CHAPTER XLI. AN 'ORDINARY' ACQUAINTANCE
The Duc d'Enghien and his aide-de-camp were forwarded with the utmostspeed to Paris; the remainder of us were imprisoned at Strasbourg. Whatbecame of my companions I know not; but I was sent on, along witha number of others, about a month later, to Nancy, to be tried bya military commission. I may mention it here as a singular factillustrating the secrecy of the period, that it was not till long afterthis time I learned the terrible fate of the poor Prince de Conde. Had Iknown it, it is more than probable that I should have utterly despairedof my own safety. The dreadful story of Vincennes--the mock trial, andthe midnight execution, are all too well known to my readers; nor is itnecessary I should refer to an event on which I myself can throw no newlight.
That the sentence was determined on before his arrest--and that thegrave was dug while the victim was still sleeping the last slumberbefore 'the sleep that knows not waking'--the evidences are strong andundeniable. But an anecdote which circulated at the time, and which,so far as I know, has never appeared in print, would seem to show thatthere was complicity, at least, in the crime, and that the secret wasnot confined to the First Consul's breast.
On that fatal night of the 20th March, Talleyrand was seated at acard-table at Caulaincourt's house at Paris. The party was about to risefrom play, when suddenly the 'pendule' on the chimney-piece struck two.It was in one of those accidental pauses in the conversation when anysound is heard with unusual distinctness. Talleyrand started as he heardit, and then turning to Caulaincourt, whispered, 'Yes; 'tis all overnow!'--words which, accidentally overheard, without significance, wereyet to convey a terrible meaning when the dreadful secret of that nightwas disclosed.
If the whole of Europe was convulsed by the enormity of this crime--thefoulest that stains the name of Bonaparte--the Parisians soon forgot itin the deeper interest of the great event that was now approaching--theassumption of the Imperial title by Napoleon.
The excitement on this theme was so great and absorbing, that nothingelse was spoken or thought of. Private sorrows and afflictions weredisregarded and despised, and to obtrude one's hardships on the noticeof others, seemed, at this juncture, a most ineffable selfishness. ThatI, a prisoner, friendless and unknown as I was, found none tosympathise with me, or take interest in my fate, is, therefore, nothingextraordinary. In fact, I appeared to have been entirely forgotten; andthough still in durance, nothing was said either of the charge to bepreferred against me, nor the time when I should be brought to trial.
Giacourt, an old lieutenant of the marines, and at that timeDeputy-Governor of the Temple, was kind and good-natured towards me,occasionally telling of the events which were happening without, andgiving me the hope that some general amnesty would, in all likelihood,liberate all those whose crimes were not beyond the reach of mercy.The little cell I occupied (and to Giacourt's kindness I owed the solepossession of it) looked out upon the tall battlements of the outerwalls, which excluded all view beyond, and thus drove me within myselffor occupation and employment. In this emergency, I set about to writesome notices of my life--some brief memoirs of those changeful fortuneswhich had accompanied me from boyhood. Many of those incidents which Irelate now, and many of those traits of mind or temper that I recall,were then for the first time noted down, and thus graven on my memory.
My early boyhood, my first experience as a soldier, the campaign of the'Schwarzwald,' Ireland, and Genoa, all were mentioned; and writing asI did solely for myself, and my own eyes, I set down many criticisms onthe generals, and their plans of campaign, which, if intended for theinspection of others, would have been the greatest presumptionand impertinence. And in this way Moreau, Hoche, Massena, and evenBonaparte, came in for a most candid and impartial criticism.
How Germany might have been conquered; how Ireland ought to have beeninvaded; in what way Italy should have been treated; and lastly, thegrand political error of the seizure of the Duc d'Enghien, weresubjects that I discussed and determined with consummate boldness andself-satisfaction. I am almost overwhelmed with shame, even now, asI think of that absurd chronicle, with its rash judgments, its crudeopinions, and its pretentious decisions.
So fascinated had I become with my task, that I rose early to resume iteach morning, and used to fall asleep cogitating on the themes for thenext day, and revolving within myself all the passages of interest Ishould commemorate. A man must have known imprisonment to feel allthe value that can be attached to any object, no matter how mean orinsignificant, that can employ the thoughts, amuse the fancy, or engagethe affections. The narrow cell expands under such magic, the barredcasement is a free portal to the glorious sun and the free air; thecaptive himself is but the student bending over his allotted task. Tothis happy frame of mind had I come, without a thought or a wish beyondthe narrow walls at either side of me, when a sad disaster befell me.On awaking one morning, as usual, to resume my labour, my manuscriptwas gone! the table and writing materials, all had disappeared, and,to increase my discomfiture, the turnkey informed me that LieutenantGiacourt had been removed from his post, and sent off to some inferiorstation in the provinces.
