The best and most extensive view near Argelés, is from an elevation to

the north-west of the town, called Le Balandrau, and certainly it

commands one of the most splendid panoramas that can be conceived.

Here, as in all the valleys of the Pyrenees, a mountain torrent runs

in the midst; the lower part is filled with towns and villages and

woods; convents, and ruins, and feudal castles rise next, with the

hamlets they formerly protected still clinging around them; and above,

on every side, are seen the immense mountains over which the industry

of man has spread a rich robe of cultivation. The sun, as it wanders

over them, entirely changes their aspect, from time to time, without,

however, robbing them of their beauty; sometimes, throwing them into

deep shadow, all the minute parts are lost in one grand obscurity,

sometimes, shining full upon them, a thousand objects of interest are

displayed, softened and harmonized as they recede by the airy

indistinctness of distance.

It had been our intention to proceed direct from Lourdes to Cauterets,

but there was a charm in the valley of Argelés which there was no

resisting, and we dismissed the horses, resolving to stay at the

little inn, however bad the accommodation might be. But we were

agreeably disappointed in our _auberge_. The people were civil and

attentive, the beds clean and good, the prices moderate, and even had

we been true French _gastronomes_, we must have been well contented

with our fare.

We spent the day in wandering about the valley, seeking for new

beauties, and enjoying all we saw; and in the evening retired to rest

full of ideas of loveliness, and contented with the day.

CAUTERETS.

Hîc secura quies et nescia fallere vita,

Dives opum variarum, hîc latis otia fundis

Speluncæ, vivique lacus, hîc frigida Tempe.--VIRGIL.

The next morning we proceeded to Pierrefitte; and while some little

alteration was taking place in the harness before we could go on

towards Cauterets, a gendarme came up and asked for our passports. I

luckily had mine in my pocket, though it had never been signed for the

Pyrenees, but it answered very well, and was civilly returned,

scarcely looked at. Not so happened it to a poor traveller on foot,

who it appeared had no passport to show. When a man is in the wrong,

and wishes to go on in the same way, he has but two resources, to

bully or sneak. The poor traveller chose the first, and a violent

quarrel ensued with the gendarme, who swore that he should not proceed

one step without showing his passport, called out very loud about

doing his duty, slapped his hand upon his heart, and talked about his

honour. Finding that bully would not answer, the traveller had nothing

for it but to sneak, so he asked the gendarme to come and drink a

bottle of wine with him. The gendarme did not accept the invitation,

but he drank the wine, and the traveller having paid for it walked on

upon his way, while the other remained on the spot, to prove, to all

who doubted it, what an honourable man he was, and how well he did his

duty.

When the harness was all completely arranged, we passed on through the

little town, and turning to the right entered the gorge of Cauterets.

Here again was a new change of mountain scenery gaining in grandeur

what is lost in richness and cultivation. From Pierrefitte the road

suddenly turns into a deep ravine, with the river rushing below, and

immense masses of crag rising many hundred feet above. But it is not

even here the bare, cold, lifeless stone. Every spot where the root of

a tree can fix itself, every ledge where the least earth can rest, is

abundant in vegetable life, and all sorts of beautiful foliage seem

striving to form a screen for the gray rock from which they spring.

The road winds on through this sort of scenery, changing at every

step, till, approaching Cauterets, the valley gradually widens, and

again high mountains surround it on every side, but far bolder than

those of Argelés, and covered near the tops with dark forests of

pines and sapins.

Cauterets is a complete watering-place, a sort of barrack, which gets

filled to the head the moment that fashion gives orders to march from

the greater cities. As soon as the sound of the postman's whip was

heard, all the inhabitants rushed to their windows to see who was to

be added to their little world; and amid the number of white bonnets

and blue, red bonnets and gray, which Paris had brought forth and

Cauterets contained, we were fortunate enough to discover two or three

with the owners of which we could claim acquaintance; and then there

was pulling off of hats, and bowing of heads, and so forth, while a

thousand gaping applicants stood round the carriage pressing for our

"linge à blanchir," or for us to "manger chez-eux," so that there was

practice enough in the art of refusing to train one for a prime

minister.

We put up at the hotel of old Madame Lapierre, who is an original in

her way. Some fifty years ago (I suppose) she kept a little _auberge_

at Cauterets, when Cauterets was scarcely heard of. She has grown,

into opulence as it has grown in fame and size, and now is one of the

richest persons of the place. But still little Madame Lapierre retains

all her old habits: six days of the week, trots about the kitchen in

her original dirt, peeps into the saucepans, counts the onions, and

scolds the servants, and the seventh puts on a clean muslin cap, and

brings in one of the dishes herself, to show how fine she is. Withal

she really is a very good old soul, civil, kind, and obliging; the

only thing is, that there is no understanding a word that she says,

for speaking _patois_ sixty or seventy years has broken all the teeth

out of her head, and spoilt her articulation.

Cauterets was as full as it could be. The violent hot weather had

driven all the world out of large towns, and health, pleasure,

curiosity, and fashion brought them all to the Pyrenees. Truly, truly,

they could not have chosen a sweeter spot; grandeur and beauty become

so familiar to the eye, that all the rest of the world does indeed

look "stale, flat, and unprofitable." Besides, there are a thousand

little lovely nooks unhackneyed by itineraries, which one is

constantly finding out for one's self. I hate itineraries, they are a

sort of Newgate Calendar, a record of all the common tours which have

been executed for the last century. The Pyrenees have been but little

tourified, or if they have I knew nothing about it, which came to the

same thing.

There is a great difference between the Alps and the Pyrenees; the

Alps are a country of mountains, the Pyrenees a chain. In Switzerland

one is obliged to go to seek mountains: in the Pyrenees they start

forward upon one; all that is beautiful and sublime is near at hand,

and nature seems fond of changing from one form of grandeur to

another.

Cauterets is surrounded on every side by majestic hills, and the walk

to each of the sulphureous springs, of which there are several,

displays new beauties at every step. That called La Raillère is the

most frequented, and beyond it is a rich woody scene, dim and still,

with the river divided into three or four streams, breaking over a

high crag, and then foaming on under a small bridge of planks, which

leads across from one rock to another. To the left lies a beautiful

valley, to which we made an excursion with all the gay folks of the

place. The ladies were carried in machines called _chaises à

porteurs_, consisting simply of chairs fixed on poles and covered in

with oil-cloth on all sides but one; these are carried between two

men, whose dexterity is wonderful, bearing their burden up steep

rocks, and over broken crags which seem quite impassable. Altogether

they are not ugly in a landscape, and as we pedestrians stood upon the

top of the hill and watched two-and-twenty of them following more

slowly up the winding ascent, it had a very curious and pleasing

effect. The pleasure of our party, however, was soon spoiled by a

heavy rain, which came on and drove us back towards the town.

Unfortunately, this is too frequent an occurrence in mountainous

countries, and though the Pyrenees are less subject to it than many

other places, they still are by no means exempt.

Though, in all probability, the good effect produced by visiting these

waters, is more to be attributed to, the exercise, fine air, and

beautiful scenery, than the benign influence of the nymph, yet I have

seen two or three glasses from the well of La Raillère act in an

extraordinary manner upon one of my friends, enabling him to walk for

many miles without fatigue, which his health would not have permitted

without some strong stimulus. However, the effects generally

attributed to these fountains of the Pyrenees are rather amusing. The

accounts published of them begin like the puff of a French charlatan,

who states, that though some men make extravagant pretensions for

their nostrum, that is not his case, there are only one or two

diseases which his remedy is adapted to cure; and then he goes on to

recite all the maladies incident to human nature.

The waters of Cauterets are thus stated to be specific in wounds,

rheumatisms, affections of the liver, and the spleen, intermittent

fevers, consumption, disease of the skin, and paralyses; and "etc." is

put at the end to gratify the imagination of the reader, in case he

should have any nondescript complaint which has not been enumerated.

THE LAC DE GAUB.

Care selve beate

E voi solinghi e taciturni orrori

Di riposi e di pace alberghi veri

O quanto volentieri

A rivedervi io torno.--GUARINI.

It often happens in the Pyrenees, that the place one goes to see is

less worth seeing than the road which leads to it. We set out early in

the morning for the Lac de Gaub, and passing the principal fountain of

Cauterets, turned to the right where the path wound in amidst enormous

rocks and forests of sapins, with not a vestige left of the civilized

world,--all wild, and rough, and desolate, with the high peaks of the

mountains almost shutting out the rays of the sun. The road, if it can

be called a road, appears almost impracticable even on foot, but our

guides told us, that the Spanish mules are frequently driven along it,

and I have more than once since seen the Spaniards pass it on

horseback.

The river, during its course through this valley, forms four principal

cascades. The first, called "De Cirizet," is very beautiful, falling

headlong down through a deep cleft in the rock, which is entirely

covered with dark woods. The second, called "Le Pas de l'Ours," is

connected with the other by the very tragical history of a poor bear.

Be it known, then, that at the first waterfall, grew in days of yore a

wild cherry tree, from which, by corruption, it acquired the name of

Cirizet. It was first of all "La Cascade du Cerisier," the cataract of

the cherry-tree, and from its root etymologists will have no

difficulty in deriving "La Cascade Cerizet." A poor bear, who, like

Parnell's hermit, far in a wild remote from public view, had grown

from youth to age in harmless simplicity was wont every day to descend

from his mountain hermitage and make a frugal meal upon the cherries

that grew beside the fall.

However, it so unfortunately happened, that bruin was induced to vary

his diet. The demon came tempting him in the shape of a shepherd and a

flock of sheep and luxury, that most penetrating evil, found its way

even up to his cave, whispering that every country gentleman ought to

kill his own mutton.

Bruin suffered himself to be seduced by the charms of one of the

sheep. It is supposed, that finding his virtue failing, he resolved to

fly, but lingered still to give it one last embrace. However that may

be, the separation was too cruel for either to bear, and his tender

friend expired in his arms. Heart-stricken, bruin carried her mortal

remains to his cave; and for some days was so overpowered with grief,

that he abandoned his favourite walk to the cherry-tree cascade. At

length, however, he once more took his way towards it, but ha, hapless

tale! the cruel shepherd had watched his path, and dug away the

support from the very stone over which his way lay as he passed the

second cascade. Bruin advanced ruminating over his lost mutton;--he

put his two forefeet upon the treacherous stone;--the stone gave way,

and down he rolled headlong into the torrent, paying dear for not

having contented himself with cherries.

The Pas de l'Ours, unconnected with its little tragedy, would be less

interesting and is less beautiful than the fall of the Pont d'Espagne,

where the path passing over the stream by a little wooden bridge,

leads through the Port de Cauterets into Spain. Here two rivers

flowing diagonally through long mountain passes, till they come near

the brim of a precipice, plunge over the edge of the rock and meet in

the deep chasm below, foaming and thundering as they join. Nothing can

be more magnificent than to stand on the few unshaped trunks of trees

which form the bridge, and look down upon the meeting of the waters,

for ever rushing on with a dazzling whiteness and unceasing roar,

while a thousand flowers are growing peacefully on the very brink; and

a variety of shrubs and trees are dipping their branches in the spray.

When we were there the sun shone strongly on the mist which the fall

raises, and arched it with a sunbow, that hung flickering over the

waters like the banner of the contending streams.

