BRUSSELS--ROYAL CHILDREN--THE GREAT EXHIBITION IN LONDON--HOME AGAIN: A
PREACHER--UNLUCKY RIOTERS--VISIT TO PARIS--MICHEL PERRIN.
On my way home from the Rhineland, I stopped for two days in Brussels,
the second of which happened to be the day on which the anniversary of
the attainment of Belgian independence was celebrated. I recollect
seeing a monument which had been erected to the memory of those who had
been killed in the ranks of the Belgian revolutionists, and amongst the
names inscribed on it I observed "Corcoran, Irlandais," so that the
Emerald Isle was not totally unrepresented on the occasion. Brussels was
very full at the time of the fête, and in its crowded streets and
squares a tolerable idea might be obtained of the confusion of tongues
incident to the abortive attempt to erect the Tower of Babel. German,
French, Flemish, English, Italian, Spanish, and the various languages of
the more northern countries were abundantly ventilated, and with an
effect which I thought extremely amusing. The city presented a very
martial appearance, for not only the regular troops but the national
guards also of the kingdom were made available for a grand review by
their sovereign, Leopold the First. Each regiment had its
"_vivandieres_," and I was informed that those of the national guards
were women of the same social rank as the members of the regiment to
which they were attached. Their costume was as much assimilated to the
uniforms of their respective regiments as female attire would permit.
The grenadiers had _vivandieres_ of a height proportionally tall; the
other regiments were accompanied by women, perhaps I should say ladies,
of lesser stature, but all of them were, in my opinion, unexceptionally
beautiful, and of most graceful and decorous demeanor.
At the time to which I refer, 1851, I was impressed with the conviction
that no people could be more attached to a sovereign than the Belgians
were to Leopold, and to his family. I did not form that opinion from the
loud and spontaneous acclamations which greeted him and his children in
the streets and at the review, but from the joyous expression which
irradiated the countenances of all ranks and conditions, and impressed
me with the belief that their loyalty was not merely respectful, but
thoroughly sincere and affectionate. Regal splendor may dazzle its
beholders, and popular demonstrations may excite and perhaps enlist many
of those who witness their display; but I venture to assert that human
nature can produce no spectacle more worthy of being admired and
remembered than the cordial and enthusiastic reception of a benign and
beloved monarch, by contented, happy, and loyal subjects.
ROYAL CHILDREN.
On the occasion to which I have last referred, one of the royal
carriages contained three children, two boys and a girl, with their
tutor and governess. The girl was Leopold's only daughter, and her name
was identical with that of his first wife, Charlotte. The little Belgian
princess was then eleven years of age, and was exceedingly pretty. She
was delicately fair, blue-eyed, and flaxen-haired, and appeared to
appreciate highly the popular acclamations which were frequently
announced as specially intended for her. The joyous countenance,
irradiated by the excitement incident to demonstrations of enthusiastic
approbation, seemed inaccessible to the wrinkles of care, and exempt
from the lachrymal effects of sorrow. Nevertheless, that royal child has
furnished a most piteous instance of the mutability of fortune, of
accumulated miseries substituted for the apparent approach of
transcendent happiness. To her have been allotted
"The hopes that but allure to fly,
The joys that vanish while we sip;
Like Dead-Sea fruits that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lip!"
In about six years after the time to which my reminiscence refers, she
became the consort of Ferdinand Maximilian, eldest brother of the
Emperor of Austria, who subsequently, at the instance of Napoleon the
Third, assumed the title of Emperor of Mexico, but having utterly failed
in his efforts to establish the Imperial authority to which he aspired,
was shot as a culprit, by order of the President Juarez, in 1867,
leaving his bereaved widow in such affliction as to produce a state of
insanity from which she is not expected to recover.
THE GREAT EXHIBITION IN LONDON.
On my return from the Continent, I spent a few days in London, and had a
most gratifying opportunity of seeing the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park,
which, apart from its own attractions and merits, afforded an example to
the civilized nations of the world, stimulating their pursuits of the
industrial arts, awakening dormant energies, and evoking amicable
competitions and peaceful rivalries. I happened to express to the
Commissioner of Police, a wish to be admitted to the building at night,
and he gave me a note to the Superintendent in charge there, directing
him to conduct me through it. The structure was lighted sufficiently to
afford means to the police on duty to keep it safe from the designs of
marauders and from accidental injury. Profound silence was only
interrupted by the chiming of the clocks, and the announcement at
certain intervals of "All's well." The solitude, the subdued light, the
banners of all nations, statues and other works of art, of which I was
the only spectator in that splendid and extensive edifice, suggested
contemplative feelings which I am not adequate to express; but I can
safely assert that my midnight visit to the great Crystal Palace of
1851, afforded me greater gratification than I ever derived from any
public spectacle however gorgeous or crowded.
HOME AGAIN: A PREACHER.
When I returned to Dublin, I found that one of the magistrates of the
northern division was only waiting for my appearance before making an
application for leave of absence; and his request having been acceded
to, it was arranged that I was to do duty in the northern court on two
days in each week, namely, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was sitting in my
own court on a Wednesday, when a constable preferred a charge against a
man named Dowling, for collecting a crowd, causing a very great
obstruction in Parliament Street, and refusing to move on when required.