I will not advert to the dreary time which followed this misfortune, atime in which the hours passed on unmeasured and almost unfelt. Withoutspeculation, without a wish, I passed my days in a stupid indolence akinto torpor. Had the prison doors been open, I doubt if I should have hadthe energy to make my escape. Life itself ceased to have any value forme, but somehow I did not desire death. I was in this miserable moodwhen the turnkey awoke me one day as I was dozing on my bed. 'Get up,and prepare yourself to receive a visitor,' said he. 'There's an officerof the staff without, come to see you'; and as he spoke, a young,slightly formed man, entered, in the uniform of a captain, who, making asign for the turnkey to withdraw, took his seat at my bedside.
'Don't get up, monsieur; you look ill and weak, so pray let me notdisturb you,' said he, in a voice of kindly meaning.
'I'm not ill,' said I, with an effort--but my hollow utterance andmy sunken cheeks contradicted my words; 'but I have been sleeping; Iusually doze at this hour.'
'The best thing a man can do in prison, I suppose,' said he, smilinggood-naturedly.
'No, not the best,' said I, catching up his words too literally. 'Iused to write the whole day long, till they carried away my paper and mypens.'
'It is just of that very thing I have come to speak, sir,' resumed he.'You intended that memoir for publication?'
'No; never.'
'Then for private perusal among a circle of friends?'
'Just as little. I scarcely know three people in the world who wouldacknowledge that title.'
'You had an object, however, in composing it?'
'Yes; to occupy thought; to save me from--from----'
I hesitated, for I was ashamed of the confession that nearly burst fromme, and, after a pause, I said, 'from being such as I now am!'
'You wrote it for yourself alone, then?'
'Yes.'
'Unprompted; without any suggestion from another?'
'Is it here,' said I, looking around my cell, 'is it here that I shouldbe likely to find a fellow-labourer?'
'No; but I mean to ask, were the sentiments your own, without anyexternal influence, or any persuasions from others?'
'Quite my own.'
'And the narrative is true?'
'Strictly so, I believe.'
'Even to your meeting with the Due d'Enghien. It was purely accidental?'
'That is, I never knew him to be the duke till the moment of hisarrest.'
'Just so; you thought he was merely a Royalist noble. Then, why did younot address a memoir to that effect to the Minister?'
'I thought it would be useless; when they made so little of a Conde,what right had I to suppose they would think much about me?'
'If he could have proved his innocence----' He stopped, and then in analtered voice said--'But as to this memoir; you assume considerable airsof military knowledge in it, and many of t
he opinions smack of headsolder than yours.'
'They are, I repeat, my own altogether; as to their presumption, I havealready told you they were intended solely for my own eye.'
'So that you are not a Royalist?'
'No,'
'Never were one?'
'Never.'
'In what way would you employ yourself if set at liberty to-day?'
I stared, and felt confused; for however easy I found it to refer tothe past, and reason on it, any speculation as to the future was aconsiderable difficulty.
'You hesitate; you have not yet made up your mind, apparently.'
'It is not that; I am trying to think of liberty, trying to fancy myselffree--but I cannot!' said I, with a weary sigh. 'The air of this cellhas sapped my courage and my energy--a little more will finish theruin!'
'And yet you are not much above four or five-and-twenty years of age?'
'Not yet twenty!' said I.
'Come, come, Tiernay--this is too early to be sick of life!' said he,and the kind tone touched me so that I burst into tears. They werebitter tears, too; for while my heart was relieved by this gush offeeling, I was ashamed at my own weakness. 'Come, I say,' continued he,'this memoir of yours might have done you much mischief--happily ithas not done so. Give me the permission to throw it in the fire, and,instead of it, address a respectful petition to the head of the state,setting forth your services, and stating the casualty by which you wereimplicated in Royalism. I will take care that it meets his eye, and, ifpossible, will support its prayer. Above all, ask for reinstalment inyour grade, and a return to the service. It may be, perhaps, thatyou can mention some superior officer who would vouch for your futureconduct.'
'Except Colonel Mahon----'
'Not the Colonel Mahon who commanded the 13th Cuirassiers?'