The road which had been ascending all the way, now began to mount

rapidly as if seeking the very clouds, and in about half an hour we

reached the small mountain lake called the _Lac de Gaub_, situated at

a great height above the level of the sea, but surrounded by hills

still more elevated. It is calm, silent, and solitary; though the turf

that dips itself in the clear waters of the lake is carpeted with a

thousand flowers of every hue and living with many a painted

butterfly, yet there is a solemn stillness in the whole, which makes

one afraid of speaking for fear of breaking the silence which has

dwelt for ages amongst those mountains. The waters, too, harmonized

with the rest; they were deep, clear, and calm, without a ripple upon

their bosom. I could have fancied them the waters of oblivion, and

took a draught to try, but it did not answer. The only living being in

the place, appeared to be a solitary fisherman, who makes his abode in

a miserable hut by the side of the lake. He is the picture of Charon,

and looks withered and blackened by solitude.

His dwelling, which was built of rough stones piled one on the other,

boasted neither window nor chimney. The light entered by an aperture

in the wall turned from the prevailing wind, and the smoke escaped, or

not, as it liked best, by a hole in the roof, made for its

convenience; and yet "canopies of costly state" would not perhaps have

rendered our fisherman a happier man. He had a dry and caustic humour

about him, which might spring from the concentration of his own

thoughts in his loneliness; and, of the economy of human life, he had

at least acquired so much knowledge, as to cheat his fellow-creatures

with as little remorse as he hooked a trout.

ST. SAUVEUR.

Intorno a queste fonti siedon sempre

Bei damegelli e candide donzelle

Tenere e fresche e di leggiadro aspetto

Che invitan tutti a ber quell' acque dolce.

TRESSINO. L'ITALIA LIBERATA DA GOTI.

Rumour, that winged demon, whose business and pleasure it is to

torment man, like a gnat that comes just when he is enjoying his

morning's sleep, and, buzzing for ever about him, sings its indistinct

song in his ears, till he has neither rest nor peace--came tormenting

us at Cauterets, with the news of St. Sauveur being so full that if we

did not put horses to the carriage, and set out without delay, we

should find ourselves worse off, in point of lodging, than even where

we were, although my friend was obliged to go into his room sideways,

for fear of knocking down some of the utensils, and I might have just

as well been in an oven, for I was precisely above the kitchen fire.

I have just been bleeding one of my candles. The wax had gained so

much upon the wick, that it was ready to die of repletion, till,

making an incision with the point of the snuffers, I let out a

sufficient quantity to relieve it, and the flame burnt up brighter

than before. I cannot help thinking that man is like a candle. The

cold part is his body, the melted spermaceti is his blood, the wick is

his brain, and the flame, though chemists prove it to be only the

combustion of gas, produces light and heat, of which we know nothing,

any more than of the spirit.

So we set off from Cauterets as hard as we could drive; but before we

got to Pierrefitte my friend's strength failed him, and we were

obliged to stop at that town for the night.

From Gavarnie to Lourdes may be considered as forming but one

valley,--sometimes, indeed, contracting into narrow passes, sometimes

opening into wide basins, but always marked, or rather connected, by

the river, which, entering at the Cascade of Gavarnie, flows on in

nearly a direct line to Lourdes.

At Pierrefitte, the valley contracts to a deep gorge, like that which

leads to Cauterets, but the scenery round bears a softer character.

The defile is much narrower, the hills more green and smiling, and

though, perhaps, the whole may be more beautiful, it appears to want

grandeur, after having seen Cauterets. For some way the road winds

round the projecting bases of the hills, till at length it opens upon

the beautiful valley of Luz, presenting a rich scene, not unlike the

basin of Argelés. Here, also, scattered villages and ruined castles

are the first things that present themselves, and shortly after

appears the town of Luz, in the lower part of the valley, and St.

Sauveur on an eminence to the right. The latter is a beautiful little

place, consisting of nineteen or twenty houses, nested in a woody part

of the mountain, and looking far over the scene of loveliness around.

We arrived just in time to be too late; the lodgings which we expected

to find vacant had been taken by some one else; and we were obliged to

put up much in the same way that we had done at Cauterets; but the

place was so beautiful, so smiling, so cheerful in itself, that we

could not be out of humour with anything in it.

Madame de Gontaut Biron, one of the most amiable beings I ever met,

has made St. Sauveur her favourite summer abode, and has taken pains

to display its beauties to the greatest advantage. She has planned and

carried into execution many of the principal embellishments of the

place; and Madame de Gontaut's bridge, and Madame de Gontaut's seat,

and Madame de Gontaut's walks, are always the most beautiful that can

be found. Her rank and her fortune gave her the means of making

herself respected, but she has used them to a better purpose, and made

herself loved. She combines all the high _ton_, the uncommunicable

ease and elegance of a woman to whom courts have ever been familiar,

with a degree of originality and _bonhomie_ which takes off from the

flatness of great polish. She knows every poor person in the village,

and if they are sick or in distress it is to Madame de Gontaut that

they fly for assistance. She relieves their wants, she promotes their

happiness, she looks upon them as her children and they almost worship

her. Her's is not alone that sort of general charity, which gives but

for the sake of giving, without knowledge of the object or interest in

the distress: she discriminates in her bounty, and doubles it by the

manner in which it is done; for her words are as kind as her actions.

I have met her often going down to the Springs, leaning on the arm of

one, of the common porters of the place, asking after his family,

inquiring into his affairs, and advising him in their regulation, with

as much kindness as if he had been her son.

There is all the difference in the world between the benevolence which

cheers and raises its object and the charity which humiliates.

A custom exists at St. Sauveur of bowing to every lady one meets in

the street. Now, as the whole town is not two hundred yards long, and

it is crammed as full as it can hold one may calculate fairly upon

having to pull off one's hat at least a hundred times whenever a

necessity exists of walking from one end to the other on a sun-shiny

morning. God knows, I did not grudge it them, but it ought to be put

into the list of expenses. My companion did much better, for he walked

about the town with his hat under his arm, which did just as well.

BAREGES.

Quis tumidum guttur miratur in alpibus?--JUVENAL.

It is an extraordinary fact, that between the Valley d'Ossau and the

Valley de Baréges an entire change takes place in the population. I

never saw a handsomer race than the people at the Eaux Bonnes, and the

Eaux Chaudes. At Cauterets beauty had forsaken the fair sex: the men

were well-formed and good-looking, but the women quite the reverse;

and at St. Sauveur, Luz, and Baréges, men, women, and children were

all ugly together. A few days after our arrival at St. Sauveur we went

over to Baréges, which is but at a little distance, and on our road

met all the goblin shapes of fairy tales completely realized, and a

great many more far too disgusting for description.

In this neighbourhood there are a great many people afflicted with the

goitre. Nor had I any idea of its effects till I saw it here. This

monstrous appendage to each side of the neck is horrid in itself, but

those afflicted with it to any great degree, lose entirely the hue of

health, become squalid and emaciated, and very frequently end in

idiocy. There is no describing their appearance; and one can scarcely

wonder at the treatment the ignorant mountaineers used to show them of

old, considering them cursed of God, and driving them from all human

intercourse.

The Cretins, or idiots, are also very common in the Pyrenees, and a

large village near Bagneres de Begorre is almost entirely peopled with

them, But these wretched beings are not at all held in the same degree

of horror as the Caghots, or goitrous, who for many centuries were

supposed, even by the physicians of the towns adjacent to the

Pyrenees, to be the descendants of persons afflicted with the leprosy

of the Greeks. It appears, however, to be now ascertained, that this

disease proceeds from something suspended in the water of mountainous

countries, which, being taken into the system, produces these

obstructions of the glands. Knowing very little either of medicine or

chemistry, my inquiries of course were limited; but from what I have

been able to learn, the malady is confined to particular districts,

both in the Alps and Pyrenees, while others in the vicinity are quite

free from it. In Derbyshire the same disease is common, while in the

mountains of Scotland and Wales I believe it is little known. An

analytical comparison of the water of the districts in which this

malady prevails might throw great light upon the subject, and be of

much service to a portion of mankind, who, though happily not very

numerous, are well worthy of compassion on account of their

sufferings.

The road to Baréges is not particularly beautiful, and the town itself

is hideous. Two rows of ill-built houses, forced into a narrow space

between the river and the mountain, crammed full of the sick and the

maimed, is what Baréges appears at first sight. Its mineral springs

are the strongest in the Pyrenees, and famous for the cure of gun-shot

wounds. There is a large hospital for soldiers, who saunter up and

down the single street, in which scarcely a whole man is to be met

with at once; and yet Baréges is the gayest place in the country;

there are nothing but balls and parties every night. In short, it is a

great dancing hospital, in which all the world caper on in the best

way they can with such limbs as they have got left.

Such is Baréges in the summer; in the winter every one quits it,

except a few shepherds and a few bears, who take possession of the

empty houses while the snow lasts. Everything at Baréges is made to be

carried away--shutters, doors, windows, and even staircases, so that

nothing but the skeleton of a town is left when once the migration

begins. Two things render it nearly uninhabitable after October--the

tremendous overflowings of the river and the avalanches, called here

_lavanges_, which frequently destroy great part of the town. It is not

alone that they overwhelm all that they approach, but as they come

everything trembles and falls before they touch it, without it be of

the most solid construction. Such is the report of the country people,

who, in their figurative language, say that all nature fears the

_lavange_; but any effect of the kind must proceed from the pressure

of the air by the rapid progress of such an immense mass. Many efforts

have been made to guard Baréges from this calamity by means of

planting trees on the heights; but, as seldom a year passes without

its occurrence, the young trees can afford no obstacle to the

avalanche.

GAVARNIE.

Alps frown on alps, or rushing hideous down,

As if old Chaos was again returned,

Wide rend the deep and shake the solid pole.--THOMSON.

In returning to St. Sauveur, we saw the mountains, in whose breast it

rests, as they ought to be seen to know them in their greatest

magnificence. It was about half-past two, and the sun shone in such a

manner as to cast a kind of blue airy indistinctness over the whole,

hiding all the minuter parts, and leaving them in grand dark masses,

marked decidedly upon the bright sunshiny sky. Although we had risen

considerably from Luz, the sun was already hidden by the mountains to

the south-west, and all the valley was in shadow. As I have before

remarked, when the hills are seen covered with fields half-way to the

top, scattered all over with trees, or broken into separate masses of

rock, the multitude of objects prevents the eye from estimating their

height justly; but it is when they are thus thrown together, in one

uniformity of shade, that they appear in their true grandeur.

But as I have got upon my hands a long journey to the most splendid of

nature's works, I must proceed on my way as quickly as possible. It

would be tedious to describe the journey from St. Sauveur to Gedre, as

it is little better than a repetition of that from Pierrefitte to Luz

on a smaller scale. The passes are narrower, the basins more

circumscribed, and the mountains rise higher and more perpendicularly

on each side. The road, which soon becomes unfit for a carriage,

sometimes sinks to a level with the Gave, and sometimes rises high on

the sides of the mountain; and as my horse had a talent for stumbling,

together with a peculiar predilection for the edge of the precipice,

the insurance upon my neck would have been somewhat hazardous. Of

course during a twelve miles' ride through that part of the country,

we found a great many spots of peculiar beauty, but if I were to tell

all I saw, I should never have done with the long stories of lovely

hamlets nested in the wood that overhangs the stream, and marble

bridges that carry the road across it, and rugged mountain heads that

hide it from the sun.

