“There again you puzzle me; for I never saw much of this same ascendency, or slavery either. Loyal people, some way or other, were usually in favor with the Government, and had what many thought a most unjust proportion of the good things to their share. But even the others got off in most cases easily too; a devilish deal better than you treated those luckless Austrians the other day. You killed some thirty thousand, and made bankrupts of the rest of the nation. But then, to be sure, it was the cause of liberty you were fighting for. And as for the Italians—”
“Yes! but you forget these were wars not of our seeking; the treachery of false-hearted allies led to these sad results.”
“I suppose so. But certain it is, nations, like individuals, that have a taste for fighting, usually have the good luck to find an adversary; and as your Emperor here seems to have learned the Donnybrook Fair trick of trailing his coat after him, it would be strange enough if nobody would gratify him by standing on it.”
Without being able to say why, I felt piqued and annoyed at the tone of Bubbleton's remarks, which, coming from one of his narrow intelligence on ordinary topics, worried me only the more. I had long since seen that the liberty with which in boyhood I was infatuated had no existence save in the dreams of ardent patriotism; that the great and the mighty felt ambition a goal, and power a birthright; that the watchwords of freedom were inscribed on banners when the sentiments had died out of men's hearts, while as a passion the more dazzling one of glory made every other pale before it; and that the calm head and moderate judgment could scarce survive contact with the intoxicating triumphs of a nation's successes.
Such was, indeed, the real change Napoleon had wrought in France. Their enthusiasm could not rest content with national liberty; glory alone could satisfy a nation drunk with victory. Against the stern followers of the Republican era—the soldiers of the Sambre and Meuse, the men of Jemmappes—he had arrayed the ardent, high-spirited youth of the Consulate and the Empire, the heroes of Areola, of Rivoli, of Cairo, and Austerlitz. How vain to discuss questions of social order or national freedom with the cordoned and glittering bands who saw monarchy and kingdoms among the prizes of their ambition! And even I, who had few ambitious hopes, how the ardor that once stimulated me and led me to the soldier's life,—how had it given way to the mere conventional aspirings of a class! The grade of colonel was far oftener in my thoughts than the cause of freedom; the cross of the Legion would have reconciled me to much that in my calmer judgment I might deem harsh and tyrannical.
“Believe me, Tom,” said Bubbleton, who saw in my silence that his observations had their weight with me, “believe me, my philosophy is the true one,—never to meddle where you cannot serve yourself or some of your friends. The world will always consist of two parties,—one governing, the other governed. We belong to the latter category, and shall only get into a scrape by poking our heads where they have no business to be.”
“Why, a few moments since you were full of state secrets, and plots, and secret treaties, and Heaven knows what besides!”
“To be sure I was. And for whose interest, man,—for whose sake? George Frederick Augustus Bubbleton's. Ay, no doubt of it. Here am I, a détenu,—and have been these two years and a half—wasting away existence at Verdun, while my property is going to the devil from sheer neglect. My West India estates, who can say how I shall find them? my Calcutta property, the same; then there's that fee-simple thing in Norfolk. But I can't even think of it. Well, I verily believe no single step has been taken for my release or exchange. The Whigs, you know, will do nothing for me. I may tell you in confidence,”—here he dropped his voice to a low whisper,—“I may tell you, Charles Fox hates me. But more of this another time. What was I to do in all this mess of trouble and misfortune? Stand still and bear it? No, faith; that's not Bubbleton policy. You 'd never guess what I did.”
“I fear not.”
“Well, it chanced that some little literary labors of mine—you know I dally sometimes with the muse—became known to the préfet at Verdun. I saw that they watched me; and consequently I made great efforts at secrecy, concealing my papers in the chimney, under the floor, sewing them in the linings of my coat, and so on. The bait took: they made a regular search, seizing my manuscripts, put great seals on all the packages, and sent them up to Paris. The day after, I made submission,—offered to reveal all to the Minister for Foreign Affairs. And accordingly they sent me up here with an escort. What would have come next I cannot tell you, if Anna Maria had not found out Lord Lauderdale, and trumped up some story to him, so that he interfered. And we are now living at the Rue Neuve des Capucines; but how long we shall be there, and where they may send us next, I wish I could only guess.”