Charles Lever - The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

The day passed in this state of anxious uncertainty; and although the journals discussed the condition of the capital as full of danger and menace, an ostentatious announcement in the “Moniteur” proclaimed Paris to be tranquil. In society – at least in the world of fashion and high life – there were very few who would have disputed the official despatch. “Who and what were they who could dispute the King’s Government? Who and where were there either leaders or followers? In what way should they attempt it? The troops in and around Paris numbered something over forty thousand, commanded by an old Marshal of the Empire, now the trustiest adherent of royalty. The days of Mirabeaus and Robespierres and Dantons had passed away; nor were these times in which men would like to recall the reigns of terror and the guillotine.” So they reasoned – or, if the phrase be too strong, so they talked – who lounged on soft-cushioned ottomans, or moved listlessly over luxurious carpets; all agreeing that it would be treasonable in the Ministers to retreat or abate one jot of the high prerogative of the Crown. Powdered heads shook significantly, and gold-embroidered vests heaved indignantly at the bare thought that the old spirit of ‘95 should have survived amongst them; but not one dreamed that the event boded seriously, or that the destinies of a great nation were then in the balance.

It is but five-and-twenty years ago; and how much more have we learned of the manufacture of revolutions in the interval! Barricades and street warfare have become a science, and the amount of resistance a half-armed populace can offer to a regular force is as much a matter of certainty as a mathematical theorem. At that period, however, men were but in the infancy of this knowledge; the traditions of the Great Revolution scarcely were remembered, and, for the most part, they were inapplicable.

What wonder, then, if people in society smiled scornfully at the purposeless masses that occasionally moved past beneath their windows, shouting with discordant voices some fragments of the “Marseillaise,” or, as they approached the residence of any in authority, venturing on the more daring cry of “Down with the Ordinances!” The same tone of haughty contempt pervaded the “Club.” Young men of fashion, little given to the cares of political life, and really indifferent to the action of laws which never invaded the privileges of the play-table, or curtailed one prerogative of the “Coulisses,” felt an angry impatience at all the turbulence and riot of the public streets.

In a magnificently furnished salon of the Club a number of these young men were now assembled. Gathered from every nation of Europe, – many of them bearing names of high historical interest, – they were, so far as dress, air, and appearance went, no ignoble representatives of the class they belonged to. The proud and haughty Spaniard, the fierce-eyed, daring-looking Pole, the pale, intellectual-faced Italian, the courteous Russian, and the fair-haired, stalwart Saxon were all there; and, however dissimilar in type, banded together by the magic influence of the “set” they moved in, to an almost perfect uniformity of sentiment and opinion.

“I vote that any man be fined ten Louis that alludes, however remotely, to this confounded question again,” cried Count Gardoni, rising impatiently from his chair and approaching a card-table.

“And I second you!” exclaimed a Polish prince, with a Russian decoration at his button-hole.

“Carried nem. con. ” said Captain Martin, seating himself at the play-table. “And now for the ‘Lansquenet.’” And in a moment every seat was occupied, and purses of gold and pocket-books of bank-notes were strewed over the board. They were all men who played high; and the game soon assumed the grave character that so invariably accompanies large wagers. Wonderfully little passed, except the terms of the game itself. Gambling is a jealous passion, and never admits its votaries to wander in their attention. And now large sums passed from hand to hand, and all the passions of hope and fear racked heads and hearts around, while a decorous silence prevailed; or, when broken, some softly toned voice alone interrupted the stillness.

“Are you going, Martin?” whispered the young French Count de Nevers, as the other moved noiselessly back from the table.

“It is high time, I think,” said Martin; “this is my seventeenth night of losing, – losing heavily, too. I’m sick of it!”

“Here ‘s a chance for you, Martin,” said a Russian prince, who had just assumed “the bank.” “You shall have your choice of color, and your own stake.”

“Thanks; but I’ll not be tempted.”

“I say red, and a thousand francs,” cried a Neapolitan.

“There ‘s heavier play outside, I suspect,” said Martin, as a wild, hoarse shout from the streets re-echoed through the room.

“A fine, – a fine, – Martin is fined!” cried several around the table.

“You have n’t left me wherewithal to pay it, gentlemen,” said he, laughing. “I was just about to retire, a bankrupt, into private life.”

“That’s platoon fire,” exclaimed the Pole, as the loud detonation of small arms seemed to shake the very room.

“Czernavitz also fined,” cried two together.

“I bow in submission to the Court,” said the Pole, throwing down the money on the table.

“Lend me as much more,” said Martin; “it may change my luck.” And with this gambler’s philosophy, he again drew nigh the table.

This slight interruption over, the game proceeded as before. Martin, however, was now a winner, every wager succeeding, and every bet he made a gain.

“There’s nothing like a dogged persistence,” said the Russian. “Fortune never turns her back on him who shows constancy. See Martin, now; by that very resolution he has conquered, and here we are, all cleared out!”

“I am, for one,” cried an Italian, flinging his empty purse on the table.

“There’s my last Louis,” said Nevers. “I reserve it to pay for my supper.”

“Martin shall treat us all to supper!” exclaimed another.

“Where shall it be, then?” said Martin; “here, or at my own quarters?”

“Here, by all means,” cried some.

“I ‘m for the Place Vendôme,” said the Pole, “for who knows but we shall catch a glimpse of that beautiful girl, Martin’s ‘Belle Irlandaise.’”

“I saw her to-night,” said the Italian, “and I own she is all you say. She was speaking to Villemart, and I assure you the old Minister won’t forget it in a hurry. Something or other he said about the noise in the street drew from him the word canaille . She turned round at once and attacked him. He replied, and the controversy grew warm; so much so, that many gathered around them to listen, amongst whom I saw the Duc de Guiche, Prince du Saulx, and the Austrian Minister. Nothing could be more perfect than her manner, – calm, without any effrontery; assured, and yet no sacrifice of delicacy. It was easy to see, too, that the theme was not one into which she stumbled by an accident; she knew every event of the Great Revolution, and used the knowledge with consummate skill, and, but for one slip, with consummate temper also.

“What was the slip you allude to?” cried the Russian.

“It was when Villemart, after a boastful enumeration of the superior merits of his order, called them the ‘Enlighteners of the People.’

“‘You played that part on one occasion,’ said she; ‘but I scarcely thought you ‘d like to refer to it.’

“‘How so? When do you mean?’ asked he.

“‘When they hung you to the lanterns,’ said she, with the energy of a tigress in her look. Pardié! at that moment I never saw anything so beautiful or so terrible.”