“I believe I have already told you, Burke, that my family were most of
them Royalists. Such as were engaged in trade followed the fortunes
of the day, and cried 'Vive la République!' like their neighbors. Some
deemed it better to emigrate, and wait in a foreign land for the happy
hour of returning to their own,--a circumstance, by the way, which must
have tried their patience ere this; and a few, trusting to their obscure
position, living in out-of-the-way, remote spots, supposed that in
the general uproar they might escape undetected; and, with one or two
exceptions, they were right. Among these latter was an unmarried brother
of my mother, who having held a military command for a great many years
in the Ile de Bourbon, retired to spend the remainder of his days in
a small but beautiful château on the seaside, about three leagues
from Marseilles. The old viscount (we continued to call him so among
ourselves, though the use of titles was proscribed long before) had met
with some disappointment in love in early life, which had prevented his
ever marrying, and turned all his affections towards the children of his
brothers and sisters, who invariably passed a couple of months of
each summer with him, arriving from different parts of France for the
purpose.
“And truly it was a strange sight to see the mixture of look,
expression, accent, and costume, that came to the rendezvous: the
long-featured boy, with blue eyes and pointed chin,--cold, wary,
and suspicious, brave but cautious,--that came from Normandy; the
high-spirited, reckless youth from Brittany; the dark-eyed girl of
Provence; the quick-tempered, warm-hearted Gascon and, stranger than
all, from his contrast to the rest the little Parisian, with his airs
of the capital and his contempt for his rustic brethren, nothing daunted
that in all their boyish exercises he found himself so much their
inferior. Our dear old uncle loved nothing so well as to have us around
him; and even the little ones, of five and six years old, when not
living too far off, were brought to these reunions, which were to us the
great events of each year of our lives.
“It was in the June of the year 1794--I shall not easily forget the
date--that we were all assembled as usual at 'Le Luc.' Our party was
reinforced by some three or four new visitors, among whom was a little
girl of about twelve years old,--Annette de Noailles, the prettiest
creature I ever beheld. Every land has its own trait of birth distinctly
marked. I don't know whether you have observed that the brow and the
forehead are more indicative of class in Frenchmen than any other
portion of the face: hers was perfect, and though a mere child,
conveyed an impression of tempered decision and mildness that was most
fascinating; the character of her features was thoughtful, and were
it not for a certain vivacity in the eyes, would have been even sad.
Forgive me, if I dwell--when I need not--on these traits: she is no
more. Her father carried her with him in his exile, and your lowering
skies and gloomy air soon laid her low.
“Annette was the child of Royalist parents. Both her father and mother
had occupied places in the royal household; and she was accustomed from
her earliest infancy to hear the praise of the Bourbons from lips which
trembled when they spoke. Poor child! how well do I remember her
little prayer for the martyred saint,--for so they styled the murdered
king,--which she never missed saying each morning when the mass was over
in the chapel of the château. It is a curious fact that the girls of a
family were frequently attached to the fortunes of the Bourbons, while
the boys declared for the Revolution; and these differences penetrated
into the very core, and sapped the happiness of many whose affection had
stood the test of every misfortune save the uprooting torrent of anarchy
that poured in with the Revolution. These party differences entered
into all the little quarrels of the schoolroom and the nursery; and the
taunting epithets of either side were used in angry passion by those who
neither guessed nor could understand their meaning. Need it be
wondered at, if in after life these opinions took the tone of intense
convictions, when even thus in infancy they were nurtured and fostered?
Our little circle at Le Luc was, indeed, wonderfully free from such
causes of contention; whatever paths in life fate had in store for us
afterwards, then, at least, we were of one mind. A few of the boys,
it is true, were struck by the successes of those great armies the
Revolution poured over Europe; but even they were half ashamed to
confess enthusiasm in a cause so constantly allied in their memory with
everything mean and low-lived.
“Such, in a few words, was the little party assembled around the
supper-table of the château, on one lovely evening in June. The windows,
opening to the ground, let in the perfumed air from many a sweet and
flowery shrub without; while already the nightingale had begun her lay
in the deep grove hard by. The evening was so calm we could hear the
plash of the making tide upon the shore, and the minute peals of the
waves smote on the ear with a soft and melancholy cadence that made
us silent and thoughtful. As we sat for some minutes thus, we suddenly
heard the sound of feet coming up the little gravel walk towards the
château, and on going to the window, perceived three men in uniform
leading their horses slowly along. The dusky light prevented our being
able to distinguish their rank or condition; but my uncle, whose fears
were easily excited by such visitors, at once hastened to the door to
receive them.
“His absence was not of many minutes' duration; but even now I can
remember the strange sensations of dread that rendered us all speechless
as we stood looking towards the door by which he was to enter. He came
at last, and was followed by two officers; one, the elder, and the
superior evidently, was a thin, slight man, of about thirty, with a
pale but stern countenance, in which a certain haughty expression
predominated; the other was a fine, soldierlike, frank-looking fellow,
who saluted us all as he came in with a smile and a pleasant gesture of
his hand.
“'You may leave us, children,' said my uncle, as he proceeded towards
the bell.
“'You were at supper, if I mistake not?' said the elder of the two
officers, with a degree of courtesy in his tone I scarcely expected.
“'Yes, General. But my little friends--'
“'Will, I hope, share with us,' said the general, interrupting; 'and I,
at least, am determined, with your permission, that they shall remain.
It is quite enough that we enjoy the hospitality of your château for the
night, without interfering with the happiness of its inmates; and I beg
that we may give you as little inconvenience as possible in providing
for our accommodation.'
“Though these words were spoken with an easy and a kindly tone, there
was a cold, distant manner in the speaker that chilled us all, and
while we drew over to the table again, it was in silence and constraint.