He was a street-preacher, who appeared to be extremely fanatical,
insisting that he had a special mission to announce the glad tidings of
salvation to the benighted people of Dublin. On hearing the evidence, I
stated that his conduct was a nuisance, and that I should send the case
for trial, unless the constable withdrew the complaint on the express
promise of the accused party that the offence should not be repeated. To
this the prosecutor agreed, and the preacher said "he would shake the
dust off his shoes as a testimony against me, but that I should never
again have to investigate such a complaint against him." He was
discharged; but on the following day, I had to dispose of a similar
charge against him in the northern court. He manifested very little
displeasure against his prosecutor, but seemed to reserve all his
indignation for me; and when I reminded him of the promise he had made
on the previous day, he replied that he had made himself acquainted with
the bounds of my division in the south of the district, and did not
intend ever to raise his voice there again, but that I was not satisfied
to get rid of him, _but had followed him_ to the northern division, to
continue an unworthy persecution of a zealous but humble laborer in the
vineyard of salvation. I was highly amused, as were many of the persons
present, at the tendency attributed to me to pursue the street-preacher;
and when he declared that he would leave Dublin, I suggested to the
police constable the withdrawal of his charge, to which he readily
acceded, and the accused party was discharged. In about six weeks after
this incident I went to Liverpool with a near relative who was about to
proceed to Australia, and having gone into the police-courts there when
the morning business was about to commence, one of the clerks told the
magistrate (Mr. Rushton) that I was present, and he most courteously
offered me a seat on the bench. The first charge on the sheet was for
obstructing the thoroughfare, by collecting a crowd, and refusing to
desist from preaching there; and Dowling was the delinquent. He did not
wait for the constable to be sworn or the charge stated, but at once
exclaimed that he despaired of obtaining any justice, when they had
_imported me from Dublin_ to sit in judgment on him there. His
excitement and indignation produced great merriment, especially when Mr.
Rushton told him that I was not there in any official capacity, but as a
private individual who had not interfered, directly or indirectly, in
any matter coming before the court. He was discharged with a caution. I
have never seen him since: and I mention the case of this
street-preacher only to show how accidental circumstances may produce,
in some minds, the most unfounded conclusions.
UNLUCKY RIOTERS.
On my resumption of duty in Dublin, I had very few cases of importance
or peculiar interest to dispose of. I may mention one in which two men
were charged with being actively engaged in a riotous tumult in Dean
Street, and assaulting the police. They had been extremely violent, and
one of the constables had been so severely injured as to be
incapacitated for duty during several days. In almost all such cases the
prosecutors prefer a summary decision; and in the one to which my
present remarks apply, I stated that I considered the prisoners, Foley
and Magrath, deserved the utmost punishment which I was empowered to
award, namely two months' imprisonment with hard labor. The culprits
loudly exclaimed against such a judgment, and vociferated that they
should get a full and fair trial by a jury. I acceded to their demand,
and returned the informations to the next commission of _Oyer et
Terminer_ for the city of Dublin. There never was a more complete
exemplification of an escape from the frying-pan by a fall into the
fire. They were tried and convicted before Baron Richards, and he
sentenced them to be imprisoned for twelve months, and kept to hard
labor each alternate month. Their repugnance to a summary conviction had
received great publicity; and the increased punishment to which they
were subjected had the effect of reconciling the delinquents who were
subsequently brought to the police-court to the fullest exercise, by the
magistrates, of their summary jurisdiction.
VISIT TO PARIS.
In 1853 a prosecution was instituted by a lady, named Kelly, against a
Mr. Birch, whom she accused of embezzling or stealing a very
considerable sum of money. Her informations were sworn before my
colleague, Mr. Magee, and he issued a warrant for the apprehension of
Birch, which was delivered to a very intelligent and active officer, who
subsequently was promoted to be the chief superintendent. The accused
party was supposed to be in France, whither it was intended to send Mr.
Ryan with the warrant. I had nothing whatever to do with the case, and
I chanced to be sitting beside Mr. Magee when an application was made to
him that he should go to France, having his expenses fully paid, and
taking with him all the documents relating to the charge, for the
information and satisfaction of the French authorities. Mr. Magee at
once refused the request, alleging that his health would not admit of
rapid travelling, but suggesting that Mr. Porter might undertake the
journey, and fetch all the papers likely to induce the French
functionaries to consent to the extradition of Birch, in the event of
Ryan being able to find him. I consented to this arrangement, and set
off for Paris, where I remained for a fortnight without any arrest
having been effected of the accused party by the officer holding the
warrant. I was never called on to produce the informations, and had no
warrant in my possession, nor did I feel the slightest anxiety on the
subject. Ryan was proceeding to France, when he ascertained that Birch
was in Southampton, and there the capture was effected. A rumor was
circulated in Dublin that I had gone to Paris to make a search,
personally, for the alleged offender, when, in fact, I had neither the
power nor the inclination to interfere beyond producing the informations
which had been sworn before my colleague, and to authenticate them if
required. My expenses were fully paid, and I found, on returning to
Dublin, that the prosecution was abandoned. My short sojourn in the
French capital was extremely pleasant; and having made myself known, as
a Dublin police-magistrate, by the production of my passport at the
prefecture, I experienced very kind and agreeable attentions. A man who
spoke English was directed to attend me when visiting the public
institutions, and I received a tricolored card, which procured me
admission to all the theatres. I am tempted to mention one performance
which I saw in a small theatre on the Boulevard near the large barracks,
(La Caserne de Prince Eugene.) I do not recollect the title of the
piece, but it exhibited the most extraordinary adaptation of machinery
that I ever beheld, and the stage-tricks transcended all that I had
previously seen or supposed possible. A scene represented a railway
terminus, and on the arrival of a train, the engine exploded, and the
carriage next to it was torn asunder. One passenger was supposed to have
had his head knocked off, his arms separated from his shoulders, and his
lower extremities from his hips, and the body, head, and limbs were
seen, as the vapour cleared off, lying on the roof of a shed. Ladders
were instantly applied, and the passenger was taken down piecemeal. A
bench was pushed forward on the platform, it seemed covered with dark
cushions, and the trunk of the victim was placed on it, the head was
affixed and the lower extremities were attached, an arm added on the
left side, when a poodle dog joined in the performance by seizing the
other arm and taking it off the stage. Instantly the man arose,
apparently with only one arm, and pursued the dog, exclaiming that the
cursed poodle should not have his arm for supper. He returned, bringing
the arm, and resumed his place on the bench, where the apparent reunion
of his frame was completed. A surgeon was supposed to have been sent
for, and he came too late to claim any share in the restoration of life
and vigor to the dismembered patient. On proceeding to feel the pulse,
he was rewarded by a slap on the cheek, accompanied with the
contemptuous intimation of "_Voici votre honoraire_." (Here's your fee.)
