THE COURIER’S PASSPORT.
A second night succeeded the long dreary day of the diligence, and the
only one agreeable reflection arose in the feeling that every mile
travelled, was diminishing the chance of pursuit, and removing me still
further from that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soon to
furnish gossip for Paris—under the title of “The Affaire O’Leary.”
How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerous and embarrassing
difficulties of his position, gave me, I confess, less uneasiness than
the uncertainty of my own fortunes. Luck seemed ever to befriend him—me
it had always accompanied far enough through life to make its
subsequent desertion more painful. How far I should blame myself for
this, I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the fact in a
melancholy and discontented mood. The one thought uppermost in my mind
was, how will Lady Jane receive me—am I forgotten—or am I only
remembered as the subject of that unlucky mistake, when, under the
guise of an elder son, I was feted and made much of. What pretensions I
had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectations of any
kind, to seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the day, with the
largest fortune as her dowry, I dare not ask myself—the reply would
have dashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have at once been
abandoned. “Tell the people you are an excellent preacher,” was the
advice of an old and learned divine to a younger and less experienced
one—“tell them so every morning, and every noon, and every evening, and
at last they will begin to believe it.” So thought I. I shall impress
upon the Callonbys that I am a most unexceptionable “parti.” Upon every
occasion they shall hear it—as they open their newspapers at
breakfast—as they sip their soup at luncheon—as they adjust their
napkin at dinner—as they chat over their wine at night. My influence in
the house shall be unbounded—my pleasures consulted—my dislikes
remembered. The people in favour with me shall dine there three times
a-week—those less fortunate shall be put into schedule A. My opinions
on all subjects shall be a law—whether I pronounce upon politics, or
discuss a dinner: and all this I shall accomplish by a successful
flattery of my lady—a little bullying of my lord—a devoted attention to
the youngest sister—a special cultivation of Kilkee—and a very
“prononce” neglect of Lady Jane. These were my half-waking thoughts, as
the heavy diligence rumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was aroused
by the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzed face, with a
black beard and moustache, being thrust in amongst us.
“Your passports, Messieurs,” as a lantern was held up in succession
across our faces, and we handed forth our crumpled and worn papers to
the official.
The night was stormy and dark—gusts of wind sweeping along, bearing
with them the tail of some thunder cloud—mingling their sounds with a
falling tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot. The officer in
vain endeavoured to hold open the passports while he inscribed his
name; and just as the last scrawl was completed, the lantern went out.
Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, he thrust them in upon us en
masse, and, banging the door to, called out to the conducteur, “en
route.”
Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the last lamps of the town,
the whole party were once more sunk in sleep, save myself. Hour after
hour rolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and the heavy plash
of the horses’ feet contributing their mournful sounds to the
melancholy that was stealing over me. At length we drew up at the door
of a little auberge; and, by the noise and bustle without, I perceived
there was a change of horses. Anxious to stretch my legs, and relieve,
if even for a moment, the wearisome monotony of the night, I got out
and strode into the little parlour of the inn. There was a cheerful
fire in an open stove, beside which stood a portly figure in a
sheepskin bunta and a cloth travelling cap, with a gold band; his legs
were cased in high Russia leather boots, all evident signs of the
profession of the wearer, had even his haste at supper not bespoke the
fact that he was a government courier.
“You had better make haste with the horses, Antoine, if you don’t wish
the postmaster to hear of it,” said he, as I entered, his mouth filled
with pie crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke.
A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and a striped nightcap,
replied in some unknown patois; when the courier again said—
“Well, then, take the diligence horses; I must get on at all events;
they are not so presse, I’ll be bound; besides it will save the
gens-d’armes some miles of a ride if they overtake them here.”
“Have we another vise of our passports here, then?” said I, addressing
the courier, “for we have already been examined at Nancy?”
“Not exactly a vise,” said the courier, eyeing me most suspiciously as
he spoke, and then continuing to eat with his former voracity.
“Then, what, may I ask, have we to do with the gens-d’armes?”
“It is a search,” said the courier, gruffly, and with the air of one
who desired no further questioning.
I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large
goblet before him, said, with much respect,
“A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier.”
To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely
as he drank off the wine.
“Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?” said I,
laughingly, “that they are going to search us?”
“No, monsieur,” said the courier; “but there has been a government
order to arrest a person on this road connected with the dreadful
Polish plot, that has just eclated at Paris. I passed a vidette of
cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in half an hour.”
“A Polish plot! Why, I left Paris only two days ago, and never heard of
it.”
“C’est bien possible, Monsieur? Perhaps, after all, it may only be an
affair of the police; but they have certainly arrested one prisoner at
Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attempt to rob Frascati, and
murder the croupier.”
“Alas,” said I, with a half-suppressed groan, “it is too true; that
infernal fellow O’Leary has ruined me, and I shall be brought back to
Paris, and only taken from prison to meet the open shame and ignominy
of a public trial.”
What was to be done?—every moment was precious. I walked to the door to
conceal my agitation. All was dark and gloomy. The thought of escape
was my only one; but how to accomplish it! Every stir without suggested
to my anxious mind the approaching tread of horses—every rattle of the
harness seemed like the clink of accoutrements.
While I yet hesitated, I felt that my fate was in the balance.
