Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 193 — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a eee eg a ee 26 And then the colonel of the Death’s Head Cuirassiers began to notice that the men had got into a habit of holding secret meetings in the barrack at night, and saw that there was an air of mystery about sundry officers, One day he asked Major Foulard: ‘What is going on in the regiment? Has it come to this, that you are afraid to trust Colo- nel Blancbec?” He used his old nickname, which the black riders had given him, at first in derision, on ac- count of bis fair comt lexion, he bein the only blonde in the regiment, but which had ended in ce a& pet name, of which they were pro Major Foulard coughed and looked asif he ‘were embarrassed. ‘‘ It isnothing, my general, I assure you. How is Madame la Generale?’ ‘Very well, thank you; but, as I was saying, what is the matter in the regiment?” yas isnothing, my general, at least it is noth- ing of importance. It is one of those things commanding officers wink at and do not notice. The men are a little excited over the rumors, that i is all.” * What rumors?” “The rumors in the papers. My general, do not ask. We know you to be our friend. e are proud of you. But we are not happy under the Bourbons. You are not either. e are used to the eagle and the tricolor, and we do not like this contemptible barnyard fowl the want us to put on our horse furniture and hel- mets.” He referred to the Gallic cock, the old and time-honored emblem of France, which had re- placed the eagle since the abdication. ‘And we don’t like the white flag,” pursued Foulard with a growl. ‘‘ When one is used to the tricolor, it is the most beautiful flag in the world. You know it, my general. ou re- member how we carried it at Jena and Fried- land. Eh, mon Dieu, what a change!” And the gruff old major blew his nose in a vio- lent way, and went off grumbling. Gabriel asked no more questions; but he watched the men closely, nevertheless, and one night made a quiet descent on the barracks after taps, when by rule all the lights should be out. one room he saw a bright glare, and heard the voice of a man inside, seemingly delivering a discourse. Going: to the door softly in the darkness, he suddenly threw it open and walk- edin. There were the veterans of the Death’s Heads, sitting on their beds, as silent as statues, smokin ng solemnly in the midst of a blue cloud, while in the center of the room old Casse Tete was pe mending, preaching. é sight of the general produced a dead si- ter the men had sprung to their feet rev stood saluting. Gabriel walked into the midst of the room and found Casse Tete was holding a bunch of withered violets in his hand. “What does this mean?” he asked quietly. “I thought my men were above breaking the ogy of a What were you speaking Casse Tete?” othe cuirassier, pale as death, held up the vio- lets, and said in ‘trembling accents: “T was only tellin Diya general, that he will come back when row again.’ ~ Eg started and an roun rugged old soldiers were positively cry- tng, est of them, and stood there, with their faces set in a stern frown, while the tears frickled down their scarred cheeks and glittered in the lamplight. ‘*What does this mean?” the general asked quietly. ‘‘I am not angry, oj children, Tell your colonel. Who is coming Casse Tete burst out ec , bard as he was, and one might hear the sol iers, all over the yes choking down their emotions at the sim- estion, h, my God, general,” groaned the old sol- ai is treason to say his name aloud in the. streets; but for all that we know he will cous... They have brought the message from ‘‘Hush!” cried Gabriel, terribly shaken in te of himself. ‘I must not hear it, my dren. I must not hear it.” ut Casse Tete held aloft the flowers, “For all that, my general, for all that he is coming again. "He is coming with the violets!” And the cuirassiers answered. “Yes, yes, he is coming with the violets,” CHAPTER XXXVII. CORPORAL VIOLET, WHO was coming with the violets? ane one would mention his name, but they ept on saying to each other, when old com- e: met in the streets: ch », Comment va, camarade ?” ‘a va mal, mal, _Mais—” ais nous verrons, quand fleurissent les violets An, ca! Il viendra avec les violets.” “Oui, oui, Caporal Violet viendra.” It was always the same dialogue: “How goes it. comrade?” “Badly, badly. But— ‘‘ But we shall see, when the violets bloom.” ————— The Man in Red. re Ah, that’s so. He will