I may remark that there did not appear to be any dripping of blood on
the shed, neither did the platform or bench show any gory stains; and
the performers who represented railway officials of the various grades,
and passengers, male and female, to the number of twenty at least,
intervened four or five times between the bench and the audience, as if
actuated by the deepest anxiety for the supposed sufferer. I was not
much surprised at the apparent deficiency of the right arm, for I had
several times seen the late Pat Brophy, of Dawson Street, Dublin,
representing Nelson in a _tableau vivant_, and he managed on those
occasions to appear as if he had lost an arm. The incidents which I have
attempted to describe were only stage-tricks, but they were most
perfectly accomplished.
A gentleman, who appeared to me to fill the office of secretary or
chief clerk at the prefecture, availed himself of several opportunities
for having conversations with me in English. I related to him some of
the anecdotes and circumstances which I have included in the preceding
pages, and he reciprocated by affording me much information and
amusement. At our last interview, M. Hubert gave me six volumes,
containing memoirs derived from the archives of the Parisian police,
from the time of Cardinal Richelieu's administration down to the
accession of Louis Philippe. I cannot offer many extracts from these
volumes to the reader, but I shall notice two narratives which I was
assured were, in their main circumstances, _strictly true_. One was
subsequently shown to me in a collection of tales, and I considered it
so amusing that I shall translate it in these pages. The other will, I
hope, be deemed a striking instance of mere fact being far stranger than
fiction. The former was entitled "Michel Perrin," and it is as
follows:--
MICHEL PERRIN.
"I must go; I must depart as soon as possible. I plainly perceive that
she has sold her watch without informing me. She has to work hard from
morning to night; the needle of a woman cannot provide for the
requirements of two persons. Ah! I ought to have left long before this!
But where to go? without money, without family influence, without
friends! How to get on in a world where I have never as yet lived, of
the habits and customs of which I am as uninformed as an infant child!
Nevertheless, I shall go, were I to beg on the highway; were I to die of
hunger, I shall go."
This soliloquy is referred to the eighth year of the Republic, in a very
humble apartment, which perhaps still exists at Dijon, and which was
then inhabited by a former pastor of a small village in the department
of the Cote-d'Or. Michel Perrin, who had lived up to that time in
performing acts of charity, praying to his Creator, and cultivating the
garden of his manse, had found himself torn from the asylum in which
twenty-two years of his tranquil existence had been spent. Deprived of
the slender stipend attached to his functions, persecuted by some agents
of the Republican Government, and suspected by all, the poor priest had
rambled for a considerable time from village to village, sometimes to
avoid captivity, sometimes to avail himself of the friendship of the
many kind hearts whose gratitude he had earned in happier times. Lastly,
for a year he had lived at Dijon. There he had rejoined his sister,
Madeleine Perrin, the supreme mistress of his establishment, and also
his sole support in the world.
Madeleine, on leaving the manse, had betaken herself direct to Dijon,
where she hoped to renew some old friendships, and to support herself by
needlework. She had fully succeeded in utilising her talents for sewing
to the extent of providing for her own wants; but when the good pastor,
yielding to her earnest entreaties, had come to occupy one of the two
little garret-rooms which constituted her residence, Madeleine soon
became aware that a man, still in vigorous health and of good appetite,
is more difficult to be fed than to be lodged.
She nevertheless completely refrained from discovering to her dear
Michel the slightest shadow of her uneasiness regarding the future of
them both. Anyone who heard her singing whilst plying her needle, or who
had witnessed how, after having placed upon the table a savory repast,
she cried, "Michel, your dinner is ready," would pronounce her to be a
happy lass. However, at night, Madeleine was no sooner on her bed, and
aware, by his loud snoring, that her brother was soundly sleeping, than
a crowd of sad thoughts would arise to besiege her mind. When a delay in
the payment of her earnings produced some difficulties, eight days of
sickness brought a fearful aggravation of her misery. Moreover, she was
becoming aged, being only two years younger than Michel, who was
entering on his fiftieth year. Already her sight was weakened, and soon
she might be unable to sew, even with the aid of glasses. In vain did
poor Madeleine strive to dispel thoughts so dark, so afflicting. More
than once did the rising sun irradiate her chamber, and recall her to
work without her eyes having been closed by sleep.
On his part, Michel Perrin, notwithstanding the efforts of his sister to
conceal the result of his residence with her, was not slow in
discovering the sad truth. From that time he had not ceased to form
plans to effect the earning on his own part of even a few pence; but
Madeleine repelled every suggestion which appeared to her as tending to
lessen the dignity of the reverend pastor. Only one project had received
her assent. She agreed to see her brother, whose studies had been
refined and extensive, giving lessons in Greek and Latin, so that no
person could have a son or nephew without being besought by her to make
the boy learn the dead languages, and to choose Michel Perrin as his
master; but whether the people of Dijon made little of those old
acquirements, or that the learning of a village pastor did not inspire
them with sufficient confidence, Madeleine addressed herself in vain to
her friends or employers to give the smallest pupil to her brother, at
even the smallest price. "He is still very clever," the poor woman would
say, when she tried one of her vain efforts; "I wish you would come and
see us. He never reads anything but Latin or Greek, except when he is at
his breviary. If that does not convince you of his capability, I can say
no more." She derived from all her applications only deep sighs without
even shallow hopes.