Concealment where I was, was impossible; there were no means of
obtaining horses to proceed. My last only hope then rested in the
courier; he perhaps might be bribed to assist me at this juncture.
Still his impression as to the enormity of the crime imputed, might
deter him; and there was no time for explanation, if even he would
listen to it. I returned to the room; he had finished his meal, and was
now engaged in all the preparations for encountering a wet and dreary
night. I hesitated; my fears that if he should refuse my offers, all
chance of my escape was gone, deterred me for a moment. At length as he
wound a large woollen shawl around his throat, and seemed to have
completed his costume, I summoned nerve for the effort, and with as
much boldness in my manner as I could muster, said—
“Monsieur le Courier, one word with you.” I here closed the door, and
continued. “My fortunes—my whole prospects in life depend upon my
reaching Strasbourg by to-morrow night. You alone can be the means of
my doing so. Is there any price you can mention, for which you will
render me this service?—if so, name it.”
“So then, Monsieur,” said the Courier, slowly—“so, then, you are the—”
“You have guessed it,” said I, interrupting. “Do you accept my
proposal?”
“It is impossible,” said he, “utterly impossible; for even should I be
disposed to run the risk on my own account, it would avail you nothing;
the first town we entered your passport would be demanded, and not
being vised by the minister to travel en courier, you would at once be
detained and arrested.”
“Then am I lost,” said I, throwing myself upon a chair; at the same
instant my passport, which I carried in my breast pocket, fell out at
the feet of the courier. He lifted it and opened it leisurely. So
engrossed was I by my misfortunes, that for some minutes I did not
perceive, that as he continued to read the passport, he smiled from
time to time, till at length a hearty fit of laughing awoke me from my
abstraction. My first impulse was to seize him by the throat;
controlling my temper, however, with an effort, I said—
“And pray, Monsieur, may I ask in what manner the position I stand in
at this moment affords you so much amusement? Is there any thing so
particularly droll—any thing so excessively ludicrous in my
situation—or what particular gift do you possess that shall prevent me
throwing you out of the window?”
“Mais, Monsieur,” said he, half stifled with laughter, “do you know the
blunder I fell into? it is really too good. Could you only guess who I
took you for, you would laugh too.”
Here he became so overcome with merriment, that he was obliged to sit
down, which he did opposite to me, and actually shook with laughter.
“When this comedy is over,” thought I, “we may begin to understand each
other.” Seeing no prospect of this, I became at length impatient, and
jumping on my legs, said—
“Enough, sir, quite enough of this foolery. Believe me, you have every
reason to be thankful that my present embarrassment should so far
engross me, that I cannot afford time to give you a thrashing.”
“Pardon, mille pardons,” said he humbly; “but you will, I am sure,
forgive me when I tell you that I was stupid enough to mistake you for
the fugitive Englishman, whom the gens-d’armes are in pursuit of. How
good, eh?”
“Oh! devilish good—but what do you mean?”
“Why, the fellow that caused the attack at Frascati, and all that,
and—”
“Yes—well, eh? Did you think I was him?”
“To be sure I did, till I saw your passport.”
“Till you saw my passport!” Why, what on earth can he mean? thought I.
“No, but,” said I, half jestingly, “how could you make such a blunder?”
“Why, your confused manner—your impatience to get on—your hurried
questions, all convinced me. In fact, I’d have wagered any thing you
were the Englishman.”
“And what, in heaven’s name, does he think me now?” thought I, as I
endeavoured to join the laugh so ludicrous a mistake occasioned.
“But we are delaying sadly,” said the courier. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?—ready for what?”
“To go on with me, of course. Don’t you wish to get early to
Strasbourg?”
“To be sure I do.”
“Well, then, come along. But, pray, don’t mind your luggage, for my
caleche is loaded. Your instruments can come in the diligence.”
“My instruments in the diligence! He’s mad—that’s flat.”
“How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake.”
“That they will,” thought I. “The only doubt is, will you join in the
merriment?”
So saying, I followed the courier to the door, jumped into his caleche,
and in another moment was hurrying over the pave at a pace that defied
pursuit, and promised soon to make up for all our late delay. Scarcely
was the fur-lined apron of the caleche buttoned around me, and the
German blinds let down, when I set to work to think over the
circumstance that had just befallen me. As I had never examined my
passport from the moment Trevanion handed it to me in Paris, I knew
nothing of its contents; therefore, as to what impression it might
convey of me, I was totally ignorant. To ask the courier for it now
might excite suspicion; so that I was totally at sea how to account for
his sudden change in my favour, or in what precise capacity I was
travelling beside him. Once, and once only, the thought of treachery
occurred to me. Is he about to hand me over to the gens-d’armes? and
are we now only retracing our steps towards Nancy? If so, Monsieur le
Courier, whatever be my fate, your’s is certainly an unenviable one. My
reflections on this head were soon broken in upon, for my companion
again returned to the subject of his “singular error,” and assured me
that he was as near as possible leaving me behind, under the mistaken
impression of my being “myself;” and informed me that all Strasbourg
would be delighted to see me, which latter piece of news was only the
more flattering, that I knew no one there, nor had ever been in that
city in my life; and after about an hour’s mystification as to my
tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fast asleep, leaving me to solve
the difficult problem as to whether I was not somebody else, or the
only alternative—whether travelling en courier might not be prescribed
by physicians as a mode of treating insane patients.