As he walked on he left behind him Clermont, Rion, Aigueperse, and Grannot. Some leagues before this he had bid good-by to the beautiful district of Limagne, which had charmed him by its sea of verdure, it's deep golden foliage, and its rich and fertile plains. This was the first canton of France which was considered worthy of a particular description, and it was of this part of l'Auvergne that Apollo Lidoine said: "It is so beautiful that strangers who go there cannot leave it, and there have even then instances of persons forgetting their own country when there." It was of this country, so favored by heaven, that King Childebert said, "that before dying he desired but one [{649}] thing, and that was to see beautiful Limagne d'Auvergne, which is the masterpiece of nature, and a scene of enchantment." We cannot say that Robert shared in their opinion, but it is certain that he passed it with regret, although he was drawn by so strange of feeling toward Paris, the object of his hope and his ambition. He walked to St. Pourçain, Moulins, and all the small places, and rested a day when overfatigued. Great was his delight when he reached Fontainebleau, which royal residence had witnessed the first abdication of the emperor. All was still in motion at this place, and more than one old soldier twisted his mustache, and with a fierce and martial air walked on the edge of this great forest, weeping for the liberty of his emperor, his god, his idol. It was with delight that our young hero, the child of the woods and solitude, sought the fresh shades, which recalled to him, by a striking similarity, his cherished mountain home; and the immense piles of irregular rocks attested that this place, too, had been the theatre of some great convulsion of nature. At mid-day, when the sun sheds his fiercest rays, when the tired flowers lean on their stems, when the birds hide under the leaves, when all nature seeks repose, the better to enjoy the freshness of the evening, Robert, too, followed the example, and lay down and slept at the foot of a huge chestnut-tree many centuries old; the vast shade of which form and impenetrable cover from the heat of the sun. He awoke refreshed, rose, and ventured into one of the long alleys or walks to which a sign conducted him. For several hours he wandered about lost in this tangled maze and looking in vain for an opening. But he was a patient child, and obstacles did not stop him, neither was he discouraged by his unfruitful efforts; on the contrary, he redoubled his ardor, and finally reached a clear space, in the center of which was a fountain ordered by rose-beds. Four paths diverged from it, and of such great length were they that it fatigued the eye to look at them. In exploring in turn each of these paths, Robert found in one of them a sign pointing out to strangers the various labyrinths of the forest. He had nothing else for a guide, but thought if he could only find his way to the palace again, there must be some one there who could tell him how to go; so he followed the path which he thought might be right, and it was, and led him into the avenue which wound round by the palace. When he got right in front of the principal and only truly royal edifice of France, or rather of Napoleon, he stopped and wondered at the vast aspect of this assemblage of buildings, producing an effect at once imposing and majestic. Nothing like this had ever entered his imagination, and the most lively astonishment shone on his face, and his eyes burned with the fire of intelligence and pleasure. A few steps from him was an old soldier who was entirely absorbed in contemplating the building, and who looked worn and sad. He, too, was in a sort of ecstasy, but he gazed in silence and seemed lost to all around him. His expression was of one in anguish, and his eyes rested with a strange fixedness upon the steps of honor. He waits and watches as if hoping to see some one whom he ardently loves appear; but his hope is deceived, and two tears trickle slowly down his dark cheeks, scarred and burned by the fires of a hundred battles. At this moment when marks of supreme sorrow told so eloquently of his sufferings, Robert turned, and seeing his tears he was deeply moved at this testimony of profound sorrow, and, eagerly approaching the soldier, said to him in a touching voice: "Why do you cry, sir? Have yon also lost your mother? I fear you have." Robert had never wept but for one sorrow, and that we all know, and in happy ignorance of the other misfortunes of life he thought all wept [{650}] for the same thing; and in his great loss he looked to older persons to console him, which proved how tender, delicate, and generous are the sentiments that live in the hearts of children. Their young souls are mirrors have to which we should only give pure, chaste, and pious images to reflect and show them good examples, that without effort vice might be crushed out, and the world left an Eden of purity.