come with the vio- ets.” ‘Yes, yes, Corporal Violet will come.” And they never seemed tired of that little dialogue, which they all had by heart, and de- lighted in repeating to each other whenever they met under the nose of some member of the old noblesse. For Grenoble had its old seigneurs, who had been living in England for a quarter of a cen- tury, and could not talk a word of English. They had come back to fair France like a swarm, of locusts, to draw their rents and feudal services from the peasants, in the style of 1789, if they could, and first earned the name of the men who “learn nothing and forget nothing. They , HEE about the streets with their gold-headed canes, took snuff with each other and abused the canaille, who “‘ positively Mon- sieur le Duc, do not seem to recognize that the blood of the Montmorency is different from the turbid stream of Jacques Bonhomme. But we have them at last, thanks to our valiant allies.” And then the old fellows would tell each other long stories of how. their suits were pro- gressing, for the recovery of their estates, and and would never notice the old cuirassiers, who showed each other their dried violets, and held their mystic dialogues so that the old nobles could hear. The old things of the empire seemed to have passed away for good. The palaces had been overhauled, and every capital letter N to be found, had been chiseled off the chair-backs and the keystones of arches on public buildings, The ‘‘ Bridge de Jena” had been changed to the Bridge of Saint Louis,” over the Seine; the names of Austerlitz, Wagram, Marengo, Lodi Arcola, Castiglione, on the street corners and the standards of regiments had been taken off, and everything was royal and medieval. The old regiment of ‘‘ Musketeers of the King” had been revived, and flocks of young bucks of the emigrant noblesse crowded into them, to draw bigh pay and strut about Paris as part of the ‘‘ Maison du Roi,” or King’s Household, The street Arabs laughed at them and held impertinent conversations in their hearing, such as this: ‘Hola! Picot, hast seen the Grays?” “ What Grays?” ‘The Gray Musketeers, to be sure.” ‘*My faith, yes; and the Blacks, and the Reds, and the Yellows and Greens.” ‘* No, no; there are no Yellows and Greens.” . Well, it is all one to me. Have you seen the battles on their standards?” ‘No. Have you?” ‘“* My faith, no.” Aud why not?” a faith, they never had any.” ‘*Why , where were they when the army was fighting the Austrians an Russians?” ‘‘ Eb, mon Dieu, they were in London, teach- ing the English misses how to dance.” ‘Bah! what a regiment! A lot of dancing- masters! TZiens, Picot, Do you know why the Maison ~, Roi _ like a duchess?” ts No. ‘* Because hae only powder they'll ever smell goes on their hair and faces.” And then the boys would laugh loudly and run away. They consoled themselves for the return of the old feudal tyranny, by bitter speeches and lampoons, which the o d king could not notice. And as matters were in Paris, so were they at Lyons, Marseilles, Tours and all the large towns. 6 emigrants, retu , were the subjects of popular hatred, and the sneer met them everywhere that they had come back to lander the countr}] under the protection of russian bayonets, So the summer wore on, and te papers con- tained accounts of the wiy in which the ‘‘ late usurper, General Bonaparte,” was passing his time at Elba, The Moniteur took pride in spelling his name with the I[talian ‘‘u,” and it was the fashion among the old noblesse to call him ‘* Buona- parte,” and pronounce it in the Italian mode, to emphasize the fact that he was a Corsican by birth, and not a native Frenchman. But however they spelled his name, all the preete had paragraphs of sarcastic comment on he way in chip ‘the late usurper” was con- tenting himself on his tiny kingdom, reviewing his little army of guards and patronizing art and literature. “Tt is said,” remarked the Monitewr, ‘that General Bona is childishly fond of. telling stories of his former exploits to rk ngs visitors and that he is given to unreasonable bursts of ion, which in dicate the failure of his mind. He sleeps ill at nights, and it is said that he con- stantly dreams o the specter of the martyred King Louis, reproaching him for the woes he brought on France, ey say, too, that he is fond of playing chess, mae does it very badly, but becomes wade and offensive to any one who beats him. His guards are deserting daily, and it is evident that the time is coming