'The same.'
'That name would little serve you,' said he coldly: 'he has been placed_en retraite_ some time back; and if your character can call no otherwitness than him, your case is not too favourable.' He saw that thespeech had disconcerted me, and soon added, 'Never mind--keep tothe memoir; state your case, and your apology, and leave the rest toFortune. When can you let me have it?'
'By to-morrow--to-night, if necessary.'
'To-morrow will do well, and so good-bye. I will order them to supplyyou with writing materials'; and slapping me good-naturedly on theshoulder, he cried, 'Courage, my lad!' and departed.
Before I lay down to sleep that night, I completed my 'memoir,' thegreat difficulty of which I found to consist in giving it that drybrevity which I knew Bonaparte would require. In this, however, Ibelieve I succeeded at last, making the entire document not to occupyone sheet of paper. The officer had left his card of address, whichI found was inscribed Monsieur Bourrienne, Rue Lafitte, a name thatsubsequently was to be well known to the world.
I directed my manuscript to his care, and lay down with a lighter heartthan I had known for many a day. I will not weary my reader with thetormenting vacillations of hope and fear which followed. Day after daywent over, and no answer came to me. I addressed two notes, respectful,but urgent, begging for some information as to my demand--none came. Amonth passed thus, when, one morning, the governor of the Temple enteredmy room, with an open letter in his hand.
'This is an order for your liberation, Monsieur de Tiernay,' said he;'you are free.'
'Am I reinstated in my grade?' asked I eagerly.
He shook his head, and said nothing.
'Is there no mention of my restoration to the service?'
'None, sir.'
'Then what is to become of me--to what end am I liberated?' cried Ipassionately.
'Paris is a great city--there is a wide world beyond it; and a man soyoung as you are must have few resources, or he will carve out a goodcareer for himself.'
'Say, rather, he must have few resentments, sir,' cried I bitterly, 'orhe will easily hit upon a bad one'; and with this, I packed up the fewarticles I possessed, and prepared to depart.
I remember it well: it was between two and three o'clock of theafternoon, on a bright day in spring, that I stood on the Quai Voltaire,a very small packet of clothes in a bundle in one hand, and a canein the other, something short of three louis in my purse, and as muchdepression in my heart as ever settled down in that of a youth not fullnineteen. Liberty is a glorious thing, and mine had been perilled oftenenough to give me a hearty appreciation of its blessing; but at thatmoment, as I stood friendless and companionless in a great thoroughfareof a great city, I almost wished myself back again within the drearywalls of the Temple, for somehow it felt like home! It is true, one musthave had a lonely lot in life before he could surround the cell of aprison with such attributes as these. Perhaps I have more of the catlikeaffection for a particular spot than most men; but I do find that Iattach myself to walls with a tenacity that strengthens as I grow older,and, like my brother parasite, the ivy, my grasp becomes more rigid thelonger I cling.
If I know of few merely sensual gratifications higher than a loungethrough Paris, at the flood-tide of its population, watching the variedhues and complexions of its strange inhabitants, displaying, as they do,in feature, air, and gesture, so much more of character and purpose thanother people, so also do I feel that there is something indescribablymiserable in being alone, unknown, and unnoticed in that vast throng,destitute of means for the present, and devoid of hope for the future.
Some were bent on business, some on pleasure; some were evidentlybent on killing time till the hour of more agreeable occupation shouldarrive; some were loitering along, gazing at the prints in shop-windows,or half listlessly stopping to read at book-stalls. There was not onlyevery condition of mankind, from wealth to mendicancy, but every frameof mind, from enjoyment to utter ennui, and yet I thought I could nothit upon any one individual who looked as forlorn and cast-away asmyself; however, there were many who passed me that day who wouldgladly have changed fortune with me, but it would have been difficult topersuade me of the fact in the mood I then was.
At the time I speak of, there was a species of cheap ordinary held inthe open air on the quay, where people of the humblest condition used todine. I need scarcely describe the fare--the reader may conceive what itwas, which, wine included, cost only four sous. A rude table without acloth, some wooden platters, and an iron rail to which the knives andforks were chained, formed the 'equipage,' the cookery bearing a duerelation to the elegance of these accessories. As for the company, ifnot polite, it was certainly picturesque--consisting of labourers of thelowest class, the sweepers of crossings, hackney-cabmen out of employ,that poorest of the poor who try to earn a livelihood by dragging theSeine for lost articles, and finally, the motley race of idlers whovacillate between beggary and ballad-singing, with now and then a dashat highway robbery for a 'distraction'; a class, be it said withoutparadox, which in Paris includes a considerable number of tolerablyhonest folk.