Indeed, our poor uncle looked the very picture of dismay, endeavoring
to do the honors to his guests and seem at ease, while it was clear his
fears were ever uppermost in his mind.
“The aide-de-camp--for such the young officer was--looked
like one who could have been agreeable and amusing if the restraint of
the general's presence was not over him. As it was, he spoke in a low,
subdued voice, and seemed in great awe of his superior.
“Unlike our usual ones, the meal was eaten in mournful stillness, the
very youngest amongst us feeling the presence of the stranger as a thing
of gloom and sadness.
“Supper over, my uncle, perhaps hoping to relieve the embarrassment
he labored under, asked permission of the general for us to remain,
saying,--
“'My little people, sir, are great novelists, and they usually amuse me
of an evening by their stories. Will this be too great an endurance for
you?'
“'By no means,' said the general, gayly; 'there's nothing I like better,
and I hope they will admit me as one of the party. I have something of a
gift that way myself.'
“The circle was soon formed, the general and his aide-de-camp making
part of it; but though they both exerted themselves to the utmost to win
our confidence, I know not why or wherefore, we could not shake off the
gloom we had felt at first, but sat awkward and ill at ease, unable to
utter a word, and even ashamed to look at each other.
“'Come,' said the general, 'I see how it is. I have broken in upon a
very happy party. I must make the only _amende_ in my power,--I shall be
the story-teller for this evening.'
“As he said this, he looked around the little circle, and by some
seeming magic of his own, in an instant he had won us every one. We drew
our chairs close towards him, and listened eagerly for his tale. Few
people, save such as live much among children, or take the trouble to
study their tone of feeling and thinking, are aware how far reality
surpasses in interest the force of mere fiction. The fact is with them
far more than all the art of the narrative; and if you cannot say 'this
was true,' more than half of the pleasure your story confers is lost
forever. Whether the general knew this, or that his memory supplied
him more easily than his imagination, I cannot say; but his tale was
a little incident of the siege of Toulon, where a drummer boy was
killed,--having returned to the breach, after the attack was repulsed,
to seek for a little cockade of ribbon his mother had fastened on his
cap that morning. Simple as was the story, he told it with a subdued and
tender pathos that made our hearts thrill and filled every eye around
him.
“'It was a poor thing, it's true,' said he, 'that knot of ribbon, but it
was glory to him to rescue it from the enemy. His heart was on the time
when he should show it, blood-stained and torn, and say, “I took it from
the ground amid the grapeshot and the musketry. I was the only living
thing there that moment; and see, I bore it away triumphantly.”' As the
general spoke, he unbuttoned the breast of his uniform, and took forth
a small piece of crumpled ribbon, fastened in the shape of a cockade.
'Here it is,' said he, holding it up before on? eyes; 'it was for this
he died.' We could scarce see it through our tears. Poor Annette held
her hands upon her face, and sobbed violently. 'Keep it, my sweet
child,' said the general, as he attached the cockade to her shoulder;'
it is a glorious emblem, and well worthy to be worn by one so pure and
so fair as you are.'
“Annette looked up, and as she did, her eyes fell upon the tricolor that
hung from her shoulder,--the hated, the despised tricolor, the badge
of that party whose cruelty she had thought of by day and dreamed of
by night. She turned deadly pale, and sat, with lips compressed and
clenched hands, unable to speak or stir.
“'What is it? Are you ill, child?' said the general, suddenly.
“'Annette, love! Annette, dearest!' said my uncle, trembling with
anxiety, 'speak; what is the matter?'
“'It is that!' cried I, fiercely, pointing to the knot, on which her
eyes were bent with a shrinking horror I well knew the meaning of,--' it
is that!'
“The general bent on me a look of passionate meaning, as with a hissing
tone he said, 'Do you mean this?'
“'Yes,' said I, tearing it away, and trampling it beneath my
feet,--'yes! it is not a Noailles can wear the badge of infamy and
crime; the blood-stained tricolor can find slight favor here.'
“'Hush, boy! hush, for Heaven's sake!' cried my uncle, trembling with
fear.
“The caution came too late. The general, taking a note-book from his
pocket, opened it leisurely, and then turning towards the viscount,
said, 'This youth's name is--'
“'Duchesne; Henri Duchesne.'
“'And his age?'
“'Fourteen in March,' replied my uncle, as his eyes filled up; while he
added, in a half whisper, 'if you mean the conscription, General, he has
already supplied a substitute.'
“'No matter, sir, if he had sent twenty; such defect of education as his
needs correction. He shall join the levies at Toulon in three days; in
three days, mark me! Depend upon it, sir,' said he, turning to me, 'you
shall learn a lesson beneath that tricolor you'll be somewhat long
in forgetting. Dumolle, look to this.' With this direction to his
aide-de-camp he arose, and before my poor unhappy uncle could recover
his self-possession to reply, had left the room.
“'He will not do this, sir; surely, he will not,' said the viscount to
the young officer.
“'General Bonaparte does not relent, sir; and if he did, he 'd never
show it,' was the cold reply.
“That day week I carried a musket on the ramparts of Toulon. Here began
a career I have followed ever since; with how much of enthusiasm I leave
you to judge for yourself.”
As Duchesne concluded this little story he arose, and paced the room
backwards and forwards with rapid steps, while his compressed lips and
knitted brow showed he was lost in gloomy recollections of the past.
“He was right, after all, Burke,” said he, at length. “Personal honor
will make the soldier; conviction may make the patriot. I fought as
stoutly for this same cause as though I did not loathe it: how many
others may be in the same position? You yourself, perhaps.”
“No, no; not I.”
“Well, be it so,” rejoined he, carelessly. “Goodnight” And with that he
strolled negligently from the room, and I heard him humming a tune as he
mounted the stairs towards his bedroom.