Our journey was a dreary and wearisome one. The diligence travelled
slowly, and as the weather was dull and rainy, the road presented
nothing of interest, at least of interest sufficient to combat the grief
that still oppressed me. We were upwards of a week travelling before we
reached Paris, which I own presented a very different aspect from what
my ardent imagination had depicted. The narrow streets were scarcely
lighted,--it was night,--the houses seemed poor and mean and
dilapidated, the inhabitants rude-looking and ill-dressed. The women
especially were ill-favored, and with an air of savage daring and
effrontery I had never seen before. Gangs of both sexes patrolled the
streets, shouting in wild chorus some popular chant of the time; and as
the diligence did not venture to pierce these crowds, we were frequently
delayed in our progress to the “bureau,” which was held in the Rue
Didier of the Battignolles; for it was in that unfashionable quarter in
which my first impressions of the capital were conceived.
“Remember, boy, I am no longer a Count here,” said my companion, as we
got out of the conveyance, “I am the citizen Gabriac; and be careful
that you never forget it. Take that portmanteau on your shoulder, and
follow me!”
We treaded a vast number of streets and alleys, all alike wretched and
gloomy, till we entered a little “Place” which formed a “cul de sac” at
the end of a narrow lane, and was lighted by a single lantern, suspended
from a pole in the centre. This was called the Place de Trieze, in
memory, as I afterwards learned, of thirteen assassins who had once
lived there, and been for years the terror of the capital. It was now
but scantily tenanted, none of the rooms on the ground-floor being
inhabited at all; and in some instances an entire house having but one
or two occupants. The superstitious terrors that were rife about it (and
there were abundance of ghost stories in vogue) could scarcely account
for this desertion, for assuredly the fears of a spiritual world could
not have proved formidable to the class who frequented it; but an
impression had got abroad that it was a favorite resort of the spies of
the police, who often tracked the victims to this quarter, or at least
here obtained information of their whereabouts. Plague itself would have
been a preferable reputation to such a report, and accordingly few but
the very poorest and most destitute would accept the shelter of this
ill-omened spot.
A single light, twinkling like a faint star, showed through the gloom as
we entered, where some watcher yet sat; but all the rest of the “Place”
was in darkness. Gabriac threw some light gravel at the window, which
was immediately opened, and a head enveloped in a kerchief, by way of
nightcap, appeared.
“It is I, Pierre,” cried he; “come down and unbar the door!”
“Ma foi,” said the other, “that is unnecessary. The commissaire broke it
down yesterday, searching for 'Torchon,' and the last fragment cooked my
dinner to-day.”
“And Torchon, did they catch him?”
“No, he escaped, but only to reach the Pont Neuf, where he threw himself
over the balustrade into the river.”
“And was drowned?”
“Doubtless, he was.”
“I scarcely regret him,” said Gabriac.
“And I not at all,” replied the other. “Good night;” and with this he
closed the window, leaving us to find our way as best we could.
I followed Gabriac as he slowly groped his way up the stairs and reached
a door on the third story, of which he produced the key. He struck a
light as he passed in, and lighted a small lamp, by which I was enabled
to see the details of a chamber poorer and more miserable than anything
I had ever conceived. A board laid upon two chairs served for a table,
and some wood-shavings, partially covered by a blanket, formed a bed;
a couple of earthenware pipkins comprised the cooking utensils, and a
leaden basin supplied the provisions for the toilet.
“Lie down there and take a sleep, Jasper, for I have no supper for you,”
said Gabriac; but his voice had a touch of compassionate gentleness in
it which I heard for the first time.
“And you, sir,” said I, “have you no bed?”
“I have no need of one. I have occupation that will not admit of sleep,”
said he. “And now, boy, once for all, never question me, nor ask the
reasons of what may seem strange or odd to you. Your own faculties
must explain whatever requires explaining--or else you must remain in
ignorance;” and with these words he passed into an inner chamber, from
which he speedily issued forth to descend the stairs into the street,
leaving me alone to my slumbers. And they were heavy and dreamless ones,
for I was thoroughly wearied and worn out by the road.
I was still asleep, and so soundly that I resisted all efforts to awake
me till a strong shake effectually succeeded, and, on looking up, I saw
Gabriac standing by my side.
“Get up, boy, and dress. These are your clothes,” said he, pointing to
a uniform of dark green and black, with a sword-belt of black leather,
from which hung a short, broad-bladed weapon. The dress was without any
richness, still a becoming one, and I put it on without reluctance.
