, and as requests for its payment, the Chevalier a.s.sured him that these applications were formalities of convention--that Louvier, in fact, knew nothing about them; and when dining with the great financier himself, and cordially welcomed and called "Mon cher," Alain had taken him aside and commenced explanation and excuse, Louvier had cut him short. "Peste! don"t mention such trifles. There is such a thing as business--that concerns my agent; such a thing as friendship--that concerns me. Allez!"
Thus M. de Rochebriant, confiding in debtor and in creditor, had suffered twelve months to glide by without much heed of either, and more than live up to an income amply sufficient indeed for the wants of an ordinary bachelor, but needing more careful thrift than could well be expected from the head of one of the most ill.u.s.trious houses in France, cast so young into the vortex of the most expensive capital in the world.
The poor Marquis glided into the grooves that slant downward, much as the French Marquis of tradition was wont to glide; not that he appeared to live extravagantly, but he needed all he had for his pocket-money, and had lost that dread of being in debt which he had brought up from the purer atmosphere of Bretagne.
But there were some debts which; of course, a Rochebriant must pay--debts of honour--and Alain had, on the previous night, incurred such a debt and must pay it that day. He had been strongly tempted, when the debt rose to the figure it had attained, to risk a change of luck; but whatever his imprudence, he was incapable of dishonesty. If the luck did not change, and he lost more, he would be without means to meet his obligations. As the debt now stood, he calculated that he could just discharge it by the sale of his coupe and horses. It is no wonder he left his letters unopened, however charming they might be; he was quite sure they would contain no cheque which would enable him to pay his debt and retain his equipage.
The door opened, and the valet announced M. le Chevalier de Finisterre--a man with smooth countenance and air distinque, a pleasant voice and perpetual smile.
"Well, mon cher," cried the Chevalier, "I hope that you recovered the favour of Fortune before you quitted her green table last night. When I left she seemed very cross with you."
"And so continued to the end," answered Alain, with well-simulated gaiety--much too bon gentilhomme to betray rage or anguish for pecuniary loss.
"After all," said de Finisterre, lighting his cigarette, "the uncertain G.o.ddess could not do you much harm; the stakes were small, and your adversary, the Prince, never goes double or quits."