At Gedre there is a famous grotto which every one talks about a great

deal more than it deserves. A deep cleft in the rock overhung with

woods, amidst the Gave de Héas to the valley, where it joins the other

river. There is a great degree of soft quiet and stillness in the

sound of the waterfall, and the deep shade of the wood hanging down

and dipping its branches in the clear pools formed at the foot of the

rock. The whole is certainly very beautiful, but not meriting the

extravagant praises which have been bestowed upon it.

At this village, Gedre, is the last general _bureau_ of the French

_douanes_, and here we were obliged to take out a kind of passport for

our horses, that they might be allowed to return, Here also I engaged

a guide, named Rondo, to conduct me the next morning to the Brèche de

Roland: and we then proceeded on our way, skirting along the foot of

Mount Comelie, till we arrived at a spot called the Chaos or Payrada,

which seems as if a mountain had been violently overthrown, and

strewed the valley with its enormous ruins. Blocks of granite

containing from ten to a hundred thousand cubic feet, scattered at

large, or piled one upon another, fill up a space of nearly half a

mile. No tree, no vegetation is to be seen; all is death, and

desolation, and silence, except where the Gave rushes angrily through

the rocks, and seems to hasten its progress to escape from such a

wilderness of destruction.

About a mile more brought us to the village of Gavernie, wildly

situated in the midst of flowers, and snows, soft fields, and

tremendous mountains.

THE CASCADE OF GAVARNIE.

Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis ævum.--HORAT. EPIST.

The village of Gavarnie once belonged to the order of the Temple, and

we were shown the little church, said to have been erected by those

military monks. There is nothing peculiar in the building, and the

only thing which pretends to interest, is a collection of skulls, said

to be those of eight knights who were beheaded on the little green, at

the time of the barbarous extermination of their order. I believe,

that as far as any truth goes, they might just as well call them the

heads of eight Roman emperors. But it is no great matter--could every

Templar come back and swear to his own, they would be the only persons

concerned after all; and till that can be the case, one head does

quite as well as another.

After visiting the church, we followed the course of the river towards

the famous Cirque de Gavarnie. On setting out from the village, it

seemed as if we could touch it; but it fled before us, and shortly a

thick cloud came over it like a veil. We walked on, however, crossing

several large basins, which had formerly been filled with water, and

arrived at last in the midst of that gigantic amphitheatre, to which

all other of nature's works appear but faint essays of her power. The

whole was at first filled with the cloud, and we could scarcely

distinguish any of the objects around; but gradually the vapour rose

and passed away, and we found ourselves standing in the midst of the

semi-circle of black marble, rising abruptly fourteen hundred feet in

height, round an area of nearly a league. There is no describing it;

the soul is lost in the vastness that it contemplates, and it is long

before the eye can comprehend the grandeur of the objects before it.

High above the amphitheatre lies the mountain, pile upon pile, to the

very sky, like gigantic steps carpeted, with snow. Nine or ten small

streams are continually pouring over the edge of the precipice, and

tracing a long white line upon its dark surface; but a river far more

considerable than the rest, shoots over the eastern side of the

amphitheatre, from a height of twelve hundred and sixty feet, forming

the famous cascade of Gavarnie.

There was still a line of heavy cloud drawn across the very summit of

the fall, and below, it separated into dense thick mist, while the

stream itself continued for ever pouring silently on between the two,

like time between two indistinct eternities. At the same time, the sun

had long, long sunk to us, and the world below was all in shadow,

while far above the cloud, glittering in a kind of golden splendour,

rose the icy summits of a far higher mountain, beaming with an airy

unearthly light, like the faint glimpse of some more brilliant world.

Description can do nothing for it, imagination can do little. It must

be seen and felt.

Although such towering heights still remained above us, we had already

risen so far, that we found the snows lying at the foot of the

amphitheatre, and were told that they never melt. After falling from

the height, the river collects in a small basin below, and forcing its

passage under the snow, forms the famous Pont de Neige[22] of

Gavarnie.

---------------

[Footnote 22: Bridge of Snow.]

---------------

Far above the Cirque de Gavarnie, and the snows and the ices which

hang upon its edge, appears another perpendicular wall of rock,

running along nearly from east to west, and forming a barrier between

France and Spain; and nearly in the centre of this, appears a deep

cleft like an embrasure--the famous Brèche de Roland. For here it is

said that the Paladin Orlando, or Roland, as he is called in France,

pursuing the army of the Moors, cleft the rock of three hundred feet

in height, with one blow of his enchanted sword, and opened a passage

into Spain. The story goes on to say, that Orlando was on horseback.

I looked in vain to see the footpath that was to conduct me the next

day to the breach. I could discover nothing but one perpendicular

precipice, and returned to Gavarnie, puzzling myself how it was to be

accomplished.

THE BRECHE DE ROLAND.

E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,

I sit me down a pensive hour to spend,

And placed as high above the storm's career,

Look down where hundred realms appear,

Lakes, forests, cities, plains extended wide,

The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

GOLDSMITH--THE TRAVELLER.

While we were at dinner, my musical-named guide, Rondo, arrived from

Gedre, and came in to speak to me, walking with the peculiar bounding

step of mountaineers. A picturesque figure he was too, with his

spear-headed pole, conical cap, cow-skin sandals, and an elegant

bissack of netted cotton, which hung under his left arm. He was a small,

slightly made mountaineer, with pale dark complexion, bright black

eyes, and a countenance lit up with calm intelligence. He told us so

many stories of accidents from storms in attempting to reach the

Brèche, that my companion whose health utterly prevented him from

ascending, became alarmed on my account, and begged me not to go

unless the day should prove perfectly clear.

At half-past three the next morning, Rondo called me; and having

dressed myself as warmly as possible, I went down stairs in the dark.

The stairs led immediately into the middle of the kitchen, on the

floor of which were stretched the beds of half a dozen families

belonging to the inn, There were mine host and hostess, her sister and

her sister's husband, and two or three cousins and their partners, on

either side; quite patriarchal. I don't know whether this proceeded

from the inn being very full, or whether it was usual, but so it was,

that in the obscurity I tripped at the first mattress, and tumbled

head foremost between a young lady and her husband, causing a sudden

and violent separation, and certainly putting asunder those whom the

church had joined together. The young lady started up, and I believe

at first, as there was no seeing in the matter, took me for her

husband, so that her first address was rather more tender than it

otherwise would have been, but at that moment Rondo came in with a

light, _sans cérémonie_, and enabled me to extricate myself from my

very doubtful situation.

We now provided ourselves with the necessary implements for our

journey: spear-headed poles, _crampons_ for our feet, a bottle of

brandy, and some cold meat, and setting out from Gavarnie, soon

arrived at the foot of the Tours de Marborée. The morning was foggy,

and by this time it had begun to drizzle; Rondo shook his head at the

weather, saying that we should have a storm; so we sat down among the

flowers, with which the whole place was carpeted, and held a council

of war.

The mountaineers always use the most figurative language, and my guide

explained to me his apprehensions; saying, that when the French mist

meets the Spanish mist on the top of the mountain, they fight for the

breach with thunder and with hail; that there had been threatening of

war in the sky for many days, but that now it menaced more than ever,

and that if the storm came when we were amidst the glaciers, where

there was no shelter, death would be our portion: for that was a

country, he said, where there was no good God.

However, never liking to give up what I have once undertaken without

succeeding, and as it appeared that if the storm overtook us before we

reached the ice, we could find some place of refuge from the hail,

which was the most dangerous enemy we had to encounter, I determined

to go on, at least as far as the snow, and then let our further

progress be determined by the weather.

Our first effort was to pass a hill composed of loose fragments of

stone, which gave way at every step. This conducted us to the foot of

the precipice, on the west side, where we paused, under a shelving

rock, till the rain had somewhat abated. Thence we went a little way

round the base, and found the path, if path it could be called, for it

was nothing but a narrow irregular break in the rock, almost as

perpendicular as the rock itself, and only more practicable on account

of the steps formed in it by the broken layers of stone.

We soon passed this, and then walking along a narrow ledge formed in

the precipice, we came to another natural stair of the same kind,

which conducted us to the height of four or five hundred feet, where

we scared two eagles, (or I rather believe vultures) from the rock,

which continued screaming and wheeling round our heads during great

part of the ascent; and doubtless we had their best wishes for our

speedy passage to the bottom.

Turning then in a degree away from the Marbarée, we came to a piece of

turf slanting in an extreme angle, and so slippy with the rain, that

we could scarcely keep our feet. We passed then again to the east, and

once more, to my great satisfaction, began climbing the firm rock; but

this did not last, and we had to change several times from rock to

turf, before I found myself at the summit of the amphitheatre, on a

level with the top of the cascade, which, as the clouds began to clear

away, I could plainly perceive projected violently over the edge of

the opposite precipice, losing itself in mist below.

It is seldom that one has an opportunity of looking down a

perpendicular height of fourteen hundred feet: and I stood enjoying

the sensation for much longer than I believe my guide judged _à

propos_, for he seemed scarcely to know whether he ought to let me

stand there or not. The tinkling of the sheep-bell, and a loud

barking, two sounds I little expected to hear there, roused me from my

dreaming, and conducted us towards the flock of a Spanish shepherd,

which was wandering at large under the care of two enormous dogs, who

now appeared mounted on the projecting rocks that flanked their

charge, baying loudly at our approach.

No shepherd was with the flock, but we soon discovered his abode by a

large iron pot of milk that stood at the entrance. He had chosen the

little hollow under a shelf of the rock, and fenced it in with a wall

of loose stones which rose breast-high, forming a dwelling of about

seven feet by four. I went up to the little wall and looked over upon

the shepherd, who lay extended on his cloak reading. I asked him what

he was about, and looking up without the least appearance of surprise,

he answered that he was _studying_. I demanded what was the subject of

his study, to which he replied by stretching out his arm towards me,

with a dirty dog's-eared book of Spanish letters on geography. It is

probable that the conversation might have lasted for some time in the

same manner, he lying on his back, and I looking over the wall, had

not Rondo come up, and desired him to give us some milk. The call on

his hospitality instantly roused him, and he sprang upon his feet, one

of the most picturesque figures I ever beheld.

He was a youth of sixteen or seventeen, of very perfect, though almost

gigantic proportions. Before he came out of his den, he placed his

large broad-brimmed hat on his head, which gave a sort of bandit

expression to his full dark eyes and sunburnt countenance: He wore two

double-breasted Spanish jackets, covered with hanging buttons. His

feet were shod with the sort of mountain sandal called _espardin_, and

in a crimson sash round his waist, he wore a sharp-pointed knife,

nearly two feet long, which though only used for the simple purpose of

cutting his bread, might have served very well on more murderous

occasions. In short, he was a most romantic sort of gentleman in

appearance; but he speedily lighted a fire, boiled us a large portion

of his milk, and pressed us to his simple treat, with a cheerfulness

and frankness smacking of ancient days. He joined with us too in

conversation; told us that it was nearly a month since he had seen a

human creature, and then it was his father, who had brought him six

loaves of the black bread he set before us.

The shepherd seemed anxious to know what brought us to the Brèche de

Roland; and when I told him, in the best Spanish I could muster, that

it was but simple curiosity, he shook his head with a smile. I asked

him why he did so, doubting whether he understood me; but he answered,

that he could not imagine any one coming to such a place unless it

were to feed sheep.

One thing, however, he told us, which set our minds perfectly at ease

with respect to the safety of our further progress. He assured us that

there were no clouds on the other side of the breach, and that there

would be no storm that day. My guide seemed to place perfect

confidence in his judgment, and with this prognostic we again set out.