“Am I to be a soldier, then?” asked I, in half shame at disobeying his
injunction of the night before.
“All Paris, all France, is arrayed at one side or the other just now,
Jasper,” said he, as he busied himself in the preparation of our coffee.
“The men who have ruled the nation by the guillotine have exhausted
its patience at last. A spirit, if not of resistance, of at least
self-defence, has arisen, and the little that remains of birth and blood
amongst us has associated with the remnant of property to crush the
hell-hounds that live by carnage. One of these bands is called the
battalion of 'La Jeunesse Dorée,' and into this I have obtained your
admission. Meanwhile, you will be attached to the staff of General
Danitan, who will employ you in the 'secrétariat' of his command.
Remember, boy, your tale is, you are the son of parents that have died
on the scaffold. You are the nephew of Emile de Gabriac, brother of
Jules Louis de Gabriac, your father, whom you cannot remember. Your life
in Switzerland you can speak of with safety. You will not talk of these
matters save to the General, and to him only if questioned about them.”
“But is this disguise necessary, sir? May I not assume the name I have a
right to, and accept the fate that would follow it?”
“The guillotine,” added he, sarcastically. “Are you so ignorant,
child, as not to know that England and France are at war, and that your
nationality would be your condemnation? Follow my guidance or your own,”
said he, sternly, “but do not seek to weld the counsels together.”
“But may I not know in what service I am enrolled?”
“Later on, when you can understand it,” was the cold reply.
“I am not so ignorant,” said I, taking courage, “as not to be aware of
what has happened of late years in France. I know that the king has been
executed.”
“Murdered!--martyred!” broke in Gabriac.
“And monarchy abolished.”
“Suspended--interrupted,” added he, in the same voice. “But I will not
discuss these matters with you. When you have eaten your breakfast, take
that letter to the address in the Rue Lepelletier, see the General, and
speak with him. As you go along the streets you will not fail to meet
many of those to whom your duty will at some later period place you in
opposition. If they by look, by dress, by bearing and manner captivate
your imagination and seduce your allegiance to their ranks, tear off
your colors then, and join them, boy; the choice is open to you. My
charge is then ended; we are not, nor ever can be, aught to each other
again.”
I saw that he would not be questioned by me, and, forbearing at once,
from the risk of offending him, I ate my meal in silence.
“I am ready now, sir,” said I, standing up in front of him.
He wheeled me round by the arm to look at me in my new dress. He
adjusted my belt, and arranged my sword-knot more becomingly, muttering
to himself a few words of approval at my appearance, and then said
aloud,--
“Salute all whom you see in this uniform, boy, and bear yourself
haughtily as you pass the 'canaille.' Remember that between you and them
must be the struggle at last, and show that you do not blink it.”
He patted me good-naturedly on the shoulder as he said this, and, with
the word “Go,” half-pushed me from the room.
I soon found myself in the open air, and, having inquired my way to the
Rue Lepelletier, walked rapidly along, endeavoring, as best I might, to
disguise the astonishment I felt at so many new and wonderful objects.
As I emerged from the meaner quarter of the Battignolles, the streets
grew finer and more spacious, and the dress of the people and their
appearance generally improved also. Still, there was none of that
splendor of equipage of which I had heard so much. The carriages were
few, and neither rich nor well-appointed. The horses were poor-looking,
and seemed all over-worked and exhausted. The same tired and worn-out
air pervaded the people too. They all looked as though fatigue and
excitement had finally conquered them, and that they were no longer
capable of endurance. At the bakers' shops that I passed, great
crowds were assembled, waiting for the distribution of bread which the
Government each morning doled out to the population. I watched these,
and saw, to my amazement, that the ration was a small piece of black
and coarse bread, weighing two ounces, and for this many were content
to wait patiently the entire day. In my curiosity to see this, I had
approached an old man of a strong, athletic appearance, who, leaning on
his staff, made no effort to pierce the crowd, but waited calmly till
his name was called aloud, and even then received his pittance as it was
passed to him from hand to hand. There was something of dignity in the
way he subdued every trace of that anxious impatience so perceptible
around him, and I drew nigh to speak to him, with a sense of respect.
“Is that meant for a day's subsistence?” asked I.
He stared at me calmly for a few seconds, but made no reply.
“I asked the question,” began I, with an attempt to apologize, when he
interrupted me thus:--
“Are you one of the Troupe Dorée, and ask this? Is it from you, who live
in fine houses and eat sumptuously, that comes the inquiry, how men like
me exist?”