It was true that the worthy pastor had no other amusement whatsoever
than repeated perusals of Homer and Tacitus, which he had managed to
save from the wreck of his scanty chattels. They constituted his whole
library. Leading a life completely retired, when the weather precluded
him from taking a solitary ramble, he passed his time in reading,
praying, or chatting with his sister, whose voice was almost the only
one by which he had been accosted during the past twelve months;
consequently, although his affection for Madeleine had been always very
great, it had become so intense as to make him regard another separation
from her as the most deplorable of all his misfortunes. It was therefore
in a miserable state of mind that he awaited Madeleine's return, each
time that she left home in a renewed hope of procuring him pupils. For a
considerable time he had refrained from asking her the question too
often followed by the reply of disappointment. It was enough for her to
give him a silent embrace, and that after she had thrown her shawl upon
the bed, she betook herself at once to her work, for him to form the
determination of leaving; and the sale of her watch, to which she
attached peculiar value, confirmed his resolution.
He had decided on the following week as the time for a separation too
afflicting, when one morning Madeleine returned, her countenance
indicating that her mind was engrossed by some recent and unusual
subject. Michel Perrin, absorbed in his reflections, did not at first
observe her serious features. She was seated and working near the
window, whilst the pastor, with an open book lying on his knees, was
racking his mind as to how he could obtain the means of sustaining life
when he would quit his sole remaining asylum.
"What a misfortune that Paris is so far off," said Madeleine several
times, without perceiving perhaps that she was speaking aloud.
At the fourth or fifth repetition of this expression, Michel raised his
head--"Why so, my dear sister?" said he; "wherefore do you wish Paris to
be nearer?"
"Ah! wherefore? It would take too much of your time to listen to me, my
dear brother, and you are reading your breviary, I believe."
"Tell me fully the reasons for your wish," replied the pastor, laying
his book upon the table.
"It is because I have chanced to hear a matter so astonishing, so
surprising. It must be admitted that some people are extremely lucky."
"We cannot be considered so," said Michel, as he breathed a heavy sigh.
"No; but your old class-fellow, Eugene Camus. Are you aware that he
went to Paris in quest of employment? Well, he has come back for a few
days, after having obtained a situation of two thousand francs a-year in
the consolidated taxes."
"A place of two thousand francs!" exclaimed the good pastor. "You are
right in saying that some are very lucky, Madeleine, for I would adduce
this poor Eugene Camus as the most thorough blockhead and dunce that
ever came from the college of Juilly."
"Well, he was dying of hunger at Paris for nearly two years; but his
good fortune brought it about that another pupil of the Oratorians,
Joseph Fouché, of whom you have frequently spoken to me----"
"Oh! Joseph Fouché should be a very different kind of man. I am very
glad to hear that he is still living. A cunning fellow without any
doubt, and always amongst the first. He and I acted together, as they
said in the college; he helped me in my tasks, and in return I fought
for him; for I was a stout, healthy youth, and Joseph Fouché was by no
means strong."
"That has not hindered him from getting forward in the world, I must say
that for him. He is minister--minister of, what shall I term it? It is
all the same; it appears that when one becomes minister he may do
whatever he wishes, and as his greatest pleasure consists in making the
fortunes of his old class-fellows"----
"If I was sure of that," interrupted the poor pastor, with great
emotion.
"I think he gave you a sufficient proof in placing Camus as I have
described," replied Madeleine; "but Camus, being in Paris, could see
him, could speak to him."
"And why should not I go to Paris, Madeleine?" exclaimed Michel Perrin,
with an air of determination. "I shall go, sister; I shall see Fouché; I
shall speak with him; since he has recognised Camus, who was not more
than two years at Juilly, I am certain that he will recognise me also."
"Would you wish to undertake so long a journey, Michel?" said the kind
sister, in great dismay; "no, no, my dear brother."
"Hear me, Madeleine," replied the pastor, moving his seat close to her,
"whether I go to Paris or elsewhere, I shall leave this place."
"You are going away! You wish to leave me!"
"Your earnings are merely sufficient for your own support, my dear
Madeleine. I do not wish any longer to eat the half of them; and all
that you can say to induce me to remain will only annoy me, without
making me abandon my resolution. Departing from this place, is it not
the better course for me to go to Paris than any other place, inasmuch
as you give me the hope of finding a friend there?"
"But Paris is so far," said Madeleine, bursting into tears.
"Bah! sixty or eighty leagues, what is that distance to a good walker?
What annoys me the most, is having to take from you two or three crowns
to support me on the road and at the commencement of my sojourn. Can you
make out so much?"
"I shall not let you depart for Paris with two or three crowns, Michel,
you may be assured of that," said poor Madeleine, sobbing.
"That would be beyond my requirements, sister. Something tells that once
I arrive there, I shall find resources, and that my first letter from
Paris will bring you good news."
The poor clergyman appeared so full of hope from the success of his
journey, that he finished by imparting it to Madeleine. Without being
fully consoled, she smiled sometimes at the agreeable perspective which
her brother offered to her imagination. He perhaps did not indulge in
very sanguine expectations, but having decided on being no longer a
burden to her, he felt that he could act as a messenger or woodcutter
when the good Madeleine was not at hand to prevent him.
The preparations for such a journey not being of a nature to delay it,
in two days after that of which we have been speaking, Madeleine
carefully made up a bundle for her beloved brother, which he was to
carry on the end of a stick, and gave him a sealed rouleau in which, she
said, there were forty francs; and when the brother and sister had
embraced each other again and again, in tearful affliction, they
separated.
The pastor accomplished ten leagues in his first day's journey, impelled
by the double anxiety for a speedy arrival, and an avoidance of expense
on the road. He was far richer than he supposed; for on the second day,
his purse being empty, although he had lived on bread and cheese, he
opened the rouleau, and his surprise equalled his grateful affection
when he found three pieces of gold besides the forty francs. Feeling
certain that Madeleine had not been able to provide such a sum without
contracting debts, he resolved not to spend this gold, and to send it
back by the first opportunity; but he was not the less thankful for her
sisterly love.