After about half an hour's more climbing, the clouds entirely cleared

away, the wind blew strongly, the sun shone glittering on the snow

before us, and all announced as fine a day as we could have desired.

the mountain was all shining as if strewed with diamonds, for the last

drops of rain were crowded upon every blade of grass, and nested in

the bosom of every flower. Nature, as if to mock the snows, had

covered the whole turf to their very edge with blossoms, and the rich

blue iris, and a very delicate white flower I had never seen before,

were actually growing within the verge of the region of frost. As most

of these had already past in the valleys, I gathered as many as I

could for Madame de Gontaut; and then having fixed our _crampons_,

which were but clumsy, we proceeded to climb the ice.

To the east was an immense glacier stretching over the highest part of

the Marborée. It was of deep blue ice, and I could distinguish layer

above layer, resting nearly vertically, which prevented all approach

on that side. Stretching east and west, was the rocky wall, which

forms the highest crest of the Pyrenees, and due south, cleft through

as with a sword, the Brèche de Roland; but between us and it lay

another glacier, at an inclination of about sixty degrees, which made

the direct ascent impracticable. To the westward, however, was a large

tract of soft snow, by which we were enabled to make our way to the

side of the latter glacier, and cross instead of attempting to climb

it. We proceeded very well up the snow, for about a quarter of an

hour, at the end of which time we came to ice covered with drift, and

rendered unsound by the percolation of a stream.

Here the _crampon_ on my left foot turned round, by the strap coming

undone, and my foot gave way, but I was still firmly fixed by my

climbing-pole and my right foot. However, Rondo, who was about twenty

yards distant, was alarmed and ran to my assistance, when both his

feet slipped and he went flying like lightning towards the edge of the

precipice. I could do nothing to save him: when suddenly, after having

gone about two hundred yards, he struck his pole into the deep ice,

and having regained his feet, returned to me, as quietly as if nothing

had happened.

We now began to cross the glacier transversely, cutting steps with a

hatchet, and after passing more than one deep chasm from six inches to

two feet in breadth, we arrived at the crest of the mountain, so that

I could stretch out my hand and touch it. Between France and Spain

this natural barrier rises perpendicularly from the ice, and is said

to be from three to six hundred feet in height.

It has an extraordinary effect to stand upon those immense masses of

ice, and feel the vivid rays of the summer sun. The rarefaction of the

air did not at all affect my breathing, but the humidity had become so

condensed under the glass of my pocket-compass, that I could scarcely

ascertain the direction of the various objects. Retracing in a degree

our steps, we now without further difficulty reached the Brèche de

Roland; and here, for the first time, I turned round to contemplate

the scene below.

Mountain beyond mountain, valley leading into valley, stream flowing

into stream, till the fading distance and the boundless sky did not

meet, but blended in each other. On one side, were the whole mountains

of Bearn, on the other, the whole mountains of Aragon, far, and clear,

and blue. It seemed as if a giant ocean of enormous waves had suddenly

been frozen, and that I stood upon their highest pinnacle.

The icy barrier around appeared to cut us off from all nature. It was

perfect solitude; there was not a flower, there was not a living

creature; the very eagles we had left below: there was not a sound but

that of the lonely wind whistling shrilly through the chasm in the

mountain. Where we stood, we seemed far above creation, and at our

feet lay all the vast and varied world, nor had I ever fancied that

world so grand.

How magnificent are all thy works, great God of Nature!

THE DISCOVERY.

In coming from the mountain, while I was yet far above the surface of

the vulgar earth, I saw my friend standing, watching my descent, upon

one of the hills of shingle which lie at the bottom of Gavarnie, and I

hastened on to meet him. There was some degree of agitation in his

manner as we met, and as he grasped my hand, he said, "Do you know,

Young, something very extraordinary has happened to me since you have

been gone."

"Something extraordinary it must have been indeed," I replied, "to

stir you from your calm placidity. But, tell me, what is it?"

"Extraordinary indeed," he replied; "but come on towards the inn. Do

you know, I have seen the same appearance which has so long tormented

you--I have seen again that terrible countenance which will never quit

the memory of either of us!"

"Good God! is it possible?" I exclaimed; "then it is no delusion!"

"It is certainly the most extraordinary thing in the world," he

replied; and then proceeded to inform me, that as he was coming down

to breakfast, while looking along the dark passages at the top of the

stairs, that fearful countenance had glared upon him for a moment in

terrible distinctness. With prompt presence of mind he had instantly

rushed towards it, but found nothing but the long corridors and empty

rooms of the inn. On our return we called for the book of travellers'

names, but our own were the only English names that it contained; and

not a little agitated, we mounted our horses and returned to St.

Sauveur.

Without pausing any longer there than was merely necessary to pack the

carriage, we set out for Bagneres de Bigorre, and thence proceeded

towards Tarbes. More than once we canvassed the extraordinary

circumstance that had occurred; and notwithstanding all our efforts to

be philosophical, it is in vain to deny that I at least felt a greater

degree of superstitious awe in regard to the object which had so often

tortured me, than ever I had done before. Previously I had looked upon

it as a delusion, originating in a partial derangement of my own

brain; but now that my friend had seen it also, it acquired the

importance of a terrible reality. Every hour it weighed more and more

upon my mind, and I saw that B--- was sorry that on the impulse of the

moment he had communicated to me the fact of his having witnessed the

same strange occurrence.

As we had set out somewhat late from Bagneres, however, the shadows

were coming over the mountains long before we reached Tarbes, and as

my friend B---- was rather indisposed, we determined, if the little

town of St. Martin afforded a good inn, to halt there for the night.

Our postilion informed us that the inn was "_admirable_," and driving

up to the door we saw a crowd round it sufficient to show that it was

well frequented.

There were, amongst others, five or six gendarmes on horseback

surrounding a little cart, in which appeared a man loaded with irons,

with another police soldier beside him. What was my surprise, however,

on beholding, when the cart turned to drive off, no other than my

former servant Essex, in the person of the apparent criminal. The man

evidently saw me, and turned away his head; and as I had but slight

grounds to love his acquaintance, I took no farther notice, merely

thinking, "The rascal seems likely at length to meet his deserts."

As B---- stepped out of the carriage, however, and walked into the

inn, the landlord asked him if Monsieur had come to see the body of

the gentleman who had been murdered. He replied, by asking, what

gentleman; and, while the host answered that there was then lying in

his front room the body of a gentleman who had been murdered by his

own servant as he was coming from a château in the neighbourhood,

where he had been to pay a visit, B---- walked on to the door where,

from the number of people, and the appearance of one or two gendarmes,

it seemed the corpse lay for inspection.

The crowd made room for him to pass, and I was following, but he

suddenly drew back and grasped my arm, exclaiming, "Good God! Young,

do not come in here--and yet do! It is Wild!"

"Wild!" exclaimed I, rushing in; "what do you mean?" But there needed

no farther question. There, on the deal board, which usually served

the little _auberge_ for a public table, lay stretched the body of my

enemy, Alfred Wild, at, least if mortal eyes might be trusted. My

hand, it is true, had stretched him on the earth, my eyes had

witnessed the convulsive agony of death, the surgeon had pronounced

him to be dead, and the newspapers had announced his death; yet, there

he lay, or some one so like him, that his own father would not have

known the difference.

"Do you recognise the body, sir?" demanded one of the gendarmes, seeing

me gazing upon it with feelings which no pen can describe, so mingled

were they of hope and relief, and horror and surprise. "Do you

recognise the body? for in all the letters and papers which have been

found upon him he is called by one name which I do not choose to

mention at present, while that in his passport is Monsieur Auguste de

Vallançay."

"I think I do recognise the body," I replied; "and if it be the same

his name is not Vallançay, but Alfred Wild."

"Précisement!" replied the gendarme; "that is the name on several

letters which were found in his pockets. But we are going to send to

the gentleman at the château, whom some people believe to be his

father."

"Come away, Young," cried my friend; "this will be, at all events, a

relief to your mind, and I trust may be but one step to your

happiness. Come away; perhaps I had better go, before the horses are

taken off, and break this event to the unhappy man's father."

"No!" I answered; "No; you are unwell yourself: I will go, and perhaps

the task, painful as it is, may be some atonement for what I inflicted

on the old man before."

B---- made some opposition, but I would yield to none; and getting

into the carriage, begged the people round to direct the postilion to

the château they had mentioned. The man knew it well, and in about

three-quarters of an hour we were passing through a pair of old gray

stone gates.

It was now quite dark, and the man, half peasant, half footman, who,

after ringing five or six times, made his appearance, admitted me with

somewhat surly scrutiny to a large vestibule, in which was burning one

small ill-trimmed lamp. He then opened a door at one side, and

announced "The English gentleman" upon which a voice immediately

exclaimed, "If he had not the impudence of the devil, he would not

show his face here again--but I will soon settle that! Send him in!"

"Some mistake!" I thought, obeying the words I had overheard, rather

than the servant's half-muttered directions, and walked into a large

old-fashioned saloon, somewhat better lighted than the hall. At the

farther end was a table covered with the materials for making tea, and

at the left-hand side sat two persons, on whom my eyes were of course

instantly fixed. But before a vague sort of intuition could become

really perceptive, a cry of joy met my ear, and in a moment Emily

Somers, my own Emily, was in my arms. "It is James, papa! Oh, it is

our own dear James!" she cried, and the happy tears flowed fast and

long.

There was no mistaking the tone, the manner, or the action. Emily at

least was glad to see me, and her father seemed so also, if I might

judge by the hearty and reiterated shake of the hand which he now gave

me. But how all this, had come about remained to be explained, and it

was but by confused and desultory fits and starts that I gained an

insight into what I am now about to write down.

The first light which was thrown upon the matter was by Mr. Somers

himself, who when he found that I had come thither accidentally,

supposing the tenants of the château to be very different people, cut

across Emily's delight at seeing me, and withdrew her hand from mine.

"Stay, stay, Emily," he cried, "as Mr. Young does not know what has

occurred, it is fit that he should be informed before he commits

himself by a word. Remember, my love, his opinions may be altered as

well as our fortunes."

"No, no, papa! No, no!" replied Emily. "For once, I will be bold and

answer for him."

"But let me tell him at least," said Mr.

Somers.--"Soon after you left us for France, Mr. Young, one or two of

my speculations were unsuccessful, and left me a loser of nearly fifty

thousand pounds; but that was nothing, and would never have been felt,

had not, just afterwards, the great house of Kinnerton and Badenham,

in Calcutta, failed to an immense amount. That was a shock to many a

house, as well as mine, and people began to draw largely upon me;

still I could have done very well if the London house of the same name

had held firm; but on calling there, though they assured me of their

perfect competence to meet all claims, I saw cause to doubt. What

could I do? To press them was to make them stop sooner, without

helping myself, and, to prepare against the worst, I went to my old

friend Samuel Wild, who talked about supporting me with half a

million, if it were necessary; but when he came in the evening he made

it a condition that his son was to have my Emily.

"It was no time to trifle, and I told him all--her engagement to

you--and everything. But he replied, that his son could prove that you

did not care anything about her, and a great deal more which it is

unnecessary to repeat. We held out for long; writing to you, and

receiving no answer, and seeing every now and then letters from your

servant Essex to young Wild's valet, telling him a great many stories

about you, which we have found to be false, as we have since passed

through that part of the country and seen many who knew you and did

you justice.