“I am newly come to Paris; I am only a few hours here.”
“See here, comrades,” cried the old man, in a loud and ringing voice to
the crowd, “mark what the 'Sections' are doing: drafting the peasants
from the Provinces, dressing them in their livery, and arming them to
slaughter us. Starvation marches too slowly for the wishes of these
aristocrats!”
“Down with the 'aristos,' down with the 'Troupe!'” broke in one wild
yell from the multitude, who turned at once towards me with looks of
menace.
“Ay,” continued the old man, waving his hand to maintain silence, “he
dared to taunt me with the pittance we receive, and to scoff at our
mendicancy!”
“Down with him! down with him!” cried the crowd; but, interposing his
staff like a barrier against the mob, the old fellow said,--
“Spare him, comrades; he is, as you see, only a boy; let him live to be
wiser and better. Come, lad, break that sword upon your knee, tear off
that green cockade, and go back to your village again!”
I stepped back, and, drawing my sword, motioned to those in front to
give way.
“I'll cut down the first that opposes me!” cried I, with a wave of the
steel round my head; and at the same instant I dashed forward.
The mass fell back, and left me a free passage, while a chorus of
the wildest yells and screams burst around and about me. Mad with
the excitement of the moment, I shook my sword at them as I went, in
defiance, and even laughed my scorn of their cowardice. My triumph was
brief; a stunning blow on the back of the head sent me reeling forwards,
and at the same instant the ranks of the mob closed in, and, hurling
me to the ground, trampled and jumped upon me. Stunned, but not
unconscious, I could perceive that a battle was waged over me, in which
my own fate was forgotten, for the multitude passed and repassed my body
without inflicting other injury than their foot-treads. Even this was
brief, too, and I was speedily raised from the earth, and saw myself
in the arms of two young men in uniform like my own. One of them was
bleeding from a wound in the temple, but seemed only to think of me and
my injuries. We were soon joined by several others of the troop, who,
having returned from a pursuit of the mob, now pressed around me with
kindest questions and inquiries. My name, whence I came, and how long I
had been in Paris, were all asked of me in a breath; while others, more
considerate still, sought to ascertain if I had been wounded in the
late scuffle. Except in some bruises, and even those not severe, I
had suffered nothing; and when my clothes were brushed, and shako
readjusted, and a new cockade affixed to it, I was as well as ever. From
the kind attentions we met with in the shops, and the sympathy which
the better-dressed people displayed towards us, I soon gathered that the
conflict was indeed one between two classes of the population, and that
the Troupe were the champions of property.
“Show him the Rue Lepelletier, Guillaume,” said an officer to one of
the youths; and a boy somewhat older than myself now undertook to be my
guide.
I had some difficulty in answering his questions as to the names and
the number of my family who were guillotined, and when and where the
execution had occurred; but I was spared any excessive strain on my
imagination by the palpable indifference my companion exhibited to a
theme now monstrously tiresome. He, however, was communicative enough on
the subject of the Troupe and their duties, which he told me were daily
becoming more onerous. The Government, harassed by the opposition of
the National Guards and the Jeunesse Dorée together, had resorted to
the terrible expedient of releasing above a thousand prisoners from the
galleys; and these, he assured me, were now on their way to Paris, to be
armed and formed into a regiment.
Though he told this with a natural horror, he still spoke of his own
party with every confidence. They comprised, he said, the courage, the
property, and the loyalty of France. The whole nation looked to them as
the last stay and succor, and felt that the hope of the country was in
their keeping.
I asked him what was the number now enrolled in the Troupe? and, to my
astonishment, he could not tell me. In fact, he owned that many had of
late assumed the uniform as spies, and General Danitan had resolved
that each volunteer should present himself to him for acceptance before
receiving any charge, or being appointed to any guard.
I had not time for further questioning, when we arrived at the hôtel of
the general, when my companion, having given me full directions for my
guidance, shook my hand cordially, and departed.
As I ascended the stairs I overtook an elderly gentleman in a gray
military frock, who was slowly making his way upwards by the aid of the
balustrade.
“Give me your arm, lad,” said he, “for this stair seems to grow steeper
every day. Thanks; now I shall get on better. What has torn your
coat-sleeve?”
I told him in a few words what had just occurred in the streets, and he
listened to me with a degree of interest that somewhat surprised me.
“Come along, my lad. Let General Danitan hear this from your own lips;”
and with an agility that I could not have believed him capable of,
he hurried up the stairs, and, crossing a kind of gallery crowded with
officers of different grades, he entered a chamber where two persons in
military undress were writing.