when an asylum will have to be provided for him else- where, in some place where his whims will not cost the nation so much to gratify.” a 2 Another paper informed the world that: “The ex: r is rapidly breaking dowm under the burden of a guilty conscience, but continues to quarrel with his keepers. The Congress at Vienna i: discussing the advisabili- ty of putting in some place more secure than Elba this modern Bajazet, whose proper prisen would be an iron cage, exposed to the jeers of the mob whose sons he has sacrificed i in so many useless slaughters,” And the old soldiers of the army, every man of whom had served under him, had to read this sort of stuff about the emperor or nothing. Therefore it was that they fell into a habit of forming secret societies and sending off emis- saries on long expeditions to the Mediterranean seaports, who used to come back with mysteri- ons 8 mosgngee about the ‘‘ best way to plant vio- ets.” Then men began to come into France, who said they were deserters from the island of Elba, and who talked in public of how General Bonaparte was going to thedogs. His temper was becoming unbearable, and they could not stand it. He would grant no discharges, and every one who wished to leave Elba had to de- sert. One comfort, the foreign sbips-were al- ways ready to help deserters from E Asked how they liked Elba, they said it was a miserable place, but had a delightfully soft climate. The violets were more common than daisies, and they were going to become violet farmers, and import the roots for French plant- ee They would all grow in the spring,” and there was a man on the island, one orporal Violet, who bad promised to run away in the spring and come to France ‘‘ to show them bow to grow the violet wherever the lily would flourish,” And this piece of news seemed to create a great fervor among the old soldiers. They took to hunting violet roots and planting them round the barracks; they paid out their savings to florists for hot-house violets to wear in their button-holes, and every man who met another Sane adorned with the sweet little flower, would a e Well, do they blossom yet?” “Not in the open air; but wherever we keep them warm,’ ‘* And eh do you warm yours?” ‘In my heart, comrade, till Corporal Violet comes. And then they would shake hands and say to each other: ‘* Au revoir, camarade, Il viendra avec les violets,” [‘‘ Good-by, comrade. He will come with the violets.’ And uis XVIII. continued to eat and drink in the Tuileries, off silver dishes, from which the Imperial N bad been carefully ef- faced; while the Congress of Vienna devised the measures that were to restore the balance of power in Euro And so passed the winter of 1814-15, till one morning Gabriel Lenoir saw, under the south wall of the chateau in which he lodged, violets blooming in the open air. CHAPTER XXXVIIL. THE VIOLETS BLOOM, Tue violets were blooming at last. It w28 the first of March, 1815. Gabriel Lenoir picked those he saw before him, and took them in to the breakfast table, where he found Casse Tete and his little wife arfengis a bunch of the fresh flowers by each plate e face of the old cuirassier was lit up with smiles, and he cried out: ‘* See, my general, they have come at last. We found them in the garden at sunrise,’ The general looked at them with a eer me expression, and uttered a slight sigh, as he 7 weg Casse Tete, even the violets may come ‘“* Late only the ‘arst re) “Still, too late for France. bloom long, my comrade,”’ Casse Tete turned red and muttered: ‘¢‘ Not if every one blows cold on them.” But he said no more then, 1or Madame la Generale and the little count came in to break- fast, and the first thing the lady said to the faithful old servitor was: ‘‘Oh, how delicious the perfume! Where did you et those lovely violets, Casse Tete?” n the open air, ma generale, ” returned the old man, proudly. ‘‘ They have come at last, and the lilies are all hidden in the hothouses, afraid of the mistral,” The mistral isa cold wind tbat blows in the south of France, at intervals, from the Atlas mountains in Morocco, and shuts up the spring flowers while it lasts, though it comes from the south. The remark seemed an innocent one, but the general said, very tg “The mistral never blows for a long time, Casse Tete, and we may see the lilies in bloom after the violets have withered into dust in the summer.” Casse Tete made no reply, but he hummed @ y general! f But it is early. It is They may not GOmiGcbooks ~_