When I entered the breakfast-room the following morning, I found Duchesne stretched before the fire in an easy-chair, busily engaged in reading the “Moniteur” of that day, where a long list of imperial ordonnances filled nearly three columns.
“Here have I been,” said he, “conning over this catalogue of princely favor these twenty minutes, and yet cannot discern one word of our well-beloved cousins Captains Burke and Duchesne. And yet there seems to be a hailstorm of promotions. Some of them have got grand duchies; some principalities; some have the cross of the Legion; and here, by Jove! are some endowed with wives. Now that his Majesty has taken to christening and marrying, I suppose we shall soon see him administering all the succors of Holy Church. Have you much interest in hearing that Talleyrand is to be called Prince of Benevente, and Murat is now Grand-Duke of Berg,—that Sebastiani is to be married to Mademoiselle de Coigny, and Monsieur Decazes, fils de M. Decazes, has taken some one else to wife? Oh dear, oh dear! It's all very tiresome, and not even the fête of Saint Napoleon—”
“Of whom?” said I, laughing.
“Saint Napoleon, parbleu! It's no joking matter, I assure you. Here is the letter of the cardinal legate to the arch-bishops and bishops of France, commanding that the first Sunday in the August of each year should be set apart to celebrate his saintship, with an account of the processions to take place, and various plenary indulgences to the pious who shall present themselves on the occasion. Fouché could tell you the names of some people who bled freely to get rid of all this trumpery; and, in good sooth, it's rather hard, if we could not endure Saint Louis, to be obliged to tolerate Saint Napoleon,—saints, like Bordeaux wine, being all the more palatable when they have age to mellow them. I could forgive anything, however, but this system of forced marriages; it smacks too much of old Frederick for my taste. And one cannot always have the luck of your friend General d'Auvergne.”
I felt my cheek grow burning hot at the words. Duchesne did not notice my confusion, but continued,—
“And yet, of all the ill-assorted unions for which his sainted Majesty will have to account hereafter, that was unquestionably the most extraordinary.”
“But I have heard, and I believe too, that the marriage was not of the Emperor's making; it was purely a matter of liking.”
“Come, come, Burke,” said he, laughing, “you will not tell me that the handsomest girl at the Court, with a large dowry, an ancient name, and every advantage of position, marries an old weather-beaten soldier—the senior officer of her own father once—of her own free will and choice. The thing is absurd. No, no; these are the Imperial recompenses, when grand duchies are scarce and confiscations few. The Emperor does not travel for nothing. He brought back with him from Egypt something besides his Mameluke Guard: that clever trick the pachas have of providing a favorite with an ex-sultana. There, there! don't look so angrily. We shall both be marshals of France one of these days, and that may reconcile one to a great deal.”
“You are determined to owe nothing of your promotion to a blind devotion to Napoleon,—that's certain,” said I, annoyed at the tone of insolent disparagement in which he spoke.
“You are right,—perfectly right there,” replied he, in a quiet tone of voice. “No man would rather hug himself up in an illusion, if he could but make it minister to his pleasure or his enjoyment; but when it does neither,—when the material is so flimsy as to be seen through at every minute,—I throw it from me as a worthless garment, unfit to wear.”