Hearing so touchingly compassionate a voice, the old soldier turned and looked at the child, while tears glistened in his eyes. "No," said he in a coarse tone, "it is not for my mother that I weep, it is for my emperor." "And who is it that is your emperor?" "Alas! I have no father, and have just lost my mother," he said sighing. "Was your emperor good, and did you love him so much that you weep or him? I shall never forget my mother, she was so sweet and good to her little son. But tell me, sir, tell me of your emperor. My mother said I should always love those who were good, and I want to love him too." The old fellow twisted his mustache, and growled some words between his teeth, looking alternately at the palace and the child, who smiled at him with an expression so gentle that it moved the soldier's heart. You could see he was the victim of an emotion he vainly sought to conceal. "Wonderful!" cried he, vanquished by the magical eyes of Robert. "You are a good child, and speak to my heart when you tell me that you love my emperor. But who does not love him, except those cowards! those scoundrels! those traitors! But stop, I have said enough." He saw that Robert was a little frightened, for his ears had only been accustomed to the caressing voice of his mother. "Do you see that staircase? My emperor descended by it to embrace the eagles of his flag, the victorious eagles which have made him immortal, and which led his way to glory. Yes, the embraced them, and wept because he could not embrace all his old soldiers had not betrayed him and would have followed him to the end of the world. And some of his old guard still live. Oh! if they had only sent me with him into the loan island of his misfortunes, if I could be with him there, I should be content. But since I cannot, I must go to Paris and see what is doing there. See, my child, you are going there too, and I believe you said you had neither father nor mother. Have you any relatives?" "No," said Robert. "Why, then, are you going to Paris if you have no friends there?" "My mother said I must go, and I'm going." "I don't wish to be too curious, but tell me from whence you come?" "From the village of Mount Dore, eight leagues from Clermont." "Pretty walk for such little legs, I think; but as we are both going to Paris, and you have no father or mother to protect you, and I and a poor old soldier, I will take care of you, for you have moved my heart by your gentle words, and we will travel together, so that the walk will be shorter for both." "Oh! how delightful," said Robert; "and then you can tell me about your emperor. I know I can walk fast enough in hearing you talk about one whom you love so much." "Yes, my boy," he replied, "I could speak forever of my emperor; but it must be when we are alone, for his glorious name, which once made kings and conscripts alike tremble, is now called usurper, and is forbidden to be pronounced. A thousand thunders! the thought enrages me; and if I had his traitorous subjects I would strangle them, or my name is not Cyprien Hardy." This conversation was held with furious gestures on the one side and great astonishment on the other, until they came to the modest inn where Robert had left his bundle. The child in his new friend, the old soldier, who justified the name, made a frugal repast, and continue [{651}] their journey. On the way Robert related the history of the twelve years he had passed on his cherished mountain with his beloved mother, which simple recital gained him the lasting friendship of his companion, whom Robert looked upon as a friend provided for him by that kind Providence who watches over orphans. He bore the fatigue of the journey well, and was in perfect health when they reached that magnificent chaos called Paris. The old soldier is, then, the second friend that God has given our little hero. And how strange it was that these two were isolated beings should meet in such a place, before the grand palace of kings—the one a man of resolute energy, who carried on his bold forehead great scars of glory, but who shed tears of despair at the fall of his well-beloved chief, in whom he had found parents, country, family; the other a charming youth, representing brilliant promises for the future, young, beautiful, and full of ambition. Cyprien Hardy was one of those true French hearts to whom the name of patriot was not a vain word. He was moved like many others when dangers threatened the republic and the when powerful allies audaciously invaded its territory. He was one of the first to take up arms, having entered the army as a volunteer at twenty-one. Some years later he served in the first regiment of the soldiers of the guard, after having made the memorable campaigns of Italy, Egypt, and Germany, always following the "Little Corporal," always the first in battle, and always respected. Dangers made him smile; his courage was inexhaustible. One thing alone could move him, and that was the voice of his chief. This electrified him, and made him forget all but noble actions. He had always loved Napoleon, and this affection increased with the fortunes of the great man whose word or look transformed soldiers into heroes. It was in the forts of Moscow that his emperor had given him the "Cross of Honor," for a wound which he received from a cannon ball while waving his flag. In this disastrous retreat the brave soldier, dying with cold, fatigue, and hunger, preserved his heroic exaltation and his confidence in and love for his emperor; and if he ever grumbled, it was only because he could not kill every Cossack that he laid his eyes upon. His courage and energy never diminished, and he believed so implicitly in his emperor that he thought good fortune must return. But it had gone forever. His heart revolted at the thought; and he swore that the author of this infamous treason should repent, and this was why he was going to Paris to see if he could find any of his old companions.
TO BE CONTINUED.
ONE MOMENT.
A trooping forth of buried griefs like ghosts,—
Temptations gathering swift in serried hosts,—
Of angel guardians a glittering band,—
God watching all—shall we desert or stand?
PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. [Footnote 178]
[Footnote 178: erratum: In the last number, p. 524, 2d col. 12th line, for "created in sanctity and justice," read "constituted.">[