As soon as he had taken up his abode at the most moderately furnished
hotel of the capital, he did not lose a moment in acquiring information
on various subjects which he considered conducive to his chances of
obtaining an industrial livelihood. From his landlord he learned that
Joseph Fouché was the minister of the general police, and that all the
ministers gave a public audience once in each week, but that in order to
obtain a special interview, it was necessary to request it by letter.
Accordingly he penned the following note:--
"CITIZEN MINISTER
"Michel Perrin implores his former class-fellow, Joseph Fouché, to
receive him as soon as possible. He is lodging at the hotel _du
Soleil_, rue Mouffetard."
"_Vale et me ama._"
"Health and respect."
Michel supposed that prefixing a Latin adieu to "Health and Respect,"
would remind Joseph of the time when, seated on the same bench, they
were studying Cicero. Almost an entire week elapsed without any reply
from the minister; and when Michel asked his landlord if it ever
happened that such notes were left unanswered, the latter mentioned
about fifty instances of such neglect, almost without drawing breath.
His hopes were thus completely annihilated; and already he was only
thinking of earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, when one evening
the porter brought him a letter. After breaking the seal with a
trembling hand, he read these words which seemed to him to be written in
letters of gold:--
"The minister of the general police will receive the citizen,
Michael Perrin, on Thursday the 24th inst., at one o'clock."
A person should, like our hero, have returned after having, in a state
of utter despondency, traversed the streets of Paris, those streets so
populous, but in which he would seek in vain for even an individual
inclined to extend the hand of succour, to be able to form an idea of
his joyful hope that he had at last found a protector--a powerful
protector. Accordingly, he wrote, before retiring to rest, to Madeleine,
_that he was to be with the minister of the general police on the
ensuing Thursday_.
On the appointed day, Michel Perrin was in the ante-chamber of the
minister before noon. Seated on the edge of a bench, he endeavoured to
banish the timidity natural to those who have continuously lived apart
from the world, and which the sight of a mansion in which everything
indicated power and opulence tended to augment. To embolden himself, he
recurred to his college days, and he was repeating for perhaps the
hundredth time that Joseph Fouché had been his class-fellow, when he was
called in.
Fouché was alone in his cabinet, seated before a desk covered with
papers. He had hardly raised his head and fixed his small reddish eyes
on the person entering, than assuming a cheerful manner--"There was no
necessity," he said, "to announce you, for on my faith, I could not have
met you in the street without recognising you."[13]
At this friendly reception the poor pastor fully resumed his courage.
"And you, too, citizen minister," he answered, cordially grasping the
hand which Fouché extended to him, "you have so slightly changed that I
believe myself recurring to the time when old Vieil allotted us our
tasks."
The figure of the minister assumed an appearance of cheerfulness which
was by no means habitual. Perhaps the sight of an old college comrade
served to relieve him of some disagreeable reflections, perhaps it
recalled to a deputy of the convention the recollection of the time when
his life was simple and innocent.
"Sit down there," he said in a gay tone, "and tell me how you have got
on in this world, since we lost sight of each other."
"I have lived for many years as happily as possible," replied Michel
with a sigh; "for shortly after my ordination, I obtained a living in
the most agreeable village of Burgundy."
"A poor position at present that of a pastor must be!" replied the
minister, shaking his head.
"So poor in fact that after having been thrust out of the door of my
manse, ruined, persecuted, I have lived during the last seven years on
the benefactions of some charitable, kind souls."
"And why the devil did you not try to get out of your difficulties? You
should bestir yourself."
"Bestir, bestir! That is easy said. At first I was obliged to hide
myself in the farms, in the cottages, because I was suspected, or they
pretended so; and I would ask you of what should I be suspected? But in
short, matters proceeded thus in the department of the Cote-d'Or."
"And in many other departments," said Fouché; "but when you no longer
feared for your head, you should have thought of your purse."
"If thinking of it would have filled it, it would never have become
empty," replied Michel with a sorrowful smile. "I believe more ideas
pass through the mind of a poor fellow who is trying to gain a crown
than passed through the mind of Homer when writing the Iliad or
Odyssey."
"And that did not lead you to any decided course?"
"To nothing but to come to Paris." Michel paused, but not without
directing on his college friend a look more expressive than any words.
Fouché smiled. "Did you know that I was minister?" said he.
"Certainly."
"And you have counted on me," replied Fouché, with a kindness inspired
by the thorough frankness of this man.
"Counted on you so much," replied the poor pastor, "that after God you
are my only hope. Employ me where you wish, at whatever you choose, my
destitution has absorbed all other difficulties. I shall not recoil from
any description of employment. I am resolved to do anything by which I
can earn my subsistence."
"To do anything!" repeated Fouché, with some surprise, "then you would
not refuse to be employed in my department."
"Oh! that is all that I ask!" cried Michel Perrin, his eyes sparkling
with joy.
"Undoubtedly you would acquire more money than your parish ever
produced."
"Is it possible?"
"Certainly; men who resemble you are rather scarce." And Fouché fixed
his eyes on the becoming figure of the pastor. "I know that you are very
intelligent, and you can express yourself clearly and explicitly."
"It is certainly advantageous to have received a classical education,"
said Michel, with a modest air, although he was in fact highly gratified
by the compliment.
"Besides, I can put complete confidence in you, whilst with the
generality"----
The door of the cabinet opened, and an usher informed the minister that
the first consul required his presence at the Tuileries immediately.
Fouché bundled a number of papers into a portfolio with all the haste of
a man who fears to lose a minute.
"As to me, as to me?" said the poor pastor, who with terror beheld him
preparing to leave without any definite promise.