The moment was the eventful one in which France was about once moreto become a monarchy, and as may be inferred from the character of thepeople, it was a time of high excitement and enthusiasm. The nation,even in its humblest citizen, seemed to feel some of the reflected glorythat glanced from the great achievements of Bonaparte, and his elevationwas little other than a grand manifestation of national self-esteem.That he knew how to profit by this sentiment, and incorporate his ownwith the country's glory, so that they seemed to be inseparable, is notamong the lowest nor the least of the efforts of his genius.
The paroxysm of national vanity, for it was indeed no less, imparted apeculiar character to the period. A vainglorious, boastful spirit wasabroad; men met each other with high-sounding gratulations about Frenchgreatness and splendour, the sway we wielded over the rest of Europe,and the influence with which we impressed our views over the entireglobe.
Since the fall of the monarchy there had been half-a-dozen nationalfevers! There was the great Fraternal and Equality one; there wasthe era of classical associations, with all their train of trumperyaffect
ation in dress and manner. Then came the conquering spirit, withthe flattering spectacle of great armies; and now, as if to completethe cycle, there grew up that exaggerated conception of 'France andher Mission,' an unlucky phrase that has since done plenty of mischief,which seemed to carry the nation into the seventh heaven of overweeningself-love.
If I advert to this here, it is but passingly, neither stopping toexamine its causes, nor seeking to inquire the consequences that ensuedfrom it, but, as it were, chronicling the fact as it impressed me asI stood that day on the Quai Voltaire, perhaps the only unimpassionedlounger along its crowded thoroughfare.
Not even the ordinary 'a quatre sous' claimed exemption from thissentiment. It might be supposed that meagre diet and sour wine were butsorry provocatives to national enthusiasm, but even they could ministerto the epidemic ardour, and the humble dishes of that frugal boardmasqueraded under titles that served to feed popular vanity. Of thisI was made suddenly aware as I stood looking over the parapet into theriver, and heard the rude voices of the labourers as they called forcutlets _a la Caire_, potatoes _en Mamelouques_, or roast beef _a laMonte-Notte_, while every goblet of their wine was tossed off to someproud sentiment of national supremacy.
Amused by the scene, so novel in all its bearings, I took my place atthe table, not sorry for the excuse to myself for partaking so humble arepast.
'_Sacrebleu!_' cried a rough-looking fellow with a red nightcap seton one side of the head, 'make room there, we have the _aristocrates_,coming down among us.'
'Monsieur is heartily welcome,' said another, making room for me; 'weare only flattered by such proofs of confidence and esteem.'
'Ay, _parbleu!_ cried a third. 'The Empire is coming, and we shall bewell bred and well mannered. I intend to give up the river, and take tosome more gentlemanlike trade than dredging for dead men.'
'And I, I'll never sharpen anything under a rapier or a dress sword forthe Court,' said a knife-grinder; 'we have been living like _canaille_hitherto--nothing better.'
'A l'Empire, a l'Empire!' shouted half-a-dozen voices in concert; andthe glasses were drained to the toast with a loud cheer.
Directly opposite to me sat a thin, pale, mild-looking man, of aboutfifty, in a kind of stuff robe, like the dress of a village curate. Hisappearance, though palpably poor, was venerable and imposing--not theless so, perhaps, from its contrast with the faces and gestures ateither side of him. Once or twice, while these ebullitions of enthusiasmburst forth, his eyes met mine, and I read, or fancied that I read,a look of kindred appreciation in their mild and gentle glance. Theexpression was less reproachful than compassionate, as though inpity for the ignorance rather than in reprobation for the folly. Now,strangely enough, this was precisely the very sentiment of my ownheart at that moment. I remembered a somewhat similar enthusiasm forrepublican liberty, by men just as unfitted to enjoy it; and I thoughtto myself, the Empire, like the Convention, or the Directory, is a merefabulous conception to these poor fellows, who, whatever may be theregime, will still be hewers of wood and drawers of water to the end ofall time.