"However, the matter seemed plain enough then. Difficulties increased;

the London house of K---- and B---- failed; a regular run was made

upon our bank. Old Wild stood firm, and would do nothing unless Emily

would consent. I saw nothing before me but poverty and disgrace both

for me and her, and I do believe I almost went on my knees to my own

child to save us both. Well, sir, she did consent, and immediately Mr.

Wild paid in, in one morning, three hundred thousand pounds. We

declared our intention of paying everything in gold; the credit of the

house rose higher than ever, when suddenly, who should come over but

yourself. Your letter first opened my eyes; for, by showing me that

you had been ill and unable to write for two months, and that your

servant had been playing the rascal with you, you proved to me that I

had been cheated also. Well, my dear boy, I went away to old Wild,

resolving, at all events, to do you justice, let come what would; and,

producing your letter, I told him that his son must make good his

charges or I should not suffer Emily to keep her engagement. He then

thought fit to bully, and told me, that before six-and-thirty hours

were over he would close the doors of my bank. I feared that he had

the power to do so, but still he could not take from me my honesty,

and I left him in the same determination. The first thing was, if

possible, to save my credit; and I went to several old friends,

telling them the real state, of the case, that I could meet all, but

that it might require time. They promised to meet the next morning,

and thus the day was spent without my seeing you.

"The next morning took place that unfortunate duel, and my friends

also met; but ere they came to any decision, not only all that old

Wild had paid in was drawn out of the bank, but every one, with whom

he had a word to say came pouring in with draft upon draft. There was

no stemming the current, and before noon the bank stopped. You may

conceive what a state we were all in, and then came the news that you

had killed young Wild in a duel. Poor Emily was more dead than alive;

and to make matters worse, before nightfall there was an execution in

the house. We went out of it the next morning, and, to cut my story

short, when all the affairs were wound up, which did not take a couple

of months, all debts were paid off, twenty shillings in the pound, and

eight hundred per annum clear was left for myself. So I came out, my

dear boy, triumphant; but still Emily begged me not to try it any

more, but let us live upon what we have. We determined for a time to

come to France. And now, James, if you love poor Emily Somers, with

little or nothing, as well as you loved the heiress of the rich

banker, there she is, take her, and God's blessing be upon you both."

I need not say what was my reply, but it was soon made, and I now

found that the letter which my friend B---- had written for me to

Emily had never been received by her, the house in Portland Place

having been taken possession of by Alfred Wild's father, who doubtless

had opened and returned it. My stay at Worthing, and illness there,

were known both to Emily and her father; and Mr. Somers, conceiving

that I must have seen the wreck of his affairs mentioned in the

newspapers, had himself requested my banker to tell me when he wrote

that Emily and himself were as well as could be expected, which had

been done with true commercial brevity.

Alfred Wild, in the meantime, had been carried home to his father's

house, but the report had already spread that he was dead; and from

the moment that his father saw him in the condition in which he was

brought home, the old man never spoke for any other purpose than to

give orders for persecuting the family of Mr. Somers.

Great loss of blood, however, and excessive pain--for the ball had

lodged in some very sensitive part--had made Alfred Wild faint upon

the field at the moment he was about to fire at me; but he had

suffered no mortal wound; and though he had fainted and recovered

several times ere he reached his father's house, yet before night he

was sufficiently recovered to know all that was passing round him.

Enmity towards myself and love for Emily Somers were still the

predominant passions of his heart; and conceiving some vague scheme of

obtaining her and punishing me, he besought his father to give out the

story of his death.

He found the execution of the scheme more easy than he imagined, for

the report was in all the newspapers that he had died on the spot

where he fell; and his parsimonious father's only objection arose from

the expense of putting the family in mourning and the trouble of

concealment. When he heard, however, what was the object, and that

revenge upon me and on the family of his former friend was thus to be

obtained, a chord was struck in the old man's bosom, the tone of which

was not the less powerful because it had seldom vibrated before. He

declared that he would give a hundred thousand pounds--he might have

said his heart's blood--to ruin me and the family of Mr. Somers, and

measures were instantly taken to carry his son's design fully into

effect. The death was regularly inserted in the newspapers, the whole

house was shut up, the servants were clothed in black, and those

necessarily trusted were bribed to secresy.

I am not even sure that a false funeral was not performed; but,

nevertheless, rumours of something strange got about, even before Mr.

Somers quitted London. Had I remained in England, I should most likely

have discovered the deceit; for Captain Truro had positively declared

in several circles that his friend had not died immediately, as had

been at first supposed, but, on the contrary, had revived once or

twice in the carriage on their way home. No coroner's inquest being

reported on the body, also caused doubt, and the gratuitous

announcement that the family did not intend to prosecute did not

silence rumour.

As soon as he could travel, it seems, Alfred Wild, having re-engaged

his confederate Essex in the scheme against me, set out from London

for the purpose of following Emily, who, with her father, had taken

refuge in a beautiful spot amongst the Pyrenees.

Whether it was with or without design--whether he had discovered the

dreadful delusion with which remorse tortured me, and followed me with

the fiendish purpose of confirming it--or whether his pursuing the

same course was accidental--I cannot tell, but certain it is that

during the whole of my journey through France he had been near me, and

I cannot even now be sure of which were the occasions when my fancy

deceived me, which those when I beheld his real countenance.

Speaking French like a native, and having assumed a French name, he

passed unsuspected, and at length presented himself at the château

which had been hired by Mr. Somers, in order to throw off his disguise

and pursue his claim to the hand of Emily.

Neither the worthy banker nor his daughter were much surprised by his

re-appearance, for, as I have said before, they had already learned to

doubt the story of his death; but though he made his long constancy,

the severe treatment he had suffered, and the vehemence of his

passion, all pleas for Emily's hand, she rejected him still with cold

abhorrence, and he left the house in not the best mood of mind. He,

had brought his servant Essex to the château with him, to guide him,

as the man had been previously sent forward from St. Sauveur to

discover the house.

Master and servant, however, knew each other to be base, and many a

disgraceful dispute had arisen between them already. As long as Essex

had his master in some degree in his power by possessing his secret,

he knew that he could wring as much money from Wild as he wanted; but

as soon as ever he found, by his master's visit to Mr. Somers, that

the whole was to be divulged, he determined upon a scheme for the

purpose of, at one blow, taking vengeance of Wild for some former

offences, and of enriching himself with the contents of a pocket-book

which he knew to be valuable. The proximity of Spain was a great

inducement for executing, at once, a design he had long meditated, for

Essex was citizen of the world, and with a well-furnished purse could

make himself happy in any country. Thus, as they returned on horseback

from the château, a few angry words from the master brought on a few

insolent ones from the servant. Albert Wild, it seems, must have

turned to reply; for he was found not two minutes after, with the

wound of a pistol-ball, running from temple to temple. Essex was

instantly pursued and taken by the _gardes chasses_, who came up at

the report of fire-arms, and being found with his master's pocket-book

and a lately-discharged pistol, perceived that he had lost the stake

for which he had played, confessed all, and ended his life upon the

scaffold.

---------------

I have hurried on to the conclusion of the history of Alfred Wild and

his servant; but of course, when Emily and her father had given me an

account of all that had befallen them up to the moment at which I had

again found them after so long an absence, I too had my tale to tell.

Though the first sketch was brief, yet the after details were long in

telling, for Emily would know all and everything; and while I spoke,

the deep and varied emotions which crossed her countenance, the

intense interest that every incident I related, every feeling I

acknowledged called up in the pure bland mirror of her face, was

compensation a thousand and a thousand fold for all that I had

suffered.

The pains, the cares, the sorrows of the past had taught us all that

sad lesson, the darkest, most grievous which experience forces on

us--ever present doubt of each future moment;--and it was agreed that

Emily should become mine as speedily as possible. But, alas! who can

stretch his power over the next half-hour and say, "It shall be at my

disposal!" Our marriage was appointed to take place before the end of

the month and we were making preparations to hurry back to Bordeaux

for that purpose. But Mr. Somers was obliged to attend the criminal

court at Tarbe, on the trial of the prisoner Essex. The agitation

and heat were more than he could bear, and after having given his

evidence clearly and distinctly, he was seen to fall. I hastened to

his assistance, and found that he had been suddenly struck with palsy.

Borne back to his own house, medical aid was speedily procured; and

he soon recovered the possession of all his faculties, but my

marriage with Emily was of course delayed; and the physicians having

recommended him to try the waters of Baréges, for the complete

restoration of his health, we removed thither, and remained till the

close of the season. His health certainly improved in a degree, but

still his corporeal powers were so much impaired, his danger so

great, and his situation so painful, that all thought of more joyful

events was of course put aside.

After our return from Baréges, a friend in whom he placed great

reliance, recommended him to a Parisian physician; and although we

were obliged to wait for the return of spring, we proceeded towards

the French metropolis as soon as the weather was sufficiently warm to

permit of our performing the journey without danger to the invalid. It

was accomplished by slow stages, and we arrived in Paris in the

beginning of June. For a time the health of Mr. Somers seemed to

improve under the new treatment to which he was subjected, and so far

had he proceeded in his convalescence, that my marriage with Emily was

fixed to take place within a month. The unfortunate twenty-sixth of

July, 1830, however intervened, and the outbreaking of the last French

revolution, found us tied to Paris without the possibility of quitting

a capital in which, during all former political convulsions, crimes of

the deepest dye had been committed. My anxiety for Emily and Mr.

Somers was of course very great, for no one had any right to expect

that the French populace would show such noble and magnanimous

forbearance as they then did, and the re-enactment of some, at least,

of the horrors of former days was reasonably to be anticipated. When,

however, the great struggle was over, and a revolution was effected,

which, by its splendid moderation and magnificent integrity of

purpose and accomplishment, must be received as the atonement and

expiation of the former bloody and insane catastrophe, Mr. Somers,

over-excited by the reports which we could not shut out from his ears,

relapsed into a state worse than that from which he had partially

recovered. In the mean time, I applied myself as far as possible to

relieve those individual cases of sorrow and distress which every

great social convulsion must leave behind. In the course of my efforts

for that purpose, a little narrative of suffering fell into my hands,

which may not be uninteresting--perhaps not uninstructive. It came to

me through a third person, and the ultimate fate of the unhappy man

who wrote it, I could never discover. It was as follows:--

THE HISTORY OF A FRENCH ARTISAN

DURING THE LAST REVOLUTION.

I was born in the beautiful valley of the Seine, near the small town

of Bonnières. It is a lovely place, and I will say no more of it; for

in sitting down to write all the miseries and horrors that have

visited me since I left it, the fair calm spot of my birth, and the

sweet peaceful scenes of my boyhood, rise up like the reproachful

spirit of a noble parent before a criminal son, and upbraid me for

having ever quitted my tranquil home.

My father, though but the gardener at the château, was also a small

_propriétaire_; and, in his spare time, used to cultivate his own

fields by the banks of the river. The château had been purchased by

Monsieur V----, the rich bookseller in Paris; and in hanging about

the house while a child, I became a great favourite with the good

Parisian. Still my principal patron was Monsieur le Curé of Bonnières,

who discovered in me an amazing genius for my catechism, taught me to

read and write, gave me a smattering of Latin, and declared, that if

I took pains and behaved well, he and Monsieur V---- between them,

would procure me the means of studying, and make me a clergyman like

himself.

