AFTER LONG YEARS
In the month of June, 1806, the lieutenant of the Eighth Brigade of
Light Artillery received, while on duty at the Imperial Palace of St
Cloud, the following mysterious note:
"If Jean Dominique Mettot will be at Havre on the fourteenth
instant, he will be admitted on board the vessel 'La Belle
Gabrielle,' where he will meet someone who is most anxious to see
him. He is kindly requested to refrain from mentioning this
rendezvous to anyone. Ask for 'Monsieur Charles Durante.'
"C.D."
Devoured with curiosity, he hastened to obtain a leave of absence from
his Emperor, who pinched his ear in giving it, inquired on what errand
he was bound, and laughed when Jean blushed and stammered that he was
not at liberty to explain.
Having made all speed to Havre, he had no difficulty in finding the ship
"La Belle Gabrielle" which was preparing to set sail that evening, on
its voyage to America. On inquiring for a Monsieur Durant, he was
referred to cabin number twelve, which he reached and on whose door he
knocked.
[Illustration]
A tall, slim, gentle-faced young man of perhaps twenty years opened the
door. Jean looked keenly at him for a moment, then gave a little gasp.
For he realised in that instant that he stood before the former child of
the Tower, Louis XVII of France! The young man drew him inside, closed
the door, and the two stood for a long moment, hand clasped in hand,
unable to utter a word. It was Louis Charles who at last broke the
silence:
"You are much changed, and yet you seem the same Jean of the Temple!
Tell me about yourself!"
"Indeed," replied Jean, "you are much changed also, but you are
beginning to resemble greatly the late king, your father!"
"So I think myself," laughed the young man, "and so think others, which
has begun to prove rather troublesome. For that reason I am going to
America, never to return. But I could not leave without seeing you once
more!"
"Surely, surely," cried Jean aghast, "you will come back sometime!"
"No, never!" said Louis firmly. "Nothing would induce me to reign over
France, even were the opportunity to present itself. And to reside here
in a private capacity will scarcely be feasible much longer. I have
lived a quiet life for the past ten years with kindly people in a far
corner of France. I was placed with them by Barras, under the name of
Charles Durant, by which name I have been known ever since. They
thought me an orphan of some good Parisian family, sent there to be
away from the violent scenes of the Revolution. I was tenderly nursed
back to health, and carefully educated. Many times lately has De Batz
come secretly to me, and urged me to proclaim my identity and put myself
at the head of the royalist cause, but I have steadily refused.
"The French nation murdered my father and mother! They will never be
ruled by me! And to live here as a private citizen is becoming
impossible because of my resemblance to my father. Again and again I
have heard it remarked how closely I resemble Louis XVI in his younger
days. It would soon be causing serious political complications, more
particularly as I foresee that affairs are far from stable, even with
such a man as your wonderful Emperor at their head! But in America I
shall never be recognised, and there I can live the quiet, peaceful,
useful life which I crave."
"But tell me," asked Jean, "have you never seen your sister since her
removal from the Tower?"
"No, never, for two reasons,--one of them rather curious! She will not
believe that I am alive!"
"How strange!" murmured Jean.
"No, not strange, in a way. It was De Batz who informed her of my
escape, after she went to England. But she refused to believe it, saying
it was an impossibility,--that I had died in the Tower, and that anyone
who claimed to be myself must be an impostor! But then, you see, she has
attached herself to our uncle, my father's oldest brother, who, if the
Bourbons ever returned to reign, would be the next in succession, Louis
XVIII. And on that account I feel I can never forgive her, for he was
always a cruel enemy of our mother, Queen Marie Antoinette, and caused
her much grief. How my sister could endure to be even in his presence, I
cannot understand, and this is the reason I wish never to see her again.
But tell me, Jean, all about yourself! And how is the good Madame
Clouet and pretty little Yvonne?"
"It pains me to tell you," answered Jean, "that our dear Mere Clouet
passed away a few months ago, after a severe illness. But for the last
ten years she had lived a very happy life in our lovely little home at
Meudon. That loss has left little Yvonne,--who is little no longer, but
a beautiful young woman!--quite alone in the world, except for me. We
grew up together as brother and sister, but now I have managed to
persuade her to consider me in another light, and next month she is to
become my wife! The Emperor has promised to give us a beautiful
wedding!"