"Hold," said the minister, writing hastily two lines on a scrap of
paper, "take this to Desmarest, chief of division." He then hurried to
his carriage and drove away.
The pastor had barely read these words, "_Desmarest is to employ Michel
Perrin, and to pay him liberally_," when in the utmost delight, he
proceeded to the office of the functionary mentioned, and the order
which he brought procured his immediate admission.
The citizen Desmarest, who appeared to him to assume more importance
than the minister himself, inasmuch as he had not been his class-fellow,
took the paper, read it, and without offering him a seat, asked him if
he was the person named Michel Perrin.
"The same, citizen."
"You have just left the minister?"
"Only this moment; for we had chatted together a full half-hour, as two
good friends would do who had not met for a considerable time."
"Be seated, Citizen Perrin. Is it the minister's intention that you are
to correspond directly with him or with me?"
"It would seem that in referring me to you, citizen."
"As he has said nothing positive in this respect, it is with me you will
have to do."
"And when shall I commence?"
"Without delay; for the minister, in directing me to pay you liberally,
undoubtedly believed that there was need of your ability and zeal."
"For my zeal I can fully answer," replied Michel. "I hope that, with
some little experience in the discharge of actual duty, my ability shall
equal it."
"I have no doubt of it, no doubt whatever. You have been sent to me by a
man who is never mistaken in his estimate of individual capability. I
shall enter your name on the list of those employed here. You shall have
twenty francs per day, and your payment shall commence from this
morning."
At these words, the poor pastor had great difficulty in restraining an
enthusiastic expression of gratitude for such treatment. He said that he
longed to render himself sufficiently useful to justify the good opinion
entertained of him, and he asked the chief of the division to designate
at once the duty he was eager to commence.
"For to-day, I have no particular directions to give you; but you will
come to me in two or three days. Meanwhile, go through the city,
traverse the promenades and other public places, dine in the
restaurateurs, especially in the good restaurateurs."
"Ah! as for the prime restaurateurs," said Michel smiling, "they shall
not see me at all. I believe them to be far too costly for my purse."
"I understand," replied Desmarest; "perhaps you are short of cash; but I
am going to pay you a fortnight in advance. Will that suffice?"
"For a long time, I assure you," answered the good pastor, full of
gratitude, "although I have really a scruple not having done any duty
yet."
"Bah! it is almost always the usage here; the intentions of the minister
were certainly not to have you sent to the mean eating-houses."
"What good angel has led me to these worthy people?" said Michel Perrin
to himself; and whilst he was expressing reiterated thanks, the chief of
division, having no time to lose, wrote an order for the cashier, and
handed it to him, telling him to go and get his payment, and not to
return before the following Monday, unless he had something pressing to
say.
If the first thought of the pastor, when he found himself the possessor
of three hundred francs, tended towards God, the second was for
Madeleine, and he could not dream of dining before he had written four
pages to that good sister, and made his letter the bearer of half his
treasure to Dijon. Then, with a light heart and mind at ease, he
resolved to follow the advice of the Citizen Desmarest, and to enjoy a
little portion of the Parisian pleasures. "I have four good days before
me up to Monday," he said, "and indeed I shall take some amusement."
In consequence, he betook himself to walk about the city. Paris, which
up to this time had appeared sad, muddy, smoky, took all at once a
cheerful appearance in his eyes, for a man whose mind is at ease, sees
matters very differently from the aspect they present to an afflicted
person. He was not fatigued by visiting the beautiful monuments, public
buildings, bridges, gardens, and parks, and he imagined himself
transported to fairyland. The Boulevards soon became his favorite
promenade. Owing to the variety of amusements which he found there, the
good pastor could pass his entire day without experiencing one moment of
ennui. The shops, equipages, puppet-shows attracting and occupying his
attention; not until night did he direct his steps to the Rue
Mouffetard, delighted with the sights of the day, and greatly pleased at
having been able to provide himself with two plentiful meals, an
indulgence which he had for a long time previous been unable to procure.
When Monday arrived, Michel Perrin presented himself at the ministry of
police rather anxious to ascertain whether the employment about to be
assigned to him might not be beyond his capacity.
"Ah! 'tis you," said Desmarest, who appeared busily searching for a
paper which he could not find on his desk. "Well! where the devil have I
thrust it? What have you done these four days past?"
"I have run about the city as if I was only twenty years old," replied
the pastor gaily.
"Something infernal must have happened to it," said the chief of
division, opening a drawer that he had not tried before. "All was quiet,
I suppose."
"Ah! perfectly quiet! Every one I saw appeared, like myself, to be bent
on amusements."
"The malcontents are not giving up their designs for all that. (Could I
have taken it home with me by mistake?)"
"Yes; the discontented people. That is what a poor fellow told me
yesterday in a chat which we had at the Boulevard du Temple, and, in
faith, I think he was one of them himself."
The pastor stopped speaking for a few moments after these words.
"Speak on; go on," said Desmarest, who continued to rummage his papers;
"I am listening to you whilst I am looking for this cursed letter. What
sort of man was this fellow?"
"He is a former garde du corps of the Comte d'Artois."
"Is he young? (This is enough to set one mad!)"
"About my age."
"(Ah! I have found it at last.) Well, your former garde du corps?"
"He told me his entire history."
"What a confiding man! Well?"
"It was a simple, plain story, and indeed I told him that I was a
clergyman, that"----
"You told him that you had been a clergyman?" exclaimed Desmarest,
laughing immoderately.
"Undoubtedly," replied Michel, rather disconcerted.
"All right, all right," said the chief of division in a tone of
approval. "What makes me laugh is, that if you had told me the same
thing when you first came here, you would not have surprised me, and I
should have believed you at once: I observe in you so much of the air of
a man who has worn a priestly habit."
