Kitabı oku: «Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune», sayfa 42

‘Don’t you know him?’ said the archduke, laughing – ‘it’s Colonel de Tiernay; and if he cannot stand up, you certainly should be the last to find fault with him. Pray sit quiet, Tiernay,’ added he, pressing me down on my seat; ‘and if you won’t look so terrified, my sister will remember you.’

‘We must both be more altered than I ever expect if I cease to remember Monsieur de Tiernay,’ said the archduchess, with a most courteous smile. Then leaning on the back of a chair, she bent forward and inquired after my health. There was something so strange in the situation: a young, handsome girl condescending to a tone of freedom and intimacy with one she had seen but a couple of times, and from whom the difference of condition separated her by a gulf wide as the great ocean, that I felt a nervous tremor I could not account for. Perhaps, with the tact that royalty possesses as its own prerogative, or, perhaps, with mere womanly intuition, she saw how the interview agitated me, and, to change the topic, she suddenly said —

‘I must present you to one of my ladies, Colonel de Tiernay, a countrywoman of your own. She already has heard from me the story of your noble devotion, and now only has to learn your name. Remember you are to sit still.’

As she said this, she turned, and drawing her arm within that of a young lady behind her, led her forward.

‘It is to this gentleman I owe my life, Mademoiselle d’Estelles.’

I heard no more, nor did she either; for, faltering, she uttered a low, faint sigh, and fell into the arms of those behind her.

‘What’s this, Tiernay! – how is all this?’ whispered Prince Louis; ‘are you acquainted with mademoiselle?’

But I forgot everything – the presence in which I stood, the agony of a wounded leg, and all, and with a violent effort sprang from my seat.

Before I could approach her, however, she had risen from the chair, and, in a voice broken and interrupted, said —

‘You are so changed, Monsieur de Tiernay – so much changed – that the shock overpowered me. We became acquainted in the Tyrol, madame,’ said she to the princess, ‘where monsieur was a prisoner.’

What observation the princess made in reply I could not hear, but I saw that Laura blushed deeply. To hide her awkwardness perhaps it was, that she hurriedly entered into some account of our former intercourse, and I could observe that some allusion to the Prince de Condé dropped from her.

‘How strange, how wonderful is all that you tell me!’ said the princess, who bent forward and whispered some words to Prince Louis; and then, taking Laura’s arm, she moved on, saying in a low voice ‘Au revoir, monsieur,’ as she passed.

‘You are to come and drink tea in the archduchess’s apartments, Tiernay,’ said Prince Louis; ‘you ‘ll meet your old friend, Mademoiselle d’Estelles, and of course you have a hundred recollections to exchange with each other.’

The prince insisted on my accepting his arm, and, as he assisted me along, informed me that old Madame d’Aigreville had been dead about a year, leaving her niece an immense fortune – at least a claim to one – only wanting the sanction of the Emperor Napoleon to become valid; for it was one of the estreated but not confiscated estates of La Vendée. Every word that dropped from the prince extinguished some hope within me. More beautiful than ever, her rank recognised, and in possession of a vast fortune, what chance had I, a poor soldier of fortune, of success?

‘Don’t sigh, Tiernay,’ said the prince, laughing; ‘you’ve lost a leg for us, and we must lend you a hand in return’; and with this we entered the salon of the archduchess.

CHAPTER LIV. MAURICE TIERNAY’S ‘LAST WORD AND CONFESSION’

I have been very frank with my readers in these memoirs of my life. If I have dwelt somewhat vain-gloriously on passing moments of success, it must be owned that I have not spared my vanity and self-conceit when either betrayed me into any excess of folly. I have neither blinked my humble beginnings, nor have I sought to attribute to my own merits those happy accidents which made me what I am. I claim nothing but the humble character – a Soldier of Fortune. It was my intention to have told the reader somewhat more than these twenty odd years of my life embrace. Probably, too, my subsequent career, if less marked by adventure, was more pregnant with true views of the world and sounder lessons of conduct; but I have discovered to my surprise that these revelations have extended over a wider surface than I ever destined them to occupy, and already I tremble for the loss of that gracious attention that has been vouchsafed me hitherto. I will not trust myself to say how much regret this abstinence has cost me – enough if I avow that in jotting down the past I have lived my youth over again, and in tracing old memories, old scenes, and old impressions, the smouldering fire of my heart has shot up a transient flame so bright as to throw a glow even over the chill of my old age.

It is, after all, no small privilege to have lived and borne one’s part in stirring times; to have breasted the ocean of life when the winds were up and the waves ran high; to have mingled, however humbly, in eventful scenes, and had one’s share in the mighty deeds that were to become history afterwards. It is assuredly in such trials that humanity comes out best, and that the character of man displays all its worthiest and noblest attributes. Amid such scenes I began my life, and, in the midst of similar ones, if my prophetic foresight deceive me not, I am like to end it.

Having said this much of and for myself, I am sure the reader will pardon me if I am not equally communicative with respect to another, and if I pass over the remainder of that interval which I spent at Komorn. Even were love-making – which assuredly it is not – as interesting to the spectator as to those engaged – I should scruple to recount events which delicacy should throw a veil over; nor am I induced, even by the example of the wittiest periodical writer of the age, to make a feuilleton of my own marriage. Enough that I say, despite my shattered form, my want of fortune, my unattested pretension to rank or station, Mademoiselle d’Estelles accepted me, and the Emperor most graciously confirmed her claims to wealth, thus making me one of the richest and the very happiest among the Soldiers of Fortune.

The Père Delamoy, now superior of a convent at Pisa, came to Komorn to perform the ceremony; and if he could not altogether pardon those who had uprooted the ancient monarchy of France, yet he did not conceal his gratitude to him who had restored the church and rebuilt the altar.

There may be some who may deem this closing abrupt, and who would wish for even a word about the bride, her bouquet, and her blushes. I cannot afford to gratify so laudable a curiosity, at the same time that a lurking vanity induces me to say, that any one wishing to know more about the personnel of my wife or myself, has but to look at David’s picture, or the engraving made from it, of the Emperor’s marriage. There they will find, in the left-hand corner, partly concealed behind the Grand-Duke de Berg, an officer of the ‘Guides,’ supporting on his arm a young and very beautiful girl, herself a bride. If the young lady’s looks are turned with more interest on her companion than upon the gorgeous spectacle, remember that she is but a few weeks married. If the soldier carry himself with less of martial vigour or grace, pray bear in mind that cork legs had not attained the perfection to which later skill has brought them.

I have the scene stronger before me than painting can depict, and my eyes fill as I now behold it in my memory!

THE END