My ambition was flattered with the prospect; and during my early

years, the dream of my future honours was always before me; but, as I

grew up and learnt to dance upon the green with the girls of the

village, my sentiments insensibly changed. I began to think of leaving

off dancing, and being grave, and serious, and never marrying--each

with an augmented degree of horror. The decisive blow, however, was

struck, when I had seen three times Mariette Dupont. We were both as

young as we well could be to fall in love; but she was so beautiful,

and her soft dark eyes looked so imploringly into one's heart, that

from the very first moment I saw her, I felt an inclination to put my

arm round her, and say, "Thou shalt be my own; and I will guard thee

from sorrow, and care, and adversity; and shelter thee from every

blast that blows in the bleak cold world around."

But on this I must not pause either, for the memory of such dreams is

bitterness. The matter went on--I loved Mariette, and she----Ay! that

joy is at least my own--lasting--imperishable, and the annihilation

of a world could not take it from me--She loved me--deeply, truly,

devotedly--through life--to the tomb!

Years flew by; and we were married; for my father had never liked the

thought of my becoming a priest, which he looked upon as being buried

alive. He said I should do much better to labour as my ancestors had

done; or, since I had a superior education, could read and write, and

understood Latin, I might easily make my fortune in Paris. So he

willingly gave his consent to my marriage with Mariette. Monsieur

V---- the bookseller, said it was always right to let fools have their

own way; and the Curé frowned and united us, merely observing, that

he had bestowed his time and attention very much in vain.

By my father's counsel, we determined to go to Paris immediately, for

he and my brother were both sure that I should there become a great

man, and Mariette had no doubt of it. "Besides," my father said, "if

you do not get on there, you can come back here, and help to take care

of our own ground, while I work at the château."

To Paris we went, and took a small lodging in the Faubourg

Poissonnier, where, for two or three weeks, Mariette and myself spent

our time and our money in love and amusement. We were not extravagant,

but we were thoughtless; and surely a three weeks' thoughtlessness was

but a fair portion for such happiness as we enjoyed.

At length I began to think of seeking something to do; and I had

sufficient self-confidence to fancy I could even write in a newspaper.

Forth I went to propose myself; and Marietta's eyes told me how high

were her anticipations of my success. To the proprietors of the

Constitutionnel, my first application was made; but the gentleman I

saw bent his ear to catch, my provincial jargon--looked at me from

head to foot--told me I was dreaming; and turned upon his heel. How I

got out of the house I know not; but when I found myself in the street,

my head swam round, and my heart swelled with mingled indignation,

shame, and disappointment.

It required no small effort to force myself to enter the office of

another newspaper of much repute. Here I mentioned my pretensions, in

a humbler tone, and only proposed that something from my pen might be

received as an experiment. The clerk to whom I spoke bore my message

into an inner room, and returned with a calm, business-like face, to

inform me that all departments were full.

This had occupied me the whole morning; and I now returned to

Mariette, who instantly read my mortification in my countenance. She

asked no questions, but only cast her arms round my neck, and with a

smile, which was not gay, though it was not desponding, she whispered,

"Do not be vexed, Frank. They cannot know yet how clever you are. When

they see more of you, they will be glad enough to have you. Besides,

we can go back again to Bonnières."

The thought of returning unsuccessful to my own home, was not what I

could endure. I imagined the cold eye of the curate; and the

disappointment and surprise of my father and brother; and the jeers

and the wonder of the whole village; and I determined to do anything

rather than go back to Bonnières.

The landlord of our lodgings was a tinman, a great politician, and a

literary man. All his information, however, was gathered from a paper

called the G----, which he cited on every occasion. To the office of

the G---- then, I went, after dinner; and, having taken a couple of

turns before the door, to gather resolution, I went and modestly asked

when I could see the editor. One of the young men in the office

answered that Monsieur ---- was then in the house, and ushered me into

another room. Here I found a gentleman writing, who looked up with a

pleasant and intelligent expression and pointing to a seat, asked my

business.

As I explained it to him, his countenance took a look of great

seriousness; and he replied, "I am extremely sorry that no such

occupation as yeti desire can be afforded you by the editors of the

G----, for we have applications every day, which we are obliged to

reject, from writers of known excellence. I am afraid, also that you

will find much difficulty in obtaining what you seek, for one of the

worst consequences of bad government is now affecting the whole of

France. I mean the undue proportion between the number of the

population and the quantity of employment. Where the fault lies, I

must not presume to say, but that there must be a great fault

somewhere is evident; otherwise every man who is willing to labour,

would find occupation."

It has struck me since, that there must often be causes for want of

employment, which no government could either control or remedy; but,

at the time, his reasoning seemed excellent; and all I felt was

renewed disappointment, and a touch of despair, which I believe showed

itself very plainly in my face, for the editor began to ask me some

farther questions, which soon led me to tell him my precise situation.

He mused, and seemed interested; but for a moment replied nothing. At

length, looking at me with a smile, he said, "Perhaps, what I am about

to propose to you, may be very inferior to your expectations;

nevertheless it will afford you some occupation."

The very name of occupation was renewed life, and I listened with

eagerness, while he offered to recommend me to a printer, as what is

called a reader, or corrector of the press. I embraced his proposal

with unutterable thankfulness; and having ascertained that I was

capable of the task, by, some proof-sheets that lay upon the table, he

wrote a note, to Monsieur M----, the printer and put it into my hand.

I could almost have knelt and worshipped him, so great was the change

from despair to hope.

With the letter in my hand I flew to the printing-house, was tried and

received; and, though the emolument held out was as small as it well

could be, my walk home was with the springing step of joy and

independence; and my heart, as I pressed Mariette to my bosom, and

told her my success, was like that of a great general in the moment of

victory, before the gloss of triumph has been tarnished by one regret

for the gone, or one calculation for the future. I was soon installed

in my new post; and though what I gained was barely enough for the

necessaries of life, yet it sufficed; and there was always a dear warm

smile in the eyes I loved best, which cheered and supported me

whenever I felt inclined to despond or give way.

It is true, I often regretted that I could not procure for Mariette

those comforts and those luxuries which I little valued myself; but

she seemed to heed them not, and every privation appeared to her a

matter of pride--to be borne rather as a joy than a care. Six months thus

passed; and they were the happiest of my life, for though I laboured,

I laboured in the sunshine. I had perfectly sufficient time also, to

make myself thoroughly acquainted with the whole art of printing, and

to fit myself for the task of a compositor, which, though more

mechanical, was more lucrative; and it became necessary that I should

gain more, as a change was coming over Mariette which promised us new

cares and new happiness. Strange, that when I looked upon her languid

features, and her altered shape, she seemed to me a thousand times

more lovely, than in all the fresh graces of expanding womanhood! And

when fears for her safety mingled with the joy of possessing her--when

her calm sweet eyes rested long and fixedly upon me, as if she strove

to trace out the image of her future child in the looks of its

father--a new and thrilling interest appeared to have grown up between

us, which was something more than love.

At length, one of the compositors having gone to conduct a printing

office at Rennes, my object was accomplished; and I obtained his

vacant place. Still the emoluments were infinitely small, for the book

trade was bad, and of course the printers suffered. Sometimes there

was plenty of work, and sometimes there was none; and the whole of my

companions murmured highly at the government, whose imbecility and

tyrannical conduct, they said, had destroyed the commerce of the

country; and done everything to ruin and degrade the press. There was

many a busy whisper amongst us, that nothing could save the nation but

a new revolution; and as we all felt more or less the sharp tooth of

want, we madly thought that no change would be detrimental to us. I

doubted some of the opinions that I heard; but one of my comrades

worked at the G----, which had now become a daily paper, and he used

often to give us long quotations, which convinced us all that the

government was opposed to the wishes of the whole nation, and that any

change must be for the better.

During the autumn, I contrived to save some little portion of my

wages; but the rigour of the winter, and the quantity of wood we were

obliged to burn, soon consumed all that I had laid by; so that the

provision for Mariette's confinement became a matter of serious and

dreadful anxiety. One morning, however, I received a letter from my

brother, telling me that my father had died suddenly on the preceding

night. I will not rest upon all that I felt. I had always been the

slave of my imagination; and it had been one of my favourite vanities

to think how proud my father's heart would be to see me raise myself

high in the world, and how comfortable I should be able to render his

old age, when the smile of fortune should be turned upon me. But now

he was dead, and those dreams all broken.

The little patch of ground which we possessed was of course divided

between me and my brother; and my portion was instantly sold to

provide for the occasion which was so near at hand. The depression of

all property, and the haste with which I was obliged to effect the

sale, rendered it the most disadvantageous that can be conceived; and

what with the expenses of Mariette's confinement, a long illness

which she underwent after, and a fit of sickness which I suffered

myself--before the end of March my stock of money was reduced to fifty

francs.

Work was by this time sufficient and regular, so that I could maintain

myself, Mariette, and our boy. We had, indeed, no superfluity; we knew

no luxury; and the external enjoyments which I saw many possessing,

far less worthy than ourselves, were denied to us.

Mariette bore it all with cheerfulness, but I grew gloomy and

discontented, and the continual murmurs at the government, which I

heard amongst my companions, wrought upon me. I gradually began to

dream that everything unpleasant in my situation was attributable to

the state of society in which I lived. Every political change now

seemed to irritate and affect me. Whereas, before I heard a word of

politics, I used to work on with hope and activity, encountering

hardships boldly, and feeling them the less, because I did not let my

mind rest upon them, I now dwelt upon every uncomfort, and magnified

it in my own eyes for the purpose of making it a greater reproach to

the government, whose evil measures, I thought, caused it. I would

pause long in my work to read scraps from a newspaper, and to comment

on the folly and tyranny of our rulers; and thus I met several

reproofs for my slowness and negligence.

The fires in Normandy I heard of with indignation and horror, and I

attributed them all to the ministers, whose wickedness I thought was

capable of any baseness, till one day I heard one of my more violent

companions observe, that the incendaries were very much in the right,

to burn down the barns and destroy the grain, as by making the great

mass of the people as miserable and pennyless as themselves, they

would force them to bring about a revolution, which would set all

things to rights. Besides, he asked, what right had a rich man to

corn, when the poor were starving?

The elections for the chamber of deputies were another great source of

anxiety to me; and when I found they were all liberal, I felt nearly

as much satisfaction as if I had been elected myself. At length the

meeting of the chambers approached; and many a warm discussion took

place amongst the journeymen printers, on the questions likely to be

brought under consideration. Every one said that the ministers must go

out, or dissolve the chambers; but many observed with a shrewd glance,

that neither the dissolution of the chambers, nor the resignation of

the ministers, would satisfy the people. "We must have a change,"

they said--"complete change;" and several began to talk boldly of

revolution.

The continual irritation and discontent I felt, had their effect on my

countenance; and Mariette grew anxious about me. She did all she could

to soothe me--sat with her arms round my neck, and endeavoured to

persuade me that I should be happier if I did not think of politics.

"Kings and governments," she said, and said truly, "could only provide

for the general good; and that there must always be many in every

country whose fate destined them to labour and live hard. She could

not but think," she added, "that the way to be happy, was for every

one to try, by his own exertions, to improve his own condition; and

neither to envy his neighbour nor to meddle with affairs in which he

was not well practised."

She sought to induce me, too, to return to Bonniéres. We had never

been so happy since we left it; and so sweetly, so perseveringly did

she urge a request which I saw was made for my sake more than her own,

that at length I consented to go, and, quitting all the vain dreams

which had led me to Paris, to re-assume the class and occupation of my

fathers.