"Bravo, bravo!" cried Louis Charles. "A thousand happy wishes! Nothing
could have pleased me better than this news!" And as he looked Jean
over, noting his six feet of splendid brawn and muscle, his handsome
black eyes and crisply curling hair, realising the cleverness and worth
of this fellow and the loyal, loving heart of him, Louis Charles did
not wonder at the choice of Yvonne!
"But now tell me about your Emperor," he said. "You fairly worship him,
I'm sure, and I do not blame you! And when did you get this?" He pointed
to a Cross of the Legion of Honour on the young man's breast.
"He decorated me with that after the battle of Austerlitz, for something
or other,--leading a charge, I guess!" replied Jean modestly. "I have
been with him through every campaign since he took command of the Army
of Italy, and I shall go with him through every other, as long as I
live. I love him! Do you blame me?"
"No, I do not! He is the most wonderful man of modern history! He
deserves all that he has achieved. He has done more for France in these
ten years, than all the line of Bourbon kings ever dreamed of
accomplishing. There is no particle of envy in my heart that he is
occupying a throne which should have been mine. It is an unstable throne
at best! Let him be happy on it while he may, only let him beware lest
too great ambition cause him to overreach the mark!"
Then the two drifted into talk of the past, and of the painful years of
their childhood and early acquaintance. The hours, all too short, flew
by, and at twilight the order was given to cast loose the ship and set
sail. The two young men bade each other farewell in the cabin, for they
could not endure that their parting should be witnessed on the common
deck.
"Adieu, adieu, Jean!" murmured Louis Charles huskily. "I owe you a debt
that a lifetime would be too short to repay! But for you I would have
died long since, in that horrible place, and I believe that you and
Yvonne are the only ones in this world who truly care for me now. My
gratitude and love is all that I can give you, for I am poor as regards
worldly wealth. But I know you understand! You are being rewarded by
another and more powerful hand than mine. Give my love to Yvonne, and my
most earnest wishes for her happiness. In you she will have the husband
she deserves!" Jean was almost too overcome to speak at all.
"I--I love you!" he stammered. "And I have always secretly hoped that
sometime you would come back to live among us!"
"That is impossible, as you see," said the young man. "This parting is
harder to me than I dare to tell you, for you are all that links me with
my former life! Adieu, adieu, Jean!"
But Jean could trust himself no longer. He bent and kissed the hands of
Louis Charles, and hastily left the cabin without another word. On the
quay he watched, while the great ship drew in her cables, and moved
majestically out into the tide. But ere the dark hull vanished entirely
from view, Jean perceived a white handkerchief fluttering from the
railing of the afterdeck, and he knew it to be the last farewell of
Louis XVII of France!
* * * * *
Jean lived to be a very old man, and he saw in his day many astonishing
changes, and lived through a number of singular epochs in the history of
his country. One of the most peculiar circumstances, however, that came
under his ken was as follows:
In the course of the years, a rumour was wafted abroad (no one knew just
how it started), that perhaps Louis XVII had not died as a child in the
Tower, after all, but had escaped in some marvellous manner and was now
living. Some believed this, and many more did not! But the strangest
part of it was that in the course of ten years, no less than _forty_
impostors arose, each claiming that _he_ was the escaped Louis XVII, and
demanding his right to the throne, for the Bourbon monarchy had been
restored for a time. Of these forty impostors, the claims of
thirty-eight were so obviously and impudently preposterous, that they
were at once detected as false. But there were two, Baron de Richmont
and Count Naundorff, who really seemed to know an amazing amount about
the little Dauphin's early life and affairs, and who told wonderful
stories of their escape from the Tower. Count Naundorff's was singularly
like what had really happened.
But there was always something lacking somewhere, some loose,
ill-fitting stone in their carefully constructed fabrication. None of
them ever gained much serious attention. Perhaps these two had at some
time heard the story of the escape from a member of the Brotherhood who
had been false to his oath. Who can tell!
Jean used to listen to these tales with interest, and not a few times he
was called upon to interview personally, some brazen claimant of the
throne of France. One glance however, sufficed him, and his decision in
the matter was always accepted as final. Not infrequently someone would
say to him:
"How absurd of you to imagine that Louis XVII ever escaped from the
Temple Tower! Why, he died there and was buried, as every record
proves!"
Then Jean would clasp his hands, nod his head and smile patiently. But
in his heart he whispered:
"_I know!_"
THE END