"I have never been able to divest myself of that air, although it has
often proved almost fatal to me," said Michel, with a sigh.
"At present, on the contrary, it is most favorable; your figure, your
entire appearance inspires confidence."
The pastor bowed to express his thanks.
"And without doubt," continued Desmarest, "the good Royalist of the
Boulevard is living on hope like all his friends. He has some lively
expectations of a happy change of his circumstances."
"He has indeed, many."
"What do they depend on?"
"Ah! I do not know. The first time that he saw me this man could not
tell me all his affairs."
"This is very natural," said the chief of division. "Have you arranged
to see him again?"
"We have settled to have a game of chess one of these days, provided I
may be free to return to the Café Turc."
"And what prevents you?"
"If the business which you will appoint for me to-day requires my entire
time."
"I have no business to appoint for you," answered Desmarest, "but as I
am greatly burdened myself at present, you may return to this matter or
to any other until Thursday; come to me on that day."
Michel Perrin, not wishing to be troublesome, hastened to salute his
chief and to leave the office, but not without being greatly surprised
that they paid him so liberally for doing nothing. Nevertheless, feeling
certain that ultimately he would be set to work, he laughed as he walked
on the quay. "Three more holidays," he said, "and in faith we'll enjoy
them!" And he resumed the life of a Parisian cockney.[14]
The following Thursday, after having waited near two hours in the
ante-chamber with some men of very sinister aspect, the pastor was
admitted to citizen Desmarest, who smiled graciously, saying--
"Well, what news?"
"News!" exclaimed Michel quite astonished.
"Yes; when you come here undoubtedly you must have something to tell
me."
"In fact, citizen, as this is Thursday, I have come to know if it is
to-day that you desire to commence employing me."
"No, a hundred times no! I have already told you to take your own
course, to go through Paris like a man who thinks only of amusing
himself and seeing everything."
"I do nothing else through the length of the day," said the pastor
laughing.
"Well, that is the minister's intention and mine; have you settled your
game of chess? Have you again met your garde du corps?"
"No."
"The devil!" said Desmarest, who at that time was specially looking
after the Royalists; "but at least you know his name?"
"He never told it to me."
The chief of division shrugged his shoulders, smiling.
"You have let him see that you were too knowing for him."
"Quite the contrary," replied Michel, "for I told him at once that my
ideas were very simple."
"I am beginning to think so too," muttered Desmarest; then to terminate
the interview, he bowed and added, "let me see you on Monday."
"Certainly," said the pastor to himself, as he took the direction of the
Palais-Royal with the intention of dining at the café de Foi; "certainly
if this continues I can congratulate myself on having obtained a most
agreeable position. As long as my business consists in waiting on my
chief twice in the week, I run no risk of losing my employment through
incapacity."
When he entered on the following Monday, he had waited a very long time
until a number of persons passed, who stated that they were ordered to
attend.
"The usher says that you have been waiting for six or seven hours," said
the citizen Desmarest. "I had some important business to transact, or
you should have been admitted sooner; for I suppose that you have
something pressing to tell me."
"Nothing whatever, citizen," quietly replied the pastor, "I always come
very early, that you may have me at hand, if you wish to have me
called."
"It is certain that you are admirably punctual, citizen Perrin; I said
so yesterday to the minister."
"I hope that in this respect you shall never have to reproach me,"
replied the pastor, bowing.
"You pass your days in your chamber," said Desmarest.
"Me! I run like a mountaineer; yesterday I did more than two leagues on
the flagways of Paris."
"And you have seen nothing, heard nothing worthy of your attention and
mine?"
"Ah!" said the pastor laughing; "it requires so little to attract my
attention and to enable me to pass the time, that you would not wish to
lose your time listening to such trifles."
"Well! be it so," said the citizen Desmarest, whose astonishment had
reached its acme; "Good day, return to-morrow, I request of you."
Michel Perrin had scarcely closed the door of the cabinet, when the
chief of division rang and obtained the immediate attendance of one of
the _mouchards_ or detectives who were in the ante-chamber.
"Follow the man in the brown great-coat who has just left me," said he;
"follow him throughout the day, and come to report to me to-morrow
morning."
Until late in the evening the poor pastor could not move a foot or hand,
or speak a word without a note being made of it by the clever spy who
had become his shadow; so that on the next day, when he received the
order to enter the cabinet of Desmarest, the latter knew better than he
did himself all that he had said or done the preceding evening.
"Now," thought the chief of division, "unless he is deaf, blind, or
dumb, he will not be silent this morning;" and desiring him to be
seated--"Come," said he, "you are about, I hope, to give me an account
of yesterday's business."
The good pastor was always somewhat surprised at the interest which his
chief seemed to take in his actions or movements; he replied, with an
air of astonishment--
"My business of yesterday! I passed my time, since our last interview,
in nearly the same manner as I passed all the other days since our first
meeting. In the morning I walked to the Tuileries; in the evening I
strolled on the Boulevards."
"I am not asking about your acts or movements," interrupted Desmarest,
"but about what you were able to observe."
"Oh! nothing new," replied Michel Perrin; "I am beginning to know all
these places as well as I do my own pocket."
"This man cannot be of a sane mind," said Desmarest to himself. Then
taking patience--
"Do me the favor of telling me where you dined yesterday, citizen
Perrin."
"At a restaurateur's in the Palais-Royal," replied the pastor, whom this
kind of interrogatory surprised to the utmost.
"And afterwards?"
"I went to take my coffee at the cafe du Caveau."
"And whilst you were taking your coffee, what passed there? I beg of you
to tell me."
"Oh! nothing that I know."
"What! did you not remark three young fellows who were talking just
beside you, whose table was next to yours?"
"Stay, stay; I recollect now that there were indeed, just beside me,
some gentlemen; I cannot say whether three or four, but I know they had
a bowl of punch."