As I was pondering over this, I felt something touch my arm, and, onturning, perceived that my opposite neighbour had now seated himself atmy side, and, in a low, soft voice, was bidding me 'Good-day.' After oneor two commonplace remarks upon the weather and the scene, he seemed tofeel that some apology for his presence in such a place was needful, forhe said--
'You are here, monsieur, from a feeling of curiosity, that I see wellenough; but I come for a very different reason. I am the pastor of amountain village of the Ardeche, and have come to Paris in search of ayoung girl, the daughter of one of my flock, who, it is feared, has beencarried off, by some evil influence, from her home and her friends,to seek fortune and fame in this rich capital; for she is singularlybeautiful, and gifted too; sings divinely, and improvises poetry with agenius that seems inspiration.'
There was a degree of enthusiasm, blended with simplicity, in the poorcure's admiration of his 'lost sheep' that touched me deeply. He hadbeen now three weeks in vain pursuit, and was at last about to turnhomeward, discomfited and unsuccessful. 'Lisette' was the very soul ofthe little hamlet, and he knew not how life was to be carried on therewithout her. The old loved her as a daughter; the young were rivals forher regard.
'And to me,' said the pere, 'whom, in all the solitude of my lonely lot,literature and especially poetry, consoles many an hour of sadness ormelancholy--to me, she was like a good angel, her presence diffusinglight as she crossed my humble threshold, and elevating my thoughtsabove the little crosses and accidents of daily life.'
So interested had I become in this tale, that I listened while he toldevery circumstance of the little locality; and walking along at hisside, I wandered out of the city, still hearing of 'La Marche,' as thevillage was called, till I knew the ford where the blacksmith lived, andthe miller with the cross wife, and the lame schoolmaster, and Pierrethe postmaster, who read out the _Moniteur_ each evening under the elms,even to Jacques Fulgeron the 'Tapageur,' who had served at Jemappes,and, with his wounded hand and his waxed moustache, was the terror ofall peaceable folk.
'You should come and see us, my dear monsieur,' said he to me, as Ishowed some more than common interest in the narrative. 'You, who seemto study character, would find something better worth the notice thanthese hardened natures of city life. Come, and spend a week or two withme, and if you do not like our people and their ways, I am but a sorryphysiognomist.'
It is needless to say that I was much flattered by this kind proof ofconfidence and good-will; and finally it was agreed upon between us thatI should aid him in his search for three days, after which, if stillunsuccessful, we should set out together for La Marche. It was easy tosee that the poor cure was pleased at my partnership in the task, forthere were several public places of resort--theatres, 'spectacles,' andthe like--to which he scrupled to resort, and these he now willinglyconceded to my inspection, having previously given me so accurate adescription of La Lisette, that I fancied I should recognise heramongst a thousand. If her long black eyelashes did not betray her,her beautiful teeth were sure to do so; or, if I heard her voice,there could be no doubt then; and, lastly, her foot would as infalliblyidentify her as did Cinderella's.
For want of better, it was agreed upon that we should make the'Restaurant a Quatre Sous' our rendezvous each day, to exchange ourconfidences and report progress. It will scarcely be believed how eventhis much of a pursuit diverted my mind from its own dark dreamings, andhow eagerly my thoughts pursued the new track that was opened to them.It was the utter listlessness, the nothingness of my life, that wasweighing me down; and already I saw an escape from this in the pursuitof a good object. I could wager that the pastor of La Marche neverthought so intensely, so uninterruptedly, of Lisette as did I for thefour-and-twenty hours that followed! It was not only that I had createdher image to suit my fancy, but I had invented a whole narrative of herlife and adventures since her arrival in Paris.
My firm conviction being that it was lost time to seek for her inobscure and out-of-the-way quarters of the city, I thought it best topursue the search in the thronged and fashionable resorts of the gayworld, the assemblies and theatres. Strong in this conviction, I changedone of my three gold pieces to purchase a ticket for the opera. Thereader may smile at the sacrifice; but when he who thinks four sousenough for a dinner, pays twelve francs for the liberty to be crushed inthe crowded parterre of a playhouse, he is indeed buying pleasure at acostly price. It was something more than a fifth of all I possessed inthe world, but, after all, my chief regret arose from thinking that itleft me so few remaining 'throws of the dice' for 'Fortune.'