We had not money to go by the diligence; but we were both good

walkers; and the baby, being brought up by hand--and that upon the

simplest food--would prove but little encumbrance.

This determination was taken on Sunday the 25th of July, and the next

day I gave my employer notice that, at the end of the month, I should

quit him. In the meantime we determined to save every sous that was

possible, in order to provide for our expenses by the way, for which

we had hitherto made no reserve.

On the Monday following, I joined the rest of the printers, and we

worked through the day in tranquillity. At night, however, as I was

returning over the Pont Neuf, I met one of my companions, who grasped

my hand, asking, with a look of intense eagerness, "If I had heard the

news?" The suddenness of the question, and his look of anxiety,

alarmed me. I knew not well what I dreaded, but, at all events, my

fears were all personal. His tale soon relieved me of my apprehensions

for Mariette and our child; but raised my indignation to the highest

pitch against the government. The King, he told me, had violated the

charter, struck at the liberty of the press, altered the law of

election, and reduced the people to a nation of slaves.

Distant shouts met our ears as we were crossing the Rue St. Honoré;

and hurrying on in the direction from which they proceeded, we came

upon an immense multitude; who were breaking the lamps, and yelling

execrations against the government.

I was well enough inclined to join them; but remembering Mariette, I

returned home, and told her all that occurred. As I spoke, a paleness

came over her beautiful face, so unusual, so ghastly, that it made me

start. It seemed as if some warning voice had told her that every

happy dream was at an end--that the eternal barrier had fallen between

us and joy for ever. The next morning everything seemed to have passed

by, which had disturbed the tranquillity of the town on the previous

evening--the streets were quiet, and the people engaged in their usual

occupations. Mariette mind appeared somewhat calmed; but still she

looked at me anxiously, as she saw me about to depart, and made me

promise more than once, that I would go straight to my work, without

mingling with any mob I might see.

I kept my word; and, though I saw several groups of people gathering

round the corners of the streets, where the obnoxious ordonnances were

posted up, I did not even stop to read, but hurried on to the

printing-house with all speed. The scene in the work-rooms was

different from any I had ever beheld. All the presses were standing

still; and the workmen, gathered into knots, were each declaiming more

violently than the other, on the infamy and folly of the government;

and, with furious gestures, vowing vengeance. The overseer came in

soon after, and with some difficulty got us to our work; but, about

twelve o'clock; the proprietor of the establishment himself appeared,

and told us to leave off our labours.

"My good friends," said he, "the government has annihilated the

liberty of the press. The type of several of the journals has been

seized this morning. Our liberties are at an end without we secure

them by our own force. Far be it from me to counsel tumult or

bloodshed--the law is quite sufficient to do us justice. However, I

have determined, as well as Monsieur Didot and all the other printers,

to cease business, and discharge my workmen." We were then paid the

small sum owing to each, and dismissed, with a caution to be quiet and

orderly, and to trust to the law; though the very fact of turning out

a number of unemployed and discontented men, upon such a city as

Paris, seemed to me the very best possible way of producing that

tumult which we were warned to avoid.

I soon after found, that it was not alone the printers who had been

discharged, but that almost all the workmen in the city had been

suddenly thrown out of employment. As I returned home, there was a

sort of ominous silence about the town that had something fearful in

it. Not ten persons were to be seen upon the Quais, which are usually

so crowded; and it seemed as if the whole population had been

concentrated on particular points.

To my great surprise, on entering my lodging, I found my brother

sitting with Mariette, and holding our infant on his knee, while the

child looked up in his face and smiled, as if it knew that those were

kindred eyes which gazed upon it. My brother soon told me the occasion

of his coming to Paris, which was to buy seeds and plants for the

hot-house at the Château; and about three o'clock, as everything was

quiet, I went out with him.

As we passed onward, we soon saw that all was not right. The shops

were closed--the gates of the Palais Royal were shut--groups of gloomy

faces were gathered at every corner--and the whole town wore the dull,

heavy aspect of a thunder-cloud, before the storm bursts forth in all

its fury. A few gendarmes were to be seen, but no extraordinary

military force appeared; and gradually the same sort of yelling shouts

came upon our ear that I had heard the night before.

As we approached the Rue St. Honoré, the cries became louder; and

turning down the Rue des Bons Enfans, we found ourselves suddenly in

the crowd from which they proceeded. It consisted of about five

hundred men and boys, all unarmed. Some had stones in their hands, and

some had sticks; but no more deadly weapons could I discern amongst

them. A great proportion of the mob were discharged printers, and I

was instantly recognised by several of my fellow-workmen, drawn into

the crowd with my brother, who was very willing to go, and hurried on

towards the Place Vendôme, whither the rioters were directing their

steps, with the purpose of attacking the house of Monsieur de

Peyronnet, one of the obnoxious ministers.

The numbers in the Rue St. Honoré were in no degree tremendous; but as

we entered the place Vendôme, I saw an equal body coming up the Rue

Castiglione, and another approaching by the Rue de la Paix. A largo

force of mounted gendarmerie was dawn up in the square; and shortly

after, a party of the guard, and the troops of the line, appeared.

There seemed to be considerable hesitation on both parts to strike the

first blow; and as long as we kept to shouts the military remained

passive. What took place towards Peyronnet's house, I could not

discover, my view being obstructed by the heads of the people; but

there seemed a considerable tumult in that direction; and a moment

after, a lad beside me threw an immense brick at the head of the

officer of gendarmerie, crying, "A bas le Roi! Vive la Charte!"

The missile took effect, knocked off the officer's hat, and covered

his forehead with a stream of blood. That instant the word was given

to charge; and in a moment we were driven down the Rue St. Honoré in

confusion and terror. My brother could not run so fast as I could, and

at the corner of the Palais Royal, I found, that he was left several

yards behind, while the horses were close upon him. I instinctively

started back to assist him, and seeing no other means, I seized a

wine-cask that stood at one of the doors, and rolled it with all my

strength between him and the soldiers. The nearest gendarme's horse

stopped in full course, stumbled and fell over the barrel. A loud

shout of gratulation and triumph burst from the people; and turning in

their flight, they discharged a shower of bricks and stones upon the

advancing cavalry, which struck more than one horseman from his

saddle, and afforded time for my brother and myself to join the rest,

which we did amidst great cheering and applause, as the first who had

actually resisted the military. Elated by the cheer, my brother

entered with enthusiasm into the feelings of the multitude, while I

felt as if I had committed a crime, in injuring men who were but doing

their duty.

A temporary cessation of hostility now occurred between the people and

the soldiery. The gendarmerie established themselves in the Place du

Palais Royal, some troops of the line took possession of the Rue St.

Honoré, and the mob occupied the end of the Rue Richelieu, and the

corners of the Rue Montpensier, where the new and incomplete buildings

afforded plenty of loose stones, which were soon again used as

missiles against the gendarmes. I would fain now have got away and

returned home, but my brother would remain; and my companions,

remembering the affair of the barrel, put me forward as a kind of

leader; so that vanity joined with enthusiasm to make me continue,

while the thought of Mariette came from time to time across my memory

with a thrill of dispiriting anxiety.

The next two hours passed all in tumult. The soldiers charged us

several times, and we fled, but still returned to our position as they

re-assumed theirs. Many shots were fired, but few tell, and muskets,

fowling-pieces, pistols, and swords began to appear amongst the crowd,

while in one or two places I discerned the uniform of the National

Guard, and two or three youths from the Polytechnic School. Darkness

soon after this came on; the multitudes opposed to the soldiery were

increasing every minute, and a cry began to run through the crowd, "To

the gunsmiths' shops! To the gunsmiths' shops!"

Instantly this suggestion was obeyed. We dispersed in a moment. Every

gunsmith's shop in the neighbourhood was broken open, and almost

before I was aware, I was armed with a double-barrelled gun and a

brace of pistols, and provided with powder and ball. The shop from

which these instruments of slaughter were procured was one at the end

of the Rue Vivienne, and as I came out, I paused to consider which way

I should now turn.

"Let us go to the Corps de Garde near the Exchange," cried one of the

men who had been near me all the day. "Lead on, _mon brave_," he

continued, laying his hand upon my shoulder, "you shall be our

captain." I looked round for my brother, but he was no longer there,

and I followed the man's suggestion. As we went, by the advice of one

of the Polytechnic School, we put out all the lamps, and spread the

cry everywhere to do the same.

It was now quite dark, and our numbers increased at every step as we

advanced. Opposite the Corps de Garde, at the Bourse, a small body of

soldiers was drawn up, and two or three torches were lighted. A

warning to stand off! was given, as soon as the troops heard our

approach, and as we still advanced, increasing our pace, a volley

instantly followed. A ball whistled close by my ear and made me start,

but still I rushed on; and the soldiers, seeing the multitude by which

they were attacked, attempted to retreat into the guard-house.

We were upon them, however, before the doors could be closed, and a

terrific struggle took place, man to man. One strong fellow closed

with me, and the strife between us soon grew for life. Our feet

slipped, as we fell together, rolling over and over, wrapped, with a

sort of convulsive fold, in each other's arms, All thought was out of

the question; but suddenly getting one of my hands free, I brought the

muzzel of a pistol close to my opponent's head, and fired, For an

instant his fingers pressed more tightly round my throat--then every

muscle was in a moment relaxed, and as I sprang up, he rolled

backwards on the pavement.

The fury of excitement was now upon me, and hearing some shots still

ringing within the guard-house, I was rushing towards it, when I

perceived the multitude pouring forth, and a thick smoke with some

flashes of flame, streaming from the windows. The guard-house was on

fire, and in an instant the sky was in a blaze. I stood to look at it,

for a moment, as the fire-light flashed and flickered upon the dark

and demon-like figures that surrounded the pile, and on the various

dead bodies that lay in the open space the people had left, as in awe,

between them and the destruction they had wrought. It was a fearful

sight--sweet memories of peace and home rushed upon my brain--I

shuddered at my own deeds, and turning from the whole vision of

excited passion before my eyes, I ran as hard as I could to reach my

home.

O never did I feel the thought of returning to the secure arms of her

I loved, so exquisite, as at that moment! and I flew up the stairs

rather than ran. I opened the door and entered. Mariette was kneeling

by the cradle of our child. She did not hear me come in. I pronounced

her name. At first she made no reply; but then turned round with a

face that will haunt me to the grave and pointed to the cradle. I

sprang forward and looked. There were traces of blood and bloody

bandages strewed about, and round the poor infant's white and delicate

shoulder were the compresses and dressings of a fresh wound.

"Good God, Mariette!" I exclaimed, "how is this? How?"

"I heard firing in the streets," she answered, with an awful degree of

calmness, "I feared for my husband--ran out to see; and not daring to

leave it all alone, I took my child to death. I had scarcely gone a

yard, when a shot struck it my arms."

Through the whole of that dreadful night, Mariette and I sat by the

cradle of our dying child--silent as the grave, with our eyes fixed

upon its pale and ashy countenance, and hardly daring to lift our

looks towards each other. From time to time it gave a faint and

torturing cry, but in general, seemed in a panting sort of sleep, till

towards four in the morning, when the breathing stopped, and I know

not what gray shadow fell over its calm sweet face. I did not think it

was dead; but Mariette threw her arms round my neck, and hid her eyes

upon my bosom.