"And they used most horrible language regarding the First Consul," added
the chief of division with anger; "they even went so far as to threaten
his life!"
"As for that, I am completely uninformed on the subject, inasmuch as,
having observed two or three times that these gentlemen lowered their
voices when I turned my head towards them, I moved off to a table
farther from them. I did not wish to have even the appearance of
listening to them, you understand."
"By my faith, this is too bad!" exclaimed Desmarest. "What occupation do
you think that you have at the ministry of police?"
"Ah!" said the pastor, quickly, "that is exactly what I have been
desiring to know during the last fifteen days."
"Eh, zounds! you are a spy for the police!"
"A mouchard?"
"A mouchard!"
The pastor bounded from his seat, his cheeks flushed, his lips
quivering. "Monsieur!--But it is not to you that I have to speak," said
he, hastily rushing from the apartment.
He ran to the door of the minister, and wished to have it opened.
"The minister has gone out," answered one of the ushers, laughing in his
face.
"I shall wait for him; I shall wait the whole day if it be necessary."
"Wait for him, then, in the street," said the usher, "for you cannot
remain here."
"Be it so," replied the poor pastor, resolved to place himself before
the gate of the hotel, but he had barely crossed the courtyard, when
Fouché, on his return, alighted from his carriage.
Michel Perrin did not hesitate to rush towards the door.
"I beg of you to hear me for a minute, citizen minister," said he, in an
altered tone.
Fouché, although somewhat surprised at the sight of this excited
applicant, recognised Michel Perrin, and permitted him to follow him.
"Well! what now?" asked he, when they were alone. "Have you discovered
some conspiracy, to be thus almost beside yourself?"
"I have discovered that you have made a jest of the friend of your
youth," replied the good pastor, with a courage derived from resentment.
"Poor as I am, and powerful as you are, I would never wish to have been
subjected to such treatment."
"May I die if I know what you are speaking about," replied Fouché,
looking closely at him to ascertain if he was in his right senses.
"Have you not issued your orders to your citizen Desmarest?"
"Undoubtedly; he has even told me," added Fouché, laughing, "that you
earned your money very badly."
"Ah! my deepest regret is having received that sum of money, for
unfortunately I am unable to return it: I have sent the half to my poor
sister Madeleine. I have remaining at most only"----
"Eh! who says a word about your returning money, you fool? As long as I
choose to employ you, what has Desmarest to say about it?"
"To employ me! to employ me as a spy!" cried Michel, reddening with
indignation.
"Methinks your scruples arise rather late, when you have been attached
to the police for fifteen days," replied Fouché.
"It was only on this day that I discovered it," cried the poor pastor.
"What! did you not know it? Was it only to-day you ascertained your
function?" said the minister, as, struck by the comic tendency of the
matter, he indulged in great laughter.
"I should never have supposed it," answered Michel Perrin, proudly;
"your man told me of it."
"It was a fortunate thing that he afforded you such an interesting
disclosure," said Fouché, who vainly endeavoured to resume his gravity;
"but, in fact, Michel, did you not come to me, stating that you were
dying of hunger, and that you were resolved to do anything to provide
the means of supporting life?"
"Certainly; I would have agreed to sweep your apartments, to carry the
fuel for your stoves, to do everything that might be done without
forfeiting reputation and losing self-respect." And, in saying these
words, the poor pastor raised his fine head, which fretting and
privation had already covered with snowy locks.
Honor exercises an influence even upon those who have tampered with
their own. Fouché discontinued his laughter, and approaching his
class-fellow--
"There has been a misunderstanding, Michel," said he, taking his hand;
"let us forget this, and continue good friends, especially," he added,
"as I have most delightful news for you: it is that they are about to
restore your parish to you."
"Another hoax," said Michel Perrin, shrugging his shoulders, with an air
of incredulity.
"No; on my faith. Public worship is re-established. You know, or perhaps
you do not know, that Cardinal Gonsalvi was here for a considerable
time, to arrange the basis of a concordat with the Pope. This concordat
is signed; the First Consul communicated it yesterday to his Council of
State."
"Ah! if I again saw my good peasants! If I returned to my manse with
Madeleine!" cried the good pastor, his eyes sparkling with joy; "but,"
added he, "perhaps the parish will be given to another?"
"I shall take special care that it shall not," replied the minister.
"Your parish was in Burgundy, I believe?"
"Just beside Dijon. I had it for a year."
"You shall receive news from me very soon; but, in the meantime, I
advise you to return to your sister. Paris is full of people too crafty
for you; and as you must live," continued Fouché, "take this rouleau of
twenty-five louis."
"No, no; I shall take no more money," said the good pastor, pushing
aside the hand of the minister.
"You must take it. You do not imagine, I hope, that this would be a
recompense for the services you have rendered," said Fouché, laughing
heartily. "It is given to you by me for yourself, for your sister."
"Well, be it so," replied Michel, greatly softened. "I cannot reject the
gift of an honest man."
Fouché stifled a sigh. "Adieu," said he; "return to Dijon."
The following year, Michel Perrin had resumed his clerical functions;
and Madeleine again became the lady and mistress of the manse. The
peace, the comfort, the security for the future which they enjoyed,
seemed to be enhanced by the recollection of past sufferings.
If Madeleine, in whom there was a little vanity, remarked to her
brother, when returning from church, that all the peasants took off
their hats--
"Yes, yes," the pastor answered in a low voice, and with a smile, "THE
WORTHY FELLOWS ARE NOT AT ALL AWARE THAT FOR FIFTEEN DAYS I WAS A POLICE
SPY."
FOOTNOTES:
[13] I was informed by M. Turpin that Fouché frequently related the
incidents of this narrative which were subsequent to the interview, but
without naming his old class-fellow.--F. T. P.
[14] The word in the original is "badaud."