“Can I see the general, François?” said he, abruptly.
The officer thus addressed, coolly replied that he believed not, and
went on with his writing as before.
“But I have something important to say to him,--my business is of
consequence,” said he.
“As it always is,” muttered the other, in a tone of sarcasm that
fortunately was only overheard by myself.
“You will announce me, then, François?” continued he.
“My orders are not to admit any one, Captain.”
“They were never meant to include me, sir,--of that I 'm positive,” said
the old man; “and if you will not announce me, I will enter without it;”
and, half dragging me by the arm, he moved forward, opened the door,
and passed into an inner room.
General Danitan, a small, dark-eyed, severe-looking man, was standing
with his back to the fire, and in the act of dictating to a secretary,
as we entered. An expression of angry impatience at our unauthorized
appearance was the only return he vouchsafed to our salute; and he
continued his dictation, as before.
“Don't interrupt me, sir,” said he, hastily, as the old captain made an
effort to address him. “Don't interrupt me, sir.--'Which difficulties,'”
continued he, as he took up the thread of his dictation,--“'which
difficulties are considerably increased by the obtrusive habit of
tendering advice by persons in whose judgment I place no reliance, and
whose conduct, when they leave me, is open to the suspicion of being
prejudicial to the public service. Amongst such offenders the chief is
a retired captain of the 8th regiment of Chasseurs, called Hugues Le
Bart--'”
“Why, General, it is of me--me myself--you are speaking!” broke in the
captain.
“'An officer,'” continued the other, perfectly heedless of the
interruption, “'into whose past services I would strenuously recommend
some inquiry; since neither from the information which has reached me
with regard to his habits, nor from the characters of his intimates, am
I disposed to regard him as well affected to the Government, or in other
respects trustworthy.' How do you do, Captain? Who is our young friend
here?” continued he, with a smile and a bow towards us.
“In what way am I to understand this, General? Is it meant for a piece
of coarse pleasantry--”
“For nothing of the kind, sir,” interrupted the other, sternly. “That
you have been a witness to the words of a confidential communication
is entirely attributable to yourself; and I have only to hope you will
respect the confidence of which an accident has made you a participator.
Meanwhile, I desire to be alone.”
The manner in which these words were uttered was too decisive for
hesitation, and the old man bowed submissively and withdrew. As I was
about to follow him, the general called out,--
“Stay: a word with you. Are you the captain's protégé, boy?”
I told him that our first meeting only dated a few moments back, and how
it had occurred.
“Then you are not of the 'Troupe'? You have never worn the uniform till
this morning?” said he, somewhat severely.
I bowed assent.
He turned hastily about at the moment, and said something to his
secretary in a low voice, of which I just could catch the concluding
words, which were far from flattering to the corps in whose livery I was
dressed.
“Well, boy, go back and take off those clothes,” said he, sternly;
“resume your trade or occupation, whatever it be, and leave politics and
state affairs to those who can understand them. Tell your father--”
“I have none, sir.”
“Your mother, then, or your friends, I care not what they be. What
letter is that you are crumpling in your fingers?” broke he in,
suddenly.
“To General Danitan, sir.”
“Give it me,” said he, half snatching it from me.
He tore it hastily open and read it, occasionally looking from the
paper to myself, as he went on. He then leaned over the table where the
secretary sat, and, showed him the letter. They conversed eagerly for
some seconds together, and then the general said,--
“Your friends have recommended you for a post in the 'chancellerie
militaire': is that your liking, lad?”
“I should be proud to think myself capable of doing anything for my own
support,” was my answer.
“D'Artans, see to him; let him be enrolled as a supernumerary, and
lodged with the others.--This gentleman will instruct you in your duty,”
added he to me, while, with a slight nod towards the door, he motioned
me to withdraw.
I retired at once to the antechamber, where I sat down to think over my
future prospects, and canvass in my mind my strange situation.
Troops of officers in full and half dress, orderlies with despatches,
aides-de-camp in hot haste, came and went through that room for hours;
and yet there I sat, unnoticed and unrecognized by any, till I began
to feel in my isolation a sense of desertion and loneliness I had never
known before.
It was already evening when D'Artans joined me, and taking my arm
familiarly within his own, said,--
“Come along, Jasper, and let us dine together.”
The sound of my own name so overcame me that I could scarcely restrain
my tears as I heard it. It was a memory of home and the past too
touching to be resisted!