It was nearly midday on the Wednesday, when one of my companions came

to tell me that the man who, it was reported, had been seen with me

the day before, had been killed by a shot on the Boulevards, and I

hastened after the messenger to ascertain the truth; for my brother

had not yet re-appeared. He led me to the door of the Exchange, over

which the tri-coloured flag was now flying in triumph, but on each

side of the gate was stretched a dead corpse, and the first I saw was

indeed my brother. Rage and revenge took possession of my whole heart.

I joined the brave men who were marching down to the Place de Grève;

and from that moment, I entered into every act of the revolution, with

all the enthusiasm, the zeal, the fury of the rest.

It is needless to detail every scene I witnessed, and every struggle

in which I shared. Suffice it, I was in most of those that

occurred--at the taking and re-taking of the Hôtel de Ville--at the

storming of the Louvre, and at the capture of the Tuileries. The

enthusiasm amongst us was immense and overpowering; and the moderation

and heroism with which it was conducted, reconciled me fully to the

revolution. From time to time I ran home to soothe and console my poor

Mariette, and to snatch a mouthful of bread, for our purse was now so

low that we did not dare to purchase anything else. Mariette ate

little while I was there, but she assured me that she had plenty, and

that she generally took something while I was gone in the middle of

the day. Grief and anxiety had worn her sadly; the lustre had quitted

her eye, and the rose had left her cheek: and she looked at me so

sadly, so painfully, as I went away, that every time I determined it

should be the last.

At length the royal troops were beaten out of Paris, and the palace

where monarchs had revelled, fell into the hands of the people. A few

of the National Guard and a few of the common people was selected, as

to a post of high honour, to guard the Tuileries during the night,

under the command of a student of the Polytechnic School. I was one of

those fixed upon; and having sent, by a comrade, a message to

Mariette, which he forgot to deliver, I remained for the night in

those scenes of ancient splendour. There was something awfully

melancholy in the solitary palace and feeling of compassion for the

dethroned king grew over my heart as I sat in the midst of the

magnificent halls that he might never see again. As soon as we were

relieved the next morning, I flew to Mariette. She had passed a night

of the most dreadful anxiety, my comrade having, as I have said, never

delivered my message. Her eye was hollow and her cheek was sunk, but

all seemed forgotten when she beheld me safe; and seeing me fatigued

and faint, she made me eat some bread and drink a glass of water,

almost weeping that she had not something better to give me.

As the last bit touched my lip, a vague thought struck me that she had

had none herself, and I insisted on her telling me. She cast her arms

round me, and assured me with a smile, that it did her more good to

see me eat than to take anything herself; but I at length drew from

her that all our money was expended, and that she had not tasted

anything for two days.

I thought I should have gone distracted; and after remaining for a few

minutes stupified as it were, I ran to the printing-house to see if I

could get work, and induce the overseer to advance me a single franc

to buy some bread for my poor Mariette.

The office, however, was shut up, and I knocked in vain for

admittance. I then turned to the lodging of one of my fellow-printers,

who might lend me, I thought, even a few sous. I hurried up the narrow

dirty staircase where he lived, and went into his room; but the sight

I saw soon convinced me he wanted assistance as much as I did. He was

sitting at an uncovered table, with five children of different ages

about him. His cheek was wan and hollow; and as I entered, he fixed

his haggard eye upon the door, while his little girl kept pulling him

importunately by the arm, crying, "Give me a piece, papa--I will have

a piece of bread." "Lend me a franc," cried he, as soon as he saw me;

"my children are starving--I will pay you when I get work."

I told him my own condition; but he burst forth in the midst, as if

seized with a sudden frenzy, trembling with passion, and his eye

glaring like that of a wild beast. "You are one of the revolutionists

too. God's curse and mine upon you! See what your revolutions have

brought! My children are starving--every artizan in Paris is beggared

and unemployed. I am starving--my wife is dying for want of medicines

in that bed--all these dear infants are famished; and all by your

cursed revolutions! Out of my sight! Begone! for fear I commit a murder."

With a heart nearly breaking I returned home, and folding my poor

Mariette in my arms, I gave way to tears, such as had never stained my

cheeks before. She tried to sooth me--and smiled and told me that

really she was not hungry--that she did not think she could eat if she

had anything: but oh! I could not deceive myself. I saw famine on her

cheek, and heard faintness in her tone; and after a long fit of

thought, I determined to go to Monsieur V----, the great bookseller,

who had been so kind to me while a boy. I told Mariette my errand, and

as Paris was now nearly as quiet as ever, she willingly let me go.

It was a long way, and I had to cross the whole city, so that it was

late when I arrived. Even then I found that Monsieur V---- was out;

but the servant told me I could see him the following morning at nine.

With this cold news I was forced to return; and no one can conceive

what a miserable night I spent, thinking that every hour was an hour

of starvation to the dear creature by my side. She lay very still but

she slept not at all, and I felt sure that the want of rest must wear

her as much as hunger.

When I rose, she seemed rather sleepy, and said she would remain in

bed, and try for some repose, as she had not closed her eyes since

Monday. It was too early to go to Monsieur V----, so I hurried first

to the printing-office, for I hoped the tranquillity which was now

returning, might have caused Monsieur M---- to resume his usual

business. I only found the porter, who told me that there was no

chance of the house opening again for weeks at least, if not months,

and with a chilled heart I proceeded to the house of Monsieur V----.

Admission was instantly granted me, and I found the great bookseller

sitting at a table with some written papers before him, on which he

was gazing with an eye from which the spirit seemed withdrawn to rest

upon some deep absorbing contemplation within. He was much changed

since I had seen him, and there were in his appearance those

indescribable traces of wearing care, which often stamp, in legible

characters, on the countenance, the misfortunes which man would fain

hide from all the world. There was a certain negligence, too, in his

dress, which struck me; but as he received me kindly, I told him all

my sorrows, and all my wants.

As I spoke, his eyes fixed upon me with a look of painful and intense

interest, and when I had done, he rose, closed the door, and took a

turn or two thoughtfully in the room. "What has ruined you," said he

at length, pausing before me, and speaking abruptly, "has ruined me.

The revolution we have just passed through has been great and glorious

in its character, and all the world must look upon it with admiration;

but it has made you and me, with hundreds, nay thousands, of

others--beggars--ay, utter beggars. It is ever the case with

revolutions. Confidence is at an end throughout the country, and

commerce receives a blow that takes her centuries to recover. The

merchant becomes a bankrupt--the artizan starves. I have now seen two

revolutions, one bloody and extravagant, the other generous and

moderate, and I do not believe that at the end of either of them,

there was one man in all France who could lay his hand upon his heart

and say, that he was happier for their occurrence; while millions in

want and poverty, and millions in mourning and tears, cursed the day

that ever infected them with the spirit of change.

"To tell you all in one word: within an hour from this time I am a

bankrupt, and I am only one of the first out of thousands. Those

thousands employ each thousands of workmen, and thus the bread of

millions is snatched from their mouths. I do not say that revolutions

are always wrong; but I do say that they always bring a load of

misery, especially to the laborious and working classes--and now leave

me, good youth. There is a five-franc piece for you. It is all I can

give you, and that, in fact, I steal from my creditors. I pity you

from my soul, and the more perhaps, because I feel that I need pity

myself."

The five-franc piece he gave me, I took with gratitude and ecstasy. To

me it was a fortune, for it was enough to save my Mariette. I hastened

home with steps of light, only pausing to buy a loaf and a bottle of

wine. I ran up stairs--I opened the door. Mariette had not risen. She

slept, I thought--I approached quietly to the bed. All was still--too

still. A faintness came over my heart, and it was a moment or two

before I could ascertain the cause of the breathless calm that hung

over the chamber. I drew back the curtain, and the bright summer

sunshine streamed in upon the cold--dead--marble cheek of all that to

me had been beautiful and beloved!

---------------

When the extraordinary heat of the weather which, during the whole of

July was extremely oppressive, had somewhat subsided, a slight change

for the better took place in our invalid; and our hopes of a permanent

amendment of his health began to revive. One night, however, after

Emily and myself had been gazing from the balcony of the hotel over

the gardens of the Tuileries, and watching star after star come out in

the deepening sky, we turned back into the room, and sitting down at

her writing-desk, I wrote upon a scrap of paper some of the feelings

with which the night always filled my heart, and which fell without an

effort into verse.

THE NIGHT.

The night--the night--the solemn night!

The silent time of thought;

The kingdom of the pale moonlight

And mem'ry, when things gone and bright

Are back to mortals brought.

The night--the night--the brilliant night

Clothed in her starry robe:

When sweet to Hope's ecstatic sight,

Come future dreams that day's hard light

Had banished from the globe.

The night--the night--the peaceful night!

The pause, when each calm joy,

Which Time, that oft unpitying wight,

Has spared or granted in his flight,

Is known without alloy.

The night--the night--how dear the night!

Since now its dreams are sweet;

Since Hope and Love have made it bright,

And changing darkness into light,

Have bade its shadows fleet.

"Take another sheet of paper, my dear boy," said Mr. Somers, when he

saw that I had done, "and be kind enough to write a note for me." I

did as he requested, when, to the surprise of Emily, and myself, he

dictated a letter to the chaplain of the embassy, expressing his wish

that he would perform the marriage ceremony between his daughter and

myself on the morning of the Thursday following. It was then Tuesday,

and a few words of astonishment rather than opposition broke from

Emily's lips, but he added at once, "Let it be so, my dear child! It

is your father's particular request."

Emily said no more; but hid her eyes for a moment on his bosom, and

the note was dispatched. With the greatest possible privacy the

ceremony was performed, and Mr. Somers, who had made an effort to be

present, was lifted into the carriage, and proceeded with us to a

house we had taken for the time, in the Val de Montmorency. The next

day he appeared greatly better; but at night, about half an hour after

he had left us, his servant came suddenly to call us, and, running to

his room with Emily, we found him with the last breath of life hanging

on his lips. All medical aid proved vain, and when it was all over,

Emily and I both felt that it must have been some presentiment of

approaching fate that had caused him to hurry our marriage.

Emily has now been long my own, linked to me for life by that sweet

indissoluble bond which no two hearts worthy of happiness ever wished

less firm and permanent than it is. Changes may come over my destiny,

misfortunes may fall upon me again, but I look calmly on to the

future; and fear not that such sorrows will ever darken the autumn of

my days as those which frowned upon their spring, and which it has

been my task to detail in the foregoing pages.[23]

---------------

[Footnote 23: To guard against all mistakes, it may be as well to

state, that all the tales, etc., which appear in the preceding pages,

are the productions of one author, whether they be placed in the

mouths of various persons or not, with the single exception of that

called a "Young Lady's Story," which occupies ten pages, and is placed

here principally to convince her that the efforts of her pen lose

nothing by comparison with those of an old and practised writer.

It was my intention to have given a list of errata which the reader

will have perceived are exceedingly numerous in the preceding pages.

Their numbers indeed prevent me from fulfilling that purpose, and I

think it but fair to remark, that though at least one half of them may

perhaps be attributable to the printers, the other half must rest upon

my own shoulders, as nothing has so soporific an effect upon me, as

the reading of my own works, and the very dullest work of another will

keep me awake, when two pages of what I call my wittiest compositions

will send me sound asleep. Heaven forbid that they should have the

same effect upon others, at any time but that at which "nature's sweet

restorer" may be especially requisite to the refreshment of the mental

or corporeal faculties of my readers.]

---------------

THE END.