Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

It is, after all, no small privilege to have lived and borne one’s part in stirring times; to have breasted the ocean of life when the winds were up and the waves ran high; to have mingled, however humbly, in eventful scenes, and had one’s share in the mighty deeds that were to become history afterwards. It is assuredly in such trials that humanity comes out best, and that the character of man displays all its worthiest and noblest attributes. Amid such scenes I began my life, and, in the midst of similar ones, if my prophetic foresight deceive me not, I am like to end it.

Having said this much of and for myself, I am sure the reader will pardon me if I am not equally communicative with respect to another, and if I pass over the remainder of that interval which I spent at Komorn. Even were love-making – which assuredly it is not – as interesting to the spectator as to those engaged – I should scruple to recount events which delicacy should throw a veil over; nor am I induced, even by the example of the wittiest periodical writer of the age, to make a feuilleton of my own marriage. Enough that I say, despite my shattered form, my want of fortune, my unattested pretension to rank or station, Mademoiselle d’Estelles accepted me, and the Emperor most graciously confirmed her claims to wealth, thus making me one of the richest and the very happiest among the Soldiers of Fortune.

The Père Delamoy, now superior of a convent at Pisa, came to Komorn to perform the ceremony; and if he could not altogether pardon those who had uprooted the ancient monarchy of France, yet he did not conceal his gratitude to him who had restored the church and rebuilt the altar.

There may be some who may deem this closing abrupt, and who would wish for even a word about the bride, her bouquet, and her blushes. I cannot afford to gratify so laudable a curiosity, at the same time that a lurking vanity induces me to say, that any one wishing to know more about the personnel of my wife or myself, has but to look at David’s picture, or the engraving made from it, of the Emperor’s marriage. There they will find, in the left-hand corner, partly concealed behind the Grand-Duke de Berg, an officer of the ‘Guides,’ supporting on his arm a young and very beautiful girl, herself a bride. If the young lady’s looks are turned with more interest on her companion than upon the gorgeous spectacle, remember that she is but a few weeks married. If the soldier carry himself with less of martial vigour or grace, pray bear in mind that cork legs had not attained the perfection to which later skill has brought them.

I have the scene stronger before me than painting can depict, and my eyes fill as I now behold it in my memory!

THE END