I have often reflected since that day by what a mere accident I waspresent, and yet the spectacle was one that I have never forgotten.It was the last time the First Consul appeared in public, before hisassumption of the Imperial title; and at no period through all his greatcareer was the enthusiasm more impassioned regarding him. He sat in thebox adjoining the
stage--Cambaceres and Lebrun, with a crowd of others,standing and not sitting, around and behind his chair. When he appeared,the whole theatre rose to greet him, and three several times was heobliged to rise and acknowledge the salutations. And with what astately condescension did he make these slight acknowledgments!--whathaughtiness was there in the glance he threw around him! I have oftenheard it said, and I have seen it also written, that previous to hisassumption of the crown, Bonaparte's manner exhibited the mean artsand subtle devices of a candidate on the hustings, dispensing all theflatteries and scattering all the promises that such occasions are soprolific of. I cannot, of course, pretend to contradict this statementpositively; but I can record the impression which that scene made uponme, as decidedly the opposite of this assumption. I have repeatedly seenhim since that event, but never do I remember his calm, cold featuresmore impassively stern, more proudly collected, than on that night.
Every allusion of the piece that could apply to him was eagerly caughtup. Not a phrase nor a chance word that could compliment, was passedover in silence; and if greatness and glory were accorded, as if by aninstinctive reverence, the vast assemblage turned towards him, to laytheir homage at his feet. I watched him narrowly, and could see that hereceived them all as his rightful tribute, the earnest of the debt thenation owed him. Among the incidents of that night, I remember one whichactually for the moment convulsed the house with its enthusiasm. One ofthe officers of his suite had somehow stumbled against Bonaparte's hat,which, on entering, he had thrown carelessly beside his chair. Stoopingdown and lifting it up, he perceived to whom it belonged, and then,remarking the mark of a bullet on the edge, he showed it significantlyto a general near him. Slight and trivial as was the incident, it wasinstantly caught up by the parterre. A low murmur ran quickly around;and then a sudden cheer burst forth, for some one remembered it wasthe anniversary of Marengo! And now the excitement became madness, andreiterated shouts proclaimed that the glory of that day was among theproudest memories of France. For once, and once only, did any trait offeeling show itself on that impassive face. I thought I could mark evena faint tinge of colour in that sallow cheek, as in recognition he boweda dignified salute to the waving and agitated assembly.
I saw that proud face, at moments when human ambition might have seemedto have reached its limit, and yet never with a haughtier look than onthat night I speak of. His foot was already on the first step of thethrone, and his spirit seemed to swell with the conscious force ofcoming greatness.
And Lisette, all this time? Alas, I had totally forgotten her! As theenthusiasm around me began to subside, I had time to recover myself,and look about me. There was much beauty and splendour to admire. MadameJunot was there, and Mademoiselle de Bessieres, with a crowd of othersless known, but scarcely less lovely. Not one, however, could I see thatcorresponded with my mind-drawn portrait of the peasant beauty; and Iscanned each face closely and critically. There was female lovelinessof every type, from the dark-eyed beauty of Spanish race, to the almostdivine regularity of a Raphaelite picture. There was the brilliantaspect of fashion, too; but nowhere could I see what I sought for;nowhere detect that image which imagination had stamped as that of thebeauty of 'La Marche.' If disappointed in my great object, I left thetheatre with my mind full of all I had witnessed. The dreadful event ofEttenheim had terribly shaken Bonaparte in my esteem; yet how resist thecontagious devotion of a whole nation--how remain cold in the midstof the burning zeal of all France? These thoughts brought me to theconsideration of myself. Was I, or was I not, any longer a soldier ofhis army? or was I disqualified for joining in that burst of nationalenthusiasm which proclaimed that all France was ready to march underhis banner? To-morrow I 'll wait upon the Minister of War, thought I, orI'll seek out the commanding officer of some regiment that I know, or atleast a comrade; and so I went on, endeavouring to frame a plan formy guidance, as I strolled along the streets, which were now almostdeserted. The shops were all closed; of the hotels, such as were yetopen were far too costly for means like mine; and so, as the night wascalm and balmy with the fresh air of spring, I resolved to pass itout of doors. I loitered then along the Champs-Elysees; and at lengthstretching myself on the grass beneath the trees, lay down to sleep. 'Anodd bedroom enough,' thought I, 'for one who has passed the evening atthe opera, and who has feasted his ears at the expense of his stomach.'I remembered, too, another night when the sky had been my canopy inParis, when I slept beneath the shadow of the guillotine and the Placede Greve. 'Well,' thought I, 'times are at least changed for the bettersince that day; and my own fortunes are certainly not lower.'
This comforting reflection closed my waking memories, and I sleptsoundly till morning.